I am by no means Catholic, nor do I want to be. However, I find myself drawn to participating in Lent. I have been researching the origins of the Catholic rules for Lent, and I am intrigued. A lot of it is simply traditions that have been formed, but it is very interesting to actually dig through and see where these traditions originated. It is also interesting, personally, to learn the truth behind this time, and apply it to my life. Much more digging will be done tomorrow, and lots of prayer will be done throughout what remains of tonight and also tomorrow. I don't want to do it because it's a tradition or because so many others are participating. I want to do this right.
Oh, what the world would be like if everyone who participated in Lent actually prayed and fasted for the right reasons and in the right spirit!
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
Fear versus Anger
While worshipping to Jesus Culture's "Your Love Never Fails," I heard the lyrics "And when the oceans rage, I don't have to be afraid because I know that You love me." Going through a tough time of my own right now I thought, "I'm not afraid, though; I'm mad." And it's true. I was a little afraid at the beginning of the deployment, and I do have short-lived moments of fear, sure, but my big reaction right now is anger. Immediately, the image of an angry dog came into my mind. Now, when a dog is angry, there are three possible causes for it. The dog may truly just be grumpy, or it could be flat out crazy. More often than not, though, the dog is afraid of something. Think about it. How many dogs when backed into a corner will sit there and whimper because they are afraid? The first image that pops into my head is a cornered dog snarling and lashing out.
Thinking on this, I realize that I am probably afraid; I have just become used to it. I am not afraid my husband will be killed, no; I am holding onto a promise on that one. However, everything else scares me. What if I can't get the car inspected in time to get the plates relicensed before they expire? What if one of the cars breaks down? What if it snows a lot, we slide off the road, and my toddler, my newborn, and myself become stranded in freezing temperatures? Moving to a new country and having to learn the new customs and language is bad enough sometimes, but then you add stuff to it like not knowing what local mechanics are trustworthy, especially when you don't speak the language well enough to know if they're ripping you off.
The ultimate truth, though, is that all those little fears are covered by promises as well. God is my healer, my provider, my bridegroom, my protector. He is more than enough! I know this. It is times like these, though, that remind me I have to invite and allow God into every aspect of my life.
Thinking on this, I realize that I am probably afraid; I have just become used to it. I am not afraid my husband will be killed, no; I am holding onto a promise on that one. However, everything else scares me. What if I can't get the car inspected in time to get the plates relicensed before they expire? What if one of the cars breaks down? What if it snows a lot, we slide off the road, and my toddler, my newborn, and myself become stranded in freezing temperatures? Moving to a new country and having to learn the new customs and language is bad enough sometimes, but then you add stuff to it like not knowing what local mechanics are trustworthy, especially when you don't speak the language well enough to know if they're ripping you off.
The ultimate truth, though, is that all those little fears are covered by promises as well. God is my healer, my provider, my bridegroom, my protector. He is more than enough! I know this. It is times like these, though, that remind me I have to invite and allow God into every aspect of my life.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Remember
This year, I became agitated on the anniversary of Pearl Harbor. I am horrible with dates in history, mainly because I've never really enjoyed history. Only one or two people of all those I know on Facebook even mentioned the anniversary as it passed. As AFN aired commercials simply stating it was the anniversary, and showing clips of interviews with veterans that were present at the time, I began to think. It must be hard and hurtful to know that so many people today do not know or even care about the passing of another anniversary of Pearl Harbor. How must those veterans feel, to know they have been forgotten by so many? The date that will live in infamy is almost no longer, aside from a page in history books, those who lived through the day, and some history lovers.
Then I remembered how this year had been the ten year anniversary of the September 11th attacks, and how little seemed to be done. Sure, the memorial was officially opened, and I'm sure that in the city there was much going on. However, the awareness as a nation seems to have plummeted dramatically. A day that for so long many people chanted, sang, and wrote "never forget" for is now beginning to be forgotten.
Am I just being cynical?
Tonight, I needed some uplifting, so I turned on Laura Story's "Blessings" cd. The song "Remember" came on, and I had to rewind it and listen to it again because I realized I didn't know the song well enough to know what she was asking God to help us remember. BAM! The first phrases--so simple, yet so much meaning...
"This is the body that was torn for us. This is the blood that was spilt. Points to the pain you endured for us....Father, Son, and Holy Spirit come--move our hearts to remember."
My first thought, ironically, was how family members of soldiers who have given their lives (whether in death or in life) have been forgotten, and those soldiers' lives are often overlooked. "Well, another soldier died today." Being a military spouse (and already being in a sour mood), I became frustrated. Those widows, mothers, fathers, siblings who have had to bury their husband, son, brother should be thanked! As awkward and painful as that moment would be in thanking someone for their loved one's death, just imagine how much more painful it would be to feel like no one cared and that their life was in vain, that they are forgotten.
And then complete awe and horror struck my heart as I realized...this is what God feels. He gave His only son TO DIE so that we could be forgiven and live. I have known that for a very long time, but what hit is a much deeper level of it. It's knowing that God knew that so many would take His death for granted, knowing that people would actually FORGET the sacrifice, yet He did it anyway. He knew His name would be taken in vain. He knew that, like Israel, we would constantly praise Him, sin, falter, come back to Him because of His mercy and love, and yet AGAIN forget Him over and over and over, only remembering when it is convenient to us. I have come to loathe those who acknowledge our troops' sacrifices only on Veteran's Day, Memorial Day, or some other day that's been set aside by our government "to remember." The "thank you"s we receive on those days I do cherish, but they mean so much more to me when it is a random day of the week, with no special significance, no national holiday, no day of remembrance, and someone comes up to me or sends me a message and says something like, "Thank you for supporting your husband," or "Thank you for your sacrifice as a military spouse." Even the commercials on AFN of Mrs. Obama, Dr. Biden, and Tom Hanks mean more to me sometimes than those holiday "thanks" because I can see on their faces and hear in their voices that they truly are grateful, even if it is a commercial. Those commercials are a constant reminder that they are trying to get the nation as a whole to support the military families for everything they do...everything we do. It makes me feel appreciated, loved, and not forgotten.
I say "not forgotten" there because "remember" is such a common, positive word, and we take its meaning for granted. There are many things that we know, such as Pearl Harbor, the lives lost during the 20th century wars, etc., but do we really remember them? One of the definitions according to Webster for the word "remember" is "to keep in mind for attention or consideration."
And with that, I am jumping back to the main point. We know that Jesus died for our sins, but how often do we remember that fact? How often do we keep His sacrifice in mind? How often do we give Him our full attention? How often do we consider what He has done for us? That one time a year (or more, depending on your church) that we have communion? Or maybe twice a year if you bypass the bunny and candy at Easter. I know I do not remember nearly as often as I should.
I want to be one of those people who makes God smile and just melt because I acknowledge His sacrifice without a holiday's reminder and not just because I am supposed to, but because I want to. . .because in my heart I need to.
Then I remembered how this year had been the ten year anniversary of the September 11th attacks, and how little seemed to be done. Sure, the memorial was officially opened, and I'm sure that in the city there was much going on. However, the awareness as a nation seems to have plummeted dramatically. A day that for so long many people chanted, sang, and wrote "never forget" for is now beginning to be forgotten.
Am I just being cynical?
Tonight, I needed some uplifting, so I turned on Laura Story's "Blessings" cd. The song "Remember" came on, and I had to rewind it and listen to it again because I realized I didn't know the song well enough to know what she was asking God to help us remember. BAM! The first phrases--so simple, yet so much meaning...
"This is the body that was torn for us. This is the blood that was spilt. Points to the pain you endured for us....Father, Son, and Holy Spirit come--move our hearts to remember."
My first thought, ironically, was how family members of soldiers who have given their lives (whether in death or in life) have been forgotten, and those soldiers' lives are often overlooked. "Well, another soldier died today." Being a military spouse (and already being in a sour mood), I became frustrated. Those widows, mothers, fathers, siblings who have had to bury their husband, son, brother should be thanked! As awkward and painful as that moment would be in thanking someone for their loved one's death, just imagine how much more painful it would be to feel like no one cared and that their life was in vain, that they are forgotten.
And then complete awe and horror struck my heart as I realized...this is what God feels. He gave His only son TO DIE so that we could be forgiven and live. I have known that for a very long time, but what hit is a much deeper level of it. It's knowing that God knew that so many would take His death for granted, knowing that people would actually FORGET the sacrifice, yet He did it anyway. He knew His name would be taken in vain. He knew that, like Israel, we would constantly praise Him, sin, falter, come back to Him because of His mercy and love, and yet AGAIN forget Him over and over and over, only remembering when it is convenient to us. I have come to loathe those who acknowledge our troops' sacrifices only on Veteran's Day, Memorial Day, or some other day that's been set aside by our government "to remember." The "thank you"s we receive on those days I do cherish, but they mean so much more to me when it is a random day of the week, with no special significance, no national holiday, no day of remembrance, and someone comes up to me or sends me a message and says something like, "Thank you for supporting your husband," or "Thank you for your sacrifice as a military spouse." Even the commercials on AFN of Mrs. Obama, Dr. Biden, and Tom Hanks mean more to me sometimes than those holiday "thanks" because I can see on their faces and hear in their voices that they truly are grateful, even if it is a commercial. Those commercials are a constant reminder that they are trying to get the nation as a whole to support the military families for everything they do...everything we do. It makes me feel appreciated, loved, and not forgotten.
I say "not forgotten" there because "remember" is such a common, positive word, and we take its meaning for granted. There are many things that we know, such as Pearl Harbor, the lives lost during the 20th century wars, etc., but do we really remember them? One of the definitions according to Webster for the word "remember" is "to keep in mind for attention or consideration."
And with that, I am jumping back to the main point. We know that Jesus died for our sins, but how often do we remember that fact? How often do we keep His sacrifice in mind? How often do we give Him our full attention? How often do we consider what He has done for us? That one time a year (or more, depending on your church) that we have communion? Or maybe twice a year if you bypass the bunny and candy at Easter. I know I do not remember nearly as often as I should.
I want to be one of those people who makes God smile and just melt because I acknowledge His sacrifice without a holiday's reminder and not just because I am supposed to, but because I want to. . .because in my heart I need to.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Morning
Today starts slowly and quietly. I woke up "early" (well, earlier than I have been--0730) and made myself get out of bed only for one purpose--the maintenance man is coming sometime between 0800 and 1000. As of yet, I am still too tired to do anything physically demanding (like the cleaning I want to get done today), too sluggish to focus on much. So here I sit, playing Spider Solitaire, I try to figure out what I can do with myself that also will not wake my son before he's done sleeping. So, I stop playing for a minute or two and look around me. What needs to be done? Oh, lots as far as I'm concerned! I start to make a list. As I look around the house again, I notice the stillness and silence around me; it is refreshing. Light dances on the walls as the sun slowly rises and fights with the tree outside my window to shine through. Peace. I just feel peace.
...And right on cue...HE'S AWAKE! Hahaha.
...And right on cue...HE'S AWAKE! Hahaha.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Adult Subjects
Having a toddler and another child on the way, I have begun to think about how I am going to explain certain things to them as they grow and begin to question this world. I remember having these questions or thoughts myself and not understanding why my parents handled it the way they did, whether ignoring the question or just saying, "You will understand when you are older." For instance, one day my sister was playing some songs out of a "pop hits" book on the piano. When she played the theme from "Schindler's List" I just loved it. I looked at the title and asked my parents what that was and if I could see it. I was probably 11 or so at the time. The only response I received was a sarcastic laugh and "You won't be watching that for many years yet." When I asked why, I was stared at with unknowing looks, and then they continued with their day.
I once saw a movie (which, I do not remember) where a little girl asked her parents about sex; they explained it as every woman having a garden and some day a man will pick the flower from her garden, etc., so then this girl grew up and was obsessed with keeping a garden, even long after being married. I know the day will come when my oldest asks his first question that will throw me for a loop. What I will say at that moment, I do not know. All I know is that I want to somehow tell my kids the truth, shelter them from the painful things in life (such as what "Schindler's List" is), and yet not confuse them with my answer. But is that even possible? How much sheltering is too much? How much truth can be told without creating scars?
I once saw a movie (which, I do not remember) where a little girl asked her parents about sex; they explained it as every woman having a garden and some day a man will pick the flower from her garden, etc., so then this girl grew up and was obsessed with keeping a garden, even long after being married. I know the day will come when my oldest asks his first question that will throw me for a loop. What I will say at that moment, I do not know. All I know is that I want to somehow tell my kids the truth, shelter them from the painful things in life (such as what "Schindler's List" is), and yet not confuse them with my answer. But is that even possible? How much sheltering is too much? How much truth can be told without creating scars?
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Post Reactions
I seem to be failing at writing frequently, despite how well I was doing before. So, now my entries might be a little random, if not just to get me to write down anything to get into the swing of it all.
Half of the time on Facebook, I cannot help but laugh at someone's response to one of my status updates. Whether at my step-grandmother who seems to leave me odd messages that have nothing to do with the post or at people who think that I am completely serious when I am really being ironic, goofy, or simply showing my lack of concentration (thank you, placenta-brain; truly, I was passing along an easy, three-step recipe to a friend earlier and couldn't remember the word "clove" while referencing garlic). No wonder I use so many emoticons when chatting with people; apparently my personality doesn't come out in my keystrokes!
Half of the time on Facebook, I cannot help but laugh at someone's response to one of my status updates. Whether at my step-grandmother who seems to leave me odd messages that have nothing to do with the post or at people who think that I am completely serious when I am really being ironic, goofy, or simply showing my lack of concentration (thank you, placenta-brain; truly, I was passing along an easy, three-step recipe to a friend earlier and couldn't remember the word "clove" while referencing garlic). No wonder I use so many emoticons when chatting with people; apparently my personality doesn't come out in my keystrokes!
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Transition and Trials
Much has been on my mind lately. This time in my life seems to be full of transitions and some trials. The transitions are mainly my getting ready for the new baby, adjusting to the deployment, being a single mom (temporarily), and STILL adjusting to a new country. My son is in some sort of almost-two-years-old transition; his sleep is all over the place, as is his behavior.
Aside from the mass collision of all these things together, I feel like I am being tested. Upon moving to the new base, I have been unsuccessful in finding a church that meets my spiritual needs. Because of this, I have not been attending regular services, but have only been to a women's Bible study on a regular basis. And because of that, I have not exactly been tithing, though I was relieved when they finally started collecting offering at the study. In both instances I feel pressed to adjust myself; ironically enough, it feels like the higher priority is toward service attendance. Perhaps it is because in my heart I do not disagree with tithing, but I find it ridiculous to attend a service that does not feed me spiritually. On top of that, with my husband deployed and childcare constantly full (seriously), I am always in the cry room with my son; there is no way he will sit quiet and still in a pew, even for a 45 minute service. The speakers in that room do not work, meaning if you are in there you do not even hear the service unless the kids are super quiet, both in voice and with toys, and you can keep the door open, at which point even then you have to strain to hear every word. Of the...oh, possibly seven or so services I have attended, only two of them was I able to be part of the congregation. Ironically enough, the feeling of being cut off is reinforced by the fact that the ushers completely pass up the cry room, whether collecting offering or passing out communion. I have to stand out the door, making sure my son doesn't bolt, money in hand, and waving to be able to pay my tithe.
Nursery opens 15 minutes before the service starts. Last week I managed to leave early with the idea that my arriving just as the service was starting was why childcare was always full. I arrived 10 minutes prior to the service, and they were already full! See? I am getting fired up about it all over again! *breathe* My friend arrived, daughter also in tow due to the full nursery. Shocked that we could not hear anything in the cry room and a full day ahead of her, she decided to leave and get her shopping done instead of just sitting in the room. I wanted to follow her so much! "The speakers don't work?" No. "So we can't even hear the sermon?!" Nope. "It's kind of pointless to stay, isn't it?" *facepalm* Yet I felt pulled to stay, just as I had felt pulled to come. The whole time I felt myself grumbling inside, and the whole time I tried to stop it. There is a reason I am here. There is a reason He wants me to stay. I may not know it and I may not understand it, but it is there nonetheless. At this, I simply tried to hear and enjoy what I could. I paid my offering, I took communion, and I left while they were singing the closing hymn so I could get out of the parking lot before it was overrun with children.
These are definitions of "slack" from webster.com:
"Slack (verb)--to shirk or evade work or duty"
"Slack (adj)--not using due diligence, care, or dispatch : negligent
--lacking in completeness, finish, or perfection
I know that I have definitely evaded attending service regularly, using excuses like "I lost track of the time/days," "Nursery is always full," "I never learn anything," "I don't feel like it," "[Child] is having a bad day," and "I can learn more by simply reading my Bible at home." Hebrews 10:25 tells us not to forsake the assembling of ourselves together: I would call that a duty, and I have failed. I have not been diligent at all, which I find somewhat funny considering I used to wonder how people could seriously just not realize it was Sunday and thus miss the service. I used to count the days until the next service, I loved it that much! I guess I am not as faithful as I thought, seeing as how it seems most of my motivation was for personal gain and pleasure and not to glorify God.
...and that realization hurts...
Aside from the mass collision of all these things together, I feel like I am being tested. Upon moving to the new base, I have been unsuccessful in finding a church that meets my spiritual needs. Because of this, I have not been attending regular services, but have only been to a women's Bible study on a regular basis. And because of that, I have not exactly been tithing, though I was relieved when they finally started collecting offering at the study. In both instances I feel pressed to adjust myself; ironically enough, it feels like the higher priority is toward service attendance. Perhaps it is because in my heart I do not disagree with tithing, but I find it ridiculous to attend a service that does not feed me spiritually. On top of that, with my husband deployed and childcare constantly full (seriously), I am always in the cry room with my son; there is no way he will sit quiet and still in a pew, even for a 45 minute service. The speakers in that room do not work, meaning if you are in there you do not even hear the service unless the kids are super quiet, both in voice and with toys, and you can keep the door open, at which point even then you have to strain to hear every word. Of the...oh, possibly seven or so services I have attended, only two of them was I able to be part of the congregation. Ironically enough, the feeling of being cut off is reinforced by the fact that the ushers completely pass up the cry room, whether collecting offering or passing out communion. I have to stand out the door, making sure my son doesn't bolt, money in hand, and waving to be able to pay my tithe.
Nursery opens 15 minutes before the service starts. Last week I managed to leave early with the idea that my arriving just as the service was starting was why childcare was always full. I arrived 10 minutes prior to the service, and they were already full! See? I am getting fired up about it all over again! *breathe* My friend arrived, daughter also in tow due to the full nursery. Shocked that we could not hear anything in the cry room and a full day ahead of her, she decided to leave and get her shopping done instead of just sitting in the room. I wanted to follow her so much! "The speakers don't work?" No. "So we can't even hear the sermon?!" Nope. "It's kind of pointless to stay, isn't it?" *facepalm* Yet I felt pulled to stay, just as I had felt pulled to come. The whole time I felt myself grumbling inside, and the whole time I tried to stop it. There is a reason I am here. There is a reason He wants me to stay. I may not know it and I may not understand it, but it is there nonetheless. At this, I simply tried to hear and enjoy what I could. I paid my offering, I took communion, and I left while they were singing the closing hymn so I could get out of the parking lot before it was overrun with children.
These are definitions of "slack" from webster.com:
"Slack (verb)--to shirk or evade work or duty"
"Slack (adj)--not using due diligence, care, or dispatch : negligent
--lacking in completeness, finish, or perfection
I know that I have definitely evaded attending service regularly, using excuses like "I lost track of the time/days," "Nursery is always full," "I never learn anything," "I don't feel like it," "[Child] is having a bad day," and "I can learn more by simply reading my Bible at home." Hebrews 10:25 tells us not to forsake the assembling of ourselves together: I would call that a duty, and I have failed. I have not been diligent at all, which I find somewhat funny considering I used to wonder how people could seriously just not realize it was Sunday and thus miss the service. I used to count the days until the next service, I loved it that much! I guess I am not as faithful as I thought, seeing as how it seems most of my motivation was for personal gain and pleasure and not to glorify God.
...and that realization hurts...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
