Bull in a china shop

I spoke way out of turn tonight in our book club. A group of women has gotten together over the summer to talk about the book, Emotionally Healthy Spirituality. A good read, I think, and I'm taking from it some wisdom. I've learned things I didn't know about myself. Like, I'm really comfortable with anger, not so much with sadness or disappointment. I'm decent at conflict - seeking someone out when there's weird tension, trying to talk in through, but I'm more of an avoider that I think. God's growing courage in me - courage to be who He wants me to be, courage to disappoint people, courage to speak truth when it's called for.

But courage wasn't called for tonight. Compassion was more in order. Someone shares her struggles with trusting in God's goodness. She admits stumbling over the process of forgiveness, and tonight shares that what's most difficult about forgiving. It's acknowledging that God has not spared you from whatever offense it is that has caused such deep pain.

I don't remember what her exact words were, but I felt her accusing God of injustice and evil. My blood started to boil. I wasn't angry with her. I was angry at Satan, angry at the lies he keeps feeding God's people, that somehow God's intentions towards His people aren't completely good. 

I'm writing an issue for Today in the Word now, a study of Exodus. And what's become clear to me is that one of the most fundamental questions each of us has to answer if we want to walk with God is, "Can God be trusted?" Those of us raised in Bible churches know the right answer. But does our heart agree with our head on this one? When pain is real, it's that much harder to acknowledge God's goodness. But it's all the more necessary.

Realistic expectations.

We successfully returned from another road trip this past weekend. Successfully, I say, because there were no angry exchanges in the car, no hurdling over seats to squeeze cheeks and utter threats. Why was this trip different from the last? One reason: realistic expectations. 

Everything is better when I'm realistic about life and about myself and about others. 

I've been starting my days with thoughts like, "This day is going to be hard. There's a lot of work to do." The babies will be fussy, the house will be chaotic, and I'm going to be exhausted. Period. Don't expect more than this. And if God grants a quite cup of coffee in the afternoon with twenty peaceful minutes to read, embrace it as a gift. But don't demand it.

Second, I'm getting more realistic about myself. "I'm a screw-up," is what I decided my most recent mantra should be. Which has sent me into a tailspin theologically. I've started to wonder, What's the most important thing we are supposed to acknowledge about ourselves? Is it that we are unconditionally and fully loved by God? Or is it that we are fatally flawed at the core of our being, sinful as the Bible puts it?

For me, I find it helpful to remind myself that I'm going to screw things up. Yes, thank God, He's changing me, rooting out some of the ugliest parts of who I've been for these part 34 years. But I'm still a screw up. No longer should I be shocked when I fall short of my own expectations. Ideals are good. Goals are important. But the truth is, try as I might, I'm failing. Each day that I acknowledge that, I'm closer to relying on God's grace.

And if I can acknowledge my own shortcomings, perhaps I can give a little bit more grace to those around me. Let them fail me. Instead of anger or buried disappointment, maybe there could be patience. 

Anniversary

It's quiet at our house this morning. The babes are taking their morning nap, and Ryan took the older three camping last night. My mother-in-law called last night and left a message with a note of concern in her voice: "You won't be lonely tonight, will you?" The quiet is a gift, a lifeline. I fight the anxiety to spend it well!

Tomorrow is our anniversary - 12 years. How do 12 years go by so quickly? It feels like we've lived several lives in this short span - a lifetime ago it was that both of us went to work in the dark hours of the morning and came home exhausted. We lived then in such separate spheres: Ryan, studying for his exams, working; me, teaching, coaching, grad school. I remember how easily it could have all fallen apart, this marriage of ours. I remember God's mercy in preserving us and protecting us. There's no doubt there are three people in this marriage. 

When I married Ryan, I knew he was "the one" because he was the only man I'd every truly admired. That is true still today. I love this man, I respect his man, and I admire this man. Yes, there are faults and shortcomings. Read past blogs and you'll find mention of some. But what's most true is that I depend on Ryan for so much. These past seven months have been full as we've grown to a family of seven. I expected sleep deprivation and stress: I didn't expect the laughter. If for nothing else, God gave me Ryan to keep me from taking myself and life too seriously. 

 They leave for camping yesterday afternoon, and Ryan turns back to say: "If I call you, it's for one of two reasons. Either Camille has lost a leg, or you need to come and get her." (God bless her, Camille is hell-bent on testing every fiber of our parenting resolve.)

Or when the family conspires to cut my step-father's comb-ups. Ryan sends me a hilarious Dilbert cartoon, picturing Dilbert's boss with his own version of comb-ups. The subject line states wryly, "Guy on the left." That sends me into hysterical laughter for a good 10 minutes. 

When the family is coming apart at the seams, he asks, "OK, so who's getting voted off the island?"

For the serious actuarial type that he is, this guys is pretty darn funny.

 

Twelve years can race by, and you can still be in love with the same man. 

Birds and Bees

"Somehow, I didn't picture having this conversation over dinner." And neither had I. Earlier this afternoon, I'd seen Audrey in the basement, reading a book from our teach-your-kids-about-sex series (God's Design for Sex - Stan Jones). I thought it was the first book in the series, the one that sort of eases them into things like the proper names for anatomical parts, etc. It also introduces basic concepts of Christian marriage and family. We've already read this book together with all of our kids. But we hadn't yet gotten to book two, the one that tells about S-X. Book two is suggested for ages 5-8, and this summer, Ryan and I had agreed we needed to read it with Audrey.

She beat us to the punch. And right in the middle of dinner, she started talking about how a baby begins as small as a little dot. I asked, "What book were you reading down there?" She runs downstairs to get it, and I see it's the S-X book. Oh boy. Here we go.

"Let's read that book together after dinner." The other four get bathed and tucked into bed, and Audrey and I go upstairs to snuggle up with the S-X book. (Cozy, isn't it?) I'd never pictured feeling awkward about this moment. And honestly, I really wasn't. The book does all the hard work - you just have to read it. As we read the part on puberty and your body changing, she insists (looking down her shirt), "that's happening to me!" I explain that the changes the book was describing don't happen until you're closer to 12, 13, or 14. Then she looks at my chest and asks, "How long does it take to grow those?" "A couple of years." YEARS??" she asks incredulously and with great disappointment.

Moving on, the book describes S-X, and it doesn't mince words. (God forbid, my daughter's going to be the one at school setting everyone straight that S-X isn't just kissing and hugging!) We finish, and I say, "You will be curious about this and will have more questions. I definitely would prefer you asking me rather than your friends who may not know the right answers or God's way." She asks me a few questions, a little giggly and awkward. And we finish our conversation with a short prayer, that God would protect her and prepare her to love her husband, that she would be faithful to God and to her husband by choosing God's way, etc. 

August 2nd, sex talk, check!

Protection

Ryan put the prayer book by the bed last night. If you read my last blog, you might well imagine that I was hardly in the mood for prayer. But I opened the book anyways and starting reading aloud.

"Because you have made the Lord your refuge, and the Most High your habitation, there shall no evil happen to you, neither shall any plague come near your dwelling. For he shall give his angels charge over you, to keep you in all your ways. They shall bear you in their hands, lest you dash your foot against a stone."

The "retiring prayers," as they're called, are the same for the month. Monday's prayer is read every Monday in July, etc. So as I read last night (Monday), I was remembering having read the same words last Monday. . .the day of Ryan's car accident.

He was on 294, traveling 60+ miles/hour in morning traffic, and a car started fishtailing and swerved right in front of him, clipping his left front tire and sending him careening into the next two lanes. Miraculously, those lanes were empty. Providentially, his car did not slam into a concrete barricade (which extends through most of this construction zone) but in a grassy ditch.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, I prayed when I hung up the phone with him early last Monday morning. I know we're not always spared tragedy in this life, but I'm grateful for this rescue.

"For he will give his angels charge over you, to keep you in all your ways."

Road Trip

We made it to Ohio this weekend, our first road trip as a family of seven. Getting ready began a week earlier - battery run last Saturday for the car headphones, trips to the library on Monday and Thursday for movies and CDs, laundry and suitcase packing Wednesday, Thursday a catch-all day to get the house clean and final items into the car. We loaded everyone up early Friday morning and set out as the sun was rising over Chicago. Those early morning hours always make for a peaceful drive. Two hours later, we were ready for our first stop to eat breakfast. Only 15 minutes of crying from Colin right before we pulled into my parents. I was disappointed. Wasn't this trip going to make for an interesting blog?

Oh, just wait. We leave to come home today, and Camille is in hysterics before we've even loaded up the car. Not a good start. We try to buckle her in to her carseat, but the kicking and wailing demand some sort of response. Ryan takes her into the house to promptly spank her. She returns only slightly subdued. We pull out of my parents' driveway, wave our goodbyes, and I ask Ryan, "Where is my iPod?" He answers, "On your seat." "Nope." "I put it right there, on your seat." We fumble around, stop the car, fumble around some more, find the iPod jammed carelessly in a bag. He blames the kids. We've made it at least half a block by this point. Nathan yells from the back, "Something's wrong with my screen!" The DVD player we've borrowed for the trip is our sanity. We pull over (again), I jiggle the cord to discover the only problem is the screen is in black and white. We blame the movie, I buckle in again, and at this point, a moth is hurling herself against the windshield on the inside of the car. Ryan puts down his window and successfully shews her out. 

By this time, we're finally to the highway. I'll spare you the gory details of the rest of the trip. Here are snapshots: family stopped at McDonald's, Ryan MIA on a business call, Jen nursing twins in the front seat of the van; Jen hurdling to the back of the van to squeeze Camille's cheeks together and utter violent threats about the spanking she's going to get if she doesn't stop crying;  babies crying in unison, Jen listening to one, two, and yes, three consecutive episodes of her favorite podcast, Manic Mommies with her iPod and earbuds and contemplating how she can make it home alone from Rensselaer, Indiana.

It wasn't my best of days today. 

Prayer

I can't believe I've been a Christian for so many years now and am just now learning about the spiritual discipline of praying the divine offices. The churches in which I grew up would have probably shuddered at its mention. I was raised a good Baptist, prayed the sinner's prayer at 6, got baptized, learned my Bible, and imbibed the don'ts of Christianity. We were never encouraged toward the practice of spiritual disciplines such as fasting, solitude, celebration. It was in college, then, that I was introduced to authors like Richard Foster, Henri Nouwen, Dallas Willard, and the practice of historic Christians. Some people get really nervous when you mention names like that. Like the publisher for which I write. You cannot credit any ideas from men such as these. They've become far too controversial in some Christian circles. And if you want my two cents on that (I guess that's why you're reading my blog, huh?), I think it's just an easy way of keeping at bay ideas like God is real, God is personal, and you can really hear His voice.

But alas, I digress. Back to the practice of the divine offices, also known as fixed hour prayer. Historically, Christians have set aside times in their days to acknowledge God and to recenter their days on Him. I'm reading a book which talks more about this practice (Emotionally Healthy Spirituality), and I was also introduced to the idea by Phyllis Tickle, a guest preacher at Mars Hill Bible Church in Grand Rapids (whose podcast we frequently listen to). 

Tickle has herself edited a contemporary prayer book which leads one into the practice of fixed hour prayer (The Divine Hours). In essence, the book is a compilation of written prayers and readings from Scripture. Ryan and I have taken to reading the morning, evening and retiring prayers together (we're on our own for lunch!). I'm loving this for several reasons. First, I'm giving God more than my first hour. I'm called back into His presence throughout the day by this practice. I find I'm less likely to forget who I am to be and Whom I'm called to serve. Second, my prayer life was getting unfortunately stale. I found myself saying either the same thing or saying nothing. I needed some prodding to venture out in different directions of prayer. This book is guiding me in that way. And third, I love that Ryan and I can do it together. For as "spiritual" as we may appear to some, it's never been easy for us to regularly pray together. We aren't uncomfortable doing so by any means, and it's most definitely our first place to turn when we seek wisdom and guidance for our lives, our family. But, we never have been consistent about prayer together each day. This, we hope, may anchor us in that practice.

Here's a prayer from this last week which has been meaningful to me: "Lord God, almighty and everlasting Father, you have brought me in safety to this new day; Preserve me with your mighty power, that I may not fall into sin, nor be overcome by adversity; and in all I do direct me to the fulfilling of your purpose; through Jesus Christ my Lord, Amen."