organized chaos

A lot can change in 10 years. Just my hair color/style alone has changed at least twice a year. It’s not until you have gremlins that you realize how psychotically fast time passes. This week my firstborn, Chaz (a.k.a Socrates) turns the big One-O. And there’s a whole slew of funny things I could tell you about that guy, but as I was thumbing through his mountain of firstborn pics, my brain started working and I had The Best Idea!

You know how I feel about slideshows. Nothing says It better than music and images, in my opinion. But there’s a few things I’d like you to know about this special one I made for Chaz.

The song: my man and I wrote it almost 10 years ago. I wrote the words the night of Chaz’s 1st birthday. He was in bed, asleep and I had one of my first moments of time-passing panic. So I went in and got him out of his crib (first time mom) and took him to my bed to cuddle with him one last time for the day. He was such a good baby, he always went right back to sleep.

But after that, God showed me the age old comparison of our love towards our children vs. His love for us. Yes, it’s really very different when you get right down to it, but on a human level, it’s all we have. I’d never really thought of having children much as a young person and so this feeling of unexplainable proportions had really thrown me for a loop. And when I realized that God the Father loves us like that–times infinity, it revolutionized my heart.

So I wrote a song about it. And the reason I’m using it with Chaz’s 10 birthday slideshow is because he was what God used to open my eyes to His heart.

**some technical tidbits: if the video is choppy, try pausing it and letting it load fully. And if some of the photos are blurry, my apologies. Scanning photos is NOT my forte.

Me and crying don’t get along. It’s not that I’m insensitive, I’m just uncomfortable with displays of emotion that I have no control over. Actually, I feel things so deeply that I’m afraid once I start I won’t be able to stop.

We’ve sponsored two children through World Vision for as long as I can remember. Sometimes we barely have enough money to pay bills and get groceries, but we are so much richer than so many people in other countries and right here in the U. S.

Really, I could go on about this. For whatever reason, God has granted me a very soft heart toward people without enough. Enough to sustain life on. Just thinking about the state of some of these people’s lives and how they are forced to live is enough to bring me to tears. It’s very painful for me to consider such things. But I do what I can, and maybe someday God will grant me the resources to do more.

I found this new video by my very favorite songwriter, Sara Groves. I love this lady’s work. Her music is genuine and connective and I always love every CD she makes. She also seems to have a heart for struggling peoples and that’s the heart of this video. I hope you watch it.

I Saw What I Saw - Sara Groves

What we see depends mainly on what we look for. –John Lubbock

I’ve been thinking about how important it is to see things in the right perspective. For example here’s a photo of the flooding we had in a local park and a picture of what it’s supposed to look like.

That tree you see in the foreground of the first photo is the same tree you see a little further back in the second photo. There was so much water. And then a couple day’s heat and poof! it’s gone.

My life is like that and I’m sure everyone’s is. We’re flooded with trouble, depression, overwhelming feelings of inadequacy, and maybe we pray and plead with God to make it better. Then one day runs into the next and we didn’t even realize that whatever plagued us eventually evaporated while we weren’t looking. And maybe this only applies to small annoyances. But I’ve noticed some pretty big ones taking their sweet time to exit my life in a subtle way, too.

Either way, it helps to see the things in life as passing moments that will look so different further down the line.

And then you have these kind of moments.

When you finally discover what it was clogging your kids’ bathroom sink. You expect the black muck to come up, and the bits of cardboard and paper. And maybe an occasional hairball tangled up in a rubber band.

But when you pull that plunger up one last hard time in reverse, because sometimes it works!, and you move it out of the way to run the water and see if it will finally drain, you never expect to find that pink mangled toothbrush lying there at the bottom of your sink.

So what’s the lesson on perspective here? This might be a stretch.

If that sink had a nice stopper in the drain, this toothbrush would’ve never been poked down there. But finding that toothbrush after plunging my heart out really jazzed me up!

My effort was not in vain. I plunged a TOOTHBRUSH out of the drain! I can glean one of two things from this.

1. Even small victories are the BOMB

2. I need to talk with other adults more often

Ok, so by now you recognize this little dude. The Cuteness, aka Xavier. And you’re probably getting ready to exit my blog because you’re sick of hearing me sing his praises.

But here’s the deal. This guy has really caught me by surprise.

After Jackelope, we were, for all practical purposes, done having gremlins. Then a couple years later, I had two pregnancies that ended in miscarriage within two months of each other. Even though they were unexpected, they threw me for a loop. You know how it goes: you get over the initial shock, then you get used to the whole idea. It was hard.

Then we bought our first house and moved and the gremlins were getting to some really good ages. Good ages to permit me some freedoms I hadn’t had in so many years. Like baths. And sleep. And we could walk in the door from somewhere without every one of them screaming bloody murder over their hunger pangs. And no diapers. Luxuries like that.

So imagine my surprise when I turned up pregnant last year. Well, not really surprise in a good way. I’ll be honest. I was freaked. How would I work my crazy night hours without my medication? How could I possibly start all the way over with all the baby stuff? And speaking of baby stuff, I’d already gotten rid of just about all of it.

But as you know, things have a way of working themselves out. Or as I like to give credit to God, because He does care about so many little things. Like keeping me awake at work without the meds, and even opening a door of a different shift so it would be easier on me. Oh, and let’s not forget the whole timing thing of when Xavier was due. Right at tax return time, allowing me to have a nice long 12 week maternity leave.

And one of the things that’s surprised me about all my gremlins, is how much I love them. I know that sounds funny. But I’ve never been a “kid” person, or a very affectionate person either. But I am with them.

Which brings me to the title of this post. Many, many times I’ll just get an overwhelming sense of joy and happiness when I think about my littlest guy. I anticipate all the milestones he’s rapidly heading toward. Simple things like sitting up and even crawling. Babbling and sitting at the dinner table with us.

Not potty training. I’d gladly pay someone else to do that little job.

But I’m surprised because the whole thing freaked me out so much at first. And throughout the whole pregnancy. And even after I had him, when it was really hard and I was really tired.

I just consider myself blessed. And I don’t really feel equipped to be anybody’s mother, but apparently God thought I could handle giving love to one more, so I’m honored.

Where have all the good men gone? I’ve heard that asked from time to time. Along with, “Why are all the good men gay?” The people that I’ve heard asking this are usually looking in bars and dance clubs. And I’m not really an expert on finding good men. Most of the men through my life’s history have been degenerate. I’m not kidding.

I don’t think good men are born. They are forged through time and circumstance when a boy is forced given the opportunity to grow through trials and hardship. Things like manhood journeys and climbing the Alps is fine. But I thought of a few other things that might grow a boy into a man.

So in honor of My Man and I celebrating our 11th anniversary, I’d like to present for your contemplation:

11 Things That Might Just Mature A Man (or send him packing)

1. Hook up with a chick that brings plenty of dysfunction with her. But make sure she keeps the FUN in dysfunction or it might be a drag.

2. Make sure the pastor that marries you and gives you pre-marital counseling isn’t married. Or has ever had a girlfriend or even kissed a girl. He’ll bring lots of wisdom to the table.

3. If your vehicles are older, you will always have a ready source of stress for learning to harness that temper you learned from your dad.

4. Having gremlins is good. But having them really close together is even better. Three gremlins under the age of five and two in diapers is enough to try any man by fire.

5. Work in downtown Kansas City and ride the bus everyday. That way you can meet lots of colorful people and ensure you are in harm’s way at all times.

6. If your parents hate that they live so far away and they just hate where they live in general, offer to help move them closer. Then listen to them complain for the next eight years that they just can’t move till they fix up their house, but OH! they hate it so much! Every other day get a phone call from them about how much they hate it, but they’ll just have to die there I guess.

7. Just when you think you’re done having gremlins, and life is proceeding at a more peaceful pace, have another one by accident by God’s divine intervention. You know how these things happen. The further from the diaper stage you are, the better. Starting all over will test your limits as a man. Remember, you’re that much older now. And tired.

8. Buy a house. Better yet, buy an old house that will challenge your OCD everytime you notice the shabby paint job the previous owners did.

9. Send your wife to work three nights a week. If you haven’t had that fourth gremlin surprise yet, now is definitely time to do it. A pregnant wife that works crazy night hours is sure to bring you some perspective on your life.

10. With your wife at work three nights a week, you get to babysit an infant gremlin for the first time ever! Because your wife did everything with the previous gremlins!

11. Homeschool your gremlins so your house is never crisp. And by crisp, I mean spotless. To mature properly, you must see this everyday:

and this
and this

Happy Anniversary, Charlie! Here’s to the past.

And here’s to the present.

And here’s to the future.

Shauna over at Shaunarumbling posted a reading challenge. And you know I’m all about reading, so I signed on. I won’t go on and on about the specifics of the challenge. You can hop over there and inform thyself if you wish. On to the book review.

I read The Hidden by Kathryn Mackel. Under the Christy Nominees, it’s listed under the Suspense category and I’d much rather choose something a little weird. I’m not much for romance of any kind or historical fiction with some exceptions like Angela Hunt.

ANYWAY. I’ll be honest. It took me several chapters to really get into this book. It was not boring, per say, but I took the beginning of the story to be your run-of-the-mill bitter woman goes home and gets tangled up in her past sort of story. To me, this gets overdone.

But then the author threw a few touches of the supernatural in there, and WHIZ BANG, I was hooked. She has a way of revealing answers you hadn’t even asked the questions to yet. And I enjoyed that. Surprisingly. And by the last third of the book, I couldn’t put it down.

The Hidden deals with, well, what’s hidden. Emotionally, what we hide from others and ourselves. And how God has a way of revealing all things. Then it deals with what is hidden from our physical eyes. A.K.A. The Spiritual World. And in the context of this book, the Mackel does a nice job of keeping the believability intact while dealing with the sticky issue of not letting your “fantasy” read too much like fantasy. Because I’ve read some Christian fiction where the unseen world just seemed really over the top.

Which leads me to one of the aims of this challenge. Did it change your view of Christian fiction and all that? my paraphrase

I’ve been reading Christian fiction for 11 or 12 years and have even written some of my own (not published). A few years ago, I experienced a deep depression. The kind that people without God and probably some with, end their lives over. Most of my life changed, for the better, after that. I started listening to secular music again, and reading other books-besides Christian fiction. I had got to the point that all of it just seemed the same.

And I found God in so many places I wouldn’t had ever thought to look for Him.

Since then, I’m very choosy about anything with the label “Christian” that is sold to the public. Since then, I have found a few Christian authors that really shine in an industry of formulaic art.

The Hidden didn’t change my life. It was a good read. It swirled some brain cells and fired some neurons. But it didn’t smack me over the head with formula either. For that, I’m grateful.

I’d like to take this moment and step out of my usually organized (ha ha) system of writing and express some randomness. Weekends aren’t the best for creative thinking for me, since as you probably already know, I work weird night hours three nights a week.

I’d like to vent a bit about the skinniness factor. Last night, I got stuck checking in one of the express lanes, which I normally like, but the downside is that I get to stare at all the magazines right across from my register. For the last week, as in all weeks, super skinny women have plastered themselves onto these and shout at me in large, bright headlines about how I can be like them.

“How the Stars Slim Down”

“Lose 15 pounds in Two Days!”

“Eat Whatever You Want and Still Have One Chin”

One of the women I got to look at for two hours last night was a skinny, toned Leann Rimes in a bikini. It was Shape magazine and it promised to tell me just how she got those rockin’ abs. They were rockin’. And mine are so not rockin’.

Here’s the deal. I grew up so skinny my knees looked like knobby grapefruits with dowel rods sticking out of the tops and bottoms of them. I looked sickly. I was the target of the cool kids.

Then I had kids. Need I say more? Well, maybe I do, because I have a couple of friends who have more than one kid and they are still really, really skinny. I don’t hate them. They just have good jeans genes. Ha.

Usually I don’t have too much trouble shedding the pounds after a baby. But this time I had The Surgery, in other words, “No more babies for you” and I think it messed up my plan for sliding back into my skinny jeans two months postpartum.

I’m really split in half on this issue. There was a time, during a deep depression, when I obsessed over my extra 20 pounds so bad that I could quite literally not think of much else. Now, I can go along my merry way, aware that I’d like to lose some of this weight, but merry nonetheless. Then I get to stare at Leann Rimes with the rockin’ abs for two hours and, by golly, that monster of insecurity takes a big ol’ bite out of me and I pine away for rockin’ abs, rockin’ thighs, heck, I’d settle for a rockin’ chin at this point.

My Man likes me a lot. Age has mellowed him out. I think that’s why this whole thing doesn’t bother me as much as it used to. But security from the husband really only goes so far for women. As long as there are rockin’ women plastered everywhere, we will fight this battle, I think.

The part of me that doesn’t give a rip about skinniness is getting bigger and bigger. Well, internally anyway. I love seeing magazines use “plus size” models, which should be called “normal size” women. They’re the ones that look good, and healthy. They can eat a donut and not feel the need to throw up later, or do the stairmaster for an hour the next day.

Yes, I want to lose weight. But at this point my focus has changed. I just want to fit into my pre-pregnancy clothes, cause I’m too poor to buy new ones. After that, I will battle this issue from time to time. As all women will.

In one of Lisa Samson’s books, “Straight Up”, one of her characters is in a coma and sees her dead mother and grandmother. In one of their many conversations about life, they mention that we will be surprised regarding the issue of body shape when we get to heaven. They said the former generation had it much closer to the truth: think Marilyn Monroe.

One of the characters said something about Eve (you know, from the garden) has a nice plump bottom and a round tummy to boot. And that’s what normal is.

I liked that.

I finally got on the schedule to do some of my music at the church we’ve been going to for a couple years now.  This is something I did alot of in our old church, but since the move, I’ve started working part time at night and I put off the music.  Then I got pregnant and I put off the music for awhile.

Well, the music will not be put off for long, and I found myself getting the nudge from above (so to speak, it could have just been my own itchy fingers) to get up there and share the songs I’ve written.  So toward the end of my pregnancy I did what I don’t normally do when I’m pregnant…I got in front of people and sang one of my songs.

It went well and I was encouraged to do more, but I said I’d probably wait till after the baby, and so I did.  This morning I was scheduled to play and sing another song. I knew I’d be nervous.  It doesn’t matter how many times I get up there, I always feel like barfing right before I go up.  My hands shake, which doesn’t seemingly help on the piano, and more often than not I psych myself out to the point of feeling like I’m going hoarse.

I do have a weaker set of vocal chords.  I’ve had some nodules and my voice has very little stamina.  But I figure God gifted me with the ability to write music and sing, so I’d probably better go ahead despite myself.

Of course this morning my voice seemed hoarse; I think 5 hours of sleep will do that.  And during my warm up before we left, it was so bad I had a minor freak out.  But experience has showed me to trust time to take care of certain things.

We sang a few songs before I was to be up front, and things still didn’t look any better.  My stomach started to lurch as usual.  If anything else, I don’t want my voice to be a distraction from the words that I’m singing.

Our Sunday School lesson was about God using our weaknessess and being honest about being weak.  Well I know it and am the first to admit it.  

I got up there, sat down behind the piano, said my little thing about the song and why I wrote it, turned around and my fingers sort of took off before I had time to think.

This has happened many times.  Somehow God takes over the situation and while I’m doing my thing I’m actually thinking in some other part of my brain, “Geez, where’s my hoarse voice?  Where’s my shaking fingers?”

Sure, I messed up a couple of times, but even when I think I’ve done a horrible job, it turns out someone was brought to tears, or they were touched by the message.  Somehow through my weakness, God has used me to touch other’s lives, and that’s very humbling to me. 

You know, even movies with raunchy jokes can have a good message. Hear me out.

Last night, My Man and I watched Click with Adam Sandler and while yes, the flick was laced with innuendos and the like, it drove home a point for me.

The main character Michael gets a hold of a universal remote from this guy named Morty who’s hiding out in the very back of Bed, Bath and Beyond. He works in the “Way Beyond” Department. And I have to say, Christopher Walken plays this Morty character and we were bustin’ a gut laughing at his antics through the whole movie.

On a side note: I got one of those universal remotes for 4 or 5 bucks at Wal mart because I found I couldn’t grow a third arm to wrestle all three of our previous remotes. Ever since then My Man complains that it’s too complicated. I try to gently admonish that each button has it’s own function, therefore you don’t need several remotes, but to no avail. Life does imitate art in this case.

Which brings me back to the movie. Michael finds that his remote does some special stuff, one of which gives him the option to fast forward through whatever he wants. He chooses showers, traffic, arguments to name a few. But ahhh, there’s a catch. A couple of them.

Number one, the remote is smart, in that it will remember what you have a tendency to fast forward and will automatically do so the next time you’re confronted with that situation.

Number two, when you fast forward any time of your life, you will have been on autopilot throughout the scenario, whether it be five minutes, or a whole year. You won’t remember conversations or any pertinent details of your life.

Now, here’s the kicker. I do that autopilot thing way too much. No, I don’t have a neon blue remote, graciously bestowed to me by Christopher Walken. He freaks me out a little. But if there’s anything I’m good at, it’s autopilot. Ouch. Becoming way too involved in my stuff and my own thoughts to really connect with my kids all day.

And I’m sure I’ve done it to My Man and to various people in my extended familia. And the consequence of such a thing is to look back after a time and lament over the fact that while time goes faster and faster, you’ve just missed things that you can never get back.

All raunchy jokes aside, this was the thrust of the movie. I’ve noticed Adam Sandler doing these sort of things in his movies lately. 50 First Dates is another example. Something that makes you think at the end.

I’m certainly thinking. I’m thinking I need to get my keister off this internet and connect with my gremlins a little more. When I’m cleaning or cooking, I need to get out of my “zone” and talk to them instead of exploding when their voices bounce off of me like pesky insects. I need to look at them when they’re telling me about “Juney” the June Bug they found outside, and give Commando Demando a kiss for every thirty love notes she gives me a day.

And I need to do these things because in a blink of an eye, my life will be over. Because that is the way of things. And I want to have relationships to show for it.

My Sunday started off groggily as usual after my shift Saturday night. My gremlins brought me their loverly handcrafted gifts and cards. Then I squeezed my post partum self into some non-postpartum clothing and it almost ruined my morning.

Until I got to church and the man who recently lost his wife and one of his children to a car accident came for the first time since it happened. On Mother’s Day.

He and two of his kids sat a few rows ahead of us, and through every mention of the word “Mother” I cringed inside for them. Through every word of the praise songs we lifted to God, I wondered the special significance for him. Without knowing he would be there, the person who chose the songs for today didn’t realize the hand of God would be working through her. We sang words like, “Blessed be Your name, when the road’s marked by suffering,” and “I want to touch You, I want to see Your face,” and I wondered if he was thinking about how his precious wife was actually seeing and touching the face of Jesus, maybe even as we sang.

I saw him wipe his eyes throughout the singing and it just about did me in. I don’t like to cry in public, not because of pride, but because I am a deep well, when started, I might not be able to stop.

Then the teens, who run the service for Mother’s Day, passed out flowers to all the mother’s at the end of the service. And before they were done, a couple women took their flowers and handed them to the man’s children. Then every one of the teens took a flower to the family. I pretty much lost it then. And I think every one else did too.

And I’ve been like that the rest of the day. I can’t get them out of my head. And I don’t think I should. God has softened my heart significantly as I’ve gotten older and while I do feel more pain that way, it’s enabled me to lift up heartfelt prayers for people I don’t even know.

On a day when we celebrate mother’s, we should remember those without one. Especially ones who weren’t ready to let go. They are precious to our Father’s heart.

We have one of these trees in our backyard.  It’s called a Catalpa tree.  It’s tall, but slender and I don’t know it’s age.  I don’t let my kids climb on it; the branches would snap.  In my mind, the tree is a teenager or young adult, giving the appearance of strength, but vulnerable to the core.

I love this tree, for every spring, later than the others, it leafs out in huge heart shaped leaves, shading my little ornamental pond.  Sometime after, tiny white flowers bloom, the smell of which brings pleasure beyond description.

Earlier this spring, we had very warm weather here in Kansas: warm enough, long enough to cause every plant in the ground and out to bud out with urgency. 

Then came several inches of snow.

(more…)

I’ve seen other blog owners rerun old posts and I like that because I’m a new reader to most blogs and I don’t really have time to read everyone’s archives. 

So I was looking back over some of my old posts on my old blog and thought I might try to do that every once in awhile.  Not because I think my writing is so great, or that I have readers frothing at the mouth for more material, but because it’s a reminder to me of my growth in the last year. 

And I like reruns, if it was a good episode.  Click below if you want to read: Love the Unlovely. (more…)

Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies within us while we live.

- Norman Cousins

I think this quote is appropriate today. Last Friday we saw on the news a report of a fatal car accident not too far from here, where one vehicle crossed the double line and crashed head on into another one. We heard both were from our town, which isn’t so small or so large, so I didn’t think we’d know who it was.

Three people in the vehicle that crossed over died. Two adults and a one year old.

In the other van, the mother and the 2 yr old died and a 5 yr old boy was sent to the hospital with two broken legs and is now home.

I know those details because yesterday at church the pastor announced that it was one of our families that suffered the loss from this tragic accident. I didn’t recognize the name. Although we’ve been there a couple years and it’s not too big a church, I still don’t know everyone’s names. I knew this family had at least 4 or 5 kids, so I started to deduct who it might be based on the fact that there aren’t a whole lot with that many children there.

Sitting in the service I looked over to where a certain family usually sat and it hit me that this was the one. I remembered the blonde woman who always lifted her hands in praise during the worship (we’re a church where most don’t for whatever reason). I remember her commenting on The Cuteness when I picked him up in the nursery, where she was gathering her little 2 yr old. I tried desperately to remember the little girl’s face as someone described it when I tried to confirm my suspicions on who this had happened to.

In the end, I was right. I didn’t know this woman or her family, but I had exchanged pleasantries with her only a couple weeks ago. I remember thinking how she must’ve loved the Lord to lift her hands to him in a church where that is rare, and to be willing to stand out in that way.

And though I didn’t know her, I grieve for her family left behind. She was driving to a sporting event when this happened. The news report said there was no sign of either vehicle trying to avoid the wreck. It must’ve been a split second happening, where no one had time to suspect anything.

It could have been me or any other mother taking a couple of kids somewhere. An everyday appointment. One that leaves the dad with other kids to raise and left to deal with the huge vaccuum of a mother gone.

I’ve experienced deep sorrow over this. I wish I had known her better, and it leaves such an imprint when it’s a little more personal than just another news story. I’m sure when her husband starts attending church again, it will weigh even heavier on my mind. And hopefully I will be reminded to make the most of everyday, to love my family and friends fervently, and to keep my eyes on God until it’s my time to go.

My Man and I had a little rift yesterday.  It was nothing new.  He was uptight about the state of the house and yard, and while I agree with what he said about the kids need to pick up their stuff, his path to get there may be a bit difficult.

If he had his way, this is what our house would look like:

This is his idea of “crisp”.  Not necessarily the style, mind you, but the cleanliness factor.  Who wouldn’t want to live in a house like this?  Or at least something that refreshes you when you walk through it?

Here’s something I should hang in my house:

I am a recovering perfectionist.  I struggle daily with the urge for everything to look perfect, to be in it’s place, ect.  What’s wrong with that you might ask?  It’s usually at the expense of my family.  I just can’t find a good stopping place or a good balance.  And I find it hard to relax when there’s a mess about.  So I stress my kids out and end up in a rotten mood.

My Man agrees that the gremlins should be trained in the cleaning of their own messes.  We just don’t agree on how fast that process will take place.  Therein lies our rift.

When he starts ranting, I hear, ”This house will look as close to perfection as possible.  I don’t blame you.  The gremlins need to learn to put their trash where it belongs.  I can’t be motivated to fix the house up if this doesn’t happen.”

I think: Geez, I thought I was trying to give up the perfection factor.  Doesn’t he know that my day is filled with, “pick that up.  Get down here and put this away.  Don’t leave that there.  Did you flush?  Get your army guys out of my bath tub.  How many cups have you used today?  Do you think I like doing dishes?”  And on and on and on and on.

What’s the answer to this.  I told God last night that I am so weary: mentally, spiritually, physically.  My arms and legs ache from lack of sleep every night with The Cuteness.  I’m starting work three nights a week next week again.  I think the gremlins are doing ok training wise for their ages.  But I’m at my breaking point as far as expectations go around here. 

I guess we’ll just have to see what this new day brings. 

“God’s voice thunders in marvelous ways;

he does great things beyond our understanding”

Job 37:5

Yesterday, our pastor gave a great sermon.  It shed so much light on where I am in my life right now spiritually.

Here’s the part that really got me: when Easter was over and Christ had risen from the grave, the disciples didn’t just sit around waiting for instructions from the Lord.  They got on with their lives.

I know. Duh.  But for me, this was affirmation that I’m doing the right thing.  I mean, it’s been awhile since I’ve felt inspired about anything. I’ve gotten out of the habit of being in the Word.  And I do need to do that.  But otherwise, I’ve just had a sense of just waiting.

The pastor said that inbetween those moments when God feels so close, “The Mountain Top” thing, you just go on living your life.  Day by day, being faithful. And God will make Himself known to you when the time comes.  And during those times of just living, you won’t feel particularly inspired or close to God.  That’s ok.

It’s not that I haven’t had these times before now.  I’ve had many.  But most of the time, they are despairing, depressing times where I just feel blah about everything.  Right now, I am fairly happy with my life, and my relationships.  I have a fair amount of daily stress with the gremlins behavior at times.  But I’ve had a hard time defining my relationship with God at this point in my life.  It’s not as close as I’d like, but not non-existent either.

So what’s the solution?  Just keep living your life.  God is still working.  He will enter when He wants to, and hopefully my eyes will be opened to see it and recognize Him.

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Things I Love

Posted in My Progress as a Pilgrim

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

A Morning’s Perspective

Posted in My Progress as a Pilgrim