Author: eternalwaitofglory

Redesigns

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Last week in a fit of inspiration I instituted a redesign of my blog. Now I get why such decisions happen in a boardroom and not at a solitary desk. I don’t like it. It’s too austere with too many straight lines. A boardroom might have saved me.

Every theme I liked better cost money. I am too cheap to pay for anything on my blog. Which leads me to another problem. I have not invested money into my writing beyond paper, pens, ink, blood, sweat, tears, and time.

Now, money is not as important as time set aside for writing, but it says something that I haven’t applied material resources to my craft. What does it say? I’m not sure yet. I’m figuring this out as I type these words. I’m hoping that my conclusion paragraph will give a large “aha” moment for us all.

My relationship with money reveals much about my relationship with God. I’ve seen that over the years. Money and many other things go hand in hand. People talk. Money backs things up. Money gets things serious. Money leads to a lot of bad things but it also reveals what we are for.

Have I bought into my writing? Am I willing to buy into my writing? To commit to pursue something to point that I will spend actual currency on it? In this area of my life-my writing-what am I for and am I willing to go the next step and have it cost me?

I think I’m ready. I don’t know what form it will take. I might pay for the redesign I really want, or the class my coworker emailed our team about. Maybe I need to sit down and really ponder my blog and see if this is what I want write. Is there something else I want write?

Beyond those details is a larger realization-there comes a time when I need to put my money where my mouth (or pen?) is. Am I a writer? Yes. So maybe I need to invest more in it!

What talents or gifts will you invest in this year?

Wilderness Nurtures the Soul

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We woke up in succession, five of us in one hotel room. Everyone slept on a real mattress for once. Motels in the US seem to understand families with more than one child.

Our motel perched on the edge of the Everglades and the Keys in South Florida. I was ready to go see, my kids wanted to watch Discovery channel. They grumped and groused as we forced them out of the hotel and stuffed them in the car. We meandered down to Everglades National Park and took in the strange beauty of the marshes. With so many signs pointing out the various wildlife in the area, I stumbled across this one./home/wpcom/public_html/wp-content/blogs.dir/330/30512586/files/2015/01/img_0835.jpg

Wilderness nurtures the human soul. It was listed as one of the reasons to preserve wildlife. My heart and soul resonates with this statement. Wilderness nurtures my soul. Wilderness is quiet and I hear rustling and chirping that normally fades into the background of hustle and bustle. Wilderness leads me to contemplate my size. I am small yet unique and significant. Wilderness opens my eyes to new creatures and the wonder of the expansive creativity of a creative God. Made in His image, I also long to create. Wilderness feeds my soul.

I noticed it fed my children’s’ souls too. Discovering animals and plants delighted them. Alligators hiding in marshes. Birds floating in from far away. Manatees bubbling up to the surface with their speckled skin and mysterious shape. Fish rushing after food. Birds dipping down deep for a meal. Delighted they took it all in to their soul.IMG_0812

We are still searching for our way in America. At times it feels like a wilderness. At times it feels like a familiar home. We are always learning, always adjusting.

This was our first solo family foray into vacations in America. We’re learning that too. I think we learned we are a national park kind of family.

We won some, we lost some on this vacation. It wasn’t all smooth but I’m thankful for the reminder that wilderness nurtures my soul.

That Man, Joseph

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In the midst of the Christmas season, I find it hard to rest and engage with the Story of Christmas. Maybe it’s all the presents to buy and send, the goodies to bake, the events to attend. Last year I encountered the same problem! Today I want to take the time to look at another person in the story.

When I found some time last week to take a longer look, I noticed Joseph, a man caught up in an event that centered around others.  Mary, the unwed mother who needed protection.  Jesus, the baby who needed protection.  The Roman government that offered no protection and Herod, the ruler, who pursued Joseph’s charge in order to murder him.

In all of this Joseph thought of himself only once according to the account in Matthew.  Before being let in on what was going on, he thought about his honor in marrying a woman pregnant by who knows who.  But even in that, he meant to keep it quiet and protect Mary from the society they lived in that stoned women in situations such as hers.  He still protected even in that moment…even in that moment when all appearances said he was the wronged one.

Then, an angel came to him and spoke to his heart.  I love this.  The angel first spoke to his fear.  Do not be afraid.  The angel went on and gave Joseph his role in this monumental event.  Take Mary as your wife because she is carrying the One who will take away the sin of the world.  And…he did it at great personal cost to his reputation.  A cost that stayed with the family all their days.  DSC_0093

The story takes some wild turns too.  Learned astrologers and scientists come from distant lands with loads of gifts far greater than what a carpenter ever saw in his life, I assume.  Then, another visit from an angel to the one, Joseph, charged with the protection of the One destined to save the world.  This time, marching orders.  Flee and flee now and then wait.

Joseph’s life again centered around protecting this Child and His mother and this time the cost was leaving their homeland under the dark of night without any explanation to loved ones.  They became sojourners in a distant land.  Jesus became a Third Culture Kid spending the young years of his life in Egypt.  Joseph made a way for them as a refugee. His profession as a carpenter served them all well.

I wonder if they heard reports of the massacre that took place after they left?  How did they feel when they returned and all those other families saw their son, Jesus, and remembered their own sons murdered?  I imagine the benefits of their departure caused friction in relationships. How could others restrain their feelings of jealousy in the grief of a lost son?  I bet Joseph endured a lot.

Joseph disappears from the story by Jesus’ adulthood and most suggest he passed away.  I don’t like that the story goes this way…that Joseph misses the chance to see the fulfillment of the promise the angel told him.  But the legacy this man leaves is truly tremendous.  He protected the Savior of the world at great personal cost but he also raised James and Jude, Jesus’ brothers who became pillars of the early church.

Whatever feuding existed during Jesus’ ministry gave way to broken hearts in His younger brothers’ chests.  I imagine that is Joseph’s legacy as well.  Raising humble men willing to sacrifice their lives for others because of the One who takes away the sin of the world.

That’s the mark of a man, humility.  Mary gets plenty of press, but I still think Joseph deserves more than he usually receives .

Surviving My Child’s Flu

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My kids don’t have the flu. They have flu-like symptoms. We know this because the stick the nurse stuck up their nose and tickled their brain with came back negative. Either way it’s six days of misery for them and for me, too.IMG_0587-0.JPG

Six days isn’t so bad but this is the second round. My youngest suffered the week of Thanksgiving. I’m going a little batty from all the cabin fever, chicken soup, and rearranged plans.

Today is Monday and I don’t know if I will survive their flu but I have a plan. May the Lord direct my steps.

#1 Stay Sane. I can’t say enough about this first point. Sick kids are a crazy maker if you are anything like me. They are needy, whiny, hurting, sleepless little things.  What really drives me up the wall is my lack of control. Oh, medication does help lower temperatures, and there are myriad ways to alleviate symptoms but, really, we are at the mercy of a one-celled thing.

I am not in control and it pretty much drives me nuts. A quiet time, and probably more than one, is one way I’m going to try to not lose my mind.

Which brings me to my second tip.

#2 Mind My Manners. Yes, this stress of sick kids brings out the needy, whiny, sleepless little me, too. I get cranky and need as much coddling as a prima donna on opening night. My poor husband. When I lose it and start complaining or misbehaving it really affects the family. My kids get the impression they are a nuisance and it’s not ok to get sick. All the while, I’m trying (in my better moments) to remind them everyone gets sick, we are weak sometimes, and its ok. Mixed messages are pretty confusing.

So, today I’m going to try to mind my manners. Griping is verboten…or needs indulging only when I’m locked up in a closet or something. Acceptance of my lot in life this week is my spiritual discipline.

#3 Make it Work Do I usually allow massive amounts of screen time for my children? No. Do I like seeing them watching their fifth hour of TV at 8 am? No. But when their fevers and headaches eliminate most other productive activity I need to get over myself and that image I try to maintain of being a good mom. So, I’m going to loosen up and just make it work. Maybe Minecraft really is educational but even if it’s not, that castle they are building is pretty awesome.

This really just highlights my immaturity. Apparently I believe time is worthily spent only when it produces. Hmm. If I follow that line of thinking, I remove grace from our home. Yikes!

There they are, folks. This is my plan of action this week. As you can see, there are no appointments or goals. This week is about my attitude and my heart and loving my family.

Come to think of it, this can apply to every week!

 

 

My Times and His Hands

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After a week of holiday and travel topped off by a flu-sickened kid, we stayed home for church Sunday. Our kids love church at home not because we do anything awesome. No crafts, no games, no songs, just time.

Our littlest one is the sickie. He snored under a blanket clutching his tiger. Our middle perused through his comic book- styled Bible. The oldest paid attention to the sermon. We listened to Alistair Begg while my husband and I lounged around nursing a second cup of coffee.

My Times are in Your Hands was the theme. I’d heard it before and remembered it. Any time or situation is a good time to listen to that sermon by Alistair Begg, by the way. My times are in His hands. I always need to know it.

I’ll tell you this past year the worst moments were when I forgot. The Sunday sermon reminded me again. Lives are long. Stories are longer. God’s story is the longest of all.

Alistair illuminated the story of Joseph for us. What a story. My middle son’s eyes got wide when he heard that some guys sold their brother into slavery. I’m sure it gave him ideas. It’s good to cover these things young and the Bible covers quite a bit. No, you cannot sell your brother into slavery. But, if you do, God can still bring good out of it. Dang. I really wanted the answer to be just No! Don’t do it! 

Most of the time I don’t know why or for what purpose things happen the way they do. Oh sure, I can guess and I do try to guess. Much is said about purpose in the Bible. There are many benefits to suffering. I learn perseverance in trials. I learn joy through and in pain. I learn to give thanks in everything. But those things are more like keeping my blinders on and plowing my row. Most often I don’t see the bigger picture, I just take the next step trusting I’m on the right row.

A few days ago we sat in a group with many others preparing to go overseas to our former home. Someone mentioned that 7 years ago they sat in my home and that’s when they began to see themselves overseas. 7 years ago. That day I’m sure I changed diapers and stressed a little and scrambled and hurried like most young moms do when hosting a party. I really don’t think I did much but isn’t that the beauty?

Now these remind me that God was at work 7 years ago. I got to play a very small part and it was enough. I don’t know what part I play today or what part I played yesterday and I may never know. My times are in His hands and the Lord is always at work.

Joseph got a peek at God’s purposes years and years down the road. Somehow, his heart was still soft enough to receive the bigger picture God worked through his pain. What a gift.

My times are in His hands so He knows I’m at home and who knows but that in a few years or decades or in heaven I might see a glimpse of what He is working out today in my American apartment.

I tell you, that is freeing on a day like today when I feel cooped up inside with a 5-year-old who wants 4 more identical tiger lovies for Christmas. He cried for a while about that. I’m trying to manage expectations and his lovie is now a rare collector’s item, translated, expen$ive.

My times are in His hands. I can rest.

To listen to the sermon, follow this link:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pi4GvCCfbiI

Anemic Prayer

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I searched the house a few times. I’m the family sleuth, tracing steps, investigating, interrogating and usually successful at finding lost things. When two thorough searches of our apartment failed to unearth our nice camera, I started purposely ignoring the sick feeling in my stomach.

I think they call it denial?

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Finding a picture capturing themes of loss and grace is hard. So, here instead, is a photo taken with the lost camera last year.

For the next couple months, I occasionally thought back to all the hotels and houses we passed through in the last 3 months of our transient life. Five or six places to came to mind. The weariness of moving set in and mustering up the energy to call just never happened. I didn’t want to do anything about it. I expected to unearth it anytime I looked in a closet.

I never did. I let the case go cold but it bugged me to know it was out there somewhere.

Last week, I put my foot down. One last look. A kindergarten program will do that to moms. I prayed one of those passing plea types of prayers as I charged to the closet with purpose.

Please, Lord! If it’s here show me!

I found the strap first and pulled, disbelieving. Out tumbled the camera bag, Hidden in the closet behind my husband’s shirts for the last 2 months.
I sent an all caps text to my husband and parents. I FOUND THE CAMERA!

What gets me is that God honors that type of prayer. I’m amazed because He answered it and it felt like such an anemic prayer.

I get so wrapped up in all the correct, God-honoring ways to pray that I lose the fact that prayer is falling on God. It’s a dependent action to ask for something I can’t achieve myself.

Dependence isn’t my natural posture. I’m not naturally inclined to feel comfortable in a relationship that is pretty much one way-God giving to me.

Just in that revelation I see how much I want the God and me contract to have a place for me to earn some favors.

Grace? No place for that!

It’s refreshing to serve a God that gives grace and honors the desperate prayer.

Riding Waves

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I have no business being on a surfboard. I am not in shape. I’ve never surfed nor participated in a surfing lesson. My bathing suit screams sit and look pretty on the beach. It is not sporty at all.

Yet, there I was on a surfboard in the ocean trying to catch a wave.

Actual surfing was never my goal. My husband’s goal for the day was to ride a few waves in. He was the one trying to surf, not me.

But he tired out. Surfing is hard work, folks! I guess that’s why surfers are in shape. My husband is in shape. I feel like I must add this part since he reads my blog. He runs distances and he runs them fast. He is a tough former Marine. He lasted light years longer than I did.

I felt strangely adventurous. Since my boogie boarding was paying off, I thought I’d try a little long board while he rested.

So, I sat on the surfboard waiting for a wave. Then, I looked down and it didn’t take long for the alarms to go off in my brain. The tip of the surfboard was under water and a big wave was coming.

20 years after high school graduation and physics is still paying off. I calculated and visualized myself in that wave and it wasn’t pretty.

I jumped off in time and didn’t experience that reality and I am so glad! I want to mother my children way into their adulthood whether they like it or not.

That day I managed to ride two waves in on the board on my stomach all the way until we crunched into the sand. I never pictured myself on a surfboard, never in all my life, not even on my belly. I tried a new, daring thing. Way to go me!

We debriefed our life overseas this weekend. We did it by the ocean which is why we rented a surfboard. I watched the sunrise and the sunset. I listened to the ocean and I reflected on our life overseas, the joys, losses, and how it shaped me.

Now we live a much different life. It can seem a bit dull sometimes when everything isn’t a challenging adventure. It’s a weird kind of hard when things feel too easy. This is the new thing we are doing for the first time.IMG_0396.JPG

The guy at the long board shop spoke to a customer. “We want to live the best life we can live.”

He did not speak it to me but I took it in. I, too, want to live the best life I can live for the Lord wherever He plants me.

I want to enjoy the constant breakers of life. The points where I watch, where I wait for the wave, where I try to ride it, where it wipes me out, and where I get up and go back into the surf. Low tide, high tide. I want to live it.

Those are my next steps. I will find real Chinese food like I said under point #1 in the official debrief packet I filled out. But, above and beyond and as the background to all that, I will live life for the Lord.

I also plan to stick with the boogie board. Like I said, I want to live.

restoration

~ eternalwaitofglory ~ 2 Comments

Flea Market Flip ran last week on HGTV while I exercised. Teams picked out old junky furniture and restored it in a nicely equipped workshop. Then, they resold it to people who found out they paid way too much when they watched the show a few months later. That show cracked open a door in my mind.

Can I be a Flea Market Flipper too?

I browsed Goodwill hoping to find a bike for my son a few days later. I found a bike for my son. I also found a table for me. Do I need a table? Why, no, I do not. But, the table needed me, so I took it home. Now it sits in my garage waiting for me to restore it.  IMG_0372

Which brings up a curious point of drama in this story because I don’t actually know how to do that. So, I pinterested.

I discovered a few options for this kind of project. One involved a few cans of superior grade spray paint. After that, there’s the small step up. I can buy a can of some kind of primer, sealer, base type paint and slather it all over before painting the table some daring color.

I’m not a particularly daring person so picking the color intimidates me. I’d leave that to my friend, Lori.

Then there’s classic restoration. It’s time intensive and complicated. It takes elbow grease and new tools. Sanding, staining, putty, glue, varnish, oils. The result is a beautiful, classical table in the style first envisioned by the maker.

I’m not sure I’m up for that. And, do I want another dark wood table? Not really.

Of course, all of this connects on a deeper level for me. If you haven’t gotten there yet. I am the table. A little loose and damaged needing quite a bit of sanding and staining to bring out what’s underneath all the crud. I’ve always needed restoration. I’ll always need restoration.  Until the end of days I will need restoration.

So, what kind of restoration am I opting for? It depends on the day or the hour or the minute. Mostly, I want the fast spray paint type of restoration. Just get me looking a little better. Cover over the worst of the transgressions. Blot out the huge blemish on the surface.

But, there are days when I understand that spray paint fails to do the job. It’s fast, easy, and noticeable on pieces that got a lot of problems. I got a lot of problems. I don’t really ask often because who wants to know the truth about themselves?  But we all kind of know, don’t we?

It takes creativity and time but in some areas I take a step further and really try to cover up the problems. It’s takes years to manufacture the hard shell that covers the really big stuff, those huge gaping wounds and gashes. Add a daring coat of paint to distract. Voila. I’m repurposed.

I’m longing more these days for more restoration in my life. I know its painful to feel sanded, stripped, and scrubbed but I want it. I can see a glimpse of what can be and I want more.

I’m in a good workshop now. Lots of skilled restorers of lives, lots of tools, lots of space, and gentle spirits that walk with the Lord. It’s a good time to restore. I’m realizing I need to keep a workshop in my life in years to come too. A place and people who restore. A place where I can be involved in the restoration of others too.

One person mentioned a few weeks ago that when we’re tired…bone tired…we need to work backwards from the physical through the mental and relational back to the spiritual. I ponder that these days and I wonder if the table is God’s answer to my prayers. I prayed that I’d connect with Him in a new way soon, that I’d see His hand.

Did He give me this flea market find to engage me in the ongoing work He’s doing in my life? Why, yes! I think that’s exactly what He did.

So, now back to the real table that is not me. I want to go buy that good primer, sealer, coater all-in-one paint today.

The allegory only goes so far, folks. I’m going to paint that table in my garage.

 

 

 

resurrection

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The dust of an international move filled the last many months of my life. Writing for the public during this swirl of emotions felt pretty risky. The things I post to the internet remain somewhere. I wasn’t sure what I was writing needed to remain anywhere except locked up in a journal!

We moved back to the U.S. of A. 5 months ago. The move began way before we told anyone. It began a year ago. Our life was shifting and we felt it long before we said it.

We felt weary. It wasn’t the kind of tired that a brief time in America or a vacation could relieve. At the same time our work went through major changes and while we could have stayed longer, we felt our best contribution was coming to an end. It was time. I don’t know how to say it more than that it was time for us to go.

Preparations and goodbyes consumed the next few months of our lives. Much of that time I mentally engaged in an ancient tradition straight from the Bible. I stacked the rocks of memories from our 13 years in Asia and attempted to give thanks for all that I’d experienced and learned during my time as a foreigner in a strange land. It was a bittersweet time of farewells, tears, and thankfulness.DSC_0109

Of course I engaged the Lord over a few regrets of things I wished I’d done, friendships I ran out of time to deepen, and work left to others to carry on. Releasing the past and the future was and still is my work these days as I continue to adjust to this new life I find myself living in America.

Over the past month my desire to write on my blog grew from a small spark to typing in my password and, now, writing a post. It feels good to arrive at the place in this transition to want to continue blogging. And, when I hit publish I hope the silence of the past months gives way to more regular posts!

 

 

Writer’s Block

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Writers block plagues me these days.  It always does when events too big to fathom arise in my life and a big event looms huge on my horizon.  In 2 months we move to America.  We move to America and I’m trying to fit my brain around that reality.

So, my head is swarming with thoughts and emotions and details and, somehow, I can’t put them together enough to form a cohesive deep thought.  Thus is the reason for my weekly posts becoming not weekly.  I just don’t have the words for this yet.  I’m standing in front of this huge thing and I’m so close I can’t figure it out.

But that’s ok.  It’s ok that I can’t figure it out, say it nice, spin it well, or wax poetic.  When the words don’t come forcing them doesn’t work either so I’m learning to be still when all around me is moving.  Be still.  Ponder.  Move slow…while I can.

A day comes soon when boxes will gape at me waiting for me to toss them a bone.  I will thoughtfully sort through all our clothes and shove them into suitcases.

But now is not that time.  Everything in me revs up waiting to shift into gear…but its not that time yet.  It’s the slow down time, the ponder time, the be still time.  I am oh, so bad at it.  The woman in this picture looks like she knows how.  Maybe gazing at her will help me know how to be still!DSC_0449

The boxes and bags are the easy things really.  The people.  That is really what’s got my tongue.  Saying goodbye to the people we’ve lived and worked with for the past 13 years.  The people who knew us when we operated like children because our language ability was so poor in this new land.  They saw us grow up and we saw them grow up.  It is impossibly sad for us all.

But along with it is an excitement about what is to come.  An excitement that rises up and feels traitorous in the presence of all the grief of leaving stands right alongside it.

So, I find myself stumbling around for words and struggling to chain my thoughts together.  Be still.  Slow down.  Ponder.

Just putting pen to paper or, in this case, fingers to keyboard breaks through a bit.  Maybe it is the way God is showing me to slow down, be still, and ponder.  A new thought.