I don't have to live like this.


If I have not told you, and I've tried not to mention it very often but then I've also made no attempt to hide it either, I'm taking a break from secular books and secular music for the Lenten season. I'm also taking a break from playing Bejeweled but that is only because Bejeweled will suck up your time before you know what happened. The books and the music? I'm making a conscious effort to replace them with things that will increase my understanding of God, His will, and what He wants to do about me.

Some of the blogs I've been visiting, some of the things I've been watching, some of the books I've been reading, some of the music I've been listening to have left me discontented and unhappy with my life.

And that is a very good thing, I do believe. I think we are supposed to be a little restless.

I have convinced myself that I can't really do much about poverty, abortion, war, and the other evils of our time. I'm a middle aged housewife. I can try to vote for leaders that I feel come closest to supporting what I believe is right, but come on, you know they  will let us down. I can give my children's well used, outgrown  clothes to charity. I can send the canned goods from the back of my cabinet to the food pantry since I'm pretty sure we are not going to eat them, as evidenced by the fact that they keep getting pushed to the back of the cabinet. The stuff I don't need or want will surely be enough blessing for someone else, right? We are not wealthy and I cannot take away from my children to give to someone else now can I? Doesn't charity begin at home? Well? Doesn't it?

There is simply not enough money to spare. What am I supposed to do?

Can you imagine if my husband came home one day and found that I'd sold all the televisions in the house and given the money to charity? What if I went ahead and sold the furniture? My van? I wonder how he would react? Hmmm, I think I found my escape clause. I'll fall back on that poor, pitiful me, I'm just a submissive wife so everything I do that is not right must be the fault of my husband. That's the ticket. I'll pass the blame.

Or not.

I decided to really think on this. Meditate on it. Chew on it. I'd stop talking about it to God for awhile, so He'd have a chance to talk to me for a change.

And you know what He pointed out to me? It's me. It's not my husband. It's not the needs/wants of my children. It's not the economy. It's not the price of gas. It's me.

We have a financial arrangement in our home that works pretty well. We have separate checking accounts, one for the bills and one for the household budget. I don't mess with the one for bills unless I run out of household budget money. That happens far too frequently, by the way. The budget is more than generous, but how often is it eaten up by the frivolous? Fast food stops, trips to the craft store, expensive coffees, a stop at the wine store? And it's not that these things are bad in and of themselves, but I play fast and loose with the money and I don't keep track of where it goes and then there is nothing left.

And there is already more than enough.

I have to make a change. I have to start with me. I have to be a better steward. If I were simply a better steward of what God provides through my husband's work, I would have enough to run my household without going over and dipping into the bigger bank account and even have leftover. Leftover. Enough to support the organizations that are fighting for the things I say matter to me the most.

So, for the 2011 Lenten season, it seems my lesson from God is to be a good steward of the blessings he bestows on my family, and to give the overflow back to His kingdom.

I don't have to live this way. I am blessed beyond comprehension and I need to start living that way.

Busy day, science and history day which means all three of my kids plus three more dear friends, all here for school. Science projects and history discussions, playing outside in the sunshine and spring air. Loud and rowdy and mostly happy.

And then we break for lunch. Burgers, with the cheese buried inside the meat patty, homemade french fries. As usual, a television show for lunchtime entertainment. Today it was Dogs101 from Animal Planet. The kids settled in the living room with their plates and I grab the Zune and slip in my earbuds for a little break of my own.



"Chapter Seven: Seeing Through the Glass....", the soothing voice of Ann Voskamp is welcome. She talks of sunflowers and beauty in that beautiful poetic style that is distinctly hers. And then, in comes "shadow and crossfire" in the form of family members being unkind. I nod sympathetically.

And then she names these moments grace and gift.

Grace and gift?

And I realize that I am "crush(ing) joy with bitterness" even this very week. I am choosing to crush joy with bitterness.

"Contemplative simplicity isn't a matter of circumstances, it's a matter of focus."

I slip off to my room as I feel tears well up. I escape so the children will not see the tears and become alarmed. I keep listening.

"Transfigure the mess into joy with thanksgiving...."

I could do that. I could count the hurt as joy. I could see God in the faces of those who unknowingly  wound me. More than forgiveness, so much more. I could do this.

"To see the Glory, see the Grace..."

See the grace.

And then I rush around, finishing school, cooking supper, gathering supplies for a prayer station. Wednesday night prayer chapel at church. Candles burn, prayer requests scroll across the screen at the front of the church.  The youth open it up each week with song. I listen and the words wash over me ...how many times have I broken Your heart?...... . I am brought low by the thought of this, when I harbor unforgiveness, when I do not see God in the faces of those around me, I break His heart.

Loneliness engulfs me. Friendship has always been so very hard to maintain. As far as my memory stretches back across time I have felt left out. On the outer fringe. Excluded. Elementary school, those taunts, "smelly kelly ate too much jelly and got a fat belly", chanted over and over the entire walk home. We left that state and moved. A fresh start. But not really.  Jr. High, I thought I could be one of the in girls. But my face was too pimply and my hair too oily and my clothes were not quite right. By high school I was not even trying anymore. I became my own worst enemy and looked for as many new ways to self destruct as my mind could imagine. And now adulthood. And really, has it changed? Really? Sometimes it is hidden behind smiles and polite conversation. Sometimes it is shared privately within the group. No chance for self defense. No chance for explanation. No chance to make things right. Sometimes it bubbles up in surprising hostility. Hostility so open and undeniable that it snatches the breath away and makes the eyes sting with tears that must. not. be. allowed. to flow. The message is not hidden at all. We like you when you know your place. Don't make us mad. We are not your friends.

http://www.sxc.hu/

I do have friends. Real friends. And when I am with them my heart is so light that it could float away. And so full that I cannot contain the joy.  But I cannot be with that handful of people who truly love me all the time. Sometimes I have to be other places, with other groups of people.

I never know my place. Should I hang back and give them space and privacy to enjoy the company of each other without my intrusion? Can I listen to their talk of raising kids, balancing the school and the laundry, finding fellowship in their church, loving their husbands? All of these topics are dear to me too. Can I be a part? Can I be your friend? I start to draw closer. We are at the same place at the same time week after week. Surely we could make a little friendship out of this opportunity.  I make hesitant steps towards learning about them. I make hesitant steps towards sharing who I am with them. And then I make a misstep and I am reminded. I am not one of them. I am not their friend.


I blink back hot tears, face red with humiliation once again.