My dad's theory is that when the church is raptured, the new bodies we get to spend eternity in will be our likenesses at age 33 because that's the age Jesus was when he was crucified and resurrected. Dad says he considers that age to be our prime. Of course, I figure the age we each consider our prime keeps changing as we get older, but that's another issue. Nonetheless, it's an interesting theory, although I'm sure even if we're all 33 in Heaven that our new bodies will be without all the wear and tear 33 years on Earth can entail. Surely we won't have the stretch marks from childbirth, the beginnings of crow's feet and mouths full of fillings. Stys, warts, gray hair, cellulite, melanomas and tumors - all gone forever. Our minds will no longer be corrupted with distorted images of what life is supposed to be, so we won't be beating ourselves up over what we're not.
Still, I love this theory. I wonder whether all the babies who have died during pregnancy will be that age. Will their mothers recognize them anyway? Will I do a double take when I stand beside my grandfather, who was in his 70s when I last saw him but would then be young and handsome? What awesome thoughts!
As 2010 begins, I'm staring down the barrel of age 33, which carries the same significance to me as Dad's thoughts. It marked the end of Christ's ministry here as a man and the beginning of the age of grace. It was the age He was when He changed the world. When I reach this milestone in April I'm sure much reflection will be on my mind, as it is now, as to what I've accomplished with the life God has given me. It certainly could never compare with Christ's earthly years - not even a glimmer of it. After all, I squandered far too much of my life in rebellion. But what did God intend for me to do for Him here in the years He gave me, however many or few those may be? I know what the big-picture answer is, but what about the details?
In the time I have left I hope that will mean I've raised children who love God and love people and who seek to accomplish things of eternal significance. They are my primary mission field, but I also hope they aren't my entire mission field. I hope I will have had a marriage that mirrored Christ's relationship with the church, full of unconditional love and faithfulness despite circumstances. And I hope Aaron and I will have spent that marriage in ministry together. I hope I've been a good friend when others have been hurting. I hope I've fed those who were hungry and sheltered those who were in danger. I hope that somehow God will have furthered His kingdom using my life.
And I hope in the time I've spent being His hands and feet here on Earth that those hands and feet will be worn out, calloused and chapped. It won't matter by then; I'll have new ones.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Monday, December 21, 2009
The Johnson Family 2009 in Review
Much of my year was spent pregnant, which to be honest has to be one of my least favorite states of being. Mind you, I couldn't love my children any more. In fact, I've truly enjoyed giving birth to them, especially considering the wonder drug we call the epidural. It's the nine months that precede the birth that are the challenge. Feeling sick for months and abstaining from sushi, soft cheeses and caffeine. Watching my body morph and my husband suffer my mood swings. Wearing the same pants pretty much every day. Not having the energy to get in the floor and play with my toddler. These aren't tragic conditions, but they're kinda the pits.
Of course, it was all worth it Aug. 12 when our Adam entered the outside world. He weighed 7 lbs., 5 oz., which seemed rather gaunt on his 21-inch frame. Don't worry, mother's milk bulked him up rapidly. At 4 months old, he's 17 pounds and in the 85th percentile, which means he can beat up 85 percent of other 4-month-old babies. Adam is quite possibly the sweetest little boy ever. Content at nearly all times, he loves to laugh, cuddle and, of course, eat. What else could you expect from someone with a drop of Holbrook blood in him? Big sister Katie adores Adam - or "Um," as she calls him - although she didn't know quite what to think of him when we brought him home. The first time I nursed Adam in front of Katie, her chin dropped and her eyes grew to the size of golf balls. She went to bed that night most upset, but was comforted by her Auntie Karen and Nana, both of whom were gracious to stay with us during the first two weeks of us having two kids.
Katie, who just turned 2, continues to be a bright light in the Johnson household. Everybody loves this little girl, and for good reason. She's just a doll. Cute. Spunky. Sweet. And, I must say, she's my mini me. But she is 2 and has mastered the art of tantrum-throwing. Aaron and I are navigating these waters reluctantly, but I'm convinced we'll all come out on the other side better for it. Katie loves all the requisite toddler icons - Elmo, Mickey Mouse and Barney, known at our house as "Barn." Thankfully, Katie started talking, overnight it seems. And, like most toddlers, she's a bit of a myna bird, repeating pretty much anything you say. She sits in the back seat of my car and chatters away. We're not always sure of what she's saying, but we're fairly certain it's all important.
Aaron has undertaken the Discipleship Curriculum at Southeast Christian Church. It's a very rigorous, nearly 2-year study of the Bible and Christian literature. I'm so proud of him for taking this step, as I think he'll emerge from it an even more effective leader. He's fallen for another - the iPhone. The good news is that I'm not as jealous of it now as I was when he brought it home. Aaron's other electronic pursuit is an online game called EVE, which has something to do with space, but that's about as detailed as this technophobe can get. Sorry, honey :)
Me, I spend my days with the kiddos but also keep busy at church. During my pregnancy I lead a small discussion group in a study called Me, Myself and Lies and loved my group. I took a break when Adam was born, but I'm ready to lead another group in January - another Kristen Sauder study, this one an examination of the prodigal son. Can't wait! I'm also getting a serious itch to write but am awaiting God's prompting on what to write about. He'll let me know when the time is right.
OK, so here's the not-so-good part. Just days before Adam's birth the Louisville area was deluged, and along with it were the apartments we own in Jeffersonville, Ind. Non-stop rains hovered over the area, clogging drainage systems that included the already inadequate ones in that small town. Unfortunately, some of our residents who lived in basement units of our buildings lost pretty much everything and many other residents also lost their cars, which were up to their hoods in murky water in the parking lot. We put up several residents in a hotel but inevitably lost some. Cleanup took weeks and we're still working on rebuilding three units. The good news is that we now have flood insurance, but Aaron now winces every time it rains.
And just like for most everyone in this country, the economy cometh. This year was tough on Aaron's business, commercial real estate. Nuff said. But he's persevering and we are very hopeful that we'll see better business days in 2010.
To sum it up, this year was a sort of a glimpse of life on the whole. We saw good times and we saw not so good times, but God was good in every bit of it. He always is. I was reminded this weekend that it rains on the righteous and the unrighteous... and, yes, I do mean RAIN. In short, I love this life the Lord has given me and look forward to what else He has in store!
Merry Christmas to all!
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Hush
Today is something many people didn't get. Scan the obituaries and you'll see listed by name people who would probably advise each of us to take a deep breath and appreciate what we've been given.
I wonder if we resolved today not to whine about anything whether we'd be silent the whole day. At my house that wouldn't be far from the truth, and that's only partially because a 2 year old lives here. I too am guilty of having a consumer attitude about life, wanting to be served what I've built up in my mind as what I deserve. But what I miss in all that is appreciating all the imperfect mess that makes life so wonderful. We have flaws to remind us that we need God, and our days are filled with trials that give us reasons to seek Him. And when we don't fully realize the incredible grace the Lord has shown us - if nothing else, consider that you woke up at all today - we're pretty unlikely to pass it along to anyone else. Hence the whining.
So in the spirit of ridding the world of one Negative Nancy, I declare today Thank God Thursday, which will be followed by Fall Silent Friday, Shut Your Pie Hole Saturday, Save It For Worship Sunday, Mellow Out Monday, Talk Less Tuesday and, in homage to Charlie Brown's teacher, Waa Waa Wednesday.
I challenge us all today to allow only what is positive, encouraging and full of praise escape our lips. I don't want to hear about how the weather isn't warm enough, cold enough or snowy enough. No complaints about breaking news pre-empted a basketball game. Eat what you're served without any comments on how long it took to get to your plate. Thank the person who served you, and if you get the chance, do something to serve that person. Today might be your last to be the Lord's hands and feet here on the earth.
I wonder if we resolved today not to whine about anything whether we'd be silent the whole day. At my house that wouldn't be far from the truth, and that's only partially because a 2 year old lives here. I too am guilty of having a consumer attitude about life, wanting to be served what I've built up in my mind as what I deserve. But what I miss in all that is appreciating all the imperfect mess that makes life so wonderful. We have flaws to remind us that we need God, and our days are filled with trials that give us reasons to seek Him. And when we don't fully realize the incredible grace the Lord has shown us - if nothing else, consider that you woke up at all today - we're pretty unlikely to pass it along to anyone else. Hence the whining.
So in the spirit of ridding the world of one Negative Nancy, I declare today Thank God Thursday, which will be followed by Fall Silent Friday, Shut Your Pie Hole Saturday, Save It For Worship Sunday, Mellow Out Monday, Talk Less Tuesday and, in homage to Charlie Brown's teacher, Waa Waa Wednesday.
I challenge us all today to allow only what is positive, encouraging and full of praise escape our lips. I don't want to hear about how the weather isn't warm enough, cold enough or snowy enough. No complaints about breaking news pre-empted a basketball game. Eat what you're served without any comments on how long it took to get to your plate. Thank the person who served you, and if you get the chance, do something to serve that person. Today might be your last to be the Lord's hands and feet here on the earth.
"This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it." Psalm 118:24
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Believing in God vs. Believing God
In a speech last night detailing his decision to deploy another 30,000 troops to Afghanistan, President Obama folded in an example of his worldview that really bothered me:
I bring this up not to bash the president or use it as evidence to support the widespread claim that he's really a Muslim but to point out the difference between saying you're a Christian and actually following Christ. A lot of people claim they are Christians while far fewer believe the Bible and do what it says. I don't know anyone who minds the days off work for Christmas and Easter or putting up a tree each December, but following Christ when doing so is socially taboo is something entirely different.
See, I don't know whether Barack Obama is a Muslim or not, but I do know that he has all the signs of being a cultural Christian, as he has professed a faith in Christ yet disregards much of His teachings. Last night's statement is a good example.
In calling Islam one of the world's great religions, Obama is giving it equal billing with Christianity, Buddism, Judaism and the scores of lesser known sects worldwide, each of which I'm sure he'd say represents truth to its followers. The president seems to operate under the postmodernist mantra that there are many paths to Heaven, but that is not Christianity.
Jesus told His disciples in John 14 that He was going away to prepare a place for them and that they knew the way. Not understanding that Jesus was making reference to Heaven via His death and resurrection, Thomas asked how they could know the way, as they didn't know where He was going. Jesus answered with this: "I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me."
By claiming one is a Christian, he isn't saying he believes that Jesus was a prophet who once ministered on Earth and was a great man. No, he's saying he follows Jesus and His teachings. He doesn't just believe in God, he believes God. The Bible makes a distinction between the two. James 2 says even the demons believe there's a God and shudder, while Genesis says Abraham believed God and it was credited to him as righteousness. It's the space between believing in and believing that makes the difference.
Many claim that what is true for them isn't necessarily true for someone else - i.e. the tenets of Christianity might be true for me but not for a Muslim, and vice versa. But that's an intellectually dishonest statement, as something can't be true and untrue at the same time. And Christ more than drew a line in the sand when it came to eternity.
John 10:24-27 - The Jews gathered around him, saying, "How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Christ, tell us plainly." Jesus answered, "I did tell you, but you do not believe. The miracles I do in my Father's name speak for me, but you do not believe because you are not my sheep. My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me."
Christ wasn't working in concert with Muhammad or Buddha nor was He recruiting the half-hearted. He is the one and only way. Mr. President, either you believe Him or you don't.
"As we know, these men belonged to al Qaeda -- a group of extremists who have distorted and defiled Islam, one of the world's great religions, to justify the slaughter of innocents.""One of the world's greatest religions."
I bring this up not to bash the president or use it as evidence to support the widespread claim that he's really a Muslim but to point out the difference between saying you're a Christian and actually following Christ. A lot of people claim they are Christians while far fewer believe the Bible and do what it says. I don't know anyone who minds the days off work for Christmas and Easter or putting up a tree each December, but following Christ when doing so is socially taboo is something entirely different.
See, I don't know whether Barack Obama is a Muslim or not, but I do know that he has all the signs of being a cultural Christian, as he has professed a faith in Christ yet disregards much of His teachings. Last night's statement is a good example.
In calling Islam one of the world's great religions, Obama is giving it equal billing with Christianity, Buddism, Judaism and the scores of lesser known sects worldwide, each of which I'm sure he'd say represents truth to its followers. The president seems to operate under the postmodernist mantra that there are many paths to Heaven, but that is not Christianity.
Jesus told His disciples in John 14 that He was going away to prepare a place for them and that they knew the way. Not understanding that Jesus was making reference to Heaven via His death and resurrection, Thomas asked how they could know the way, as they didn't know where He was going. Jesus answered with this: "I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me."
By claiming one is a Christian, he isn't saying he believes that Jesus was a prophet who once ministered on Earth and was a great man. No, he's saying he follows Jesus and His teachings. He doesn't just believe in God, he believes God. The Bible makes a distinction between the two. James 2 says even the demons believe there's a God and shudder, while Genesis says Abraham believed God and it was credited to him as righteousness. It's the space between believing in and believing that makes the difference.
Many claim that what is true for them isn't necessarily true for someone else - i.e. the tenets of Christianity might be true for me but not for a Muslim, and vice versa. But that's an intellectually dishonest statement, as something can't be true and untrue at the same time. And Christ more than drew a line in the sand when it came to eternity.
John 10:24-27 - The Jews gathered around him, saying, "How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Christ, tell us plainly." Jesus answered, "I did tell you, but you do not believe. The miracles I do in my Father's name speak for me, but you do not believe because you are not my sheep. My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me."
Christ wasn't working in concert with Muhammad or Buddha nor was He recruiting the half-hearted. He is the one and only way. Mr. President, either you believe Him or you don't.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Thanks
Annually, the week prior to Thanksgiving seems in many homes to be dedicated to three agendas: the family gathering for the Thankgiving meal, charting detailed Black Friday battle strategies and decking the entire house in Christmas attire. I love a good deal as much as the next gal, but for me it's just not worth it to get up at 3 a.m. to head out into the cold and wade through crowds of people shoving and throwing elbows for the latest gadget that will still be there (and sometimes still on sale) after 10 a.m. And while I love Christmas, I'd also rather not spend hundreds of dollars making my house look like it was decorated by a pack of elves buzzing on Red Bull. All you're going to see at my house is a single tree in the living room, a wreath on the front door and greenery on the mantle. Don't think I'd knock it if you hit the day-after sales and went crazy with the tinsel; it's just not me.
What I do look forward to is Thanksgiving itself, which seems to not get a whole lot of attention these days, unless of course you watch The Food Network (which I do). Cooking is a passion of mine so I certainly appreciate the culinary offerings involved in Thanksgiving, but what I really love is packing up the car and heading to the family farm to visit relatives I only get to see this time each year. In my family there's just an indescribable warmth that fills me when we all get together for some good food and fellowship. I say fellowship because most of my family members are believers, and I've gotta tell you there's nothing like it. For as long as I can remember that common foundation has felt like a real gift from the Lord. Just knowing I'm loved by people who love God and follow Him has made me feel somehow safer in a world that's just plain scary. And knowing that my kids are going to grow up in that same environment just renews that warmth in my soul.
So this year I want to say that I'm thankful for the wonderful people God has put in my life, whether we're related by blood or just belief. Love our hearts, we're all flawed but we're all perfectly loved by our Creator. For that, I gladly skip the rest of the hoopla.
What I do look forward to is Thanksgiving itself, which seems to not get a whole lot of attention these days, unless of course you watch The Food Network (which I do). Cooking is a passion of mine so I certainly appreciate the culinary offerings involved in Thanksgiving, but what I really love is packing up the car and heading to the family farm to visit relatives I only get to see this time each year. In my family there's just an indescribable warmth that fills me when we all get together for some good food and fellowship. I say fellowship because most of my family members are believers, and I've gotta tell you there's nothing like it. For as long as I can remember that common foundation has felt like a real gift from the Lord. Just knowing I'm loved by people who love God and follow Him has made me feel somehow safer in a world that's just plain scary. And knowing that my kids are going to grow up in that same environment just renews that warmth in my soul.
So this year I want to say that I'm thankful for the wonderful people God has put in my life, whether we're related by blood or just belief. Love our hearts, we're all flawed but we're all perfectly loved by our Creator. For that, I gladly skip the rest of the hoopla.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Come Rain or Shine
One of the nice aspects of having a baby in the non-mobile stage is that he or she is portable. I think the Lord eases us into parenthood with babies who can go with us pretty much anywhere so we won't feel quite so overwhelmed by the enormous change we've just undertaken. At least I have enjoyed this stage with each of my children. You just strap them into a car seat and they're good to go. The car seat sits right on top of the grocery cart and, if you have a Graco "transportation system," they just snap into a coordinating stroller and you're on your way. Easy peasy.
Unless it's raining. Then, my friend, you are in for a day of being wet and grumbling about it. Frankly, I'd just assume stay home on rainy days with babies. Here's why: there is absolutely no way to keep from getting soaked while getting a stroller in and out of a trunk, followed by placing the baby in the stroller. It's a two-handed job, and there are no two ways about it. Add in a toddler to go along on the trip and you've got yourself a nightmare, sister.
When I accepted an invitation weeks ago to attend a Women's study celebration at church, I did so with great anticipation. I sat out of a study this semester because I wanted to get settled with my newborn before leading another group, and I had really missed being in one. Plus, the celebrations are just fun - there's a room full of at least a couple hundred ladies chatting and worshipping, and everyone brings a brunch dish to share. I booked a babysitter for my 2-year-old daughter and planned to take my very portable 3-month-old son along, as he is rarely a distraction at this stage.
But when I woke up to a downpour Tuesday morning, I regretted having made such solid plans. Being down one kid, I'd figured I could easily slip in and out of the grocery store on the way to church to pick up a dish. But I didn't even want to think about doing that in the November rain, let alone fumbling through the monsoon with a baby, a double stroller and food in tow. I did it, though, because when I say I'm going to be somewhere I keep my promises. But that didn't mean I was going to do it with a good attitude, and regrettably I didn't. I felt like I was moving in slow motion, wrestling that baby seat out of my car while trying to balance an oversized golf umbrella between my chin and shoulder. Unsuccessfully, I might add. Weren't passers-by just gawking instead of helping me? Inside the store, shoppers' carts were slow-moving and employees were stocking the very shelves I needed to get to. And when I finally reached the register, I discovered that once again I'd left my discount card at home. Sigh. Back in the car I consoled myself that I was doing the right thing by honoring the plans I'd made and bringing food. I pulled into a parking spot at church and proceeded with the same rain-and-windswept waltz to the doors with my stroller. Poor me.
Walking into the fellowship hall, albeit wet, I felt instantly relieved. Familiar faces soothed my stress as I found the table with my friends and sat down with my contented baby. After chatting over hot coffee, fruit and bagels with cream cheese, we listened as the teacher made some summary remarks about the semester's focus: becoming a God seeker, a study I'd taken last year and knew to be an enriching one. I listened as ladies took the mic to share how God had been moving in their lives. One talked about how a daughter had come to know Christ, after years of praying for her. Another told of how God comforted her after her teenager was killed. One lady after another shared how the Lord has proven Himself faithful in her life, and I could only hold back my tears as I recalled how gracious He's been in my own. I mean, there I was holding one of His greatest gifts to me. We worshipped together, singing praise songs and praying for more growth.
Blessed. How could I feel anything but completely, utterly blessed? But what's more is that I would have missed all this if I'd have followed my instincts to stay home. It would have been easier, but my heart wouldn't have had the benefit of all that testimony. I would have missed out on another encounter with my Lord. It was a reminder to me that when we're called into communion with God, we're not called to live a comfortable life. Sometimes it means taking risks by the world's standards. Sometimes it means trading an extra hour of sleep for quiet time studying Scripture and praying. And sometimes it means walking through the rain to meet Him anywhere He calls you. Next time I hope I'll do less grumbling on the trip.
Unless it's raining. Then, my friend, you are in for a day of being wet and grumbling about it. Frankly, I'd just assume stay home on rainy days with babies. Here's why: there is absolutely no way to keep from getting soaked while getting a stroller in and out of a trunk, followed by placing the baby in the stroller. It's a two-handed job, and there are no two ways about it. Add in a toddler to go along on the trip and you've got yourself a nightmare, sister.
When I accepted an invitation weeks ago to attend a Women's study celebration at church, I did so with great anticipation. I sat out of a study this semester because I wanted to get settled with my newborn before leading another group, and I had really missed being in one. Plus, the celebrations are just fun - there's a room full of at least a couple hundred ladies chatting and worshipping, and everyone brings a brunch dish to share. I booked a babysitter for my 2-year-old daughter and planned to take my very portable 3-month-old son along, as he is rarely a distraction at this stage.
But when I woke up to a downpour Tuesday morning, I regretted having made such solid plans. Being down one kid, I'd figured I could easily slip in and out of the grocery store on the way to church to pick up a dish. But I didn't even want to think about doing that in the November rain, let alone fumbling through the monsoon with a baby, a double stroller and food in tow. I did it, though, because when I say I'm going to be somewhere I keep my promises. But that didn't mean I was going to do it with a good attitude, and regrettably I didn't. I felt like I was moving in slow motion, wrestling that baby seat out of my car while trying to balance an oversized golf umbrella between my chin and shoulder. Unsuccessfully, I might add. Weren't passers-by just gawking instead of helping me? Inside the store, shoppers' carts were slow-moving and employees were stocking the very shelves I needed to get to. And when I finally reached the register, I discovered that once again I'd left my discount card at home. Sigh. Back in the car I consoled myself that I was doing the right thing by honoring the plans I'd made and bringing food. I pulled into a parking spot at church and proceeded with the same rain-and-windswept waltz to the doors with my stroller. Poor me.
Walking into the fellowship hall, albeit wet, I felt instantly relieved. Familiar faces soothed my stress as I found the table with my friends and sat down with my contented baby. After chatting over hot coffee, fruit and bagels with cream cheese, we listened as the teacher made some summary remarks about the semester's focus: becoming a God seeker, a study I'd taken last year and knew to be an enriching one. I listened as ladies took the mic to share how God had been moving in their lives. One talked about how a daughter had come to know Christ, after years of praying for her. Another told of how God comforted her after her teenager was killed. One lady after another shared how the Lord has proven Himself faithful in her life, and I could only hold back my tears as I recalled how gracious He's been in my own. I mean, there I was holding one of His greatest gifts to me. We worshipped together, singing praise songs and praying for more growth.
Blessed. How could I feel anything but completely, utterly blessed? But what's more is that I would have missed all this if I'd have followed my instincts to stay home. It would have been easier, but my heart wouldn't have had the benefit of all that testimony. I would have missed out on another encounter with my Lord. It was a reminder to me that when we're called into communion with God, we're not called to live a comfortable life. Sometimes it means taking risks by the world's standards. Sometimes it means trading an extra hour of sleep for quiet time studying Scripture and praying. And sometimes it means walking through the rain to meet Him anywhere He calls you. Next time I hope I'll do less grumbling on the trip.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Ramblings on happiness and gratitude
Several reports have been released of late about the level of happiness women have or have not been experiencing in recent years. Some blame it on the women's liberation movement. To me, the notion that anyone can "have it all" is only achievable if one changes his or her definition of what "it all" is. If a woman works eight hours a day to achieve ever higher rungs on the corporate ladder, can she expect to feel fulfilled with the couple of hours she can spend with her baby before his bed time when she returns home? Does it make her giddy to spend all those hours toiling for someone else's goals just so she can pay the babysitter, let alone the mortgage, the car payment and the grocery bill? On the flip side, is the stay-at-home mom intellectually stimulated by the conversations between Big Bird and Elmo? Would she rather use her hands to bang out a well-written brief than to wipe a nose in a constant state of drip? How does she feel when she sees her husband stressed because their lifestyle or even their financial viability rides on his next paycheck? Does she not wish to help lighten that load with an income of her own? Considering the temporal, no I don't think I as a woman can have it all. How could anyone?
But finding fulfillment involves much more than the indicators these studies have analyzed.
While I would agree that aspects of feminism has contributed to the degradation of the family and some of our society's greatest moral failures, most notably legalized abortion, I don't think it's the root of our unhappiness as a gender. In fact, I know too many men to suggest that discontentment only plagues the female. It didn't hit me until recently when I heard Barbara Rainey talking about ingratitude on Family Life Today that maybe the root of why any of us feel unfulfilled boils down to one thing - it's our nature.
When we were created God put in our hearts a longing for Him, yet we try to fill that hole with anything but Him. Throughout biblical history we see a lineage of unhappy people. For example, the Lord rescued the Israelites from slavery and graciously provided every morsel they put in their mouths, yet they complained all the way to the promised land. In contrast, Rainey pointed out, the Pilgrims took time in their own promised land to thank God for His provision, although very few of them survived the arduous journey overseas and bitterly cold first winter at Plymouth.
The Pilgrims had nothing but their lives and their freedom, yet they were grateful. They had to labor just to eat; we can pick up dinner in a drive-through while sitting in heated cars that will take us to our brick homes with Internet access. Many of them starved to death, while obesity is among our most dire health concerns. Today we have everything at our disposal and we're miserable.
As Rainey pointed out in her radio address, grumbling is a major offense to God. The book of James tells us we don't have because we don't ask, and when we do ask we don't receive because we ask with wrong motive. We want to spend what we get on our pleasures.
We feel unfulfilled because we don't appreciate what we've been blessed with in the first place. And that calls for a change in attitude - to be content with what God has given us, even the challenges. Be thankful for those extra pounds you'd like to lose because it means you got to eat and for that mortgage you struggle to pay each month because it means you get to sleep under a roof. Those two alone are more than what many people of the world have.
I may no longer get to fraternize with colleagues, hobnob with newsmakers or bring in a paycheck with my name on it, but I've exchanged them for an incredible life God gave me. I couldn't count all the blessings. I have a husband who loves the Lord more than he loves me (which, by the way, is much better than the alternative), two beautiful children I've been called to raise and an honest-to-goodness relationship with Jesus. I think that when I focus on all God has provided for me, even through the struggles, my only response has to be gratitude. It's only then can I realize I really do have it all.
But finding fulfillment involves much more than the indicators these studies have analyzed.
While I would agree that aspects of feminism has contributed to the degradation of the family and some of our society's greatest moral failures, most notably legalized abortion, I don't think it's the root of our unhappiness as a gender. In fact, I know too many men to suggest that discontentment only plagues the female. It didn't hit me until recently when I heard Barbara Rainey talking about ingratitude on Family Life Today that maybe the root of why any of us feel unfulfilled boils down to one thing - it's our nature.
When we were created God put in our hearts a longing for Him, yet we try to fill that hole with anything but Him. Throughout biblical history we see a lineage of unhappy people. For example, the Lord rescued the Israelites from slavery and graciously provided every morsel they put in their mouths, yet they complained all the way to the promised land. In contrast, Rainey pointed out, the Pilgrims took time in their own promised land to thank God for His provision, although very few of them survived the arduous journey overseas and bitterly cold first winter at Plymouth.
The Pilgrims had nothing but their lives and their freedom, yet they were grateful. They had to labor just to eat; we can pick up dinner in a drive-through while sitting in heated cars that will take us to our brick homes with Internet access. Many of them starved to death, while obesity is among our most dire health concerns. Today we have everything at our disposal and we're miserable.
As Rainey pointed out in her radio address, grumbling is a major offense to God. The book of James tells us we don't have because we don't ask, and when we do ask we don't receive because we ask with wrong motive. We want to spend what we get on our pleasures.
We feel unfulfilled because we don't appreciate what we've been blessed with in the first place. And that calls for a change in attitude - to be content with what God has given us, even the challenges. Be thankful for those extra pounds you'd like to lose because it means you got to eat and for that mortgage you struggle to pay each month because it means you get to sleep under a roof. Those two alone are more than what many people of the world have.
I may no longer get to fraternize with colleagues, hobnob with newsmakers or bring in a paycheck with my name on it, but I've exchanged them for an incredible life God gave me. I couldn't count all the blessings. I have a husband who loves the Lord more than he loves me (which, by the way, is much better than the alternative), two beautiful children I've been called to raise and an honest-to-goodness relationship with Jesus. I think that when I focus on all God has provided for me, even through the struggles, my only response has to be gratitude. It's only then can I realize I really do have it all.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
The Night Shift
Last night was a rough one. I was awakened at about 1:30 a.m. by my 22-month-old, who spent the better part of the next two hours screaming for no apparent reason. By the time my husband and I got her settled back down in her crib my stomach realized it was hungry and led me into the kitchen for some crackers. Shortly after 3 a.m., my 2-month-old son decided he was hungry too, and you know the rest.
But over a bowl of Raisin Bran at 6 a.m. I thanked the Lord for sending me to my children's bedsides because those middle-of-the-night encounters give me something I never got in the same way before having children: a firsthand glimpse of God's character.
Cradling Katie in the dim glow of her nightlight, I looked down into big blue eyes while she twirled a lock of my hair and finally relaxed her busy toddler body. Later, after my son's cries for milk were quieted, he looked up at me with a huge gummy grin and cooed as if he were chatting with an old friend over a cup of hot tea. My heart melted into my chest, sinking me deeper into the cushions of the rocker, ready to hold him just a little while longer so we could finish our silent conversation.
Parenthood is such a portrait of God's relationship with us, beginning even in our infancy. Something disturbs our contentment until we cry out for Him, and He always responds with a warm embrace and a comfort only He can give. It's in those moments on the parental night shift that God whispers what He longs for from us, His children - love, trust and a total reliance on Him. How many times have I longed to crawl into His lap, let go of my discontentment and find rest? How must he long for me to delight in His presence with the same adoration my son's gaze speaks to my soul?
Sleep deprived as I may be, I'm glad the Lord allowed me to be called out of my sleep and to my children's bedsides because He met me there. And that's always worth losing sleep over.
But over a bowl of Raisin Bran at 6 a.m. I thanked the Lord for sending me to my children's bedsides because those middle-of-the-night encounters give me something I never got in the same way before having children: a firsthand glimpse of God's character.
Cradling Katie in the dim glow of her nightlight, I looked down into big blue eyes while she twirled a lock of my hair and finally relaxed her busy toddler body. Later, after my son's cries for milk were quieted, he looked up at me with a huge gummy grin and cooed as if he were chatting with an old friend over a cup of hot tea. My heart melted into my chest, sinking me deeper into the cushions of the rocker, ready to hold him just a little while longer so we could finish our silent conversation.
Parenthood is such a portrait of God's relationship with us, beginning even in our infancy. Something disturbs our contentment until we cry out for Him, and He always responds with a warm embrace and a comfort only He can give. It's in those moments on the parental night shift that God whispers what He longs for from us, His children - love, trust and a total reliance on Him. How many times have I longed to crawl into His lap, let go of my discontentment and find rest? How must he long for me to delight in His presence with the same adoration my son's gaze speaks to my soul?
Sleep deprived as I may be, I'm glad the Lord allowed me to be called out of my sleep and to my children's bedsides because He met me there. And that's always worth losing sleep over.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
A Call to Pray and More About Bob
It's a little embarrassing to me that being a stay-at-home mom who nurses an infant has meant considerable time watching television for me. Not that I'm against watching TV, mind you, but I truly don't want it on all day nor do I want my toddler to be glued to it. But earlier this week I caught a few minutes of The View and was really disheartened by a thread of conversation in which the hosts discussed what sort of behaviors of other passengers on an airplane would bother them. One of their answers was if someone was praying, quoting Scripture or reading the Bible aloud. One of the ladies elaborated, saying that any behavior that she deems "out of the ordinary" would prompt her to get off the plane.
Since when did praying and reading the Bible become such odd behavior? Why is that so offensive? Is it simply that airplane passengers don't want to be reminded of the hereafter when they're in a situation that could potentially deliver them there sooner than expected? (By the way, death usually comes sooner than one expects it.) No, I think it has more to do with two states of our society: First, many in our culture don't want to be told that they're accountable to anyone, let alone a sovereign God. Second, Christians have become so silent in the public arena that few recognize our practices or motivations behind them. We've all but lost our saltiness.
In recent months, the Lord has put a heavy burden on my heart to pray for His people, and I would ask other believers to do the same. Of course, a good deal of this stems from a deep concern for this country in particular, but I think that it's His church on the whole that needs revival in a most serious sense. For those who have an ear for the Word, you know what season we're in, but the Lord has called us to continue to serve Him by spreading the Gospel in truth and love. We're still called to work for Him. We're still called to care for widows, orphans, the poor and others who cannot care for themselves. We're still called to stand for what we know to be true - not resign ourselves to the cultural entropy. Worse, we're signing off on it as if societal norms are OK. Not only are they not OK, but they dishonor God.
Please, please pray fervently for God's people to be emboldened and for our nation to ask for forgiveness, turn from its wicked ways and seek the Lord because it's only then that we can expect our land to be healed.
In completely unrelated news, Monday's MRI showed no changes in Bob the Benign Brain Tumor's size from 2005 - very good news, as surgery to remove him would involve metal objects up my nose. Bob sends his love.
Since when did praying and reading the Bible become such odd behavior? Why is that so offensive? Is it simply that airplane passengers don't want to be reminded of the hereafter when they're in a situation that could potentially deliver them there sooner than expected? (By the way, death usually comes sooner than one expects it.) No, I think it has more to do with two states of our society: First, many in our culture don't want to be told that they're accountable to anyone, let alone a sovereign God. Second, Christians have become so silent in the public arena that few recognize our practices or motivations behind them. We've all but lost our saltiness.
In recent months, the Lord has put a heavy burden on my heart to pray for His people, and I would ask other believers to do the same. Of course, a good deal of this stems from a deep concern for this country in particular, but I think that it's His church on the whole that needs revival in a most serious sense. For those who have an ear for the Word, you know what season we're in, but the Lord has called us to continue to serve Him by spreading the Gospel in truth and love. We're still called to work for Him. We're still called to care for widows, orphans, the poor and others who cannot care for themselves. We're still called to stand for what we know to be true - not resign ourselves to the cultural entropy. Worse, we're signing off on it as if societal norms are OK. Not only are they not OK, but they dishonor God.
Please, please pray fervently for God's people to be emboldened and for our nation to ask for forgiveness, turn from its wicked ways and seek the Lord because it's only then that we can expect our land to be healed.
In completely unrelated news, Monday's MRI showed no changes in Bob the Benign Brain Tumor's size from 2005 - very good news, as surgery to remove him would involve metal objects up my nose. Bob sends his love.
Friday, October 9, 2009
What about Bob?
For those of you who don't know who Bob is when I drop his name in casual conversation, he's inside my head. It's a tiny benign tumor that lives inside my pituitary gland, which itself is only the size of a pea.
It's a potentially problematic place for a tumor - as if there's a handy spot in the body to grow one - because the pituitary gland controls the production of a host of hormones that in a female control everything from thyroid function to reproduction and lactation. These types of tumors cause those hormones - typically all of them - to go haywire, but Bob has only stunted the production of thyroid hormone in my body. In fact, I've proven to be quite fertile and haven't had trouble nursing either of my kids. What's more interesting is that during each of my pregnancies my thyroid hormone levels have rebounded to some degree. And for that, my endocrinologist says I'm weird.
I was diagnosed five years ago, after a long battle with severe fatigue followed by spurts of rapid weight loss (of course, that's the part of the disease I can embrace). Blood tests showed my levels of thyroid hormone popping up and down like a yo-yo, and they didn't correspond with another key hormone - the one emitted by the pituitary gland. It simply wasn't regulating, well, me. So scans of my brain revealed I had a little extra something in my brain.
You can imagine having your doctor tell you that you have a brain tumor - yes, that's what a pituitary tumor is considered. It really was frightening at first, until I learned just how common these things are. I've read that up to 25 percent of the population has them, it's just that most people don't realize they have them until they start throwing off major body functions, as Bob did in my case.
So, back to "Bob." Since there was no indication that the tumor was cancerous and, unless he grew to interfere with my vision, he'd probably be coexisting with me for the rest of my life, I decided to name him. I figured I can't be afraid of something called Bob - full name, Bob the benign tumor. So Bob and I settled in for a long, happy existence together, agreeing that we'd check on him via MRI each year or so.
Soon after his discovery, I got married. A few months later, we checked on Bob with another MRI. No changes were noted, so I largely forgot about him. Poor little thing. That's what marriage will do. Then I became pregnant. My endocrinologist decided to err on the side of caution and skip our annual MRI. The next year I was nursing Katie, so we skipped it again. The third year, I was pregnant again and, you guessed it, we decided against the MRI.
Now that Adam has been born, my endocrinologist has decided that she can't wait for me to be between pregnancies and not nursing a baby, as I seem to have turned into some sort of factory. So after more than three years of estrangement, I'll see Bob again after my long-awaited MRI on Monday. That's right, at the advice of many throughout my lifetime, I'm getting my head examined on Monday. The MRI will confirm once again that I do in fact have grey matter between my ears. But what's more is that we hope it also confirms that Bob is still his same old jovial self. We hope so.
It's a potentially problematic place for a tumor - as if there's a handy spot in the body to grow one - because the pituitary gland controls the production of a host of hormones that in a female control everything from thyroid function to reproduction and lactation. These types of tumors cause those hormones - typically all of them - to go haywire, but Bob has only stunted the production of thyroid hormone in my body. In fact, I've proven to be quite fertile and haven't had trouble nursing either of my kids. What's more interesting is that during each of my pregnancies my thyroid hormone levels have rebounded to some degree. And for that, my endocrinologist says I'm weird.
I was diagnosed five years ago, after a long battle with severe fatigue followed by spurts of rapid weight loss (of course, that's the part of the disease I can embrace). Blood tests showed my levels of thyroid hormone popping up and down like a yo-yo, and they didn't correspond with another key hormone - the one emitted by the pituitary gland. It simply wasn't regulating, well, me. So scans of my brain revealed I had a little extra something in my brain.
You can imagine having your doctor tell you that you have a brain tumor - yes, that's what a pituitary tumor is considered. It really was frightening at first, until I learned just how common these things are. I've read that up to 25 percent of the population has them, it's just that most people don't realize they have them until they start throwing off major body functions, as Bob did in my case.
So, back to "Bob." Since there was no indication that the tumor was cancerous and, unless he grew to interfere with my vision, he'd probably be coexisting with me for the rest of my life, I decided to name him. I figured I can't be afraid of something called Bob - full name, Bob the benign tumor. So Bob and I settled in for a long, happy existence together, agreeing that we'd check on him via MRI each year or so.
Soon after his discovery, I got married. A few months later, we checked on Bob with another MRI. No changes were noted, so I largely forgot about him. Poor little thing. That's what marriage will do. Then I became pregnant. My endocrinologist decided to err on the side of caution and skip our annual MRI. The next year I was nursing Katie, so we skipped it again. The third year, I was pregnant again and, you guessed it, we decided against the MRI.
Now that Adam has been born, my endocrinologist has decided that she can't wait for me to be between pregnancies and not nursing a baby, as I seem to have turned into some sort of factory. So after more than three years of estrangement, I'll see Bob again after my long-awaited MRI on Monday. That's right, at the advice of many throughout my lifetime, I'm getting my head examined on Monday. The MRI will confirm once again that I do in fact have grey matter between my ears. But what's more is that we hope it also confirms that Bob is still his same old jovial self. We hope so.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
And so we begin
When I was growing up several well-intentioned souls gave me diaries as gifts, encouraging me to record my important thoughts and to review them years down the road. I'd start them out and maybe record three or four entries before deciding that keeping a diary was not for me. I figured if one kept a diary, it was just an invitation for others to read it. But let's face it, no one wants to read a 10-year-old girl's diary, except maybe a 10-year-old boy. I've also shunned diary-keeping in my adulthood because I figure no one would want to read it in the first place - chiefly me, as often I am mortified by my thoughts of the past. And truth be told, my thoughts of late aren't much better.
With that in mind, many might be shocked that I spent about a decade as a professional writer. I really loved news writing. It had absolutely nothing to do with me and only revealed my ignorance when I made a mistake, which by the way was all too often in the beginning. I mean, I'm good and opinionated but I try not to put too many of my thoughts in writing unless I'm certain I've taken enough time to ponder them thoroughly. Later in my career I dabbled in writing columns and found that I really liked expressing my thoughts on certain subjects, mostly when it came to family life and matters of faith. And that makes sense because they're the two most important aspects of life to me.
These days I'm a stay-at-home mom, taking care of a very loving husband and our two kids, both under age 2. Life at home is fairly hectic and most of the time we're not here is spent at our church. So writing hasn't gotten much time from me in the last couple of years, and I have to admit I miss it. Maybe that will be enough of a reason to blog, which if you ask me is simply a digital diary. So let's give it a whirl, shall we?
The blog's title, 500 Witnesses, is a reference to the Apostle Paul's notation that more than 500 people witnessed Jesus Christ in His resurrected form. Writing to the early church just a few decades after Christ's resurrection, Paul was giving believers a vehicle to back up the Gospel message. I mean, more than 500 of their contemporaries had seen with their own eyes a walking, talking Jesus after his death and burial. Some had walked along with Him. Some had shared a meal with Him. And at least one - Thomas - had touched the scars that marred his flesh. But even today followers of Jesus are witnesses too. He has rescued us from the grips of a spiritual death that a life apart from God promises. He has revealed Himself to us through faith. We've seen lives changed. We've felt the peace only He can bring. Yes, I am another witness. And someday I'll see Him in the flesh, feel the embrace of His arms and drink in the sound of His voice. Until then, I'm humbled to live day to day in His grace and I'm learning more about Him as I go along.
So I plan to share my ruminations when I get a few minutes to write. Many posts will regard faith, others politics and still others no doubt will revolve around what I'm learning while living with two little ones. Speaking of the latter, see if you can chart the decline of my intellect and sanity as the months and years roll on - you'll know the source.
With that in mind, many might be shocked that I spent about a decade as a professional writer. I really loved news writing. It had absolutely nothing to do with me and only revealed my ignorance when I made a mistake, which by the way was all too often in the beginning. I mean, I'm good and opinionated but I try not to put too many of my thoughts in writing unless I'm certain I've taken enough time to ponder them thoroughly. Later in my career I dabbled in writing columns and found that I really liked expressing my thoughts on certain subjects, mostly when it came to family life and matters of faith. And that makes sense because they're the two most important aspects of life to me.
These days I'm a stay-at-home mom, taking care of a very loving husband and our two kids, both under age 2. Life at home is fairly hectic and most of the time we're not here is spent at our church. So writing hasn't gotten much time from me in the last couple of years, and I have to admit I miss it. Maybe that will be enough of a reason to blog, which if you ask me is simply a digital diary. So let's give it a whirl, shall we?
The blog's title, 500 Witnesses, is a reference to the Apostle Paul's notation that more than 500 people witnessed Jesus Christ in His resurrected form. Writing to the early church just a few decades after Christ's resurrection, Paul was giving believers a vehicle to back up the Gospel message. I mean, more than 500 of their contemporaries had seen with their own eyes a walking, talking Jesus after his death and burial. Some had walked along with Him. Some had shared a meal with Him. And at least one - Thomas - had touched the scars that marred his flesh. But even today followers of Jesus are witnesses too. He has rescued us from the grips of a spiritual death that a life apart from God promises. He has revealed Himself to us through faith. We've seen lives changed. We've felt the peace only He can bring. Yes, I am another witness. And someday I'll see Him in the flesh, feel the embrace of His arms and drink in the sound of His voice. Until then, I'm humbled to live day to day in His grace and I'm learning more about Him as I go along.
So I plan to share my ruminations when I get a few minutes to write. Many posts will regard faith, others politics and still others no doubt will revolve around what I'm learning while living with two little ones. Speaking of the latter, see if you can chart the decline of my intellect and sanity as the months and years roll on - you'll know the source.
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