Restoration

The basics.   That's what I'm relearning right now; the basics of my faith.  Lately, I've forgetten what is most important.  I've lost myself in theology and homiletics and doctrines.  Now I'm trying to find myself again in the simple, beautiful truths of the Gospel.  

I've been challenged to give up the unnecessary tasks that I've been clinging to, and slow down the pace that I've kept for so long.  So I rose to the challenge and started analyzing my life to see what I could give up and delegate and eliminate.   It hasn't been easy, but it's been necessary and refreshing.  Not only was I presented with the challenge to lay aside excess responsibility, but I've been reminded to engage in hobbies that refresh my spirit.   

It feels strange to type that;  an oxymoron.  When I think of hobbies, I don't think "spiritual growth."   I think "waste of time."   But with help from friends and the One who lives within me, I'm learning that my way of thinking isn't always right.  I'm remembering that it's in the most unexpected times that God speaks most clearly to my heart.  

Over the past month, I've given up several responsibilities that were monopolizing my time.  So there've been a few minutes of free time (gasp).  Last week, I got home from work and went down to my basement and hauled up an old coffee table that I picked up for free.  This coffee table is downright ugly.  It's finished in an orangy-gunstock color.  Someone used it as a workbench, so there's a dozen different colors of stain on the top, along with several holes from varying sizes of drill bits.  But I can't tell you how solid and sturdy that table is.  I about put my back out just carrying it up the stairs.  

When I first saw the table, I didn't see the ugly stain or the drill holes.  I saw its solidity, and the potential for what it could be with some elbow grease and a little know-how.  I'm currently right in the middle of refinishing it.   It's been slightly disassembled and heavily sanded and thoroughly cleaned.   I had to get down to the "bare bones" of the structure before I could start refinishing it for my intended purpose.  

And while I've been disassembling and sanding and cleaning, God has been reminding me that this is what the Church sometimes looks like: a pile of unwanted, underutilized furniture.  I can't tell you how many men and women that I've talked with lately that have absolutely no idea how much they have to offer.    When they look at the themselves, they see nicks and scratches.  They see all the damage that the world has done.  Maybe some of the damage was self-inflicted.  They feel like they've been discarded and left out on the curb for trash day.  They've believed the lies that they're unwanted or unskilled or unsightly.  But I've been blessed enough to be able to see beyond the surface.  Sometimes, God gives me glimpses of how solid and sturdy people are.  He lets me see the potential that lies within an individual.    He has reminded me that He's able to disassemble, repair, and refinish hearts and minds.  He has reminded me that He can accomplish His purposes with willing hearts.  He has reminded me that He is in the business of restoration.  

"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: the old has gone, the new is here!"

Not the Happiest Mother's Day

All I wanted for Mother’s Day was a card from my husband and a picture of me and my kids all dressed up and ready for church.  I received neither.   I left for church fuming because my husband didn’t spend $4.99 on an overpriced Hallmark card designed by someone sitting in a cubicle.   I was doubly mad because my two-year old decided to hate me and didn’t want to sit still for two seconds to take a picture with me and her brother.  

I’ll be honest...  I didn’t have some instance of revelation or some heart stopping moment that caused me to snap out of my horrendous mood.  I’m stubborn, so it took me an entire day to realize how petty and childish I was being.  

I know there are some of you who think Mother’s Day should be a day for honoring the woman who birthed you.  There should be phone calls and cards and flowers and breakfasts in bed and jewelry and heartfelt letters.   I had that expectation this morning.  I thought that after spending 18 months of pregnancy, the least my husband could do was buy a stinkin’ card!  And M looked really cute this morning with her tights and tunic top and flower headband.  All I wanted was one picture! 

But I made myself choose joy instead of anger.  And over the course of the day, my mood changed.   My husband didn’t buy me an overpriced card for Mother’s Day.   But he does leave me notes of appreciation and encouragement all throughout the year, for no reason at all.   He didn’t make me breakfast in bed or take me out to dinner.   But he always does the dishes after dinner, and helps fold laundry when it starts to pile up.   

And my kids wouldn’t sit still for a photo.   But I’m thankful that they’re healthy enough to run around and throw a fit in protest.   That picture wouldn’t have been representative of what life at our house looks like, anyway.   We don’t live in our “Sunday clothes.”  I spend the majority of my time without makeup.  Who am I kidding?  Most of the time I refuse to put on basic supportive undergarments.   And M generally has breakfast in her hair, and dirt on her hands.  And L typically smells like poop or spit up.  I’m okay with that.  

So instead of focusing on what I didn’t get on this one day of the year, I looked at what I do have the other 364 days of the year, and I’m thankful to have been given so much.  

Pic-less

It started well over a year ago.  It was becoming trendy to deactivate Facebook accounts so that you could have more quality time with your family.  As if "quality time" could even be described as trendy.  I read dozens of blogs of women who were laying aside their smart phones and tablets and laptops and trading them in for finger paints and Dr. Seuss books and meaningful conversations with their children.

And as I read the thoughts from these women, I told myself over and over that I would never give a lifeless smartphone priority over my children.  That if these women were worth their weight in salt, they would be able to balance life; children and technology and household duties and all the miscellany that comes with it.  Then, last week I read a post from a friend.  (Actually, she was my high school choir teacher, but I swear the woman is only about 30 seconds older than I am.)  Anyway, I read her post.  And it echoed what I'd read a hundred times before.  I thought maybe it deserved some credence, so I started evaluating my time on my prized smartphone.   And I was sorely disappointed in myself.

You see, I bought my smartphone the week before my daughter had open-heart surgery, under the pretense that I could "easily communicate her health status with everyone."  So when she was in the hospital, I emailed and texted and posted updates.  Then, to occupy my time, I'd download an app here and there...music and games and magazines.  Two years later, that smartphone is rarely more than 15 feet away from me.   A few days ago, Daughter got ahold of my phone and entered an incorrect passcode over and over again, disabling the phone for 15 minutes.  When I realized what she'd done, I about went into cardiac arrest because I couldn't imagine functioning for 15 minutes without my beloved iPhone 4S.  It was then that I decided to stop.

Am I going to stop texting or posting on Facebook or chatting with friends?  No.  But I am going to stop overlooking my children and my life all in the name of time-sucking technology.  Today was Day 1.  The reward became beautifully evident at about 3:00 this afternoon.  Daughter has been a little sniffly, which equals a clingy toddler.  For her afternoon nap, she wanted to sleep in my bed.  I put her in bed, but that wasn't enough.  She wanted me to lie down next to her.  So I scooped up Son as well, and we all snuggled in.   Before I knew it, we were all asleep.  I woke up before Son and Daughter.  I looked over at the gorgeous boy and girl who I'd given birth to, and was overcome with.... the desire to grab my smartphone.  (What did you think I was gonna say?)  Yes, the first thing I wanted to do was take a picture of those beautiful sleeping babies and post it to Instagram (with a filter that would add appropriate dramatic effect) and Facebook so that my 300-ish friends and followers could witness how idyllic my life was at that exact moment.  But I withstood the urge to grab the time-sucking piece of metal and plastic. Instead, I just stared at my babies as they slept.  It wasn't anything exciting.  I actually really had to pee, and my arm was asleep, and I needed to blow my nose, and Son was lying too close to me and was making me sweat.  But I stayed still and watched them, and now that afternoon can never be replaced.

There are no pictures of sleeping babies.  There's no post that will collect 21 "likes" and 7 comments with smiley faces and hearts.  But there is the magnificent reality that I got to spend uninterrupted time with my babies.  And when they're old enough to actually remember these afternoons, they'll remember a Momma who was delighted to love her family well, not an unfamiliar woman who was consumed with "life" on the other side of a touchscreen.

Lessons in the Dirt

God has to use simple illustrations to teach me things.  Some of my biggest life lessons have come from trees or rocks or dirt.  I have a Bachelor’s Degree in Agriculture, with specializations in Plant and Soil Science, Turfgrass Management, and Landscape Horticulture (it’s a mouth-full, I know).  I’ve worked in the Green Industry for close to 10 years.  Then, almost seven years ago, I married a dairy/crop farmer.  Add that experience to my formal education, and I am an agricultural guru.  So often the Holy Spirit can take something as small as a grain of sand, and speak monumental Truth into my heart.  This week has been one of those experiences.  

I decided to join a Bible Study group last week.  As with any Bible Study, the first week can be a little bland because the material is basically an introduction to the “real” study.  I assumed this study would be no different; that I would fly through the 5 lessons and return next week, unchanged, waiting for the good stuff.

Not what happened.  

The leader of the Study handed out a memory verse for the week (at which I subtly rolled my eyes. C’mon, are we in Sunday School?).  I took the small card and stuck it in my Bible.  Whatever.  Then, I got home, and actually read the verse.  Uh oh.  A verse with a farming reference.  I knew what was about to happen, so I prepared myself to be spiritually challenged by this verse over the next few days:

Break up the hard ground of your hearts, for it is time to seek the LORD, that He may come and shower righteousness upon you.  Hosea 10:12b

I hope to not bore you with a lot of farming mumbo-jumbo.  But this half-verse has completely rearranged my heart this week.  You see, while I was in college, I took a Master’s Level Course called Sustainable Agronomic Agriculture. Basically,  it was about how the world’s food crops can be grown year after year without depleting the soil volume, or the soil quality.  I know that sounds boring to 99% of the population.  But this week God began to open my eyes to some of the things we have been taught by this world, and how those things conflict with His standards, His calling, and His way of life.

Plow: (verb) to turn up the earth before sowing.  This is what farmers have done for thousands of years every spring.  You turn up the earth, you plant seed, you wait for rain, you let the harvest grow, you reap what you planted.  But in recent years, farmers have adopted a practice called “No-Till Farming”.  Instead of plowing, you plant the seed into the hard earth.  Why?  Because the soil doesn’t erode, there are fewer weeds, and you don’t have to fertilize as much.  In No-Till Farming, the farmer’s crop depends on the inherent quality of the soil in which the seed is planted.  Professors and agronomists and environmentalists are traveling around the nation pleading with farmers to adopt this practice.  

But that’s not the practice that God has called us to adopt.  And this week, He told me why.  There are some physical characteristics of a plowed field that God wants us to possess spiritually.  A plowed field requires more water.    Jesus calls Himself the Living Water (John 4:14).  When we intentionally overturn the soil of our hearts, we are prone to drought.   We have to continually choose to trust Him to rain his Water on us. A plowed field needs more fertilizer.  When a field is plowed, it allows nutrients to be leached out of it.  So is the same with our hearts.  When we humble ourselves to His will and His leading, it can sometimes be draining.  But God promises that He will sustain us and carry us as long as we live (Isaiah 46:4).  A plowed field is prone to more weeds.  When we allow our hearts to be broken before God, it also leaves us vulnerable to things of this world.  We have to make a conscious effort to take stock of what we are allowing to grow in our hearts, and tend to the crop accordingly.  If it’s not honoring to Him, get it out of your field! (Matthew 15:13)  Overall, when we choose to “plow the hard ground of our hearts,” we are choosing to humble ourselves and become dependent upon God, and He always honors a heart that’s dependent on Him.  (Psalms 149:4)

And there are also some things we can learn about the field that isn’t plowed, the No-Till technique.  In no-till farming, the soil needs less water, less fertilizer, and less weed control because it relies completely on the nutrients that are found within itself.  In essence, this is how the world tells us how we should live.  Rely on ourself, look out for number one, you are your only ally.  But when we rely on our own resources, we are telling God that we don’t need Him, the He is unnecessary.  But in reality, he holds our lives and our breath in His hand. (Job 12:10)  In no-till farming, the soil is more prone to disease.  Because the soil is compacted, there is less room for air to circulate between soil particles, creating a perfect environment for disease, particularly fungus.  If we don’t allow the Holy Spirit to breathe Life in us, we are going to become stagnant and diseased.  When we choose to let the soil of our hearts become unproductive, we are allowing Satan access to snatch up whatever God tries to plant. (Mark 4:15)

This is what I’ve learned this week: to allow my heart to become ripped open.  It’s not necessarily a great feeling, but it puts me in a position where I am required to rely on my Maker, my Creator, my Sustainer.  Who else would I rather be tending my field, my heart?

Milk. Does a Body good.

A few weeks ago, my husband had a "small accident."  I got a phonecall at about 2:00.  It was Husband asking the signs of a broken arm.  This is the man who refused to go to the hospital two years ago, even though he had a broken rib and a collapsed lung.  I knew if he was calling, it must be bad.  So I gave him the symptoms of a fracture.  He thought about it for a few seconds and then said, "I guess we'd better go to the Emergency Room."

I found a last-minute babysitter, and Husband and I went to the hospital.  His arm looked gross.  He explained that a neighbor's tractor had gotten stuck, and he went to pull it out with a second tractor.  The tow chain snapped, and projected toward Husband's face.  He threw his arm up to protect his face, and the chain hit his forearm.  By the time I saw his arm, it was bloody and swollen to about twice the size of his other arm.  I (along with every nurse and PA who looked at his arm) was 100% positive that it was broken.  It was swollen, he couldn't rotate his wrist, and he had no feeling in his hand.  But we had to wait for a radiologist's report of the X-ray just to be sure.  

While we waited for the X-ray results, Husband kept saying, "It's not broken...I have strong bones because I drink milk!"  He told me, and the nurses, and the housekeeper, and the PA.  And every time he said it, I rolled my eyes and said, "Look at your arm.  It's broken."  But Husband refused to believe it.  Apparently three glasses of raw milk a day counteract the effects of a half-inch chain slamming into your bare arm at 100 miles per hour.  Completely logical.  

After about 20 minutes of listening to Husband rant about how much milk he drinks, the PA came back with the radiology report.  Husband's arm was not broken.  Unbelievable.  To look at his arm, you'd have though he just hit it about twenty times with the claw-end of a hammer.  The muscle was severely damaged, and there was a high risk for infection.  But if he listened to the Doc's orders, he'd be fine within a few weeks.

Fast forward to four days later, and I'm sitting in church, listening to the pastor's sermon.  He was making mention of the Body of Christ, and how sometimes the Body can be in disunity, fractured.  My mind went back to the ER, listening to Husband talk about the benefit of drinking milk.  And then I thought of the scripture in I Peter that talks of the benefits of milk: "... long for the pure milk of the word, so that by it you may grow..."

The Book of Romans tells us that we, the Church, are a single Body.  And just like the human body, there are many different parts.  The different pieces look and function differently, but they are necessary for a perfectly functioning Body.  So it is with the Body of Christ.  But so often I have seen fracturing in the Body.  We become entitled and proud, believing that we are the most important part of the Body, and that other parts are less important, or even worse, dispensable. Very quickly, we begin to cut off parts of the Body...a big toe or a nose or a knee cap.  And we, by our own pride, fracture the Body of Christ.  Or sometimes, the Body experiences a head-on-collision.  There's a disagreement that we can't settle, or a problem that we can't solve.   Instead of turning to the Word for an answer, we allow the situation to get the best of us, to fracture our Body.

The very simple solution:  Drink Milk.  Not the white stuff that comes from cows.  Instead, drink of the milk of His Word.  When we ingest that Milk, it becomes obvious that all the "lesser" or "different" Body parts are necessary.  And the parts that seem so extraordinarily different than us create a sense of balance and moderation.  Soon, the Body will become strong, and will be able to withstand when we face those proverbial head-on-collisions.  So remember to drink Milk, because it does a Body good.

When will I ever learn?

Lately, I've been thinking about women of the Bible.  During my latest study, I took a look at Eve's life.  More accurately, I looked at how Eve screwed up.  And as I've pondered Eve's missteps, I'm mad and sad and ashamed at the whole scenario.  Why am I mad and sad and ashamed?  One reason.  I'm having trouble learning from Eve's mistakes.

We all know the story and it's components:  God, Adam and Eve, the Garden, the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil (specifically one piece of fruit), and the Serpent.  God gives instruction.  Serpent tempts Eve to disobey instruction.  Eve chooses to listen to the serpent and disobey God.  Eve persuades Adam to disobey God's instruction.  God banished the Two from the Garden of Eden, and humanity is cursed because of their decision.

I've probably read this story ten times in the past two weeks.  And each time I read it I think, "Come on, Eve!  How hard is it to follow one simple instruction?!?"  I mean, really.  It's not like God gave the Couple a hundred rules to follow.  He didn't even give them ten rules to follow (The Ten Commandments come a little later).  He gave them one rule.  One.  Don't eat of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil.  That's it.  He even gave them an awfully good reason: If they ate of the Tree, they'd die.  Plain and simple, right?  Wrong.

Women never make things that simple.  We over-complicate things.  We create drama.  We analyze and nitpick.  We allow our emotions to overrule our brains.   Eve is a prime example of this.  She ignores God's plain instruction, listening to the worst advise EVER. Because this horrible advise appeals to her flesh, she takes it.  Then she panics when she realizes she majorly messed up.  I'm sure she batted her eyelashes, shed a few tears, and presented a (seemingly) logical reason to persuade Adam to participate in sin with her.  Whatever she did, it worked.  Adam listened to Eve and ate of the fruit, too.

When God finally reprimands Adam, it's because he "listened to the words of his wife (and ate of the Tree)."  Ouch.  Direct blow from the Master.  Because of Eve's choice to disobey, we as a human race were banished from the presence of God Himself.

I, as a woman, should learn something from this.  God so often gives me very simple instructions.  But I, like Eve, complicate things, and analyze them, and allow emotion to get in the way of God's perfect justice.  I forget that Eve, even though she is the Mother of all humanity, messed up.  She was created to help Adam.  Instead, she sabotaged their perfect life on a perfect Earth.  I know that sin would have entered the picture sometime.  Someone would have eventually fallen into temptation.  But this is the first temptation ever mentioned, and Eve falls into the Serpent's scheme.  The first time she was enticed, she gave in.  

I want to be stronger than that.  I don't want to make a choice that harms me, and my husband, and every generation after me.  I don't want to let my emotions get in the way of God's perfect plan for me.  I want to be so filled with the Holy Spirit that I'm not hungry for a measly piece of fruit, no matter how beautiful and delicious it seems.  

Maybe, just for good measure, I'll read the story one more time.  Then, just maybe, I'll learn.

Happy Mother's Day

Here I sit at my daughter’s bedside as she heals from open heart surgery.  Tomorrow is Mother’s Day...my first official Mother’s Day.   I will be here, in the hospital, watching Melody as her heart heals.  And I am infinitely proud to be here with my daughter on this Mother’s Day.  I don’t need flowers, or a card, or a piece of jewelry.  I can’t think of a more appropriate activity to be participating in on this holiday....caring for the one who has made me a mom.

If you’ve read any of my blogs, you’ve discovered that I can find an analogy, a metaphor, in just about any life event.  This event has been no different.  Right now, I’m literally caring for my daughter’s heart.  Watching the nurses, learning about the drugs they’re giving my girl. Sometimes, treatment is uncomfortable, even painful for her.  But in the end, it is for her good.  I am always conscious of her condition, looking for signs of infection.  

And I’m realizing that as a parent, I should figuratively care for my daughter’s heart as well.  The first words of the Hebrew Bible read: “Hear, O Israel! The LORD is our God, the LORD is one! You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might. These words, which I am commanding you today, shall be on your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your sons and shall talk of them when you sit in your house and when you walk by the way and when you lie down and when you rise up.  That is serious stuff.  I know I must make an effort to intentionally live a life of purpose, especially in front of my child.  Her heart should be of paramount importance to me.  I must be consciously aware, looking for signs of proverbial infection.    When she becomes a toddler, a child, an adolescent, I know there will be times when I must discipline her, and that it will be uncomfortable and painful for the both of us.  But I, as her mother, must guard her heart, and ask that my Father opens the eyes of her little heart, and that she would love Him with every fiber of her being.

A very Happy Mother’s Day to each of you who have given yourself to this purpose:  “Love the Lord your God with all your hear and with all your soul and with all your might...Teach (His commands) diligently to your sons (and daughters).”