For His Glory

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.

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!

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...

Viva Las Mexico

Spending a week in Nuevo Vallarta was amazing, fun and full of adventure. Boogie boarding, zip-lining through the mountains, swimming with the dolphins, kissing the sea lions, eating good food, snorkling, kayaching and jet skiing! No wonder we're so pooped! Can we take a vacation from our vacation?

The Battlefield Victory

Laughter and crying are almost synonymous in our household. You see, what is hysterical one minute suddenly becomes extremely offensive the next. It's a very thin line between love and hate with children giddy on emotion! The contagious sound of giggling boys floating through the air is so joyous, yet sadly, becomes a precursor of what is to follow...ear numbing screaming and crying so wrought with pain and strife that one would think limbs were actually being cut off! Upon further investigation, it becomes apparent that limbs are still intact and only feelings have been bruised. Our once happy household is now a battlefield and I become the referee.

This picture is a perfect example of our daily dilemma. Andrew being our clown, making his brother's laugh and then suddenly, as if on cue, it all turns terribly wrong! The soap bubbles on top of his head are hysterical until, of course, he puts them on someone else. This offense cannot go unnoticed! Screaming, name calling and pushing turns into a full blown war. My drill-Sergeant instincts kick in and I yield my invisible armour as I step into battle. I'm out-numbered and exhausted, but I see a tiny glimpse of hope on the horizon...bedtime is near! While barking orders, I rinse, dry, clothe, brush teeth and send them to their beds...silence falls upon our noisy dwelling. Peace at last! Today's battles are over...but then there is always tomorrow!

Happy Father's Day!

I have to admit, I've been thinking about my dad lately. Sadly, not the wonderful, cozy and feel-good memories, but the painful ones. I think having your own children does that to you: you either really appreciate and admire your parents, or you try your hardest not to become them. Don't get me wrong, I love my dad and so many things about him. He had a smile that was irresistible and a wonderfully contagious laugh. Not only was he handsome, but he had so much hidden talent that he never did tap into. So much wasted potential! He was always very gentle and patient with me as a young girl...just absent. Yes, God had such amazing plans for Thomas, but he chose his own destructive path. Haven't we all done this to a certain degree? I'm so thankful for the Lord's mercy and grace!

My biggest regret in life has been the things I would tell him now. Although I was fortunate to have made peace with him before he died, I'm not sure where he really stood in his relationship with the Lord. I wasn't as mature in my faith then, and I think I failed miserably at really explaining God to him. For that I am so ashamed and regretful. Of course, I talked to him about God, but there were so many things that I had yet to discover about our heavenly Father. So many things I would share with him now that I have learned to be true. My regret has to be laid at the feet of Jesus; my tears bottled up and wiped away by my Lord. "If onlies" are futile. Only God knows where my daddy's soul is spending eternity, and I can't and won't dwell on it. I can only share my love and knowledge of God with my three sons and hope that they stay on the course God has planned for them. So much potential that WILL NOT be wasted! Amen.

Happy Father's Day, Tom. I love you.

My Grandmother's Pearls

After a recent visit with my 86 year-old grandparents on their farm, it left me feeling nostalgic. Watching my children play, explore and discover the same things and places that I had once enjoyed as a girl brought back so many happy memories. It was surreal and wonderful; the circle of life unfolding before my eyes.

My grandmother, perhaps sensing that time was precious, gave me a wonderful gift: her pearl necklace, given to her by my father, as a birthday gift. She kept them in a red jewelry box and carefully placed the box in my hands. "I wanted to make sure you got these because your father gave them to me. I had them restrung; they are pretty, don't you think?" My eyes swelled with tears as I ran the tip of my finger over the lovely strand of pearls. "I love them. Thank you." I said and we hugged, noticing the fragility of her petite body. It was a perfect moment. A memory to be filed away and reflected upon years later. Perhaps someday I will sit with my granddaughter and give her this precious keepsake; completing the circle of life.

Although my life-style doesn't present itself with many opportunities to wear my cherished pearls, perhaps I can imitate June Cleaver and wear them while vacuuming or washing dishes. I could greet my husband with high-heels and pearls, my hair perfectly coiffed and a lightly starched apron tied around a sleeveless sundress...Rod might wonder if he's in the twilight zone or if I gulped down all the cooking sherry! In the meantime, my pearls will represent a cherished keepsake given by those we love.