"I Don't Like How Emotions Make me Feel!"

That's the quote I heard while Tim was watching Jon & Kate + Eight (a tv show about a family with twins and then sextuplets--it's amazing, but it makes me tired). It's true, I hate emotions. Well, sort of. I hate negative emotions. (Duh. Don't we all?)
Yesterday our pastor asked me whether Katie was for real when she e-mailed and sounded like everything was going well. At first I didn't connect the confusion...then slowly I realized why he was wondering.
Katie had expressed lots of doubts on the phone to me that day. That day it felt awful to be separate from her and have so much feel undecided. One girl was leaving the school for good that day because of doubts about the department in which she had her major, the same major as Katie's--voicing the same doubts about it that Katie had come home with over Christmas.
Katie had gotten me doubting, too, mine snowballing onto her doubts, and the hardest part was that I didn't know a single one of the answers, didn't know where to find out, and wasn't there to help her with it: Was it the right college? Was it the right major? Should she take 18 credit hours, or drop a course? How many hours of work could she handle? How many hours of sleep could she justify whittling it down to each night? Should she change majors? I knew that Pastor Ken had asked her a couple of times why she had chosen that particular college. I know somewhat why he might have asked that question, since we'd started realizing that we might be developing some differences of biblical views from those of the college...yet it was the track we'd been on so long, and no college is perfect, and it was unthinkable to change at such a late date...
So in view of the "why that college" question that he had asked her, I thought it was appropriate to send him an e-mail regarding her doubts regarding the choice of college. I never have a lump in my throat; that was a notable feeling in putting my doubts into words. Doubt is one of those negative emotions, in my book. I was hoping that he might have some advice for us, some insight regarding the college question.
Still, I don't remember even being surprised that Katie so quickly recovered; I was just relieved that most of what she was wrestling with of her own from that point was more minor, and that she was back to sharing the (publicized) prayer requests of others. I understand, looking back, where she got some of her perspective about her doubts; it was those prayer requests. They have a way of making one's own troubles seem infinitesimal. How can a person even ponder their own minor doubts when compared to the extreme concerns of others?
Katie told me that she had come to accept that the student who left the college had the same doubts, but that the girl's decision to leave didn't mean leaving was the right decision for her. I'm so glad that she evaluated it for herself. I also feel convinced that her ability to cope with all the doubts and all the difficulties she does is because people are praying for her. We pray for her; our pastor does; and various people every Sunday are asking about her, keeping tabs on how she is doing.
I've never resided in a dorm, and I don't relate to how hard it must be; easy in some ways, and yet hard--meals are prepared, laundry is on-site, almost everything is available right there on campus, and her church is even adjacent to the property. There are friends right on hand, so there's lots of moral support and encouragement; yet there are people everywhere, so there is no privacy to speak of. Katie is very aware that the effort she puts forth in every subject in the present may affect so much for the future--eligibility in the short-term for very necessary scholarships, and possible job eligibilities in years to come. The pressure from this seems like an unfortunate burden to add to all that which is inherent to all that classwork and dorm life.
Still, by the grace of God, the happy things outweigh the hard things for Katie. She loves to be near her friends, this girl who was homeschooled and never quite clicked in her youth ministry all through her teen years. There are great students, professors, dorm counselors, and we even know some people off-campus who live nearby. She's got lots of moral support and more importantly prayer support. By God's grace also she has a pretty resilient tendency to see the bright side; our reminder to each other is "BJA, PC"--"Be joyful always, pray continually"--and she takes it to heart. She loves her classes this term, loves her profs, loves her work-study supervisor. How can so many things be so good, how can she do what-all she does? I can only attribute it to the power of all the prayer going up on her behalf, and God's grace.
In all of this, there's a reminder, something of a rebuke to myself--I need to update people with whom I share these requests, when their prayers are answered and it's time instead to praise God for His goodness; God is so good! Hallelujah! Amen.

It's a Small World After All!

Just recently I've been discovering that there are some amazing women blogging on line. They do some phenomenal website management complete with photos and then all sorts of bells and whistles that I don't comprehend. So mine is looking increasingly plain and undecorated in comparison...(sigh)...but anyway, in the reading of them I feel like I'm gaining some new friends. Mostly a bit younger than I am, seemingly more all-together than I am, definitely more creative and clever, but I think I can like them anyway. Shows how tolerant I am, don't you think?
Most of them have a whole list of other blogs something like their own, and I visit the top one on the list, and that one has a list, and I go to that one, and I realize in the process that I'm probably missing about 24 on each list as I go on. Oh well. I don't have that kind of time anyway (though today was good--my son was playing in the snow and it was a day off for him, and sort of for me as well; I got extra housekeeping done and did some blog-reading!). I will have to be careful that it doesn't turn into some sort of addiction for me.
The amazing thing is, I just today found a contingent from my own town, my own hometown where I now live (for the present, anyway)! And my own age range, as well. That is amazing, considering most of the people I have known personally who blog are in the 18-30 age range. I'm no longer a female middle-aged version of the Lone Ranger.
It's a small world after all. A small, happy, blogging-Christian-woman inhabited world. God is great! (But of course, we knew that, didn't we?)

The Missing Parts of my Testimony!

Just today I realized that my testimony (how God brought me to know Him) has much more than I've written in my profile to the right on the screen. The most interesting part is missing!
Still, some of it is beyond words--such as the hopelessness I felt, the emptiness that was an almost physical sensation like a huge hole in my middle. There was a time in high school when I was pondering suicide, seeing that my life seemed to have no significance and I could not pull myself out of its meaninglessness. As I recall, all that saved me at that time was that my sister noticed my increasing listlessness and said that things would improve. I'm not sure why I believed her; but I went on to get married at age 23 and have our first child at 27...and start sinking into hopelessness again at 29.
Nothing was going right in our life, and I had tried fixing things myself: tried getting along with my mother-in-law (who we later found out was coming down with Alzheimers, which makes many of its patients contentious); doing my best for my colicky daughter (it probably wasn't colic, she was almost two, but it was like it), who woke up every night at 2:00 a.m.; keeping up with repairs on our house--I remember spending a month of evenings using a heat gun and scraper to peel the marine paint that was layers thick and checkering on our front porch, and fixing a wobbly leg on our table using a drill and dowel and glue. I fixed appliances and electric outlets; I was constantly overwhelmed with things to do after work, and it seemed that nothing put a dent in the things that needed doing. No trying to hold my tongue helped my relationship with relatives, no economizing helped our ever-increasing money problems. I was constantly exhausted, overwhelmed with allergies and problems, and could hardly think straight with all these struggles.
Maybe I was obnoxious toward family, but I don't remember being so. I do remember carrying all my complaints about my mother-in-law to work, and looking back I picture myself with all sorts of sore thumbs sticking out from every direction. I was a mess, and lots of Christians started trying to help me. One invited me to a Bible study. I didn't understand anything they said there, but afterward, I asked, "Why are there bumper stickers that say that Jesus is alive? He died on the cross!" The man directing the study asked if I'd heard of the resurrection (Jesus died on the cross, but He rose from the dead after three days; His tomb was empty even though there were Roman guards posted there). Since I wasn't sure, he explained it to me. Well, I asked, "So didn't Jesus die again? I don't see Him walking around today." The man was patient. "Have you ever heard of the Ascension?" (Jesus appeared to over 500 people, and as His disciples watched, He rose to heaven and is seated now at the right hand of the Father in heaven, alive today.) I thought about this. A person couldn't live on earth 2,000 years, but in heaven, I figured it was possible. Well, I didn't come to any quick conclusions that day, but an important step was made. I hadn't known Jesus was alive. I couldn't worship a dead man, but Jesus wasn't dead after all.
Katie had been waking up every 2:00 a.m. for most of her life. Suddenly she started sleeping through the night. I didn't; she had me conditioned, and I woke up at 2:00 a.m. with nothing to do but think. I thought about the various things people had said. I had a vague notion that Christianity somehow started with a transaction, and that I had to give up my life to get something meaningful that Jesus had for me. That was honestly about all that I knew about it, and I don't know how I knew that much.
So I thought about my life, and in a rather systematic fashion, I assessed how much of my life was worth keeping. There wasn't much I wouldn't give up at that time. Katie was my biggest hesitation, but she was often colicky and quite difficult (anyone who knows her now would wonder at that, but we have witnesses who would testify!). Besides, I remember figuring, I might have her as a friend until she was 13, but from what I'd heard, that would be about the end of it. Still, I had my doubts that He was going to demand Katie as part of this mysterious exchange; I honestly didn't know what the exchange consisted of at all. I was desperate, but I went to sleep.
The next night, again, Katie slept, and I woke up at 2:00 a.m. like I was supposed to. This is the strangest part: We need to flash back to when I was about 14 and my brother was going to college at Portland State University. He'd come home from his day's schooling and tell my mom in a mocking tone about someone who'd stand on the street corner and shout out a Bible verse. I don't remember ever having thought about that up until this time, the verses were somewhere latent in my brain, but this night my brother's mocking voice came to my mind, mocking salvation verses: "Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and you will be saved." Various verses went through my mind, but the mocking was getting to me. I asked God to make the mocking go away, and everything went silent. I went to sleep again.
The third night, Katie slept, I awoke, and I thought about the previous two nights. I was overwhelmed, desperate, and exhausted. I didn't know what Jesus had in store for me. I don't know what I thought He was going to do with my life, but I guess I thought I was going to lose anything significant that I had. The picture that was in my mind was of taking a step off of a cliff into darkness. Finally, I took that step. I surrendered to Christ, and I had no idea what that meant, except that I guess I thought He would rescue me. I didn't realize that the conventional way is to acknowledge in prayer that you're a sinner and that you need a Savior. Still, I knew I was in all ways inadequate; I knew I needed something He had but I wasn't sure what. I knew very little! I went to sleep, and I'm not sure that the next day I even took note of having done anything significant in the wee hours of the night before.
God was gracious to accept my exchange, and what He first gave me was an insatiable desire to know His word, but I couldn't while I was a working mom. He made it very clear that I had to quit work, even though Gary was working part-time and looking for full-time work at the time. I did so, and I remember just starting to feel the peace that came with His salvation.
It's funny, many of the things (but not all of them) that brought me to that desperate point were lifted almost immediately: I was diagnosed as severely anemic, and three days of triple iron doses transformed my energy level; Katie suddenly turned sweet and compliant (I think it was because she was at home, where she wanted to be); 1 1/2 years later Gary got a full-time job. We started attending a church that taught the Bible at about our level (ignorant beginner).
Not everything got better. Gary's mom of course remained sick; still, she was diagnosed, which reduced her influence in the family and that made things much easier. There are other things that have never been "solved" either, but that isn't the point.
The fact is, even if any of my earthly struggles hadn't improved, the exchange would have been worth making. God has given me peace, joy, contentment, the ability to love and forgive like I never had before. Besides that, I know that I can look forward to a future hope of heaven with Him. That alone is worth anything a person could give to get there--and yet all you can give is your heart, your love for Him, your obedience to Him (that comes out of your love for Him and He makes it much easier than it sounds!). Nothing could make me go back. Praise be to God, Hallelujah! Amen!

My Memory of My Father

My friend Lanae watched Tim yesterday--took him to music class along with her boys, and took him home to play with them afterward. We often trade off doing this, and I needed the afternoon, so next week is my turn. Anyway, when I came to pick him up we sat down and got talking. The talk turned to how much we remembered our dads--hers died when she was 11, mine died when I was 10. Funny, neither she nor I could remember their faces apart from pictures. All the stranger when I realize neither her boys nor Tim are yet 10, and they would probably be in the same condition if they lost one of their parents. I tend to think of Tim as so much older than I was at the time, and assume that of course he would remember us...and that's also strange.
Lanae and I both remember strange things. My dad was the strongest element in our family, in terms of running the show and holding us all to the consistent, precise, stated family rules and not letting any of us vary from the Jones program, all of which fell apart when he died. I know my dad and I got along well (but I don't remember how that manifested itself), I remember the dinnertime grace he used to say, I know of an actor whose voice sounds like his did, I remember that he thought we should send our tv programming to the Russians in order to win the Cold War. He loved steak and ice cream and eggs; he smoked and drank and I'm not sure what his beliefs were, but I think he was kind of impacted by a Catholic nun we knew. He was fastidious and kept his desk and his tools in their exact assigned order (and I learned not to touch anything in his desk or he would know it, no matter how carefully I put it back). He was conservative and I never knew until after he died that my mom is liberal--they must have agreed not to discuss it, because they never argued (my mom clams up if she doesn't agree--that's how she expresses it, unlike most of our family). He loved to spend money, though we never had any until I was 6, when his father died and he came into a trust from his mom.
I know he loved the "Cheaper by the Dozen" book on which the movies are loosely based, and he would have loved to have 12 kids--there were six of us. He probably would have had us homeschool if it were available at the time and especially if my mom had been willing (but she wouldn't have). He loved the outdoors so we went camping or on picnics even in the rain and wind; he loved tools and old cars, he made things, he barbecued, and he took thousands of pictures--only a few of which I have.
I don't remember many interactions between us, though. I remember the probably only time he ever spanked me, he immediately acted troubled about having done so (strange, since spanking all the older kids came perfectly natural to him). I remember him bringing a few presents home from outings on days other than special occasions, just because he wanted to. He and my mom used to go to coffee or lunch pretty much every day in the final few years of his life. And that is about all I remember.
When he died, the whole family's dynamics changed. My mom went to work probably about the time my little brother Greg started off to school, and my older brothers and sisters started being less family-focused and more outwardly social, the older ones dating, getting jobs, and doing typical teen things. I was generally at home, and as I recall I became more aware of being alone--with my little brother most of the time, but very much alone. The funny thing is, I don't remember much of that time at all--how my brother got to and from school (he was 7 years younger than I, and I never went with him), who watched him if I stayed after school (which hardly ever happened, if I remember right). I think if I asked Greg, maybe he could fill me in, but I don't think either of us were very happy with the setup.
The thing is, Lanae is very much like me in her memories of her father--she remembers the layout of his apartment (he and her mom had divorced), but not his face except in photos. She remembers weird little details, but not the overall picture; she too was alone at home most of the time in her remaining growing years, but doesn't remember the specifics of how she and her mom dealt with it. It must be something about the age.
She and I both felt impacted inwardly, socially messed up by being alone so much of our growing years. I remember that vividly, the painful feeling of not measuring up, of feeling that everyone else had it all together and that I never would. (It's a good thing in a way, because otherwise I might never have known my need for Christ!) I know what I've been like, and if God hasn't made me normal (whatever that is), at least He's made it so it doesn't matter; if my focus is on Him, and if He loves me, what does it matter how socially inept I might be, as long as I do my best? Lanae, in spite of having had this same awful inadequate feeling as well, seems so normal from everything I've seen. She does a fantastic job raising her three sons in spite of the fact that her husband's in the military and much of the parenting she does all on her own. God is great and gracious--and He restores the years the locusts have eaten. I know, in spite of a heightened awareness of my many inadequacies, so much more, how He is all my adequacy. Hallelujah!
It shows how man looks so readily at the outer appearance. We often don't know from observing a person on the outside what is really going on inside, or what their history is: what they've dealt with, what's changing, where they are as we see them today, how far they have come to get to where they are now, and how much more they have yet to go through. God does, and He does so entirely in love and compassion. He cares, our hurts are His hurts, and He is our Healer and Restorer, our Heavenly Father. Lanae and I both now have a Father, a perfect Father, who knows us and loves us and will never leave us nor forsake us. Already He has done a great amount of restoration. When we are done, we will be perfect as well; we will be like Him. Hallelujah, Amen!

Sharing Tattoos

This morning I was pondering (in reference to yesterday's lunch) why we as women tend not to focus on the easy and good and happy things that have happened in our lives, but the difficult things, when we get to know each other and compare notes. It's a little like sailors comparing tattoos, we wear our trials like a badge and find commonality that links us. You can see this when it comes to birth stories; seems like invariably one doesn't even finish hers when another chimes in and (unfortunately) usually one-ups her in one or more ways. Sometimes it's hard to tell which one was more difficult, they all have such various elements. (Don't ever let these get started with a pregnant woman around, they can get pretty frightening!) I suppose if I met someone who'd never had trials, I'd need to focus on all the easy things instead. Somehow it seems like it wouldn't bind us as well, and I'm not sure why.
Perhaps the going through of trials shows us that God has enabled us to be stronger than we thought we could be (and of course on our own we wouldn't show up strong at all). The trials make us better, by strengthening our faith and reliance on God, and knowing He really doesn't ever fail us. As unbelievers, people do get through the trials somehow, but it isn't in victory. It may be in a resigned way, not knowing that God has a reason in it that we might know Him better; or especially, more usually, a bitter way. Bitterness shows that we haven't had God at the center of it, but ourselves, and we expect that it should have been better for us. I would much rather go through these things with Him; in fact I remember in the loss of a pregnancy resolving that I would watch for His hand through the whole process. The great thing I found was that He was all over it; I felt that He was closer than if He'd had skin. One of my favorite Bible verses, strangely enough, is, "It was good that I be afflicted, that I might learn Your decrees." This verse has gotten me through these many things (if you're wondering what, I've blogged about most of them, so you could read about them by going through the links, because they do help me learn about God and His great love) and I am strengthened.
So when women share the hard things they've gone through in life, if they're believers, it's iron sharpening iron, and we are encouraged for the next round. We see that God has gotten them through it, and He will do the same for us. Looking back in my life, it's the difficulties that have made me what I am today, and whatever that is, feeble enough though it is, it's much better than I was 25 years ago. God is faithful to provide for His people; He teaches us through these things so we can be a help to those around us.