The Better Version of Me

Okay, it's confession time.

When I graduated from UC Berkeley (ah, so many years ago!), I was a cynic. I had entered the school an innocent, idealistic, optimistic 18-year-old, and left a sarcastic and pessimistic 21-year-old. It took me a while to realize the change in me, and to realize that putting on the air of being tough and snarky was not the way I wanted to relate to people. It may be a good survival instinct in a world of pain and suffering, but it was not loving.

So I made a choice–I would rather be seen as naive, wide-eyed, and kind and generous to a fault, than be seen as witty, sophisticated, and fashionably dark and fatalistic. I worked on cultivating the skill of seeing people through a positive lens and giving them the benefit of the doubt. And I realized that it wasn't the environment of UC Berkeley that had made me a cynic; it was the part of me that wanted to stand out and be noticed. In this world, the quiet, kind person doesn't tend to get much attention. But to be kind is a gift, not a failing.

Now, I find myself at these crossroads again.

Only this time, something had unknowingly crept up on me over the past twenty years. While I was trying to be kind by being quiet and deferential, there were people in my life who told me, "Speak up! You should get what you want! You deserve it!" I started believing that it was better to always know what I want and to be verbal about it!

But now there are times when I regret what I say. I want so much to make my opinion be known that I blurt it out with no thought to the other person, and then later find myself asking, "Did I say that out of love, or in an attempt to look superior? Does my opinion always have to be know? When does it really matter that I speak my thoughts?"

The answer is that I still desire to be noticed, and I sometimes state my opinion merely to bring attention to myself, like the gong in I Corinthians 13:1.

If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. (I Corinthians 13:1 NIV)

Even if I say some pretty amazing things, without love, I am still saying nothing.

And I Peter 4:8-11a (NIV) says, Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling. Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God's grace in its various forms. If anyone speaks, they should do so as one who speaks the very words of God...

I know that the best thing to do is to strive for a balance between tight-lipped and being loquacious, because there are times when I do need to speak up, in truth and love. But if I really had to choose today which "Rita" I would rather be–the quiet, reserved one or the loud, opinionated one–I choose the first. Even if it would mean that I may never again give my strong opinion on anything, I would rather have the words that come from my mouth be healing, not wrecking.

Ashamed of My House

Sigh. What do people think of us when they see our house?

Boards in the fence are either missing or hanging on for dear life. The lawn is dead (brown is the new green, right?), which gives our faded-orange-sherbet house a very monochromatic, tired look. The kitchen is also tired, so much so that the dishwasher, faucet, stove, and cabinets seem to be giving up on us, one by one. Cracks and holes in the walls cry out for patching and a fresh coat of paint. The backyard is in its usual state of chaos, like the rest of the house– the house full time of mismatched, hand-me-down furniture and loud, energetic children.

We are the "ugly" house on our street. The "poor" family. "Those" neighbors. Sometimes, I admit, I am ashamed of my house. I wish it looked more shiny and welcoming. I wish I had more time and money to spend on landscaping, remodeling, and decorating. To steal a line from the musical 'Into the Woods', "I wish…"

Then a family from Iraq visits us. We have a wonderful, simple time together learning about each other's culture. Without knowing why, I start feeling a bit uncomfortable.

What do they think of us when they see our house?

A feeling of shame comes over me again, but not because my house isn't as lovely as I would like it to be, but because it is more than anything they have in Iraq.

Air conditioning and heat. Sturdy walls and a roof. Appliances that wash my clothes or heat my food and water. Four bedrooms, two bathrooms, and two living areas. A patch of lawn.

And this doesn't include the amazing food we eat, the general good health we experience, and the feeling of security we have.

I live a blessed life of ease and luxury.

But my Iraqi friends don't lecture me for our extravagance. They are grateful for our friendship and the hospitality we show them. And yet, I know that they have seen refugees run for their lives with nothing more than the clothes on their back. They live among the truly poor– people who live in cardboard houses in the dead of winter. Their church meets in a small building furnished with only old couches and folding chairs. And they are not ashamed to say, "Come visit us!"

It is my turn to be grateful– for renewed perspective, for brotherly love that knows no boundaries, and for a shame that leads to repentance and contentedness.

A Spirit of Thanksgiving (Part 5 or 5)

And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him. ~Colossians 3:15-20 (ESV)

I have sat at many Thanksgiving dinners. I have held the kernel of corn and have announced to everyone at the table what I was thankful for that year. And every year, I say the same things: my family, my home, my health, my Savior. They are all wonderful things, of course, but they are the easy answer. It is easy for me to be thankful for a husband who loves me, my beautiful children, a spacious home in California.

But this year, something changed me. At a thanksgiving prayer service a few weeks back, I was asked a question:

"What is hindering you from giving thanks?"

My initial reaction was, "Nothing! I am SO thankful! I'm thankful for everything in my life!"

Then I studied the seven words posted on the wall, seven things that could be keeping me from being truly grateful. It took me a few minutes to be honest with myself. Entitlement, doubt, anger? Nope, nope, nope. I'm good. Bitterness, fear? Nope, nope. I'm good there too. Covetousness? Nope. Anxiety? Nope... wait… hmmm… well… hmmm… maybe…

I finally admitted that I did have some bitterness towards some family members. I did have anxiety concerning homeschooling and my image in the church. I did covet when I visited other people's homes or heard about other people's travels. And as long as I held onto these things, I could not be grateful for those family members, for homeschooling, for my role in the church, for my home, or for God's purpose for me at this time of life.

After prayer and repentance, I relinquished my bitterness, anxiety, and covetousness to God. And for the first time in years, I was able to say that I was thankful for the harder things in my life.

What is hindering you from giving thanks? Is it…

            ENTITLEMENT

                        BITTERNESS         

                                ANGER

                        FEAR

               DOUBT

                      COVETOUSNESS    

                         ANXIETY

May this be the year you trade these in for something better!

Wherever you are this Thanksgiving, may God give you a joyful, grateful day. And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it in the name of Jesus, giving thanks to the Father.

Testing, God's Sovereignty, and His Steadfastness

I know the Bible says that God tests our faith. 

Behold, I have refined you, but not as silver; I have tried you in the furnace of affliction. (Isaiah 48:10)

I won't get into a theological discussion about it, but I do know three things, the first being that when we face trials, we either push God away, or draw closer to Him; there is no middle ground.

Our pastor was suddenly rushed to the hospital on Sunday. He is in intensive care now, after a miraculous surgery that led doctors to the cause of his internal bleeding. But our Body is still fervently praying, for him, his wife, his children, and his grandchildren, because he is not completely out of the woods yet. And we are drawing closer to God, because we believe that there is joy in the circumstance despite our worry and sorrow. This is the second thing I know: God is sovereign. He is not defined by our terms. We want to know that God is reliable, and our definition of reliable is that He is predictable.

Which He is not.

But He is steadfast. This is the third thing I know.

But you, O God my Lord, deal on my behalf for your name's sake; because your steadfast love is good, deliver me! (Psalm 109:21)

I don't have the answers. For the three things I know, there are a million more that I do not know.

I don't know why yesterday, a friend of ours was rushed to the hospital, for unknown reasons. A CAT scan has given us no answers. 

I don't know why tornadoes, earthquakes, and hurricanes devastate cities, towns, homes, and families.

I don't know why God answers some prayers and not others.

I don't know why people like the Zellers should lose so much, and why Misty should have to endure the death of three babies.

I don't know why God chose to preserve the lives of my pastor and my friend Sarah last year.

I don't know why it is not my own husband, or child, who is in the ICU.

But I choose to dwell on the things I know, not the things I don't know, not that I am living in ignorance, but that I choose to draw near to the One who gives us hope. Whether our pastor lives or dies, my faith will grow, and God will still be sovereign and steadfast.

The Grass is Greener (or 'Egypt wasn't so bad!')

When it comes to Facebook, one of my worst habits is looking up people from my past and spying… I mean, uh, seeing… what they are up to now. I like knowing that most of them have 'settled' and started a family, but the green-eyed monster in me threatens to emerge when I discover that some have 'made it' in Hollywood, or have published works, or is enjoying a successful career in music, or have forgone family life to pursue business and world travel.

If I can make sacrifices, why can't they?! I want to know.

Then I remind myself of the moment I stood at the crossroads of my life, and why I chose the road I did. After graduating with a degree in music, I looked for jobs in my field. Through certain connections, I was able to piece together work as a piano teacher, a choral accompanist, a performer in senior care homes, with weddings and such things on the side. But even in the midst of doing what I set out to do, I was discontent. I felt that I had degraded music to wallpaper (meaning playing while no one is really listening) and a paycheck. I was frustrated with teaching children who didn't want to learn. And most of all, I hated my hours. I worked afternoons, evenings, and weekends, and I missed seeing my friends and family (most of whom worked normal 9-5 hours) and I knew that I would have a hard time raising a family on that schedule in the future.

I have always thought that the Israelites must have been fairly dense to complain to Moses after years of back-breaking slavery and witnessing miracles like the Red Sea parting and manna appearing, but… well… now I can see how Egypt seemed like a vacation compared to walking day after day through the barren desert. Human memories and hearts are fickle. Fourteen years ago, I knew without a doubt that I would not be content as a professional musician. Now, performing and traveling seems so attractive in the midst of homemaking. But I am only seeing a sliver of the picture. I don't know what else is going on in the lives of these people who look so happy on Facebook. And really, apart from God, all the money and manna in the world cannot provide contentment. And once I chose to follow His dreams for me, I found a deeper joy. I became a French teacher, I met my husband, I joined a band-- all of which leads me to where I am today.

Contentment does not mean attaining the life you always dreamed of. Contentment is following God into the desert, with only the promise of the Promised Land. And sometimes it's realizing that you are already in the Promised Land… it just doesn't look the way you expected it to.


If you are struggling with contentment while in the midst of the desert, listen to this song by Sara Groves. For some reason, I could not put the video on the blog, but click below for the link to Youtube. I hope you will be encouraged.

Painting Pictures of Egypt

Preserving the Sacred

This is a photo of the Boekhandel Selexyz Dominicanen in Maastricht, Netherlands. People rave about this Dominican church-now-bookstore. I had seen a similar photo once, and it made such an impression in my mind that I looked it up again. That is how I found the blog Cush Design Studio and this photo. If you go to the blog, you will read the differing opinions out there. I myself would find it disturbing to sit at a cross-shaped table. Why? Because I feel that God has become commercialized (and compromised) in so many ways. The cross is a symbol of my salvation, in fact, the world's salvation. Should it be trivialized? And though this building is, really, only a building, some do see its emptiness as the death of God and Christianity. And those people would say, "Good thing we filled it with scholarly thoughts and academic accomplishments." Books are one of the many ways men have tried to conquer death.

Of course, one shouldn't veer in the other direction and worship crosses and buildings. But one should be mindful that there are times when one treats God like a bookstore (get in, get what you want, get out) or like a part of the scenery (I do that sometimes). It is important to remember to make room in our lives for the sacred.

Judge Not

Raise your hand if you have had a complete stranger scold your child in public.

(I raise my hand.)

Raise your hand if you have had a complete stranger scold your child, then you, in public.

(I raise my hand.)

My family went to see our friend Beth play in a concert last Friday. Though it was a later night than usual for the kids, we knew they would enjoy going to a theater and hearing live music played by a symphonic band.

All went well for the first two songs. Then the toddler started getting comfortable, saying 'hi' to everyone and playing peek-a-boo with the people in front of us. Most people didn't mind when they saw the adorable dimpled girl smiling at them, but one lady gave us a nasty look.

It was time to go for a 'walk'. My husband grabbed our youngest and took her into the lobby. I thought everything was fine, until intermission, when the lady who had given us a nasty look turned and told my daughters not to kick the chairs. I happened to hear her from where I sat (five seats away) and thought it would be okay, because I do believe that discipline should not only come from parents. But then the woman said it again (and not in a kind, gentle way), and before I could do anything, she turned to me and scolded me. I was caught off guard! And I was probably blushing like a beet!

My husband returned, and I told him we were leaving. We missed the rest of the concert, and my evening was ruined. All the way home, my mind could not rest. My girls weren't sitting behind this lady, and they weren't kicking the seats, at least not intentionally. I was mad at her rudeness and the injustice of the situation and wanted to say mean-spirited things to her, like, "I'm sorry if my daughters were kicking your seat, but at least at their age, they know how to talk to people more kindly."

But the more I thought about it, the more I remembered Jesus's words, "Love your neighbor as yourself." In fact, Jesus takes it even further, saying that we should love our enemies.

Was this woman really my enemy? Yes, in my heart, I felt that she was. I felt attacked. I didn't like the way she judged my family and me. And I wanted to judge her and label her as a crotchety old lady who did not understand children. I wanted to do whatever it took to paint her in a bad light and make me feel better.

But Jesus also said, "Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judge, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you. Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,' when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye." (Matthew 7:1-5)

When I put my girls to bed that night, my mind was still reeling. I asked my oldest daughter if the unjust situation had made her feel bad. She shrugged. Then I gave her a cliche talk about 'grumpy people' and 'just walking away'. But this is what I should have said:

That woman, even though we don't know her, is our neighbor. We don't know why she didn't like us... maybe she didn't want any noise at the concert, maybe she had a really bad day, but whatever it was, she is still our neighbor. And Jesus told us to treat her the way we would like to be treated, and He told us to love people even when they are not kind to us. No matter what, we need to treat her with kindness, understanding and forgiveness. 

Which is much harder than saying I should have stood up for my children, or I should have explained the situation, or told the women to scold either the children or me, but not both. Because any of those actions could easily be justified with anger or pride, but they could not have easily been done in love.

Sometimes I wish I was more witty and out-spoken, sometimes I wish I was more bold, but always, always, I wish I was more loving. So here I am, taking the plank out of my eye. And though there will still be times when my family gets nasty looks or rude comments from people, I will try to love and forgive as Jesus did.

Grumpy Mama Bear

The last two weeks have been hard. Never has my whole family been sick at the same time. I was the least sick of the bunch, but when there are six other sick people in a house, the least sick one is the one doing most of the nursing.

It's been day-to-day for me. At night, I would lay my head on my pillow, and just as I start drifting off, someone would cry or cough. This would the pattern throughout the night. Then in the day, I would try to maintain some order in the house, while teaching or entertaining the healthier children. And I wish I can say I've been successful at doing this graciously, but weariness and stress has made me a rather grumpy Mama Bear. (At this point, my husband would jump in with "'Mama Baird', you mean." After ten years of marriage, I can't help but think in puns too.)

This morning was one of those mornings. The baby hadn't slept hardly, and was crying in pain and frustration. I was groggy, slow, and hungry. The older children were playing happily, but a little louder than I would have liked. Then I found the baby having a private tea party in the potty. Water was all over the floor. And this was after a week's worth of lectures on keeping that door closed. When my husband came to kiss me good-bye, I hardly gave him a peck.

"I have a right to be grumpy!" I told myself. "I'll take the long-suffering, but I don't have to do it joyfully or quietly!"

Now where in the Bible does it say that?!?!

Good thing we're still studying Philippians. I try to picture Paul, in prison, being glad! A house full of sick people is a prison-of-sorts, but I should have many more reasons to be glad than an innocent man in prison!

As soon as I gave up my right to be grumpy, my whole day changed. I made and served breakfast with joy. We had a wonderful day of school, ending with our mail-woman delivering our package of Painted Lady butterfly larvae and ladybug larvae! My mother-in-law dropped by for a little bit, and I'm so glad her morning was blessed by a visit to a happy home, instead of a dreary sickhouse.

But there is one thing left to do to redeem my grumpy-Mama-Bear day: give my husband a big smooch as soon as he steps through the door tonight!

Screwtape Comes A-Calling

And so it begins. Three days into the New Year and my resoluteness was already put to the test.

The past few months, I've been going through my stuff, giving away redundancy and unnecessities, fighting the good fight against the quick and easy sin of materialism. My resolution this year is to sacrifice by not buying new clothes just because I want new clothes.

Then yesterday, I was at the thrift store, looking for used plates, when I saw, almost hidden under a bunch of shoes, a pair of light brown Uggs.

I'm not usually into name brands, but I know that $8 for a pair of fuzzy boots is a good price. And I know that $8 for a pair of quality, warm, Australian boots is a GREAT price.

So I bought them, as a gift to my sister-in-law, I told myself, because her old pair had worn through and been recycled into a hamster's snuggly cave. We drove straight from the store to her house, knocked on her door, and... no answer.

And so we went home, and I brought the boots into the house, then, out of curiosity, put them on. I admired myself in the mirror, wore the boots around the house as I did my chores, and I thought, "These are nice boots! I could use a newer pair. They're not exactly like my old pair. And they're Uggs!" And the best part was, my sister-in-law didn't even know the boots existed!

Where did these thoughts come from?!??! (don't answer that, it's a rhetorical question) All of a sudden, I felt like a character in The Screwtape Letters (by C.S. Lewis). The enemy had snuck past my blockades and attacked me at my weakest point! I know I'm sounding overly dramatic but the battle inside me was very real. Back and forth... back and forth... I took the boots off, then put them on again, then put them aside, just to go back and look at them again.

Long story short, I, not Screwtape, was the victor in the end. I told myself that I didn't need the boots, end of argument. A few minute later, the phone rang, and it was my sister-in-law, and I told her about my find, and that the boots were hers to keep. She kindly tried to convince me to keep them for myself, but I refused because she needed them more than me.

Yes, the battle was over. Love for my sister-in-law won out. It's a small step, but a step in the right direction.

And whenever I see her wear those boots, I will not envy her. Instead, I will remember that the battle is done, but the war continues. Screwtape will come a-calling again, I know.

The Seis-Tres Club, Day 11

I totally failed this morning. It's one thing to plan on sleeping in, but another to intentionally not wake when I was supposed to.

When I finally cracked my eyes open, I grabbed my watch. 7:15, it read, which, for many, is still early. But the whole point of these fifteen days was that I woke when my friends woke, and purposefully gave up sleep to have time with God. Fifteen days... a mere fifteen days, and I couldn't do it.

Well, I'll stop beating myself up now. Tomorrow is a new day, with new mercies, thank God. And when it comes time to reassess the future of the Seis-Tres Club, I'll have to decide if I need to wait a bit, or if it's just my flesh being weak.

Addendum: I saw Natalie this afternoon, and she said, "You can't use the word 'fail', because you didn't fail! Instead, count how many days you have had time with God in the past two weeks!" Only, she said it much more eloquently than that and with much more gentleness (in her Natalie way). 

And she's right! It was the perfectionist in me speaking earlier. (and I know there's a post about that somewhere... time to reread my own advice!)

A Desire To Be Known

A few months back, I added 'freelance writer and musician' to my profile on Facebook. Having just finished writing a novel for middle-school-aged children, I felt that it would not be a lie to finally put something under the category of 'occupation'.

Then last Thursday, I erased that title from my profile because really, it was there only for my pride. I was seeking validation, to let people know that I was more than a mother-of-five. I wanted to prove that being a stay-at-home mom didn't mean giving up on dreams, fun, or personality. I wanted to be known by others.

But really, what does it mean to be known? Does putting down a word or two for an occupation mean that people know you? I have a friend who is a plumber, but he would hardly ever want to talk to you about plumbing. Ask him about the book he is reading, or  what he is learning from the Bible, or about his friends and family, or about cycling, and he will talk and talk. He is not his job. To him, the definition of 'occupation' is 'what I do during most of my waking hours on a weekday'.

On the other hand, my husband's new job was presented to him purely because of who he is. He is doing now what he would have been doing regardless of pay. There are few things in life that would stop my husband from shepherding, or making music, or doing art.

I need to grow in the confidence that I am not 'what I do during most of my waking hours'. I am not a dishwasher or a vacuum cleaner. But I should be proud of being a mom, because motherhood has shaped me as a person in many ways, and it has fulfilled some of the desires of my heart.

Simply said, you can't sum up all of me on a Facebook page. You can't know me. It sounds obvious to say that, but I'm afraid that most people subconsciously think that Facebook (and all other forms of social media) helps them know people. But unless I can write somewhere on Facebook that I am a writer/musician/artist/-wife/mother/daughter/sister/student/teacher/sinner/lover of Christ, among other things, then I'd rather not write anything at all.

An Instrument of Peace

Seigneur, faites de moi un instrument de votre paix...

I need peace. Well, I guess everyone needs peace, but what I mean is that I'm a person who needs quiet and calmness. I don't like heated discussions or conflict of any kind. Raised voices give me stress.

So what do I do when my son has a tantrum? I stress. The muscles at the base of my neck become hard as steel, and a fireball starts growing inside me until I cannot swallow it down anymore. And then, I raise my voice, and any remnant of peace remaining is burnt to a crisp by my fury.

I lament now that I didn't approach my son's tantrums more calmly when he was younger. I wanted peace, but I only perpetuated the cycle of stress. And now, it's a question of the chicken or the egg. Does my son scream because I modeled that kind of reaction? Maybe.

Yesterday, when my son didn't nap and later had a grumpy afternoon, I raised my voice. Then this morning, the first lines of St. Francis's prayer came to my mind. Here is the complete prayer, translated from its original French:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love.

Where there is injury, pardon.

Where there is doubt, faith.

Where there is despair, hope.

Where there is darkness, light.

Where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master,

grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console;

to be understood, as to understand;

to be loved, as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive.

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.

Amen.

A Letter

Today, I sent a letter to an old friend who had moved to New York. For too long, I have been proud and silent, avoiding the real issue all together. But today, in my letter, I expressed my anger towards my friend for some past actions, and asked for forgiveness and a mending of our relationship. Sending the letter was definitely the right thing to do, but even now, I'm a bit anxious as to how the letter will be received. Maybe she'll be relieved to know why I hadn't written to her for so long. Or maybe she'll be hurt, and choose to shut me out of her life forever. But I still felt the need to reach out and heal our friendship, to know that though we are physically far apart, our hearts are still close.

Stuck at the Swings

There's a phenomenon with which many moms are familiar, what I call 'stuck at the swings'. It's when you're at the park with one or two other moms, finally getting a bit of adult conversation after a week of being in the house, and all your child wants to do is swing.

"Mommy, I want to swing."

"How about the slides instead? You like the slides."

"No, Mommy, I want to swing. Can you push me?"

"Okay, for just a minute."

"Higher, Mommy, higher!"

And while you're at the swings, pushing your gleeful child (which really is a lovely picture and probably the right thing to do), you look across the playground at the other moms. They're actually conversing, you say to yourself with longing and envy. Why can't my child play by himself, like all the other children are doing? Why can't my child hate the swings, just for today? We come to the park to play with other children, and all my child wants to do is swing! The thoughts go on and on, rolling into a giant snowball of bitterness.

That's how I've been feeling lately... the longing, the envy, the giant snowball of bitterness... all of it. I feel like I've been missing out on life as I am at home, breastfeeding the baby in the back room, trying to rock her to sleep. Or if we are out and about, as I'm watching the baby crawl and explore, trying to keep her from eating everything she finds on the ground. And meanwhile, the conversation continues elsewhere.

So, there, I've unburdened myself. And I do know that there is much repenting that I need to do on my part, to melt this giant snowball of bitterness. First, I will go apologize to my husband. Then we'll see where the Spirit leads me... maybe there are more people to whom I need to apologize. And then I hope and pray that my joy returns, because I really, really, really do love the life God has given me. And this is only for a season, a very short and precious season at that.

And a note to those of you who have never been 'stuck at the swings'. If you see a mom, alone, faithfully pushing a child on a swing at the park, go talk to her.

Words Are Gold

A month after writing on Privilege, an opportunity arose for me to talk about it with my son. (That's how God works!)

I was working in the kitchen, listening to my two oldest play and chitchat, and I started noticing a certain tone in my son's voice. It wasn't that he was insulting his sister, or using potty-talk, or making mean jokes; it was the overall tone of superiority that I caught in his choice of words. He would make a joke that was intentionally confusing, or make a move in the game then say, "Oh, I take it back." When I heard that he had made a promise to his sister the day before, but was now denying it, I pulled him aside.

We sat alone on the couch and I took a moment to form my words. I wanted to make the lesson tangible, I wanted my son to grasp that his words are valuable. So I equated words with money.

"What if I gave you only one dollar to spend on food today? What would you buy?"

My son said he would get something good, like a burger.

"Would you buy candy with it?"

He said no. And I agreed that that would be a waste of his money.

"What if, by some sort of magic, you had only one hundreds words a day, and once you've spoken one hundred words, you can't speak again until the next day?"

This was new, different.

"Would you waste your words on mean talk or bad jokes?"

No, he said.

And from there, we discussed how our words are a gift from God, and that we should use our mouths to do good, being encouraging and loving with our words.

Since then, there's been a change in my son, thank God. I think I was able to nip the problem early.

Then there's me. If my words turned visible as they came out of my mouth, would they be gold, or jewels? No, sometimes, they come out as nails and bullets.

This was a lesson for me too.

In Step In Marriage

The unfortunate side effect of the holiday season is that I become a stressed and grumpy wife. After so many days of driving to people's homes, being surrounded by extended family, dealing with children who won't nap, and then attempting to clean my disastrous house, I am not a happy camper. I have to confess, I had not been very kind to my husband lately.

As I repent of my less-than-loving behavior, two images come to mind. Once, as I was waiting at a red light, I saw an elderly Asian couple crossing the street. At first, what I noticed was their matching outfits: khaki pants, black shoes, and similar black jackets. Then, as they walked, I noticed that their steps were perfectly in time, so much that at one angle, I could not tell that there were two people walking in front of me. Even when the couple reached the curb, their steps did not falter. As neatly and gracefully as a hawk lighting onto a branch, the man and woman stepped onto the sidewalk and continued their stroll.

The other image is a passage from The Lord of the Rings.

...Tom and Goldberry set the table; and the hobbits sat half in wonder and half 

in laughter: so fair was the grace of Goldberry and so merry and odd the 

caperings of Tom. Yet in some fashion they seemed to weave a single dance, 

neither hindering the other, in and out of the room, and round about the 

table; and with great speed food and vessels and light were set in order.

I can see it in my mind, this dance of Tom and Goldberry, and if I was a dancer, I would choreograph a performance piece along those lines.

There have been times when my husband and I work together with that much unity. As a team, we take care of the children, make decisions, and tackle problems that arise. I love feeling that connected to my husband.

So, what happened to me these past few days? How come my husband and I have not been 'in step'? Our dance together was clumsy and faltering; we were dancing solo, or tripping over each other. We were housemates, or acquaintances, business partners at best, but hardly best friends and lovers.

I can think of two reasons (and there may be many more, but these are the two I've pinpointed.) One reason is pure selfishness. I have my agenda, and my only thought is to plow ahead until I have accomplished my task. And when my husband's agenda doesn't match mine, I become frustrated and angry because I want him to do what I think needs to be done!

The second reason is lack of communication. I didn't ask my husband what he needed to do yesterday, and I was taken by surprise when he didn't come home until dinner time. Then today, I was ready to go to the grocery store and library, assuming that my husband would stay home with the kids, but forgetting to ask him if he had any plans. Until my husband and I master mind-reading (said tongue in cheek), verbal communication is the key. Marriage books and marriage counselors will tell you this time and time again. I've known it for ten years now, and I still forget it. I'm not a very talkative person to begin with, but that really is no excuse, if I want to be in step in my marriage. This also means being clearer about what I need from my husband and being more honest about my feelings. My New Year's resolution (more on that in my next post) is to communicate better with my husband.

Marriage is not easy; anyone who is married knows this fact. But it doesn't mean that marriages can't be joyful and fulfilling. With work, God's example of love, and the Holy Spirit's help and guidance, two can become one. And our marriages will be a shining example to the world.

Thank God for the Holy Spirit!

Let me share with you a moment I just had.

I was putting the kids to bed, by myself because my husband is taking a class tonight, which isn't usually a problem, except for the unpredictability of an almost-two-year-old. I was thinking that it would be nice to sing the kids a lullaby tonight, so I asked the girls to stay in the boys' room, which meant that my youngest could lie in his bed and listen. Well, he wouldn't have it. He was already revved up from giving Buzz Lightyear a bath in the sink after brushing his teeth, then attacking me with swords, then attempting to hug a beach ball instead of holding hands while we prayed. I was trying to sing while keeping the little one in his crib, and he was having a blast playing his new game, 'Dodge-the-Mama'. My older children couldn't help but laugh, and after asking them once to stop (which they didn't), I gave up. My patience done, I stopped singing and asked the girls to go to their room. Then I tucked them in, kissed them, and said "Good night, I love you", as usual.

A few minutes later, after putting in some laundry and finishing the dishes, my anger burned off and I was able to think clearly again. I felt a nudge to go talk to my children; ending a day on a sour note like that was potentially harmful, because the incident may stick in my children's heads for years. I wouldn't want my children growing up and always thinking that their mother had no time, patience, or understanding for them.

So I went and talked to each child, explaining that I didn't blame them for laughing at their brother, and also making sure that they understood why I stopped singing. Then, I apologized for losing my temper, and asked them for forgiveness. Now I can sleep better tonight.

Maybe I made a mistake in stopping the lullaby, maybe I should have shown more patience with my young ones, but whatever mistakes I made, I'm glad the Holy Spirit urges me to right the wrong. I know that I have many more years of parenting ahead of me, and MANY more mistakes will be made, but with God's help, my mistakes will not become my children's stumbling blocks later in life. 

Coal on My Lips

You would think that I've learned by now.

Even as the words left my lips, I wanted to take them back.

It doesn't even matter what it was that I said; to everyone else, it sounded like small talk. But beneath the words bubbled malicious intent that made my tone and smile all the more saccharine.

That very night, we studied Isaiah. And I felt the full weight of my sin.

“Woe to me!” I cried. “I am ruined! For I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the LORD Almighty.” (Isaiah 6:5 NIV)

I would have been crushed; my sin seemed so small, but it was big enough to kill me.

Then one of the seraphim flew to me with a live coal in his hand, which he had taken with tongs from the altar. With it he touched my mouth and said, “See, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away and your sin atoned for.” (Isaiah 6:6-7)

Oh happy day!! Despite my constant failure, I never taste the true consequence of my actions! I don't know what kind of person I would be without the redeeming love of Christ...cynical, bitter, hopeless. I would have to live daily under the crushing weight of my sin.

 Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?”

 And I said, “Here am I. Send me!” (Isaiah 6:8)

There is no other response but this one.