epiphany

I've acquired a bit of habit in my housework. As dorky as Flylady.net sounds, and as disturbingly popular as it is, it really has been a lifesaver in the way of helping me establish healthy routines for my day. I'm not saying I have them down pat. Some days I soar; some days I crash and burn. But in the overall scope of things, God has been working overtime in that area of my life. The results are obvious.

That's it: "the results are obvious." My house is consistently cleaner than ever.

One of the most helpful gems I've learned in this process is that I must let go of my perfectionism. I didn't even know I was a perfectionist, but apparently, yes, perfectionism is what holds a wife back from cleaning her house... because she doesn't have enough time (or motivation) to do it the "right" way. So... I let the perfectionism go. Oh, sure, sometimes I try to pick it back up again, but overall, the idea of letting it go makes sense to me now. Flylady taught me that "housework done incorrectly still blesses your family."

Now, before you start making fun of me, let me just say -- I'm excited! You know why? Because I finally have a versatile enough tool to use in my writing disciplines. Perhaps perfectionism is what keeps me from writing. And because I cling to that perfectionism, I have low self-esteem due to the fact that I'm a writer who doesn't write (at least not enough to be considered a "writer"). But if I let that go, and just make writing a habit, even if it's the raunchiest writing you've ever read, I'll be more of a writer than ever. Ha!

sporadicity

Nothing... and then it pours.

I hope, dear Reader, that you're used to it by now, and it doesn't purturb you too much that my blog postings come and go. One thing is: you don't have to worry that they'll be gone forever because I keep learning things, believe it or not, and learned things are blogworthy.

war

Spiritual warfare, this stuff is. The moment you think it's just you fighting your little fight -- with maybe a bit of God's help from somewhere far, far away -- it hits you. You hit rock bottom. And the sadness, the pain, the confusion... they're all just so big you have to pray, whether you believe it'll help or not.

You start to think you're something. (How, in the middle of so much stress, can you actually think you're something?)
"Gotcha," the demon says, although he speaks so softly, you think you heard something else, someone cheering you on. "Right on," the voice whispers.
"Thou shalt have no other gods before me, not even thyself."
You didn't hear that one at all, even though it was there. It was definitely there.
"This is about something else entirely," a demon coos. "It's about you. People shouldn't treat you unjustly. You deserve to be appreciated. You deserve to have an easy road."
But you start to understand that you are wrong, and selfish, and maybe you should apologize for your unfair thoughts. It's at least something to think about.

The forces rushing at each other are so fierce you're in a daze. You think you're just taking a bath, thinking about life, about what's happened. And then you recognize your wretchedness, and God's bigness.

And somehow, at that moment of recognition, you realize that a battle has just been won.

baptize me

Forgive me, Lord, for thinking I'm a good Christian. Forgive me, Lord, for standing myself up against the world and hoping others will see my nice house, nice hospitality. Nice. Yeah, nice tea that I can't take criticism against. Hospitality, my foot.

And I said the same to You, Lord; I said I was really something. "Oh, I know I'm such a failure," I said, "but not as bad as..." Forgive me for that, Lord.

You let me pray, Father. You listened, and I sniffled. And I felt You work. I felt the belief settling in. But I didn't learn... not until... I listened.

And I saw me.
And I saw You.
And I saw You filling in my gaps.
And then, I saw... there was so much You.
And then I realized... that I was nothing.
That it was all You.
There were no gaps to fill in because there was nothing of me to start with.
Only You.

Grace -- not on top of my efforts, but in spite of them.

meaning it

This was my last week of work outside of our home... at least for now. I finished up my last scrapbook pages -- pieces of art, depending on how you look at it. My last page was one dedicated to you. I called you dedicated and driven, hard-working and romantic, and then, "just plain charming." On the opposite page, there was a picture of us. Too much light in the picture, but it was still us -- not the best photographers, but the two best lovers I know. I wrote on the bottom: "small wonder I'm so in love with you."

I've thought about scrapbook pages, especially those created for class samples. They're always so generic, you know, and say things like "FRIENDS" and "Thanks for being YOU." Thanks for being YOU. Okay, I'll admit it: that's what my page said. But you have to make it versatile.

But anyway, those pages... it would be so easy to lie. So easy to make up a happy story about a happy man and wife who love each other and live happily ever after. It would be easy to make up character traits just to go with the pictures.

But the fact is... I don't have to make it up. Because it's real life, and as true as truth gets. And my last page... it's stapled up for the whole world to see.

remember

I think I've figured it out, and it's the failure to remember.

"Remember how God promised Abraham a chunk of land that Abraham hadn't even so much as walked on? Then God said, 'You know what? I'm gonna give this to your descendents!' And Abraham was like, 'What descendents? I don't even have any kids!' But it happened. Remember that." -Stephen, Acts 7.5, paraphrased

Remember the moment when God invaded your heart. You were bent on serving Satan, and God said, "No way. This child is mine."

"Remember how Joseph so sickened his brothers that they sold him as a slave? God didn't forsake him then; He had a plan! When the problems were the thickest for Joseph, as he was rotting in a prison cell after being accused of molesting the captain of the guard's wife (when all he had done was try to escape from her luring!), God delivered him. How? He set him up as ruler, second only to Pharaoh himself! Now how's that for remembering?" -Stephen, Acts 7.9,10, very paraphrased

Remember how often you prayed for victory over that sin, and it just wouldn't come? Remember what happened? God asked you to pray more, ask more, cry more, plead more. And then after he broke the wound and let the infection seep out, then he healed you! Remember.

"Don't forget the best part of Joseph's story: Joseph was the only guy wise enough to figure out a way to save Egypt from its seven-year famine, and that's why God wanted him in control of the empire. Remember what happened? Those eleven brothers, the same ones who sold him as a slave, came to him, begging for corn to stay alive. Joseph toyed with them a bit, to test their hearts, but the best part of the story is this: Joseph forgave 'em. Yep. Now, don't tell me God didn't have his hand in that one." -Stephen, Acts 7.11-13, very paraphrased

When they talk about the sorrow and randomness of the world, and how everything can be explained by humanism, remember! Remember how God created peace where there was nothing from which to create it. Remember how he prepared the enemy's heart, and made him into a friend. Remember!

"Remember how God brought the Israelites out from bondage, and how he actually made a path of dry ground in the middle of the Red Sea, so His children could get across it! God's mercy never fails.
"Remember that the path didn't stay dry. Oh, no! As soon as the Israelites were safely on the other sides, the walls of water came crashing down and slaughtered the Egyptians pursuing them. Remember it... because God's mercy never fails!" -Psalm 136.11-15, paraphrased

Remember how right and wrong cannot be explained by reason. Remember that when they say, "There is no absolute truth," you must reply, "Is that a true statement?" Remember, remember!

There is absolute truth,
there is redemption,
there is peace,
there is love,
there is joy.
there is.

Remember when you felt it, because I know you did. Remember it.
And then remember it again.

training day

God said, "Pop quiz."
And I said, "Okay."
"You don't have to do it, you know. The opponent will never know the difference."
I know, but I decided to accept the training anyway. I was compelled.

She just doesn't understand the game like you do.
Really, is that it? She just doesn't understand the game, because she hasn't seen it played except by one team? She's seen that team's techniques, as it dodges, and dodges, and dodges.
"Play offense!" I wanted to scream. But I didn't. Instead, I thanked her for showing me her techniques.
I tried to play fairly, tried to remember the rules, even when my opponent committed technical errors.
She called it sad.
And carnal.
I think she was referring to me.
She said she was just playing the game, but each move she made seemed to be directed right at me. I confronted them all, but I didn't kick them right back in her face. I couldn't do that to her, you know.
Even though she couldn't see past my facemask, I pray she still saw me.
And I pray she still saw Christ.

It wasn't until afterwards that I discovered my sweaty armpits.

Dear Lord, I think I passed.

mrs. brown

Mrs. Brown came in alone with her jeweled barrette and frizzy hair, smiles all around. It was a wonderful day, and we were beautiful people. She came late to the counter where I taught, but who could deny such a woman?
I had slapped the book together in half an hour, minus interruptions; it was no masterpiece, let me tell you. But Mrs. Brown thought it beautiful, perfect.
I laughed about the book, the thought it lacked.
"This is so neat," she said.
With each page, I explained that she had creative license.
"I want it just like yours," she said.
I showed her how.
"What's your name?" she asked.
I motioned to my name tag, and told her.
Mrs. Brown wants to take some of my classes. She wants to spend more time here.

I joked that Mrs. Brown is good for my self esteem. I joked more than once.
And then I hear Mrs. Brown signed up to come here three weeks in a row to begin with. That first night, tears replaced smiles.
"My husband hit me."
I wonder why she could tell us that.
"This is only about the fourth time since we've been married," she said.
Only. Yeah, okay.
Only.
Mrs. Brown keeps signing up to come here on the weekends. She wants to spend more time here.