Waiting for the Other Shoe to Drop

I live a life that is blessed. Not just in a One Thousand Gifts, let's find the good, the eucharisteo in the everyday. My life is blessed in very tangible ways. I have freedom that most would fight to experience. I have a home, food, clean water, and enough money to buy new shoes for the kids without worry. I am married to an amazing man. He truly is but he doens't like me to write about him so I won't tell you how amazing. Just know that he is so amazing that he puts up with my attempts to help him become even more amazing. My kids are healthy, bright, happy and full of life. I have great friends, no matter where I live.

I am blessed.

But every once in a while, especially after listing how great my life is, I start to think about the downhill that must be coming. I am trying to get over my obsession with waiting for the other shoe to drop. I am trying to not measure life by the what goes up must come down theories. But they are always there in the back of my mind.

It is a tough thing to try to figure out the whys of blessings and trials. Is economic turmoil a result of bad decision making or is Satan testing me? Is illness a result of bad genetics or keeping my cell phone in my back pocket all my life or do bad things just sometimes happen to good people? Is there a set of weights and measures so that every great moment must be counter balanced by a horrible circumstance?

I was brought up to believe that those who were closest to God, who were the most obedient would be tested the most, that Satan would be constantly trying to lead them astray. But this does not really fit into my theology anymore. I don't doubt that God's people are attacked for their faith and good works but I don't think it is mandatory.

I guess I am coming to the conclusion that life is unexplainable. Maybe the shoe will drop someday. Maybe it won't. Or maybe the shoe has dropped but because I am no longer at the mercy of my circumstances, I didn't really feel the weight of the fall.

I know there are dark days ahead in life, but I am also thinking that maybe the darkness is no longer so dark for me. Maybe I have found enough light, enough hope, enough grace to brighten the dark days.

I had this post written and then I read these paragraphs by Shauna Niequist in her book "Bittersweet."

Grace isn't about having a second chance; grace is having so many chances that you could use them through all eternity and never come up empty. It's when you finally realize that the other shoe isn't going to drop, ever. It's the moment you feel as precious and handmade as every star, when you feel, finally, at home for the very first time.
Grace is when you finally stop keeping score and when you realize that God never was, that his game is a different one entirely. Grace is when the silence is so complete that you can hear your own heartbeat, and right within your ribs, God's beating heart, too.

I love these words. God is not keeping score. Grace is knowing the other shoe is not going to drop. Not because hard things are not going to happen because they will. But knowing that those hard things will be full of grace. I am no longer at the mercy of life's circumstances. The noise of this world, the fear of life's counter balances, are slowly getting quieter and quieter. The silence of grace in my life is becoming louder.

Fighting for Me

In my mind I am defined. I list descriptors of myself, words that have been with me my whole life.
Demanding.
Selfish.
Loud.
Abrasive.
Loquacious.
Judgmental.
Stubborn.

Where did I get these words? Why do I see myself as someone who has to fight all the time?

I know I have changed over the years. Most people would not use those words to describe me now, okay they would probably still say I am talkative and have a problem with interupting and being a tad loud. I just get excited about what my friends are sharing and want to join in and share their story with them. But I don't think I am judgmental or stubborn anymore. I think I have softened over the years.

I don't know why it was always such a fight when I was younger. I am sure it has something to do with growing up in a family where both my parents also insisted they were right. I probably did have to demand some attention as a kid when all the energy and family decisions were being made to help my mom get better. When you have been forgotten to be picked up after an activity and have overheard your parents fighting over whose turn it was to have to go to my soccer game, you start to need to make your voice heard. And I realize that asking my cash strapped parents for a class ring when I was in high school was probably unrealistic. I was 17. I was unrealistic. But to call me selfish when I did not ask for much and paid for everything else in my life myself seems harsh. But I took on that label, along with all the others I was given along the way. Demanding. Emotional. Selfish. Lazy.

Somewhere along the way, sometime after leaving home, I was able to put down the boxing gloves and stop fighting. I found that I didn't have to demand that people pay attention to me. I made friends who genuinely seemed to like to be with me. People who enjoyed sharing life with me and who were willing to give and take in the relationship. People who wanted to listen to my pains without having to defend against it. I was able to take care of myself financially once I was in college. I did not have to rely on my parents for tuition or book money. I was no longer tied to their financial decision making. And in being free from my parents physically, emotionally, and financially, I was able to stop fighting.

I didn't have to fight to keep my own identity any longer. I didn't have to fight the quicksand I felt pulling me into who my parents saw me to be. I finally had time and space to actually figure out who I was, not who I was as a reflection of my family.

And it turns out I am not a fighter. I certainly can fight. I can stand my ground when I need but I am very willing to compromise. I can lead, I can make decisions for myself and others, but I also am happy to follow.

I know more about who I am. I have found myself apart from anyone else's definition of me. I have found my place in God's kingdom. I have found my identity as his child, loved and redeemed. I am learning that I can be generous and loving. I can be selfless and self sacrificing. I have found grace and can share that grace with those around me, even those I don't agree with or who have hurt me. I am thankful for life, for the little moments and the big life changing provisions.

It is not just that I have found my identity in Christ. I have also been figuring out more of who I am in this world. What kind of friend, wife, mother and participant I am. I don't have to fight to be heard any more. I don't have to fight to be cared for anymore. I have my own place in this world.

When I moved, many of my friends took some time to tell me what I mean to them. The words they used to describe me and our friendship were not on the list above.

They used words like authentic, honest, sweet, thoughtful, loving, friend. 

While I do not want to find my worth or my identity in how other's see me, I do think it is time to let go of those words, those descriptors that are no longer accurate, and replace them with words that do describe who I am now.

My Story - Jesus Loves Me This I Know

As always My Story is from my point of view. You can read my disclaimer here.

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I don't remember a time not knowing who Jesus is. I grew up hearing Bible stories in church and praying before dinner. I knew that Jesus loved me because he loved all the little children, red and yellow, black and white. I knew I was precious in his sight. 

I grew up going to church. I heard the story of Adam and Eve, Noah and the Ark, Jonah and the whale. I knew that Jesus was born on Christmas and rose again on Easter. I was told that God loved me so much that he sent his only son Jesus to die on the cross for my sins. 

I knew I was a sinner who could choose whether I would go to heaven or to hell when I died. And when a four year old is faced with those options, I am pretty sure most would choose Jesus. But not me. At least not in that moment when they told us the story at church and explained about asking Jesus into our hearts to receive salvation. I was not going to jump on that bandwagon. No I was a thoughtful little girl. I wanted time to consider my options and think it through.

And then later that week, I was sent to time out. I have no idea what I had done that day, but I was sitting in timeout and instead of thinking of what I had done, I was contemplating this whole Jesus choice I had. And it was in timeout, all by myself, that I decided that yes, I did want to ask Jesus into my heart. I did want to go to heaven. I did want to follow Jesus. 

I prayed the prayer they had taught me. I told my mom. And nothing really changed. At least not noticeably. My life went on. I kept going to church and praying with my family before dinner. I learned my letters and eventually went to kindergarten and then first grade. I grew up physically and intellectually, but I also grew spiritually. I continued to learn more about Jesus. And the more I learned, the more I grew. 

I have had my share of crisis of faith moments. I have had doubts and struggles with the church and what it says about Jesus. But I continue to grow and learn and follow Jesus down the path I started when I was a little girl in time out. 

My first step of faith was at 4 but that step was in response to a simple truth I have always known, Jesus loves me this I know. 

The Opposite Race

My boys are always in a race. A race to drink their milk first. A race to get dressed first. The most important race in our house right now seems to be the seatbelt race, as in who gets their seatbelt on first. This is a competition I can endorse because it gets everyone out the door faster and since we no longer live in a town where everything is five minutes away, we are often running late.

But there is a part of me that wants my boys to also learn to let others go first, to serve others. On Friday, I posted the Parable of the Workers in the Vineyard. This passage ends with the verse, “So the last will be first, and the first will be last.” (Matt. 20:16)

I recently talked to the boys about this verse and about the importance of looking out for one another, helping each other be successful, and allowing other people to go first sometimes.

I thought maybe my message had sunk in a little bit when I saw Middle Man, patiently let his older brother get in the van and then wait to buckle his seat belt.

Turns out he had changed the race to an opposite race once he realized he was going to lose the seatbelt race to Little One. So instead of the first winning the race, the last would be pronounced the winner.

I am not sure that is what Jesus had in mind.