Boobs and A Box of Chocolates

I got an interesting tip from the counselor at my children’s school several years ago.  She’s a genius, and let’s face it, my kids could use a little genius in their lives, cuz they sure ain’t gettin’ it from me.  I often wish this counselor could just take my kids home and raise them for me, delivering well-adjusted, college educated, happy, normal contributing members of society back to me in a couple decades.

Anyway, the tip she gave me had to do with carpooling.

Carpooling can be an enormous blessing in our lives as parents.  How many times have you had to pick up one child in one location and another child in a different location at the exact same time?  It happens every Tuesday afternoon at our house.  Sewing class and cross-country practice both end at 5:00 pm.  There is only one of me and two places to be and sadly, no carpool to be had.  So, the older kid waits.  He’s hot and sweaty and tired and thirsty and he wants desperately to get home and finish his homework because that’s the kind of kid he is, and he has to stand around waiting for his ride.  Meanwhile, little sister’s chauffeur shows up right on time, and she hops in the back seat bragging about the new scrunchie she made without missing a beat.  Trust me, if there was a carpool option that would help our Tuesday 5:00 situation, I would absolutely use it. 

I have a carpool for Libby’s gymnastics practices that is truly a lifesaver.  It helps everyone in our family and I’m grateful for the women involved.  I wouldn’t give up our gymnastics carpool for anything less than a pro-bono limo driver, and I’ve yet to meet one.  Still, I understand why the genius counselor provided the advice she did, which was this . . .

“You should only use carpools when absolutely necessary, because a lot of really important conversations you can have with your kids are likely to take place in the car.”

Why the car? you ask.

It’s simple.  Because research has shown kids are more likely to discuss serious topics when they don’t have to make eye contact with you AND aren’t threatened by the reaction you might have (since you’re supposed to be preoccupied with the gas pedals and steering wheel and Atlanta’s rush hour traffic).  It makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?  And I believe that genius counselor, because I had this extremely important and very enlightening conversation last week in the car with my recently turned nine (but thinks she’s closer to thirteen) daughter:

Lib: Mom, lots of girls on the teams at the gym have sports bras.  When can I get a sports bra to wear under my gymnastics leotard?

Me: Uhhhh (thinking fast about the best way to answer this question without A, hurting my child’s pre-pubescent feelings and B, making sure my child knows she’s flat-out nuts if she thinks I’m buying her a bra anytime soon) . . . I’ll be happy to get you one just as soon as you need it, honey.

Lib:  When will that be?

Me:  Uhhhh (concentrating hard so as not to make any statements my child can later turn into things I “absolutely promised,” as she has been known to do in the past, and keeping my tone as matter-of-fact as possible in the hopes that she will feel comfortable having this kind of conversation with me again in the future) . . . When you get breast buds.

Lib: (without attempting to hide the disgust in her voice) . . . Breast buds?  What in the world are breast buds?

Me: (starting to sweat a little thinking about where this conversation could go from here) . . . Remember how we’ve talked about the way God decides when boys and girls go through puberty and start growing into men and women, and how many things change in your bodies when you go through puberty?

Lib: (with large amounts of skepticism) . . . Yeaaaaaaaa.

Me: (gaining confidence in my parenting abilities by the second) . . . Well, one of the things that changes for girls is they begin to grow breasts.  Breast buds are the beginning of those breasts, and they are a sign that a girl is going through puberty.

Lib: (less disgusted and more intrigued) . . .When will I get breast buds?

Me: (thankful the conversation is surely about to end and wondering when my parent-of-the-year award will arrive in the mail) . . . Only God knows that, honey.

Lib:  So, when did you get breast buds?

Me: (wondering why this conversation didn’t end as expected) . . . Oh, I was pretty late to start going through puberty.  And actually (deciding to insert a joke here might not have been my best move), I’m not so sure my breast buds ever really turned into breasts, like most people’s do (come on, that’s funny if you know me and my size nearly A’s).

Lib: (not laughing and possibly close to tears):  But . . . I don’t want my breasts to be like yours. 

I want BIG ones.

?

!

?

!

I could tell you the rest of the conversation – there was some frightening ridiculousness that dribbled out of my mouth unexpectedly about a box of chocolates and how you never know what you’re gonna get and only the Lord knows the plans He has for you and maybe you’ll be more like your grandmothers or great-grandmothers or the people who can shop at Victoria’s Secret and buy real bras instead of training bras and it was all VERY. VERY. BAD.  I’m still trying to figure out why I felt the need to connect Forrest Gump and God during this intimate conversation with my daughter about boobs, but that’s what I did.

So carpool away my friends – we’re all doing the best we can and sometimes the best means another person drives your children - but make sure you still have some one-on-one time with your kids in the car on occasion, because it’s true . . . in life, you never know what you’re gonna get.  And if you’re lucky, one day, you might just get your daughter sharing her BIG dreams with you from the back seat.

Thirteen Years Later

We all remember and we always will.  Those decade old feelings of complete shock and overwhelming sadness resurface this time each year, and we picture the planes exploding and the buildings disappearing and the people . . . the people covered in ash and grime . . . the people clothed in confusion . . . the people just like you and me, people who might have been our coworkers or neighbors or friends, stumbling around in despair through a city they no longer recognized.   

It seems different this year.  The fear isn’t only a distant memory today.  We aren’t simply honoring the fallen and the heroes of that horrible morning on this anniversary of September 11, 2001.  This year, we’re dealing with real concern for what it all means now.  Because the people who flew those planes into our buildings and our dreams?  They are alive and well, my friends, and they claim their job isn’t finished.  They live and breathe in lands not so far away, and their single greatest goal is to destroy the hopes and hearts of Americans.

I don’t have a clue when it comes to foreign policy and national security and the politics of waging war on hatred.  I don’t have any answers.  But I have a God who is truth and I believe every word he says.  And my God says this . . .

Overcome evil with good.  Romans 17:21.

Our response to hatred should mirror his.  We can hate the evil as much as he does, but we cannot hate the people. 

I am going to pray for our country today.  For the leaders making the decisions, for the brave risking their lives on my behalf, for the citizens everywhere who, today, are remembering, crying, worrying.

And I’m going to pray for our enemies. 

Because God tells me to. 

Because hatred never solved anything. 

Because I believe that in the end, good will overcome all evil.  

8 Days and, Yes, This Mom is Absolutely Counting

I’m pretty sure I write some version of this same post every year about this time.  In June, I’m all “Summer is the best thing in the world and it’s sooooo great to have my kids around all the time and I just loooovvvee relaxing in our pj’s together every morning and not having to deal with homework and carpool and All The School Things.”

And the next thing I know, it’s August, and we all know what happens in August.

Mama reaches the end of her rope. 

I love my children.  I sooooo looooovvvee my children.  I really truly promise I love my children.

I just don’t love them quite as much in August. 

You see, when I say I’ve reached the end of my rope, I don’t mean I have a secure two-hand hold with a few inches to spare people.  I’m hanging on by my fingernails to a very thin thread here.  I’m so close to the end of the rope that when I was prepping lemon chicken at 4:00 this afternoon for us to have for dinner, I took a long hard look at the bottle of white wine I was using to make the sauce before I put it back in the fridge.  A very long, very hard look, and those of you who know me well know I don’t partake in a whole lot of wine.  I never partake at 4:00 on a Tuesday afternoon.  Today, however, I seriously considered it, because it’s August.  My fingernails are killing me and I can’t hold on much longer.

Just last week, I was lamenting over the end of summer, wondering why we couldn’t just have another few days to relax in the sun.  It was July then.  Much closer to June. 

Today, all I can think is why in the world does summer have to be so long?

We’ve done the pool thing.  A lot.  We’ve done the vacation thing.  It was awesome, but it was a long time ago.  When we all still liked each other.  We’ve had play dates and sleepovers and mornings in our pj’s and far too much time watching movies and playing on the Ipad and making forts in the basement.  We’ve stayed up too late and gone out to dinner too often and had popsicles on the deck. We’ve eaten plenty of watermelon and played enough board games and used up every ounce of sunscreen we own.

It’s.Time.For.School.To.Start.

I know this because today, during lunch, my eleven and a half year-old (who has always liked to follow rules and rarely done anything all that bad) threw a piece of hard-boiled egg at his sister because she touched his Rubix cube.

Yep.  You read that right.  He THREW a piece of EGG at his SISTER.

Well heck yea he did. I mean, come on.  She touched his Rubix cube.  AND IT’S AUGUST!!!!!!!!

I actually handled it outwardly better than my inward desires would have suggested.  Inwardly, I saw an enormous food fight going on in my kitchen.  And I’m not talking about a fun, banana cream pie in the face kinda food fight.  I’m talking mama slinging all kinds of nasty things right at ‘em.  Inwardly, I wanted to chuck a handful of minced garlic at his face.

Instead, I mustered up the kindest mama voice I had in me, and I said, ever so sweetly, “Clearly you have had just about enough of summer, and it’s time for you to return to school where throwing egg at your sister is not an option.  In the meantime, put on your golf clothes, because I’m dropping you off at the driving range and I’m leaving you there until I decide to come get you!” 

And that’s how I know it’s time for school to start. Because my son threw food at the kitchen table, and I, the parent holding on by her fingernails, could come up with only one way to handle it, and that way involved . . . a golf course?

Hopefully, Charlie’s teachers will have had enough time away from kids to remember the meaning of the word ‘consequence’, because I’m working so hard to cling to this rope that I’ve lost my maternal edge. There’s no fight left in me, my friends.  It’s August, and this mama is officially done with summer.

Thankfully, summer is over next Thursday.  PRAISE GOD FROM WHOM ALL BLESSINGS FLOW!

Until then . . . there’s always that bottle of wine in the fridge.  

If It's Not One Thing, It's Another

Can we chat a little about this ‘thing’ everyone keeps bringing up?  Is this a phenomenon in your life as a parent, because it seems to be coming up a lot lately in mine?


“So, your daughter does gymnastics ten hours a week – I guess that’s her ‘thing’ huh?” 


“So, your son played basketball, lacrosse, and baseball this year.  I like the diversity, but which one of those is his ‘thing?’”


“So, my child really loves singing, but she’s much better at acting, and I’ve been trying to convince her that theatre should really be her ‘thing.’"


Now really people, isn’t this parenting gig perplexing enough without adding another ‘thing’ to worry about?


The truth is, I can see the importance of a child having a ‘thing’ in his or her life – a sport, activity or academic ability that encourages him to practice hard, set goals, and master skills; something that builds her confidence while promoting her determination to improve; a focus that affords a growing boy or girl the opportunity for vital childhood experiences like participating on a team, respecting authority, competing for a prize, supporting others, taking criticism, failing, succeeding, sacrificing. 


Honestly, I’ve spent some sleepless nights wondering when my own children would find their ‘thing,’ and whether or not I should play a more serious role in helping them find it.  A ‘thing’ could keep them out of trouble, after all.  It could give them the chance for character building encounters and, who knows, maybe even the possibility for an exciting future based on their abilities or experience – a championship, a scholarship, a career.  Extremely unlikely on all three accounts, but hey, you never know.   Maybe there is something to this idea of forcing their hand. 


Perhaps I should be telling my children to “Pick one and go all in.”


After all, a childhood and adolescence spent on a driving range might not lead to crystal trophies and millions in endorsements, but it might lead to a job as a sports writer or a golf cart salesman or a putting instructor.  Countless hours spent on a piano bench might not lead to a sold-out audience at Carnegie Hall, but it might lead to a career as a music teacher or a score writer or a recording engineer.


I believe a passion for a game, sport, activity or subject can absolutely provide a child with the chance at a future utilizing the knowledge gained from the time they’ve invested in such endeavors.  And in a world where our focus tends to last as long as it takes to send a text message, maybe it would be beneficial to ask my kids to stop all their dabbling and choose something . . . one thing . . . to make a top priority.


But . . .


What if my child doesn’t have a ‘thing?’  What if my son tries every sport in the book, enjoys each for different reasons, does fairly well at all of them, but doesn’t ever find a favorite?  What if he never gets any better than average at tennis and golf and basketball and playing the trumpet?  What if my daughter spends the next six years of her life (and half of our life savings) in a gymnasium, only to realize at age fourteen that she no longer wants to compete on the vault, bars, beam and floor?  What if she wakes up one morning and wants to try cheerleading or softball or crocheting instead?


I think we’ve become so fixated on making sure our children have a thing to focus on that we’ve completely lost focus.  We’re allowing doubts about the future to blind us, and the blur has become more than just concern about our where our children are headed down the road.  It has become worry about where they are right now, and if we're not careful, I'm afraid it might turn into words and actions that make them wonder if they should be worried too.


Our children should not be worrying about their futures. 


Not yet.


Let them worry about kid things for now.  Let them worry about making their beds, finishing their homework, and cleaning up after themselves. 


There is all the time in the world for the big stuff.  They have entire adulthoods ahead of them.  There will be decades when they can worry about whether they’re doing the right thing and saying the right thing and being the right thing to everyone in their lives.


Right now, there are too many other things our children should be doing.  They should be making messes and eating popsicles and catching lightning bugs.  They should be blowing bubbles and telling jokes and building forts.  They should be playing catch with their friends on Monday, board games with their parents on Tuesday, golf on Wednesday, basketball on Thursday, baseball on Friday, and guitar on Saturday.  Our children should be running and jumping and climbing and laughing and screwing up and starting over and stretching themselves.


There will be SO many things vying to be a priority in our children’s lives as they become adults.  Big things.  Hard things.  Things they have to think about every single day.  There will be family, relationship, health and work things.  There will be travel, illness, exercise, and sex things.  There will be illness, death, financial, and huge decision things. 


Yes.  There is absolutely a part of me that longs for each of my children to have a thing – a talent, a love, a sport or activity that draws them in and holds their interest in such a way that they can’t help but become great at it.  But when I look back at my own life and my own things, all of which lasted but a short season, I see the fault in pushing my kids to choose something specific to channel their energies into.  There will be plenty of pressure for them to manage in the future - they don't need it from Coach Mom right now. 


Hopefully, despite my insistence (or lack thereof) that there be a special “thing” in their lives, my children will eventually discover there is one thing that matters more than anything else.  It won’t be a sport they played in high school.  It won’t be a talent they’ve developed since toddlerhood.  It won’t be a shelf filled with awards and accomplishments.  


It will be a man, and a love so amazing that EVERY. OTHER. THING pales in comparison.  


And that one thing . . . that man called Jesus with the ever abundant love . . .


HE will be the thing that makes my children whole. 

America the Beautiful

Stanley, Idaho.  Population 63.

Surrounded by incredible beauty.  The Sawtooth mountains, rising up jagged and strong and stunning.  The Salmon river, swirling and splashing over rocks the color of the sun.  The rolling valleys, dotted with trees and cabins and life.

We had lunch at the bakery after our white water rafting trip.  I’m pretty sure the entire town was there with us.  There aren’t many options in a place with sixty-three people.

They were a rugged bunch, if you want to know the truth.  It’s an hour’s drive when you run out of razors, after all.  And you don’t need a collared shirt to float the river, fish the banks, farm the land.

There are new faces in Stanley this time of year, or so we heard.  They come for the summers.  Leave their ski resort jobs in Salt Lake and their college classes in Boise for a few months in paradise.  They live out of the backs of their cars, pulling out tents wherever the camping is good.  They bathe in Redfish Lake, which was frozen solid only a month ago.  They come year after year, enticed by low humidity and miles of hiking and biking trails.  I imagine the desire for solitude must draw them in too, or maybe it’s simply the slow pace of life in the middle of nowhere. 

I felt torn in this town.  A town with no traffic lights, no parking lots, and very few choices.  I couldn’t survive here, I thought.  I wouldn’t have enough to do, enough places to go, enough people to see, enough things to buy.  I wouldn’t be able to work and seek and strive for . . . whatever is it I’m constantly striving to attain.  Recognition, appreciation, knowledge, success, wealth?  Bigger and better and more?  Deep down in the dark and dirty places of my heart, I know what I’m really striving for is a completely unattainable goal. It’s what I’ve been striving for most of my life and can’t let go of, despite knowing with every certainty that I will never reach it.

Perfection.

Stanley, Idaho is far from perfect.  It’s far from anything, as a matter of fact, and so very far from Atlanta, Georgia.  Yet, the people in Stanley . . . they seem so happy.  They smile easy, unencumbered by any real responsibility.  No one we met was married or had children.  One of our fly-fishing guides has been building his home in town for over thirty years.  He’s not quite finished, what with helping out when they need him over at this ski school and that road crew and down the street at the local rafting company.  They live wild and free in Stanley, capable of making decisions only for themselves and their immediate futures.  Their worries are few, their burdens light.  They seem a community of wanderers, bound by their love of this amazing place and their inability to leave it for long.

Could I live in a place like this, I wondered?  I would revel in spending a few hours among the undeniable glory of God’s untouched creation, yes.  My hours there fueled my faith and filled my soul as I witnessed the majesty of our Creator rise up around me.  Only He has the power to show this obsessive-compulsive mind that astonishing beauty can lie in a lack of order and planning and symmetry.  But could I spend days and weeks without the possibilities I’m used to?  Could the quiet and the splendor and the stillness fulfill me for more than a day or two?

We had to leave.  It was only a summer vacation and our life is here, amidst the concrete and the traffic and the constant busyness of one of the biggest cities in the nation.  The heat felt oppressive as we stepped out of the airport.  Welcome home, I thought, and I smiled easy.

I’m not meant to live in Stanley, Idaho, but I’m glad God took me there. It’s good to see the differences in people.  Good to realize my choices have brought me to a specific place, and despite its downfalls, I can find happiness here. I find joy in my many responsibilities, though he can upset me, she can anger me, and it all seems heavy sometimes.  There are no mountains just outside my window today, but there are hydrangeas as blue as the sky.  There is more striving than stillness, and I’m sad for that, but God allowed me to visit a new place and He offered a new perspective, and I’m grateful for that.  I’ve seen what people are capable of, when they live their dreams and stop worrying about what others think. I’ve seen what it looks like to take life day by day, with the support of others doing the same. I’ve observed those who aren’t seeking approval from the world, but from within.  I’ve realized that the idea of perfection is drastically different for everyone, which means there is no perfection. 

Life in Atlanta can be overwhelming.  It can feel disconnected and demanding and exhausting.  But I imagine life in Stanley has its own disadvantages.  

There is no perfection. 

We make our own choices, and we look for the blessings in what we’ve chosen.  They are always there, at the top of a snow covered mountain range, or in a city filled with millions of pines and people.

If you’ve never been to Idaho, I highly recommend it.  Sun Valley, where our family stayed for the week, was one of the loveliest resorts I've ever seen, with mountains in every direction, meandering streams, and more flowers than you can believe.  The town of Ketchum, just about a mile from the resort, is a bustling community of interesting folks from all over the country.  The town and resort have much to offer.  There are cultural events and wonderful restaurants.  There are quaint shops and golf courses.  There is ice skating, horseback riding, fly-fishing, swimming, and miles of hiking and biking trails.  And the summer high temperatures in Sun Valley are usually right around the low temperatures in Atlanta.

If you do ever make it out to Idaho, be sure to visit Stanley, population 63. It’s a wonderful place to find a whole bunch of blessings you never could have imagined, and return home to a whole bunch of blessings you should have been counting all along.

School's Out For Summer!!!

Well, after weeks of anticipation, we have finally started summer in these parts.  Last Friday was the final school day for my oldest, and he didn’t have to be there until 10:45.  Our first official morning without having to worry about uniforms, breakfast, and carpool started off with a bang.  And by bang, I mean, I’ll be banging my head against the wall by the middle of June.  The kids woke up just before eight.  By nine-thirty, I had sent them both to their rooms for fighting. 

Sometimes . . . summer sucks.

They’re getting along famously this week, what with Libby at sleep away camp and all.  Yes, we left our eight year old in the woods for a week.  Please pray for us, and more importantly, for Libby’s counselors. 

The nights are the hardest.  It just doesn’t feel right to have only one chick safely in the nest when the sun starts to fall.  Oh, I know our daughter is fine – the child couldn’t wait for us to leave her alone with her camp mates in cabin number one.  She permitted us only enough time to put sheets on her top bunk, and then she was all, “You can go now.  It’s okay if you go.  It’s time for you to go.  LEAVE NOW!!!”

We got the hint.  Surprisingly, I didn’t even cry as we drove away.  Not sure if it was because this was the second time I’d left a chick behind, or because we were leaving our second chick, and she’s radically different from the first?

Either way, the house is very quiet without her. 

Sometimes . . . summer rocks.

So I went to this technology seminar a few months back, and ever since then I’ve been meaning to blow your minds.  I apologize for taking so long to do this, but I’ve got at least two dozen of these ridiculous ramblings started at all times, yet rarely seem to finish one.   Anyway, I figure summer is a great time to talk technology.   In fact, it might be the perfect time, because less than 2 hours before we were leaving to deliver our child to camp, I had to talk myself out of saying something to said child that I really wanted to say, and that was, “It would be great if you could refrain from telling me what you’re doing on the Ipad and asking me to look at what you’re doing on the Ipad because the reason I gave you the Ipad was SO YOU WOULD STOP TALKING TO ME!

I may or may not need a vacation.

The truth is I’ve used technology for all the wrong reasons.  I’ve used it to read mindless gossip about movie stars.  I’ve used it to look at pictures of houses I’ll never be able to afford.  I’ve used it to communicate with people when I should have been communicating in person.  And I’ve definitely used it to entertain my children when I didn’t want to participate in entertaining them.

Now, since I know my poor use of technology on a regular basis doesn’t blow your minds, allow me to do it with the following information instead:

• It took the radio 38 years to reach a market audience of 50 million people.  It took the television 13 years.  It took the internet 4 years, the Ipod 3 years, and it took Facebook only 2 years to reach 50 million people.
• More video was uploaded to YouTube in the last 2 months than if ABC, NBC, and CBS had been airing new content 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year SINCE 1948.
• YouTube receives about 2 billion views Every. Single. Day.
• The number of text messages sent and received each day exceeds the Earth’s population.
• The average teenager in America sends and receives over 3,300 texts a month.
• There are over 100 billion searches on Google each month.
• The computer power on your Iphone is significantly greater than the computer that was on Apollo 11 – the shuttle that took man to the moon.                                                                    

Is your brain exploding?  Yep.  Me too.

Change is a necessary part of life, but technology is advancing at an unprecedented rate.  We can’t possibly keep up.  Not as citizens, not as employees, and certainly not as parents. 

I realize technology has some amazing benefits.  It’s fast, helpful, and convenient, and let’s face it, I’m not about to give up my phone, my computer, or my ability to hand my child an Ipad in exchange for half an hour of silence.  But as my children get older and technology becomes an increasing part of their lives, I’m realizing my role as their mother has a whole new set of parameters to navigate.

I know, I know, you had to walk three miles to school, uphill, in the snow and you had to feed a family of five during the depression and you had to suffer twelve-hour car rides with three young children and only a few fuzzy radio stations. 

But y’all . . . we . . . we have to protect our children from technology.  I’m sorry for your misery, but the snow and the depression and the car rides are all just trumped.  Honestly, have you heard of Snapchat - the app that claims you can send a picture to another person for only a few seconds and then it will magically “disappear forever.”  Seriously?  What kind of sexting maniac invented that crap, and why can’t I get my hands on him to explain that all he’s done is made the toughest job in the world that much tougher?

There can’t be a more difficult task than parenting in this age of technology, and yet, the wonderful man who led the seminar I recently attended said something I’ll never forget.  He said, “The issue isn’t the technology, it’s the parenting.”

I don’t necessarily want him to be right, but I know he is.

The technology isn’t going anywhere.  In fact, if anything, it is infiltrating every aspect of our lives.  I must accept the fact that it is my responsibility to shepherd my children in ways that encourage them to use technology positively. 

Is there evil online?  Absolutely.  We are fallen people – our sinful nature means we can take every beautiful thing God creates and twist it into ugliness.  Is technology making us more impersonal in our relationships?  Of course it is.  Does the overuse of television, video games, computers and cell phones mean we are more easily distracted, less productive, and addicted to immediate satisfaction?  Yes, yes, and yes. 

I’m afraid that last yes might be the worst one of all.

As a follower of Christ, I’m trying to teach my children the concept of delayed gratification.  Jesus hasn’t returned yet, after all, and while faith reminds me that my citizenship is in heaven, I still have to live in the world – the very tangible, visual world, where things are often immediate and the concept of waiting doesn’t get nearly as much practice as it used to.  I want my children to become independent thinkers who make healthy, moral decisions.  I want them to learn to discipline themselves so they can become trustworthy adults.  Achieving these goals will require me to use the challenges of parenting as opportunities, and be intentional in what I model to my children.  It will also mean I have to give up some control, even when technology is concerned.

The world and its technology are changing so rapidly.  It truly is mind blowing.  It scares me and frustrates me and overwhelms me and excites me.  This week, I will have moments of gratitude for technology, because it means I can send email bunk notes to Libby each day she’s at camp.   It means I can look at pictures of my daughter online when my heart aches to see her face.  This week, I will have moments of hatred for technology, because my phone will take a perfectly normal, frequently used word I spelled slightly wrong because the letters are too darn small and turn it into a word I've never heard of in my life, and I will not notice it until AFTER I press send.  

My hope, however, is that amidst the gratitude and the hatred, I will remember the truth.  Yes, change is as inevitable as it is difficult.  And technology is different every day.  But my Jesus is the same yesterday, today, and forever.  If I trust in Him with all my heart, and lean not on my own understanding, but submit to Him, He will make my paths straight.  He will help me make the right decisions for my children.  And he will forgive me when summer gets to be so long and loud, that I hand them an Ipad instead.

Ceeeeeeeeelebrate Good Times, Come On!

Have you ever read 1 Corinthians 12:21-26?  I never had, but I recently did.  My study of Romans took me there.  If you’ve never done a Bible study before, you should know this before you start one.  There is a boat load of page turning in a Bible study.  When you sign up to study Romans, don’t go thinking you’ll be all sacked out and staying put in Romans, Romans, Romans for the next nine months of your life.  You might have signed up to study Romans, but you will be instructed to read six-hundred verses on four –hundred different pages in three dozen other books of the Bible.  Your study of Romans will have you looking up things you didn’t even know could relate to Paul, and yet somehow, they will.  God is pretty cool like that.  He can make things that don’t make any sense, make perfect sense.


So I read 1 Corinthians 12:21-26 and I’m pretty . . . okay absolutely . . . certain God wrote it for me when he decided I was going to get myself a brand new semi-colon at the end of 2013.  Why he felt the need to speak truth to me through thoughts of internal body parts, let alone the ones that do what colons do, I might never fully understand, but he got my attention. 


These verses are about parts of the body, and the truth is, God is talking about the body of Christ, not my large intestine.  He is reminding us that everyone plays a role in sharing the love of Jesus.  We are all important and relevant and necessary to grow God’s kingdom. 


If I had read these verses a few months earlier, I would have stopped there.  I would have enjoyed and accepted their reminder to cherish all people, because everyone has indescribable value and infinite worth.  We all need each other because our Creator provided us all with different gifts, and by working together, we can glorify Him.  


The thing is, I didn’t read the verses a few months earlier.  I read them less than two months after major surgery, and they took on a completely different meaning.  If I truly believe God is in the details of my life, then I have to believe he planned that particular detail.


Verse 26 says, ‘If one part suffers, every part suffers with it.’


My friends, I now know that to be true. 


After surgery, my stomach hurt, my incisions throbbed, my back ached.  There was a lot of discomfort sitting down, even more when I managed to move. Everything was uncomfortable – standing, sleeping, showering, sneezing – holy cow was sneezing almost the death of me.  There was constant pain.  There was suffering.


Please know that I realize my suffering was small compared to what so many have been through or are going through.  My pain was temporary and minimal.  It was first world pain.  No children were starving, no little girls being sexually assaulted, no young men being gunned down.  I was suffering in a warm home, heated, furnished, and filled with every necessity (and a whole lot of other stuff).  I was suffering with my family safely by my side and any medicine I needed at my disposal, while friends delivered food and gifts.  In all honesty, ‘suffering’ is totally NOT the right word for what I was doing.    


Still, I learned an important lesson during my “sort of suffering.”  I learned that God was right when he said, ‘If one part suffers, the other parts suffer with it,’ because y’all, my colon might have been the source of my pain, but it was my head that needed the healing.


I wasn’t created to be sedentary.  I’m not cut out for giving up my independence.  I’m addicted to guilt, and relying on others to do so many of the things I usually do on my own threw my addiction into overdrive.  And so, while my incisions got better by the day, my mind became more muddled by the minute.


The world looked blue.  Everything seemed like work.  Life felt incredibly hard.


I’ve never been diagnosed with depression, though I feel certain I had a touch of it after Charlie was born.  It didn’t last long – his smiles somehow brought back my own – but I remember those incessant, dark nights in the weeks after his birth, awake and alone at all hours, the tears falling as I longed for a hope I couldn’t seem to find.


That hopelessness appeared again after my recent surgery, uninvited and unwelcome, and it changed me.  I will never again underestimate the strength of anyone who suffers from a chronic illness or is struggling though a lengthy recovery.  And I will never again doubt the power that is in the body of Christ, because in the end, it came back to that after all. 


Leave it to the author of life to write just the words to make me understand, and to lead me to those words in his ever perfect timing.


It took a diversion into my own circumstances to make 1 Corinthians 12:21-26 settle into my heart and stay there, but I’m glad for it.  My depression went away on its own, and I’m glad for that too.  But as I face new circumstances in my life that might send people I love into their own depths of pain, I know without a doubt, the body of Christ is alive and well and full of mercy. 


There are stories everywhere about people all over the world making a difference, and there are people right here in my own community who are willing to do the same.  There are so many amazing people making up the body of Christ.  People who have been given spiritual gifts and are obedient to use them to help others.  All our gifts are equally valuable.  They are gifts of grace used to ready God’s people for service.  They are not meant to compete, but to complement one another, so the body of Christ may be built up as a unified force - one capable of doing the greatest of things for the least of these.


It took a new semi-colon to help me fully understand this truth.  Hey, sometimes God has to knock you over the head to shove you into the light.  Or, in my case, he had to let me experience the super fun phenomenon of phantom poop.  (Call me for the exciting explanation if it doesn’t come up on Google!)


You see, when my body wasn't 100%, my head couldn't function at its best either.  The body works as a team - each part doing it's job to accomplish a goal - and so must the body of Christ.  Mind and body are always related, just as human beings must always be relational.


We are meant to suffer with one another.  We are meant to suffer for one another.  And as Verse 26 continues . . .


If one part is honored, every part rejoices with it.


Don't you love how God often saves the best for last? 


If one part is honored, every part rejoices with it.


Yep.


We are meant to celebrate together too.


I can't wait for that part!!!