Born To Worship

All my life I have felt called to something bigger then myself. Because of that; I have felt lost for much of my almost 50 years, always searching for that tiny shred of significance, that one meaningful thing I was supposed to do. Many of the things I felt called to like home schooling, jobs and volunteer work have done more to impact my own personal growth than anybody else's. It seems as though through them, all I have accomplished is finding more things within myself that need work. I need to be kinder, gentler and more humble. Speak less, listen more and look people in the eye. Be more generous with what I have whether time or possessions, buy less of what I don't need and take better care of what God has already blessed me with. In my supposedly teaching someone else, there is always a lesson for me. Always an area of personality or temperament that needs shaping, always 4 fingers pointing back at me if I direct one to someone else. To say that God isn't finished with me yet is the understatement of a thousand lifetimes and living with someone as nearly perfect as my husband doesn't help much either. He is a constant mirror reflecting back all my harsh words and impertinence with his words of mercy and grace. Always mercy. Brian is the great giver of grace and mercy. He is the one that taught me what unconditional love really means. Throughout our marriage he has repeated one phrase to me endlessly; "Mercy, Jama. Mercy." It's really hard to not feel lacking in the presence of all that humble grace and if not for his undying devotion to showing me how much he loves me every day- I would have probably melted into a big soggy puddle by now. Actually, the opposite has happened. I have grown under the protective covering of my husband into someone that most days- I almost like. I still need lots of the kind of work that seems to be never ending; but the best thing about Brian's love is that it has also been a model of how my heavenly Father loves me. And because of that I realize that no matter how much work I still need to do- God's mercy and grace is also a never ending presence in my life. As husbands go, the standard for husbands to love their wives as Christ loves the church wasn't lost on Brian and he has it down pat. There is only one other place I get that "love you like no other" love and that is my grand girls-Lucy, Sage and Leah.

Leah spent the night with us last night and to be honest we mostly just watched her play all night. I doubt Brian or I either one could tell you much of what was on T.V. until she went to bed. She is just starting to talk so we had her trying to say all kinds of words most of which came out sounding like "Doggy" because that is her favorite. I sat on the floor with her and I can't tell you how many times she just came over to me and wrapped her arms real tight around my neck and squeezed. I got lots of kisses too and Papa was SO jealous because he just got a couple J It was one of those nights I know we will file away in our memory banks because soon she will be chasing Hurley like Lucy does and hiding away to have a tea party in the playroom with him and the dollies. We take as many of these offered kisses as our cheeks and lips can hold because all too soon we will be begging for them. We are smart now because we have been down this road three times with our own kids and we know the ropes, so we sing, play peek-a-boo behind the patio door curtain a million times, clap our hands and pretend we don't know where her belly button went- until she is yawning and rubbing her eyes and it's Night Night time. Sweet. Precious. Wonderful Leah. Her dad, Jordan was the child that would say things out of the blue that knocked your socks off. Like, "I love you Mom" when you were washing the dishes. Or, "You are pretty Mommy" or "You smell so good- like cookies" (he actually said this when he was about 8 years old) or "I am going to marry you when I get big." He said that A LOT, the marriage thing… and no amount of telling him I was already married to his dad would deter him. When I was pregnant with Luke I was so sick I could barely get off the couch without tossing my salad… Jordy was not even two years old but he would lie beside me for hours and not move, even when his sister was playing all around us. In fact, if I was sick at any time during his growing up years, he was a soldier for my cause; checking on me and taking control of the house if his daddy wasn't home. I see that same sprout of compassion in his daughter. She is only 16 months old and already she has his quiet, thoughtful ways. I feel for them when she is grown because I had a beautiful, compassionate daughter too and it can be a challenge. You have to teach them how to balance that compassion with wisdom so they don't bring home a houseful of strays… which in this case means the two legged teenage boy version and not the 4 legged, peeing on the floor type. It's tricky but since he was also his sister's greatest champion, he has had some experience in that arena which will be to his advantage. Believe it or not, sometimes the peeing is the easier problem of the two because all you need is a roll of paper towels and some disinfectant. It is much harder to put your daughter's heart back together.

This morning Brian had to work so Miss Leah and I headed off to church by ourselves. This was after I had to wake Sleeping Beauty up from a dead sleep at 8 a.m. Leah is the only grandchild I have had to wake up for EVERYTHING. This, she also gets from her father.

She was so excited when worship started her eyes were huge and her eyebrows were as high as her hairclip. She clapped her hands and "sang" at the top of her lungs. I know I am partial but it was so dang cute. I am glad they didn't abruptly stop the song for some reason because whatever little diddy she was singing was LOUD. I was so tickled I could barely sing myself and just started watching her face and I am so glad I did because I might have missed what happened next.

Without any prompting and without anyone else around us doing it (not even me) she shot her right arm straight up, hand palm out. She held it there while she sang and then this joy came over her face and she looked toward the ceiling and smiled so big I couldn't see her eyes. Her face lit up in rapture. It all only took a couple minutes but all I could think of was what is she seeing- Angels dancing around? Does she sense the presence of Jesus? Is He smiling at her? Whispering her name? As I am pondering these thoughts and searching her little bewildered face, the Lord spoke these words into my heart:

The rocks will cry out.

And then, I started to cry.

I thought about my own kids raising their tiny hands in church; child-like faith so pure and natural. Lucy playing her tambourine in service, the prayer she prayed at bedtime the other night during her sleep over: "Lord Jesus, I. Love. You. Amen." So simple and complete Sage as an infant, watching her mommy and daddy on the platform leading worship and now at 2 years old singing songs nobody thought she knew, already so musically gifted. Already so born to worship. On the drive home I was thinking about writing this blog and also thinking that I really need to write about the next chapter of Made to Crave like I am supposed to and not get side-tracked writing about my cute grandbabies but then it really hit me, one of those A-ha moments in life… this IS about Made to Crave. We are BORN to worship Him. BORN to crave Him. Nobody had to tell Leah to raise her hand and worship, it is IN her. It is in all of us, it's exposure to the world that takes it away. There is an old teaching about sin that you don't have to teach kids how to sin because we are born with it in us- the example being we don't have to teach kids how to lie, they just know how. I used to think that was so unfair until I married my husband and had someone choose to love me. Choose to be faithful to me. Choose ME. Then I understood how God wants it to be with us. He wants us to CHOOSE to do what is right once we are old enough to understand what right is. Choose to love Him. Choose HIM. It's so much nicer to be that one that is chosen. I see that example in grandparenting. My own kids kind of had to love me, sorry kids but it's true. You see it all the time in the world. Parents can do just about everything and never lose the love of their child- even to the point of death. But with the grandkids, well- it is somewhat more complicated. I am not their only grandma. I am Gigi, but there are also Nanas and Mimis. I do what I think is right by the girls but I am never going to be the "give them everything they want" Grandma, it just isn't me. Still, they keep on loving me consistently. Running into my arms and saying those delicious things that make my heart swell solely with the thought of them.

Just the other night I had pulled out our couch bed, layered it with fluffy blankets and pillows, and put in a movie for a freshly bathed Lucy, because this is something she loves to do. She snuggled up to me to eat some popcorn and Raisinettes and said, "I was hoping today would be this kind of day." So natural and so right from her heart. At that moment- she made me feel that special kind of chosen love.

 

In Luke 19, Jesus was making his entry into Jerusalem on the back of a young donkey. The people were ecstatic because he was coming into the city and they knew what wonderful things he had done and had heard him teach. They had no idea that in just a few short days this same man would hang on a cross because the Pharisees continued to grow more fearful of losing their influence with the local population:

Verse 36- "As he rode along the people were spreading their cloaks on the road; (37) and now as he was approaching the slope of the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of his disciples began to praise God aloud with joy for all the mighty things they had seen (38) They proclaimed: Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord. Peace in heaven and glory in the highest! (39) Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, "Teacher, rebuke your disciples." (Note: they were ticked off because they were not only giving him the kingly honor but also because they were worshipping him and they felt that was blasphemy)

BUT…. Get this….

(40) He said in reply, "I tell you if they keep silent the STONES WILL CRY OUT."

Remember what the Lord whispered to my heart while Leah was worshipping? The rocks will cry out.

You see, you don't have to teach a child to worship because it is born IN them. We were made to worship Him. He was made to BE worshipped. So much so that his very presence DEMANDS worship. He didn't say that he would tell the rocks to cry out- he just said they WOULD. Fact. Done. If we refuse to give him the worship he deserves, the rocks will cry out. The 16 month olds will throw their hands in the air and raise jubilant faces to the sky. Why because someone told them to? No, because it is natural to them. They haven't been in the world long enough to be ruined by it. To have someone put doubt in their heads about the existence of God. Someone to say, maybe Jesus was just a good person and not the Savior. Maybe he didn't raise from the dead and the disciples did just hide his body. Because you know that is where the rubber meets the road, don't you? History proves Jesus existed, that isn't where the question is. The question is was he who he said he was. God in flesh, sacrificed for the forgiveness of our sins. I heard a priest speaking one day about how all the apostles were martyred, dying horrible torturous deaths because they would not recant their story and belief that Jesus was crucified and rose from the dead. His main point was this: "People die all the time for the truth. The truth is easy to die for. It's why we go to war and sacrificially give our lives for the truths this country was founded on BUT how many people would die: for a lie? Would you allow yourselves to be tortured and murdered if you knew the cause you stood for was a lie? How many dips in boiling oil would it take for you to tell someone where the bones of Jesus of Nazareth were hidden? Yet, no one ever did. All the disciples allowed themselves to be martyred because they knew the truth and could not back down from it."

Wow.

Yet how many of us have let something come into our lives and cause doubt to sprout up where the truth once lived? Was it really that important that we let something draw us away from the one place where someone will always love us unconditionally? It's not about a church or people. They fail. It's about Leah's face in church today. Her urge to worship even before she really understands what it is. It's about the child like faith of a 4 year old that only knows that she loves Jesus and He loves her and that is all that really matters. I can tell you this too; at almost 50 years old, that two-way love is all that really makes sense in the world. We weren't born to figure every heartache and mistake out, we were only born to worship. The only beings created with a God-Void. The only ones Made to Crave HIM.

I don't know what Leah saw or felt today. Maybe nothing more than shiny lights and the smiling, tear streaked face of her Gigi. But I know what I felt when I looked at her. Hope. Hope that maybe, finally I DO know what it is I am called to do. Maybe it is just to help them meet Jesus in a world that will try and distract them. Help them understand that craving born within them.

And if that is it, OH, my sweet Jesus… what a privilege that will be.

 

 

 

 

My Daughter’s Car

It seems like only yesterday that we were ending a home school year. The kids would be gathered around our dining room table finishing up their studies before lunch, maybe getting ready to head to a part-time job or some other type of activity. Our little poodle would be cuddled up on my son Jordan's lap and they would all be laughing and chatting about the upcoming summer. The windows would be open much like they are today and the sky would be full of song birds, with the smell of Spring and the anticipation of Easter in the air. I have so many wonderful memories of those homeschool years and of all the hard decisions that I made during their childhood, that is one that I know I got right. It all went by at such lightning speed that it is almost hard to grasp and as it slips further and further into our past, it brings mixed emotions of achievement and melancholy.

It has only been a few short months since we put our little Phoebe- a tiny black, 15 year old poodle; to rest. She wasn't even two pounds when we brought her home and we marveled at how we had purchased packages of hamburger that were bigger then she was! We carried her around on pillows and she slept with the boys, eventually migrating to Jordan alone and became a constant fixture at his side throughout the rest of her life, eventually loving his wife Chelsea almost as much as her beloved boy. She rode with me every day to pick them up at school and when we decided to home school she slept on Jordan's lap every day, without fail as he did his studies. She was sturdier then she looked and loved everyone even the constant parade of teenagers who eventually became young adults- that frequented our home. This past year; when we made the decision to put her to rest, she was incontinent and crying constantly. Knowing she was miserable made the decision final but not any easier. For Brian and I, it was like letting go of a part of our lives that we cherished- our children's childhood; and losing her was harder on all of us then any of us thought possible. I still miss her today and think about how she loved Spring in her later years because she finally felt warm after the long winter and she would run circles in the new grass until she was dizzy.

Our sweet little Phoeb, how we loved her.

 

Just yesterday we lost another long standing member of our family. One that announced childhood was over for our daughter and a new adventure had begun: her first car. I remember the day Brian took me to see it. Four thousand dollars seemed like an awful lot of money 10 years ago, to be spending on a "first" car for any of the kids, but he was worried about his girl and wanted something reliable for her. It was a little white, 4 door Ford Escort. Not brand new, but not too old either. It had low mileage and Brian had deemed it safe for his baby girl's first adventures in driving. What could I say? We brought it home and Cherith was delighted. She became my taxi for her brothers. Never turning down an opportunity to drive, she took them everywhere. Jordan and Luke also took some spins in the Escort early on in their own driving years before they moved on to more manly cars, but Cherith drove that Escort until she married BJ. She backed into a friend's car (we miss you Nicole- our Guardian Angel), went on some road trips, chauffeured countless girlfriends, her cousins and friends of her brothers around and took my Mom in it to pick out her cat at the SPCA (who has outlived the car) on her 17^th birthday. Probably Brian's favorite memories of that car will always be one of his most recent ones. When Cherith and BJ decided to start a family, BJ agreed to buy Cherith a small SUV. With that, Cherith presented the well-worn car back to her Dad. He had tears in his eyes when he told me about it and laid the keys on our kitchen counter. The car he so carefully selected for his precious girl, that had kept her safe from harm and delivered her and her brothers to many destinations safely- was back in our driveway… but not for long.

Soon, Luke's car died and he needed a way to get back and forth to work. The little Escort was on the road again.

Oh, there were lots of parts replaced, oil changes and tinkering. But she puttered on for a full two years more for Luke and Sarah- that was until this past week.

Luke was dropping Lucy off last Monday and when he went to leave, the Escort made an awful noise and just gave up. He tried several times to start her up but to no avail. He took our extra vehicle and headed off to school but it didn't take long for his dad to access that the little car was probably beyond saving. Luke and his friend Brendan (Moo, Mama loves you J ) came back twice and tried to work on her but she was just done.

She had given us 10 years of her road life, and a hundred thousand miles, give or take-and she just couldn't do it anymore. The boys and Brian pushed her behind the fence by our house and closed the gate. Drank a beer in her honor and sadly said good-bye. Later when the boys left (Travis had arrived and joined in on the Car Funeral) and Brian came in the house we talked about how losing the little white car made us feel. It's funny how the silliest things can make you mourn days gone by- but loosing that car, choked us both up.

You see, Phoebe is gone now and Jordan's little girl; the one that now occupies his lap- is asleep in the other room right now.

Now instead of Cherith's car pulling into my driveway with the music cranked up and her singing at the top of her lungs, her daughter is running into my arms and singing Baa Baa Black Sheep to me.

The little car that safely transported Luke to work, Lucy to preschool and Sarah to the grocery- will never carry their new baby, Nora anywhere.

Soon, someone will tow the little car away and with it a little bit more of our past. Our sweet, sweet past full of home school and dreams, dance class and ball games. Trips to Taco Bell and Dairy Queen and to rescue a raggedy, abandoned Tortoise Shell cat and give her a better life then she ever deserved. Much like I feel today. Living a life that is so much more than I ever deserved. Still loving my grown kids and cuddling their little ones. Listening for Moo-Moo and Travis's voice coming in my door for a quick hug or special Hello.

Watching my husband tear up over the end of a little white car and the way it makes him think about a sweet 16 year old girl.

 

Goodbye, little car and thank you for keeping them all safe. You are a permanent part of our family tree.

Chap 4 MTC- Friends Don’t Let Friends Eat Without Thinking

 

 

Well, I am alive after the worst sinus-cold-flu-thingy I have ever had in my whole life! I had it for a couple days, got better then it back fired and came back with a vengeance. Last Friday was my first "normal" feeling day. I wish I could say that I lost a few pounds along the way but my body is so screwed up that the less I eat, the more it hangs on to everything. So it was 2 weeks full of No Good Very Bad Days with not even a weight loss to make it bearable. Brian was in Florida for the worst part which left me extremely emotional and self-reflective to be alone and sick, then when he came back he couldn't even kiss me because we were so afraid he would get it too which made me needy and sulky. Egads! I am SOOOO glad that mess is over. I am back to kissing my husband and the grand girls and hopefully; back to blogging semi-normally.

This chapter in Made to Crave was about accountability and I have to admit that this was probably the hardest chapter for me to swallow (no pun intended) in the whole book. The very thought of a friend or mentor talking to me about my food choices just about makes me break out in a cold sweat. I talked in a previous blog about some negative experiences with a friend that constantly talked about weight and food and how horrible that made me feel about myself. Since those years were the very height of my eating disorder; a comment that was not well thought out could send me on a purging binge for days. It wasn't entirely her fault but because of that time period in my life there are very few people that I feel comfortable talking about weight or food with. It takes an immense amount of trust for me to be vulnerable in that area. Here is an example of what I mean. My best friend Dawn knows everything about me. All of the pretty and the not so pretty parts and even the parts that make me look like a Saint but really stem from my own insecurities. She knows my past, my present and my dreams for the future. To say I trust her is only a fraction of how I really feel about her. She is my sister, my confidant and my rock when I am faltering either emotionally or physically. She knows the things I am afraid to tell anyone else and she knows what my heart is saying when I don't say anything at all. She is a Major in the Air Force, a RN at a prominent hospital and is helping raise 3 grandchildren plus get her youngest child through graduation and college so we don't get to spend as much time together right now as we have in the past but it doesn't change anything. It takes a while for me to get "there" with someone, so I don't let go easily but even with aaaaalllll of that- weight and food are still hard for me to talk about with her. She doesn't know about this particular situation and it will kill her when I write about it but it is a perfect example of what I am talking about. One day, we were talking casually about weight. She had just gotten back from deployment where she is fed a lot of starchy and often strange food that is filling and energizing because of the work they have to do, but not always figure friendly.(As a side note I should add here that Dawn has always been smaller then I am. She has an athletic build and WAY more muscle) Like I said before, she KNOWS my past so we rarely talk about weight or food but we were a little this day because she was feeling out of shape and I always feel out of shape so I could relate. I mentioned that I needed to get serious again too because I had gained back all the weight I had lost in Weight Watchers several years ago. My weight is the pink elephant in the room anyway- it's impossible not to notice if you have known me at least 3 years that I gained back the weight I worked so hard to get off. I don't even know how it happened or technically what went wrong but probably just too much Happy in my Meal, if the truth is to be told.

She said something so small and so innocent that it almost went by undetected until my extra-sensitive-food-issue-emotions picked it up on their radar and honed in. All she said was this:

"What's going on? I mean, you usually eat pretty healthy don't you?"

I don't remember what I answered but I remember what she asked because it took me weeks to get past it. The fact of the matter was that I did KNOW what I should be eating and doing, but somewhere along the way I had stopped eating and doing it. I had stopped going to the gym, which had never really helped my weight loss but did appear to help me start my day off thinking about being healthy and in turn, help me make better food choices- so that is where I started, with getting my butt out of bed and going back to the gym. The food choices followed and I am slowly getting back to where I was, so I guess in some ways the words from a trusted friend did get me thinking clearly again even though I am sure she did not intend for that to happen. I know she didn't, but I also know she does care about me and she IS a nurse so she also knows what the extra weight does to me emotionally and physically. That is something I am sure she can't separate herself from as she watches people our own age wheeled into her E.R. every week with health issues complicated or directly caused by obesity. But to her credit, she treats me with kid gloves because that too shows not only her love for me, but her thoughtfulness for my feelings and emotions because I am afraid that the fact remains that if you are weight or food obsessed; we will never be real friends or be connected in any real way. Now there are people that I am helping along the sometimes complicated road of their own disorders whether it's about too much food or the lack thereof and I am NOT talking about that kind of food/weight obsession.

I am talking about the person that goes around scrutinizing what they and everybody around them eats.

The girl with the 5 pounds to loose over her ideal body weight that can talk about little else.

The guy that feels that he has to be the Table Monitor at every function that involves food or the Exercise Expert in every discussion.

I am sure you know the type.

Not only is it self- seeking and self- elevating but it's incredibly thoughtless. These are the people that I wish would wake up with 10 extra pounds that will not budge even after every effort. Maybe then they would learn a little humility or sympathy for someone else's journey but usually these type of people are so engrossed in themselves, the mirror is all they see, It's this sect of humanity, if you can even call it that- that makes it almost impossible for people like me to be accountable to a single person. I hope that isn't you too, but if it is there are some ways around it. I had a lot of success with Weight Watchers. In fact, if I could afford it- I think would go back. I loved the meetings and they really helped me stay focused once I got past someone else seeing my weight each week. But it was very private and they were very discreet, which I appreciated. I could actually probably do it myself again since I have all of the literature, but without the meetings (at least for me) it loses a little of its punch. Besides, I have trouble doing the same thing again if I failed or relapsed. Too bad I couldn't make that work with eating the wrong foods. The human psyche is so unfair sometimes, isn't it? That said, I never met one-on-one with a representative, like they suggest-to discuss goals, strategies and plans. Just like the free personal trainer at the gym, I can't bring myself into that one-on-one relationship. I know me, I won't keep going back.

The other thing that works for some people is journaling or a combination of things that include journaling. In journaling you are at least accountable to yourself and you can read back through to find established patterns of weak spots in your days or see trigger foods that set you in a tail spin diet-wise. Others find that groups such as Over Eaters Anonymous or church- based group weight loss "clubs" help them. The group atmosphere can seem less scary and not as much pressure to speak up unless you are ready and comfortable. After all support is a good thing and can be a useful tool in helping you reach your goals but the same thing doesn't work for everyone. No matter how much wisdom the Pound Police think their badgering bestows, each individual has to find their own way to push back from the table a little sooner or less often. Everybody fights their battles differently, inwardly and outwardly. And the more compassionate those people are that have already won theirs, the faster others will figure out their own battle plan.

I am not sure I totally agree with everything Lysa said in this chapter. I think for some people, on-on-one accountability might be more torture then treatment but I do know this…

The Pound Police might be surprised at how much a little genuine humility would accomplish if they would just put their mirrors down. A little kindness goes a long, long way.