you, through my eyes

I had the pleasure this week to see myself through someone else's eyes.  It was a blessing like I have never experienced. Always seems like a weird thing to say to someone "if you could only see yourself the way I see you." Really? Cheesy and silly and if I'm honest, makes me a bit uncomfortable. But there is truth in there. Come with me on my brain's jog through this truth (at least in my life as it relates to an old friend of mine)...
This week I received a desperate message from a friend asking for prayer. She's absolutely my hero. She is the most amazing mother. A devoted wife and faithful servant of Christ. An advocate for unwanted children and a presence and steady volunteer in both her church and local community. She seems to always have things under control. Children always smiling in pictures, house always clean, she is healthy read thin and I'm jealous, she always looks amazing and is one of my oldest and dearest friends. She is honest in the way that you want a friend to be tells me to get my crap together. And compliments and encourages me completely uniquely. (She told me once, after I fell asleep in her dorm suite during a study/cram session coffee and lazy afternoon that my husband would someday be smitten by the way I snore ever so quietly when I nap). This is the way I see her.
Often times I will refer to her around others that have never met her and they know exactly who I'm talking about because of the way I've shared the friend that "I see." This week I hurt in my very soul when I received her message because although I see a perfect gal, she and I are close enough that I know when she reaches out, it's out of desperation in dealing with a situation out of her control. Most recently, that situation is parenting a new baby girl from China.
Hang on friends, I'm shifting gears... Scott and I had lunch together on Monday and as we dined on the biggest most delicious burritos in all of Pullman I looked up and saw an ad for the local Humane Society. It was an ad asking for foster families for animals that need a home but have not been adopted yet. I remembered a time years ago when my friend and her husband (who had no children at the time) would take in animals from their local humane society and care for them until they were able to be adopted by a permanent family. I remember thinking it was a bit odd at the time, but she liked animals and it was a nice thing to do, so hey, more power to ya, right? Wrong. There's more here.
God was working in my friend's heart even then. She was caring for the least of these. She was showing compassion when it wasn't found elsewhere. He was preparing her, even then for this time in her life to care for and protect and become the full time caregiver to this sweet new child that was then growing merely in thought and prayer of her Creator. I as I often do to poor Scott announced "it's part of her nature, it's a part of who she was created to be at her very core, it's who she has been all along, I wonder if she knows that?" Huh? Was his reply. I went on to explain the message I had received from Laurie and how I had been praying for her and for her family.
I read once in a book by Erwin McMannus that we needn't pray about community or professing faith. Neither do we need to pray about whether we should be arrogant or humble, takers or givers, indulgers or servers. God has already spoken on all these issues and more. When you do pray on these matters, God confirms what he has said with the added element of "what are you waiting for?" My dear friend is acting on what God has already spoken into her life. It's part of who she is and she's GREAT at it because it's what she was created to do.
I wonder if she ever sees herself through someone else's eyes? Today, I'm still praying for she and her family, but what I see is an unrelenting, fierce love for those that need it most - I hope she sees that too.

fake it 'til you make it (and other lies we tell ourselves)

One of my favorite stories is about my senior year in high school. I had teachers that believed in me, that knew I was more than just the social bubbly blonde cheerleader type and one in particular that was not a believer (in her mind I was just a dumb blonde).  This teacher frustrated me.  I wanted people to like me and she did not. Can't even remember her name right now - but recall she did have a shar pei named "Ibid" which I thought was cool, only because to this day I think shar pei's are way cute and I will always remember what an ibid is. (It's a footnote/reference to a reference.)  Since she was an english/writing teacher, I will assume that's why the dog's name was appropriate. I digress.

I was asked to be on the Academic Decathlon team by one of the teachers that was a believer (he was a public speaking teacher, I did exceptionally well in his class, go figure).  I made average grades in school.  I was not as smart as some of my friends Denise Castillo but overall I did well.  So I was puzzled when I was invited to be on the team because I had NO idea what I had to offer. Math, Science, English those were the categories.  I was not particularly great at any of them.  It was decided that I would compete in the English division.  Guess who was the teacher overseeing this section, yup, Ms. Ibid. I will admit that I accepted the offer to be on the team merely because I was certain parents told me it was going to take more than great social connections to get into college. Academic Decathlon team member would look pretty good on a college application and besides, maybe I could get Ibid to see the real me. So the assignment was, we were to read Walden by Henry David Thoreau and then write an essay describing said book and it's meaning and effects on life.  I just had to look up how to spell his name - that's how interested I am now, imagine what I was at 17.  Even if it DID mean cool stuff to put on an application.  I wish I could say that I read the book, thought it was amazing and did fabulously on the essay.  The last part is true, but the first part, not so much.

I did not read the book. I found the "highlights" notes that Ibid had given me tucked under the front seat of my Chevy cavalier inside my pom pom bag and I flattened out the crumplys (yes that's a word) and skimmed it as I was walking into the Saturday morning competition. When I found the room designated for Walden essay participants, I did what I always do, introduced myself to the other kids around me and started to ask them about stuff.  "What did you think of the book? Oh really? How would you apply that to your own life? What do you think Thoreau was trying to convey? Do you think that fits into society and our world today? How?" Yup, 15 minutes before the clock started (we were to have 2 hours to complete the essay) I soaked up as much information from fellow scholars as I could and then I had at it.

I remember it taking me longer to finish than I thought it would. I remember thinking, "this is amazing, I'm writing about a book I have never even bothered to open. and I kinda sound like I know what I'm talking about." Long story short, I won a GOLD MEDAL for the essay I wrote on Walden, a book by Henry David Thoreau. Ibid actually congratulated me, felt pretty good.

Problem is... c'mon, you knew this was coming, I robbed a classroom full of students that had taken the time to study. Losers. Dang it, maybe I am just a dumb blonde, with good communication skills. Maybe I missed out on a really great piece of literature. (could someone tell me, cause I STILL have not read it)  The confidence that was gained was not earned because I was any good at analyzing the works of an American  transcendentalist. (Yup, just cut and pasted that straight from wikipedia). I only participated because I wanted to get into a good school. I only put a small amount of effort in because I wanted Ibid to like me. It only felt good because I mentally held my medal in her face and whined "neener neener neener!"

So as an adult, is this what I want to teach my children?  Growing up sucks sometimes, right? Am I teaching them that the fake it til you make it mentality is enough? That a lukewarm faith is still faith? (Aw, here comes that pastor's wife thing...) If I brag teach them that it was ok for me, will it take them as long to obtain a genuine faith as it did me? I became good at faking it.  I showed up at Youth Group. I said the right things. I memorized the verses on Wednesday nights at AWANA but I lacked the relationship and the true knowledge of the One who knew my heart.

I don't fake it anymore.  Well, occasionally I will fake niceties when I run into you at the grocery store. I'm on a mission people, when I'm grocery shopping I'm not up for catching up on the details of every moment since I last saw you - be honest, you're not interested in my details either, that's what the coffee shop is for. : ) But when it comes to life, when it comes to my relationship with Christ, I can't afford to fake it. Not for me, not for my kids, not for my family and friends or the strangers I've never even met yet.  Being a Christian means to bear the very likeness of Christ. I can't fake that. I won't. I challenge you to examine the things in your life that you might be faking - ask yourself, is it worth it?

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*Ibid:  When I use the term "ibid" or "Ibid" or "Ms. Ibid" in this post, I'm referring to teacher "what's her name" that hated me but that I so desperately wanted to like me : )

gym shorts, Momma said there'd be days like this...

So, what feels like many years ago I read a book on parenting.  If you will remember in recent posts, I'm not much of a reader.  I can say with confidence some recollection I did not finish said book, but that's beside the point.  Reagan was still quite small and I was still a perfect parent.  The chapter I remember reading addressed "teaching your children responsibility."  How hard can THAT be, I remember thinking?  Today, I am re-thinking that statement.  Here's a window into my (more experienced) parenting brain:

The chapter told a story of two girls, both always late to school.  One's mother always came through with a note describing/excusing her daughter's tardiness.  The other's mother took a different route.  When said daughter asked for a note, mother used it as a teaching moment: "what should I say in the note, dear?"  Daughter asks if she will just write something explaining why she was late and asking that she be excused.  So, like any loving mother would, she did just that - and I remember thinking, oh this is soooo how I'm handling things when Reagan gets older.  Mom's note read something like this.

To Whom it May Concern,
My daughter (so and so) is late to school again today.  She turned her alarm clock off multiple times so she had a bit of a late start to begin with.  She then took extra time to perfectly style her hair and apply her make up AND choose the perfect outfit (all of this takes much longer than one would think).  If you deem it appropriate to forgive her tardiness you have my blessing.  If you choose to count it yet again against her, you have my blessing as well.
Sincerely,
So and So's mother

I loved this because it taught the daughter two things (in my opinion) #1, I'm not lying for you or covering for you just because you can't get your stuff together and make it to school on time. And #2 I am fine to stand by the school's policy (your authority 8 hours a day) and allow you to serve the consequences if it means you will mature and begin to learn to take responsibility for yourself.  At 7 years old, yes it is my responsibility to get you to school on time, at 17 kid, you're on your own.

At the time, I had a friend with a daughter who was a senior in high school and was about to serve detention for morning tardies.  Same friend would go in and wake her daughter each morning following around behind her, trying to "hurry" her along as best she could before she and her husband had to leave the house for work.  She would then call her daughter at what she believed were the last moments before she could leave the house without being late to school cooly reminding her of the time and wishing her a blessed day.  Daughter would assure her mother that she had already left and would not be late (and then we would see her drive by the front of the coffee shop we happend to be at as she sped to school without a prayer of arriving on time).  My friend laughed it off in frustration.

Again I had the thought, how hard can it be to teach your kid to take responsibility? Get out of bed, make it to school on time, make it to work on time.  I will soooo have this one under control when Reagan gets older...

Fast forward to this morning.  As I was dropping Reagan off at school (it was raining ok, usually she walks!) she was getting out of the car and I mentioned: "did you remember to get your gym clothes?" OH NO! The gym clothes that you washed late last night because I forgot to get them out of my backpack on Fridays like I'm supposed to?  The gym clothes that you stayed up extra late to ensure would be fully dry for me to pack and take back to school this morning? Those gym clothes? Wish she had said all that, what she really said was OH NO! then, "would you bring them by later? I don't have gym until last period." I politely agreed to bring them as I have done countless Mondays before.  I drove home and it hit me.  Here it is, this is my moment, this is Reagan's tardy.  I am supposed to teach her about being responsible.  I am supposed to lovingly stand beside her when she serves the consequences for dropping the ball so she will know how to handle herself in the real world...  Hmphhh! I just got back from dropping Logan off at Kindergarten.  I stopped and dropped off the gym clothes on my way home.  Come on people, I had to drive RIGHT by the middle school : )

Tonight I believe we will have a heart to heart on the early stages of becoming a responsible young woman, who will have to figure something out on her own the next time she forgets her gym shorts.  Mom used to always tell me, "someday you will be the mom, and then you will understand."  This parenting thing is tricky and my mother, she gets so much wiser the older I get.

can't focus, movie at 3

So, the tickets are bought.  The midnight showing was sold out (EPIC parent fail on our part for not buying them ahead of time!) but we are booked for the first showing after school today with Reagan.  As I sat this morning reading ALL the reviews I came across this little tidbit and thought it worth sharing:

We like the Hunger Games because we want to identify with the rebellion.  If we look closely though, we are often more likely to find ourselves, however unintentionally, siding with the Capitol.  We turn a blind eye to suffering, allowing the rest of the world to meet our every need and desire, though it costs them their lives.  We sit in air-conditioned luxury, practicing Twitter activism, while people around the world (and in our neighborhoods) starve.

Again, in trying to connect with my 11 year old, I examine her world view, which is still small (so is mine if I'm honest).  At this age, perhaps this is a way to expose her to what else is out there. There are many countries forcing young children (even younger than the tributes in these books) into armies Joseph Kony is not the only one to be held responsible.  Those children fight for things they don't clearly understand and often the fighting can be traced to goods shipped/supplied to the Western world.  Humans (child humans) work outrageous hours in factories instead of attending school so that we can shop for the latest fashion when their paychecks are barely enough to feed their families.  Is it wrong, yes.  Does she know, no.  (Does HG give me the opportunity to discuss these things, yup!)

Often times when I study (you know, that other book ; )) I find myself identifying with the sacrificial heroes.  Don't we all pretend to be the woman who gives everything she has (Mark 12:44) and not the crowd tossing money in for the collection, giving what they will "never miss"?  Or am I the pharisee with stone in hand turning over the woman caught in the act of adultry in John 8?  I am reminded over and over again in the scriptures - I'm part of the crowd.  I'm the pharisee. I am lazy and oblivious like the Capitol citizens, and at times manipulative and war hungry like their officials.

So today, I am praying for my daughter's heart, that it will grow like the widow woman's and not like the crowd's.  That she will find grace and not stones.  That she will be virtuous like the heroes and praying that I don't get in the way of that.

The Hunger Games, My Perspective

During my workout this morning, it’s the time of day the holy spirit speaks most profoundly (hear loudly) into my life, I read a dear friend’s concern on FB about how she was not happy that her 5^th grade son’s teacher was reading to the class from the Hunger Games and I began to listen as my head and heart began to think through…

My 11 year old daughter is an avid reader. When I say avid, I mean she is ALWAYS reading multiple books at once. She most certainly takes after her daddy (and her aunt Danette so I tell her). She began a few months ago asking that I read this new series she just finished called The Hunger Games. My dad has been known to say: “I don’t do much, but what I do is quality.” Those words ring in my head every time I try to take on a new home improvement project (but that’s a different day’s entry). My response was akin to my daddy’s famous words, only with my own special tweak: “I don’t read much, but what I do is quality.” Reagan knows that I don’t read books for recreation often. I read my bible every day. She accepts that and forgives my (so unlike hers) lack of desire to make time for anything I can’t use. After encouragement from my hubby “you could use this as a way to connect with her ya know?” He’s an avid reader, remember – he read the series before Reagan so they were BOTH a step ahead of me and putting on the full court press! So I read it.

I thought the book was good. No swearing, no sex, good action, easy read. But, the way I had hoped it would connect Reagan and I is the voice that’s loud in my head today. I read slow, much slower than she and Scott. Because, I get hung up on things like: (spoiler alert) Katniss’ rummaging through the trash to feed her family because the divide between the haves and the have nots is so big my heart breaks. The way that kids (and adults) live in fear of helping one another for fear of being beaten or worse, killed. The way that Haymitch lives life in a drunken stupor because he has (or feels that he has) nothing to live for but the bottle. And worst of all, the haze that Prim and Katniss’ mother lives in because she has suffered the loss of her husband and the pain is more than she can bear.

I sat one night choking back tears of emotion as I discussed just the first few chapters with Reagan. “Do you know how different these people’s lives would be if they met Jesus? Do you think Haymitch knows he doesn’t have to drink? Do you think Katniss’ mother could find hope in the Word the same way we do?” The childlike response came through as she responded – “mom, it’s a fiction book, these characters are not real.”

She was right; it’s not real but, back to the FB post from my friend… I wonder, did her child’s teacher read to her class from this fictional novel today with the hopes of teaching them that the best way to deal with conflict is to instill fear in those less fortunate? Was she trying to frighten the 10 and 11 year old students into thinking that it’s ok to fight to the death as entertainment for the Capitol leaders portrayed in the series? Or is it possible that she was hoping the hunger games would disgust them. Whether the teacher’s own spiritual beliefs are similar or not to my own, was she was hoping to teach those kids about the opportunity to instill change (gasp! to love?!). That it’s not too late to change who we are, as humans. We were created in God’s image. I know we are not living in district segregated Panem. But we are living in a society that is broken. There ARE people drinking themselves to death. There are mothers who have given up because they are overwhelmed by raising kids alone. There are people in leadership positions right now that are taking advantage of and/or judging the least of these instead of coming alongside and loving them.

I encourage you parents, grandparents, kids, friends, read this book. Have the conversations with the kids in your life. Decide where you stand and use this as a tool. As Christ followers, we are called to be in this world, not of it. We live here, but our citizenship is in heaven. This place is only temporary. While here, we are to use the resources given to us to further the kingdom. Those resources are unlimited. Today, I think I’m going to use the Hunger Games.

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Looking for reading from the “other” book I spend my time in? Read Acts 17 and see how Paul used the alter to the unknown god to teach idol worshipers who the one true God is. Resources people, we are surrounded J