Living for Today

I was minding my own business, going about my day with a light heart when Satan punched me where I am most vulnerable. He reminded me of the fact that I lost a momento of one of my children's lives that is priceless. I won't say what or which child, just know that when I realized that my ridiculous, disorganized, ADD, go-absent-from-one-part-of-my-life-to-over-obsess-in-another way of living had resulted in said loss, I suffered a mini-nervous breakdown. It may have been lost in one of two moves, or a casualty of toss-it-all lazy cleaning. (Or it may have been dispatched to the curb by super-structured, quick-to-toss Gary, but I won't go there, as we all know he does not lose things.) The memory might have been enough to monkey-wrench my day, which had started beautifully with a devotion time, but Satan is absolutely NEVER content with monkey-wrench tinkering. He wants to cut out all sources of joy and wipe that silly grin right off of that Christian's face. That way she won't praise God for everything, enjoy His fellowship all day long, and bless other people's socks off. Mission accomplished. So, punch two of the one-two punch was the whisper, "You know, you haven't taken much video of your children at all, and now they're grown. They will hate you and you will always realize what an inadequate fool you have been as a mom." I have lots of snapshots of every important occasion and many not-so-important. I just don't have a lot of video or portraits. I always buy the school portrait. I have baby portraits. I plan on getting expensive senior portraits. Before the year is out, I will get one done of the boys together with our dog. We have one taken at the beach five years ago of our boys that almost always brings tears to my eyes when I walk past it, it is so beautiful. Though lean on video and portraits I do, however, have something like five years of schoolwork for each child, countless art projects and strange things like a paper leprechaun hat Jonathan made in kindergarten. ADD memory-keeping is quite eclectic. While striding across the Dick's Sporting Goods parking lot I said, almost out loud, "I'll just keep the video camera charged up and I'll take tons from now on. My kids are twelve and fifteen. Their reactions to my camera as they brush their teeth in the morning or bow their heads for the supper blessing might be interesting. A day that started with hopeful prayers and a written plan, was sidelined into grief.

Just when I raise my heart in hope over a renewed interest in studying God's word, I am reminded that we are in a fierce, fierce battle on this earth against the spiritual forces of darkness. Not convinced? Consider this scripture from the New King James Version of the Bible: "For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places." (Ephesians 6:12)

God is gently guiding me to focus on today, each and every day. He knows that my anxieties over the future and my grief over the failings of my past keep me immobilized spiritually. I want to keep my eyes on Him and do what He has called me to TODAY. It is the only day I have. Tomorrow I might be in His presence, basking in His never-ending love and beauty. If I have failed my husband and children, my friends, parents, brother and sisters, nieces and nephews, I have but one hope: that they will know that this frail lady loves them, and will for all of eternity. If I can have that, I'll take any criticism that follows, swallowing it down with the sweet nectar of God's unconditional love and acceptance. My game plan going forward includes making a list of scriptures to memorize/post on my mirror that will address these mind games the devil plays. I want peace and joy. These are my spiritual birthright in Christ and are of more value to me that anything on this earth that money can buy.

Kingdom in a Ten Gallon Tank

A few days ago I cleaned Jonathan's gerbil tank (I know, I know, he should have been doing it...but this is not a parenting blog and, if it were, I would not be writing it!). Despite my love for animals, I have always been afraid of rodents. I think gerbils are endearingly cute, but I am afraid to handle them. So my version of "cleaning" is to simply scoop the soiled bedding out with an old coffee cup designated for that purpose. As I was doing so, I uncovered a hidden world...little Pipsqueak had buried her treasures, half-eaten snack cubes and gnawed-down wooden toys, the occasional full seed, mineral bars both untouched and scarred by her teeth, at varying levels of depth in the bedding and in various and sundry locations around and about her ten-gallon tank. As I turned her carefully orchestrated world upside down with the traitorous coffee mug, little Pipsqueak in effect, panicked. She ran circles around my hand, darted up and back and generally had a mini-nervous breakdown. She wanted everything left as it was. It did not matter to her, nor was she able to deduce, I am sure, that I was going to fill her tank with wonderful-smelling, sparkly clean bedding, and that there would be new treats. Oh, no. Little Pipsqueak wanted to keep her frightfully smelly kingdom in just the situation it was in...a fetid funhouse in her mind. How like the rest of us, I thought. How very like me! God turns my world upside down with conviction, seeking to replace my dank dungeon of useless habit and binding fear with a clean, wholesome, healthy existence, but I prefer my familiar mess. Like Pipsqueak, I want my kingdom in a ten gallon tank, and I'll take it messy, thank you very much. And, just like little Pipsqueak (heavens, I HOPE my brain is larger than hers), I haven't got the understanding to appreciate that when HE shakes up my world, it will always be for the better. And I'm not just talking clean shavings, here! Today I ducked into Tractor Supply for dog food, hoping to catch a glimpse of the bunnies they sell every spring. I found something much better. Following the gentle twittering sound of tiny new lives, I found the bins with the heat lamps. Tucked inside, and busy with each other, were little fluffs of softness. Baby chicks. I thrilled to the sight of one bin housing a strain that had gentle little caramel-colored stripes. New, soft, twittering life. The wonders of God's world, and his everlasting goodness, never cease to thrill me. It is exciting to know that this life is but a shadow of the beauty that awaits us on the other side. I want to grow so close to Jesus that I can say in earnest that I really would rather be there than here...muddying my little tank and wondering why God would ever want to shake it up, or, even more challenging to my tiny faith, turn it over, exposing me to limitless opportunities for growth and adventure!!

Lassoes in the Wind

After forty-three years of hemming, hawing, running forward and dawdling back on my many projects, I am ready to concede one thing for sure: I am not a very good time manager. I get up every single (well, almost) day brimming with good intentions. Then, almost in time with the beeping of the coffee pot, my day rears back like a muscled-up stallion and off he goes, flying by me, out the door and into the wind. Before I know it, I am getting into bed, that familiar sense of sadness that I did not milk the glories of my day for all they were worth settling on me like the layer of dust on my dresser. I have each and EVERY hallmark of adult attention deficit disorder, only there were no therapies for that when I was a kid. No, therapy for me consisted of such rich and rewarding experiences as lining up with the rest of the class for one lick with a paddle by my fourth-grade teacher for errancy in homework, or enduring shock and horror at the state of my room, followed by exclamations of dire consequence should something meanful not be made of the muddle of clothes and the detritus of my starts and stops in life. I remember my little goldfish jumping out of her bowl because she was dern tired of the foggy water (okay, well, it was probably because in my ADD haze I filled the bowl too full). My entire life has been characterized by more organized folk shouting "WRITE IT DOWN!!!" Though I was able to accomplish quite a bit in my scholastic life, garnering both a scholarship and a graduate fellowship, I did these things on my own terms. While you worked, I slept. While you slept, I worked. I sipped coffee at odd hours. I lived for the last minute, an experience that jolted me (and still does) out of my torpor, revving my creative juices and basically scaring the stuffings out of me. I do like to please, so I am always at odds with myself. I am usually mad at me. Enough of this. I am asking for prayer. I am asking God to take the basics of who I am and form something more meaningful out of them. I would like some goals, especially with my writing, that are both attainable and worth doing. I would like to be a good housekeeper, but even as I write that the juvenile side of me shouts "Publish a book and hire someone to do that!!!" Please pray for me. I want to be more productive. My husband is always asking me to do mundane things for the family as I (in his words) "have more discretionary time" than anyone else here. He's right...but he doesn't know that I fill it running in circles, kind of like Pipsqueak, Jonathan's caramel-colored gerbil. It's like I recently told a friend, who said she was also ADD: "We can do what everyone else does, it is just that it takes TEN TIMES the effort!" She agreed, and we had a hallelujah meeting of the minds on the phone while I placed an order in the Burger King drive-thru. It was a beautiful thing. I am not asking for you to accept my excuses. Oh, no. I wouldn't be me if I did not have a grandiose dream hanging out there...I want to do better! If you love me, pray for me! The secret, I have found, to living for Christ (and those who live for Christ are productive), is to take life one day at a time. When that proves too much, take it an hour at a time. Heavens, I can do anything for an hour. Even scrub the toilets.

Hope is a Wild Thing...and IT IS CONTAGIOUS, TOO!!!

My last blog post included an anecdote about a pink latch hook tool I had searched the internet for to no avail. The postal delivery lady, one fine day, shoved a craft kit I had ordered on ebay into my mailbox and I discovered that the nameless, faceless seller had tucked the very tool I wanted on top. Well, since that fateful day, I have attached a name to the hand that tucked the tool into the box, thereby setting in motion a chain of events that would assure us both that God has each of us tucked beneath his wings. The day I opened the box, my heart leapt with joy and I felt the presence of the Holy Spirit in the situation. I felt the Lord patting my little gray-streaked head (covered artfully with color and highlights), telling me that what matters to me, matters to Him. Loving me and my little crafting endeavors. But there was more, and, as I am finding is the case with all believers, it's always about more than latch hook.

For reasons that are yet unknown to me, I decided last Sunday (a couple of weeks after receiving my latch hook tool from the heavens) to send the seller, who went by a moniker like Smith Storefront (I have changed it to keep her anonymous) which made me wonder if it was a person or a company, a little note letting them know they had become the unintended star of my last blog post. I gave them my blog address. Next thing I know, I receive a long reply from a woman I'll call Linda. Linda, who is not far from my own age, had begged God for a "whisper." She was now rejoicing after getting my message, feeling greatly encouraged. She had suffered many personal setbacks in the previous year and desperately needed to feel that God was with her. Her reply to me was long and heartfelt. A follow-up note included the information that the day she packed my box, she had a collection of latch hooks to choose from and had almost put a different one in. Both of us now know why she did not.

God is in EVERYTHING that touches us. I am so thankful for that. Today, I was beating myself with the broomstick of righteous indignation that I had not accomplished more. Casting about for inspiration after a frustrating day of dealing with my own shortcomings in the self-discipline arena, I logged onto the 700 Club website and began watching testimonies. A man raised on the mean streets of Kansas City who was paralyzed during a gunfight twenty years ago talked about how he overcame, though the faith in Christ he found after his ordeal, all of the obstacles he faced to become a lawyer and mentor to youth facing challenges similar to the ones he battled as a child. He shared that he had found that he would always have what he needed to do what God called him to do. At some point a young man he was mentoring came into view on the screen, the scripture reference Jeremiah 29:11 on his sleeve. I immediately dissolved into tears. Let me share that verse with you (with joy) "For I know the thoughts I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope."

Hope is a Wild Thing

"Hope is an interesting thing," said an inmate who claims he was wrongfully accused of murder. He had spent most of his adult life locked up for something he says he did not do, and had received word that his exoneration might be imminent.  His words burned into my soul, arresting my attention the way a rare sighting, like that of the albino doe I keep seeing off of Arno-Allisona Road near the Rutherford County, Tennessee line, does. I was watching one of those true-crime mystery shows like Dateline or 20/20, can't remember which one. Doesn't matter. It was a chilling parallel to me of the very words I penned in this blog when describing what it felt like to think I had probably miscarried while enduring a twenty-four-hour wait for the confirmation of that sad fact. I tried so hard to tamp down all of my hope for a baby. It was to no avail. It just kept springing up somewhere else in my heart until the doctor gave us the final word. I never once looked at that ultrasound screen. I never did.

The point here is that hope is like a living being. It's a wild thing. As long as there is life in a human body, it is never quite fully dead. At least not in my experience. For every spring morning, like today when I went for a sunrise drive and saw so many deer, including the white doe whose lovely grace feels like a shower of joy on my head, there seems to be a new flow of hope. No matter how many missteps I take, the grace of God continues to rush like a river under my raft, gently but powerfully guiding me toward heaven, my true home. Wow did I repent this morning as the glory of God's creation washed over me on my little coffee-sipping tour of the Williamson County countryside. Just keep cleaning me up, Lord! Just keep working in me. I am good with that, so long as you never give up on me.

One thing that God keeps doing in my life lately that fills me with hope, that wild thing that energizes us all, is to float down what I call "postcards from heaven." On the latch hook board a few weeks ago, there was a light-hearted discussion of a certain kind of latch hook tool. Well, I wanted one just so I could be "in the gang." I did a quick internet search for a pink one. Never could find one in the style I was partial to. Seems a blue or even green one would be easy to come by. Pink, not so much, though I had been told they were out there. Next thing I know, I recieve a kit I had ordered from ebay. Totally forgot there was to be a tool included. Now, when the seller opened the box to put that pink Boye comfort grip tool on top, do you think he or she knew I had searched for one? No. Someone else did, though. It was like my heavenly Father was patting my head, telling me that what matters to me matters to Him. Keeps me going.