The One About the Girl With the Sharp Tongue Who Sometimes Cuts Her Own Throat...

OK, so… Boy, I seem to start a lot of my writings that way :-) 

But anyway…

Yes, it’s been a long several months since I last published anything; no, I’m not going to go into a lengthy explanation of the whys and wherefores of where I’ve been.  I will say this, though: Several months back, I read a blog post that a friend of mine shared about being careful not to spend so much time blogging about our lives that we forget to live them, and it really hit home for me.  So, I’ve been taking some time off from blogging and just kind of focusing on simply living life each day with my family and friends.  And life has been exceptionally busy this year, so… Yep.  That’s where I’ve been :-)

So, tonight, I was sitting here on the couch in our new apartment (we moved over the summer… yeah, that was actually one of the more fun parts of the busyness :-D ), listening to iTunes and working on my mental list of people I now owe apologies to for running my mouth (What?  Don’t tell me I’m the ONLY person out there who does that every once in a while… ^_^ ), and this song came on:

I’m like a promise, I’m like a promise
I’m like a promise broken every time I open my mouth
Open my mouth, I open my mouth

OK, yeah… That’s me, right there, encapsulated in a single sentence.  It’s like I know I’ve got so much potential in me to do good, to do the right things, to love people and treat them like I want to be treated….

And then I open my mouth and all that promise just gets hurled to the ground and shattered into shards of glass that fly everywhere and cut the people who most need me to be gentle with them.  The Bible says in James 3 that the tongue steers our life like the rudder of a ship, that unlike any other wild animal, we cannot seem to tame it, no matter how hard we try.  The human tongue is like a flame that sets the forest ablaze; in my case, it seems more like a scalpel that strips the skin away and leaves the nerves frayed and loose and open to all the grit of daily life…

Under the surface, under the surface
Under the surface sometimes I wanna slip right out of my skin
Out of my, slip right out of my skin

Sometimes, when I hear the words that come out of my mouth, all I want to do is find a way to pretend that I’m really someone else, a good twin who can deny all knowledge of anything “that other person” has said.  I wish there was someone else that I could shrug my shoulders for and say, “No, that wasn’t me… Must have been that other chick who just happens to look like me and live around here.  I think I saw her go off in that direction…”  Maybe, just maybe, 38 years ago, my mom actually gave birth to identical twins in secret, and then the government wiped her memory and took one of the twins away to train her as a black-leather-and-spandex-clad secret assassin, and now there’s some kind of super-secret spy agent out there who looks exactly like me (only in leather and spandex... which I, for the record, would never wear together...) and is now running around all over the Chehalem Valley doing whatever she can with her words to mess up my life and my relationships and my reputation so she can murder me and bury me under the new patio in the backyard and then seamlessly take over my life…

No, wait… that’s a show on Netflix.  Never mind.

Well, until my clones start showing up on my doorstep, I guess I’m stuck with the knowledge that, nope, it’s just me using my own tongue as a weapon of mass destruction to take out half the population of Newberg.  Sigh…

And tell all my secrets
And open my scars
Break into pieces
Cause at the end of me, at the end of me
That’s where You start

Now there’s the hope in the situation…  God doesn’t expect me to be perfect all the time.  God doesn’t expect me to be perfect any of the time.  Which is really good, because I’ve always sucked at perfection (just ask my sister… the real one, not the long-hoped for evil twin one ^_^ )  But when I get to the point where I’ve completely FUBARed things, that’s where God can come in and make the biggest difference.  Not that I should go around trying to screw everything up… but since I seem to be so darned good at it sometimes, it helps to know that God can salvage anything and turn it into something beautiful in His way and time :-)

Do you remember, do you remember?
Do you remember when I was young and I knew everything?
I knew everything about everything

(Yes, before she even comments, my sister will definitely confirm that this was totally me when we were growing up... and that at least 2 of my 3 kids take after their mother in that regard... and that she was NEVER like that at ANY point in HER youth... ;-D )

Such a long time, such a long time
Such an uphill climb just to finally get over myself
Over my, I’m so over myself

So tell all my secrets
And open my scars
Break me to pieces
Cause at the end of me, at the end of me
That’s where You start

I don’t know where, I don’t know how
Maybe a prayer, maybe a cloud
I don’t know where, I don’t know how

So tell all my secrets
And open my scars
Gather the pieces
Cause at the end of me, at the end of me
That’s where You start
                     --Bebo Norman, "At the End of Me"

You see, that’s what I absolutely LOVE about God: He takes us right where we are, and then moves us forward from there.  His grace isn’t about making me feel really crappy about the stupid thing I’ve just said— I already feel crappy enough about that already, thank you very much :-P  God’s grace says to me, “OK, yes, you messed up here, I concur.  Now here’s what we’re going to do about it… You go and do what you can to apologize and make things right, and meanwhile, I’ll go and take care of the rest of it.  Then we can leave this in the past and move on to our next crazy adventure…  Hurry up, gotta dash. Things happening. Well, four things. Well, four things and a lizard...”

(OK, so I'm still waiting for one of God's plans for me to include a lizard... Darn you, Netflix...)

I find that, when I’m stressed, I tend to lose what little control I have over my mouth, and then out come all sorts of sharply sarcastic, mean-spirited, “I was just joking…” sort of comments, armed and loaded and just ready to take flight and stab people straight in the heart.  And yes, I’ve been stressed recently… There’s a lot of stuff going on and way more running around and trying to fit everything everyone wants to do into the schedule somehow than I ever expected going into this school year.

But…

If I know that being stressed makes me more of a sharp-tongued shrew, then I have an obligation to try harder to keep it under control when I am stressed.  Because honestly?  None of the seemed-like-a-good-idea-at-the-time comments that come flying out of my mouth ever seem to make life easier or less stressful for anybody, myself included.

So this is why I’m writing this now…

First off, if you’re at all like me and you find yourself at times mistaking your tongue for a Ginsu...

... Don’t beat yourself up.  God loves you, He’ll forgive you if you ask Him to, and then He can help you get up and move on.  Apologize to the person you’ve hurt and ask for their forgiveness; they might forgive you, they might not, either way, you’ve done what you can to make peace (Romans 12:18, one of my favorite verses :-D ) and now all you can do is move forward anyway.  Maybe if I’m honest about the fact that I screw up waaaaaaaaay more often in this area than I’m proud of, it can help someone else too.

Second off (Second on?  Secondly?  Maybe it’s just Second…), I’m writing this to ask for people to help hold me accountable.  Sometimes (as God has been pointing out to me recently), I say things in the moment and then just kind of walk away thinking everyone’s laughing and every thing’s fine and everyone understands what I really meant… and I have absolutely no clue until days later that someone’s been lying on the ground behind me bleeding out from their soul because of something stupid that I said.  And let me tell you, that is one sickening realization to come to, especially when the person bleeding to death is someone I love almost more than life itself.

So, the next time I say something (or write something, or you’ve heard that I’ve said something) and it hurts, tell me.  I can’t do anything to make things right and try to bandage up the wounds I’ve caused unless I know about it.  And as a Christian, I want to make things right,  I want to heal wounds and make things better…  Just as I’m supposed to be an ambassador for Christ (2 Corinthians 5:20) and help to bring peace and healing between God and people, I need to do everything I can to bring peace and healing between myself and those that I have hurt.  Even if it’s embarrassing, even if it’s awkward, even if people never forgive me and I end up alone in some cave somewhere waiting for my evil clone twin to show up and finish the job I’ve started… 

No, wait… Too much Netflix is apparently bad for my blogging life :-P

My most recent parenting fail... Sorry, but it's not a funny one this time :-/

I'm beginning to think that the hardest part of raising kids is letting them go.  Now, none of mine are quite old enough to leave the nest yet, so I'm not talking about the big, scary, drive them halfway across the country and then leave them there so they can attend the college of their dreams sort of letting go (though a dear friend of mine just got back home from doing that very thing with her oldest... you are one brave woman, Melinda :-D ).  No, I'm talking about the kind of letting go that comes from realizing that the time has come to step back as a parent and trust your kids to make their own decisions, even if and especially when you're not there to make sure that they do, in fact, make the RIGHT decision.

Today, one of my kids made the wrong decision, and I was at work in another town and completely unable to do anything about it.

Now, before any of you who know me start emailing me with questions of "OMG!!!!!  WHICH KID WAS IT AND WHAT DID THEY DO???  HOW MUCH BAIL MONEY DO YOU NEED AND HOW MANY MONTHS UNTIL YOU WANT TO HAVE THE BABY SHOWER AND WILL YOUR HEALTH INSURANCE COVER DETOX OR WON'T THEY???", let me just assure everyone that no, none of them are pregnant, all of them are home and not in jail, and they've all already finished their homework and are currently already in bed-- each one by themselves, too, just in case some of you (really, seriously?) were going to go there :-P  What happened this morning was in all actuality a very minor thing, with no foreseeable long-term damage done.  And I'm pretty certain that it's not an ominous harbinger of an oncoming storm of teenage rebellion either.  But it DID bring me to a place of questioning whether or not we've been making the right decisions all along the way and discovering that, honestly, I'm not as great a parent as I thought I was :-/

As parenting goes, I've always been a big fan of natural consequences-- sometimes parentally engineered "natural" consequences, but more-or-less natural, logical, reason-led ones all the same.  Toddler daughter refuses to pick up the pieces of her puzzle in a fit of "YOU CAN'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO I'M ALMOST FOUR AND SO I'M ALMOST ALL GROWN UP AND YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF MEEEEEE!"; toddler daughter watches as said puzzle pieces are thrown into the trash can along with the rest of the garbage on the floor.  Son #1 decides to throw wet paper towels all over the school bathroom to see how far up the wall he can get them to stick and whether or not he can actually get them to defy gravity and cling to the ceiling; son #1 gets to spend an afternoon helping the custodian clean up said bathroom.  Son #2 decides to ignore the warning about coming home before curfew from his friend's house (which, incidentally, is only 100 yards down the street, so he theoretically could have just hollered to say he'd be late); son #2 finds himself grounded and disallowed to go by himself to a friend's house on his own for the rest of the week.  Basically, you make your choice, you evaluate the consequences, and then you decide if it's really worth making that same choice the next time... pretty simple, no?

We Christian parents especially like to put a hedge of protection around our kids by making sure they only watch the right shows, listen to the right music, read the right books, hang out with the right friends, etc.  We figure that if we only give them good role models to follow and we shield them from negative examples, then they won't know to choose the wrong and will generally make the right decisions all throughout their lives.  We bet that if we raise smart, moral, good church-going kids, we can help them to avoid so many of the pitfalls of secular life... and it's actually not all that bad of a parenting plan, to be honest.

The downside is that we often end up sheltering our kids' decisions so that they only have good options to choose from and gentle consequences to remind them of the unconditional love of God.  And that, as I look back on things tonight, has been the parenting road we ended up on; I'm hearby pleading "GUILTY" to trying their whole lives to protect them from the consequences of their own native stupidity :-(  As kids get older, though, we as parents need to give them more responsibility for their own actions and more freedom in taking those actions.  And sometimes, this means letting them step out of our sight and hoping, with fingers crossed and eyes closed, that they'll have learned enough to not choose the door labeled (in big red, dripping, invisible letters) "This Is the STUPID Option... STAY AWAY!"

It was hard this morning to drive away, knowing that, though I had given my child specific directions and a definite answer to their question of "So, Mom, can we...?", I was leaving them in a position of temptation with no way to enforce my will and preferences in the matter.  And I knew that, theoretically, my child might choose to disobey and do what they wanted to do, hoping that I wouldn't find out.  But because love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things, I trusted that my child, whom I love with all my heart, would resist temptation and do the right thing simply because I had asked them to.  I honestly thought that, because I said "No, you can't... Sorry...", it would be enough to ensure that they actually did what I wanted them to do.

Not only did my child do what I had specifically forbidden them to do, but I had to find out about it from a sibling who couldn't keep their mouth shut.  (Yeah, I'm pretty sure there's going to be some holy Christian smackdown going on as soon as they all head out the door in the morning...)

But you know what?  This is a part of letting go.  At least it was a little mistake, and not one that's going to shape future generations of our family.  At some level, I needed to realize that my kids are not just extensions of my own self-worth, reflections of my ability to parent like a boss.  Each one of my kids is their own independent human being, with their very own imperfect nature and their very own will, with just as much of a right to be wrong as I have.  They're going to go off and make their own choices, and sometimes those choices are going to be "Screw that, Mom, I can make a better decision on my own, thank you very much."  And when those decisions have been ripped out of my grasping, clawing hands, then sometimes the consequences are out of my hands as well, and I won't always be there to catch them when they fall broken to the ground.

This time, though, my husband and I have to-- get to-- assign the consequences.  And we have to walk the fine line between realizing that no lasting harm has been done and not wanting that harm to come knocking at our kids' doors in the future.  How do we assign a consequence for disobedience that's fair and proportionate to a (really pretty minor) offense but still teaches them that, hey, Mom and Dad aren't idiots and you really should listen to them sometimes?  How do we make sure that we don't overreact and punish them too harshly simply because our feelings are hurt and our trust broken?  Or how do we make sure that this consequence gives them something positive that they can hold on to for the rest of their lives and pass on to their own kids someday (who probably won't listen to or obey them any better than they do us right now...)

To make the situation even stickier, tonight I had to admit to myself and to my husband that I've been making parenting decisions all along that have helped to create the situation that tripped my child up this morning... How do I go now to my child and apologize for my own parenting fail and still expect them to respect my wisdom and authority as their mom?  I'm really, really hoping for and counting on the fact that the Bible says that God resists the proud and gives grace to the humble (1 Peter 5:5), because I'm really going to need His grace tomorrow as I share a big ol' slice of humble pie with my child :-/

Actually, strike what I said in my first sentence... maybe the hardest part of raising kids is the not knowing how badly you're screwing them up until it's too late to do anything about it :-/

(I seriously need to start cruising Facebook or hanging out with my daughter's genius friends again... This blog and my sanity are both looooong overdue for a funny post for a change... o.O  But for now, I think I'll just head to bed with this song running through my head; I'll probably end up playing it tomorrow for my kid and pretty much every time I screw up again from now until forever...)

My Top 9 Obstacles to Writing and/or Finishing a Blog Post

OK, so I originally sat down to write a post inspired by a conversation I had this morning with my daughter's boyfriend, but instead... Here are the Top 9 Things That Always Seem to Get in the Way of Me Writing the Blog Posts I INTEND to Write... 

9. Being sick... again...   Yep, I'm wrapping up Day #4 of my annual holiday season head/chest cold nastiness.  It hurts to breathe, because my lungs itch and I feel like I need to cough.  But it hurts to cough, so I try not to, especially since when I'm coughing, I'm not breathing, and that's kind of a negative in my book.  And then there's the added bonus of the headache, fever, chills, and nasal nastiness to keep me company...  And if I'm really, really, REALLY lucky, one or more of my kids will catch it and then we can spend the long rainy days together watching the Princess Bride and whining about the taste of NyQuil.  And thus good times shall be had by all... o.O   The bug has struck early this year, though... so maybe I'll actually be healthy when it comes time for the holidays, for a change :-)  I can always hope, right?

8. Because the sight of Mom typing automatically means "Hey, she's not busy... Ask her anything!!!"  Why is it that, whenever I sit down to type, that's always the moment when everybody needs my undivided attention, and all of it RIGHT NOW?  "Honey, where would we have squirt guns?" "Mom, guess what?  I finally got Steve to play Pokemon Indigo on his phone at lunch today!" "Hey, Mom, the APUSH teacher says I can watch the movie "Glory" for extra credit... And has Madame posted the grades for the last French quiz online yet?" "Hey, Mom, wanna hear a joke I heard at school today?"  "Honey, are you SURE we don't still have all those empty coffee cans around here someplace?  I was keeping them to use for weeble-walkers, but now I need them for the Cub Scout meeting tonight..." "Hey, Mom... What are we having for dinner?"  "Honey... I need to boil an egg.  Do you have anything you might need hardboiled eggs for?  Because it seems silly to just boil one egg..."  "So, Mom... When are you going to fill out my permission slip for the Boy Scout camping trip this weekend?"  "Hey, Honey... How do I know if this egg from the fridge is hard-boiled or not?  Because isn't it supposed to be kind of sloshy if it's not hard boiled?  And I can't get this one to slosh..."  Seriously... and all of these are just from tonight.  And did I mention I've been sick for 4 days, and typing is about the only thing I can do without getting completely wiped out?  I think I might just lose my mind...

7. And then there's that stupid stinking timer...  We have a timer to help me keep track of dinner, and it never fails...  I'll set the timer, thinking I've got however many minutes to write (or do whatever it is I think I need to be doing right then), sit down, and juuuuuusst as I get really into the task...

BEEE DE DE DEEEEP, BEEE DE DE DEEEEP, BEEE DE DE DEEEP, BEEE DE DE DEEEP...

My kids, bless their souls, tried to help me like our timer better by pointing out that it's got the same rhythm as the sound that loops in the Master's head in "The Sound of Drums"...

... but somehow, it just isn't all that reassuring o.O  (Though it DOES lend weight to my theory that ANYTHING can be turned into a Doctor Who reference... :-D )

There are also timers on the microwave, washer, and dryer, and I swear, nothing disrupts your train of thought like a sudden BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP when you're least expecting it.  Forget Britney Spears... I'm thinking that, if they really want to mentally cripple pirates in Somalia, they really just need to borrow my washer and dryer for a week ^_^

6. The care and feeding of miniature humans... What do you mean, "You're hungry???  I just fed you yesterday..."  When my youngest was a toddler, he would come out of his room every morning, looking adorable in his footie pajamas and with his hobbit-mop of red curls springing out all over the place, and he would track down me or my husband each day with the same exact pronouncement: "Mo-om (or Da-ad)... I'm hungry AGAIN...!"  To which, of course, there can only be one reasonable response: "What do you mean?  We just fed you yesterday...!"  Lest anyone think that we were mean parents, though, we did always walk with him into the kitchen and help him get his breakfast, after which he was generally content to go and play until time for snack... or, in hobbit-speak, second breakfast.  And elevensies... and lunch... and second lunch... and so on.  We don't just call him the Hobbit for no reason, you know... ^_^

Even now, though, at 10 years old, that kid STILL keeps insisting that I feed him... every single day, without fail.  And not only that, but he's got his brother and sister trained to expect the SAME THING too, now!  I mean, come on, people... What are you going to do when you go off to college and have to fend for yourselves?  Oh, wait... that's what cafeteria food is for... never mind, then ^_^

Seriously though (just in case you didn't pick up on the invisible sarcasm font of that previous paragraph ;-) )...  I have this weird aversion to cooking meals.  Every day, I dread having to make dinner... but every day, I feel like it's my obligation as a mom to provide sustenance for my family.  And for some reason, the urge to write always seems to strike me at right about 4:30 or 5-ish in the afternoon...

"Oh, hey, I've got this FABULOUS brainstorm of an idea for my next blog post!  I'd better type it out before I forget..." **typety type, clickity-click, typety type type**  "Wait, what...?  You have somewhere to be at 7 and you need dinner first?  Aw, maaaaaannnnn... OK, guess I'll come back to this later...  It's Hamburger Helper time again!"  (I have a serious love-hate relationship with Hamburger Helper...  it's actually kind of scary o.O )

In their defense, though (before anyone starts commenting that I should pass along the mealtime chore to my kids for their sake and mine...), my kids ARE actually learning how to cook for themselves... even though it sometimes results in Facebook posts like the following:

3/5 of my family members proved today that they apparently don't know how to cook macaroni properly... Which led to this conversation:

Me: "Great... Y'all better hope nothing ever happens to me, 'cause if I die, you're all gonna starve..."
Middle Child: "I know how to make noodles..."
Eldest Child: "OK, so when Mom dies, you're in charge of making the noodles for everyone, then."
Me: "Um... Because noodles are amazing...?"

5. My inability to concentrate whenever there's anything else going on in the room...  I'm just going to chalk this one up to the fact that, with autism, there's no such thing as tuning the world out and focusing on my... oh, hey, was that a squirrel or just the neighbor's cat?  And why is that door open AGAIN?  And can't you people see that there's a RIGHT way to stack the dirty dishes on the counter and a WRONG way to do it?  And that sound the fan is making... Something's wrong with it...  And how can I be expected to concentrate when the neighbors are watching WWE, anyway?

AUTISM: Any Useless Tangent Is Something to Me...

And there goes that timer... again... Here come the drums, here come the drums...?  o.O
 
4. Because there's nothing so fascinating in the world as what's on Mom's computer screen...  One of my pet peeves has always been people reading over my shoulder.  First off, it's an invasion of my personal bubble, which I'm very attached to and without which I'd go off the deep end.  Second, it feels like someone's snuck up behind me, pried open my head, and is going through my brain matter like a five year old with an Operation game... "Hey there... What 'cha reading?  Is it good?  How did you find THAT article?  What do you think about the subject?  What's that link there go to?"  This is even MORE nerve-wracking when it's not just a Facebook post or a news article that I'm looking over, but my own unfinished blog-post-to-be... the very core of what I'm thinking and feeling at that moment, naked and exposed to the open air.

Look, people... It takes me a while to synthesize what I'm reading and formulate an opinion.  It also takes me a while to find the right words to express what I'm thinking about any given topic, because I want to make sure that what goes out on the blogosphere is an accurate reflection of my actual thoughts and opinions, and not some emotionally-charged hormono-rant that I'm going to regret in the morning.  When that process of choosing words, looking them over, reconsidering, and revising is interrupted, I shut down... my brain puts everything on hold, and all I can think to do is to slam the computer shut to protect myself.  And then I never seem to be able to pick up my thoughts again... and yet another post goes into the "Draft" pile...

3. The DAemon Twins: Discouragement and Apathy...  I covered this topic in my last blog post...  Basically, it's that notion I get that I have nothing worth saying and no energy to bother saying it with.  I let these two get in my way far more often than I should... But at least by being honest and transparent about it, I can climb back on that keyboard and ride back into the battle... OK, now THAT analogy didn't work and just kept on going anyway... o.O

2. How do I tell an honest story without offending anyone or hurting their feelings?  First and foremost, I want to be honest and transparent in all I say, do, and write... For me, it's a matter of integrity.  But sometimes, life is messy, and sometimes, people are ugly.  And sometimes, being honest means exposing that ugliness and letting people see the consequences of their bad decisions.  That's a really difficult thing for me, though, because honestly, I want everyone to like me and to be happy about everything I write.  I don't like ruffling feathers or putting people on the spot publicly...  To quote one of my favorite Bible verses (I use it as my email signature as a constant reminder), as far as it depends on me, I want to live at peace with everyone (Romans 12:18)  There's also the verses about how love covers a multitude of sins (1 Peter 4:8, Proverbs 10:12 and 17:9); if I love someone, the last thing I want to do is publicly humiliate them or put them in a spotlight for others to mock or condemn.  So, for now, there are a LOT of things I would love to write about... but for the sake of love and for the purpose of keeping the peace, I won't.  Some of you who may know me well enough to know my story may wonder why I never mention some things on my blog, even though they're HUGE right now in my life; this is my reason why.

And the Number One Obstacle to Me Writing What I MEAN to Write...

1. My own high expectations...  When I was in college, I remember reading an article in which the author asked the question: Why isn't it enough anymore for us to be just good at something?  Why must we always be the best or else feel that we've failed?  It's like our culture has told us that, if we're not the best, we're worthless.  If our schools aren't #1 in the world, then we're failing.  If I didn't get the highest grade in the class, then I'm not trying hard enough.  When we think like this, we're setting ourselves up for disaster, because no matter how hard we work or how much effort we put into something, chances are there is always going to be someone somewhere in the world who can top us.  Any record we set will someday be toppled; any achievement we make will someday be matched.  So... Why aim for a target that can never be met?

When I'm faced with this realization, I tend to get discouraged and give up (hey, look, it's those DAemon twins again...).  And then I end up fulfilling the prophecy of not being good enough, because by not writing ANYTHING, I'm definitely not writing the BEST of anything, or even anything remotely near GOOD... it's just a big pile of silence and frustration.  And if God has called me to write and to give encouragement to others, then by writing nothing, I'm basically sitting in the corner sulking and refusing to obey.  And that is most definitely NOT something I want to have to fess up to...

So...

If I can't sulk and get away with it by hiding (because that wouldn't be transparent), and I can't rationalize and talk my way out of being disobedient (because that wouldn't be honest), then the only option left to me is to obey, to go forward and write, whether I think the result is worth the effort or not.  And maybe I'll learn to be OK with just doing my best and letting God do what He wants with it.  I'm such a perfectionist; I expect soooo much more out of myself than anyone else around me does.  I want every post to be brilliant, every word perfectly chosen, every conclusion the final word on the subject, and every "Aha!" moment an illumination of truth in this dark world.  And when it isn't, I wonder why I should even bother.  But then I remember that I'm not the light of the world-- Jesus is.  I'm not perfect-- but Jesus is.  I don't get to have the final word on anything-- God does.  And I don't have to be brilliant-- it's enough for me to be me and to be content with that :-)



So... To all my writer friends out there (you know who you are, and even if you didn't, you do now, because, yes, I'm talking to YOU :-P )... What are the things that keep YOU from writing?  Am I the only one who deals with this crazy stuff?  What do you do to stay motivated to write?

Contentment vs. Happiness...

(I was totally expecting that my next post would be the continuation of "Faith Is...", but right now, I'm kind of frustrated about a situation and feel the need to try and get my thoughts out in a more... constructive manner.  More constructive than beating my head against a brick wall until reality fades away, anyway...  Let's just call this one a teaser for "Top 10 Myths of the Christian Life" and call it good, 'K? :-D )

---------------------------

Our world tells you that the most important thing in life is to be happy.  Whatever you do, do what makes you happy and tell the rest of the world to go to Minnesota.  (Which, in my opinion, is a phrase that Tim Hawkins left out of his list of 101 Cuss Words for Christians... Here's the video, courtesy of my daughter's completely awesome boyfriend who first showed it to me...)


But anyway...

Our culture tells you that if you're unhappy, there's something seriously wrong in your life that needs to be fixed.  If your husband/children/teachers/friends make you unhappy, ditch 'em and find someone who makes you feel happy again.  If you're unhappy all the time for no apparent reason, take this pill so you can feel happy.  It's all about being happy, happy, happy all the time.

And that, my friends, is a lie.

Happiness is based on situations.  If it's my birthday and my husband takes me out for dinner at Olive Garden, I'm happy.  If I get a paycheck in the mail, I'm happy.  If my kids bring home all As on their report cards, I'm happy for them.  If my best friend's boyfriend asks her to marry him, I'm happy for her.

All that happiness, however, is based on an "if"; remove that "if" and the happiness goes away... If my hubby forgets my birthday, I'm unhappy because it implies that something else is more important to him.  If my bills come due and I don't get a paycheck to cover them, I'm unhappy because I now have to call and ask for payment arrangements so they don't shut off the electricity.  If my kids hide their report cards and the teacher has to call to find out why my son didn't return the Discipline Referral slip she sent home three days ago, I'm unhappy because now I have to deal with whatever it was he did AND with the imminent grounding he has just earned.  If my best friend's boyfriend breaks up with her over Facebook, I'm unhappy because now she's miserable and because he has destroyed part of my faith in "nice guys".

Life is full of situations, both good and bad... Every day is a new situation, and every day we have things that make us happy and things that make us unhappy.  There is simply no way to get around that.  And when we have one of those days where our emotions are being yanked up and down and all over the place by situations, we end up exhausted and miserable and sick and confused as heck about what we're supposed to be feeling.  If life is all about being happy, then there is really no point to any of it because, as soon as something happens to make us happy, something else always seems to come along to make us unhappy and we end up forgetting the happiness we had at the beginning.

I don't believe that life is supposed to be about being happy.  I choose instead to believe in contentment.

Contentment is not about being happy all the time.  It's not like that old Sunday School song about being "in-right, outright, upright, downright happy all the time" (The only Sunday School song that I can say I actually, really, truly, completely HATE... here's a video of it in case you don't know it by heart already...)



(Note: I have nothing at all against the people in this video or against anyone who uses this song in their children's church or Sunday School program... I just really think the song itself is horrible and misleading to children of all ages because it tells them that, if they become a Christian, their life will be all wonderful and they will be happy all of the time.  Which, as anyone who has been a Christian for more than a week or so can testify, is simply not true :-/ )

But anyway... Contentment is knowing that, whatever happens and however the situation you're in turns out, you're going to be OK.  It's knowing that no matter how bad your day is going and how scary the pit you're standing at the edge of looks, tomorrow will be a new day and it isn't the end of the world.  It's knowing that what you're feeling isn't the be-all end-all of what you are, and that even in the deepest, darkest depressions of the night, you are still a beautiful creature with the right to have hope and a future.

For the Christian, contentment is knowing that there is no situation coming over you that wasn't allowed for and prepared for by the Maker of the universe Himself.  It's knowing that no matter what happens next, God Himself knows the number of your days (Psalm 139) and the plans He still has for you to fulfill (Jeremiah 29:11).  Contentment comes from knowing that each and every situation will either 1) make you stronger and give you yet another glimpse of how God is working in your life, or 2) kill you and therefore transport you into His presence in Heaven, where there are no more crazy situations to have to deal with :-)  (OK, so maybe that either/or was a wee bit extreme... Oh, well, that's just how we roll here, I guess... ^_^ )

Even though I am a Christian, if I'm going to be honest and have even a shred of integrity, I have to admit that here are a lot of situations in my life (and in the lives of a lot of my friends and family members) that I am most definitely NOT happy about.  I am NOT in-right, outright, upright, downright happy all the time :-P  But... I can be content knowing that, no matter how unhappy I feel or how frustrated I am with what's going on, it's not the end of the world.  When things are fantastic and everything is coming together and it all works and I'm in love with the world and everything in it, I can be content to not cling to what's fleeting and to just bask in the glory of a rare good day.  When things are going badly and life just kind of sucks and I feel like blasting my frustrations all over Facebook just to get them out of my head, I know that this is not how my story (or the stories of all those hurting people I love) ends.

That's what contentment is.

Don't strive and work and chase after and exhaust and starve yourself trying to find happiness, because even if you do catch it, it will fade and drift away.  Look for contentment, and in those moments when you realize, "Hey, I'm actually happy today!", you will be able to stop and relax and enjoy and savor it :-D

...Whether we want it to be or not...

I guess this is kind of a Part 2 to my last post ("For some of us, every day is April 2nd..."), which was basically all about being autistic and learning to embrace it.  And about 95% of the time, I do embrace it and I'm proud to be me, for better, for worse, and for crazy-weird fun :-)  But then again, there are those days like today that make up that other 5%...

Is it OK to admit that I'm struggling?

As Christians, it seems we're always told to glorify God with our words and with our testimony, and that if we sometimes question why He made us this way or is letting us go through something, we're just walking in doubt instead of in faith.  And somehow, even without saying it explicitly, the message is communicated that this is sinful and disobedient to the God who fearfully and wonderfully made us.  But at the same time, I know that as Paul said in 2 Corinthians 12:10, the times when I am weak as a person are the times when I am strongest as a Christian, because then God can work most visibly in and through me.  So...

Is it OK to admit that I'm struggling?

The past month or so has been crazy busy, what with my husband and 2 of my 3 kids having birthdays, a couple rounds of the Creeping Lung Crud, several subbing jobs, a 1980s-themed Sadie Hawkins dance at the high school (funny how I don't remember the 80s looking quite that bad... then again, I grew up in the 90s, so... o.O), car troubles, job changes, a heart attack scare, and about half a dozen other minor disasters thrown in for comedic effect... oh, and Spring Break too, for that matter.  And this past Saturday, we wrapped up our annual Month of Chaos with my daughter's 15th birthday party, where about a dozen of her best friends crammed into our little apartment to watch Literal Trailers videos and Princess Bride, play Apples to Apples, and take crazy pictures of themselves to post on Instagram.  It was actually a lot of fun, and nothing got broken or thrown this time, so I'd call it an unqualified success :-D

When I made it through Saturday night and all day Sunday without a meltdown, I figured everything was fine, great, dandy... Hey, maybe I've finally developed enough coping skills to actually manage my autism and screen out all of the excess stimuli created by 6 straight hours of 12 hollering teenagers... Maybe I'm finally cured of my autism and my world will actually turn into something normal and I can go on and give my kids the normal life I've always wanted for them...  Maybe this is the start of a new and glorious chapter in my personal history; the Fourth Great and Bountiful Beautiful-Letdownian Empire!  (See... anything can be turned into a Doctor Who reference if you try hard enough... ^_^)

And then... today hit. And the firecrackers started going off in my brain and haven't yet stopped.  And every little tick of the clock and whirr of the fan and beeeeep of the washer makes me want to scream and throw them out the window, the window, the second story window (and I'm betting that you were just there singing along with me, weren't you? ^_^)  And the only way to cope with my daughter's missing cell phone and my son's field trip permission slip and my husband wanting to spend some quality time with me was to go completely numb and just keep repeating the same semi-helpful statements of fact ("No I don't know where it is the last time I saw it you were turning it off at church...  I'm going with your brother on his field trip that day go ask your father if he can chaperone for you... I guess I'm still just really tired from the party and cleaning up afterwards...") over and over again until whatever the issue was resolved itself.  And my 10 year old fell down while selling candy bars for Cub Scouts and scraped up his knee and elbow, and a 14 year old girl disappeared on her way to school in Utah, and someone set off bombs at the Boston Marathon, and so help me, I just didn't care.  And I sat in my car while waiting for my 13 year old to come out of his Boy Scout meeting and just cried and begged God to help me get it together so that I wouldn't scare the living bejeebers out of my kids by having a nervous breakdown in front of them or running my car into a tree for no reason other than to end the madness.

Some days, I hate being this way.  

And on days like this, with the knowledge that April is Autism Awareness Month... all month long... what I wish for most is an Autism Unawareness Day.

One day where, for once, I feel like I'm completely normal and acceptable just as I am.

One day where I don't have to struggle to find the right word and people know what I mean from the words that actually come out of my mouth; a day where, when I'm trying to identify that long thin thing in the conductor's hand as he waves it over the band and I call it first a "stick", and then a "wand," nobody leans over with a snicker and says "Mom, it's Harry Potter that has a wand... That's called a baton."  I know it's a baton, dear... I just misplaced the word for a moment :-/

One day where nobody gives me the Icy Stare of Death because I've described something exactly as I see it and thrown all tact to the wind without even realizing it.

One day where I don't have to wonder what I'm supposed to feel or what I'm supposed to do when something horrific happens in a faraway place like Boston or Manhattan or Newtown, where I can understand why everyone around me is freaking out and holding candlelight vigils from 2000 miles away.

One day where I can feel like I'm fully a part of the world around me, fully engaged and fully equipped to cope with whatever happens... without having to pay the inevitable price of a day like today.

One day where I can be myself, without a mask or a persona, and know that  I won't be shattered beyond repair by the words, the gaze, or the touch of others.

What I want is one day, even if it's just one day, where I can forget completely that I'm autistic and just feel normal for a change, where I and everyone else around me can be totally unaware of my autism and not think instead that I'm just another freak.

Sigh... Yes, I know I'm whining.  I know I'm venting, and I'm using my blog as a place to do it so that maybe someone else out there who struggles with this stuff will realize they're not alone.  I'm venting here so that people will know that, maybe, sometimes, it's OK to admit that we're struggling with the role God has given us to play in this life, because when we admit how weak we are and how dark our world may seem at times, we can see more clearly what a strength and a light our God is.

Even when I'm thrashing about in the midst of a verbal temper tantrum, kicking and screaming at God and asking Him "WHY DID YOU HAVE TO GO AND MAKE ME THIS WAY????  DON'T YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I *%#*@&* HATE THIS????  DON'T YOU CARE???", I know that He made me this way for a reason because He doesn't screw up.  And I know that when I'm all cried out and ready to listen, He'll show me something to make me realize that He's got something bigger in the works than just making me feel "normal"... which is another word for average, which is another word for mediocre, which is just not acceptable for a hyperactive overachiever like me anyway ^_^

So... Is it OK to admit that I'm struggling today?  Yes, I think so.

Am I ever going to get my Autism Unawareness Day?  No, probably not.

Am I ever going to be "normal" or even feel "normal"?  Nope.  Normal is highly overrated anyway.

But hey... At least I don't have to worry about anyone impersonating me or replacing me in God's crazy plan.  Supernatural job security... I guess I can live with that ^_^

And now for today's video...  This has been one of my all-time favorite songs for about 17 years now, one of those songs that just makes me stop whatever I'm doing and just shut up and listen (thankfully, it doesn't often come on my iPod while I'm driving...)  It just seemed like a good note to leave this post on, so...

For some of us, every day is April 2nd... (or, in other words, "Happy Autism Awareness Day to you too!")

"Mom... Is this how you feel every day?!?"

My daughter says this to me as we're sitting at my younger son's Cub Scout pack meeting, listening to the shouts and shrieks of 25 sugared-up grade schoolers as they echo off of the vaulted ceilings and brick walls of the elementary school cafeteria and ricochet through our ears and around the inside of our skulls.  She's trying to gather her thoughts and start on the first post for her brand new blog (apparently she feels the need to share her side of any stories I might tell about her on mine ^_^), and the incoherent noise is pretty much shattering any chance at organized thought for anyone over the age of 9.  (The 9-year-olds, however, are coherent enough to be making hyena noises in the bathroom down the hall... because somehow one of them was able to crawl under the stall door or something equally hyena-worthy...)

Perhaps this seems like a bizarre question for a daughter to ask her mother... Allow me to explain.

I seem to be what today's educators and psychologists would call a "high-functioning autistic".  I say "seem to be" because it wasn't until the late 1980s/early 1990s that educators began recognizing that some kids with autism (or, alternatively, Asperger's Syndrome) could still function in "normal" society and so could be taught in the regular classroom with everyone else.  By that time, I was beginning high school and had already been classified by the teachers and counselors as "mildly disturbed", "creative but troubled", "anti-social", and (my personal favorite) "bright but has trouble making and keeping friends."  Never mind the fact that as a small child, I met 8 of the 12 criteria for autism as listed in the DSM-IV (3 from section 1, 3 from section 2, and 2 from section 3), and all but 2 of the 8 criteria for Asperger's Syndrome.  Never mind the fact that both unexpected loud noises and the normal hubbub of the classroom drove me to tears and always had.  Never mind the fact that changes in the daily routine or in what I thought should be the daily routine would invariably lead to me screaming, yelling, and cussing at whatever adult thought they were in charge at the time.   Never mind the fact that people always seemed to think I was guilty and/or lying about something because I could never hold anyone's eye contact for more than a few moments.  No, because I was already over the age of 3 and perfectly capable of talking, I could, by definition, not possibly be autistic.

Now, logically, it doesn't make sense that high-functioning autism would have magically begun in or around the year 1985 (so that all of its subjects would be young enough to be properly diagnosed in the late '80s or early '90s).  In fact, the growing prevalence of autism in the general population right now and the growing body of research into the neuroscience of autism tells me that autism has been around for generations, maybe even forever.  So, what this tells me is that there are probably thousands of almost-normal people out there who, like me, have always struggled with autism and have spent their entire lives free-falling through this diagnostic generation gap.

I began researching autism and Asperger's about 9 years ago, when my daughter became friends with a classmate with Asperger's.  As I started focusing on special ed and elementary ed in college, I found myself fascinated with the dynamics of autism; the more I worked with kids on the autism spectrum, the more fascinated I became.  Finally, here were kids who made sense to me... why couldn't the other teachers understand them?  Unlike most kids, the autistic students actually reacted normally to noise, schedule changes, people touching them, and all those other irritations of life... well, at least it seemed normal to me, anyway :-)  I could relate to them in their meltdowns because I used to freak out in the exact same way; the things that bugged them bugged me as well, and when we could fix those issues, we all did better.

It wasn't until the past couple of years, as the research on autism spectrum disorders finally grew up into adulthood, that I realized that autism isn't just a childhood problem.  In other words, guess what?  Autistic kids don't magically turn "normal" when they hit 18 and graduate from high school; autistic kids grow up into... wait for it... autistic adults.  Adults who still struggle with sensory overload, making and keeping friends, expressing themselves through speech... and all of the other things in this list and this article.  And if there is such a thing as an autistic adult... then maybe I'm not such a freak after all :-)

So, what is it like to be autistic?

First of all, because my brain doesn't filter out background noise from important information very well, every day is a brand new boiling cacophony of chaos to struggle through.  The combination of the fans blowing, the clock ticking, the computer humming, the neighbors' salsa music salsa-ing, and the cars driving by outside drives me up the wall.  All the time.  The only way to drown it out so I can think is to play music that's louder than the combination so that the main sound I hear is music I can take meaning from instead of white noise that makes no sense.  It's not so much the volume that get to me as it is the sheer number of different sounds to try and sort through.  If you're trying to talk to me, make sure I can hear you over the noise and if possible, look at me so I can read your lips; this helps me to focus on what you're saying instead of losing your words in all the auditory clutter.

Eye contact is actually physically painful.  If I don't look you in the eye when you're talking, it's not because I'm not interested or because I'm easily distracted or that I think you're repulsive to look at... it's because if I stare into your eyes for too long I start to feel like you could reach out and attack me at any moment, and I panic.  This is why I love my sunglasses and wish I could get away with wearing them inside and out, all year round... when I'm wearing my shades, no one notices that I'm not looking at them :-)

When I talk, be patient with me.  Regardless of what may come out of my mouth, I'm really not a complete idiot (I'm of the opinion that "not a complete idiot" is a pretty good loose translation of the Latin term summa cum laude... o.O )  The thoughts are in there somewhere and make total sense to me... I just may need several runs at translating them into words that everyone else will understand.  Sometimes, I practice and rehearse what I mean to say in my head so that it will come out right the first time... only to have random words of it disappear on me just as I'm about to speak them.  So if in mid-sentence sometimes, I start gesturing wildly or describing something blatantly obvious ("door" seems to be a word that disappears on me frequently, for some reason...), or even start trying to say it in Spanish (which has been known to happen more than once), be patient.  Pretend we're playing Charades and try to help me find my missing word... unless I ask you to stop because your guesses are so colossally way far off that they're distracting me from everything else in my head (For example, if I'm thinking "that thing that goes like this **raises hands to form a rectangular archway over head** and then you walk through it...", then "elephant" is probably NOT the word I'm looking for, no matter how loudly you say it... ^_^)  Let me restart as many times as I need to to spit out my sentence... by the third or fourth attempt, you'll probably have a pretty good idea of what it is I'm trying to say anyway, even if I get frustrated and give up.  And please don't laugh at me... I'm doing the best that I can.

If you must change something about plans we've made or the way things usually go, give me some advance warning first.  Even if it's an email the night before or a phone call on the way home from school, any advance warning will give me time to process and rearrange my mind to fit the new circumstances.  I'm not real big on surprises... Give me hints or clues and I'll happily play along, but just don't spring things on me out of the blue.  Oh, and when I'm in the middle of driving somewhere and I'm taking a route that I know well and am comfortable with, please, please, PLEASE do NOT constantly tell me about all of the more efficient and/or better ways to get there... If you want to drive, then you can drive, but if you want me to drive, then let me drive the way I know best, OK?  :-)

I generally don't like to be touched.  Unless I know you pretty well and trust you, and only if I know it's coming... like if I can see you coming from across the cafeteria and you're calling me "MOOOOOOOMMMM" at the top of your lungs as you run across the room to grab a hold of me.  That might be OK... as long as you're one of my kids, one of their longtime friends, or one of my students, and not some 43-year-old guy who calls me "Mom" because he can't remember my name o.O  So, basically, if I look like I need a hug, ask me if I'm OK with a hug first, OK?  Because I really do like (and need) hugs and holding hands and a gentle touch on the shoulder and whatnot, just like everybody else... I just need to be prepared and know to expect it first.

Social situations-- especially if I'm not expecting them-- scare the living bejeebers out of me.  This doesn't mean that I want to be a hermit and never ever see or talk to anyone-- heck, I'm an elementary school teacher and a mom, so that's not exactly an option :-)  But it does mean that I have a LOT of preparation to do before I can be social and it takes a LOT out of me to be social.  In all honesty, I have got to say that the most useful classes I ever took in any school anywhere were the drama classes I took in high school; it was in Mr. Putnam's drama classes that I learned how to create a character, put on that character, block out anything but that character, and stay in character until the curtain closes and I can finally be myself again.  When I have to go out and be social-- whether it's in front of a classroom, on a school bus field trip, at a high school dance, whatever-- I have to take time beforehand to get over the inevitable pre-curtain panic attack and put on my competent-confident-teacher/competent-confident-parent persona.  Only then can I go out and do what I have to do each day... and for the record, I don't mind doing it.  The hours are great, the people are fascinating, and every once in a while I even have fun too :-D

After a social event, when the curtain falls and the audience (i.e. the rest of the real world) goes home and I am all alone by myself, I lay the persona aside... and usually proceed to have a nervous breakdown.  I shake, I pace, I want to scream but can't because my husband and kids and the rest of the neighborhood are usually trying to sleep and would really not appreciate being awakened by a screaming banshee :-/  So I listen to my music really loud in the headphones or I blog or I sometimes just sit and wait for the synapses inside my head to stop firing like firecrackers so I can sleep like everyone else.  This can take hours.  And I feel like my skin is trying to crawl off from the inside out and there's nothing I can do to keep it together except to sit very very still... and it can take hours.

So, stupid question time... Why bother?  Why do I teach, chaperone, let my kids bring their friends home after school each day if it drives me absolutely nuts?  Why don't I mind doing this crazy stuff?  Because the kids and the teens I get to work with are waaaay more than worth it, and who knows... maybe, just maybe, if I can set aside my own little chaos for a while and focus on them, then they will see that they are worth the world to me, and to the God who made me-- and maybe some of them too-- this way.

I don't believe that I was made this way by mistake, or even by accident.  I'm convinced that a huge number of our modern psychological and learning "disorders" are actually not disorders at all, but are instead a reflection of our increasingly intolerant educational system.  We carve out a narrow niche that we demand all students conform to in order to succeed, and then we pinpoint the kids who don't fit perfectly into that niche and give them a label of "_____ disorder" so that we can blame factors out of our control for our failure to educate every child.  We have our autistic disorders, our attention-deficit disorders, our oppositional-defiant disorders, our anxiety disorders, and so on... and in labeling these students as "disorderly," we give ourselves as teachers and as adults a pass on educating them, convincing ourselves that if these kids don't learn, it's not our fault ("we don't have the training to manage these kids") or their fault ("they can't help it, they have a disorder"), but just the way it goes sometimes.

But what if all of these "disorders" are actually just beautiful variations in the way God makes individuals?  What if the disorder is in our unwillingness to see outside our own little boxes, and not in the way these kids' minds work at all?  Ask any parent of an autistic child, or a child with ADHD, or an anxiety disorder, and they will tell you that their child is brilliant and special and full of potential... if only other people would choose to see them that way.

So, basically, I'm choosing each day to live like I was made this way on purpose, like my autism is a gift from God.  He would not have given me my autism unless He knew I was strong enough to handle it, and unless He knew of a way for me to use it to love others.  So... this is why I go out in public when it drives me out of my mind, why I volunteer for all the crazy chaperone duties that make my friends think I'm out of my mind, why I open my home to all of my kids' crazy friends and their mile-a-minute ramblings that prove they may be out of their minds... It's because each and every one of them is totally worth the insanity :-D

--------------------------------------------

"Mom... Is this how you feel every day?!?"

As you might guess, the answer to her question is yes... This is what I feel every day.  The noise, the chaos, the inability to focus or concentrate, the panic that it creates... all of those are a part of being autistic.  But I know that this is the way I was made, that I'm not a freak of nature after all... and that there is a reason I am the way I am.

I also know from her reaction that my daughter is not autistic, and that because she is a "neurotypical," she will probably have a simpler life than I did.  She doesn't view herself as a freak or a mistake, and for this I will always be grateful.  But if things like this make her aware of what people like her childhood friend and I go through each day, then perhaps she will have more compassion and a better understanding, and will be able to share that with others.

April 2nd is my daughter's birthday; it's also World Autism Awareness Day, when people all over the world are supposed to wear blue to show their awareness and support of people with autism and for autism research.  I'm sure that's all fine and dandy... I've worn blue to support my students with autism and Asperger's in the past, and probably will this year as well just for the heck of it.  But I think that, as far as raising autism awareness goes, I can be more effective by living my life out loud and being honest and open about who I am and why I think I was made this way with anyone who will care to listen.  Because for me, every day, every hour, every minute is about autism awareness.

For some of us, every day is April 2nd.

What Salvation Means to Me...

As Christians, we hear a lot about salvation (i.e. "being saved", "getting saved", "leading someone to salvation" "being washed by the blood of the Lamb", etc.)  Some of us even take what we hear and then go out and talk to others about salvation... and we call that "leading people to Christ", "soul winning", "leading them down the Romans Road", etc.   I wonder though, sometimes, if maybe we talk so much about "salvation" that people who aren't already Christians have learned to just tune us out like so much noise.  I mean, we use all kinds of simple-yet-abstract phrases to dance around the topic... "just ask Jesus into your heart", "get right with God", "save your soul", "become a believer", "meet Jesus", and on and on... and I'm not saying that there's anything wrong or false about any of those words or approaches at all; each one explains a certain facet of salvation, and who knows which phrase will be the one that totally makes sense to someone who's searching for the truth about Jesus Christ?

But I wonder if maybe we spend so much time trying to find the right words to say it and the right phrase to summarize it that we never actually get around to explaining what salvation could actually mean to the person we're talking to, and we end up just adding to the noise instead of helping anyone.  And if we're all just so many noisy clanging cymbals, is it any wonder that, when the topic of religion comes up and we say, "Well, I'm a Christian...", no one ever follows that up with "Oh, really?  Why are you a Christian, and what is it like to be a Christian?"  Unless of course they're just looking for reasons to dismiss you as an idiot, lunatic, or fanatic... and if that's the case, then they're going to find reasons to do that no matter what you say, so what you say really doesn't end up mattering in the first place :-/  But that's a whole 'nother topic, and not one worth going into at the moment anyway, so... :-)

So, basically, if you have no interest in my answer to the question of "Why are you a Christian and what is it like to be a Christian?", and/or you don't care to read about what salvation means to me, then that's just fine... you can skip the rest of this post and read about some of my other, less "religious" soapboxes.  No offense taken :-)

But... if you're curious or if you really want to know more about why I am the way I am, then here we go:

What "Salvation" Means to Me

We all strive to fill our days with stuff to keep us busy, to keep us interested, to keep us from getting bored.  We go to school and/or to work, we come home, we eat our meals, we go to sleep.  We read books, watch TV, listen to our iPods, look for YouTube videos, play Minecraft.  We play in bands, compete on teams, work on projects, spend time with our loved ones, relax with friends... well, we try to relax when we're not busy doing all of the other stuff, anyway....   Sometimes we go places to worship those things that are bigger than us... whether they're worthy of our worship or not.

But then, there are those times when we're all alone, when the work is done, the friends have all gone home, the loved ones are all asleep, when the computer is off and the TV is silent.  Those times when we have nothing to distract us from that gigantic gaping hole in our souls that keeps us awake, whispering in our ears...

You.  Are.  Alone.

And we realize that not only are we alone and feeling kind of lonely in that moment, but we are undeniably, painfully Alone as well.  Because there is a difference between simply being lonely and being Alone... Lonely is what we feel when we think no one is around and we wish that someone was; we know that it is temporary and that we will survive.  When we are Alone, we're not so sure about either.  We spend our days trying to convince ourselves and others that that hole isn't there, that we are complete and that we have it all together... but when we are Alone, we look it in the face and know that we are liars.

(OK, so maybe you're sitting there reading this and thinking to yourself, "Oooooh-KAY then...  Let me know when Reality comes calling again, and until then, just keep your little CRACKED self over in that corner way, way away from the rest of us, 'kay?  Thanks..."  And that's fine... I'm not likely to come after you with anything but a dull pencil, so you're most likely safe where you are ^_^  But next time you're alone, and you're thinking about all that big dark Meaning of Life stuff... I'll bet you'll remember this and start to wonder why... o.O)

So, what is this hole in our souls and why is it there?  I would say that it's the spot where our spirit should be, and that it's been carved and shaped and left empty by God so that we would look for Him.  You see, we're like little kids with a jigsaw puzzle... We've got most of the pieces together, we know what our lives should look like, but there's just that one spot we can't seem to find the right piece for.

So what do we do?

We take all of the pieces we've got left and try to fit them into that spot to see which one is the right one.  Trouble is (and I'm sure we've all run into this at least once in our lives...  I know my kids did a LOT when I was still running my day care :-D ), all of our puzzle boxes have gotten spilled a time or two, and with this particular puzzle, there's one piece missing.

So, what do we do now?

Well, we can try to keep cramming random pieces into the hole, and get more and more frustrated with each one that doesn't fit.  Hey, we can even go and get all of the other puzzle boxes out, dump them all over the floor, and then try all of those pieces in the hopes that one of them will fit.  Just imagine all the super bonus frustration that you can have with that approach ^_^  And then when none of the pieces fit, we can get all mad and throw all of the puzzle pieces all around the room before setting fire to them in the bathtub.  And then try to explain the reasonableness of our decision-making process to the nice firefighters and the insurance adjusters when they come to call...

Or... We can go to the adult of the house and ask them if they know which piece goes there and where that piece might be.  And if they would be so kind as to help us find it and put it in its place.

See, this is the situation I found myself in when I was 20.  None of my pieces were fitting together, and I knew that I had great big gaping holes in my life where things like hope, security, and a will to live should have been.  I had been trying for years to put myself together and keep myself there, but no matter what I did, nothing seemed to work for very long, and as soon as I thought I had it figured out, another piece would fall to the ground and my whole puzzle would shatter.

I was Alone.

But then God was there, and He offered me the piece I'd always been missing.  And once that piece was in place, all of the other pieces made more sense.  Of course, it helped that now I could ask God for help putting the pieces together... "So, hey, Lord... How does this piece with the iguana in polka-dot boxer shorts balancing on a beach ball fit into the whole picture?  Oh, wait... What do you mean it's really a red carnation balanced on the steering wheel of a Toyota Camry?  Well, I guess that does make a little more sense, especially when you put it between those other two pieces..."

But still... What does any of this have to do with salvation?

Well, salvation is the name of that missing piece to my puzzle... No, not the iguana one, the other, analogy-type one, smart-alecks :-P  You see, I needed a savior, someone to rescue me and help me put the pieces of my life together, because as long as I was trying to put myself together on my own, I was doomed to failure.

But what did I need saving from?  What super-scary threat did I need to be rescued from?

Now, this is the part where a preacher would talk about eternal punishment for sins, the death of the soul, separation from God and light and all things that are Good, and unending punishment in a lake of fire.  And all of those things are in the Bible and all of those are gigantically big, end-of-the-world, Meaning-of-Life kinds of things that I am fantastically grateful to be rescued from.  Because it is a huge relief to know that I don't have to worry about any of those things when I die.  But, it seems to me that there should be more to salvation than just the things I won't have to worry about until after I'm dead.  And I'm really not much of a preacher anyway, so...

I think we all get the concept of being saved from a white slavery ring by a devoted father (a la Taken), or being saved from genocide like in Schindler's List, or being saved from a sinking ship like in Titanic, or even being saved from Loki and the Chitauri by Nick Fury and the Avengers.  We totally get that, and we even pay a good chunk of money to see those stories play out on the big screen.  And in Christian circles, we hear all the time about people being saved from addictions, saved from prostitution, saved from disease or infirmity or financial difficulties... which are all amazing and fantastic, but not something we've all gone through.  Most of us live pretty mundane lives, with few or no tales of sinking ships or bank robberies to tell.  But that doesn't mean we don't need someone to save us sometimes.  Here are the mundane little things that I needed saving from:

The shame about all of the stupid things I did when I was too stupid to know any better.
The shame about all of the stupid things I did when I really did know better.

The worry that no matter what I did, I would always be a failure.
The worry that everyone was about to find out that I would always be a failure.

The pressure of trying to be good enough for people to finally accept me for who I was.
The pressure of just trying to be better than I was.
The endless work of getting up every morning and still just being... me.

The suspicion that my existence and my life really was just a random collection of chances with no bigger meaning or point to it.
The fear about what if it would mean if that suspicion turned out to be true.

The frustration of going to work and to school each day and wondering why on earth any of it even matters.
The added frustration of being told that it all should matter by people who couldn't seem to explain why it should matter.

The realization that everyone I knew and everything I had was, at one point or another, going to leave me.
The panic in realizing that there was nothing I could do to stop them.

The terror of feeling lost and knowing that I had no idea where I was going, what I was doing, or how in the hell I'd gotten where I was.
The quiet certainty that all of that was my fault.

The knowledge that with every day I lived, I risked hurting the people who loved me and the ones that I loved back even more than I had the day before.
The knowledge that even if I tried to explain that to them, they'd deny it to my face and tell me I was just being melodramatic.

The loneliness of being completely, utterly Alone in this world.

The understanding that the only way to end that loneliness was for me to die.

The pain that I knew it would take to get myself there.

The damage I would do to myself if I didn't succeed.

The uncertainty of what was actually behind the dark veil of death.

To sum the whole list up in 7 words or less:

I needed to be saved from myself.

All my life, I had been hoping and waiting for my Bryan Mills, my Oskar Schindler, my Thor, my own personal superhero to come and rescue me from myself so that I could go out and finally be everything I always wanted to be.  None of them ever came.

Jesus Christ did.

And in asking Him to rescue me and trusting that He actually would, I finally found the peace I had been missing.  Which was followed by the hope, the security, and the will to live that I so desperately wanted.  And He has never left me, even in my craziest, my darkest, and my scariest times... and I won't lie, there are still times like that, even now that I'm a Christian.  The difference is that, when things get dark and no one is around, Jesus is still there and I'm not alone anymore.  

I will be the first to admit that I'm not some well-read theologian; I know that there are a vast number of different theories about the afterlife, the soul, the "true" meanings of heaven, hell, grace, justice, redemption, propitiation, atonement, and so on-- even within Christianity alone.  And I don't know much about most of those theories, much less about what other religions and worldviews have to say about such things.... and not knowing much means I should probably not say much, lest I sound even more like a total idiot than I already do ^_^

But what I can talk about is what I know from my own life and what it has convinced me of.  And so, this is what I mean when I talk about "salvation"... I'm talking about the peace I have that comes from being saved from my own self-destructive impulses.  The hope I have that comes from knowing I'm going to be all right after all.  The relief that comes from knowing I have a Superhero who will come to either rescue me from whatever trouble I get myself into or stand guard over me as that trouble blows over.  The joy that comes from knowing that whatever crap may be going on in my life right now, there is something 3 million times better waiting for me once it's over.

So, maybe you're asking:  What on earth brought this particular train of thought roaring through the station at 3:30 in the morning on a night when my youngest child is home sick with the flu?  (Well, maybe you weren't asking, but now that I've brought it up, just go with me on this one, OK?  If for no other reason than sympathy for a sick kid... ^_^)

I've been thinking a lot recently about someone I know who doesn't see the same things I do when they think about God, the universe, the meaning of life, and a lot of that stuff.  This person has become one of my very favorite people in the world, and I care a lot about them and what they think and feel and believe, even if we agree to disagree on some of the Big Picture Stuff.  The thing is, because I care about this person, I want them to be more settled and feel more at peace than they are right now, and all I know is that I've found that kind of security, peace, joy, and meaning in my relationship with Jesus.  What I don't want to do is to preach at them or make them feel like I'm lecturing or threatening them, because I remember what that feels like and I absolutely hate, hate, HATE that feeling... that feeling that because I'm not a saved believing Christian, I'm somehow subhuman and therefore not worthy of value unless I get my act together and get "saved."  But, how do I talk to them about salvation without them thinking I'm trying to change them into something they're not or puff myself up into something I'm not?   And I know that, as I go through this life, I'm going to meet more and more people like this, and I'm going to find myself over and over again in this same situation of wanting to speak but not feeling welcome to... and that doesn't even begin to count all of the people I'll never meet who will get to know me by reading this blog.  The possibilities here actually hurt my brain o.O

So maybe I'm kind of hoping that, even if I never get the chance to tell them my story in person, they'll read this blog, and hopefully, they'll actually listen to what I have to say without shutting me out.  In the meantime, my job is to love them right where they're at, whether we agree or not.  Because really, it's not up to me to "save" them... that's between them and God.  All I want to do is tell them what I know so that they can hear the truth about being a Christian from someone who's been there and has finally found what they are still so desperately looking for.

Broken Stained Glass Candles... Like Me

So... The holiday season is now over and things are about to go back to "normal"... well, at least as normal as it gets around these parts o.O

For Christmas this year, my youngest gave me this stained glass candleholder made of grout and bits of broken blue glass...

He didn't make it himself (I know this because I was with him at Goodwill when I picked it up and commented on how cool it was... which was about 3 aisles before he told me "Mom, DON'T LOOK... I'll be right back!" and then took off running ^_^), but all the same, I love it just as if he did because of what it says about life and about me.

Allow me to explain.

Once upon a time, I was created as a beautiful, unblemished piece of art, without understanding of life or sin or failure.  Granted, I had some structural flaws-- mainly health issues and a family background that would make life difficult for anyone-- but as far as I could see with my newborn eyes, I was perfect, lovely, and loveable.

http://supercleanpr.com

But then, life happened.  Over time, I was bumped, dropped, knocked around, fractured, and crushed by circumstances.  In response, I lashed out, cutting myself and others with the sharpened edges of my shattered innocence.  My flawless surface began to show cracks where I had been hurt, dribbles of glue where people who loved me had tried to fix me, and scraps of cellophane tape where I had tried to heal myself.  Bits and pieces of me were broken off and embedded in the hearts of those who tried in vain to understand me, just as pieces of them were left buried in me.

http://tektites.co.uk

As I began to see the power that I could have by hurting people, I became not a piece of art but a weapon, wielding my damaged pride like a knife and using my bloodied edges to slash at others before they could pierce me with their own.  Yet the blood was not just theirs, but mine; for every wound I inflicted on them, I took two of my own.  While the damage I did to those around me was spread out among dozens, the damage I did to myself landed only on me.  Every cruel word I spoke, every bruise I left, every vicious tirade I inflicted echoed in my mind, and each word came back to haunt me as I realized that everything I said had been true... about me.  I cut others so that I could forget that I had been cut myself.

Once I was an innocent; now I was a monster.

Once I was whole; now I was deformed.

Once I was beautiful; now I was broken.

My original form was lost, my once-shiny colors and designs covered by dirt and shattered by situations and choices.  Like broken glass littering the midnight street, I had become ugly and useless, a cruel glittering of danger waiting only for the distracted feet of my next victim to tread upon me.

http://westoftheimagination.wordpress.com

But then...

God steps in.

And bit by bit, He begins to gather up the broken pieces of me.  He cleans them off and sets them aside, separating them by color, shape, and size.

http://earofthewind.com/about

Some pieces He refines, rubbing off the sharp edges and rendering them harmless; others He leaves sharp to be used as tools for His work.

http://boehmstainedglass.blogspot.com/2011/07/octagonal-window-glass-cut.html

Slowly, one by one, He takes each of the broken pieces and places them into a mold.  At first, the design makes absolutely no sense to anyone but Him; in time, however, glimpses of the bigger picture become visible.

http://mosaicartsource.wordpress.com

I write these paragraphs in the present tense because I am still a work in progress; God isn't finished putting me together yet.  I still have some sharp edges and many missing pieces; I still have great big gaping holes where the pieces of my soul aren't quite ready to be put back in yet.  I still feel lost and broken sometimes, and every so often, I accidentally slice open the hands of those who reach out to touch me.  I am flawed and I am broken, and I know that, until the day God puts the final piece of me together and I see Christ face to face, I will always be flawed and broken.

But...

If by my brokenness, other people will see that there is a God and that He is the one who saves me from myself, then it is worth the pain.  If by my flaws, other people can see that God is real and that if He can love a person as messed up as I am, He can love them too, then it is worth it.  If my struggles and my shortcomings and my failures-- and the hope I still have in spite of them-- can show people that no situation is hopeless, then they are all worthwhile.  If my weakness shows God's strength to carry me, then by all means... bring it :-)

Day by day, piece by piece, reminder by reminder, God takes the broken pieces of my life and puts them together into something beautiful again.  Not the same as I was before... that design has been crushed and obliterated beyond recognition, and will never, ever be made whole again.  But all the same, the end result will be breathtakingly beautiful... and like my broken stained glass candleholder, I think I will love it all the more for the work that He has put into it :-D

And now, for the musical interlude part of the blog...  Here is someone else's video for a song that perfectly captures what I'm trying to say here, only in a more poetical form :-)  Lyrics are below for anyone who needs them...

"Art in Me" by Jars of Clay

Images on the sidewalk
Speak of dreams' descent
Washed away by storms to graves
Of cynical lament
Dirty canvases
To call my own
Protest limericks carved
By the old pay phone

And in Your picture book I'm
Trying hard to see
Turning endless pages
Of this tragedy
Sculpting every move
You compose a symphony
And You plead to everyone
See the art in Me
See the art in Me
See the art in Me.

Broken stained glass windows
The fragments ramble on
Tales of broken souls
An eternity's been won
As critics scorn the thoughts and works
Of mortal man
My eyes are drawn to You
In awe once again

And in Your picture book I'm
Trying hard to see
Turning endless pages
Of this tragedy
Sculpting every move
You compose a symphony
And You plead to everyone
See the art in Me
See the art in Me
See the art in Me.

And in Your picture book I'm
Trying hard to see
Turning endless pages
Of this tragedy
Sculpting every move
You compose a symphony
And You plead to everyone
See the art in Me
(See the art in me...)
See the art in Me
(See the art in me...)
See the art in Me
(See the art in me...)