We are babysitters this weekend, slumber party novices leaving evidence of mildly irresponsible late-night milkshake drinking. Blankets, pillows and swords litter the hallways. Before he heads to work, we cuddle in a very large, very comfortable, very I-don't-ever-want-to-get-up-from-here bed. I feel his chest rise and fall heavily, hear him sigh as he says, "I'm sorry our bed sucks. I'm sorry for all of it."

It takes me a moment to register what he's saying, what he means, how his heart drops in the memory foam of the bed.

We are laying on a big, soft symbol of success. And our pokey, old, free-for-the-taking mattress back home is a symbol of failure. 

We all believe that, don't we? The house, the job, the car out front, the kids in excelled learning, the 401k. These are barometers of a life well done. We work hard for them, make sure they're shiny, take comfort in them and feel successful. This is what we're told we deserve, what we can get it if we try hard enough, what will make us happy and what will keep us secure.

Except, it's a lie. It's a lie we are all too willing to believe. Honestly, it is so much easier to look successful with hard work and money than it is to prove we're successful in quiet prayers and patience.

What is success anyway? How other people see you? How you think you look to the outside world? Does it really matter what Dave Ramsey thinks? Is the interest rate that big of a deal? I don't believe those things influence or determine success. 

My sister is successful not because of her wonderful bed, not because of her athletic kids, not because of the house or picket fence or chocolate lab (though those are all real and fantastic things). She's successful because she and my brother-in-law just celebrated 20 years of marriage. They are successful because of the hard work, time, patience and sacrifice they put into marriage and parenting. They are successful because they come home together, pray together, serve God together, and love their kids together. They are successful because they believe all these things are gifts from above, a life they never imagined, a family based on faith and hope and love.

And us? We haven't failed just because we don't have a house, a backyard, a sturdy retirement account or spotless refinished hardwood floors (though that would all be very nice). We are successful because our kids are happy and we get to spend the majority of almost every day with them. We're successful because we are pursuing something we know God has called us to do. We're successful because at the end of the day, we come home to each other. We're successful because we get to show our kids and our friends and our communities how faithful God is, how He's provided, how He's leading, how He loves. We're successful because we work hard, not for the house and the car payment or the fully vested stock options, but we work hard at prayer and perseverance and obedience.

We're successful because when we fail, it's not over. The failure is never permanent. Mercies are new every morning, and we get to try again. Jesus holds it all together, and it all belongs to Him. 

"Oh, babe, don't say that," I tell him. The house we are staying in is filled with the laughter of our children and their cousins. They are so happy and free. We get to serve my sister and her family on this happy occasion of a 20th wedding anniversary. And I feel so blessed and so thankful for one night of peaceful sleep in a big, comfy bed.

We are a success story... one I can't wait to tell.

***

I'm reposting a few of my favourite bits and pieces from this year. God worked me over hard... I want to remember. Leave a comment with a blog post of your own, a favourite or a new one. Let's remember together.

Family fun gone awry :: 31 days of messy parenting {day 20}

Do you remember how cute and adorable Asher was last week at the farmer's market, all dolled up in his new monkey leash and curly, dew-dropped hair?

Yeah, well, that child is missing today. As are the other two. They have been replaced by ransacking criminals. And their parents are gone, too; we are their henchmen. Contract killers of Saturday Morning Family Fun.

:: at least i got some good images before the sadness ::

I like to think I roll with the punches, that I bend down on one knee, look them in the eye, and firmly (yet softly) tell them their behaviour is a little wanting and I need their help in adhering to a more affirming family philosophy.

But I don't. We whisper fiercely through clenched teeth, grab an arm and sigh loud enough so there is no mistaking the foreshadowed consequence. We heave and pull and walk quickly to the exits. In fact, the only parent worth her metal is my mother, who keeps a smile and easy-going "You're doing grand" look on her face. She's got more experience, after all.

We are the amateurs.

So a morning of family fun has gone awry. This sometimes happens. Ok, this often happens.

Does this ever happen to you? How do you shake off the shame and frustration, and reconcile with your precious fam?

The success lie (on family, failure and faith)

We are babysitters this weekend, slumber party novices leaving evidence of mildly irresponsible late-night milkshake drinking. Blankets, pillows and swords litter the hallways. Before he heads to work, we cuddle in a very large, very comfortable, very I-don't-ever-want-to-get-up-from-here bed. I feel his chest rise and fall heavily, hear him sigh as he says, "I'm sorry our bed sucks. I'm sorry for all of it."

It takes me a moment to register what he's saying, what he means, how his heart drops in the memory foam of the bed.

We are laying on a big, soft symbol of success. And our pokey, old, free-for-the-taking mattress back home is a symbol of failure. 

We all believe that, don't we? The house, the job, the car out front, the kids in excelled learning, the 401k. These are barometers of a life well done. We work hard for them, make sure they're shiny, take comfort in them and feel successful. This is what we're told we deserve, what we can get it if we try hard enough, what will make us happy and what will keep us secure.

Except, it's a lie. It's a lie we are all too willing to believe. Honestly, it is so much easier to look successful with hard work and money than it is to prove we're successful in quiet prayers and patience.

What is success anyway? How other people see you? How you think you look to the outside world? Does it really matter what Dave Ramsey thinks? Is the interest rate that big of a deal? I don't believe those things influence or determine success. 

My sister is successful not because of her wonderful bed, not because of her athletic kids, not because of the house or picket fence or chocolate lab (though those are all real and fantastic things). She's successful because she and my brother-in-law just celebrated 20 years of marriage. They are successful because of the hard work, time, patience and sacrifice they put into marriage and parenting. They are successful because they come home together, pray together, serve God together, and love their kids together. They are successful because they believe all these things are gifts from above, a life they never imagined, a family based on faith and hope and love.

And us? We haven't failed just because we don't have a house, a backyard, a sturdy retirement account or spotless refinished hardwood floors (though that would all be very nice). We are successful because our kids are happy and we get to spend the majority of almost every day with them. We're successful because we are pursuing something we know God has called us to do. We're successful because at the end of the day, we come home to each other. We're successful because we get to show our kids and our friends and our communities how faithful God is, how He's provided, how He's leading, how He loves. We're successful because we work hard, not for the house and the car payment or the fully vested stock options, but we work hard at prayer and perseverance and obedience.

We're successful because when we fail, it's not over. The failure is never permanent. Mercies are new every morning, and we get to try again. Jesus holds it all together, and it all belongs to Him. 

"Oh, babe, don't say that," I tell him. The house we are staying in is filled with the laughter of our children and their cousins. They are so happy and free. We get to serve my sister and her family on this happy occasion of a 20th wedding anniversary. And I feel so blessed and so thankful for one night of peaceful sleep in a big, comfy bed.

We are a success story... one I can't wait to tell.


What is your success story? I know you have one.

Words tread water

Five Minute Friday with GypsyMama today, on the word that eludes me today...

Connected...

We tried to use words to connect with someone today, but sometimes words aren't heard. Apparently there are times only screams or groans or cries are heard. But we didn't do that. We used words. And they went unheard. I'm screaming for someone to fight for us, to advocate for us, to help us find our way in a maze of flaming hoops, hoops we've already fearfully jumped through only to find another one waiting. And when the miracle happens, and someone does advocate, does go out on a line, does use words and actions to invest in us and fight for us, that too goes unheard.

So, here we are, waiting and wishing we'd used different words to communicate our need, our calling, our heart-wrenching burden that hovers over everything. But the fear remains that we won't connect, we won't be heard, our words will drown in the ears of others, and we will lose the mission, miss the boat, and tread water in the sea that carries us back to chasing the American dream.

The could'a, would'a, should'a game

If I knew I could, I would run a marathon.
I would write a book.
I would have more children.
I would adopt a child.

I would write poetry.
I would work.
I would start a business.
I would give all my money away.
I would play guitar.
I would be a kick-a** homemaker.

I play this game a lot. What I would do if I knew, absolutely, 100%, no risk of failure, that I could do it. I actually really hate playing it. I'm too good at looking at the would'ves and could'ves and should'ves, leaving me feeling incomplete or inadequate or unable to really accomplish much of anything. There are one too many things on that list that I know I literally cannot do.

In real life, failure is always a risk. And I'm just never at the place where I'm willing to take that leap without the fear of falling.

Bummer of a Five Minute Friday. I'm pretty sure it was meant to be a positive prompt, but perhaps I need more coffee or more time or more clarity this morning. I'm pretty sure you could do it better than I just did it.

The hard love

It's Friday.
I've got five minutes... I think.
Go.

The hard love...

Hard and good. Hard and good. I've said a lot that these go hand-in-hand. So many moments of love that lead us to the hard, but good places. Moving overseas with a young family to do God-only-knows-what was so, so hard, but became (and is) so, so good. The boy growing and going to school on that first day in that first uniform was so hard, but seeing who he's becoming and how he's learning to love and have faith is so good. Giving birth... oh.... so, so, so hard (I could go on and on... the two boys came in typically hard-fought fashion), but afterwards a baby who came directly from God and is ours to love and nurture and protect and teach.... oh, so, so good. Waiting and trembling in hope sprinkled with fear, I've always thought that to be one of the hardest of all. But here in that waiting, I'm seeing how good it really is. The hard, but good ways we wrestle, we learn, we grow, we fall, we get back up, we rejoice, we mourn, we wait.

There's only one reason we do this, we put up with this, and we try again. It's because we love. The only way I can do it is because Someone first loved me. If it weren't for the hard love, I would've given up awhile ago.

Stop.

Yep, that's it. Hard to get that one down for some reason. Think it was the extraordinarily late sleep-in that's making me feel all fuzzy. Back to reality for this mama. Your turn now.

Free to be you and me

Lately I've been feeling like I'm losing pieces of myself.

This has been a hard week. Really, a hard month. I distinctly remember talking to a coworker/friend (more friend, than coworker) exactly one month ago and her saying, "I think you're doing great. Do you think you're doing great?" And I replied, "I think I'm on the verge of doing not-so-great."

I wrote a post awhile back about my own self-censorship. This is almost an entirely new arena for me, who so easily and happily sticks foot in month and tongue in cheek. Lately, I've been wrestling with a lot of stuff internally (in my brain, and stuff)... things which have been brewing for a long time, that I've really only shared with the husband, the sister, and occasionally with the quasi-anarchist cousin.  Now I find myself at the point where I feel an overwhelming need to express such thoughts/ideas/opinions/questions. I also find myself at a point in time where I can't share these things publicly without repercussions (even on my own, non-ministry blog, there are consequences).

Now don't get all riled up thinking the worst (Mom). Nothing fundamentally has changed inside this brain/heart (my salvation, I'm sure, remains intact). But really, the ideas are more practical in nature, more... holistic? More of an independent experiment? I'm not really sure what I'm trying to say... it's hard having to be so cryptic.

Here's the thing: I willingly signed on for this theoretical spotlight on my life. We talked a lot in prefield training about giving up our rights. Life, liberty & the pursuit of happiness (along with other unnamed and not nearly as important "rights") should be... maybe... if we can... checked at the feet of Christ if we are to be His ambassadors. Ok, sure, I can do that. No prob.

Except... I'm wondering if one of my rights that I'm expected to give up is the right to be who I fundamentally am. I guess - it could be argued - I'm just expected to give up the old, less spiritually mature me, happily assume the role of the new psuedo-Pauline me, if it lurks in there somewhere. You know, the old man/new man thing. To me, it seems I'm not only becoming the quieter, meeker Me, but also Me minus thoughts & opinions, creative license & passion. Quickly turning into the shamed Me (yes, I have felt an increasing amount of shame as the old me parts ways with the new me). Or the Me who cries a lot. 

[ick, I'm just noticing how many times I say me, me, me... perhaps that's just as telling...]

This is not necessarily a reflection of life overseas. On the contrary, my new friends here seem to really want me to be me. Rather, it may very well be just a reflection of my own self-imposed restrictions for fear of rejection and failure. Or it could be an overreaction to the awareness that I am no longer my own person. Apart from belonging to Christ (which I willingly submitted to long ago), I now belong to one country, four churches, 176 individuals/families (who I also willingly submitted to), and I speak/act on behalf of all of their opinions/desires/beliefs/politics.

In conclusion, call this Pity Party 2.0. Commence consequences.

[This is why I have my own blog and why I write. Because there ARE thoughts that must be expressed, and if they aren't, I will fade away.]

"I sense you don't have the experience..."

This has just been one of those weeks. 

You know, where you are faced with a big task that you know you can complete with hard work, tenacity, and a wee bit of luck. So you set to it... you hit a wall, you find your way over it, you set to it again... and then you hit another wall. You work through it, feel a small sense of accomplishment, get back to work again, and then... another wall. This wall is taller and a bit more jagged, and looks difficult to climb, but you do it! Hooray! Mini celebrations abound! You can do it!

And then, yet another wall. One wall too many.

This is the point where you just wanna crawl back into bed and pretend your life has gone back to normal. I would say that this last wall may be the one that does me in for good. "I sense you don't have the experience..." is what a professional recently told me. Perhaps, he is right.

 

Failure Feelings

I have found that one thing Satan really likes is our pride, and one thing God really hates is when His children use the term "failure." I found this out early on during our Annual Conference experience, and I admit that I fell into that little hole of self pity.

Some background info:
After nearly four years of raising support to be long term missionaries, our sending agency suggested that we switch to a short term program. The benefits being a smaller budget, shorter term, and speedy arrival on the field. So we jumped at it! We believe God has called us to live and work in Ireland for the rest of our lives, but if His will is to only have us here for 2 years, we will gladly serve Him here for those 2 years. We are now currently serving our first term of 2 years, after which we will go home to raise more support so that we can come back for good.

A few downsides to this situation: we are viewed differently here. It is much more difficult to form relationships and friendships with our neighbours if they only view us as living here short term. It is hard to describe to them that while we are only "committed" here for two years, we feel that this is our permanent home. It is also more difficult to contribute openly and equally within our field of coworkers, all of whom are in this for the long haul and some of who may (inadvertently) view our situation as a temporary, passing phase.

All this came to a head for me at our organization's annual conference. Being "short termers" as we currently are now, for organizational purposes (I assume) we were lumped into a group that contained other "short termers", as well as "interns", whose terms of service ranged from 2 weeks to 2 years. I ashamedly admit that I was humiliated. I was so annoyed (hurt, offended, you fill in the blank) that my four years of painstaking work was going by unnoticed. Not just that, but I was flabbergasted that we - a couple who have committed their lives to this work - were being grouped in with people who had committed 2 weeks! The shock of it! Friends who knew us when we first joined the organization came up to us, confused, asking, "What happened? Why aren't you long term?" I wanted to answer, "Oh, we failed at support raising so they threw us a bone and are letting us serve for just 2 years." Of course, I didn't say that! But the truth was, I did feel like a failure. My pride got the best of me, and not living up to that meant failure.

So this general feeling of discontent and disgrace lasted a couple of days before my husband gently kicked my butt and snapped me out of it. "Our miracle is that we are here and that God is allowing us to live for Him here, in Europe, no matter for how long." The thing was, it didn't really matter what WE think we are doing here. What mattered was what God was doing here, that He could use people for 2 weeks to accomplish something for His Kingdom, or 2 years, or 2 decades. Not bound by time, and certainly not bound by money, He has a job for each of us. Was I willing to do that for Him, without the recognition? Was I willing to do that and give Him the glory, instead of wanting it all for myself?

Well, I think I answered yes, because the rest of the conference was brilliant. My pride and Satan's lies had kept me from enjoying fellowship and listening to God's word. God's truth and my eventual submission allowed me to share in His story - the one that He's telling in Europe.

I'm certainly not proud of most of the things written in this post, but I felt that to get it all out - to write the truth - is one weapon I can use against Satan's failing deceits. Tomorrow, when I feel like a failure all over again, I can pull this up, read it, and realize my shortcomings allow God to do the job. I can't take credit for that.