Street Crossing Buddies

Crossing the street in China is a fluid dance, more than a structured set of rules.  The dancers are people, cars, bikes, motorcycles, and sometimes animals, weaving patterns of continuous motion.  Lights and lines are gentle suggestions, hints of potential boundaries. 

When I first moved to Nanchang, a southeastern province capital with five million people, I was terrified to cross the street.  I will never skydive because my God-given instincts tell me “Jumping out of the plane = death”.  Similarly, my feet would freeze to the sidewalk, my gut insisting, “Walking in front of moving cars and buses = getting run over”.  It seems wrong to override these messages.

A couple of months later, when my street crossing anxiety was starting to hinder my ability to explore and do life in Nanchang, a friend gave me a valuable tip.  “Find a buddy,” she said.  Not a real buddy, although that would work too, but look for someone else who is also crossing the street.  When they move, you move.  When they stop in the middle, you stop in the middle.  Relax, let the traffic flow around you, and learn the rhythms that the local buddy knows. 

Her idea was just what I needed.  There was definitely still a gamble involved in choosing a stranger buddy to lead me to safety, but I learned a lot.  For instance, old ladies were the riskiest.  They crossed like they owned the street and the cars were insignificant soap bubbles that would dissolve on contact.  It only took a few trials to realize that students and middle aged business people crossed more my style.  

Once, I ventured to a store across town that sold foreign food items.  I knew I’d have to cross a very wide and busy street to get there from the bus stop, but I was confident in this buddy system.  Plus, they sold chocolate chips.  Enough said, right?  There was only one woman around at the time, so she was my street crossing buddy by default.  The street was faster and busier than I’d planned for and my old fears resurfaced.  Halfway across, we paused and a bus came too close for comfort.  I closed my eyes, shrieked, and instinctively reached out and clasped her hand tightly.  With my low level Chinese, I said, “Fear!  Don’t like this!”  She smiled and looped her arm through mine to guide me the rest of the way.  We made it.  The chocolate chip cookies I made later were amazing.

I don’t live in China anymore, but this buddy system has proved just as valuable now as it was then.  Parenting is a new system for which I have not felt adequately prepared.  I don’t understand how little ones work most of the time.  My son says, “Cracker,” so I give him a cracker, only to have him melt into fierce tears, rejecting the offered cracker.  Minutes later, he’s fine, eats the cracker and we move on with our lives.  Or, we’re in the parking lot, so he has to hold my hand.  Except he wants nothing to do with me.  He wants to run.  Hours later, when I’m making dinner, all independence is gone and the only acceptable action is to hold him in my arms.  Then, there are the bigger, more impactful decisions involved.  Like, what to do when he’s sick, what to teach him and when, and what influences to allow or reject.  It can be scary.

So, once again, I’ve found some street crossing buddies.  God has put parents of different backgrounds, styles, and experience in my life and I’m watching them.  It ranges from just watching my friends’ parenting methods to directly asking for help.  Earlier this summer, a friend was over at my house when a major tantrum erupted.  I asked her to watch me discipline my little guy right then and coach me where I was missing the mark.  She’s been through the toddler phase three times and I trusted her input.  

In China, I eventually stopped needing a buddy and had my own way of navigating the streets.  As I grow in experience and in being okay with mistakes, I am more confident to make parenting choices too.  You never know – maybe someday, someone will hold my hand in the middle of their scary street and I can help them across.

photo credit

Bonus: A Story in Two Parts

Part One

Bonus Peaches

I live in an agricultural city, known especially for its amazing fruit harvest.  Summer is like Fruit Disneyland, with a new star of the parade in season every couple of weeks.  Last week, we bought some beautiful peaches at the farmer’s market.  Blush colored and fuzzy, we were excited to eat them for dessert that night.  As I paid, the vendor added another peach to my bag.  I looked at her questioningly and she smiled, “We round up here.  Enjoy your peaches!”

When I pray for people, I like to speak Ephesians 3:20 & 21 for their needs.  I love the idea that God goes above and beyond what we think is possible.  Like an extra sweet peach, He rounds up.

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever! Amen.

Today, I was wondering if I use this verse too often or out of context.  Because sometimes, life doesn’t feel better than we imagine.  Sometimes it feels way worse. 

The preceding verses are all about understanding the magnitude of God’s love. 

And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.

That’s like holding out my reusable cloth grocery bag and having the vendor back up a dozen overflowing truckloads of fresh, glorious peaches.  I’d be buried up to my neck in all the bonus fruit.

God does more than we ask or imagine and He is more than we ask or imagine.

Part Two

Bonus People

This in honor of my Bonus Grandma, Phyllis Blum.

When God chose to love me,

He gathered up all of His love in a giant pitcher.

One at a time, He poured love into my family’s tea cup hearts,

To my Dad,

To my Mom,

Brothers, grandparents, aunts, and uncles:

“Here is my love for Brooke.

Will you give it to her?”

But God’s love was so big,

So very, very full,

It spilled over my family’s brims,

And kept flowing.

Not One to waste anything,

God had special people also bring their cups

To catch all the love.

Bonus people give more than I ever expected.

Phyllis was my Grandma Jane’s best friend.  She not only knew me since birth, but she knew my mom from birth.  When my mom was a little girl, her parents bought a piece of land on Port Ludlow Bay with Phyllis and her husband Bill.  They built cabins, one of which later turned into Phyllis and Bill’s permanent home.  I grew up running back and forth between my grandparents’ cabin and Phyllis and Bill’s house, just steps away.  Our families are not connected by blood, but rather by this bonus love of God.  

Phyllis, my bonus grandma, passed away this morning.  I didn’t deserve or ask for the extra love in my life, but I certainly cherished it.  I cherished her.

I have bonus aunts, uncles and cousins connected to Phyllis.  The love doesn’t ever stop spilling over.  My friends’ children are like nieces and nephews to me.  One friend’s son even calls me “Aunt Brooke” and our other friend “Aunt Stephanie”– a treasure to our hearts.  Because even with all of his blood relatives who love him, God’s love is too big for this young man’s family to contain.   God let it spill over so I could be a bonus auntie.  I’ve received God’s overflow and I get to give it too.

Peach photo credit

Problem Perspectives Part Two: There's Joy In This

PART TWO:  

Problems To Enjoy

or

There's Joy In This

Have you ever committed to something with God, and then a test came right away?  Like, you decide to be more patient and end up in the longest checkout line you’ve ever known?  Here’s my latest version of this funny testing that life brings.

Pure joy, it says.  Last month, I started meditating on James 1:2.  We’re meant to consider it pure joy when we encounter all kinds of trials.  Being peaceful or hopeful?  That makes sense.  I can usually do those.  But pure joy evokes this picture of wild glee - running barefoot on the ocean shore, holding your newborn baby, eating really good ice cream – stuff like that.  

Maybe I could get all the way to seeing my problems as joyful (because of all the good God does through trials, as the verse later explains), but it names the joy as pure.  As in, no room for my usual leave-me-alone-because-this-is-hard funk. 

So I got curious.  I decided that when something tough happened, I’d tell myself, “There’s joy in this,” and see what happened.  I soon had lots of opportunities to test and learn this verse.

One night, my hair felt waxy.  I looked up a DIY hair-softening treatment on Pinterest.   This is perfect!   I have a ripe banana and some yogurt!  Let’s do this.  Well, if I was cool enough to be on Twitter, I could have joined the #PinterestFail club.  I ended up with a tangled, stinky nest of banana chunks that wouldn’t wash out.  Something about the combo of ingredients actually made my hair smell like puke.  Pity tears sprung up as my husband slowly combed and rinsed my silly mistake in the kitchen sink.  “This is it.  This is my trial,” I thought.  “There’s joy in this.”

 The joy was in bonding with Jeff.  He’s never combed my hair before and his gentle detangling was love to my dented pride.  We laughed over the terrible smell and the irony of this so-called beauty treatment. 

The very next night, with my hair still giving off a subtle banana vomit essence, I decided to make popcorn on the stove while Jeff put our son Luke in his pajamas.  I was also doing laundry, emptying the dishwasher, and watching a YouTube video on my phone.  Multi-tasking and popcorn aren’t buddies.  I really, really burned it.  I opened all the windows to air out the house.  “Grrrrrr….so stupid!!....I mean, there’s joy in this.”

This time, the joy was that the situation forced me to follow my commitment to not snack after dinner.  You can’t snack on it if you’ve burnt it to ashes!

A bigger test came in the form of my archenemy:  traffic.  I was driving home from Seattle and there was a lane closure.  Rain, semi trucks, and then Luke woke up from his nap.  I had been trying this verse for long enough that I quickly switched to joy mode.  However, the traffic/crying little boy combo was making me so irritable.  My joy list was forced and monotone:  “Thank you, God, that we have enough gas in the car.  Thank you, God, that Luke and I are safe.  Thank you, God, for the green trees.  Bueller…Bueller…”  


Then, real, PURE joy arrived!  The most honest joy I’d yet had in this experiment.  My sweet Luke is very good with farm animal noises.  Out of the blue, he stopped crying and started quacking.  Was there a duck out the window?  Not that I saw, but who cares?  He quacked loudly, happily, proudly, even - - and it was a very joyful moment in our trial.   We laughed and quacked along that slow, wet stretch of road.

Learning this verse turned out to be more than looking for joy in my problems.  It became a decision that there IS joy everywhere.  Pure joy can’t be faked.  Even when I’m not feeling joy, I can live joy.  Sometimes I just have to walk down the obligatory joy path for a little bit until the pure stuff takes over.    

My examples are silly, everyday ones, and that’s intentional.  These little, daily mishaps and annoyances can be cracks in our hearts, draining small drops of joy that we’re meant to keep.  Maybe we don’t lose a lot each time, but it adds up.  I want a life of pure joy.    Even as I write this, I’m afraid that maybe I’m getting too joy-confident and a problem will knock me down hard this afternoon.  I have to cling to my Author of joy and say, “God, whatever comes, I know you are with me.”  That truth itself is pure joy.

  

Problem Perspectives Part One: The Sass That Made Me Stronger

This is part one of a two-part series on life’s problems.  Today my pastor quoted someone as saying, “You’ve either just left a trial, are right in the middle of one, or another trial is around the corner!”  In other words, tough situations are a consistent part of life.  In these two posts, I’m going to share stories of problems I’ve faced and how God gave me a different perspective in the midst of each. 

PART ONE:  

Problems That Refine

or    

The Sass That Made Me Stronger 

He always stood up to talk to me.  Not as respect, but as a challenge.  Zero eye contact.  Hands clenched in fists at his sides.  I had thirty-one ten year olds in my class that year.  The one that made us thirty-one came in February, took me beyond my anticipated class-size, and far beyond my teaching ability.

“I overheard my mom on the phone saying that she has cancer.  I was crying too much to get anything done.”  

This was TJ’s missing homework explanation on his third day of school.  His mom laughed at TJ’s creative lie when I called to check in.  “I should tell you,” she said with an apologetic chuckle, “TJ really doesn’t respect women.  You’re in for a tough time with him!”

In the end, TJ only spent two months in my classroom.  He and his mom moved again in April.  Two months with TJ taught me more about teaching than a year of college courses.  True to his mom’s warning, TJ's behavior was absolutely terrible.  Scary, even.  And, you know what?   I’m really and truly glad to have walked a little life with him.

Before he came, I had a class that teachers dream about.  Half of them had been in my fourth grade class and looped up to fifth grade, so deep relationship was already in place.  I was getting my Master’s degree and trying out new research on them every day.  The kids were enthusiastic guinea pigs, delighted to learn unconventionally and contribute their opinions to my projects.  When disagreements or behavior challenges came up, we had class meetings where the students deliberated and decided how we’d proceed.  The classroom was a community.

When TJ came, we could all feel the shift.  The first time TJ told me to shut up, several students gasped.  One boy, Aaron, defended me.  “Um, dude, you should not talk like that to Miss Caldwell.”  Soon, the behaviors became normal:  backtalk, picking up chairs as a physical threat, refusal to comply with even basic routines.   

One afternoon, I went and cried out my frustrations to Becky and RaeAnn, my co-workers who ran the special education classroom.  “Every day, I end up yelling at him and then he smiles like he won some contest and I feel like total sh**!”

They heard me out and then Becky told me something that changed my whole perspective.

“When TJ has a bad day, it does not determine the kind of day you get to have.  You have no control over how he chooses to behave.  If, at the end of the day, you handled whatever came your way with the best tools and care that you know how to do, then you had an awesome day.”

Becky and RaeAnn also helped me structure a behavior chart for TJ and gave me tips for implementing it without confrontation.  Let me just say, TJ was not a fan.

One morning, I put the behavior chart on his desk and he looked me in the eyes.  ‘Progress!’ I thought, ‘There’s a little respect!’  Locked into this strong gaze, TJ gently picked up the slip of paper, crumpled it, shoved it into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and smiled. 

“Thank you, TJ,” I smiled back.

“Why the heck are you thanking me?” he coughed a little, as the paper probably tickled going down.

“You are making me a great teacher.  I used to be kind of lazy.  I’d just tell the class what to do and they’d do it.  I could go take a nap, you know?  When Drew over there does his homework on time, do you think that’s hard for me?  No way! 

When you do stuff like this, sometimes I have no idea what to do about it.   I have to go talk to other teachers, read articles, pray, and try new things with you.  I want to get you excited about learning and you are making me work!  It wears me out, but everything you do is just making me teach better.  I really appreciate it.”

The classroom was silent.  Thirty-one kids gaped like goldfish.  Both the eating of the behavior chart and my little speech were unexpected, I suppose.  TJ helped by breaking the silence:

“You’re a wacko.  You know that?”

“All great teachers are a little wacko, my friend,” I smiled and slipped another behavior chart on his desk (my back pocket was stuffed with extra copies, thanks to a tip from Becky and RaeAnn).

So, dear reader, what does this have to do with you? 

I’m betting that you have a TJ in your life.  Maybe it’s a person, maybe it’s a financial situation, maybe it’s an addiction.  What is disturbing your peace?  What is requiring more than you know how to handle?

God is using that problem to refine you; to make you more like Jesus. 

The Bible calls it sanctification.  Our holy God gets closer to us when He allows persistent problems to be the sandpaper on all our unholy rough spots.

God is also using that problem to honor Jesus.

1 Peter 1:6 & 7 says it this way:  ^“In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.”

Because of my time with TJ, I had daily practice with not letting my circumstances (or students) dictate my emotions.  My persistence grew.  I better learned how to reach defiant students.  Best of all, I finally stopped fixating on TJ as a problem.  Under those onion layers of sass, he was an awesome young man.  His creative ideas and sense of humor brought a richness to the classroom that we missed when he had to leave.

Your TJ is not just making you a better teacher, mom, coworker, citizen, etc.  The refinement process within this situation is bringing praise, glory and honor to Jesus.  It may sound wacko, but your TJ deserves a thank you.

COMING UP NEXT:        Part 2:           Problems to Enjoy, or "There’s Joy In This"

*Names in this story were changed.

*Photo Credit:  Turinboy

Your Kingdom, Coming...A Spring Poem

I wrote this poem in April 2012.  The first stanza was inspired by my friend Holly's real-life moment with her daughter who was begging for milk even as it was being poured in front of her.  It was interesting to me that Holly was meeting her little girl's need, but there was tension as it hadn't arrived yet.  A winter-bare tree already holds all the makings of its spring glory.  Our Christ-committed hearts beat with the desire for Him to make everything beautiful and good, like heaven.  All of that is coming, and it's already alive in us through the Holy Spirit.

Your Kingdom, Coming

A child sits in a cushioned highchair,

Her face an impressionist painting of lunch.

“More milk, Mama,” she says,

Arm and hand stretched to receive.

“It’s coming, sweet girl,” Mama replies,

Grabbing the gallon jug.

“More milk, Mama,” insistently this time,

The arm and hand thrust out with emphasis.

“It’s coming, sweet girl,” is the unruffled refrain.

Mama pours, splashing drops on the counter.

“Mama! Milk!” with strains of desperation.

Screwing tight the plastic, spouted lid, Mama bends close to the tear-stained face,

“Here you go, sweet girl.”

A muffled “Thank you” escapes between eager gulps.

Mama wipes her child’s cheek.

A large, weathered tree stands bare.

Dull, ashen bark assimilates with a sky backdrop clinging to winter.

Vacant branches reach out, yearning,

 As if the tree knows it is meant to be clothed with blossoms and fruit.

Limbs asking for more,

When more has always been near.

Seeds in frozen ground,

Became green shoots in muddy soup.

Now, vibrant, purple crocuses cluster near sturdy roots,

Together, with a confident shout: “Spring is coming!”

Crocus-hope means that winter is not forever.

Things long hidden in soil come into light,

And blossoms will come,

Like pastel fireworks.

Pale pink never looked so bold.

O God,

Your kingdom is a reality for which I am waiting,

Asking.

I want better, I want more.

My soul knows it was created for a place,

With no more death, no more weeping.

Where I no longer need the sun,

Because You are my light.

I wait for that day, strengthened by the hope at my feet.

For I see Your kingdom here,

As people receive You in faith,

Bodies heal in Your Name,

And You breathe purpose into my own life.

So I stand with the faithful who have gone before me, Watching for You, dear Jesus,

To come.

Photo credit:  John Benson

God of All Comfort

 

Yesterday, my fourteen month old son Luke fell down – a common occurrence for new walkers.  I scooped him up, and let his head settle like a puzzle piece against the curve of my neck.  Then, a soft beat began on my shoulder.  Luke was gently patting my back with his pudgy little hand; a reflection of what he usually receives from me.

I am a big fan of comfort.  I like fleece blankets, desserts, money in the bank, heated seats in my car, throw pillows, and hugs, just to name a few.   I’ve been reading more about God’s character.   So, when I read 2 Corinthians last night, it pleased me to consider that God calls Himself the God of all comfort.  He likes comfort too.  That’s an exciting thought.

It says, “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.” (2 Cor. 1:3&4)

I sat and soaked in those words for a while.  He’s the Father of compassion… He’s the God of all comfort.  He comforts us so we can comfort others who are going through the same thing.

Lately, God is letting me be in some uncomfortable situations.  In case it wasn't implied earlier, I am not a fan of discomfort.  When I’m stressed out, food seems much more comforting than praying.  Smiling at the homeless person and continuing to drive by is way more comfortable than stopping and listening to their story.  I’d rather give my son his pacifier to calm him down than ask God for peace and patience to handle the tantrum.

Speaking of Luke and his pacifier, I had to stop writing this blog post because he was screaming so loudly from his crib.  We’re only giving him a pacifier at night, and he was missing it terribly during nap time.  It seems like no coincidence that I was being tested in the very area about which I was writing.  So, first, I prayed, “God of all comfort, please comfort Luke right now.  Please help him to nap without his binky.”  More wailing from upstairs.  Next, I got 2 Corinthians, chapter 1 on my computer screen and started to read it out loud.  Spiritual warfare, you know?  My mind stuck on the phrases “patient endurance of sufferings” and “It is by faith you stand firm.”  So, God is the God of all comfort AND we’re meant to patiently endure suffering?  Is that right?   I couldn’t take the crying anymore.  I got Luke up from the partial nap and moved on with our day, both of us crabby and teary-eyed. 

So often, my go-to comfort choices do not produce the satisfaction I’m seeking.  They are temporary fixes.  Today, asking God for comfort did not bring comfort as I understand it in my situation (Luke going back to sleep without his pacifier; me stress-free and writing an amazing piece that encourages people everywhere). 

God, what happens when I’m believing you for comfort and I don’t feel comfort?

In parenting Luke through his discomfort, God helped me see a little bit of His perspective as my heavenly Father.  It was tough to hear Luke cry and even have him shove me away when I tried to hold him and calm him down.  I didn’t give him the pacifier though.  I’m allowing Luke to go through this discomfort.  I care so much.  I know the binky is temporary and not for mature little boys.  He needs to transition to life without it, and that transition is painful, but persevering through it (for both of us) will lead to good for him.  There is a good purpose to his suffering.    

I remember a time in my own life when God got me out of a dysfunctional relationship.  Like Luke, I kept asking for what I understood would comfort me.  I wanted the relationship back.  Please!  Now!  Some nights I mourned so deeply, I thought it might actually kill me.  Maybe that sounds dramatic, but I have some dark journal entries to prove it.  God did not comfort me in the way I wanted Him to.  Instead, He brought me through the painful discomfort, eventually into the beautiful marriage relationship I have today.  It surpasses my dreams and I am so grateful.

Instead of the God of ALL comfort, what if we could think of Him as the God of TRUE comfort?  Lasting comfort?  Eternal comfort?

Even the comforting things God brings us on earth are just a shadow of the reality of heaven.  Revelation 21:4 tells us that there will be no more death, mourning, crying, or pain.  God has the power to bring those miracles anytime, but even if He doesn’t, can we hang on with Him?  There is a purpose for our pain and we can trust our good Father.

The last part I want to mention is an important piece of the 2 Corinthians passage.  We already know one of the reasons for our pain:  to comfort others.  A woman in my Bible study prayed with me about my struggle with overeating.  She looked me in the eyes and said, “Man, this is tough.  I’ve certainly had trouble eating when I’m stressed.  Every time I eat, I have to pray, ‘Lord, let this food nourish me so I can do your will.’”  She understood.  God had given her comfort in this area and she passed it on to me. 

What have you come through?  Maybe it was tough for a really, really long time.  What did God give you?  Ask Him to give you someone who needs that brand of comfort. 

It makes me laugh when Luke pats my back as I hold him.  Now, it can just be my reminder of 2 Corinthians chapter 1.  Luke is passing on the comfort he's received.  Praise be to the God of all comfort.  



Photo Credit:  Jessica Witters

I Remember That Weight

Women milled about the church gym, holding Styrofoam cups of hot coffee and catching up with hugs and stories.  Our Bible study was resuming after a two week Christmas break.  Snow on the road made for a slow start.  Ladies trickled in, stomping wet boots as they came through the door.  Instead of getting reacquainted, I was making a new friend.  Just after Christmas, one of the leaders gave birth to her second son.  I cradled little Benjamin and studied his serene features as he slept.   Kelly, our teacher, came up behind me to peer over my shoulder and join in admiring the little one. 

This is what the first month of mama-hood looked like

“Doesn’t he feel so light?  It’s hard to remember our kids being that small!” she said.

I paused for a minute before answering, “This was me one year ago, holding my newborn.  I remember this weight.”

My son is now a hefty 25 pounds, but I remember his 7 ½ pound body.  I remember all the thoughts and feelings and responsibilities that came with caring for a newborn.  Those things weighed far more than any physical pounds.  Those feelings were fresh as I held Benjamin and hugged his sleepy mama.

As time passes, I know it will be harder to remember that season of motherhood.  All the details – diapering, sleepless nights, decisions about feeding, stages of development – will slip further from my current experience.  Maybe I’ll have memories, but the feelings will fade.  So now, while I’m still close, while I’m still just around the corner from those challenges, I want to offer my hand to those who need it. 

Lately, I’m learning that the people around me don’t need my advice.  They need someone to hold their weight for a little while.  To listen, to care, to pray.

Not very long ago, I was thirty-something and single.  I was grateful for my life, but I also had days and nights when I ached with the pain of being alone.  I remember that weight.  May I carry yours for a little while?

Before God brought me some healing, I had years where I couldn’t get out of bed in the morning.  I didn’t want people to ask how I was doing because I’d have to lie or start crying.  I remember that weight.  May I carry yours for a little while?

Five years ago, I had to learn how to eat differently to heal my body.  My favorite meals were suddenly off-limits.  I lost weight just because I didn’t know what was okay and what wasn’t.  I grieved saying goodbye to cheese and not eating at social events.  I remember that weight.  May I carry yours for a little while?

I recently moved to a new city, got married, had a new job for awhile, then had a baby and now stay at home.  It was a lot of transition in a short period of time.  All the changes were exciting, but again, it was a lot.  I remember that weight.  May I carry yours for a little while?

I don’t have all the answers, but I’m not afraid of what you’re holding.  Our stories are different, but I came out on the other side.  I did!  I can still hardly believe it…. because not too long ago, I was carrying that weight.  I’m carrying some other heavy things right now.  Perhaps, you’ve gone through before me.  Maybe you know what this particular weight feels like.  Could you help me too?

Transformation 5: No Sugar

This is the fifth post in a five part collection about my word from God for 2016 – TRANSFORM.

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”  Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me… For when I am weak, then I am strong.  -2 Corinthians 12:9-10

Have you ever watched one of those home renovation shows?  There are tons of them out there:  Fixer Upper, Property Brothers, Flip or Flop, to name a few.  I love those shows.  With Fixer Upper, especially, I always know that the homebuyers are going to choose the absolute worst, rundown, ramshackle house.  The more messed up the house is, the more excited I am to watch because they always transform the house into something amazing.  Shiplap is usually involved (other fans – you know what I’m talking about!). 

My final transformation of 2016 is a lot like a Fixer Upper house – in process.  And, by “in process”, I mean it looks like a wreck.  I titled this No Sugar, but really, God is guiding me to let go of all the things I use to fill or distract myself instead of worshiping Him.  I am currently feeling some highs and lows of demolition.  Walls are coming down, old funky systems that don’t work are being ripped out, and I am uncomfortable. 

Sugar has been a lifelong source of comfort.  I turn to candy when I’m bored, anxious, unsettled, or tired.  I put it in the category of an addiction because the pull is so intense that, until a month ago, I couldn’t imagine making it through a day without having sugar in some form.  I am positive that I can’t control my urge for sugar because I’ve tried countless times and ways for over 15 years.  At the end of 2016, God showed me that He was going to take this addiction out of my life.  Because He’s God and isn’t concerned with my powerlessness, He chose to do this two weeks before Christmas – the pinnacle of sugary holidays!

With God’s help, I’ve been mostly free of sugar for a month and a half.  I call it surfing a wave of grace.  When surfers are riding the wave, they are using muscles to maintain their position, but it isn’t a struggle.  They just have to keep going.  That’s what it felt like.  Someone would offer me a treat and I’d quickly turn it down.  I couldn’t think about it much or get into pity party mode.  I had to just keep going.  There were hard days, especially as my body went through physical symptoms of detoxifying from all the sugar I’d been feeding it up until then.  There were some wipe outs too:  days when I chose to soothe discomfort with a cupcake or some chocolate chips.  But there were awesome moments, when I realized I’d gone several days without even thinking about bingeing.  I was just living, enjoying the wave.

Even in the past month when I was sugar free, I found myself feeling addicted to Pinterest and Youtube for the first time.  I have this pull to fill myself with something – anything – so I don’t have to feel what I don’t want to feel or do what I don’t want to do.  Who cares if I’m off sugar, if I’m still looking for wholeness in something other than God?  Pinterest is just another sugar; a filler. 

Home renovators don’t leave an empty, demolished house.  Something new has to go in.  That’s where I am today:  a place of choosing what replaces the old.  Mentally, I know that God is the only true satisfaction, the only solution to my hurts, the only real joy and purpose in life.  I know it, but I’ve allowed other temptations to dull my palate.  Choosing God in a place where I would normally fill myself with sugar does not feel right in the beginning.  It’s a big shift – a death, even, to doing things my way.  For breakfast, my bowl of oatmeal used to be more like a cookie because of all the brown sugar I used.  When I replaced that with slices of banana, my oatmeal tasted really bland.  Over time, that banana has become so yummy and satisfying.   Through this ongoing transformation, God is intensifying the sweetness of His presence in my life.  He is taking back His rightful place as my go-to when things are tough.  

I look at my ramshackle self and say, “What a mess.”  When the Fixer Upper couple looks at a messed up house, they see exciting potential.  God is the ultimate renovator.  The more run down we are, the more glorious His work.  He has unlimited skill and unlimited resources.  He’s not afraid His vision won’t turn out right in the end.  God is creative and intentional.   “I know exactly what I want to do with this,” He says as He walks through the halls of our heart.   He delights in the work; in showing us what we were made for.   We were made to honor Him.

Transformation 4: No Panic

This is the fourth post in a five part collection about my word from God for 2016 – TRANSFORM.

Last week, I read a Facebook comment from a discussion group I follow.  The woman said she suffered from debilitating anxiety.  I began typing a reply to tell her that I would pray for her.  I started with, “I struggle with anxiety too…”  Then I stopped.  Backspace, backspace, backspace.  That’s no longer accurate.  I started over, “There was a time in my recent past where anxiety dominated my life.  I will be praying for you.”

One of God’s beautiful transformations in the past year was to set me free from panic attacks.  I’m still letting my new reality soak in.  I used to think it was healthy and realistic to accept that panic would always be a part of my life in some way; like an embarrassing, outdated tattoo I’d always try to hide. 

Since I’ve written about my battle with panic attacks before, I’ll just provide a brief background here.  Many people experience panic attacks differently.  I found a definition that says a panic attack is “a sudden feeling of acute and disabling anxiety.”  For me, that meant a worry that would escalate into hyperventilating, heart racing, crying, and severe chest pressure.  I would become gripped with fear and often not be completely certain how it started or what I was upset about.  This could last anywhere from a couple of minutes to fifteen minutes.  The worst part was always not being able to breathe.  It’s a very scary feeling.

These attacks started six years ago and stopped somewhere in mid 2016.  I can’t tell you when exactly they ended, which I actually love.  It’s distant enough that I have no memory of a recent attack.  There was a time in this six year period in which I was having two or three panic attacks in a day.  My healing has been a gradual one.  A big piece was being diagnosed with Celiac disease.  Through panic attacks, my body was trying to tell me it needed help.  The day I found out, my naturopath told me, “If I didn’t know you, but just looked at these blood results, I’d say this is a non-functioning person.”  I’ve been through changes in relationship, medication, counseling, prayer, exercise, and a host of other factors that have contributed to better panic management.  At the start of 2016 I would say my panic was manageable.  Present, but manageable.  I could live with that, but God had another plan.

I believe panic left completely through the question, “What if….?”  “What if?” has always been a one-way street.  The only place it ever took me was to a negative outcome.  What if we get into a car accident?  What if Luke gets really sick?  What if we don’t have enough money for me to be a stay-at-home mom? 

When I first started dating my husband, Jeff, things weren’t going very well at my job.  I was teaching fourth grade and had behavior issues in class that were far beyond my skill set.  It was overwhelming and I wasn’t handling it well at all.  My principal scheduled a meeting with me, but didn’t tell me why.  I remember telling Jeff that the meeting was coming up and I started my list.  “What if he’s going to have me transferred?  What if the parents are pissed and want to sue the school?  What if they’re giving me another student?  I know I’m in some kind of trouble.” 

Jeff replied, “What if it’s really good?”

I didn’t know what to say.  I didn’t know the “What if” street could go another way.

He continued, “Yeah, your principal knows it’s not good right now.  Maybe he wants to help.”

I wasn’t buying it, but sure, we could keep that “what if” on the list with my other ones.  Well, Jeff’s guess was correct.  My principal gave me encouragement and wanted to help if he could.  I was shocked because all my imaginary evidence had prepared me for the opposite.

Earlier this year, my Bible study buddy and I were talking about issues that we kept dealing with in life.  Mine was anxiety, of course.  I was searching for tips more than healing.  She proposed a positive “what if”:  “What if you didn’t have panic attacks anymore?”  Again, it forced me to look the other way on What If Boulevard. 

Shortly after that Bible study time, I was making dinner and Luke did not want to nap.  He would only settle down if I was holding him.  Jeff was coming home any minute and I wanted to have dinner ready for us, but I was struggling to do everything one handed.  When he came in the door, Luke was wailing, the food was burning, and my lungs were tightening.  It seemed like a panic attack was imminent.  At a time when my overriding thought would normally be, “You failed.  You’re a bad mom and a bad wife,” God spoke louder, “What if you didn’t have panic attacks anymore?”   Jeff scooped Luke up, and without explanation, I went into our laundry room and took deep breaths.  In a couple of minutes, my lungs relaxed.  I came out and told Jeff I was feeling overwhelmed.  Could he help me with Luke or dinner?  Everything worked out.  Not perfectly, but without panic.

Months passed, and I continued to walk out similar situations by stepping away, breathing and praying, and then moving on.  Jeff commented that I wasn’t having panic attacks anymore.  I said, “Yeah!  I’m just as surprised as you are!”  He wasn’t surprised; he had been praying this for months.

In Matthew 9:26 Jesus says, “With man, this is impossible, but with God, all things are possible.”  When my “what ifs” were all ending in something negative, I was basing the outcome on my ability (or rather, my inability).  God’s presence in a situation not only makes the outcome positive, but He makes the impossible possible.  It makes me excited to pray for other areas of my life or in the world that seem to be stuck.  When I start to think, ‘It’ll always be this way,’ I’m challenged to get on my knees and say, “God, you can do anything.  What if this situation turned out really good because of You?”