Gratitude # 11-20

I've been really remiss in updating this blog. I liked blogging because it was a good warm-up for working on my novel, and I really need to kick working on my novel into high gear. I was hoping to have finished it by the end of February... Yah, not so successful on that.
So, without further ado, I present...

Jackson Cole

11. I am grateful for Baby Jack.

12. I am grateful that I'm grateful for Baby Jack, because originally, I was rather dismayed that the next few years would not be proceeding as I had thought they should.

13. I am grateful that Jack was born healthy, weighing in at eleven and a half pounds!

14. I am grateful that the labor was only 2.5 hours and the delivery went pretty much according to plan. (Yay for midwives and birthcenters!)

15. I am grateful that Jack is an easy, smiley baby.

16. I am grateful that his siblings love him enough to fight over getting to spend time with him.

17. I am grateful that he likes to cuddle and be worn in my carriers.

18. I am grateful that he either sleeps or smiles through Mass.

19. I am grateful for baby smiles.

20. I'm grateful for friends with whom to share the things for which I'm grateful.

41 weeks and counting...

Gratitude

I've had three people now suggest that I keep a record of things I'm grateful for, so I'm going to give it a try. I really like this quote from John Milton that I found on Ann Voskamp's Gratitude Community blog page: "Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies, those transcendental moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world." I think that's very true, so here goes...

I am grateful for:

1. Music and its mood-altering properties.
2. Calendars. I really love calendars.
3. English toffee-flavored instant cappuccino.
4. The ability to recheck library materials online.
5. Comfortable clothing.
6. Jewel-toned colors.
7. Hand-held yahtzee.
8. Trash can liners.
9. Lilac-scented air freshener.
10. Eavesdropping on a little boy's conversation with an imaginary friend.

Helping Jesus

Jett loves band-aids. Seriously, the boy got a box of Curious George band-aids for his three year-old birthday in August, because band-aids make him happy.

Yesterday, Jett and I were sitting at the table drinking hot chocolate when he told me, "Jesus loves me, and him have cuts."

I didn't catch the last word, so I said, "Yes, He does love us. He has what? Can you show me?"

He took me out to the play room where we have a picture of Jesus after the Resurrection and pointed to Christ's feet. "Him have cuts. Why?"

I explained to him that when Jesus died for us, He got the "owwies" in His hands and feet.

Jett's eyes lit up. "I want to share my George band-aids with Jesus."


Yesterday, I was having a really hard day. I haven't slept. Josh is sick again. We're having another little boy in February. I'm really not sure how I'm going to handle it all. I have been feeling really inadequate to the tasks set before me.

I've always been a "quiter." When something got hard or uncomfortable, I quit. Piano, violin, choir, colorguard, theatre, Latin--the list goes on... Right now, everything feels too hard and uncomfortable--being a mom, a writer, a Christian--but I can quit. These aren't just things I do; these are things I am.

I was having a panic attack last night. Thomas tried to calm me down, but I kept telling him, "I can't do a good enough job. It's too hard. I don't even want to try anymore."

He basically asked me, "What's a good enough job? You're raising a three year-old who wants to help Jesus, isn't that good enough?"

Jett had the idea of caring for our Lord because he saw Him in need (of George band-aids), and I have hope that as he grows, he will continue to care for "the least of these" in the name of Jesus.

We are the body of Christ. We have our purpose by being His hands or feet or whatever. We don't have to be good enough, or strong enough, or talented enough for whatever task He sets us to, because it is God who is fully capable of accomplishing the task. How cool is it that He wants to use us--broken, inadequate us--to help Him?

Suffering

This morning, a dear friend on her blog posted the question of what would you want God to let you know today. Several questions that sounded alot like accusations flashed through my brain. "Why" was not a good word for me to start my question with today. When I pushed through the shell of stupid indignation to the brokenness encased within me, the real questions floated up pretty easily.
"God, is my suffering for my own sake, or is it doing any good for anyone else?"
My thought was that if I suffered for my own sake, God could just keep it. I know "comfortable" is not exactly what I should be striving for, but it looks pretty good at the moment.
Immediately on the heels of that thought came the answer, to both questions, "Of course not." God's not using my suffering for my or anyone else's benefit at the moment, because I'm not letting him. I'm hoarding it, enshrouded in it, closed off.
I'm not using it as an opportunity to draw closer to God, to rely on His strength, to lean not on my own understanding, to grow, trust, have faith, learn, surrender, obey...
I believe that as the Body of Christ, we're all in this together--that I have a responsibility to let God use me to touch the lives of others with His love and care. I'm not doing so hot on that lately. I can see where I should be--even how to get there--but I won't open the little crack that will allow God to flood me with the grace I need.
Dumb, huh? It seems like it would be so easy. I float in my bubble of despair with God lapping against the walls I have erected. If I look out, I can see the eddies of His entreaties swirling against my barriers: this friend's overture, that scripture floating up unbidden, for goodness sake, my book is about this very problem, and it calls to me to release it from my mind and let it go out into the world for the sake of others.
Why in the world don't I want to?
I feel compelled to end this with some ray of hope. Hmmm. Well, at least I've written about it now. Maybe that's a step in the right direction?

When One Door Closes...

Well, that which I most dreaded has come to pass. I'll get over it, but sometimes I wish God wasn't so generous in granting me opportunities to have to rely totally on Him since there is no way I could handle something on my own. I plan, and God laughs. :-p I'm considering getting Romans 12:1 tattooed somewhere I can read it often. More to come on this subject later.

In the good news category: Mindflights has accepted my short story "Insanity Purple" for publication. It should be published sometime in the next 18 months... My acceptance to submission ratio has jumped from 0/1 to 1/2. I'm pretty happy with that.

I started a bellydance class at the community center with my sister tonight. It was fun. I'm going to be sore--forget that, I'm already sore--but exercise is good.

It was a bad weekend, but the week is starting to look better...

Sigh.

There’s a self-destructive tendency that lurks beneath my pain.
It whispers that it’s futile to seek shelter from the rain,
To plug the holes my hope leaks out as I spiral toward the drain.
To strive to leave the lowest places where life has left me lain.

Why, oh Lord, this wall that I must push through just to pray?
Why, oh Lord, this rain when I so need a sunny day?
Why, my Lord, if I follow you and try to do just as you say,
Why does this path You lead me on seem to be the hardest way?

What’s that? A voice? Within my heart, reaching through my vale of tears?
“My child, my own, I am here. Let my hold you through your fears.”
A tiny bit of fog lifts, drifts away and clears.
Yet the questions still remain even as the Answer nears.

I know if I let go, I’ll land
Safe within the Father’s hands
But I withhold myself with ransom demands,
I beg compliance with my manmade plans.

Those who love me, pray for me, for I find myself so weak.
I’ll not capsize, but go down slow--a hole, a wound, a leak.
If you know the words to aid surrender, please, I beg you speak.
Sometimes it’s tough to be brave enough to go forward being meek.