Eight years ago....

I was dozing off with a tiny little miracle in my arms after a VERY long night. It never ceases to amaze me that women are able to set aside the pain and struggle and love on a new baby without a single thought to what came before. The second that child took his first breath and nestled into my arms the 21 hours of labor was gone in a flash. He was all there was.

My Jonathan. My gift of God. Happy Birthday little man!

Sometimes it strikes me that God's love for us is very much like that. It hurts Him when we are in sin, when we are in rebellion and are turned away from Him... and then He breathes our first real breath into us and we settle into His arms and He says that He forgets what came before. He doesn't count all of that pain we put Him through against us.

Isn't that amazing?

What do they call those thingies at the bottom of the screen that scroll past??

I have a running commentary going through my head. It never seems to stop, kind of like those scroll-things at the bottom of the TV screen.

I hate those.

If I'm actually taking the time to watch TV, it's because whatever I'm watching is interesting and significant to me in some way (even if it's just mindless fun in order to decompress). There I am, happily watching a show that is a few weeks old (thank you TiVo) and I am constantly distracted by things that have nothing to do with what I'm doing, and aren't true (at least not anymore).

Sounds like life.

I go about my daily business, trying to focus on the things that are important to me - work, kids, church, etc. - and my thinking is constantly being interrupted by this steady stream of irrelevant junk. Instead of being able to enjoy life, I'm distracted by unending jabber.

You're ugly. You're stupid. God doesn't really love you. You don't have any friends because no one can stand you. You're pathetic. If someone says they love you they're lying. You're worthless. You can't do this. No one loves you. If anyone thinks you have value, they're a fool. No wants you. You're all alone. You're a screw up. You can't be forgiven. You have no business thinking they care. You don't belong. You don't fit. You're fat. You're a loser. You're a dork. If anyone knew they'd never talk to you again. Everyone is secretly laughing at you. You're unloveable. Nobody cares. You're a coward. You're deluding yourself. You're a failure. Don't try. Don't open up. You don't deserve to be happy.

Neverending nastiness that just saps all joy, motivation and excitement from life. They keep me from paying attention to what really matters. These messages don't ever stop. Sometimes life has enough pull so I can ignore the scrolling thoughts, but most of the time it doesn't, so those thoughts are always there.

Scrolling across the bottom of my screen.

And since I can't turn them off, I guess I need to figure out how to replace them.

Philippians 4:8 (New International Version)
8Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or
praiseworthy—think about such things.

Two Bits

And definitely not worth more than a quarter!

I am TIRED. I had yet another very LONG work week (50+)... to be followed by a "vacation" at the beach (I need a vacation from my vacation!) only to have to go back to work with a 14 hour day tomorrow... on the one day I usually only work 7. :::yawn:::

Added to the long work week, I also had a very long and hard week personally. Nothing I'm ready to get into right now... just long. And hard. And hopefully... OVER.

Oh... and Me, Myself & Lies is every bit the 2x4 I was expecting it to be. More on that tomorrow. After 14 hours of work. If I'm still lucid.

Me, Myself & I DON'T WANNA DO THIS!!!

Ok... that 2x4 God so liberally uses on my poor, stubborn noggin' is about to be applied to my rear end. I. AM. IN. T-R-O-U-B-L-E.

I've already mentioned the summer Bible Study being hosted by Beth Moore over at the LPM blog. Can I say again that "I do NOT want to do this!!!" ?? Well, I'm gonna say it again, with or without your permission, because I don't.

Because I'm stubborn. And foolish. And because all those horrible, soul-damaging messages that rattle around in my brain are screaming that I don't deserve to be set free from this prison of my own thoughts. They say I can't do this... I can't change... I can't clean out these thoughts because they're the truth. (But they aren't... right?)

Today I watched the introductory video (you can download the whole series online for $30-something!), watched Beth's video, answered the questions on the Facebook group discussion board and did Week 1-Day 1 homework.

Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. OUCH!!!!!

Was it painful because it was overkill? Or because it was exactly what my soul needed to hear?

At the end of today's homework we were asked to write a prayer of gratefulness to God for who He made us to be. I couldn't do it. I'm not grateful for who I am. I don't even like who I am. So instead I prayed this:

Lord, I don't know that I can thank You yet for who I am. I don't really know - yet - who I am in You. I should, and I want to (most of the time at least), but I throw up walls made of all the ugly self-talk that runs through my head. Help me find a me I can be grateful for - a me that is mostly You. Amen.

1 Corinthians 15:10 (NCV) But God's grace has made me what I am, and his grace to me was not wasted.

Blahs

I'm sad today, and I don't really know why. I'm resisting the urge to be reckless.

Life is better than it has been in a very, very long time. I am better.

Yesterday was a good day. My pastor was back in the pulpit, I got to take a long nap, I went in to work for three hours (on my day off) and had a blast with karaoke and basketball and beading... my kids came home after a weekend with their dad and smothered me with hugs and kisses. I felt wonderful. Life is good.

But today I'm sad. Just sad.

That's all.

Pow Wow WOWs!

I love my job.
Seriously.

I got to spend a fabulous two days (despite the pouring rain Friday and some kid drama) at Delta Park Pow wow. I've been to a couple of small pow wows with the kids at work, but nothing like this. OMGoodness.

I wish I had pictures to show you. Unfortunately, for obvious reasons, I couldn't take pictures of my clients at pow wow and I couldn't take my eyes off my clients for the time it would take to snap pictures of other things. Maybe I'll go back after church tomorrow... and I'll take pictures then.

If I've recovered. 'Cause I'm exhausted

Oh... it was lovely.

The colors, the beat of the drum, the regalia, the voices calling out in song, the dancing... :::sigh::: And the honor... white-bread American culture is sadly lacking the Native American attentiveness to honor - honoring the flag, honoring our veterans, honoring our elders, honoring our little ones who are our future leaders, honoring tradition...

I could write a whole post or two on it. Maybe I will. Or not.

I just wanted to say that I was moved. And it was fun. And I really love my job.

Happy Not-My-Father's Day

Pastor Mark,

I know you're not my father.

I loved my Dad very much and he was a good, Godly man. He lived and breathed the Gospel and discipled dozens of young men in the faith. Unfortunately, he never shared that part of himself with me. When I was about 16 years old he started writing the names of the people he witnessed to in the back of his Bible so he could remember to pray for them. There were 87 names there when he died. None of them were mine. To this day, I know almost nothing about his testimony.

There was never a doubt in my mind that my Dad loved me (though he rarely said it) and that he was proud of me. But his pride in what I could do led him to make assumptions about who I was. He never really knew me and I'm not sure he really wanted to.

And even still, saying "good-bye" to him was one of the hardest things I've ever done. To see him suffer... to watch him lose his strength and his brilliant mind... to let him go... to say "it's time to go get your crown in glory," and know that he never took another breath... Hard things.

Eight weeks ago I wondered if God would ask me to say "good-bye" to you too. And I wondered why you had come to matter so much.

Because I know you're not my father,
and I know I have no claim to you.

Except that you've said you're proud of me - of me - not of what I can accomplish but of who I am and who I'm becoming.

Thank you for the gentle reminders and the not-so-gentle rebukes. Thank you for asking for promises and holding me to my word. Thank you for the "FOOP!"s. I thank God for the person He's made you to be.

Even though I know you're not my father, I want you to know, I am proud of you.

I am proud of the man who, in the midst of his own suffering looked to the welfare of his wife, who asked about the health of a sick woman and who dared to ask why he was spared when others were not.

I am proud of the man who grieved over the death of a friend and neighbor; in part because he wasn't strong enough to comfort the family. I am proud of the man who considers it an honor to be there for people during some of their worst moments in life, and who is willing to do so day after day, no matter the hour.

I am proud of the man who considers it a privilege to care about four lost and needy children and their even needier mother. I am proud to call you my pastor.

If I could choose the type of men my sons grow up to be, and the type of men my daughters grow up to marry, they would look a lot like you.

And today...

I know you're not my father, but I am blessed, and better, because I know you and because you've taken the time to know me.

So...

Happy Not-My-Father's Day