Isaiah - Whose Light?

Who among you fears the Lord

    and obeys the word of his servant? 

Let the one who walks in the dark,

    who has no light, 

trust in the name of the Lord

    and rely on their God.

But now, all you who light fires

    and provide yourselves with flaming torches, 

go, walk in the light of your fires 

    and of the torches you have set ablaze.

This is what you shall receive from my hand: 

    You will lie down in torment.

           (Isaiah 50 : 10, 11)

Have you ever used your cell phone as a flashlight? I have and let me tell you it does not give off much light, even with the flashlight app. (Yes, there is such a thing.) It is enough light to get you to the next step but that's it. It doesn't feel very reliable, even as the step in front of me is illuminated. I would much rather have a large flashlight, you know those really big black ones that light up a whole room.

But God doesn't give us a big flashlight lamp beneath our feet. He gives us a small sliver of light, enough to take another step but not enough to see a few feet in front of us or even the possible dangers around us. We can imagine them there waiting for us in the dark or we see a flicker of movement off to our side. Sometimes we walk on the trail because it is all we have to inform us sometimes we know our destination, we know where God is taking us but we don't know what path the Lord will lead us down.

Let the one who walks in the dark,
    who has no light,
trust in the name of the Lord
    and rely on their God.

I don't like to walk in the dark. Not if I can't see the path before me. I'm not scared of the dark, I am fine sitting on the beach late at night listening to the waves. But I am not going to walk into the water. I like to know where I am going. But God doesn't seem interested in my getting to my destination as much as he is desiring me trust him on the way.

But sometimes we don't. Sometimes we jump off the path, run to Target, grab the biggest flashlight we can find, maybe even some friends to join us on the hike, and then, only with all of our supplies in hand do we try to return to the trail God had laid before us.

But now, all you who light fires
    and provide yourselves with flaming torches,
go, walk in the light of your fires
    and of the torches you have set ablaze.
This is what you shall receive from my hand:
    You will lie down in torment.

Ouch. That one stings.

Do I do this? Do I create my own light in order to see what is meant to be unseen by me? Do I provide for myself instead of waiting and trusting God to provide? Do I walk in a false light created by me?

Do I trust God or not?

Because trust doesn't count unless you are willing to fall backward into His arms.

(Or at least that is what we all learned at youth group camp.)

Are you having trouble trusting God?

Five Minute Friday - Risk

I follow Lisa-Jo Baker (@lisajobaker) on Twitter. She was once the Gypsy Mama but redecorated her blog and is now Lisa-Jo. On Friday's she hosts Five Minute Fridays. Most week's I see the link in Twitter, glance at the word, and move on. Occasionally, when the word chosen starts writing about itself in my head, I join along. The rules are simple - write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.

This week's word is Risk. Ahhh... this word got me thinking. So before I over think it, here are my 5 minutes this Friday.

Go.

Here's the thing about risk. It is really a feeling word. Not a thinking word.

I mean yes, jumping out of a plane could result in your death, or not. But is it a risk?

I don't think so. The jumping part that is.

I believe walking with God is safe. IS. I believe that is truth. Not that painful things won't happen. Not that I won't feel overwhelmed and destroyed at times. Not that I won't die if I jump out of an airplane. But I believe that I am safe because I am saved. I am saved from myself, saved from having to earn my way in life, saved from having to worry.

And because I am safe in God, life is not a risk. My life is not happen chance. It is not a series of tests. I am not being asked to step out into an unsafe lane of oncoming traffic, even if my emotions feel that way sometimes.

I guess that is what I am trying to say. I feel risk. I feel nervous when I step out and invite someone over to my home for coffee. I feel anxious when I agree to do something that scares me. I feel worry when I don't know how things are going to work out.

I feel risk. It is feeling. But it is not the truth. The truth is I am safe. Even jumping out of planes. Even if my parachute doesn't open. Because there is God.

Stop. 


Okay so here is the problem with this activity. I feel a need to explain, to clean up my words. But I am a rules follower and I also am a strong believer that if I join in with someone else's game I need to play by their rules.

So I will walk away from this post and hope that someone gets it. I will fight against the feeling of risk in clicking publish and remind myself of the truth. I am safe.

I Feel Inadequate

I spend a lot of my days as a mom feeling inadequate. I don't know if I really am inadequate - I won't know that until my kids are grown up and talking to their therapists about their childhoods - but I feel it. I feel like a failure a lot of the time, broken only by small glimmers of getting it right for a moment in time.

I watched my bigger boys in a wave pool at a water park last week. They loved the waves. They weren't trying to surf them or swim past them, they were not afraid, they just let the waves bob them up and down, relaxing into the movement of the water. I think most days motherhood is a lot like living in a wave pool. At some point you realize you are in way over your head and have no hope of getting out of the constantly hammering waves so you do the only thing you can which is to relax and let the waves flow around you. And as you bob around in the pool of dirty clothes, making s'mores, dirty dishes, long summer days, bickering brothers, trips to the beach, and whining, you can feel the joy in just being in the pool.

Knowing that all of the negatives come with a positive attached. Dirty laundry from three boys who had a fun day at camp. Dirty dishes from meals we ate at home together. Bickering brothers who were just minutes ago pretending together that they were dragons in a make believe world (that looked an awful lot like their bedroom to me). Days at the beach full of hours of play leading to sun kissed, exhausted little boys that whine on the walk back to the car.

But there are days when I am overwhelmed by my failures. Overwhelmed to the point of tears. I know that I am failing my kids, that I am not enough and that sometimes I choose not to be enough. I get tired of the whining, the noise.

I am harsh.

I snap.

I shout.

I just want to be left alone.

I wonder if I should have ever become a mom.

I never wonder if I my kids should have been born because even in their yuckiest moments, they are still pretty amazing. They are constant reminders that though they share the same gender and the same parental dna options, they are uniquely made. As the Veggie Tales say, "God made them special and He loves them very much."

Which is a good thing because I am not sure my love is enough. I am not sure I love them enough.

I am selfish. I want to sleep. I want to have quiet moments in my day to read, to think, to have a conversation with another adult. These seem reasonable enough but I want more.

I want time to watch that trashy reality show. I want time to play that game on Facebook. I want time to read the funny posts on Twitter.

See, I am inadequate. And I don't say that looking for a pep talk. I know intellectually that I am doing okay. I know intellectually that every good choice I make for my kids means I have to say no to some other good choice for them.

Free time for their imaginations to grow and their brains to problem solve means we don't have time for music lessons and language classes.

Allowing the two hockey players to follow their self chosen passion and play competitive hockey means we cannot let them explore all the other extracurricular options out there.

Birthday parties that conflict with swim lessons.

Bringing them up in the church, praying with them, reading the Bible with them, giving them our faith means that they may get weird messages about God from us.

Gaining my own sanity at the cost of them having too much video game time, which they love by the way, is just another example of the give and take of parenting.

So yes, I know intellectually that I am trying hard to do the best by my kids. But I also know that I am not giving it my best, at least not at any given moment. I know I could do better. And I know I choose regularly to take the easy way out.

And I feel inadequate. Most of the time.

Sometimes I feel like an outright failure.

And then they go to camp for the morning and I love the quiet, I love the work I am able to do, I love being alone, and I feel guilty because all I want is more.

This parenting thing is hard. That's all I'm saying.

Can I Read Your Blog?

We were driving back to my place after picking her up at the airport. The kids' grandma had come to town for a visit. We were chatting about life, about the things upcoming in my life. I mentioned my blog in passing. It was part of the backstory of something I was saying. And then she asked, "Can I read your blog?"

Here's the thing. This woman in my passenger seat is my kids' grandmother, but she is also my mother. It is the grandmother part though that we focus on now. It is the relationship I can have with her right now. Anything more is too complicated, too painful, carries too much baggage.

"Can I read your blog?" The question echoes in my head. Of course she could. This is a public blog. It is open to the world to read. And I do that intentionally because I do not know who might relate to my stories, to my voice, my words.

So yes she could read my blog. But I have never given her my blog address, my blog name. We are not Facebook friends. (She's asked and I've said no.) I don't know if she has a Twitter account. I have not shared this part of me with her. Mostly because I do not want to discuss it with her. I don't want to wonder what she will think about what I write.
Recently, Anne Lamott tweeted,

ANNE LAMOTT ‏@ANNELAMOTTYou own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should've behaved better.

I loved this quote. Such power in those words. But the reality of it is so much tougher for me. One of the reasons I write fiction is because it allows me to tell my stories without ever having to debate the accuracy of my perspective.

And so when she asked the question I was stuck. How do I answer? If I say no, she will be even more curious and will probably badger our shared acquaintances until she finds it. If I say yes, I will forever wonder if she is reading it.

I was left with the only honest answer I could find.

"You wouldn't want to read it," I said.

She didn't seem to catch the hint. I would she said. She said she would like to know what is going on in  our life.

I explained it's not a mom blog, I don't write about my day to day life.

She asked again.

"You wouldn't like it," I said this time.

She seemed to finally understand.

Because while I don't write about her often, I do tell my story.