Real Life Reflections

Some times you just need a vacation, a break from the routine that doesn't involve responsibilities but does involve a change of scenery. My husband and I usually try to get away in the fall, after the crazy spring and summer months are behind us, and we can finally relax. Funds were extra tight last year, so we tried a "stay-cation." It didn't work. We got the break from our routine, but our various responsibilities, home repairs, maintenance, and long-set-aside projects encircled us, shouted at us, jumped around, and flailed their long spindly arms all week long. Not exactly relaxing. Two years ago, we'd gone to the beach...sort of. At least, our condo was near the beach. We just didn't see all that much of it. We spent most of our time at urgent care and Walgreens. Shingles are especially miserable when you're supposed to be vacationing. Three years ago, the year before shingles, we simply took a four day weekend and stayed at a state park. In addi

Be careful what you pray for ...It's not an uncommon phrase, and one full of the wisdom of experience. In praying for patience, you will likely find yourself in situations that require patience. In praying for greater faith, situations that require faith will likely be the order of the day. I thought I had learned this lesson. I don't know what got into me, but a month or so ago, I began to ask God to show me my sins, to show me areas of my life that needed repentance. And you know what? Yep, He answered my prayer. I went from patting myself on the back because I thought I had climbed pretty darn high on the thoughtfulness/kindness/goodness ladder to sliding so far down that I had to look up to see the bottom rung. My eyes opened, and I saw that I was the most wretched wretch I knew. I repented. Then I promptly isolated myself from God. I withdrew. I was subconsciously convinced that He was angry with me. How could He not be? I was angry with myself. Disgusted at my thoug

Have you ever sung a song, and in the midst of singing it, realized exactly what you were saying? A light bulb moment of the musical variety. The tune is catchy, so you la-la-la along, then BAM! Oh my gosh! Yeah! This is right! And you sing all the more emphatically. Or perhaps, like I did the other day at church, it's Oh my gosh! What am I saying? I'm lying. To God. In church. And He knows it! So what lyrics made me stop mid-song? Send me out to the world to make You known Send me out to the world to make you known Send me out to the world The world is a big place, and the truth is I don't want to go "out to the world." I have some health issues that often make travel more trouble than it's worth, plus I simply like to lay my head down on my own comfy pillow in my own snugly bed each night. We (everyone but me) sang the song through a second time, and I realized that there were a few lines that I could sing and mean them wholeheartedly: I wanna

Youth camp. It's not just for youth. I'm a YPW - a youth pastor's wife. It's completely different from being a wife or even being a pastor's wife. There is an energy that abounds, an electricity in the air, an enthusiasm that most adults simply don't have. My husband IS a youth pastor. He doesn't DO youth pastor. It's what he is. Who he is. I, on the other hand, am not. I worked with teens for a number of years, but the energy level was beyond me. I couldn't keep up, so I gave up. My husband is still going strong. Each year we have two events for which I dust off my youthworker cap and gown: our winter retreat and youth camp. At youth camp, I've honed my role to an art. After many years of trial and error, I have it down. I'm the camp mom. Some of the kids even call me "Mom" that week. I plan meals, shop, cook, clean up, run errands, care for anyone who falls ill, bandage cuts, etc. etc. I focus on the practical, so my husband a

Weakness. It's despicable. At least that's what I think of my own. I'm fine with yours, but mine? Hate it. Fight it. Deny it. Ignore it. Pretend it doesn't exist. I'm mildly sensory defensive and strongly introverted , which basically means that I am easily overwhelmed by external stimuli ( not shy as introversion is often wrongly defined). I internalize my surroundings, and I think a lot. For years, I have seen this as a weakness because it limits me. Don't get me wrong, I don't see it as a flaw. It's my strength and my weakness. As a strength, I am able to process, plan, analyze, imagine, and think things through to their end. As a weakness, I am unable to handle craziness. I can't have a zillion conversations all week long with people at work, then volunteer and attend meetings on weeknights, host dinner guests on weekends, go out with the girls, celebrate weddings, birthdays, and graduations, and show up at family reunions, etc. etc. without

I grew up as one of six children - or eight if you count our dogs. My dad was crazy about us - his six human children. He wasn't such a big fan of the dogs. One fine day, he was done with them. He sent them packing. I vowed that day to be a dog owner when I grew up. I'm here today to say that I have been true to that vow, though I must admit it has been trying at times. I don't always want to pet her when she's in the mood. That doesn't seem to matter though. She just keeps nosing my hand over her head again and again and again. There are times when I'd like to take a walk alone, but that's not going to happen until I'm strong enough to tune out the crying that I hear through the door as I walk out it and up the street. I am not particularly interested in stopping to smell each blade of grass where a canine who made the same trek we are making earlier in the day (or week or month or year) has tinkled once we are merrily prancing down the road. The list g

I woke up weary this morning. Not tired. Weary, emotionally weary. Strong emotions - both my own and those of others in my proximity - exhaust me, and the past two years have been full of them. I think it's catching up with me. My soul felt like an anvil as I pulled myself out of bed. I made my coffee, took my vitamins, and sat down to pray. I began by telling God about my weariness. It was accompanied by all the whining that goes along with that type of prayer. Then I opened my Bible. I read Psalm 35. Contend, O Lord , with those who contend with me; Fight against those who fight against me. 2  Take hold of [ a ] buckler and shield And rise up for my help. 3  Draw also the spear and [ b ] the battle-axe to meet those who pursue me; Say to my soul, “I am your salvation." ( NASB via Biblegateway.com) I began to pray these verses, and as I did, my weariness became faith-instilled. The anvil broke lose. I recalled Jacob's fight with the angel that lasted all through the n

I recently joined a writing challenge through Kristi Holl's Writers' First Aid (kristiholl.com). The challenge? To write first thing every morning for the thirty days of April. To do this, to do anything you value and want to make a priority in your life, requires boundaries. I've blogged about boundaries before, but it's been a while, so I thought I would share Kristi's thoughts as a refresher. She focuses on writers, but her words are true for everyone. This is her first post in a series: Why Writers Need Boundaries

My husband and I recently watched The Help - a story about a group of African American women who worked as maids in Jackson, Mississippi in the '60s. One of the protagonists works for a woman "who got no b'ness havin' babies." This woman, this family maid and nanny, tells her little two year old ward regularly, "You is pretty. You is smart. You is impor'ant." How difficult it is for us to believe that about ourselves - really, to believe anything good about ourselves. I always try to be my raw self when I write a blog post. Today is no exception. So I confess that I've been drowning in a storm of lies lately. My head knows they're lies, and I could easily tell anyone else in the same place that they're lies, but I haven't been able to get a grip. There have been so many of them coming at me at once. It seems that I just break the surface, gulp some fresh air of truth then get pulled back under. One thing I know: the enemy of our

My life gets a little crazy sometimes. I'm probably the only person in the whole world, right? The biggest problem I have when my life gets like that is me - my attitude. I live with the American belief that my life should be everything I want it to be. I should have everything I want to have; do everything I want to do. Have oodles of free time to travel and visit friends, work on hobbies, exercise, cook fabulous healthy meals. I should be able to do it all and have it all. The other night I had a dream - one that my husband had to awaken me from because I was yelling. In this dream, I was going through our house closing all the curtains and blinds. The kitchen was the last window to the outside world, but when I tried to raise my arm to drop the blinds, I couldn't. Something, some unseen force was holding my arm down. I struggled for a short time before I realized that the unseen force was an evil force, a demonic presence. It made me angry. I began yelling at it. Later t

Imagine your life without imagination - yours or anyone else's. Boring, right? No movies, no novels, no music, no new hairstyles, no entrepreneurs, no new technology. You would never laugh at Jim and Dwight (but then again, maybe you don't do that now). Your t-shirts would all be plain white. Clothing styles would never change. Goodbye FaceBook, the internet, and iphones. Breakfast would be eggs. Lunch would be a sandwich. Dinner would be the same old thing. The walls in your home would all be white and your decor? Non-existent. For as long as I can remember I've been in awe of God's imagination. Have you ever stopped to consider how vastly different every person in the world is from everyone else - even though we all have the same basic parts? We're just the tip of the iceberg though. Meander around the Discovery channel some time and check out ocean life - SO spectacular! Clouds change from minute to minute. Sunsets and sunrises are never quite like the ones of

It's January. My favorite month of the year. NOT! Truth be told - it's my most dreaded month of the year. Working as an HR/Business administrator guarantees that my January runneth over with IRS-imposed deadlines. In addition, in January, we're pushing to close out the old year, so we can adjust our budget numbers and spending plan accordingly. There are also a myriad of changes to payroll with the start of a new year as well as donation letters and giving records to get out. That's just a short list of extras that fall on top of my to-do pile this month. For the past twenty years, I have begun every new year longing for the first thirty-one days to be over. I love where I work and the people with whom I work. I really do, but it's still work. I dream of quitting my day job, so I can write full time. I long for it. I'm envious of my writer-friends who get to do just that (though they are few and far between). As I sat down to work on my novel this afternoo