Stumbling Around in The Light

Blogging On The Fly

I'm inspired by Lisa-Jo's post, "What Can You Write in Five Minutes Flat?" from a couple of days ago.

Pasta is boiling on the stove right now, so let's see how I do...

I'm definitely not a throw-it-out-there in five minutes kinda girl.  No, I tend to write over several hours & days...composing paragraphs while in the shower, reformating lines in my mind as I chauffer the kids to choir & guitar, mentally running thru creative synonyms for the word 'great' as I chop carrots.  Writing happens while I'm out in the woods, looking up to the clear-blue Colorado sky, snow crunching underfoot, breathing clouds into the rarifed mountain air, arms raised to God, asking Him to speak Light, to pour Wisdom over my world-saturated-Spirit-starved heart.

And there - that's five minutes...

 
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I didn't get very far.  I'm too wordy, I guess.  I talk too much in person, too.  When telling Kevin about my day, I can wax eloquent about one moment in time for half an hour.  Over the years he has graciously learned to not roll his eyes, look at his watch, or interrupt in exasperation, "so, what happened?"  'Course I've also learned to recognize the eyes-glazed-over signs of checking out, and know how to cut to the chase: "no one got hurt; the side of the van is dented; we need to clean the vomit out of the car seat."

To tell the truth, I don't get very far into typing before I'm re-reading, deleting, modifying, starting over.  My husband is the total opposite:  he'll spend 20 minutes at the computer and spit out a blog post, a promotion, and 14 email replies.  Then again, his output is often sprinkled with typos & grammatical errors, despite the wise, funny, compelling content.  He doesn't mind tho.  Just laughs it off, and only sometimes goes back to make corrections.  And it's not like I'm a perfectionist; far from it!  Step into my lumpy-bumpy, creatively-ecclectic straw-bale home and you'll know. 

But with communication, with words, I like to be careful.  According to the Five Love Languages, words are top priority for me, giving and receiving.  I spent years without realizing this, spewing impatient words, angry words, critical words...and God is helping me ever-so-gradually, to understand the power of my words.  Simply speaking is easier tho, cause even my poorly-phrased annunciations pass quickly into thin air, and are forgotten.  Hurtful words have the power of death, yes...but it is ever so much easier to forgive spoken words that diminish with the passage of time...than written words that are forever embedded in black and white.

So I think, for most of us, to craft thoughts & feelings & growth-groanings into something moderately expressive, takes time.

And yet - as I write, and think, and pray & ponder -
On a bigger scale -
It occurs to me that perhaps everything in my life doesn't have to be such a big production.

Lunch for my family doesn't have to be the gourmet spread I pressure myself to provide.
Every infraction by the kids doesn't have to be a major deal.
Coughing baby in the night can be a hiccup instead of a catastrophe of sleep-deprivation.
I don't have to shower & get all dressed up just to go pick up the kids; that's what a ball-cap is for!
Every little disagrement with Kevin doesn't need to be a mountain.
I don't have to have an hour to go hike in the woods and seek the Lord; ten minutes can be glorious.
A few words, a five-minute blog-on-the-fly, is just fine.

Don't ruin good with perfect.  We say that alot around here.  'Cause more often than not, when I fret over perfect, I don't get even get around to good.  Now I gotta learn how to apply it to my litle blog efforts.  I don't have to ruin a perfectly good bit of blogging-on-the-fly by a bazillion rewrites to get it all polished & perfect.  (Even as I enviously grumble to myself that some people seem to type all polished & perfect right outta the chute....)  No matter; my own egotistical comparisons are not my measuring stick.

May the words of my mouth and hte meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, O Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer.  - Psalm 19:14

Oh, Abba!  That I would strive only to shine the little light you've placed me; to please You alone with my wandering words!

So five minutes here...five minutes there...I've done it, in my own stumbling way, Lisa-Jo. 

And I think I'm starting to understand. 

There are more important things to do than fret about perfection.

As I sit here and reread and resist the temptation to rewrite...I feel Him smiling, can almost hear His amused laughter, "you're learning, my girl; you're getting there!"

 I'm out...

Hiding Out (from all the Special People)

So I'm finally back online.

Three weeks hiding out from email, facebook, blog posts...

It was beautifully restful.  Easy.  Comfortable. 

And now I'm back in the game, catching up on all my favorite bloggers, and I feel...
Tired.  Overwhelmed.  Like giving up.

Because if I can't be special in this game -
If I'm just one of thousands others stumbling along mid-pack -
If I'm mediocre -
Then I don't really want to be in the game at all.

Isn't that what we all strive for? 
To be special?

A couple of days ago I peeved my husband, because I argued with him, in a public forum, that I'm not special.  I'm just a regular, stumbling-around mom, like a thousand other moms.  Sure, I can do some special things:  sing, dance, have babies, encourage, maybe even write.

But do I have greatness in any of those areas?  Not really.

Kevin gets all red-in-the-face-frustrated at me.  Telling me what a great mom I am to our seven children.  Insisting that I'm such a great writer.  That I have so much greatness to offer the world.  How great I am for juggling so much with our family, and still writing, reaching out, encouraging other women.

I sigh and nod.  But that's not it.  I'm not struggling with some low-self-esteem issue.  I have plenty of issues, don't get me wrong...but self-loathing isn't the favored monkey on my back or anything.  (Okay, well, maybe a few days outta the month.)  But generally, the problem is the opposite sin-monkey.  More like comparison.  More like ego.  More like pride.

Because, hey, I think I'm pretty "BAM," like 6-yr old Ian says, giggling with knuckles offered.  Then I compare myself with those other rockstar bloggers...and my pride gets all beaten down into this whiny-petulant-little-girl wad of self-pity.   'Cause if I'm so great, how come I can't keep it together to even post anything for like, 3 weeks straight???  All the way across the globe, Laura managed it.  So did Lisa-Jo, even with holiday travel.  And my friend Anne-Marie blogs practically every day.  Jamie took time to write, even about her irritation with blogging stupid resolutions.  And don't get me started with how encouraged & inspired & small I feel when I read Ann's posts. 

But Kevin would say I'm special 'cause I'm blogging at all.  'Cause I'm in the game.

Sure, I have plenty of friends who aren't even in the game. 
Well, not this game at least. 
But then again, they have their own game:   Teacher of the Year.  Missionary with the Most Converts.  Top Salesman.  PTO President.  Advertising Executive with the Corner Office.  Hippest Youth Pastor in Town.  MOPS Steering Committee Leader.  Volleyball Coach.  Homeroom Mom who brings the Best Snacks.

Most of us are in the game, in some way or another.
My friend Nate says we're all striving for Significance.  His wife says we're really striving for Love.
I think we're striving for Greatness.  We all want to be the Special People.

When I posted this quandary to my friends in Free Agent Academy, I got a slew of responses about how we are all special in Christ Jesus.  About how fearfully & wonderfully we're made;  "Oh, Teri, you're just super!"   And I think of that character 'Syndrome' from The Incredibles, saying, "When everyone's super...no one will be." 

So if we're ALL so special...then are we...really...special?

(From dictionary.com) Special: of a distinct or particular kind;  having a specific or particular function, purpose, etc;  distinguished or different from what is ordinary or usual;  origin - Latin - speciālis - of a given species

Hmmm...distinct, having a particular function, of a given species...

Maybe special doesn't mean exactly what I thought it meant.
Maybe it's more about Connection.  Relationship.  Belonging.

I just don't have it figured out, y'know?  I'm supposed to tie up the end of this blog with a tidy bow, with a scripture trail, with words of great wisdom, that leave you nodding & going, "...wow..."

But I can't get my head around it. 

So I write to figure it out.  A bit here, a bit there, dribbling onto the keyboard, from conversations and books and study and prayer and thinking and frustration and the busyness of life careening forward.  I write to share the vulnerable truth of how I know that I know that I know I'm walking in The Light, but I still stumble around with my blind ears and deaf eyes and world-saturated-Spirit-starving heart.

I know this:  when I flip up my computer screen and get into this blogging, emailing, facebooking, online game - I begin to strive for your approval.  I ache for greatness, significance.  I wanna be one of the special people. 

If I pass that feeling thru the filter of God's Word, it seems icky & wrong & greedy for applause:

But as we have been approved by God to be entrusted with the gospel, even so we speak, not as pleasing men, but God who tests our hearts.  - 1 Thess 2:4

So, okay, Lord, I hear You:  I am writing here, entrusted to press into truth & share & stumble around seeking His Light, in order to please God and not man.  Yet, just like Paul confesses in the book of Romans, I do what I don't wanna do, and don't do what I oughta.  And really?  Truthfully?  I'm not the only one, am I? 

I want to be special, cause I want to belong, cause I want connection and relationship.  And okay! duh!  My main connection needs to be with my Abba!  Again, when I put that thru the filter of His Word, He smiles at me, and chuckles, and strokes my cheek, and says,

Yes, I have loved you with an everlasting love;
      Therefore with lovingkindness I have drawn you.  - Jeremiah 31:3

So maybe I don't have to figure it out?  Maybe I don't write for fame or fortune or missions-support or orphan-care or the polished-poetic beauty that leads to book deals.  Maybe I'm just supposed to light my little candle, in my little house, on my little hill.

Nor do they light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a lampstand, and it gives light to all who are in the house.  Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.  -Matt 5:15-16

It is hard to leave the comfortable complacency of hiding out, and let this little light of mine shine.  'Cause my ego stomps around like a bullied-bully, saying, "aw, forGET it!"  My pride puts her nose in the air and plops that basket over the light-of-Him-in-me, and sniffs, "well, never mind!"

Kevin says something along the lines of this:

If God created you with a purpose & a calling, and He did, then it's your duty, it's your responsibility to use it, to let it shine so it gives light to others.  And if you have a struggle with ego?  Well, that's your problem, and you gotta deal with it.  But don't let your little pride-insecurity issue snuff out your light.

When I run that thru the filter of God's Word - I sit here with my fingers still.  Quiet.  Re-reading. Listening.  Oh.

God has given each of you some special abilities; be sure to use them to help each other, passing on to others God's many kinds of blessings.  - 1 Peter 4:10 TLB

So I guess I'll keep stumbling around. 
Stumbling around in His Light, carrying the little light He has for me to shine. 
Sometimes dim & flickering, sometimes bright & steady.  Yeah, I snuff it out sometimes with my own sin-monkey issues.  But the next morning, the next week, the next month...eventually, there's a new spark. 

God created a special spark within me, with its own unique glow, fragrance, resonance. 
Don't have to light the world.  Just my little neck of the woods.

(Okay, maybe not so bad?  Somewhat in the general vicinity of a tidy-little-ending?  What - You think it took me four days and about 15 do-overs to write? well, yeah, so what...)

Got anything special you're stumbling around with, hiding-out under a basket? 

Bloom

So I've been 'playing' with this blog thing for awhile.  At Kevin's urging.  But its mostly been for my own therapy, and in response to this quiet, nagging call I feel from God.   And then a few days ago, Kevin decides to take it public.  sorta.  Well, at least to his Free Agent Academy members.  But after days in a row of writing, working on the little typepad blog page...with so far still to go...I just up & quit.

Not quitting to truly quit, but temporary quitting 'cause life happens.  The start of new schedules for fall, a bunch of playdates for the younger kiddos, work on the house (still under construction after almost 2 years)...just family-life-stuff.

And also?  Also because I'm afraid.  Life is hectic with seven children and home schooling and nursing the baby and paying bills and laundry and working on the house...  And in the midst of hectic life, I'm afraid that I don't really have anything to say.  I'm afraid that even what I do say is silly or irrelevant, and I'll just end up embarrassing myself.

Insecurity.  Doubt.  Fear.

Pride.

When it comes down to it, I tend to be more concerned about what others think of me...than of my husband's urging, or my own ideas, or even the calling I feel from God.

When it comes down to it, I tend to let pride - disguised as fear - get in the way of my dreams.

In some strange, fallen-humanity way, it is easier to be fearful & cautious & passive, than to just rise up and be who God made me to be.  Because I'm afraid to be who God made me to be.  'Cause I wanna be who people want me to be, y'know?  

What if God wants me to be weird?  Or risky?  Or offensive?  I'd rather keep my pride intact, and play it safe, and keep my make-up brushes handy.

Jesus talks about trees planted by water, bearing fruit...and lilies of the field arrayed in His glory...and each little bird that He cares for.  God's creations, that are just His glory, doing what they do.  I mean, the lily doesn't gaze up at the apple tree and worry about her pollen not comparing as well, next to those red apples.  The lily just is.  It grows & blossoms & pollinates...doing what God designed it to do.  And even next to a bountiful apple tree, the delicate lily is purposeful, beautiful, glorious, in its simplicity.  Can you imagine the lily being too insecure, in the shade of the apple tree, too insecure to bloom???  Can you imagine the lily refusing to rise up & be what it is, 'cause its too afraid, too doubting, too proud?

I guess what I'm saying is that it's just stupid to let fear & insecurity keep me from doing what God would have me do.  Who am I to be so desperate to protect my pride, to fold in on myself, cautious, doubtful, playing-it-safe?  I don't want to be that withered lily.

Lifting my face to the sunshine, putting myself out there - it feels naked.  Its risky.  But the alternative is so much worse.

And just maybe, if I trust God's design,
and risk striving to be what He calls,

I might

eventually

bloom.

Markers

(Part 3 of a 5-blog series; click here for more: part 1, part 2,  part 4, part 5)

Out walking & running again this morn, and was inexorably drawn off the main road, towards the trail that our family takes from the back of our property.  Only problem was, the prompting came when I was already out at the far end of the journey:  the peak up ahead, Rampart Range Rd under my feet, ‘the bald’ overlooking Woodland Park to my right.  I wasn’t really sure where that path was, or how to connect with it, from my current position.  To top it off, time was running short, and baby Nekoda was home with the older kids, due to nurse in another 15 or 20 minutes.

Enter fear.  But never-the-less, there was the incessant prompting to get off the easy road, fight my apprehension, and find the trail.  So I prayed, looked both ways, and ducked under the fence. 

The view up there is glorious.  The best.  Deep blue sky; that rare, azure, clarified color you only find up here above 9000 feet.  Wildflowers everywhere, washes of yellow & purple, with shocks of red sprinkled across the field.  Tall, fragrant, deep-green Pines, and cheerful Aspens, shimmering & applauding in the breeze. Towering over it all, the majestic face of Pikes Peak, still streaked with valleys of snow.

I jogged quickly across the wheat-colored field, not sure where fence lines marked private property or national forest, and headed over the swell of land until the road behind me dropped from view.  Yet I was disoriented.  My heart raced, more than just from the brief exertion, as I continued toward a line of trees, slowly descending the hill that eventually falls sharply to the edge of Woodland Park.  Where was the trail?  Where was the opening between Aspens I remembered emerging from, on hikes with Kevin & the kids?  Everything looked so different from this angle.  I stopped for a moment & strained to look back towards the dirt road:  maybe this was a bad idea, maybe I was in the wrong place altogether, maybe I should go back to the familiar, well-traveled street.

But I couldn’t shake the conviction that I was supposed to forge ahead & find my way.  I mean, its not like I was lost.  I was just...insecure.  And frustrated with my insecurity.  “Lord, help me!  This is just silly, but I can’t find the path, and I don’t know where I’m supposed to turn into the woods...and I need to get home!”

And then – there it was.  The silly, funny marker Kevin had left to show the way: an old sock, tied to a tree branch, stiff from months of weathering in the snow & rain & sunshine.  I laughed aloud then, and cried a little, and raced off down the barely-marked but somewhat-familiar trail.  All along the way were subtle signs of Kevin’s making: a tree branch here to mark an edge, a stone there to mark a turn. 

Signs of Jesus’ tender love for me, thru my pioneering husband. 
Markers that remind me of God’s call on my life,
to take the road-less-traveled with courage to overcome my fears;
and to trust, because
He has gone before me and marked the way with compassion & lovingkindness.

(Part 3 of a 5-blog series; click here for more: part 1, part 2,  part 4, part 5)