Friday's Coming Soon

I live in loud, crazy, hyperactive, controlled chaos.  Summer is a mad celebration of creativity and growth in this house.  It feels a little like a roller coaster these days.  One minute I laugh with joy, The next, I scream at inanimate objects that do not cooperate with my frazzled cries.

I LOVE roller coasters.  I LOVE getting to spend all this time with the little Wilks'es.  Really, I do.  But sometimes, I need a break.  So, Friday is coming.  My sweet husband has planned a mega-date to celebrate my new writing endeavors, and to give us a chance to step off the roller coaster for a while.  My amazing parents are taking four kiddos Friday afternoon for overnight fun. I am  more than just a little excited.

For roughly 24 hours:

 1.  I will me able to use the bathroom, and even shower without causing anyone tears or calamity.
2.  My food will be warm when  I eat it. It will not resemble a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, or a hot dog.
3.  Literary discussions will not include Captain Underpants or My Little Pony.
4.  I will not referee a single fight.
5.  I will not clean a single mess, or wash a single dish.
6.  Laundry will wait.
7.  I will not hear, "Mom, I have a booger, Wanna pick it?"
8. None of my time will be spent dealing with anyone else's potty mess.
9.  At no point will we listen to any music played on Wow-Wow-Wubzy or the Wiggles.
10. I will not hunt for a sippy or shoes.
11. Nothing other than ice will come out the my ice maker.
12. I will wake up by my own power, not by yelling children, or crashing vacuums.

And when I return on Saturday to the joyous ride, I will be a little more refreshed and a little less frazzled.  My hair might actually in place. I will take one look into four curious pairs of deep blue eyes and realize that I have missed every single second of it.

I will be ready to go again.  But right now, I need to get away. I need time to breathe, to think, to recharge, to re-focus.  I need to remember what to celebrate.  I have been busy trying to raise good kids.  I don't want to lose sight of all the good God has already put there.

Maybe that is why Jesus is always stealing moments alone to pray.  Everyone always needs something more.  Someone forever misses the point.  People press in at every turn.  It must have been hard, in the midst of the roller coaster of everything of  to remember why He came.  What did He want to celebrate and bring out in us, His children? What parts will not be missed as they are left behind?

One day, He will return.  All will be made right, and He will be ready to start again.  And he will look deep into our eyes, and we will realize: We have lived, for every single second, of this.

All I need...

 On a recent trip to Walmart, I walked the aisles in a stunned, bewildered trance. Actually, this has happened before. This time though, it wasn't from pregnancy or post-par-tum exhaustion. I could not blame the haze of seminary finals. The shoppers remained relatively tame (even the ones riding in my cart), so I can't even say I suffered there either. No, this time, as I walked through the crowded shelves, looking for Roll-backs on necessary items, I began to make a mental list of all the things that promised to make me better...  Lots of products claim to make me better, or more than my everyday self.

Diapers and wipes that would make me a gentler mom.

Cleaners that would make me a better housekeeper.

Shampoo that promise to volumize my hair. (Volumize? What does that mean, exactly... Can your hair go up to 11?)

Food that would make me more energized.

Lotions that would make me more youthful.

Everywhere I looked things assured me that I needed them to make me more.... skinny, strong, beautiful, fun, alert, smart, resourceful... Fill in the blank. Everyday, we are bombarded with the question, “Are we ____________ enough to face this life?”

In fact, Time magazine, garnered a firestorm of controversy when it cut straight to the chase and came out with the cover story, “Are you mom ENOUGH?” Add some provocative photos just for good measure; sit back and watch the arguments unfold. The question hits a nerve because it's one we all wrestle with. Mom...dad...man... woman...professional, whatever... We all wonder are we ENOUGH?

The questions we wonder about in Walmart don't disappear within the walls of the church.

Back my college days, I ran with a group of ladies known as the WOW group. We, the Women of the Word, met oh-so-very-often for Bible Study, accountability, prayer, and service. That “Proverbs 31 Women” was our ideal, and in some sense, our goal. I remember thinking loudly, but only to myself, in that place of deep insecurity that I swore never to admit to another human soul: “I do not think I will ever live up to all that.” That picture of the ever elusive Woman of valor, and charity and ultimate virtue became a tool that mocked and taunted me. Even the scriptures that I cherish seemed to whisper “not enough”.

Is there a spiritual wonder supplement I can take for that; maybe something meant to maximize my spiritual potential? Oh, how I wanted, and needed, to be ENOUGH to pursue the things God was placing in my heart those days, and even today. I am not. Yes, you read that right. I am not enough.

When bad news hits like a freight train derailed at top speed, I am not enough. When depression sits around my heart like a stubborn thick fog, I am not enough. When the children are behaving like crazed maniacs and the hope of true adult conversation around a meal that does not involve frozen fish sticks looms to distant to be considered a reality, I am not enough. When things are going really well, and the house is full of laughter and praises, I am still not enough. Weather or not anyone sees everything that I do, I am not enough. When things are going as perfectly as they can this side of heaven, I am not enough. And when life is hard, no matter how much I try, I am not enough.

Because it is His grace that is sufficient. It is His grace that is enough. His power is made perfect in my weakness. The power of the One who created the universe is made perfect when I can say to Him: “I will never be enough without You. I cannot and will not do this without You. I am created to need You. You are my portion and You are ENOUGH.”

That is a foreign cry in this Do-it-Yourself loving, self-improvement soaked, John Wayne echoing American culture. All we want is a plan, and the fortitude to pull ourselves up. We want to use that sharpie check everything off the list. Neat. Clean. Tidy. Self-Reliant. And a little more empty than we would like to admit.

I have revisited that Proverbs 31 woman that we studied for so long years ago. Her reflection has changed a bit over the years. She still stands, as inspiring veracious as ever before. But I no longer read her tribute as a check-list. Instead, I hear it as intended: a poem or a song celebrating what God can do for those who set every aspect of their life and heart before His Light. Eschet Chayil (the Woman of Valor) didn't get there on her own. She got there being brave enough to utter that dissonant cry of relationship, and reliance of God.

See, there is another character in the Biblical story to who gets the Eschet Chayil title. We see it again in Ruth. Ruth, however, exemplifies the polar opposite of the life we see in Proverbs. All the details are different. Ruth is a childless widow, dirt poor, and from the “wrong kind” of family. Yet she shares the title with the woman who is an uber- sucessful domestic homemaker/businesswomen who has every duck in a row, every t crossed, and everything all together.

Proverbs 31:25 says she could “laugh at the days to come” (love that...) She does not laugh because she trusts in story book endings, even if she got them. She does not laugh because she has it all together. She laughs because she knows the Lord has never failed anyone's cry of desperate reliance. She laughs because she knows the Lord is always enough.  

Easter and Happy Endings

I love Easter.  I love the whole reflective Lenten season that anticipates  the big celebration.  I love sunny spring weather.  I love the songs.  I love the prettiness. I love the chocolate.  I love the Story, the redemption, the happiness of it all. (We have already established I have a huge thing for happy endings, right? )    And I was particularly psyched for the past weekend's festivities. I was ready.

The past few months have been fast and furious.   Life abounds; full of craziness, going and going,We have been brimming with  everyday trials.  I was looking forward to the feast of hope.  I needed to see the paramount of happy endings again.

 I had awesome Children's Church and Sunday School planned.  Easter sermon was ready. Family dinner was set. I made John's favorite dessert, sugar free no less.  I had a gazillian eggs (of three varieties) hand stuffed and hand decorated.  We even managed to find a little extra in the budget and bought the boys new church clothes  Every detail seemed set.   Easter was coming soon, and I was ready.

And then, John lost his sermon notes. Okay, no biggie.  ADHD a busy house with four curious kids.  It happens. Simple rewrite... better sermon.  God is Good.  Then Ian found the egg stash.  He  decimated it--pre-hunt. So, I put them back together after the kids went to bed. I can put up with  hand cramps induced by the repetitive motion of opening and closing those little plastic eggs, as long as the celebration in salvaged.  God is good.

 And then, came the retching.  Sickness ran rampant through the house.  No one wanted to move.  Traffic backed up for the bathrooms. Children cried.  Parents grouched. Children grouched.  Parents cried.  At first, I didn't want to believe it.   This would all just have to go away by morning.  God is good! And, Easter  was coming! (Now just a few short hours away.)  What would become of the celebration?  I needed a happy ending...this was not going according to plan.

It was technically very early Easter morning now.  I began to try and piece a sermon together since every time John stood up he had a bout a fifteen second window before he became violently nauseous.  Normally,  does not make for great public speaking.  Only, I wasn't feeling much better.  It was too late to call for other reinforcements.   What would become of the celebration?

I forced myself out of bed. I called some awesome volunteers to cover the holes in Sunday School and Children's Church.   And somehow, my big happy celebration had been traded for a very puny sick day.

I opened the oven door to discover the resurrection cookies I made for the kids  somehow morphed piles of  marshmallow goop. UGH.   Yep. That's about right.  I  opened the fridge and found magenta liquid oozing everywhere.  The cobbler pan has tipped and caused a river flowing to a sea of sugar free cobbler filling  at the bottom of the refrigerator.

Easter morning, I sat cleaning puke, snot, diapers and cobbler goo, while feeling only half alive.  I had to pause and collapse onto the couch every few minutes when I felt like passing out.  Easter morning, instead of feasting on resurrection cookies, we were tossing our cookies.  Easter morning,  instead of reveling in worship with our church family, I was surrounded by grumpy, sick kids, and a depressed, green husband. I was sick and disappointed. And they were just as sick and disappointed as me.

It was Easter morning. We didn't feel like singing.  We didn't see the filled pews. I didn't get to teach the Story like I had planned.  The festive food was disastrous; no one even felt like eating anyway.  ( Not even the chocolate!) Torrential rain squelched what ever glimmer of hope I had for huge miraculous recovery and celebration.  How could I celebrate the resurrection like this?  Where was my happy ending?

 But it was still Easter.  Somewhat like the ladies at the tomb, we were expecting one thing, and got something completely different.  We expected shiny, happy, vibrant, yummy Easter.  We got gray, weak, bland and puke-y Easter.  Mary came expecting to grieve and mourn Jesus.  She expected death and maybe a chance for closure.  She had prepared, as best she could, to go to the tomb and finish the job of burial.    Imagine her surprise when instead she got to begin the job of spreading the good news of life and resurrection.

For better, or for worse, Easter still comes.  The tomb is still empty, even if the Resurrection cookies are not.  Jesus rose from the dead, even if I doubt if I can rise from the couch.  God wants good things for us, even if, at the moment, we are knee deep in foul putrescence and disappointment.  He is the Redeemer, and it is His story.  He moves far beyond what we can ask, or imagine; far greater than we could ever expect--no matter how or where we worship him.

I wanted my shiny, happy, pretty, Easter.  It did not come.  But Easter, true Easter still did. In Easter, we have ability to look at brokenness of this life and realize their is hope because of His ultimate wholeness. Not only does Easter still come, it stays with us.  Because He stays with us.  He is present with us in all of the grey, gloomy lonely says as much as he is in the bright, happy perfect days.  In Easter, we have the Grace to speak sermons from germy sick beds, and have an indoor egg crawl.  In the midst of weakness, we  prove that He is strong, that He is Risen.  With cobbler and pork roast, or with saltines and Sprite we say: He is good and He sustains us.  No circumstance can change that.   And that is a happy ending I can celebrate.

Hunger Games, Hungry Souls

True confessions.  I am completely sucked into the Hunger Games books. John tried to talk to me about something the other day; he gave up and came back later.  I never even heard him the first time.  I was in the trees with Rue and the mocking jays.  The story engulfs me every time I turn on the kindle.  I have to know what happens to these characters.  At the same time, every time I turn the page something utterly dark, heartbreaking, and disturbing is transpiring.  Through excellently crafted; told in a way that rivets my imagination.   It is shockingly dis-topian .  I am still in the middle of the trilogy.   If I want a fairy tale ending, the odds are not in my favor. (See what I did there?)

I like fairy tales.  I like them a lot. I am an idealist.  I have a near unhealthy attachment to happy endings.   I like to think of how things should be.   Good should always win.  Laughter and love should always triumph. If I were running things, everything would always be happily ever after. It is odd that I am drawn to this story of pain, injustice, futility and want.   I construct happy endings and pretty pictures in my life, in my head and in my surroundings.  Why do I repeatedly turn and re-enter this arena of depravity?

In part, I am a sucker for excellent story-telling, which this book has in spades.Suzanne Collins has talent.  Mostly, though, I wait for something that points toward redemption.  I need  something that makes all the suffering worth while.  I can't stop because, to me the story does not make sense with out that.

It seems as though this  need to seek the happy ending stands hard-wired into my soul.  I suspect that I share that trait with a few billion others on the planet was well.  In my fairy tale universe:  Ultimately powerful, never-ending,  utterly good God = unlimited supply of happy endings. Isn't God in the business of looking out for His people, rewarding them with all sorts of happy-endings in a world that so badly needs them?

Yes. and No.

Listen to my friend Matt Chandler explain:

John the Baptist followed God, and got beheaded because of a stripper.  Mary followed God and watched her son die a gruesome death on the cross.  Noah followed God and was ridiculed and stuck in tight quarters with animal poo. Disciples were martyred. Paul was imprisoned.  Church fathers were persecuted.   Most often things work out well for us.  Sometimes though, the odds are not in our favor.  

 When we are turned down for the job, again.  When we do our best to make things right, and fall woefully short.  When the healing doesn't come.  When the death does come.  When things just don't seem to be working out for us, one redemption story stands as ENOUGH.  

The resurrection of Jesus is the beginning of the redemption we hunger for. The good news of the Gospel is that it will always be enough to feed our starving souls.  

celebration

He doesn't say much.  In fact, his only completely intelligible  word is "no".  When I first met him, that is all I would hear.  Often.  Emphatic.  Painfully loud.  NO!.  The tantrums that would follow could literally shake walls, break blood vessels and stop traffic.  He always made his point.   It might involve laying on the floor and throwing himself around with a force greater than that of three (large) grown men.  It would absolutely involve screaming unmatched by any wild animal on record.  Anything to make his point.   Sometimes he made it for hours, just to be sure we were clear on the matter.

Honestly,  I can't blame him.  He lives a tough life.   Things didn't make sense.   Here he sat:  Ten years old in a completely new place.  Very little family.  Zero friends.  School had not mattered up to this point.  Talents? Unexplored.  Walking, and thinking are challenging.  Talking and writing-- next to impossible.   While he has little IQ, he has plenty of fear.  Who among us would not want to scream, "NO!"in his shoes?   We are taught when those outbursts  are and are not appropriate.  In the best of situations, we are given alternate ways to express ourselves.  At ten years old,  he had never been offered such dignity.

What could he celebrate?

 The day after I met him, people I work with began to talk.  I heard things like:  When will she quit? When will she be moved to a portable building?  What medication was I in favor of using?  (for him and for me)  How long before they kick him out of here?   How long will it take for you to "fix" him?

What could I celebrate?

In the beginning,  I  celebrated the ready availability of of prayer and ibuprofen.  I also reveled in the ability to close the door to critical eyes and unfair judgments. 

Along with the questions came the suggestions.  Suggested courses of action.  Suggested other schools.  Suggested medication (still for me and for him).  Suggested behavior plans or punishments meant to irradiate undesirable behavior.  No one suggested what I actually did.  In the midst of prayer and ibuprofen,   I celebrated him.

I stood in amazed at his lung capacity.  I wondered about his ability to stick to something.  I sat with him and began to notice more and more  to celebrate.   He was a hurting an confused boy, not a problem to be solved. He was crossing my path.  He was communicating the only way he know how, not trying to be hurtful or disruptive.  He was reaching out to me.

He was created in the image of God.  Creative.  Persistent.  Determined.  Enthusiastic. 

Weeks have passed.  He still doesn't say much.  Life still doesn't make sense .Still very little family.  Still very few friends.  Walking and thinking are still challenging.  But, my friend has leaned something.  He can celebrate.  Instead of being greeted the with violent defiance,  I get a kiss on the hand, and a  1000 watt smile.  Instead of three hour fits of rage, I see unbelievable kindness, and effort. His chocolate brown eyes sparkle with delight.  He throws his arm up in a glorious way, and the grunt that accompanies is soulful with the perfect touch of glee.  The boy can PARTY.  He can bark with "Who Let the Dogs Out?" .  And there is dancing.... sweet dancing.   He can count to three.  You and I may take that for granted.  Oh, no.  Every time (after every number) we erupt in momentous sidesplitting laughter.  One.        Two.        Three.

Don't miss your chance to celebrate.  In celebrating we find the parts of our humanity that reflect the image of God.  In celebrating, we soak in the grace that we were created to enjoy.