Someday
I think I might write a book entitled Everything
I Need to Know About Authentic Prayer I Learned From My Moody Fifth-Grader.
I never have to guess how Jaden is feeling toward me; when he’s angry, it isn’t
a mystery. When he’s sad or disappointed or any other variation of bummed-out,
he says so. I’m sure he may become more and more enigmatic as puberty moves in
like an intrusive houseguest over the next few years, but for now, Jaden still
seems to want me to know when he’s upset. And why? Because I’m his parent -- and
while I seem to become less cool by the day in his opinion, he still believes
on some level that I am capable of kissing his (emotional) boo-boos.
Motherhood
has helped me, over the years, to understand Father God just a little bit
better. I am now better able to identify with Him as “parent” – as One who
allows circumstances to befall me, allows life to happen to me in all its complexity,
so that I will learn and grow and develop character, etc. But don’t be too
impressed; that’s a very tidy description of a very messy process.
Unconsciously
taking a few pointers from my ten-year-old and his shameless emotional transparency
when in distress, I guess I’ve changed
up my prayer life a bit in recent weeks. For many years, somewhat unknowingly,
I had adhered to a respectful, albeit formulaic, method of communication with
God, most often probably adhering to the A.C.T.S. (Adoration, Confession,
Thanksgiving, Supplication) structure that so many of us were taught in Sunday
School. And while I believe it’s important to praise and confess and enter into
God’s presence with gratitude, I guess I just . . . had enough. I had to get
real. Truth? It hasn’t been pretty.
And I
thank God for that. Seriously. Because I think I’m finally catching on about
what it means to approach Him as a child, just as Jaden approaches me – and it
is far less polite than prayer-as-usual. When my kid has an issue – especially an
issue with me – he walks right in and
lays it out on the table, daring me to do something about it. And yes, he’s
ten, and some of his approach might have to do with a ten-year-old’s capacity
for impulse control. But nevertheless, it’s honest – and that’s what I want to
be. In fact, at this point in my journey, I don’t feel like I can afford to be
anything less.
Prayers
lately look like this: “God, where were You when . . .?” and “How could You . . . ?”
and even “How dare You . . . ?” Bold,
I know. Shocking? Not to my Father. He knows me. He knows what is really in my
heart and on my mind, ugly as it is sometimes. And he welcomes my outbursts. He
can work with brutal honesty. It’s the pious politeness – censorship, really – that
ties His hands. He won’t force me to get real with Him. He receives me as I
come to Him, He listens as I spout off my pre-cleaned, sanitized sentiments,
seeing my heart all the while – and He waits. For me to lose the mask. For me
to get real. Maybe even for me to get mad.
I often
hear women say to me, “I’m really mad at God, and I know that’s wrong.”
Whoa. Hold the phone; where’d we get that idea? Read the Psalms. David was one
emotional dude; the Psalms read like a rapid-cycling bipolar diary. And yet we
read that David was a man after God’s own heart. God was especially fond of
David – and I suspect that it was his emotional transparency that God found so
endearing. He was mad at God a lot – and he never really pulled any punches or
minced any words. And now we have this amazing chronicle of one man’s journey with
God, and it gives us permission, in a way, to get real. Or, at least, it
does for me.
So,
here it is, shocking or not: I’m mad at God. For a lot of things. I’m
disappointed. I’m confused. I disagree with Him on several points, and we’re
duking it out, Him and me.
A
friend asked me yesterday, with narrowed eyes and furrowed brow: “How are you
doing, really?” And I answered her
slowly, carefully: “I am wrestling with God. And it’s . . . okay. It’s a worthy
struggle.”
And I
think . . . I think I really believe
that. I’d rather be shaking my fist at God, fully relying on the
unlimited access I’ve been granted through Jesus, than to be poised and proper,
hands folded into a very prim, pretty, tightly-clasped lie. Truth is, things
between God and me are not all that smooth right now. There’s some tension. There’s
disagreement. The air is not yet clear. But, we are on speaking terms. No more silent
treatment. It’s raw, it’s ugly, and it doesn’t feel good. I feel out of
control.
And that's something He can work with.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Monday, August 27, 2012
Learnin' Lessons . . .
Okay, okay -- so I've dropped the blogging ball lately. I admit it. I have a problem -- and admitting we have a problem is the first step to change, right? Right. My problem is this: I start strong and finish poorly -- in pretty much everything I do. So, somewhere in the middle of a thing, I need to intentionally give myself a check-up from the neck-up and turn it back around.
Wanna know how I know this about myself? Because I've slipped up a lot, and dropped a lot of balls. And every slip-up is an opportunity to learn something. Which leads (almost seamlessly!) into this blog of mine from last year that the amazing Constance Rhodes asked to feature over at the FINDINGbalance blog this week (nice segue-way, huh?). Do me a favor and check it out -- and while you do that, I'll start thinking about actually writing some fresh material for this blog again. I mean, it could happen.
http://www.findingbalance.com/2012/08/top-10-life-lessons-i-learned-by-age-35/
Wanna know how I know this about myself? Because I've slipped up a lot, and dropped a lot of balls. And every slip-up is an opportunity to learn something. Which leads (almost seamlessly!) into this blog of mine from last year that the amazing Constance Rhodes asked to feature over at the FINDINGbalance blog this week (nice segue-way, huh?). Do me a favor and check it out -- and while you do that, I'll start thinking about actually writing some fresh material for this blog again. I mean, it could happen.
http://www.findingbalance.com/2012/08/top-10-life-lessons-i-learned-by-age-35/
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Because there is still time before Labor Day . . .
Seriously, people . . . Where has this Summer GONE? This one has to have been the busiest -- and shortest -- Summer on record. And it is with much regret and a heavily bummed heart that I tell you that I made it to the beach a whopping ONE TIME this season (in part due to the fact that my offspring spent the first half of Summer in a full-arm cast, and dragging him to the beach to watch me play might have been cruel and unusual punishment).
Anyway, enough about ME; what about YOU? Did you take time to play in the sand this Summer? If not, it isn't too late . . . And, because I used to be so diligent about reposting my guest blogs and columns here and I have majorly slacked off in the past year (I'd insert a masterfully crafted excuse here, had I such an excuse), I shall use this, the penultimate week of beach season, to repost an offering I wrote back in July (link below). Huge thanks to Dr. Maria Rago (author of "Shut Up, Skinny Bitches", which I urge you to go buy and read) for inviting me to contribute to her blog. (And huge amends to Dr. Maria Rago for neglecting to re-post it on my own blog, which is sort of, like, Writers Etiquette 101. But I digress . . .)
http://www.shutupskinnybitches.com/365-days/2012/07/02/shut-up-and-go-to-the-beach/
Anyway, enough about ME; what about YOU? Did you take time to play in the sand this Summer? If not, it isn't too late . . . And, because I used to be so diligent about reposting my guest blogs and columns here and I have majorly slacked off in the past year (I'd insert a masterfully crafted excuse here, had I such an excuse), I shall use this, the penultimate week of beach season, to repost an offering I wrote back in July (link below). Huge thanks to Dr. Maria Rago (author of "Shut Up, Skinny Bitches", which I urge you to go buy and read) for inviting me to contribute to her blog. (And huge amends to Dr. Maria Rago for neglecting to re-post it on my own blog, which is sort of, like, Writers Etiquette 101. But I digress . . .)
http://www.shutupskinnybitches.com/365-days/2012/07/02/shut-up-and-go-to-the-beach/
Sunday, October 9, 2011
That Awkward Phase
We've all heard it: "Oh, bless her heart; she's going through that awkward phase." Knowing glances and head-nods follow such a comment, usually, as all eyes fall upon said awkward child, often a mess of braces and gangly limbs and overgrown feet. Were you her? Did you overhear those comments and pray for a trapdoor to appear in the floor beneath you and swallow you up?
The Awkward Phase occurs at different times in a woman's life, I think. For some, it hits with puberty and erodes the self-confidence for three or four years before giving way to a rebound of teenage promiscuity. Or for others, maybe it swoops in during the high school years when there never seem to be any seats left at the "cool table" in the cafeteria, leaving you hunched over a brown paper bag or styrofoam tray surrounded by freaks and geeks: your people. It seems Awkward Phases are as unique and individual as the women and girls they strike.
My own Awkward Phase had its unfortunate genesis at age three and became tangible and obvious around age six. Prior to age six, I was (quite frankly) rather adorable. But the cuteness factor wore off around the sixth year of life (See archived post about this tragedy here: http://jenamorrow.blogspot.com/search?q=the+day+the+cuteness+died) and gave way to clumsiness and self-consciousness and about 29 years' worth of blurted-out faux pas I wish I could take back. That's right--29 years. See, I don't think I've ever quite outgrown my own personal awkward phase. Oops.
I still trip over my own feet and have very little awareness of my appendages (constantly bruised elbows and hipbones attest to this), and I still wish I could retract approximately 40% of the things I say, the emails I send, the comments I leave on people's Facebook statuses. Basicially, I second-guess everything I do -- or, wait, maybe I don't. Maybe that's an exaggeration. (See what I mean?)
And now that I'm turning 35 (how the heck did that happen?) in a couple of months, I've decided that maybe the Awkward Phase isn't going to wear off at all. Maybe it's who I am. Maybe it's got something to do with the fact that this world is not my home and was never meant to be all that comfortable. Or maybe I'm just my own brand of weird -- just like you are your own brand of weird. Maybe it's totally normal to brush my teeth in the shower and sleep with my childhood blankie and habitually sing harmony along to annoying jingles on the radio and listen to Christmas carols in August just because they make me happy. Maybe you second-guess yourself just as much as I do and you just don't blog about it. Maybe the fact that I do is just part of my weirdness and maybe I should just keep on truckin'. As a woman said in a group I led last week, "Jus' do you, baby. Jus' do YOU."
I thought that by the time I reached thirty-five, I'd be The Woman I Always Wanted To Be. Here's a thumbnail of her: Long legs and a graceful stride, delicate features and a certain uber-feminine grace, and everyday is a good hair day and her house always smells like clean laundry and vanilla cake, and her children respect her always and her husband finds her lovable and endearing, and she is both professional and domestic all at once, and she is respected in her community and in her chosen field, and you can just tell that's she's been with Jesus . . .
Wait. That last part -- maybe . . . Maybe it's enough. Maybe that last part erases a multiude of "awkward." Maybe it eclipses all the other qualities, anyway. Yes . . .
Maybe we are who we are -- broken, weird, strange, unique, imperfect, wayward, wind-tossed sojourners in a land that is far from our home. Maybe we don't outgrow that awkward phase until we are reuinted with our Maker, made complete in His arms, clicked in like a puzzle piece that fits just so. And maybe when I am feeling especially awkward, it's because I've spent a little too much time away from Him . . .
I don't know: it was just a thought. I'm already second-guessing it.
The Awkward Phase occurs at different times in a woman's life, I think. For some, it hits with puberty and erodes the self-confidence for three or four years before giving way to a rebound of teenage promiscuity. Or for others, maybe it swoops in during the high school years when there never seem to be any seats left at the "cool table" in the cafeteria, leaving you hunched over a brown paper bag or styrofoam tray surrounded by freaks and geeks: your people. It seems Awkward Phases are as unique and individual as the women and girls they strike.
My own Awkward Phase had its unfortunate genesis at age three and became tangible and obvious around age six. Prior to age six, I was (quite frankly) rather adorable. But the cuteness factor wore off around the sixth year of life (See archived post about this tragedy here: http://jenamorrow.blogspot.com/search?q=the+day+the+cuteness+died) and gave way to clumsiness and self-consciousness and about 29 years' worth of blurted-out faux pas I wish I could take back. That's right--29 years. See, I don't think I've ever quite outgrown my own personal awkward phase. Oops.
I still trip over my own feet and have very little awareness of my appendages (constantly bruised elbows and hipbones attest to this), and I still wish I could retract approximately 40% of the things I say, the emails I send, the comments I leave on people's Facebook statuses. Basicially, I second-guess everything I do -- or, wait, maybe I don't. Maybe that's an exaggeration. (See what I mean?)
And now that I'm turning 35 (how the heck did that happen?) in a couple of months, I've decided that maybe the Awkward Phase isn't going to wear off at all. Maybe it's who I am. Maybe it's got something to do with the fact that this world is not my home and was never meant to be all that comfortable. Or maybe I'm just my own brand of weird -- just like you are your own brand of weird. Maybe it's totally normal to brush my teeth in the shower and sleep with my childhood blankie and habitually sing harmony along to annoying jingles on the radio and listen to Christmas carols in August just because they make me happy. Maybe you second-guess yourself just as much as I do and you just don't blog about it. Maybe the fact that I do is just part of my weirdness and maybe I should just keep on truckin'. As a woman said in a group I led last week, "Jus' do you, baby. Jus' do YOU."
I thought that by the time I reached thirty-five, I'd be The Woman I Always Wanted To Be. Here's a thumbnail of her: Long legs and a graceful stride, delicate features and a certain uber-feminine grace, and everyday is a good hair day and her house always smells like clean laundry and vanilla cake, and her children respect her always and her husband finds her lovable and endearing, and she is both professional and domestic all at once, and she is respected in her community and in her chosen field, and you can just tell that's she's been with Jesus . . .
Wait. That last part -- maybe . . . Maybe it's enough. Maybe that last part erases a multiude of "awkward." Maybe it eclipses all the other qualities, anyway. Yes . . .
Maybe we are who we are -- broken, weird, strange, unique, imperfect, wayward, wind-tossed sojourners in a land that is far from our home. Maybe we don't outgrow that awkward phase until we are reuinted with our Maker, made complete in His arms, clicked in like a puzzle piece that fits just so. And maybe when I am feeling especially awkward, it's because I've spent a little too much time away from Him . . .
I don't know: it was just a thought. I'm already second-guessing it.
Friday, September 16, 2011
By Popular Demand: The Best of Jadenisms!
Okay, people, you've been asking for it . . .
For over three years now, my Facebook friends and followers have been encouraging me to write a book of "Jadenisms" -- quips and quotes from my sharp-tongued son, Jaden. I found a way to search archives of my Facebook statuses dating back to 2009, and compiled the following list both for posterity and for your amusement. As for me, I get to live with this kid; my biggest challenge is knowing when to laugh and when to wash his mouth out with soap.
Without further ado . . .
The Best of Jadenisms, 2009 through 2012:
"Mom, you're pretty. (pause) No, I mean it, you're actually kind of pretty. I don't know why guys aren't just gagging all over you." (age 6)
"Mom, can I have some strawberry milk?" (Me: How do you ask politely?) "Can I have some strawberry milk . . . if it be thy will?"
Jaden to Spike (the cat), who was freaked out by fireworks on July 4, 2009: "Aw, don't worry, Spikey. Relax, boy . . . it was just a bomb."
(Talking to himself in the mirror, age 6, as he wiggled his first loose tooth: "You got this, Jaden. Just grab and pull. Gotta take this like a man, damn it." (I really can't remember how I disciplined him for the swearing . . . )
Stylist told Jaden he had the thickest hair she'd ever seen on a seven-year-old boy. Jaden replied, "Oh, don't be so melon-dramatic."
Jena to Jaden: "Get your fingers outta the peanut butter jar!" Anne to Jaden: "Go get a spoon and I'll make you a peanut butter lollipop like Pastor Clem likes to eat." Jaden to Anne: "Miss Anne, I need more women like you in my life."
Second grade math homework assignment asked the students to write a math story problem and show the equation. Jaden wrote "Mom + Dad = Baby." He likes to think outside the box.
Jena to 7-year-old Jaden: "Please take the garbage out and put your bike away." (Jaden rolls eyes.) Jena to Jaden: "Remember, I let you live in my belly, rent-free, for nine months..." Jaden to Jena: "Fine, mother. I'll go get my checkbook."
Jaden to Jena after putting up their Christmas tree, 2009: "Mom, I hope this doesn't make me sound too girly, but can we just turn off all the lights and lay under the Christmas tree and just . . . talk about our feelings?"
Jena, while making vegetable soup, said to Jaden, "I wish you would be my taste tester. This soup needs something." Jaden replied, "Mom, I'm not gonna taste that soup, but I will tell you what it needs: meat."
Another one for the books... Jena: "Do you understand why you were sent to your room?" Jaden: "Because you have no patience today."
I was just torturing Jaden by pinching his cheek, and he yelled, "Help! This is kid adultery!" (I, uh, think he meant 'child abuse.')
Me: "Argh; she left my hair longer on one side than the other." Jaden: "Welcome to the real world, Mom. Nothing in life is perfect."
Jaden woke up singing "Blessed Be the Name of the Lord", so I asked him what he had been dreaming about. He told me: Darth Sideous, dolphins, and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Of course.
My parents have been divorced for 28 years. Tonight is my dad's birthday celebration, and Jaden told my mom she should go because "after all, he's your long lost husband."
Jaden (singing): "I could really use a wish right now..." Me: "What would you wish for?" Jaden: "That this would be an all-girls school but they'd let me in anyway."
Jaden: "Mom, can the average man lick his own armpit?" Me: "Ummm... I don't think so." Jaden: "I knew it; I'm talented!"
Jaden: "I would never want to be a teacher. You have to get to school at like 6AM to grade papers, plus you never get to pee. Mrs. Deeter literally NEVER pees. It's freaky."
Me: "So, what goes on at a boys' sleepover?" Jaden: "Can't tell; it's part of the Guy Code." Me: "What's the Guy Code?" Jaden: "Can't say; that's classified information."
Me; "How was your day?" Jaden: "Good." Me: "What did you learn?" Jaden: "Nothing." Me: "What did you play in gym?" Jaden: "Mom, I get it; you care about my day. I'm just tired of speaking."
Jaden and Jackson are wrestling upstairs. Me to Jaden: "Please don't kill each other." Jaden to me: "Is it okay if we badly injure one another?"
Jaden: "Okay, from now on, we're all gonna get along and stop arguing. So let's just, I don't know... pretend to be other people."
Jaden: "I mean, what if there is no Santa? What if all those presents are just dropped off by some guy named, like, Bob Shinkenheimer?"
Just had to have the Great Inevitable Santa Talk with Jaden. His response: "That explains why I never get coal even though I'm bad every year!"
Jaden, at bedtime on the eve of back-to-school: "Not... Feeling so well... I don't think... I'm gonna pull through..." *Falls to floor*
Jaden: "I can't go to school today. I'm not throwing up anymore, but I think I have Brownchitus." *fake cough*
Me: "Jaden, you are not leaving this house until you brush those teeth." Jaden: "Come ON, Mom. I promise I won't smile at anyone today. No one will know."
So, my work is hiring RNs, and offering a referral bonus. Mom suggested a friend of ours, but I said "she hasn't nursed in a while" -- to which Jaden replied, "Not from the looks of things; she doesn't even have kids!" *slaps forehead*
Jaden: "Alexis' sister Alyssa almost broke my thumb today. I should have told the teacher, but I figured that might ruin my chances with Alexis. So I make sacrifices; big deal."
Jaden: "A teacher at my school had a baby two days ago. He's a boy and his name is Cameron. Or Henry. Definitely either Cameron or Henry."
Jaden: "What if we switched bodies while we were sleeping?" Me: "You wouldn't like it. You'd have to be a girl." Jaden: "Yeah, but YOU would have puberty all over again, so the joke's on you."
So the boy has Strep. When the doc told Jaders he was contagious, he goes, "Do I have to wear a cone on my head?"
Jaden: "I heard on TV that our president keeps giving Mexican people free stuff. I'M Mexican! I know I don't look like it, but geez, take a blood test!"
For over three years now, my Facebook friends and followers have been encouraging me to write a book of "Jadenisms" -- quips and quotes from my sharp-tongued son, Jaden. I found a way to search archives of my Facebook statuses dating back to 2009, and compiled the following list both for posterity and for your amusement. As for me, I get to live with this kid; my biggest challenge is knowing when to laugh and when to wash his mouth out with soap.
Without further ado . . .
The Best of Jadenisms, 2009 through 2012:
"Mom, you're pretty. (pause) No, I mean it, you're actually kind of pretty. I don't know why guys aren't just gagging all over you." (age 6)
"Mom, can I have some strawberry milk?" (Me: How do you ask politely?) "Can I have some strawberry milk . . . if it be thy will?"
Jaden to Spike (the cat), who was freaked out by fireworks on July 4, 2009: "Aw, don't worry, Spikey. Relax, boy . . . it was just a bomb."
(Talking to himself in the mirror, age 6, as he wiggled his first loose tooth: "You got this, Jaden. Just grab and pull. Gotta take this like a man, damn it." (I really can't remember how I disciplined him for the swearing . . . )
Stylist told Jaden he had the thickest hair she'd ever seen on a seven-year-old boy. Jaden replied, "Oh, don't be so melon-dramatic."
Jena to Jaden: "Get your fingers outta the peanut butter jar!" Anne to Jaden: "Go get a spoon and I'll make you a peanut butter lollipop like Pastor Clem likes to eat." Jaden to Anne: "Miss Anne, I need more women like you in my life."
Second grade math homework assignment asked the students to write a math story problem and show the equation. Jaden wrote "Mom + Dad = Baby." He likes to think outside the box.
Jena to 7-year-old Jaden: "Please take the garbage out and put your bike away." (Jaden rolls eyes.) Jena to Jaden: "Remember, I let you live in my belly, rent-free, for nine months..." Jaden to Jena: "Fine, mother. I'll go get my checkbook."
Jaden to Jena after putting up their Christmas tree, 2009: "Mom, I hope this doesn't make me sound too girly, but can we just turn off all the lights and lay under the Christmas tree and just . . . talk about our feelings?"
Jena, while making vegetable soup, said to Jaden, "I wish you would be my taste tester. This soup needs something." Jaden replied, "Mom, I'm not gonna taste that soup, but I will tell you what it needs: meat."
Another one for the books... Jena: "Do you understand why you were sent to your room?" Jaden: "Because you have no patience today."
I was just torturing Jaden by pinching his cheek, and he yelled, "Help! This is kid adultery!" (I, uh, think he meant 'child abuse.')
Me: "Argh; she left my hair longer on one side than the other." Jaden: "Welcome to the real world, Mom. Nothing in life is perfect."
Jaden woke up singing "Blessed Be the Name of the Lord", so I asked him what he had been dreaming about. He told me: Darth Sideous, dolphins, and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Of course.
My parents have been divorced for 28 years. Tonight is my dad's birthday celebration, and Jaden told my mom she should go because "after all, he's your long lost husband."
Jaden (singing): "I could really use a wish right now..." Me: "What would you wish for?" Jaden: "That this would be an all-girls school but they'd let me in anyway."
Jaden: "Mom, can the average man lick his own armpit?" Me: "Ummm... I don't think so." Jaden: "I knew it; I'm talented!"
Jaden: "I would never want to be a teacher. You have to get to school at like 6AM to grade papers, plus you never get to pee. Mrs. Deeter literally NEVER pees. It's freaky."
Me: "So, what goes on at a boys' sleepover?" Jaden: "Can't tell; it's part of the Guy Code." Me: "What's the Guy Code?" Jaden: "Can't say; that's classified information."
Me; "How was your day?" Jaden: "Good." Me: "What did you learn?" Jaden: "Nothing." Me: "What did you play in gym?" Jaden: "Mom, I get it; you care about my day. I'm just tired of speaking."
Jaden and Jackson are wrestling upstairs. Me to Jaden: "Please don't kill each other." Jaden to me: "Is it okay if we badly injure one another?"
Jaden: "Okay, from now on, we're all gonna get along and stop arguing. So let's just, I don't know... pretend to be other people."
Jaden: "I mean, what if there is no Santa? What if all those presents are just dropped off by some guy named, like, Bob Shinkenheimer?"
Just had to have the Great Inevitable Santa Talk with Jaden. His response: "That explains why I never get coal even though I'm bad every year!"
Jaden, at bedtime on the eve of back-to-school: "Not... Feeling so well... I don't think... I'm gonna pull through..." *Falls to floor*
Jaden: "I can't go to school today. I'm not throwing up anymore, but I think I have Brownchitus." *fake cough*
Me: "Jaden, you are not leaving this house until you brush those teeth." Jaden: "Come ON, Mom. I promise I won't smile at anyone today. No one will know."
So, my work is hiring RNs, and offering a referral bonus. Mom suggested a friend of ours, but I said "she hasn't nursed in a while" -- to which Jaden replied, "Not from the looks of things; she doesn't even have kids!" *slaps forehead*
Jaden: "Alexis' sister Alyssa almost broke my thumb today. I should have told the teacher, but I figured that might ruin my chances with Alexis. So I make sacrifices; big deal."
Jaden: "A teacher at my school had a baby two days ago. He's a boy and his name is Cameron. Or Henry. Definitely either Cameron or Henry."
Jaden: "What if we switched bodies while we were sleeping?" Me: "You wouldn't like it. You'd have to be a girl." Jaden: "Yeah, but YOU would have puberty all over again, so the joke's on you."
So the boy has Strep. When the doc told Jaders he was contagious, he goes, "Do I have to wear a cone on my head?"
Jaden: "I heard on TV that our president keeps giving Mexican people free stuff. I'M Mexican! I know I don't look like it, but geez, take a blood test!"
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Top Ten Life Lessons I Learned (so far) Before Age 35
10) People who say they don't care what people think about them are usually saying that because they are desperate for people to think that they don't care what people think about them.
9) If you are worried about what others are thinking of you, you can relax--because they are probably too self-absorbed to be thinking about you anyway.
8) Everyone you meet and everyone you know is going through something. So don't be a jerk.
7) There is no such thing as the perfect church, so stop looking. And if you do find the perfect church, don't become a member or you'll mess it up. God can work with imperfection; in fact, we give Him no other choice.
6) When it comes right down to it, relationships--with others, with God, with ourselves--are all that matter in this life. Everything else is just details.
5) Never take life too seriously. No one gets out alive, anyway. Besides, if you are a Christ-follower, your life isn't even about you. It's about Him.
4) Never take yourself too seriously. Laughter can be lifesaving.
3) Smile at people. It shocks the heck outta most of 'em.
2) Take inventory of your blessings frequently. Anything and everything good that you have, embody, or experience came to you through God's hand. What if you woke up tomorrow with only those things that you thanked Him for today?
1) Prayer is the most powerful resource we have--and yet we usually resort to it last. That's kinda dumb.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Receiving Graciously 101
I don't know about you, but I rather like the ring of the words "self-sufficient." They make me feel strong. Able. Invincible. Untouchable. If I am self-sufficient, I am self-sustaining. Self-reliant. Independent. Respectable.
Sounds a bit like the American Dream, doesn't it? We as a culture praise and esteem such qualities. We are a nation of self-proclaimed "self-made men." We are all about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness -- which is often interchangeable with self-sufficiency.
Here's the thing, though -- it's an illusion.
Who do you really know who is self-sufficient? Who is able to keep his own heart beating even one blip longer than his creator intends? Who is his own source, his own provider, his own wellspring of wealth? No one that I know. And yet I have aspired to this, and come to expect it from myself in the process.
Enter unforseen circumstances. Enter the crash of the housing market (and the industry that was making me appear so self-sufficient not too long ago). Enter the mysterious will and plan of God, whose ways I still grapple to understand -- and the mirage of my self-sufficiency, my arrogant needlessness, dissolves like salt in water.
I did the math recently; I am now living on $30,000 less annually than I earned four years ago. And I would love to tell you that, because of that, I have achieved a new level of humility and grown marvelously as a person. But the truth is, I remain prideful. And that fact becomes unavoidable when others offer me help.
Enter more unforseen circumstances -- opportunities to face my needs, and to admit I have them --and then, enter (one by one) a procession of God's people, whom He seems to have placed quite intentionally in my path for such a time as this. People offering prayer and support and friendship and assistance of all kinds. People showing up and saying "Remember the time you were there for me? Now it's my turn." Beautiful reciprocity, indeed.
If you are a prideful person steeped in guilt, you know the default response: "Oh, no, no, no. Thanks, but I can't accept this. Or that. Or anything at all. But thanks anyway." False humility. Leaves a bad taste in the mouth, doesn't it?
I'll let you in on what God is teaching me these days; I seem to be enrolled in an accelerated course in Receiving Graciously 101. Lesson One: do not turn away a gift (time, resources, a favor, etc) given in love and obedience to God. Ever try to give someone a present and had them shove it back in your face? Well, me either -- but if I had, I think it would hurt something terrible. I like to give people gifts; I wouldn't want anyone to rob me of that joy. Would you?
I'm learning what true humility looks like. In so many ways, it is not what I thought it was. And it turns out that receiving graciously is a great way to cast down pridefulness -- and, as a dear friend told me just yesterday, receiving graciously will enable us, later, to give graciously. After all, none of us can give what we don't have.
Sounds a bit like the American Dream, doesn't it? We as a culture praise and esteem such qualities. We are a nation of self-proclaimed "self-made men." We are all about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness -- which is often interchangeable with self-sufficiency.
Here's the thing, though -- it's an illusion.
Who do you really know who is self-sufficient? Who is able to keep his own heart beating even one blip longer than his creator intends? Who is his own source, his own provider, his own wellspring of wealth? No one that I know. And yet I have aspired to this, and come to expect it from myself in the process.
Enter unforseen circumstances. Enter the crash of the housing market (and the industry that was making me appear so self-sufficient not too long ago). Enter the mysterious will and plan of God, whose ways I still grapple to understand -- and the mirage of my self-sufficiency, my arrogant needlessness, dissolves like salt in water.
I did the math recently; I am now living on $30,000 less annually than I earned four years ago. And I would love to tell you that, because of that, I have achieved a new level of humility and grown marvelously as a person. But the truth is, I remain prideful. And that fact becomes unavoidable when others offer me help.
Enter more unforseen circumstances -- opportunities to face my needs, and to admit I have them --and then, enter (one by one) a procession of God's people, whom He seems to have placed quite intentionally in my path for such a time as this. People offering prayer and support and friendship and assistance of all kinds. People showing up and saying "Remember the time you were there for me? Now it's my turn." Beautiful reciprocity, indeed.
If you are a prideful person steeped in guilt, you know the default response: "Oh, no, no, no. Thanks, but I can't accept this. Or that. Or anything at all. But thanks anyway." False humility. Leaves a bad taste in the mouth, doesn't it?
I'll let you in on what God is teaching me these days; I seem to be enrolled in an accelerated course in Receiving Graciously 101. Lesson One: do not turn away a gift (time, resources, a favor, etc) given in love and obedience to God. Ever try to give someone a present and had them shove it back in your face? Well, me either -- but if I had, I think it would hurt something terrible. I like to give people gifts; I wouldn't want anyone to rob me of that joy. Would you?
I'm learning what true humility looks like. In so many ways, it is not what I thought it was. And it turns out that receiving graciously is a great way to cast down pridefulness -- and, as a dear friend told me just yesterday, receiving graciously will enable us, later, to give graciously. After all, none of us can give what we don't have.
Need a more practical application? 1) Open mouth. 2) Insert pride. 3) Swallow.
Repeat as necessary. I know I will.
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