Who is that Family?

Ever look at a picture and remember what you were thinking in that moment? I have these pictures hanging in my living room, and we were such a happy little family four years ago. 

But, I know better. 

I see a miserable wife and a teeth clenching husband. I see kids who wondered if their parents would last. I see a family standing in a very dark valley, eclipsed by pretty scenery and bright smiles. Am I the only one who had a season that lingers like a deep stain in the past? If only I could get rid of all reminders. But there was still life there, still love—even if it was put to a fiery test over and over, day after day. 

Sometimes, I wonder what to believe when I scroll through social media. I choose to believe that every smile out there is genuine, and every happy compliment is sincere. But, if you have pictures like me—know. Know that I understand the duality. 

These family portraits are proof that we can fake it. 

I pray that our bumpy past is not “normal”. But then again, I wonder if I could bear the thought that we are the only ones? Messy, ugly, horrible memories amidst tender, loving ones. Glares and biting words and threats of divorce. Children who pretended not to hear, but then implied their knowing—breaking my heart. Over and over. For days. Weeks. Months. 

Praise God that our valley walking brought us up and out—Praise God that even though faith was rocked, He stayed close. But, that time is never far from my thoughts. Sometimes I wonder if we sit in the consequences of that time still—a tinge of resentment, an unsteady trust. Our smiles are more genuine these days though, and our family is good. I’d even say, we are ready to take a different picture, one that will speak truth in every smile.

Becoming October

About twenty-one Octobers ago, my husband, then-boyfriend, and I became exclusive--we said we were "together" and we said, "I love you," all in the same month. It was the month of hope, and love, and dreaming.

Now? Sitting in this October and looking back after seventeen years of marriage, and fifteen years of motherhood, I can say that hope has slipped into disappointment more often than not, and love has become entangled with expectation more often than it should. Yet, in this October, while the leaves are falling, something different is budding within me, and I can't hope or love the way I used to anymore.

Forty has been a rough age so far. When you reach these soul-shaking milestone birthdays, people often tell you to shrug it off and age doesn't mean anything. And whether it is just our imagination or the [old] mind playing tricks on us, these kinds of birthdays do change you--even if it's in some weird self-fulfilling mental lapse kind of way.

Needless to say, I've not enjoyed forty-year-old Angie at all.

On the outside looking in, you see a newly published author, a proud mama of four kids, a wife of a super-hero kinda dad, and a woman who really shouldn't complain.

But on the inside...

It's been pretty void. I feel like my insides are a vacuum, and everything in my brain has been screaming, "ME", and everything in my heart has been shouting, "Get OUT".

It's like that commercial where the person unzips their current body and a whole different person is inside. You know what I'm talking about?

Well, if forty year old Angie had a choice, she'd unzip this person and escape the mess inside. How many times have I told my husband that I just want to crawl out of my skin? How many times have I said I just want to run away? How many times have I absorbed my children's bickering and melted into despair? How many times have I taken that sock lying on the floor so personally, that it makes me send the kids to bed without a kiss goodnight? How many times have I fought for something stupid like a clean kitchen and ruined the chance to have family time because Mama ain't happy?

Somewhere along the way, I've fallen for the lie that it's all about me and what I control. Somewhere along the way, I've become a consumer of my family, and my church, and my world.

And the vacuum inside me just sucks up the justification, the proven points, and the reprimands, and I realize that I have nothing but the crappy broken threads that wrap around the vacuum roller and eventually stop the whole thing from working.

Those broken threads are heartstrings that I've shunned, shamed, shut out from tangling with my own. It's all about me, and I'm just too busy trying to clean up messes without stopping and trying to mend what's going to break.

Well, I was the broken one. And I had wanted change for so long, but I just couldn't unwind those stupid messy strings from the roller. I was stuck.

I was the one who was sitting in a dark pit of despair, feeling hopeless and alone in this whole thing we call life.

So, one day at the beginning of October, I started to listen. I thought, "Maybe I should look for something different." When life feels completely stale and not worth trying for anymore, something different seems like a good change. And I took this tiny little step.

And something amazing happened.

That step took me outside of myself. SERIOUSLY. Like, the little step had me sit in a church I'd hardly ever been and listen to a speaker I'd hardly ever heard. And even though the sermon was hardly something to blow me away, a whisper within the sermon knocked the wind out of me.

And that's the beginning.

Over the next few weeks, EVERYWHERE I turn--whether it be my church services, my Bible study, a conference call for work, a parents' gathering for my son's youth group...EVERYWHERE that I am expectant for God's wisdom...about SEVEN DIFFERENT PEOPLE so far...some who are connected, some who don't even know each other...EVERYWHERE I TURNED GOD SAID THE SAME THING TO ME.

For someone who WAS hopeless, and self-centered, and trying to take control to a point of destruction, I was slowly aroused from my darkest slumber by these three concepts that each of the seven encounters have mentioned and centered their messages on:

Humility

Hope

Living Sacrifice

Coincidence? Go ahead, call it that. There's no special liturgical calendar the seven encounters were using to guide their messages to me. But, I am here to tell you, that the mess deep down inside me is so ministered by the resonance of each encounter speaking the SAME wisdom to me, in such a personal way--meeting me where I'm at--that I can't even begin to deconstruct my experiences and find a way to attribute it to my [old] mind playing tricks on me.

Something inside me woke up...and it wasn't a noisy vacuum. It was a flood of sweet repentance for my inward focus, and a swishing revival of faith--smaller than a mustard seed--but a faith that promises hope again.

This October, I am becoming again. I am not finished in this growing up business...forty really is just a number. I am still figuring this all out. And I am seeing myself outside myself again...but I'm not trying to run away. I'm outside looking further outside--at those I love, at this chance I get to commune with a God who put up with me in the mess, and still sits with me there when I inevitably stumble back again. I can actually see hope in the next step, when before, all I could see was the tangled mess.

October. A month I once fell in love--for the final time. And a month I once gave birth to a son. October. A month filled with changing color. And a month of changing me.

***

Here are a few of the people who've spoken God's words to me. By no doing of my own, except saying yes to the environment they met me at. Completely organic. But completely ordained:

James MacDonald (study, Think Differently)
Greg Hawkins (actually heard him on a conference call, then was led to this book--More)
Andy Stanley (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aMpj0cXldnk&feature=youtu.be)

(and....sermons on Hope at Lutheran Church of Hope, and on Solitude and Servitude at Meredith Drive Reformed Church...um...and I just realized, I named this post, "Becoming"...and that's the name of the sermon series at my church...BUT IT'S TRUE FOR ME TOO).

I am Complaining to YOU, God

I am reading Richard J. Foster's book, Prayer.

I am seeing God in a whole new way. An authentic way. A grace-filled way. My glasses have been removed during this journey post-valley walking in my marriage (although, sometimes, I wonder if I'm just walking through a higher plane in the valley. Not quite sure that I've cleared this valley. Sometimes, not sure I've seen the light except for glimpses).

God's grown bigger...but fuzzier too. I think it's because I always tried keeping Him in the frame of my "glasses" and now that they're gone, I am blown away by how much bigger He really is.

This book that I'm reading though, has given me permission to do something I've rarely done before--Complain to God ABOUT HIS absence. It's strange that I've never thought to do it before, because this no-no in my head, is all over the Scripture.

It seems disrespectful, ungrateful, irreverent. A sin.

But, just like the psalmists and others before me, sometimes, I just gotta. Just like when I try and share my concern with my husband, or complain to him about the crap we deal with in our lack of communication and unequally-yoked ground. It just has to come out for my own pent-up heart overflow.

Same thing with God. I've got to figure out some stuff, and it has to do with Him...or the lack of His action in my life.

Above all else though, He's the safe place to do it too.

If God is really my Father, then, just like my children so often do to me, I can complain to Him. He can handle it.

So yeah. I am going to leave this post there. Kinda itchy, kinda gravely on my tongue. A bit aggravating and non-conclusive. We are humans. And, although we want answers and we want them now, life just doesn't happen that way.

But, I can complain about it in a safe place.

Before I end actually, I'll include Psalm 13 for example. He's big enough. And I am only going to grow deep if I get my fit out. The thing is, I KNOW, He'll still meet me on the other side of that fit. That's Grace. Isn't it?

How long, O Lord? Will You forget me forever?

How long will You hide Your face from me?

2 

How long shall I take counsel in my soul,

Having sorrow in my heart all the day?

How long will my enemy be exalted over me?

3 

Consider and answer me, O Lord my God;

Enlighten my eyes, or I will sleep the sleep of death,

4 

And my enemy will say, “I have overcome him,”

And my adversaries will rejoice when I am shaken.

5 

But I have trusted in Your lovingkindness;

My heart shall rejoice in Your salvation.

6 

I will sing to the Lord,

Because He has dealt bountifully with me.

What Every Married-With-Children Needs

Excuse the shoe!

I will never forget the time my grandfather told me that I needed to get a babysitter. That my husband and I needed time without kids.

Yep. 

He was very progressive. ;) I was a young mother, probably overly attached to my little tots and

running a bit ragged. When the boys were young, they clung to me and would meltdown in anyone else's arms. Looking back, it was no biggie. Actually, it is kind of nice to know that there was one point in their lives where I was numero uno. But at the time, my grandfather wasn't thinking about the motherhood of it all, he was actually speaking about the marriage of it all.

And, although I savor the moments with my children, I have to agree with him. Leaving the kids in someone else's care is a very good thing--especially for marriage.

It's been three years since we last went on a grown up trip. The last trip we took sans children was on the brink of the worst year of our lives. And as we walked through the valley, and seriously wondered if our marriage would survive, I had absolutely no desire to spend more than a couple hours alone with the man, let alone a week vacation.

But, 2015 had been a very good year for us. Still hard, still rocky, but a time of rebuilding our marriage in a new light, with different expectations. We've become friends again, something I thought could never be. And because of this, and the fact that we had bid on a trip to support the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation which was about to expire, we decided it was time to get away.

I had forgotten how important a getaway is in our marriage. It's a time where we must depend on each other for everything because we are in a unfamiliar place, with unfamiliar people, and nothing but time on our hands. It seems that we step into a time warp of young Mr. and Mrs. Dicken who were friends as much as newly weds. But with age on us. 

Everything's better with age, right?

Our friendship is deeper, more intellectual. Our love is stronger, especially after the storm its weathered. And when our hearts aren't spread thin among the needs of our children for a few days, we find devotion and strength again. Our marriage only grows.

On this Mama Drama Monday, as I face a summer schedule chocked full of camps, activities, and appointments, I reflect on the time just a week or so ago, where I sat on a beach, walked through a forest, and sipped a glass of wine on the very ground the grapes were grown, all beside my husband and my best friend. My marriage is better for it. I hope my family sees that too.

I Don't Cry Anymore

When I first started in this valley of a spiritually-mismatched marriage, I was an emotional wreck. I cried out to God, I cried out loud, I cried and cried and cried. I don't think I'd ever wept so much in my entire life as I had those first few months of this valley.

Seriously.

There are specific places I remember crying. And specific times. And many daily occurrences. I promise, I am not asking for a pity party...like I said...this was a while ago.

But, I think about it often, and I wonder what has changed, and why I don't cry anymore. Because, over the past year and a half, we've cycled in and out of our same lows.

Funny how we never really learn how to climb up and out. I mean...we have done a ton of climbing. And we've had an upward movement out of the valley (well, not necessarily away from the reason, but toward a peace in living with it) for a steady amount of time.

Although, it seems, there is always a broken pass in the near future and we tumble down and down and hit the valley floor again. Over and over. While I drag my feet in the same old treacherous trenches, my heart still aches, my soul still groans, and I feel the weight of hopelessness time and again.

Yet, my cheeks remain dry.

 I fear that my aching heart is growing callous to the trial...do I daresay that my vision of God's hand in all of this is blinded? Sometimes I go there. I do. I confess. Sometimes I just don't see Him anymore because the valley is dark.

The other day, my son came to me with a problem. It was something that I would normally feel unsettled about. I guess "normally" being two years ago. But our normal has changed. And I didn't fear or tremble at his problem.

That scared me.

That made me wonder if I've grown numb and apathetic to the hard stuff because of so much hard stuff. But there's part of me that wants to believe...maybe I've just grown up.

And mostly I want to think, God's grown bigger in my life and I've surrendered much to Him. So much so that I really do have His peace in me.

And I don't cry anymore.

A big problem met with peace might appear as apathetic, but even amidst the trials we are called to rest...we are called to Peace. It just dawned on me as I write this and flip through my Bible--how this past month I've been going through Psalm 23 and the psalm might just illustrate where I am at.

Which is crazy. Like I said, I don't know if I see Him.

But maybe He just showed up as I type...pulling together a big A-Ha as to what I might have lived through and lived out in the Psalm 23 challenge.

Wow, in this moment, I am reminded that He really is my Shepherd, no matter how blind I may be.
**I added the pictures AFTER I wrote this...just had to showcase what I've learned.:)**

The Next Best Step: Growing Up from the Valley

I've noticed a pattern lately. A different way than putting the next foot forward. Something better than that.

Honestly, a year ago, the lesser is all I could do...make some sort of forward motion to keep up with life around me, even though I was barely living inside.
Stumbling around got me from there to here. Even if I chose the easiest way to lift my foot and place it down again...no matter how small, how insignificant at the time...at least I was moving. At least there was something ahead of my heart...even if it was just my toes.

This crippling motion is my valley walk. It's when I am shadowed by giant mountains all around me, and I can't hardly see the light.

It's when I stare at that latest rejection of my writing, and choose to take the next step by slamming the computer shut. It's moving somewhere--even if it's just away from the defeat.

It's when I storm out of the house and shove myself into the car. Just sitting there. To get away from it all--the arguing, the whining, the unwise words from my mouth landing on the ears of my children. It's a step. At least a change.

Or as I felt mostly last fall, it's when I turn away and weep, facing away from the disappointment...facing...somewhere ahead of me. That's the next step. To just look away from all the hurt.
But now, I am still moving forward, realizing something more--after the surviving and striving. After the near backward falls into quitting the writing, snapping once again at the kids, and almost giving up on my marriage, I stumble onto a new way. Not just trying to move in a direction, but taking the next BEST step.

When you've been in the valley long enough, you realize there really is only one direction. Up.

Life is brighter. Growing Upward really does make a difference. And I am no longer settled with scraping by with little shuffles but finding that next best step up and out of this valley.

I may still find rejection in my writing--but what's my next best step for me? Not the quick step of throwing it all away and starting over. But what is the BEST thing to do? It might not be seeking publication wherever I can grab it, or finding a new dream. The next BEST thing to do might just be keep trying. And when my growth is stunted, "keep trying" is not much of an option.

Mistakes will ALWAYs find me as a parent...and sometimes, I am so defeated...running away for a moment...or three...seems like the next step. But now, after I may lapse into such cowardly retreat, what's the next BEST step for us all? It might just be apologizing and moving on. Or, as it has often been the case, saying no to the expected activity of the evening. It might be saying never to it...ever again. When I am growing Up...I am able to decipher what's better and best.

And speaking of mistakes in parenting...well, marriage is a whole different tangly mess. And married life last year was NO FUN. Now, there are still plenty of thorns that snag my forward movement along the way. Every once in a while, I find one and I have to wrestle myself away from it so I can choose the next BEST step. And I am sure my husband also feels the same. We are both learning and growing...um...direction?...well...that's debatable. ;) But each day that I choose to love, choose to hope, and choose him...I stumble across the next best step. Thank God I can tell the difference between these steps and the stumbling of a year ago.

Choosing
#thenextbeststep

TBT: Love & Marriage

Three Times a Change.

I am not quite sure why I have been avoiding a post on here.

Perhaps it is because I am in the middle of a writing groove on my current story (which is always nice).

And perhaps it is because my roller-coaster life poured out in blog-post fashion might cause a little reader-whip-lash. It just seems tiresome to write a post that will, inevitably, be in-valid in the near future because of the newest development in my journey.

Yeah, this desert has been anything but flat and uneventful.

But, something I have noticed, that has been pretty consistent, and a desperate oasis amidst the suffocating sand storms, is El Roi.

The God Who Sees... sees me.

And hears me.

I get to places where I never thought my soul would tread, where the heat of skepticism and crushing pain promise to burn my heart to ash, and I sit there in a shocking state of hopelessness.

Never before had I felt anguish like I have this past year...but I do, and now I understand the same feeling David felt when he had been betrayed by the one he'd looked up to for so long. Funny, I took a study about David exactly a year before I journeyed into these similar emotional battlefields as he once had.

Last night, I was in that place again. The burning place of hopelessness. And I cried to God, "Where are you? Will you show up!" Because I honestly thought I could not do this anymore. My heart had nothing left to give.

And I went to bed numb, and lost.

Only to awake to affirmation threefold (as always...God often affirms me or works in me in three different ways during a pivotal moment of my walk).

First, a text from a spiritual sister who I haven't talked to in weeks. She said that she felt a strong urge to pray for me and that she sensed that I needed it badly. She gave me the verses, Ephesians 6:10-13 -

" Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of His might. 11 Put on the full armor of God, so that you will be able to stand firm against the schemes of the devil. 12 For our struggle is not against [a]flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places. 13 Therefore, take up the full armor of God, so that you will be able to resist in the evil day, and having done everything, to stand firm."

Let's just say, sweet drink of confirmation in my battle...in my thirst for understanding as to what the heck this is all about.

Secondly, as I got ready for church, I dropped to my knees in deep conviction to confess to God. And suddenly, I was given some wisdom on how to move forward in all of this. And it had something to do with remembering that verse above, and mostly, the word God gave me in another enlightening moment long ago when my journey in this desert of spiritually mis-matched marriage began:

L.O.V.E

LOVE!!! Why do I forget the meaning of that word? Why do I forget the perfect model of the perfect Person who perfected Love in such an attainable way? I fall into the trap of conditional love time and time again. No wonder I stumble into hopelessness. That kind of love has no hope in it.

It was at church where God sealed this revelation of my next step in the journey. You know, that perfect sermon that needed to be heard (I even had a close friend who knows my struggle, call me to be sure I was going to church this morning)...Did he write it for me? He talked about that battle above, the Person I had kinda ignored because of the trials before me...and then, of course the sermon reminded me of Hope...and... L.O.V.E. You know, all you need is...
Because He loved us first.

Tonight, I sat across from my husband on a quick date night, and I accepted him and I apologized to him for my resentment and conditional love. It was the weirdest moment because I took the time to form the words, sitting there for minutes in silence...knowing my husband was wondering if the "D" word was going to crush our coffee cups between us...and I spoke. And then I realized all this time, I have not given him the compassion and love he needs...and he needs it, because he is hurt and he is lonely and he is stuck. I think this whole thing is bigger than a proclamation of Atheism on his part. So much bigger than a statement.

It's a heart change.

And it's not just about his heart change to disbelief. It is just as much about mine.

And God keeps telling me, and I listen for a little, then I forget, and I keep roaming this desert ready to die of exhaustion.

Praying that this time, I learn...I don't want this journey to last like it has in the past for those Israelites.

40 years is too long!

Final Short Story Post, Scene 6

***If you've read this far, thank you. Like I have said before, this is fiction but inspired by very real emotion. The parts where God has shown up, have also occurred in similar ways in my own life. And, I stand by my overall intention for writing this: Healing truly does begin when love pours down.***

WHEN LOVE POURS DOWN, Scene 6

Before this storm, I knelt beside my new husband in the wedding chapel, after the guests departed. He led us in prayer and summoned the canopy of God's blessing upon our union. And the days, weeks, months, and years enjoyed the shadow of God's hand. And I didn't feel the garish sun of hardship. Not really, anyway. My husband was my provider, my protector, my strong tower. It was he who rose early with the rising sun, releasing prayers upon the morning breeze. It was his faithful flurry that stirred my spirit and left me seeking more. And come Spring, I grew to his stature, a budding vine of fruit for my Maker. Perhaps, it was my provider, my protector, my strong tower who might have shadowed my God. And who might have been first in my heart of hearts.

And maybe, this storm is good in a way. Because my husband no longer eclipses my God. No, he is nothing but a man who's stripped away the canopy and burned my soul with exposure to a faith-consuming fire.

But the sun of my God kisses Little Jack who runs ahead on the concrete path to our home. I taste the freshness of a new day upon my tongue as I breathe in deep, and long for joy again. The dianthus are bursting color and the lilies stand proud and tall, tempting me to smile. Oh, how long has it been since I smiled broad?

But the smile is yet to birth when I know Steve is inside, waiting and knowing I tried to leave him. I tried to leave and take Jack with me.

A roaring grind growls into the floral-scented air. The side-gate is ajar and I follow the stepping stones round back. Each toe upon the rock jolts my insides with a nervous wobble. I pray for the huddle of my spirit within.

No more resentment, no more fear. Only love. I must start first with love.

The grind grows louder and I catch a glimpse of the beast. A chain saw slices the fallen willow. At the hands of my Steve. Oh, it slices in pieces the root of Love. A wide hollow in my soul opens its jaw and I can see the belly of a monster. A monster feeding on such an image of the godless man destroying the precious place in my heart. What other task could embitter the tongue of the heartbroken?

“Give him grace. Give him a chance.” The huddle's whisper slams shut the open hollow. I am here for love. The tree is gone by the hand of a different storm, after all. And part of it is still standing. The strongest part is still erect.

“Steve?”

He whips around, pushing his goggles onto his head. A glimmer of delight flashes in his deep blue eyes, and then his lips fall into a frown. “I wish you didn't leave.”

“I am sorry.” Slender willow leaves somersault around my feet. I try to look into his face once more. He inches closer, and reaches a hand out to me. I take it.

“You're all I've got, Lisa.” He pulls me close. “Life in this new perspective really makes you treasure every precious thing.”

“Really?” And doesn't life with my God calls me to treasure every precious thing? Old resentment begins to pry open the hollow with it's twisted design. How can he claim that his way has any good in it? Any similarity to life with God in it?

“He is mine, and I am His.” The Spirit gathers in a warming rush, melting the gap within, closing it shut to my scrutiny. Steve might not acknowledge God in this, but it doesn't mean that God's not in this.

And it's not my place to pull apart the skies and reveal the God who is there.

“I love you.” My words float out like the dainty pieces of a dandelion blown. Soft and fragile.

Steve bites his lip and steps so close that I must tilt my head to see him. Sun shines around his dark curls, and the silhouette of a butterfly flaps it's wings above him.

“You don't know how long I have waited to hear that.” He lowers his head and I close my eyes to receive his kiss.

I may have doubted God through this storm. I may have given the Enemy a chance to stir the winds into a violent tornado of destruction. But no matter the banshee cry of the wind, or the droning of the rain, my God's whisper carries to my heart and he protects me in the rage of it.

I once knelt beside my husband the moments after our vows, and we enjoyed the shadow of God's hand over our hearts. And now, in the broken aftermath of a storm, my husband no longer accepts the canopy, but he stays by my side through the storm.

No elements are tossed about the sky today. But the downpour is ever strong. And it is this torrential flood of love in which He calls me past the brewing brawl.

And maybe one day in the stillness of this healing aftermath, Steve will remember that love is God, again.

But for now, there is flying to do. With wings spread wide, I'll choose to love.

THE END

Deconstructed Family Fun...wink, wink!

Yesterday, I planned a special surprise for my hubby...the reason I couldn't post my TGIF “family” fun idea. If you recall my post, My Little Dieties, you might get an idea what could've sparked this “family” fun tip. Well, like my grandfather suggested long ago (as stated in the post I mentioned above), it was about time we got a babysitter, as we do pretty often, but this time it wouldn't be for just a few hours.

Our TGIF was possible with the help of a very good friend and neighbor--whose two boys are best friends with mine, and her tween daughter is one of my daughter's favorite people...and her teenager rocks with caring for the dogs! Yes, this brave neighbor of mine doubled the kids in her house by adding my four! The kids' TGIF included entertainment and a sleepover...family fun...er...with another family.;) Hey, we all need close friends nearby to pour into our kids too, right? :)

Dinner in a basket

In the meantime, I picked my hubby up from his office at 6 sharp. We had “dinner” reservations after all.

Well...we had reservations (thanks to a gift certificate we won at a fundraiser). And I packed dinner with us. As well as an overnight bag.

A room with a view!

We didn't travel far, but we did pull into the downtown Marriott for a surprise retreat. All the fun we plan for the family most weekends call for a time to rejuvenate and hang out with my best friend sans children. I love my kids, but this winter has proven that even the most loving house can lose its luster with four kids, two dogs, snow piled up outside, and laundry piled up inside.

Perfect picnic

A get-away with a picnic dinner, swimming, and movie-watching in a cozy hotel room with just my husband, and a fun night of lazer tag, nail painting, pizza dinner with great friends for the kids, was the perfect thing for our family!

Every once in a while, we need to go our separate ways. The couple needs to re-connect without distraction or time restraints. And the kids need to leave the parents and know they are cared for beyond the walls of our house.

Breakfast for two was included!

And then, as we all come together again, we have a fresh focus for the family, and can embrace the fact that distance really does make the heart grow fonder!

This is me refreshed!

Do you ever plan spontaneous get-aways in the midst of this busy season? Who do you usually leave your kiddos with to have quality time with your spouse?

My Little Deities

This is what my weekend looked like:

Friday: Valentine's date with my hubby. As it neared 6:30, we both questioned whether we should forfeit the rest of the time to rush home and take our son to his baseball practice. Hmmmm....but we chose not to.

Saturday: I woke up at 6:00am to get ready and take my nine year old to a swim meet. I gathered up his swim items and hopped in the car with a friend to travel the 40 minutes to the meet.

My husband gathered up the rest of the kids, all the snow gear he could muster, piled them in the car, and picked us up from the swim meet, 40 minutes away, at 11 am. We then headed to a nearby ski hill, and spent the day from about noon-7:30 pm, giving our boys a very successful first experience with skiing. In the meantime, I took my two year old daughter to the movies, and gave her popcorn and a fun princess show.

Sunday: We took the kids to church. First service, I helped in Children's church with other moms and my husband. Second service, we sat in the front row with the kids' friends, tried to maintain behavior during worship, shuffled them to their classes, came home, made lunch for the kids and a friend, took one kid to baseball practice, played dolls with my daughter...and got ready for the week.

So, are you wondering what the point of this post is?

Let me give you a hint. Our church sermon this Sunday was about Family-focus.

I agree with the Christian cultural idea that the family unit is very important...that two parents pouring into the life of a child is great. That family time is key to a stable environment. I mean, look at our weekend! How much did we pour into these kids of ours? Yes, I definitely play by "the rules" of the culture to pour into my children. And I LOVE it.

But.

Wait.

Who is the center of my universe and who do my kids think the center of my universe is?

Something very important that was said in the sermon this Sunday, was that parents must remember their spouse is first priority OVER the kids.

And it made me realize, how little my husband and I focus on our relationship in relation to our relationship with our kids. Even on our valentine's date we wavered on wondering if baseball practice should trump it! We try and be good, loving parents as much as we can--trying to model the loving Father in Heaven for our children--but can we truly give room for God when our kids are over-saturated with us catering to them?
Do we so meet their every need and desire, that we become a giant idol genie god (see my last post), who give no reason for them to really seek the True God on their own? In this western culture, where inconvenience and want are lacking, how do our children understand the importance of patience, necessity, and Godly provision?

Not only does my overcompensation to provide everything for my children run the risk of me becoming an unhealthy idol to my kids, but I equip my children to think of themselves as their own little mini-world...or sun...where everything revolves around them and their pleasure. They become mini-gods, thinking that if life isn't about them, then something is dreadfully wrong...boring...unfair.

UGH!

No wonder I struggle with the constant mommy guilt when I want to do something for myself...it goes against the will of the little deities running around demanding snack when they want it, entertainment when they want it, attention according to their standard.

So you are probably rolling your eyes and thinking I am being over-dramatic. And I might be--to make a point. Balance is key...and as far as time and focus go, I believe the scales really need to tip a bit.

The kids drain me to the point of irritation and misery at times, and I have nothing left to give my husband...or my God. And it's not the kids' fault, but my own...for buying into the kid-centered, family-overfocus theology. Yes, folks, I am going to go as far as saying that our Christian culture response to the anti-family culture, has over-compensated a bit.

Look at history...did the parents really devote every hour to their children? Did children demand the attention of their parents for entertainment, their every whim?  And yet, did great scholars, inventors, pastors, entrepreneurs, come out of past generations? And most importantly, has God filled in the gaps along the way?

My grandfather was a super wise man. He is one of my heroes. A piece of advice he gave me as a young parent, stung a bit at first, but now I realize the wisdom in it... "Get a babysitter."

Children are a gift from the Lord, but they are not to be a distraction. Parents are responsible for their care, but we aren't to devote every second of their life with entertainment and comfort.

My children mean the world to me...for sure. I love them SOOOOO much. But I am not going to make them my sun, and I am going to stop trying so hard to be theirs.