Showing posts with label My Story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My Story. Show all posts

The Gift of the Midlife Crisis

The midlife breakdown happens like clockwork.  A systemic collapse. So they say.  I never thought it would really happen to me.  My faith in Christ was rock solid, could never be shaken.  I knew the Bible inside and out, and felt like I knew God the same way.  I had been face-to-face with grief, suffering, and evil.  I had been disappointed, treated unjustly, and peed on  by people whose acceptance and affirmation I craved.  I thought I understood why God allows suffering and evil and how he transforms us into a Christ-like image of Him. 

And then one day, five months ago, the impossible happened.  My belief left me. I had believed in some invisible world and a God who watched over me – and I went along with all this nonsense that turned out to be a hoax.  The things I learned (and taught) in Sunday school were stupid.  My whole life had been built on lies.  It was like looking in the mirror and seeing a silly costume on me and asking, “who picked this out for me?”

Without Jesus, my faith, and my religion, I had no idea who I was because He had been my everything, or so I thought.  I filed spiritual bankruptcy, and for five long months, I struggled.  The operating system that I had been equipped with from birth malfunctioned with a fatal virus, and I had no idea how to fix it. Or if I needed to replace it. 



Psychologists say our ‘operating systems’ are programmed to reach our peak power, and then to crash.  If this spiritual breakdown happens to ‘everyone’ in mid-life, I’d like to meet them.  Just one person.  Since I know no one personally who has experienced this, I have been reading spiritual memoir books like crazy to understand the experiences of others in hopes to understand myself.  About the fourth month into my spiritual/identity crisis, I picked up David Anderson’s book Losing Your Faith, Finding Your Soul: The Passage to New Life When Old Beliefs Die, and he helped me to begin to make sense of all this.  It resonated with my current feelings. 

In the early stage of faith, it’s all about our achievement through religious or spiritual performance. In our early adulthood, we spend most of our time attending to the outer shells of our lives, according to Anderson, an Episcopal minister and graduate of Yale Divinity School.  He explains that we are defined by our family, our jobs, our parenthood, our churches and how we serve, our neighborhoods, our inherited political parties. The world tells us how we are doing in both subtle and blatant ways.  We know our status and how we are doing, but it is difficult to get a read on our souls.  After we have played the game for 30-40 years, we come to the point where we decide ‘No more!’.

The gift of the midlife crisis, according to Anderson, is that it dethrones the pretender self and welcomes the ascent of the real self.   As we start to separate from the worn-out system, we discover we can take charge of our own lives, let go of the “you should’s”.   We step out, stand apart, and plant our flag, uncovering what is inside and not creating something externally anymore.

The strangest rule of spiritual growth is that it begins against your will. You undergo the stripping, and when you’ve endured the pain without resorting to your usual escape routes, you find a new kind of joy. It’s the kind that comes from nothing.  It’s a happiness that is not contingent on any thing; it just is.  You didn’t gain it, and you can’t lose it.  This happiness has nothing to do with your circumstances. (page 153)

Anderson explains that as we do the early work of separation, firming up the core of our being, we find we are no longer dependent on other people to change so that we can be free.  We no longer depend on other people to be less depressing or judgmental so that we can be happy.  We no longer depend on them to act like mature adults so we can too.

But where he says we start of find our own authority and our own power – this is where I digress.  Only in my complete nakedness was able to realize what was lacking.  I didn’t want to rely on my own authority and my own power.  I truly wanted to give it to Jesus. While my belief had left me, my faith never did.  While I rambled down roads of atheism and then agnosticism, then universalism, in the end, my faith in Jesus was what I chose, even after I questioned it.  It is because of Jesus that I found my true identity. 

I’m not at the same place I was at the beginning, though.  I’m still in the process of gradual transformation, but it no longer feels like a crisis.  I no longer feel like I have God figured out or that I have the answers, and I am embracing the mystery of it all.  I am letting go of criticism and judgment.  I didn’t even know it was possible because it was part of the ‘old’ me.  In letting them go, my heart opens wider as I simply let life have its say, let God have His say in whatever form He wants, and let people be who they are.


If your faith has failed you at some point in life, if you used to believe, or if you are pretending to believe and going through the motions, if you feel like your faith has been snuffed out by evil or suffering after a life surrendered to God, then I would recommend David Anderson’s book.  He will not lead you to evangelical or even Christian conclusions.  Like me, you may not agree with everything he says.  But he will help you articulate the journey, make sense of it, and lead you through the stages of doubt and re-discovery, pointing you toward where you are headed.  He will help you change your crisis into a journey.  (Thank you Blogging for Books and Convergent Publishing for providing me a complimentary copy of this book in exchange for my honest review.)

God Is Working All Things Together for Good - Lessons Learned from a Ski Accident

Six weeks ago, my 17-year-old baby girl was seriously injured in a snow ski accident while we were celebrating my son’s 14th birthday at a nearby ski slope in Weston, Missouri.  Her recovery from shattering and fracturing multiple vertebrae in her back has been slow but remarkable.  It has not been an easy six weeks, especially in this season when she was about to stretch her wings and fly from the nest, now slowed by a broken wing with a long recovery process. 

We cannot understand or interpret all the bad events and tragedies that happen, but we can know that God is at work in them, whether or not we can understand on this side of heaven.  God has been working incredibly behind the scenes, maybe in more ways than I’ll ever know, but here are a few things I see:

1.  My relationship with my daughter has grown tighter, closer, forever altered, even if only for a short season.  A new bond has been forged and sealed.
 
2.  Her eyes are opened to the difficulties of others.  She is sensitive to others in wheelchairs or using walkers or dealing with physical handicaps.  She notices the things now that make it difficult for access with a walker or wheelchair, things many of us would never thing about, like grooves in a tile floor. She knows how it feels to be stared at and to experience the furtive glances.
 
3.  She has re-considered her degree plan for college, realizing that God may want her to do something different with her life than she had originally planned.  Rather than majoring in business and opening her own fitness center, she is now looking into social work with an emphasis in victim/trauma services.  Her heart is tender toward those who hurt due to circumstances beyond their control.  She is prioritizing meaning over money.

4.  I am stronger than I thought I was. I learned this in my husband’s heart attack a year ago today, but several events since then have reinforced it.  God helps me to think clearly in a crisis situation, to put aside my emotion and to deal with the next steps at hand that must be taken rather than falling into an emotional puddle.  I still melt into an emotional puddle, but only when it’s over.  God lets me melt, and then He puts me back together.
 
5.  God turns wounds into scars.  He is working His redemptive story in us.  As she works through the emotions of her life temporarily changed, Emily’s focus on her future goals has sharpened with a changed purpose, and her motivation to achieve them has kicked into gear.  God is using this to shape her character.  She will have a story to tell, and it will be a beautiful tale of redemption. 




The Snow Skiing Accident and the Questions that Follow

Emily, two days after back surgery after skiing accident
A month ago, my 17-year-old daughter was injured in a snow skiing accident at my son's birthday party.  With multiple fractures in her backbone and a shattered vertebrae with fragments pressed against her spinal cord, the doctors were amazed that she was not paralyzed.  It's a long road to recovery, but surgery went well, and she is walking again.  

We went to a follow-up appointment yesterday with the spinal surgeon, and Emily was wearing her "turtle shell" (back brace) and using her walker.  A 43-year-old man in a wheelchair approached her and tentatively started a conversation, commenting on her turtle shell and the fact that she was able to walk.  He said he was in a snow mobile accident when he was 17, shattering one of his vertebrae (T-12), leaving him paralyzed.  He wanted to remind her what a blessing it was that she was walking, and to also tell her to persevere, not give up, that she was beautiful and still had her whole life ahead of her.  He said life was good, even though he was paralyzed, that he was married and had children and works as a photographer.

When we left, Emily told me to carry her walker, she didn't need it, and she limped along back to the parking garage without it, one of the most beautiful sights ever! I would gladly have carried it everywhere and built up the strength in my arms as she rebuilt the strength in her legs. 

Up to this point, I had observed that Emily never asked "why".  She knew all along that God allowed it to happen and would use it for good in her life, whether she was paralyzed or not.  She trusted Him; she was not angry.  Her questions have been "what" - what is God going to do with this in her life?  But the "what" questions lead back to "why", and now the "why" questions begin.  

She asks "why am I NOT paralyzed?"  Her T-12 was fractured, not shattered.  It was amazing she could still walk.  Why does the man in the wheel chair live in it the rest of his life while her T-12 heals and she walks again? 

I don't know the answer, but I am thankful that she is walking, that life will return to 'normal' eventually, and I am looking forward to seeing how God is going to use this in her life.

I Joined a Bible Study on Spiritual Disciplines

I joined a women’s Bible study on spiritual disciplines at my church.  Jumping into a women’s Bible study isn’t easy for me. I am an introvert who does not enjoy small talk and am energized through solitude with God instead of corporate fellowship, but I know that I must have both.

While it’s been a couple years since I have been part of a women’s Bible study, this is the first one at this church, which I have been a part of for almost three years.  The overwhelming largeness and growth of this church makes it hard for this introvert to get plugged in. 

And now I wish it hadn’t taken me so long because I’m thrilled to find out the depth of the women’s ministry; it’s not fluffy or shallow or dependent on popular speakers on DVD. They encourage digging deep, not living off the crumbs of other’s findings but finding true nourishment in the Word and God speaking into your life and applying it in your relationships and circumstances.

In our study this week, it is just an introduction to the disciplines.  We are using Donald  Whitney’s Spiritual Disciplines for the Christian Life: A Study Guide – and just the study guide only, not his actual book on which it is based, so we are encouraged to dig into the scriptures instead of Whitney’s teachings.  We are told that we might disagree with some of his points, and that’s okay, but to glean from it and dig and grow.

One of the points that Whitney emphasized is that growth in relationship with God is completed only in fellowship with His children, not in isolation.  As tempting as it is for me to close myself in my library and study what I want to study and read what I want to read, it is through the Church and fellowship with my brothers and sisters in Christ that keeps me from diverging down the path of error or putting too much emphasis on lesser things. 


Check back on Mondays for more on the spiritual disciplines and this chapter of my story….

Contemplating Death and Life

In 2005, doctors told me that I likely had ten years until I started experiencing symptoms of liver failure due to a rare disease where the bile ducts develop scar tissue and become blocked (primary sclerosing cholangitis).  Over the last year or two, I have had short seasons of symptoms that set me back from ‘normal’ life, but most of the time, I don’t think about it much because I feel well.  God knows the number of my days, not the doctors.

At the anniversary of my grandfather’s passing on to the other side, I am thinking of what he is doing, how long or short it will be when I will join him there, and what the end of this journey of my own life here will look like.  I think of the brevity of life and how my story fits into the longer story of eternity.  This reminds me of the beautiful closing paragraph from the Chronicles of Narnia:

But the things that began to happen after that were so great and beautiful that I cannot write them. And for us this is the end of all the stories, and we can most truly say that they all lived happily ever after. But for them it was only the beginning of the real story. All their life in this world and all their adventures had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story, which no one on earth has read: which goes on forever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.

The process of death can be morbidly ugly on the outside. But on the inside, for those who enter through the narrow gate through faith in Jesus Christ, it is part of the journey to get past the introduction and into Chapter One of the Great Story.  There’s a purpose to this introduction to the Great Story. God promises He will accomplish it.  I pray that my transition from the introduction to Chapter One will be a beautiful transition that prepares me for what is to come.

2013 - A Desert Adventure

In 2013, I felt like life is passing me by.  No fun, no adventure, just the daily grind. I wistfully recall  previous years of tropical beach excursions, mountain vacations, and family camping trips with our RV when we lived in Texas and our kids were young. And I even think fondly of all the pool parties and tween kids in our backyard when we moved to Kansas, the dinner parties with friends, planned and unplanned. 

But in 2013, there was very few of those things, if any.  A bare sandy pit lies where the pool used to be, like a symbol of the dry barren year we have had.  Significant events have happened this year, both joyful and burdensome life markers:
 



  • my Grandpa’s passing in January
  • my debilitating illness in February and March
  • my husband’s heart attack in April
  • my promotion in May
  • my daughter Emily’s first job
  • my daughter’s struggle with kidney stones
  • a teenage girl from Texas moving in with us (MarMar)
  • my son’s hard work in cross country and the Philharmonic Orchestra
  • the roller coaster of having 3 teenagers in the house
  • disappointing health reports in September
  • my Grandma L’s passing in December. 

The things that require the most effort, cause the most pain, or bring the greatest struggles are the canvas where my faith is displayed. It is when I truly live, when God is nearest, and when I most feel His presence.  Those things may not make a great Facebook status, but aren’t those the most interesting stories to tell?  


I do not know what significant events will happen in 2014, but because of 2013, I can face them courageously and boldly because I know that Jesus is with me, His Spirit is in me, and it WILL be an adventure.

It's Not about Me, but it Kind of Is - Blogging



Blogging seems like a potentially narcissistic activity, as most social media is, and I didn’t think anyone really wanted to hear my story. I wanted my focus to be on God and His story.   

I started this blog to help others grow more in love with Jesus, to inspire deeper spiritual growth.  I haven't quite figured out how to do that.  With the passing of the last of my grandparents this year, I have learned a bit more of their life stories and wondered about them even more.  It is through their stories and how they are woven into God's story that I find some common ground.

We play a key role in His unfolding purpose. We each have our own joys and burdens to share and our own stories to tell.  We find common threads and patterns as we interpret our stories through God’s truth.  In fact, our stories are in a sense a reworking of His story in new ways for our day.

God is writing His story in us.  Faith in Jesus is the bridge of my story turning into God's story.  As we share our own stories of faith, we tell His Story as we weave ours into His.  By sharing our story in His story, we can encourage and revive each other’s hearts and show the world the good that comes from those who put their trust in Jesus Christ, in good or bland or horrid circumstances.



Looking back over the topics of the last three years of my blog, I have only alluded to significant events, but I missed out on deeply sharing some awesome stories on how God was working in my life and those around me. 

Beginning in 2014, this blog is going to include a little more of my story.  Maybe as you hear mine and I hear yours, we can learn to interpret together how God is weaving our stories into His as He writes His story in us.

My Grandma Gave Me a Machine Gun

Grandma L. 1924-2013
Every year on Christmas Eve as a child, we would go to my Grandma L’s house for a gift exchange and finger food.  Between my two sets of grandparents, when it came to receiving gifts, Grandma L. was totally unpredictable and a huge success.  While Grandma F. gave her hand-crafted crocheted booties, capes and purses (which I treasure to this day), my Grandma L. gave my first portable radio and a toy machine gun.  Yes, a gun.  My mother was mortified, and I was puzzled. 

Did she know me? Maybe she did.  Not that I like guns – I hate them.  But I prized that silly toy because I liked playing GI Joe with my brother, and I finally had my own gun, and when I pushed the trigger, it made cooler sounds than his.  I liked it that she didn’t stereotype me or put me in a mold of what a sweet little girl should be or have.

My Grandma L. came to my birthday parties and graduations and my out-of-state wedding.  But it seemed we were from two different worlds.  We never really knew what to say to each other.  She never really knew me. And I never really knew her.

One of my New Year’s resolutions for 2013 was to get to know my Grandma L., my last living grandparent.  Just going to her house to visit seemed awkward, especially since her dementia had gotten worse. I needed a reason to be there, so I asked my Aunt Sal if there was anything I could do to help take care of her.  She insisted that she didn’t need my help but would call when she did.

Visiting her in the hospital was easier, less awkward.  When she was there with a kidney infection, I prayed with her. I think I scared her.  I didn’t really know what she believed about God.  She didn’t go to church. I didn’t pray with her because I thought she was dying.  I wanted God to be near, to ease her pain, and bring her comfort.

She was in the hospital again a few months later, this time with a cancer diagnosis.  At 89 years old, she decided she just wanted to go home and not endure any treatments.  Again, I offered my assistance through Aunt Sal. 

The day after Thanksgiving, my mom and I were visiting with Grandma L. I don’t know why I had a hard time being more courageous to share the most important thing in the world to me, but the door just never seemed to swing open.

Until we were leaving.  “If only you could get me a…..”, she mumbled as we said our good-byes and headed to the door.  

My mom and I looked at each other. Was it worth asking her to repeat it or just continue on out the door?  I turned, leaned toward her lying in her bed, and asked her what it was she wanted.  “Get me a shotgun, so that I can end all this."
Me, my daughter, my mother, & my Grandma L


Grandma L. spent her life taking care of people who were ill and dependent on others for their basic needs, and now, it was her turn to be cared for, and the feeling of being a burden to others was overwhelming.  But with her words, the door finally swung open for me, and the words poured out, words of God’s love for her, His purpose and mysterious plan in her suffering.

Last Friday morning, I felt the pressing desire to go see my Grandma L., to read my Bible to her, to talk with her and encourage her.  Perhaps I would go that evening, or later in the weekend.  But that afternoon, I found out that she was at the hospice house for care because she wasn’t doing well.  My decision was set – I put my Bible in my purse and I courageously went to see her that night with every intention to talk about all the things that were never said.

As I sat with her, she would not wake up.  Two of my aunts were there and said she had not woken up in a couple days.  I decided not to be deterred, that perhaps even through her labored breathing, she could hear.  What passages do you read to someone who may be near death?  I opened my Bible to the latter half of Romans 8, held her hand, and read God’s words to her.  Then I turned to Psalm 23.  When I finally looked up and away from my Grandma L.’s face, Aunt Dee was still present, and tears were streaming from my Aunt Sal’s eyes.

When the nurse entered the room to turn my Grandma L. to her other side, she said that the end of this life was very near for her.  My mom was stuck in a snowstorm in the Ozark mountains, so I stayed to be her eyes and ears, wanting to be there until she took her last breath.  I stroked my Grandma L.’s hair, told her I loved her, told her Jesus loved her and was waiting for her with His arms open wide if she would just believe and go to Him.  

Grandma L. passed away at 3:05 am that night.  God gave me a vision, a vision of her arising and going to Jesus, and Jesus embracing her in His arms. 

.




My Work Identity - Projects Vs. People

I thought I was dying.  It happened suddenly - any food I put into my body didn’t stay there, didn’t digest.  My life was consumed with nausea and pain. 
My hypochondriac imagination worked overtime. Maybe I had cancer.  Maybe I had liver failure.  The possibilities seemed endless, and my doctor had decided to go on vacation.  

Yet, between medical tests and losing 15 pounds effortlessly in two months, I dragged myself to work every day, weak and emaciated, even if only for a few hours. While plodding through reports, I wondered -- What would happen to my projects if I couldn’t work anymore?  What would I be known for in my work? If I died, what would I be remembered for? 

This task-oriented person needed a reminder -- my work identity is not in my projects nor my task list.  My identity in Christ is ultimately manifested in my relationships.  So what would people say?

“She was so professional.”  I heard these words spoken admirably of a former boss.  Is being business-like, emotionless and impersonable admirable traits for a Christ follower?  Jesus was considered an authority and generally respected for it by many.  But no one would say he was all business or uncaring.  He worked with people, not projects.

“She was a nice person.”  Not likely everyone could say that about me, and with my reserved personality that avoids being the center of attention, I’m not easy to get to know.  While I want to be thought of as kind or friendly, I’m not sure that I am concerned with a reputation of being “nice.”  Jesus was warm and caring, but He wasn’t always nice.  He called people out when they were wrong.  He made people think.

“She was a good person.” This is better than the outward persona of being nice because goodness goes beneath the surface and is rooted in the heart.  Jesus WAS a good person, to the core.  If goodness reflects the love of Jesus in me, then I want to be a good person too.

But ultimately, I want to be known as someone who puts others above myself, someone who goes out of the way to be sure justice is served even if it was inconvenient, and someone who stands for her convictions.  Like Jesus.

So, I may not always be ‘nice’.  But I CAN reflect Jesus by being humble, respectful, kind, and patient.  I can choose to pursue what is right rather than pursuing favor.  To do these things, I need to be someone who listens and seeks to understand before seeking to be understood. 

I want to see the big picture – everyone as a person with an eternal soul, a spirit, to see them beyond the task at hand.  Work is the platform where I practice my faith, where I perform in an arena with my head and hands what I know about God and His purposes.  And not just with my head and hands, but also with my heart.


After three months, God brought healing to my body after a diagnosis of gastroparesis (partial stomach paralysis).  The healing is not complete, but I can function, and the pain that remains is a reminder – a reminder that I work with people, not projects.

Letter to Dad in 1991, from Me in 2013


Dear Dad in 1991,

I wish you could have a peek into the future.  I’m writing this now as your daughter at age 42, to you as a father at near the same age back then, wishing we both could know how things will turn out and be encouraged. 

In these difficult yet crucial decision-making years of my late teens, you may feel discouraged as I try to figure out who I am and where I’m going.  You may feel like you are failing – but you aren’t.  I am listening, even if it seems like I’m not.  The time you spend with me will leave a lasting impression.  Your efforts to know me while I don’t even know myself are not futile. 

You take me sailing, just the two of us. I may seem sullen and grumbly, and you may wish you had never bothered, but even so, it was not for nothing.  You are showing me you care.

You play racquetball with me and afterwards treat me to limeade slushes at Sonic.  We have fun together. You are showing me I have value.

We escape after dinner for Italian ice so we can talk, just the two of us. You let me pick the radio station and you listen to my music, even though you don't like it. You want to know what's going on in my head.  You are showing me that my opinions are worth something.

It may seem like I scoff at you and disregard your advice, but deep down, I really am listening.  In my youthful arrogance, I argue, thinking I know more than you, but you listen.  You don’t blow me off or ignore me, nor do you lecture me.  Instead, you ask questions that make me think, and then you give advice, continuing to insist that God’s ways are the best ways.  Then you watch me go my own way and make mistakes, but you bite your tongue and never say, “I told you so.”  You don’t give up on me.

And it made all the difference.

I know it’s hard right now.  You tease that you hope someday I'll have a daughter just like me - so that I’ll know what I put you through.  And you'll get your wish - times two.  Then you will say you're sorry you ever said that, and I'll laugh, and we'll hug each other with love and appreciation.

The times now may be difficult, but I will grow up, and I will have all the things you dream for me – a long-lasting and wonderful marriage, children, a successful career, but most of all, a life centered on Christ.  Through the valley of shadows and over the mountains of victory, Jesus will become my everything. 

And you have no idea that you are showing me how to be a godly parent to my own strong-willed children in their teen years. You are passing on a legacy of faith and love.

Hang on, Dad, don’t give up. Your reward will come.

Love,

Your daughter in 2013

My Grandpa's Legacy




My grandpa passed away from this world a week ago today, and he left me a rich inheritance. He was generous in that way.  And it was not just for me, nor just for his family -- he wanted everyone to have it.

The good news of Jesus Christ, the Gospel, – He believed it.  He breathed it.  You could see it in how he valued people.  No one was beneath him to talk to, nor did he have the character of being a busy or hurried man.  He stopped and saw the real person and wondered about their soul – the cashier at the store, his doggy’s veterinarian, the nursing assistant in the hospital. 

My grandpa was an encourager.  He had three favorite verses that he commonly used to encourage me, and it was clear that these were the foundation of his life with Christ because he lived them.

1) Proverbs 3:5-6 Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.

His grandmother imparted this verse to her own children and had desired for all her grandchildren to memorize it.  It became his life verse.  He truly believed that when we turned to God, He would “direct” our paths. But it will not necessarily be an easy path.  Sometimes the path may have obstacles and hindrances, but when we trust the Lord, he will lead us around them or through them.    

2)   Isaiah 26:3   You will keep him in perfect peace, Whose mind is stayed on You, Because he trusts in You.

When faced with major life decisions and transitions, this was a verse he would quote to me and tell me that he was praying. And when he said he prayed, I knew he really was.  His mind stayed on His Lord, and in the overflow of his heart he wanted others to experience this peace.  When God gave him an open door to testify to His goodness, to share the good news of Jesus, or to offer a word of encouragement, he never hesitated. It was second nature to him to want to know what one’s relationship was with Jesus and then encourage them to seek Him.

3)  I Corinthians 15:58  Therefore, my beloved brethren, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.  

This verse was my grandpa’s mission statement.  His life goal was to continually be in a position where God could use him.  He didn’t sit around wondering what  God’s plan or purpose was for his life.  He didn’t know what each year, each month, or even each day would bring.  He just knew that all he had to do was be ready for the next task.  He was a humble servant of the Lord.

This is the legacy he leaves behind.  He would want us to trust God with all our hearts, to keep our minds firmly rooted in Him, and to also give our lives as willing and humble servants knowing that each God-assigned task set before us will not be done in vain.

Christ-Like Middle-Aged Womanhood

What does it look like for a middle-aged female to be “Jesusy”?  Jesus wasn’t a woman. Jesus didn’t face the loss of youthful beauty and the tortures of perimenopause.  Even though I can’t see a literal picture of what I’m supposed to look like, God tells me to open my eyes and look around.  He put some Jesusy women in my life to show how I, a middle-aged woman, can be more like Him. 

My Jesusy girlfriends just seem to ooze God’s love and grace through their pores.  It’s not that they go around with cheery smiles and happy dispositions.  It’s a quiet, joyful strength in the midst of raging battles.

They wrestle with the flesh, with relationships, with low self-esteem. They experience deep suffering through financial disaster due to job loss or difficult marriages or the death of those they love.  Yet they grow stronger in their faith and are full of hope in Jesus.  Their joy runs visibly deep.  The element they all have in common? Jesus is their everything and it shows in their work and in their lives.

They didn’t go to seminary or Bible college, but they long to have more knowledge. So how did they get to be so Jesusy?  George Barna says, “Some people reach the ultimate stages of wholeness and maturity within just a couple decades while others failed to achieve such maturity after more than five decades of consistent religious activity and positive intent.” Why do some grow and mature while others stagnate? 

With menopause approaching, more than ever it seems that life careens out of control while I simultaneously grasp for control of things I have no business controlling.  Add to that a face that is growing more haggard, a waistline that expands when I look at a cookie, freckles peppering my body in places they’ve never been, and ‘silver’ hairs taking over faster than I can pluck them, things that I can only control to some degree by artificial measures – getting older doesn’t necessarily mean it’s easier to be Jesusy. 

But I can choose – choose to try to be in control or relinquish everything to Jesus, to continually turn to Him inwardly, and outwardly to seek to overflow His love.  I can choose to open my eyes and ears to see and hear what He is speaking into my life to grow me, so that I, too, can be more Jesusy.

Jesus did suffer. He suffered loss, battled the flesh, and endured inconceivable pain. And He was victorious.  He gives us women the power to endure, to grow and even find victory through the mountains and valleys of middle-aged womanhood.

Linking up with: Soli Deo Gloria Party at Finding Heaven and A Pause on the Path 

My 397-Day Journey

 Today marks day 397 – the end of this journey of contrasts. Pain and joy. Betrayal and forgiveness. Despair and hope. Apathy and love.  

When day 1 was logged, I had no idea how long this journey would be.  When I sprinted across the starting line, I didn’t know I would be running a marathon.  If I had, maybe I would have paced myself differently.
When I reached 166 days, I “hit the wall”, ready to completely crumble, not knowing how much longer I could survive it while somewhat resembling the woman God wanted me to be. 
Chronicling this leg of the race in my life would have created a meaningful blog, but I dared not even journal it privately.  I would prefer to erase the hurdles that tripped me up. I wonder if someday I will regret not documenting it in writing.  If I don’t have the written tangible evidence of how concretely God worked in these difficult days to show me what it means to live like Jesus, will I forget?
 I look at the topics of my blog over the last 397 days for any record of the valleys and mountains of where I have been and here are a few posts inspired by this journey:
·         The Meaning of Hope
·         Life is Hard: Hype or Hope
At times, my flesh exposed all my selfishness, self-centeredness, and ugliness that I bowed in shame, clinging to the foot of the cross.  At other times, my spirit soared with compassion, empathy, hope, and love at times when I could have felt disheartened, frustrated, resentful, or self-righteousness instead.  Maybe in these times, this is what it looks like to live and love like Jesus.
 I can find no rhyme or reason why one wins over the other, why God sometimes infused me with unexplainable strength and other times left me on the verge of unravelling.  Yet He sustained me.
I want to find out why I sometimes have “it” and why sometimes I don’t, and then find out how to have “it” now that I know “it” is possible in the most unexplainable of moments.  In any circumstance – even despite circumstances. 
I want to live “it” all the time.  The outcome of this 397-day journey – it’s a gradual transformation through which the obstacles serve as catalysts.
So now one chapter closes, and a new one begins.

Linking up with A Pause on the Path

One Way My Husband Will Never Be Like God

19 years ago today, I foolishly jumped into a commitment with a man I barely knew.  Having met him only 10 months prior, I only grasped a tiny fraction of who he was as I proclaimed that I would love and cherish him the rest of my life.  Only by the grace of God, he happened to be an even better man than I ever imagined at the time, because my historical choices of guys usually moved the other direction. 
Over the years, we both have changed – dare I say - almost to the point that we are not even the same people.  Again, only by the grace of God have we changed in ways that cause us to fall even more in love with each other, and despite each other too.
If I had married my husband knowing he’d never change, could I be happy? I might think I know everything about him by now, but periodically he surprises me.  The fact that he is also continually changing gives promise to adventure ahead rather than a life of complacency and boredom. 
So the fact that God never changes, is that a good thing?  Hebrews 13:8 claims Jesus is the same yesterday, today, and forever.  Is the sameness of Jesus boring?  Hardly!  I only know a tiny fraction of all that God is.  While it will take all of eternity for me to know Him, I know that He will only become more and more wonderful – and there will never be something disappointing to discover.
The fact that my husband is mutable and that God is immutable is one respect that they will never be alike, and this is strangely a perfect thing.

Mother's Day - the Pain and the Joy

It is not chains that hold a marriage together. It is hundreds of tiny threads which are sown together over the passage of time.  Over the years, God has been teaching me how to look at life through His perspective through the Word, and life experiences have shown me that weaving those threads around the central cord of Christ is what gives my marriage not only joyful longevity but strength to endure the Refiner’s fire.

Before kids, Mother’s Day had always been about celebrating and honoring our own mothers, but 16 years ago, for the first time, Mother’s Day was finally going to be my day, or it was supposed to be… But things didn’t turn out like I had planned.

I distinctly remember that May of 1995, sitting in the pew at our church when the pastor asked all the mothers to stand. As I remained seated, my heart ached.  Not just because I wanted to be a mother and wasn’t, but because I felt like I should have been a mother and God took it from me.  A miscarriage a few months rocked my faith, and to deepen the pain, the baby’s due date would have been that Mother’s Day.

Later in the day at a quick shop, the cashier handed me a rose and said “happy mother’s day”.  I refused the rose, shamefully murmuring that I was not a mother.  His insistence that I accept it affirmed my value and place in the world as a woman. God used him to show me that I did not have to be a mother to my own biological children to use the qualities of nurturing and caring for others to impact my world.

I believed in Jesus as my personal savior at the age of 6, but God took me to a new level in my relationship with him when I realized I could not control something I wanted so badly.   I turned to His Word, the Psalms, where I learned how to express both disappointment and reverence, and both despair and hope.  In the Psalms, I can pass from thinking of God as a part of my life to the realization that I am part of His.  

Psalm 46 was the passage I clung to in that season of my life.   “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging.  There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place where the Most High dwells.” 

God revealed to me in this passage that even if creation itself became uncreated, a river of joy flowed from the Lord’s mighty throne.  He bestowed on me a sense of comfort, a sense of hope, something better someday.  God is good, even if at the moment from my own perspective it doesn’t seem like it.

The center cord of Christ secured the threads of my marriage as my husband honored me and expressed my worth, even if God did not plan parenthood for us.  As my faith was refined while walking through the dark valley, I realized that my identity was not to be found in motherhood, but in Christ.  If He did not choose to bless me with biological children, perhaps He would choose to use me to bless others and in a sense have “spiritual children.” 

It seemed like years had passed, but on Mother’s Day one year later, I worshiped in that same pew while embracing the amazing gift of our newborn baby in my arms.  And a few years later, the Lord blessed me with another. 

Even though my children are now 11 and 15 years old, every Mother’s Day I remember the pain of loss but also the joy that comes in the morning.  While I cherish the gift and calling of motherhood, most of all I cherish the love and greatness of my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ and desire to continue to grow in understanding of His perspective through all the chapters of my life as He works them out for our good and to His glory.