Banishing the other “ments”

Contentment has enemies. They prowl in the shadows, testing doors and windows, looking for any way in. And once they get their foot in the door, there is no peace, no sanctuary, no room for contentment until they’ve been banished.

You probably know them already, because they get around. They’re sisters, from one family, but each with a venom all her own. And together, they’re lethal.

Their names?

Resentment, Disappointment, and Entitlement.

These other “ments,” they show up uninvited, barging in all a-bluster, and they wonder, did you see so-and-so’s photos from her recent trip, and haven’t you always wanted to go there? Oh, and did you hear what’s-his face’s exciting news? You would be perfectly suited for something like that! Then they pause in their enthusiastic accounts and glance around, as though suddenly aware of your pathetic lot. That’s when they slip a sympathetic arm around your shoulder and hiss their whispers.

Poor you.
It’s not fair.
You shouldn’t have to do this.
Your talents are being wasted.
This isn’t the way you expected things to be.
You deserve better.

They point out how everyone else’s lot is better than yours, and they magnify all your sacrifices, and you listen. You listen, and a seed of bitterness slips silently into a dark corner of your soul, where it swells and festers and leaks its poison, until the light that once seemed so clear grows dim. The music sounds flat. Life is too hard, too boring, too demanding, too something, and doesn’t God see? Doesn’t He know you can’t possibly be happy here?

God does see, and He knows. And when the time is right, He speaks in a way we will understand. Perhaps through a Bible verse, or a friend, or maybe a dream. Or perhaps, as He recently did with me, through a scene from Babe. (Yes, the movie about the talking pig. Emphasis on “way we will understand.”) It’s probably been at least fifteen years since I last saw it, and this particular side plot isn’t even crucial to the main story, but God plucked it from the archives of my brain, plugged it into my mental VCR (this is the nineties), and pressed play.

It goes like this. Farmer Hoggett meticulously crafts a gorgeous dollhouse for his granddaughter. He builds it with his own hands, paints it with his own hands, and lovingly appoints every detail, all with his own hands. All for her. But on Christmas morning, when she pulls away the gift wrap, she scrunches up her face, bursts into tears, and whines, “It’s not the one I saw on television!”

And then His voice.

I’m building you a house with My own hands. I’ve designed every detail just for you. When you refuse what I’m giving and want something else, you are that ungrateful child.

His voice is tender with affection, and I’m ashamed that I ever listened to resentment or disappointment or entitlement. Ashamed and amazed that I could crave empty or plastic or one-size-fits all, when the One who created me for His glory — the One who alone can give me true joy — lovingly labored over every beautiful and delicate detail of this life. And so I repent. My soul says, “yes” to Him, I hold out my hands to receive His gifts, and I lean, content, like the weaned child. The other “ments” — those selfish sisters — slink away. Oh, I know they’ll be back, but hopefully I’ll be ready. When they flash their fancy photos, I’ll show them my own.

It’s a picture of a house, made with my Lord’s own Hands, every detail meticulously planned, all with purpose. All for me.

And I’m happy here.

Giving thanks in community for (#353 – 363) :

first time to the gym since we moved
sore muscles
cleaning products
conviction of sin
caramelized onions
sweet times with old friends
the mystery of faith
memory
truth
the cross

Written

Luke and Naomi, minutes after she was born

Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written, every one of them,
the days that were formed for me,
when as yet there was none of them.
(Psalm 139:16 ESV)

Simplicity on Sunday, with Deidre

A Word for 2012

Hey, friends. Remember me? I’m that girl who used to post photos and stories here.

And then we moved.

I honestly had no idea it would take this long to get settled. Exactly one month ago, with the help of sweet, amazing friends, we loaded a U-Haul truck, drove 162 miles west, and unloaded with the help of more sweet, amazing friends.

Then, while we were still in a daze, that twinkle-lit hurricane known as “the holidays” hit. Family members arrived and, to celebrate, we played super-fun party games like Assemble the Bookcases and Whoever Finds the Mixer First Wins. Good times.

We’re still not completely out of boxes, but I trust one day we will be. Meanwhile, we test these unknown waters and try to establish workable routines. We didn’t have internet service in our new home for the first four weeks, but I wouldn’t have had time to blog even if we’d had it. This new life includes Jacob at home full time and my parents across the street, along with Luke, Sarah, and baby Naomi. And, even though it’s a complete upheaval to former, semi-predictable ways, God keeps reminding me that this season is His gift to me. The question is, will I receive it and all its trappings with gratitude?

Last year I asked God to give me a word for the year, and He did. The word was “rest,” and I’m beginning to think it was meant to be a rest much like the one God provided for Elijah in 1 Kings 19, when He said, “Arise and eat, for the journey is too great for you.”

And he arose and ate and drank, and went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to Horeb, the mount of God.

And now, perhaps 2012 is the forty days and forty nights? He strengthens for such a time as this.

So I asked for a word for this year, and once again God gave. The word is “contentment.”

I’ll write more about this word soon and share what the Lord has already laid on my heart regarding its significance to me in this season. But I wanted to slip in here today, wish all of you a Happy New Year (better late?), and let you know that I haven’t forgotten you. Thanks for your love, prayers, and patience during this time of transition. I’ve felt them.

Giving thanks in community for (#337 – 352):

a home
meeting new neighbors
this season of life
watching my mother play piano
Naomi therapy
George, for so many reasons
Jacob’s tender, unselfconscious ministry
my father’s example
spending time with Sarah
Luke, for who he is
God whispers in the midst of chaos
music
the assembling of the saints
new mercies every morning
a word for the year, and the strength to get there

A Crown Royal Christmas

Some people like to plan their Christmas decorations around a theme. Certain colors, or angels, or snowmen. Our Christmas decorating theme this year is “Back Room at the Liquor Store.” Not that we planned it. Sometimes life decides these things for us.

If you want to know why we’ll be spending the holidays opening Jack Daniels boxes with the ones we love, please join me at All the Church Ladies.

Also, I probably won’t be around much in the next few weeks. Please know that I wish you all a delightful and meaningful Christmas, and I look forward to catching up with you as soon as the dust settles.

Love to all,
Jeanne

always welcome here

Behold, I stand at the door and knock.
If anyone hears my voice and opens the door,
I will come in to him and eat with him,
and he with me.

Revelation 3:20 ESV

* * *

Simple Sunday inspiration
with Deidra:

Giving Art

Every year I look for new ways to simplify the holidays, but this year I have no choice. We’re moving to Dallas nine days before Christmas. No time for decking any halls or hand-crafting gifts. I may just stack a bunch of the packing boxes into a tree-shaped pyramid, wrap twinkle lights around them, and invite all my friends and relations over for a “present” opening party. Pot luck, of course.

Whatever we do, it will definitely have to be simple, but I still want to infuse the holiday with meaning and beauty. Don’t you?

One way we can do that is by giving gifts of art, and today at The Master’s Artist I listed a few artists I admire, along with links to their music, visual art, and books. I hope you’ll stop by and check them out, and while you’re there, please tell us about some of your favorite artists and how we can purchase their works for our loved ones as well.

Let’s help each other make this the most beautiful Christmas yet. Even for those of us who will have to spend it amidst the boxes.

 

What a good father wants for his children.

He passes through our town on a Friday evening, stopping by on his way to join his wife and daughter at an equestrian event that starts the next morning. He can’t stay long — has already been on the road for more than four hours and still has an hour to go — but before he leaves we wonder. Could we come tomorrow morning and watch, too?

He’s one of those friends who becomes a part of your story, weaving into life’s narrative in profound ways, then disappearing for chapters on end until one day you turn the page and there he is again. Even before the pleasant sense of surprise has a chance to lift, you realize this page of this chapter really would have lacked something essential without him.

And life is busy, always busy, but we set aside the long list of to-dos, and we go. Here he is, in our story once again, and how can we not? The day is pleasant and overcast, and we drive, threading our way through red and gold patchwork hills, turning in at the gate to a sophisticated world of polished black boots and braided manes. We find our friend and warm to his wife’s welcoming smile — how many years has it been? a dozen at least? — and meet his thirteen year old daughter for the first time since she was a newborn.

She’s darling and eager, and still a beginner in the sport. This is her fourth competition, and the first her father has been able to attend, and when we arrive she’s focused, preparing for her first event of the weekend: dressage.

“Dressage” is the guiding of a horse through a series of complex maneuvers by slight movements of the rider’s hands, legs, and weight. It’s very precise, and judges look for subtleties as rider and horse move through a prescribed course of walking, trotting, and cantering. Yesterday she’d learned that she’d practiced the wrong test and had to spend the evening memorizing the correct one. I listen now as she rehearses the paces aloud for her coach, and I’m amazed by the intricacy of the test, impressed with her poise, and enamored with the elegance of the whole scene.

She knows this test. She’s ready. She enjoys performing, and her confidence shines in her smile. But as she’s warming up moments before entering the arena, her horse gets edgy. And then he bucks.

From where I stand, she seems to take it in stride. But what I don’t know is that he’s never bucked with her on his back before. And she’s terrified.

Her mother feels the weight of her daughter’s fear and watches the test from a distance. She can’t bear to come any closer. The rest of us stand beside the rail fence as she enters and circles the course until the judges give her the cue. Then she guides her horse into the ring and begins.

I stand beside her dad, taking pictures, and watching him watch her. I know this man’s story. Or, at least, I know enough of it to know that he has learned a lot the hard way. He’s been bowed low and has learned to lean, and he knows that the best gifts often come in unexpected and even unwanted packages. I see his love for this child in his eyes, a love strong enough to carry her and her horse through these paces, if life worked that way. But it doesn’t.

She’s nearing the end of her test when it happens. Her horse breaks stride, kicks his legs out behind. This horse who has never bucked with her on his back before today.

His wife steps up behind us and says, “Don’t say anything to her yet. I’ll meet her at the barn and talk to her.”

He nods, and she leaves, and I glance at his face as he watches his first-born finish her course, ride to the middle of the ring, and bow to the judges as the rules require. He knows what’s going on in her mind. Knows her humiliation and disappointment. And he says it softly.

“This is good.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What’s good?”

He nods toward her. “This. All of it. The discipline. The competition. But especially this.”

“Learning to fail?”

Yes, he says. Learning how to keep going. How to cope. How to live.

And I think of all the parents I’ve known who’ve lied, cheated, bribed, or finagled to make sure their children got to be first or best. Parents who wanted “the prize” at any cost, and modeled deceit to secure it. I think of those parents — perhaps at times I need only look in the mirror to see one? — and then I look at this man, this friend, who knows the value of pain, because he’s chosen to receive its good gifts in his own life. I admire him in this moment, probably more than ever before, and I give him one of the highest compliments I can.

“You’re a good father.”

I wonder what the world would look like if every parent valued character over winning. Virtue over popularity. Honor over honors. If we let the applause of men fall on deaf ears and kept our eyes on the real prize.

Her next event is cross country, and she considers dropping out. Both of her parents leave the decision with her. “A horse is a lie detector test,” her mom tells me as we’re walking toward the cross-country field. “If you’re nervous, he knows, and it affects his mood.” They do this riding thing together, and she teaches her daughter about the different kinds of fear — how there’s no shame in walking away if you’re sincerely afraid you’re going to injure yourself or die. No matter what people may think or say, real bravery is making the choice that’s right for you. But some fears? Some are meant to be conquered.

Neither parent knows if she should walk away or conquer now. She will have to decide.

We arrive at the course as she’s beginning her run, and her father joins us. He was with her before the race, and he says he’s never seen her so afraid. He was certain she would back out, and he assured her that was okay, but when her time was called, she went.

Even as he speaks we see her approaching the first jump and we hold our breath.

She sails over it, and her parents both know.

“Wow. I have chills,” her mother says. “This changes everything. It doesn’t matter what happens now. Even if she falls off or doesn’t finish. By taking that first jump, she just rose to a new level.”

And she doesn’t mean a new level in the sport.

The cross country course is hilly and moves in and out of sight. The last time she ran one, her horse balked at the water and she fell off. We walk toward the water challenge and arrive just in time to see her ride through it without a problem. Then she rounds a corner, galloping toward us, and we watch her take the final two jumps.

She finishes her best cross-country ride. Ever.

And I stand back capturing these moments with my camera, giving them space to celebrate, this growing girl and her good parents.

Today she failed gracefully. Today she succeeded magnificently in the face of fear. And her parents rejoice with her in the one as much as the other.

Good parents want good gifts for their children. Even, or in some cases especially, the hard ones.

If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him! ~ Matthew 7:11

Giving thanks in community (#327 – 336)

friendships that span decades
heart-level conversation
grace in transition
lost treasures found as we pack
George’s diligence and hard work
his delight in finding notes we’d written each other before we were married
new mercies every morning
to-do lists
reminders
hope

Yes, and Amen

All your children shall be taught by the LORD,
and great shall be the peace of your children.

Isaiah 54:13

* * *

Simple inspiration on Sunday.
Linking with Deidra.

A Community of Thanks

Before it’s over, they feed
almost a thousand hungry souls,
this army of volunteers.

Christians from different walks of life,
different political opinions,
and different denominations,
setting aside their differences
and serving in community.

Serving with gladness.
Serving with joy.
Serving side by side
as one.

* * *

What a remarkable privilege to witness and participate in this joyful celebration of grace, generosity, and unity. Please join me today at All the Church Ladies for a photojournalist’s view of a the body of Christ in action. I hope you’ll be as inspired as I was.

Thanksgiving Blessings

Oh give thanks to the Lord, for He is good;

for His steadfast love endures forever!

* * *

Blessings to you today, my friends.

With much love,
Jeanne