Saturday, May 3, 2014
Saturday, February 15, 2014
The Wine and the Winepress
Oswald Chambers said that we often see the "wine" of people's lives, without having to see them going through the "winepress."
As I've spent this amazing weekend at the Linger conference, I wondered, "God, why did you bring me 1,120 miles from home, just to tell me I need to spend intimate time 'Lingering' with You? Couldn't You have found a cheaper, more efficient way to remind me of this truth--that still involved some sleep & solitude?" :).
Of course, He could have. He could have let me see Shane & Shane, learn from Jennie Lee Riddle, hear Matt Chandler, etc. I could have drank deeply of the "wine" of these teachers, absorbed their wisdom and experiences--but then I never would have heard the stories of the winepress...
It put our family's struggle with the academia-vs-business career paths in perspective, let me tell you.
Then I met this guy--the founder of a small business that makes bean bag chairs for churches. You can check him out at Xorbee.com.
Now, they're AWESOME,(and I spent two hours sleeping on one yesterday) but the desire of his heart was to be in ministry. "My M.Div really prepared me for the bean-bag business," he said with an eye roll. But he has four kids, and wanted his wife to be able to stay home...and bean bags paid better than ministry. He had to experience the long slow death of a dream.
Now, they're AWESOME,(and I spent two hours sleeping on one yesterday) but the desire of his heart was to be in ministry. "My M.Div really prepared me for the bean-bag business," he said with an eye roll. But he has four kids, and wanted his wife to be able to stay home...and bean bags paid better than ministry. He had to experience the long slow death of a dream.
Then I took a class from Randall Bayne:
He wrote a play that went to Broadway. Seriously. It only took him twelve years, a ton of rejection and heartache, constant criticism from the Church for using profanity or secular environments in his art, and the constant, nagging feeling that what he was doing wouldn't *accomplish* anything.
This guitar player/songwriter blew me away:
(His name is Sean Carter, and you can listen to his amazing song "The Desert" at this link on Youtube--just know his voice is actually 1000x better than that recording.)
I spent a little time talking with him, and found out that he and his wife literally didn't sleep for three years. Three. Years. (I just met his wife, who took the picture, and she corrected him: it was five years for HER. Sean is just a deeper sleeper.).
Their daughter had a perfect storm of medical conditions that wouldn't allow her to sleep--so she screamed all night. They would hold her, hand her off, doze, rinse, repeat. His incredibly energetic wife, Christi, STILL can't sleep consistently. She said, "Eight hours of sleep means PARTY TIME!!"
I've struggled for years with sleep--but I thought I was the only one.
Oh, and the beautiful lady singing next to Sean? That's Crystal Yates:
She has one of the most beautiful voices I've ever heard. Ever. (The other would be Christine Kimball.). Crystal has a 17 year old. And a one year old. (Do the math.). This baby came *after* she and her husband Will gave away everything they had to live with and be mentored by a worship leader they'd never met. She didn't complain, but my guess is that it was stressful. Mildly stressful. Just mildly.
My favorite story of the trip was of the mom of four kids who wrote a worship song using only four chords on the guitar--because they were the only four guitar chords she knew. She'd been making spaghetti and changing diapers and teaching classes and was EXHAUSTED...and then it took another *nine years* before that song was ever released to a wider audience.
Her name? Jennie Lee Riddle. Her husband is Darrin, the former paratrooper the first picture. The song was Revelation Song.
The icing on the cake? Finding out that this guy on the far right end of the panel didn't go on a date till he was 30!!
Yeah, that's Shane Barnard.
I'd heard all of my life that believers have God fighting on our behalf, that we're over comers, that of course we suffer, but, you know...VICTORY!!! There's such an insidious lie that worms through the underbelly of my theology: if things are going badly for you, you must not be doing something right. You need to do more. Try harder. You're not married yet? You're not in the ministry or career you want? You don't have enough money? You don't have kids? You have too many kids? Do more. Try harder. Things don't go badly for believers if you're REALLY walking with Christ.
Yes they do. They go badly, even if I'm doing everything "right." Dreams get derailed. People get sick. Children come and go and change me. Marriages need work. Or marriage doesn't come at all! Sometimes, it has NOTHING to do with anything I've done or haven't done.
Yet, in the midst of all their pain,or their struggles, or their "wine-pressing-moments", these people I met here at Linger trusted God.
And they created.
And we drink their delicious wine, the fruit of their labors, without ever seeing the pain of the winepress.
Thank You, Lord, for bringing me 1120 miles to show me the winepress. Thank You for Linger. Thank You for rest.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
"If you give an INTJ a chore..."
If you give an INTJ a chore, he'll ask
you to be more specific. You specify the kitchen. He'll narrow his
focus to the dishes.
He'll want to make out a detailed action plan for accomplishing that chore.
After making that plan, he'll realize he didn't account for a couple of contingencies
So he'll develop contingency plans...49 of them.
While he's developing the plans, he'll realize, “This could be much better organized with a spreadsheet and a mind-mapping tool!”
So of course he'll have to look for some free mind-mapping software.
While he looks for the software, Linux crashes. So he re-installs Linux.
After Linux is fixed, he resumes his search for the free mind-mapping software. He finds four different types, then has to narrow it down to the most efficient, but feature-rich, and scriptable program.
After choosing a program, he works on the first three mind-maps, before realizing it's a repetitive boring chore. So, he decides to write a Python script to generate maps more efficiently.
Which means he'll need to review class-based coding techniques.
Satisfied that he has mastered Python's class implementation, he proceeds to write the script.
While writing the script, he has a great new idea for improving his Geogebra workshop. He reprograms his workshop, changes the powerpoint presentation, records his lecture, and sends it to his collegues for review.
But suddenly is distracted by his ENFP wife, showing him her latest bulletin board on Pinterest, with great designs for their kitchen remodel.
They spend the next hour dreaming about the perfect kitchen design, and planning out the finances and steps for the next year's household projects.
Suddenly, they realize they're hungry. But before they can cook, they have to have the non-stick skillet.
He'll want to make out a detailed action plan for accomplishing that chore.
After making that plan, he'll realize he didn't account for a couple of contingencies
So he'll develop contingency plans...49 of them.
While he's developing the plans, he'll realize, “This could be much better organized with a spreadsheet and a mind-mapping tool!”
So of course he'll have to look for some free mind-mapping software.
While he looks for the software, Linux crashes. So he re-installs Linux.
After Linux is fixed, he resumes his search for the free mind-mapping software. He finds four different types, then has to narrow it down to the most efficient, but feature-rich, and scriptable program.
After choosing a program, he works on the first three mind-maps, before realizing it's a repetitive boring chore. So, he decides to write a Python script to generate maps more efficiently.
Which means he'll need to review class-based coding techniques.
Satisfied that he has mastered Python's class implementation, he proceeds to write the script.
While writing the script, he has a great new idea for improving his Geogebra workshop. He reprograms his workshop, changes the powerpoint presentation, records his lecture, and sends it to his collegues for review.
But suddenly is distracted by his ENFP wife, showing him her latest bulletin board on Pinterest, with great designs for their kitchen remodel.
They spend the next hour dreaming about the perfect kitchen design, and planning out the finances and steps for the next year's household projects.
Suddenly, they realize they're hungry. But before they can cook, they have to have the non-stick skillet.
In order to get the non-stick
skillet—the INTJ has to do the dishes.
Monday, February 3, 2014
Missionary Envy, The Mess...and The Ultrasound
I know this isn't true, but it feels like most of my close friends from college are missionaries now, or at least used to be--out there in the world, making a difference for Christ, helping the poor and oppressed, lifting the downtrodden, translating the Bible into languages that never even had the printed word before...sigh.
You know what I did today? I made cupcake frosting!! It had no dairy or soy, and it was deeeeeelicious.
You know what else I did today? CLEANED UP MESSES.
Some days I can't help but be a little grossed out by my world. Bodily fluids and yucky foods, smells, and situations are just a part of life for me. Wiping up little booties and noses just doesn't feel as (drum roll please) world changing as going to Africa. At least in Africa, smells and mess and lack of sanitation would have a bit of glory attached to it. "You endured all THAT for the sake of the gospel? You must be really strong." As a mom, you're supposed to just deal with it---and clean it the heck up.
Once, I was having a particularly rough patch of missionary envy. One of my closest friends had (AGAIN!!) gone overseas. (My friend-losses to the Missions call were in the double-digits by this point.) We were giving her a small monthly support check, so we got these nifty little newsletters from the missions organization. One of the writers talked about how stretched he was, about how he was translating one day, fixing a tractor the next, and learning how to build a gravel road the day after that.
(I was still wearing the same spit-up covered sweats from three days ago, and hadn't left the house in a week. In that moment, I would have given ANYTHING for that kind of variety.)
The ended the article by telling a little story about a missionary doctor who approached him. He only read French and either Afrikaans or Swahili, and the author could read English and French. The doctor had just received an ultrasound machine--but the instructions were in English. Not only that, the doctor had never even heard of an ultrasound before!!! So, the writer ended his day by training a doctor in how to use an ultrasound machine.
Seriously? Seriously.
I felt like the most useless person on the face of the planet. I spent all of my time pregnant and breastfeeding and cleaning--and this guy was literally saving the lives of women and their babies, just by knowing two different languages.
At least, I felt that way until I had another ultrasound. Suddenly, I imagined being a fly on the wall during that missions conversation:
"Um, this is a probe."
"...and this is a probe cover."
"...then, um...you apply a lubricant to the probe. No, I'll explain that in a minute..."
"...then drape the patient's knees to give her some privacy. No, it doesn't make any sense to me either. Then you insert the probe here..."
"Well, then you look at the screen, and you can see the actual baby!! See, there's the heart, lungs, brain...look, it's waving at you!"
Long, long ago, I loved an album called "This Beautiful Mess" by Sixpence None the Richer. I realized that, regardless of whether I was serving God overseas, or serving my kids here in my own house, we were all living in a Beautiful Mess. Our callings weren't always going to be easy, or comfortable, or worthy of a slide presentation at a church missionary tea (gross...) but we were all serving the same Lord.
I don't have missionary envy any more, but I am taking steps to make sure that I'm doing what God called me to do every day. Sometimes that includes yucky stuff, like snot and diapers and dishes caked with gluten-free cajun chicken bits. Other times that includes guitars. Today, it includes trying to encourage you--God didn't assign you a ranking based on some mythical Missionary Awesomeness Scale. He loves you, and He will use you exactly where you are.
You know what I did today? I made cupcake frosting!! It had no dairy or soy, and it was deeeeeelicious.
You know what else I did today? CLEANED UP MESSES.
 | |||||||||||
| Why yes, that IS snot mixed with Frosted Mini Wheat crumbs. Want a kiss? |
Some days I can't help but be a little grossed out by my world. Bodily fluids and yucky foods, smells, and situations are just a part of life for me. Wiping up little booties and noses just doesn't feel as (drum roll please) world changing as going to Africa. At least in Africa, smells and mess and lack of sanitation would have a bit of glory attached to it. "You endured all THAT for the sake of the gospel? You must be really strong." As a mom, you're supposed to just deal with it---and clean it the heck up.
Once, I was having a particularly rough patch of missionary envy. One of my closest friends had (AGAIN!!) gone overseas. (My friend-losses to the Missions call were in the double-digits by this point.) We were giving her a small monthly support check, so we got these nifty little newsletters from the missions organization. One of the writers talked about how stretched he was, about how he was translating one day, fixing a tractor the next, and learning how to build a gravel road the day after that.
(I was still wearing the same spit-up covered sweats from three days ago, and hadn't left the house in a week. In that moment, I would have given ANYTHING for that kind of variety.)
The ended the article by telling a little story about a missionary doctor who approached him. He only read French and either Afrikaans or Swahili, and the author could read English and French. The doctor had just received an ultrasound machine--but the instructions were in English. Not only that, the doctor had never even heard of an ultrasound before!!! So, the writer ended his day by training a doctor in how to use an ultrasound machine.
Seriously? Seriously.
I felt like the most useless person on the face of the planet. I spent all of my time pregnant and breastfeeding and cleaning--and this guy was literally saving the lives of women and their babies, just by knowing two different languages.
At least, I felt that way until I had another ultrasound. Suddenly, I imagined being a fly on the wall during that missions conversation:
"Um, this is a probe."
"Well, then you look at the screen, and you can see the actual baby!! See, there's the heart, lungs, brain...look, it's waving at you!"
Long, long ago, I loved an album called "This Beautiful Mess" by Sixpence None the Richer. I realized that, regardless of whether I was serving God overseas, or serving my kids here in my own house, we were all living in a Beautiful Mess. Our callings weren't always going to be easy, or comfortable, or worthy of a slide presentation at a church missionary tea (gross...) but we were all serving the same Lord.
I don't have missionary envy any more, but I am taking steps to make sure that I'm doing what God called me to do every day. Sometimes that includes yucky stuff, like snot and diapers and dishes caked with gluten-free cajun chicken bits. Other times that includes guitars. Today, it includes trying to encourage you--God didn't assign you a ranking based on some mythical Missionary Awesomeness Scale. He loves you, and He will use you exactly where you are.
Saturday, February 1, 2014
The Insomniac Wonder Toddler
It's 3 a.m. The Insomniac Wonder Toddler is crying, and crawls into our bed.
(Let's just call her the IWT for short. I call her the IWT because she seems to function on less sleep than a frat boy during finals week, yet she never loses her sunny disposition.)
She still has her shoes on. We allowed this at bed time as a compromise--you take the yucky cough medicine, and we won't make you take your beloved shoes off.
She gulped it down, and only then did we realize it only lasted for four hours. Labels, dang it, are there for a reason.
However, it's 3am, and she's not coughing, so I fall back asleep pretty quickly....
...only to get slammed awake by a solid kick to the mouth with the shoes.
I'm incredibly blessed, because I have no missing teeth, no bleeding lips, and IWT is still mostly asleep--however that's when the cough medicine decides to wear off.
I wake her up juuuuust enough to threaten to take the shoes away, and get her to swallow some of the medicine--while she allows the rest to trickle down her cheek, providing an excellent sensory experience as she smears it all over her hands and jammies. After three kids, I know cold wet wipes and late-night clean ups are not my friend, so I turn on some hot water and get a wash cloth to juuuuuuust the right temperature to be soothing, not burning, not cold...and she still screams like I'm raking her face with sand paper.
Finally, we're both tucked back under the grape-stained covers, and since she's wide awake, she's inspired to sing:
IWT: "I'm higher than the ceiling, the ceiling, the ceiling. I'm higher than the ceiling..."
Me: "Honey Bear, shhhhh...."
IWT: "But I want to siiiiiiiing!!!" [Starts crying]
Me: "Honey, you can sing when the sun comes up."
IWT : "Ok. I looooove my sisters and Daddy and Mommy..."
Me: "Honey Bear, shhhhhhhhh""
IWT: "I'm not singing!!! Jesus loves me, dormez-vous, dormez-vous, Jesus loves me, dormez-vous...."
I'm too busy giggling to care. I prop myself up with a few pillows, snuggle her in the crook of my arm, and wait to see how long sleepiness will take to settle back in. IWT talks and sing-songs about night time, the snow, her big sisters, that Jesus loves her.
I feel the baby kick hard in my belly, pull up my night shirt, and put her hand on the bumpy spots. "No, mommy, close it! I don't want to see the baby!! Noooo!!"
It took an hour, but she finally succumbed to sleep again.
This is pretty typical. It used to be a lot worse. She used to wake up three times a night, ready to play, to chat, to explore the house. The pediatrician finally suggested benadryl at night--which hyped her up.
I've HEARD of kids getting hyper on Benadryl, but I'd never actually met one until I gave birth to one.
He allowed me to try half a miligram of melatonin for a week, to see if it would re-set her schedule. It seemed to help, but started to give her nightmares, so I only used it for five days.
But at least we're sleeping MORE. At least today is Saturday, and the Mathman let me sleep, got the kids up, gave them breakfast and let them veg out on Netflix-- before they got bored and started making up their own stories about evil witches that want to eat little children and steal them out of their beds in the middle of the night.
I mean, where could they have gotten an idea that their sleep would be disrupted by a cackling hyper active squealing person who laughs at their misfortune?? ;)
(Let's just call her the IWT for short. I call her the IWT because she seems to function on less sleep than a frat boy during finals week, yet she never loses her sunny disposition.)
She still has her shoes on. We allowed this at bed time as a compromise--you take the yucky cough medicine, and we won't make you take your beloved shoes off.
 |
| I don't get it, but two of my three girls have loved these shoes so much that they've snuggled them... |
She gulped it down, and only then did we realize it only lasted for four hours. Labels, dang it, are there for a reason.
However, it's 3am, and she's not coughing, so I fall back asleep pretty quickly....
...only to get slammed awake by a solid kick to the mouth with the shoes.
 | |
| IWT's favorite sleep position, diagrammed with precision by howtobeadad.com |
I wake her up juuuuust enough to threaten to take the shoes away, and get her to swallow some of the medicine--while she allows the rest to trickle down her cheek, providing an excellent sensory experience as she smears it all over her hands and jammies. After three kids, I know cold wet wipes and late-night clean ups are not my friend, so I turn on some hot water and get a wash cloth to juuuuuuust the right temperature to be soothing, not burning, not cold...and she still screams like I'm raking her face with sand paper.
Finally, we're both tucked back under the grape-stained covers, and since she's wide awake, she's inspired to sing:
IWT: "I'm higher than the ceiling, the ceiling, the ceiling. I'm higher than the ceiling..."
Me: "Honey Bear, shhhhh...."
IWT: "But I want to siiiiiiiing!!!" [Starts crying]
Me: "Honey, you can sing when the sun comes up."
IWT : "Ok. I looooove my sisters and Daddy and Mommy..."
Me: "Honey Bear, shhhhhhhhh""
IWT: "I'm not singing!!! Jesus loves me, dormez-vous, dormez-vous, Jesus loves me, dormez-vous...."
I'm too busy giggling to care. I prop myself up with a few pillows, snuggle her in the crook of my arm, and wait to see how long sleepiness will take to settle back in. IWT talks and sing-songs about night time, the snow, her big sisters, that Jesus loves her.
I feel the baby kick hard in my belly, pull up my night shirt, and put her hand on the bumpy spots. "No, mommy, close it! I don't want to see the baby!! Noooo!!"
It took an hour, but she finally succumbed to sleep again.
This is pretty typical. It used to be a lot worse. She used to wake up three times a night, ready to play, to chat, to explore the house. The pediatrician finally suggested benadryl at night--which hyped her up.
I've HEARD of kids getting hyper on Benadryl, but I'd never actually met one until I gave birth to one.
He allowed me to try half a miligram of melatonin for a week, to see if it would re-set her schedule. It seemed to help, but started to give her nightmares, so I only used it for five days.
But at least we're sleeping MORE. At least today is Saturday, and the Mathman let me sleep, got the kids up, gave them breakfast and let them veg out on Netflix-- before they got bored and started making up their own stories about evil witches that want to eat little children and steal them out of their beds in the middle of the night.
I mean, where could they have gotten an idea that their sleep would be disrupted by a cackling hyper active squealing person who laughs at their misfortune?? ;)
Friday, January 31, 2014
"How Bad It Had Been..."
When Mrs. Moore, the woman that C.S. Lewis had lived with for several decades, finally passed away, he wrote to a friend, "I'm only just now realizing how bad it has been..." (
I can't, for the life of me, find the letter right now. I'm 90% certain he wrote it to Arthur Greeves, but most of my bookmarks have fallen out.)
Only after Mrs. Moore was no longer a part of his life, did he realize he'd been subjected to years upon years of verbal and emotional abuse.
I can't help but reflect on how liberated he must have felt, as I emerge from a cocoon of sadness and sickness myself. Since last August, I've been struck with hyperemesis, a fancy way of saying, "She pukes all the time while she's pregnant." To add insult to injury, I developed a gallbladder problem, which had me nauseous and vomiting AGAIN, as soon as the hyperemesis wore off.
In addition to that, my youngest daughter (who just turned two) is an Insomniac Wonder Baby, and I've not had consistent sleep since she was born. I've been exhausted, nauseous, vomiting, weak, short-tempered, frustrated, and barely coherent for all of recent memory.
Until last week.
Not only did IWB sleep at least six hours at a time, but I must have either passed the gallstones or gotten my diet in a better place---because I wasn't nauseous, wasn't vomiting, and I was rested.
All day yesteray I PLAYED. I played with the toddler, and I played guitar. I felt like a new woman. I smiled. I cheered. I cleaned my house.
Then, the Insomniac Wonder Baby got a cold, and coughed all night last night. She's still too young for most cough medicines, so....welcome to my first night in a week with no sleep.
I feel like a train hit me.
All I want to do is read old novels and mindlessly surf the internet. I'm so exhausted and sore and brain-dead that I can hardly function.
For the last several years, I've wondered, "Why haven't I been getting more done? Why haven't I accomplished more in my life? Why haven't I been more successful? Why haven't I finished such-and-such project? Why am I so dead?"
Well, I've been pregnant seven times in the last nine years. I've lost three pregnancies (one was twins). I've nursed. I've bottle-fed. I've worked third-shift. I've gone so long without sleep, because I had an undiagnosed sleep disorder. I've had food allergies, I've had moves, I've had infants, toddlers, school-aged children....and I've had hyperemesis. I've been nauseous, vomiting, sleep-deprived, over-worked, uprooted....
...and I'm JUST NOW REALIZING how bad it has been.
After this past week, I'm more and more confident that it will get better. No more babies. No more ridiculous expectations. Small, gentle goals. Rest.
The Insomniac Wonder Baby is napping right now, so I think I'll join her....zzzzzzzzz............
I can't, for the life of me, find the letter right now. I'm 90% certain he wrote it to Arthur Greeves, but most of my bookmarks have fallen out.)
Only after Mrs. Moore was no longer a part of his life, did he realize he'd been subjected to years upon years of verbal and emotional abuse.
I can't help but reflect on how liberated he must have felt, as I emerge from a cocoon of sadness and sickness myself. Since last August, I've been struck with hyperemesis, a fancy way of saying, "She pukes all the time while she's pregnant." To add insult to injury, I developed a gallbladder problem, which had me nauseous and vomiting AGAIN, as soon as the hyperemesis wore off.
In addition to that, my youngest daughter (who just turned two) is an Insomniac Wonder Baby, and I've not had consistent sleep since she was born. I've been exhausted, nauseous, vomiting, weak, short-tempered, frustrated, and barely coherent for all of recent memory.
Until last week.
Not only did IWB sleep at least six hours at a time, but I must have either passed the gallstones or gotten my diet in a better place---because I wasn't nauseous, wasn't vomiting, and I was rested.
All day yesteray I PLAYED. I played with the toddler, and I played guitar. I felt like a new woman. I smiled. I cheered. I cleaned my house.
Then, the Insomniac Wonder Baby got a cold, and coughed all night last night. She's still too young for most cough medicines, so....welcome to my first night in a week with no sleep.
I feel like a train hit me.
All I want to do is read old novels and mindlessly surf the internet. I'm so exhausted and sore and brain-dead that I can hardly function.
For the last several years, I've wondered, "Why haven't I been getting more done? Why haven't I accomplished more in my life? Why haven't I been more successful? Why haven't I finished such-and-such project? Why am I so dead?"
Well, I've been pregnant seven times in the last nine years. I've lost three pregnancies (one was twins). I've nursed. I've bottle-fed. I've worked third-shift. I've gone so long without sleep, because I had an undiagnosed sleep disorder. I've had food allergies, I've had moves, I've had infants, toddlers, school-aged children....and I've had hyperemesis. I've been nauseous, vomiting, sleep-deprived, over-worked, uprooted....
...and I'm JUST NOW REALIZING how bad it has been.
After this past week, I'm more and more confident that it will get better. No more babies. No more ridiculous expectations. Small, gentle goals. Rest.
The Insomniac Wonder Baby is napping right now, so I think I'll join her....zzzzzzzzz............
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