Jealous of Me

I'm jealous of me.

Recently, my friend Jen sent me the preliminary copy of her new book, Seven, which will come out next summer. It was based on the concept of Pick Five. In fact, the first line of the book is, "This is all Susana's fault." So it got me thinking of Pick Five, and my whole experience a year and a half ago.

I started reading through some of my old Pick Five posts, and I remembered the feelings, the rawness, the openness that I felt at that time. There is something so amazingly powerful in being completely vulnerable to God.

And I was vulnerable. Then.

I had simplified my life so that I could hear God clearer.

And I could hear Him clearer. Then.

But what about now?

Well, now I look back and I'm jealous of the me that existed then. I'm jealous of the relationship that I had with God then. I'm jealous of the authenticity with which I could speak of the scriptures, because I was in them every day. I'm jealous of the clarity with which I saw the world, and could feel God's love for every individual. I'm jealous of the passionate way that I lived life and expressed my love for the Lord.

And now I'm like a lump. I'm the spiritually fat, numb, complacent me. And I'm jealous for the old me.

Time for change.

"You have persevered and have endured hardships for my name, and have not grown weary. Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken the love you had at first. Consider how far you have fallen! Repent and do the things you did at first. If you do not repent, I will come to you and remove your lampstand from its place." Revelation 2:3-5

Teach Your Kids

Redirect to Austin American Statesman article:

HERE

Use of Force

I want my kids to like serving others.

I want them to see everyone through God's eyes.

I want them to feel empathy for those in need and then be empowered to make a difference.

I want it so badly that when they have a bad attitude while doing parent-imposed service, I pounce on them like a ferocious angry panther.

I think I'm sending mixed messages.

Where do I begin with this? When do I let them choose to do right on their terms instead of watching them throw fits while doing what I'm making them do?

I know they're little. 5, 7, nearly 9. I've got time. But I feel like this is the formative part of their future. This is the foundation for what's normal, what's right, what's good.

This morning I sat and thought about my parents, and their posture toward the world. They obviously had an impact on my current frame of mind. But as I processed my childhood (who needs a couch?), I realized that I don't have any memories of forced service. I don't have an eye twitch from the hours upon hours of park clean ups, homeless ministry, hospital visits and the like that plague my children now. Not to say that I didn't do any of that. I did. I just didn't know that it was service. There were no badges earned. There was no imposed right-doing. There was no preemptive speech in the car that basically boiled down to, "We serve because we're supposed to. Jesus did it! Now stop complaining! Be happy!" In fact, I don't think I was involved in the decision making process at all. My parents were the ones serving. Loving. Being. I was witness to it, and participated without even knowing that it was special. It just was what it was: Life.

In my childhood, I can recall at least seven long-term house guests. I can not remember a single holiday without half a dozen extra-familial faces. I remember sharing what we had with others. I remember visiting the sick and abandoned. I remember praying ceaselessly for friends and strangers. My parents didn't force me out into the world to go do good. They invited people in and loved them. They gave when they had. They accepted when they needed. This was my norm.

My parents served and loved before it was cool. Because don't kid yourself. Right now, it's cool. It's a new missional trend in the church. It's a new helping-hand world we live in. Even "Idol Gives Back". How do we make it through? How do we ride this wave and still be standing when we reach the shore?

Right now, the kids get rewarded for doing the right thing. They earn rewards from their scouting organizations, they receive verbal praise and recognition, and sometimes they receive ice cream from their briber. I mean, mother. I continue to serve along side of them in their efforts. I think that the routine of service is good. And eventually, the reward is intrinsic within the service. In the end, they'll get it. (I think we don't really notice that there's people besides ourselves in the world until about 21 anyway.) All this is good. I'm fine with the whining and emotional scarring for now (they can work it out later). But the focus, the long lasting foundation, is in the unspoken moments. It's when I'm doing, and they're by my side. What's my posture? What's my attitude when I think nobody is watching? Who am I inviting into my life to bless and be blessed by?

So... there's work to be done. In my heart. It starts with me. And out of my overflow, they'll gather the seeds of love and service and sacrifice, and someday -- God willing -- they'll begin to bear their own fruit.

I am, I am, I am

I got a new job as activities director for an assisted living facility. There are currently only three residents, so already I've gotten to know them pretty well. When my kids asked to come and visit, I gave them a brief run down as to what to expect.

"Marjorie is really sweet, and very smiley. But sometimes she gets confused. Selma is very smart, but you'll have to be patient for her to answer you back. And Bertie makes noise all the time." This last one stumped my kids a little.

"What do you mean?" they asked.

"Well, she makes a quiet sound all the time. She'll stop to answer you, but then she goes back to her humming noise. Like this. 'How are you Bertie?' 'Mmmmmmmm... I'm fine... mmmmmmm.'"

"Why?"

"I think she likes the feel of it. It lets her know she's still there."

Then the kids went off humming to each other for a good 20 minutes.

There's good justification in Bertie's idiosyncrasy. Aside from the real explanation of the advancement of Alzheimer's, there is the idea of a constant awareness of presence. It's reassuring to someone to whom life might seem scary and difficult. It's like a heartbeat.

What a thing, a heartbeat. Your heart is always beating. It starts in the womb, 22 days after conception, and it doesn't stop until you're dead. It is a rhythm that God gave each of us. It's our involuntary awareness of presence, like Bertie's hum. There are minutes, days, hours, phases of the moon that revolve around us in constant movement and pattern, so there is also an internal clock, a metronome of lifeblood that pulses through us. Your breath is like that too, but you can stop your breath, and control it. (I don't recommend this for your heart.)

It reminds me of Sylvia Plath's, The Bell Jar, when the protagonist states, quite mirthlessly, "I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart: I am, I am, I am." It was her way of getting through a moment of despair, a way of telling herself that her body was stronger than her condition; her heart continued on in perfect time despite the melancholy of her mind.

Sure, someday Bertie's hum will cease. And someday our heart's song comes to an end. But we don't get to choose when our clock stops. It just goes on beating, beating the same pulse that it did when we were two, when we are 32, and when we are 82. Until then, it's a reminder that our time is here, our body is on earth. And our work is yet unfinished. Our heartbeat is a gift from God. It is our "I am, I am, I am" from the great I AM.

Wheelchairs and Cartwheels

My doctor said these words to me today:

"Susana, it is amazing that after six years, you are not in a wheelchair. And you have absolutely no deformities. It's just amazing."

Oh yeah. Praise God.

(Whaaa?)

Let me explain:

I have aggressive Rheumatoid Arthritis.

I've had it for six and a half years. I really have a bad case of the stuff, actually. And there have been times where I couldn't step out of bed because the floor felt like broken glass, and I couldn't brush my hair because my elbows wouldn't bend far enough, and I couldn't lift my kids because my knee caps felt like they were separating from my legs. By all accounts, I should have the unsightly arthritic hands by now, and I should be using a walker for the deformed knees and ankles I should have by now.

The truth: I could probably do a cartwheel. (Please don't ask me to do a cartwheel. I said I could, not would. Although I probably should while I still can.) By God's grace and the gift of modern medicine (and the help of really good insurance) I have defied the odds of this debilitating disease. I can play my guitar. I can dance. I can pick up my kids. I have not had bad inflammation in nearly two and a half years. I recently ran a freakin' 5k, for goodness sake.

Praise God.

I totally forgot -- until my rheumatologist pointed it out -- that I have so much reason to thank God. It's easy to overlook stuff when the cards are good.

But it reminded me of some other things, too. Things that are gifts.

Healthy Kids

Loving Husband

Food

House

Breath

Life

Jesus

For all the things I usually take for granted, thank you, Lord.

"Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Messiah Jesus." 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

Psalm 146

Call it cheating if you want to. But these words here are the only words I've had lately. They're just not my original words. But they're more powerful and meaningful and amazing than anything that's come from my lips. Ever.

To be read aloud (trust me on this):

Psalm 146

Praise the LORD.

Praise the LORD, O my soul.

I will praise the LORD all my life;

I will sing praise to my God as long as I live.

Do not put your trust in princes,

in mortal men, who cannot save.

When their spirit departs, they return to the ground;

on that very day their plans come to nothing.

Blessed is he whose help is the God of Jacob,

whose hope is in the LORD his God,

the Maker of heaven and earth,

the sea, and everything in them—

the LORD, who remains faithful forever.

He upholds the cause of the oppressed

and gives food to the hungry.

The LORD sets prisoners free,

the LORD gives sight to the blind,

the LORD lifts up those who are bowed down,

the LORD loves the righteous.

The LORD watches over the alien

and sustains the fatherless and the widow,

but he frustrates the ways of the wicked.

The LORD reigns forever,

your God, O Zion, for all generations.

Praise the LORD.

Distractions

There has been this constant thread in my life for the past year and a half to two years. It's one I've periodically ignored, but that has consistently pursued me. And occasionally brought me to my knees. And here I am again. After a period of low hum, it's shouting at me again. And at 4:30 in the morning on a weekday, I'm finally quiet enough to let it wash over me.

More simplicity.

Less distraction.

It's amazing how easy that sounds. And how difficult it can be to implement. I want so badly to open the scriptures and learn how to do this. But alas, there is no Fox 3:16 that says, "Stop wasting your life with hilarious nonsensical drivel and read your stinking bible." And there's no Schedule 5:27 that says, "Be not like a chicken with its head removed, but slow down and fellowship with other believers." I have to remember that in biblical times, there were -- by nature -- less distractions. Or different ones, anyway. But definitely more silence.

And yet, I already know how to get there. I know that nothing replaces time spent with God. In prayer, in His word. It's like if I were trying to improve my relationship with my husband by thinking about him more while running errands in my car. Uh, no. That won't quite do it. It's the time. It's the one on one. God wants some face time, maybe some actual conversation.

So, I'm back to the empowered "Just say no" phase that I love and hate at the same time. I'm saying no to some things that I have the audacity to call "necessary", and some things that I just really "like" to do, and replacing them with Him whom I love. (And maybe a little extra face time for husband and kids, too. Bonus.) I already feel a sense of relief.

Less is more, here, folks.

It's so hard to remember that when I'm stuck in the whirlwind. It's easy to say, "I'm just so busy." It's a bad excuse when I've only done it to myself. But when I make my delight in Him, remove distractions, and I listen and obey, there's a beautiful picture that emerges from the frantic fog. There is clarity, humility, and a reordering of priorities. God sits on the universal, eternal, and most powerful throne. And everything else comes in a distant second.