Control-Freak or Determined

Did you ever wake up, get fifteen minutes into your day and realize, "I am so totally blowing this day?" I mean, how does it happen? You haven't even been awake for an hour and you've already made more bad choices than the day before. You lament to anyone who will listen, "I just want to crawl back into bed and go to sleep." Unfortunately, as an adult, you are rarely afforded that luxury. As a mother, it feels like you are NEVER afforded that luxury. You hop into the shower, when the kids are occupied and vow to remain there until you have regained control of your emotional/mental state. You ponder, is there such a shower? Is it possible experience such a shower with the power to help you regain control without turning into a prune? Twenty minutes later, you emerge, somewhat refreshed. You're not quite sure if you have succeeded in regaining control, but you are prepared to try. Besides, any longer in the shower and the kids may take over the house.
I learned something today. No matter how my day starts, I still have control over how it finishes. I may lose composure for a brief moment, but I can still choose to reel it back in. The frustrating truth is this: It must be MY choice. My wonderful man can do all within his power to woo me back into a good mood, but alas, it is my choice. I must be determined to make it a good day, no matter what I was handed.

What I Do Well

I've been doing too much and I've put a stop to it. I have done this before. It's a habit I have. Just when I think I've overcome it, I get hit with the temptation again. I feel I have passed a test of sorts with this latest scenario I found myself in. My family did not suffer. Usually I offer them up on the altar of my own ambition, this time I was able to keep them in their appointed place. I am slightly embarrassed at my performance outside of the home, but not enough to make me feel too terribly sad.
I admire Dr. Laura Schlessinger for her no nonsense approach to morality and ethics, and recently I heard her say, "You should only do what you can do well." I wholeheartedly agree. I sometimes wish I could handle an overflowing schedule with finesse and ease. I wish I had more hours in a day so I could do all I want to do. But I cannot. There are only two things I can do well. These two things are those I feel passionately about. Motherhood and marriage. Anything that is associated with those two roles of my life, I will do well. Anything else, will just have to wait. Realize this isn't an easy realization for me. I do have dreams of writing and public speaking. But I have chosen children and marriage and I must now back up my choice. I must choose daily to do those things well. I must choose daily to accept that those dreams may never become a reality. I must choose daily to accept that while I may never be known for my great skill, I will be known by my children and husband for the love I offer them every day. And in the end, that legacy will be one that lives forever.

Retreat

This week, I was honored with the opportunity to attend the annual retreat held by the high school for which my husband coaches. During the two days we were there one of the adult chaperone's was bitten by something. We still don't know what it was, but it appeared to have feasted on her forearm. She did require medical attention, but was able to rejoin us after her trip to the nearby urgent care. When she returned she was greeted by her son and daughter, who were on the trip with us. They hugged and loved on her with such genuine love and concern. I was moved. The thought ran through my mind, "I want my children to love me that way".
I was struck by the selfishness of my thought almost immediately, and yes it was selfish on my part. I want MY children to love ME. I am contending to be a godly mother and making sure my kids love me shouldn't be my goal for them. My strain of thoughts must move in a different direction. If I am striving to be a godly mother what would my next thought be? I want my children to be capable of offering such genuine love and concern to those God puts around them. How can I equip them? I must model it. I must learn to offer genuine love and concern to those God has placed around me. Did anyone else hear that slap? I do not love in this manner. Unless I change my heart they will not learn it from me. I can change that. I'm not sure how, but I know I can. And so, God has once again provided clarity regarding my motherhood.

My Sweet Spot

My pastor asked me recently to think about what my "sweet spot" might be. This isn't anything indecent, lest I give the wrong idea, this is an effort to discover where my heart to minister lies. After thinking about it for nearly week, I think I am starting to discover where my heart lies. My heart lies in the well-being of children. If I could accomplish anything with this life of mine, it would be to make sure that every child has what they need to have a happy, healthy, normal childhood. A childhood free of abuse, and neglect. I would love to ensure that each child is valued and treasured as the holders of our future. This would be my life's effort. It has begun with my children and will continue long after they are grown. I pray I do a job worthy of my call. Children are what we leave behind and I know what others have left behind is hurt, anger, pain, and rage. We see it everyday. I'd like to be one who leaves behind love, joy, peace, value, and purpose. That would be my sweet spot.

Community

This week our church started a series on community. As we've been revving up for this series, I've been thinking quite extensively about community.
What will community look like in my life?
How will community change in my life?
How much work will community require of me and my family?
Will the work and effort of community be worth the payoff?
I mean lets be honest. That is the true question: Is it worth it? I won't really know until I take the plunge. Is it better to have indulged in community and be hurt than to never have community at all? Questions of the day.

Thoughts

I realized this morning that I missed the bible study group I belong to. I belong to it. They are my people. I realize some will blog site out sometime soon, or not, and wanted to share a part of what I think about them. I belong to this group. We had not met for a couple of weeks and I had grown cranky and couldn't figure out why. After our meeting last night, I woke this morning feeling refreshed and ready to take on another day. Why? Is it that I can be silly, crazy, vulnerable, weak, and strong all at the same time with these women and not be judged? Is it that I can be myself with them and know they understand that I am who I am? They don't try to change me. They don't try to convince me I am not thinking or feeling what I know I am. I can walk into my group and be cranky and no one feels they need to get me out of my mood. They accept it and adjust. We all do it with each other. One lady was a little irritable last night and she let us know up front. We didn't feel compelled to find out how we could get her out of her mood. She was allowed to be in her mood without anyone trying to fix it. I love my group. They are my friends. Isn't it nice to say that? My friends. After all these years, I have real friends. We are all twisted in our own ways and yet, we get along so well. Maybe it is because we are so twisted that we get along so well. I don't know for sure, but I do know I feel refreshed today.

You Do Make a Difference

There is no better way to start off this week than with this short story. I am

 

Invisible Mom by Nicole Johnson

Invisible!
It started to happen gradually.
One day I was walking my son Jake to school. I was holding his hand and we were about to cross the street when the crossing guard said to him, "Who is that with you, young fella?"
"Nobody," he shrugged.
Nobody? The crossing guard and I laughed. My son is only 5, but as we crossed the street I thought, "Oh my goodness, nobody?"
I would walk into a room and no one would notice. I would say something to my family - like "Turn the TV down, please" - and nothing would happen. Nobody would get up, or even make a move for the remote. I would stand there for a minute, and then I would say again, a little louder, "Would someone turn the TV down?” Nothing.
Just the other night my husband and I were out at a party. We'd been there for about three hours and I was ready to leave. I noticed he was talking to a friend from work. So I walked over, and when there was a break in the conversation, I whispered, "I'm ready to go when you are." He just kept right on talking. I'm invisible.
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?" Obviously not. No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at
all.
I'm invisible.
Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being.
I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?"
I'm a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?"
I'm a car to order, "Right around 5:30, please."
I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again.
She's going¸ she's going¸ she's gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England .
Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she
stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. I t was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought you this."
It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe . I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte , with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees."
In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:
No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.
These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.
They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.
The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.
A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it."
And the workman replied, "Because God sees."
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become."
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life.
It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride.
I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, "My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, "You're gonna love it there."
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

Feral Christianity...revisited

So as I've been on this journey, I've been referring back to the feral part of my Christianity. I still don't have all the answers, but I do know one thing for sure today. I understand the warrior desires in me. I am to use that warrior spirit to make war on behalf of my children. Their lives are so important and valuable. Unfortunately, society places more value on the safety of children and little importance on their character. They are so safe and protected and their character has been compromised. They cannot make mistakes and fail because there are safety's in place for everything. So I must fight the desire to keep them bubble wrapped and allow them to venture into the age appropriate aspects of their world and make choices good or bad. I must fight to keep the barrage of doubts in their place and move forward despite my insecurity. I will fight to provide character development opportunities despite my desire to cocoon them. I will fight to be confident despite my apprehension. It's alot to fight so it good I have alot of fight. I WILL FIGHT!

This isn't me!

I don't know if it is the advent of my 33rd birthday or if it's a midlife crisis, but recently I have been looking at myself through others' eyes and am disappointed at what I am seeing. THIS IS NOT ME! I'm not the person I see when I look at me. It is as if I have two versions of me. The version my husband and children are familiar with and the person that walks out of my house. I'm not always stressed, I'm not always frustrated, I'm not always uptight. But I get the impression that is how I am perceived. I can do this better. I know I can. The question is, how? What have I started?