Something has been eating at me for awhile. You see, giving your life to the Lord means dying of one's self; being in this world but not of this world. Everything that the world has taught me is the opposite of what God says...ex: To be strong, you must be weak. To receive, you must give. To win, you must lose. To be rich (in spirit), you must be poor (in spirit). To find joy, you must suffer/sacrifice. The world says: "It's all about ME." God says: "No, it's actually all about ME." When He said, "My ways are not your ways and My thoughts are not your thoughts." boy, did He really mean it!
I must admit, I have been feeling like an alien lately. After studying the book of Daniel I realized how poorly prepared I was to face all these contradictions. I read this scripture early this morning in 2 Cor. 12:9 - "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." I find this to be so true because I desperately need His strength to persevere!
So what has been eating at me? Myself. I want it to be easy. I don't want to suffer/sacrifice. I don't want to be persecuted for His namesake. It's a misconception that being a Christian is easy, but then, nothing of worth ever is, right? Jesus didn't come to bring peace, but to bring a sword (of the spirit) so that believers can fight the enemy. It's a battle, and I feel like a lowly soldier. What's amazing is that's where I find Him the most: in my weakness.
I love that God is so deep! His Word is so powerful that one scripture, one single sentence, can give sustenance to a thirsty soul. Although I have nothing to offer, He wants me anyway. That makes me smile; it makes the battle worth fighting.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Reflection
Is blogging considered narcissism? I mean, it is ALL about ME and MY life and MY thoughts. I have stopped telling people that I have a blog... it sounds embarrassing to me like I'm trying to brag about my wonderful life and my wonderful kids and ME, ME, ME. It's like those annoying Christmas Letters that people send once a year to people they haven't seen in ages to brag about themselves. It would be refreshing to read about lives full of struggles, joy, sorrow, peace, anger, compassion, envy and triumph. A letter that tells people, "We aren't perfect, we mess up, sometimes big, we have hateful thoughts and we don't always eat healthy but sometimes we have amazing triumphs, unexplainable joy and times of pure bliss...but mostly, we are humble humans just trying to find our way." This is what I want my blog and my life story to be about.
Whether or not anyone is reading it (and it's okay if no one is), I want to look back on each entry and be reminded of my not so perfect life. Mostly, I just want to to be grateful for the little things. To not take life so seriously. To stop being so disappointed with myself when I mess up. To stop being so disappointed with others when they mess up! To just bask in His glory and remember that (quoting Beth Moore) I'm here for ten minutes...there's no time for stinkin thinkin!
Whether or not anyone is reading it (and it's okay if no one is), I want to look back on each entry and be reminded of my not so perfect life. Mostly, I just want to to be grateful for the little things. To not take life so seriously. To stop being so disappointed with myself when I mess up. To stop being so disappointed with others when they mess up! To just bask in His glory and remember that (quoting Beth Moore) I'm here for ten minutes...there's no time for stinkin thinkin!
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Memory Lane
Having recently been back from our family's summer vacation had me traveling down memory lane, recalling my own childhood summers. Even though coming from a broken home and being raised primarily by a single mom, I loved being a kid. I never wanted to grow up. I still struggle with the Peter-Pan syndrome! From 6-12 years of age, my mom and I lived in a 2 bedroom, 1 1/2 bath studio apartment in Hurst, Texas. For an apartment it was really spacious and cute with harvest gold shag carpeting and appliances (gotta love the 70's). I still dream about this apartment sometimes; always feeling happy and secure there.
My summers growing up usually consisted of me visiting either my cousins in West Texas, my aunt and her family in Arlington, my grandparents in Cross Plains or my dad (wherever he was at the time). I remember when I was 9 my father lived in Miami, Fl and I went to see him. He was staying in a high-rise apartment/condo building that was owned by his wealthy El Salvadorian girlfriend (soon to be wife #2) whom was out of the country at that time. It was pretty close to the beach and the building had it's own pool and tennis courts. The apartment was on the 7th floor. I remember this because I spent most of my days, unless at the pool, in the elevator riding up and down the different floors. I guess my father went to work during the day and left me to my own devices??? I remember getting to know the staff in the lobby and the maids pretty well. Being in Miami, there were a lot of Spanish-speaking or elderly Jewish residents, but not very many kids. Perhaps my father asked the elderly Jewish lady next door to keep an eye out for me, or perhaps we ran into each other in the elevator, but I remember her inviting me over to have lunches and sometimes dinners with she and her husband. Their apartment was very clean but smelled stuffy and musty...like moth balls. Our meals mostly consisted of "pickled" something or an olive loaf or some other concoction that my Texas pallet wasn't accustomed to. I remember not liking the food, but the sweet woman would always give me a chocolate bar or other treat to take home. I remember talking with the Puerto Rican maintenance man who commented on how well I spoke English. I just thanked him and smiled, secretly glad that he assumed I was something other than what I was. I loved making up new identities for myself (different names and accents) when meeting strangers. I was always in my own little fantasy world.
Recalling this childhood memory, I should be appalled, but yet, I smile. I like the little independent girl I remember. I can't even imagine leaving my 9 year old alone all day to wonder around a huge apartment building, but yet, it was like an amazing adventure for me. I didn't feel lonely or sad, but grown up and worldly. I always felt God was watching out for me and boy, was I right!
Why is it that I could write a book (a rather comical one) of all my childhood memories but find it difficult to sometimes recall yesterday? Hmmm....perhaps the Peter Pan in me is still alive and well...
My summers growing up usually consisted of me visiting either my cousins in West Texas, my aunt and her family in Arlington, my grandparents in Cross Plains or my dad (wherever he was at the time). I remember when I was 9 my father lived in Miami, Fl and I went to see him. He was staying in a high-rise apartment/condo building that was owned by his wealthy El Salvadorian girlfriend (soon to be wife #2) whom was out of the country at that time. It was pretty close to the beach and the building had it's own pool and tennis courts. The apartment was on the 7th floor. I remember this because I spent most of my days, unless at the pool, in the elevator riding up and down the different floors. I guess my father went to work during the day and left me to my own devices??? I remember getting to know the staff in the lobby and the maids pretty well. Being in Miami, there were a lot of Spanish-speaking or elderly Jewish residents, but not very many kids. Perhaps my father asked the elderly Jewish lady next door to keep an eye out for me, or perhaps we ran into each other in the elevator, but I remember her inviting me over to have lunches and sometimes dinners with she and her husband. Their apartment was very clean but smelled stuffy and musty...like moth balls. Our meals mostly consisted of "pickled" something or an olive loaf or some other concoction that my Texas pallet wasn't accustomed to. I remember not liking the food, but the sweet woman would always give me a chocolate bar or other treat to take home. I remember talking with the Puerto Rican maintenance man who commented on how well I spoke English. I just thanked him and smiled, secretly glad that he assumed I was something other than what I was. I loved making up new identities for myself (different names and accents) when meeting strangers. I was always in my own little fantasy world.
Recalling this childhood memory, I should be appalled, but yet, I smile. I like the little independent girl I remember. I can't even imagine leaving my 9 year old alone all day to wonder around a huge apartment building, but yet, it was like an amazing adventure for me. I didn't feel lonely or sad, but grown up and worldly. I always felt God was watching out for me and boy, was I right!
Why is it that I could write a book (a rather comical one) of all my childhood memories but find it difficult to sometimes recall yesterday? Hmmm....perhaps the Peter Pan in me is still alive and well...
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