Give Thanks in all Circumstances

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!  I think this holiday is awesome.  Amazing food.  Time together with family.  A break from work.  And best of all, a moment of reflection when we look up to our Creator and say thank you to the Giver of all good gifts.

A while ago, I read a book about a lady who started listing 1000 blessings, basically a thanksgiving journal.  This process became a habit that transformed her attitude and life.  Awesome.  Can I just go on the record and say that I think giving thanks is great?  Because what comes next is going to rub some of you the wrong way.

I often hear people in Christiandom giving thanks for horrible things, or teaching that that's what true, deep, mature Christians do. "You need to get to the point where you can honestly thank God for your infertility."   I'm not convinced...it seems terrribly masochistic.  Also, I don't see people in the Bible doing it.  I mean, where does Job say, "Thanks, Lord, for allowing my family, wealth and health disintegrate"?  Did I miss the part where Ruth says, "I bless you, Lord, for the blessing of losing my husband, country, and financial security."?   Surely super-missionary Paul simply neglected to mention his songs of thanksgiving at being rejected, persecuted, imprisoned, and beaten.  (Ok, I know- he did sing in prison.  I don't think the song probably went, "Thank you for the hard hearts and broken bones.")

Yet we today are supposed to slap a smile on and post "blessed" updates, no matter what trials we're going through.  Even if you just lost your child.  When the doctors can't find the reason for your constant, debilitating pain.  If your marriage is crumbing around you.  When you are so lonely and depressed that you can't see a way out.  When you see one line on that pregnancy test instead of two, again.  I don't think God is expecting a thank you for those trials.  I think He is as broken-hearted as you are.  He is our Comforter and Healer.  He walks with us through the valley of the shadow of death.

In my darkest days, I took comfort from the fact that pretty much all God required of Job was that He not deny Him.  Honestly, that was about all I could do.  So, if this Thanksgiving you are having trouble thanking God for what He's allowing in your life right now, it's okay.  He meets us where we are.  Find something good that you can honestly thank Him for.  Having trouble?  God is still good.  And Heaven is forever.  And cling to Him through the gunk.

Giving Thanks

This has not been a good year for babies. I have so many friends and friends of friends who have miscarried, whose newborn passed or is sick with some frightening long worded illness. I see their pain spilled out in tiny fragments of words in a Facebook feed. I mourn with these beautiful, strong, faithful women. 

How does anyone ever manage to have and to hold a tiny, frail human? It seems so unlikely. 

And yet, here is my Troy, who came out whole and hearty and continues in embarrassingly good health despite his mother clearly having no idea what she's doing. How did that happen?

Perhaps 90% of motherhood is simply holding your breath and hoping your kid keeps on breathing. I can watch over my baby, put up safety gates and stop him from sucking down toilet bowl cleaner. But. I didn't put breath in his body; I can't stop it from leaving either. 

I feel small and powerless and a little bit ashamed of my spectacular good fortune. But mostly I'm grateful. Because God in his mercy and peculiar sense of humor has granted me life and four beautiful humans to love and live beside me. And I am thankful to have wonderful friends who are blessed and remembered by the Almighty, even as they mourn. I am so very grateful for Bethany and Marissa and the precious tiny humans growing inside them. As I stumble through the joy and fear and road rash of every day, it's nice to have company. 

And I'm thankful because tomorrow is thanksgiving, and it's kind of required. 

Remember When...?

My roommate in college liked to tell stories. In person, in writing, any way that she could find. Somewhere along the way, she introduced a strange phrase into her story telling: "Remember when?" This phrase, of course, makes sense when referring to a shared memory in the past, but she used it for the present. 

For example:

As we were standing in line in the cafeteria: "Remember when we had to stand in line for eight years to get our food?"

(Oh...she also liked to speak in hyperbole, especially making use of the number eight.)

As we were driving around Chicago: "Remember when we totally got lost in Chicago? Remember when we thought we were going to Chinatown, but we ended up here instead?"

You get the idea.

I'm not sure why she started doing that in the first place, but it had a long-term effect on me. It reminded me that every experience we have now can be a great story in the future. And the more ridiculous or difficult the experience, the better the story.

Well, that brings me to my story today.

Remember when my kid pooped his diaper so bad during music practice before church that the poop actually ran down his pants, past his shoes, and onto the floor? And then he walked the entire length of the church, leaving a trail of poop as he went? And then we didn't have any extra clothes with us because he had worn them the day before, so we had to borrow clothes from the one-year-old who lives next door to the church? And then I had to spend fifteen minutes bent over him, kneeling on the floor, cleaning off first his shoes, then his socks, then his pants, then his onesie, then his diaper, then his bottom? Remember when I was mortified by this whole situation--from not having extra clothes for him to the poop down the main aisle of the church to the people who had to wash their shoes off after they stepped in it?

(Seriously. Why do the worst poop stories always seem to happen in church?)

But then one of the men, after cleaning poop off of his shoes said something that made me feel a thousand times better.

He said, "Someday in twenty years when your kid is leading music, one of us is going to say afterwards, 'I remember when he was just a little guy. I remember the Sunday that he left a trail of poop down the middle of the sanctuary.' And he will be mortified."

Remember when the worst stories now are the best stories later? Remember when the support of a community can make all the difference in the world?

The whole situation was pretty overwhelming in my current eight-months-pregnant state, and I was still flustered when I got up to start the service. So much so that I almost started crying when I got to the third verse of the opening Psalm: "Have mercy on us, O Lord, have mercy upon us, for we have had more than enough of contempt." (Psalm 123:3) (In my head, I replaced the word "contempt" with the word "poop.")

But as I read, I looked out at the members of our congregation, and I thanked God for them. For people who are also praying for mercy, who have also had enough of whatever is overwhelming them. For people who are supporting one another through difficult circumstances. For people whose hard days now will make for great stories later. And for the day twenty years down the road when we will still be sharing those stories, saying, "Remember when...?"

Sex Talk

Recently, my 13 year old girl and I were invited to a mother-daughter retreat. And glossing over the fact that I am not, technically the mother, I said sure and dutifully attended the pre-retreat planning meeting. I and about 7 other moms met on a Sunday morning in one of the pre-school classrooms at church.

Maybe I’m just stunningly naïve, but I thought this was a bonding, cheesy crafts, chick-movies and popcorn kind of weekend. I figured we’d don our fuzzy bunny slippers and share with our girls how much God loves them and whatnot. Imagine my shock and horror when it turned out the movie we’d be watching was all about sex.

I sat there in a tiny chair, surrounded by bright primary colors and watched a generic looking white lady with a unisom voice gush about “special gifts” and blood flow. And oh sweet merciful lord, there were pictures – not just pictures, drawings.

When the freak show finally ended (did you catch that clever little pun I just made there? It was freakish AND about freakin’! No? No one else thinks that is hilarious? Sorry, back to my story) the other moms looked at each other and smiled.  What a purrrrfect video that was, so well done, what a great way to bridge the awkward gap with our daughters.

Was everyone else watching the same video? ‘Cause that was LAME with a capital LAME. This is the focal point of the retreat?

I pulled out of that faster than, uh, well never mind. Let’s just say I sent a very polite email saying that this retreat was not right for our family but thanks for the invite.

Maybe the problem is a generational one. I am significantly closer in age to the 5^th and 6^th grade girls than any other of the other adults. No matter how old I feel when I creak out of bed in the morning, my own teenage years really weren’t that long ago. And this kind of church sex education was just as popular then as it apparently is now.

What a shame.

I know this crap, I learned it myself. I don’t want my girl exposed to it. I do not want her to think her self-worth is housed entirely in her genitals. Sex is not, now or ever, the only valuable thing she has to offer a man. I also don’t want her to buy into the lie of the secular world that sex is just a recreational activity. I want her to have a healthy and realistic view of sex and its accompanying consequences and responsibilities.

The church teaches that sex outside of marriage is this shameful, dirty, horrible, unfulfilling cheap imitation and sex inside of marriage is this sparkly, beautiful fairy land. I might be stoned for saying this, but sex is just sex you guys. It’s great, but it’s also squelchy and potentially embarrassing, not to mention a whole new world of sounds and smells. Married sex is not mechanically any different from evil fornication.

So why wait?

Remember those consequences and responsibilities I mentioned earlier? Yeah, those are called Narsty Goopy Diseases and Babies (also goopy but not so narsty). The former you don’t want ever, and the latter is infinitely better served having two grown-up, married parents, preferably with at least one job between them.

But wait, there’s more! The Bible doesn’t contain the words “saving yourself for marriage” or “how far is too far?” but it does talk about love fairly extensively. Christians have a responsibility to love one another unselfishly – just like Christ loved us. Jumping into bed with someone because you’re too impatient to wait is pretty selfish. Love is actually one of the pieces of evidence (or “fruits” as some might say) that the Spirit lives in us. So, by the way, is patience. And hey, would you look at that, the list of evidences for the Spirit’s presence culminates in: self-control.

Self. Control. My goodness that’s useful. You can rise above hormonal urges and hot dudes. With the help of the Spirit, you can say no, both now, to your horny boyfriend AND later, to the attractive gentleman hitting on you at the gym who probably would never fart in bed like your husband. Temptation, just like sex, does not magically become different because of a wedding ceremony. It’s always there but all that great practice you had bench pressing self-control while you were single will give you the strength to resist temptation even after he put a ring on it.

This is what I want my girl to know: she is valuable and precious as a whole person. I want her to be unselfish and loving in all aspects of her life. I want her to learn to have control over herself and reject all things harmful, whether it be drugs, skeevy sex or just too many cookies and not enough carrots. I want her to be whole and healthy, daily seeking the presence of God’s Holy Spirit.

So we didn’t go on the retreat. But we did continue our conversation about love and sex and boys. And I didn’t even have to draw any creepy pictures!

And then there was me.

Alright, now you've met Liz and Marissa, two of the best, most interesting people on the planet, which leaves me:  Bethany.  I'm their much less articulate and fascinating friend, but they keep me around for tax reasons.  :)

We have a lot in common, the three of us.   Like Marissa, I have a 2 year old, and a baby on the way.  And like Liz, I met my husband in Latin America while I was a missionary in Colombia.  I am currently working part time from home taking care of two other littles.

If any comments or posts from my corner seem a bit disparate, it's because I was interrupted approximately fourteen thousand times during the writing process.  Right now, as I type, I'm reading a book aloud and have also uttered the phrase, "We don't kick!" and "No writing in books!"  Wait, I'll be right back, someone needs a time out.  Whew!  I'm back.  What were we talking about again?

To be fair, we also don't own a mini van.  We've got a Kia Ultima and a Ram truck.  Welcome to the conversation!

More Introductions

Hi! I'm Liz.

I used to be a missionary in Nicaragua. A few years ago I came back to the States with a husband and eventually we had a baby boy. Two weeks after that my husband's two youngest siblings came to live with us. So I daily juggle my life as a dual-culture wife, mom of toddler and mom/sister of two teenagers. And I work full-time. Yup. If you see me staggering exhausted in the street please, hand me a latte.

I love the idea of co-blogging with two fine women whom I admire greatly and whose opinions I truly value. It's no big deal if no one ever reads it, I am just excited about wrestling with life and faith, discovering new questions and talking honestly about the things that matter to me. 

And just for honesty's sake I should confess that I don't actuall own a minivan. I used to but it ran afoul of a jerk in a sports car. But at least one of my kids plays soccer so I feel that my little Volvo totally counts. 

Introduction

Hi! Welcome to our blog!

I'm Marissa, and I have an almost two-year-old and an almost newborn.

I'm also a pastor with an MDiv.

Between those two roles, I have a lot to think about! My friends Bethany and Liz are great people to think with, so we decided to give a joint blog a shot. I'll let them introduce themselves.

So, here goes nothing!