Sunday Morning Thinkings

Here’s the truth: Sometimes, I have doubts. I question. Sometimes it seems so miraculously impossible.

I want to love Him so totally, but often I fail. What if I get to heaven and He says that I never knew Him?

But then I think: does the fact that I wonder about these things—that I question whether or not I am living fully for him—mean that I AM. If I didn’t wonder, if I never doubted, if I never prayed for Him to help me believe, if I rested totally in myself, well. Maybe that would show that I think that I don’t need a Savior.

But I need one. I need Him. Desperately.

Having been like the lost son in the parable of the prodigal son, I never stopped to think that maybe I just moved from being one lost son to the other. I always took comfort in that parable; that when I came home—even after squandering all that he had given me —He RAN to me. He wrapped me in His robe and killed the fatted calf and celebrated my return. And for me that is where that parable ended. It was a story of God’s extravagant grace; his celebration over sinful, spoiled children who return to him, expecting punishment but getting grace.

But in his book The Prodigal God, Tim Keller unpacks that parable and points out—though it should’ve been obvious–that it’s a story of TWO lost sons. And that it ends unfinished, as Jesus’ intended audience were the pharisees, the religious ones, who were represented by the elder son. The son who resented his father’s lavish welcome on the younger son. Who said, “I have never left you. I followed all of your rules. Where is MY party? Where is MY fatted calf?” And the lingering question is —does the elder son love his father for his father or does he love his father for his STUFF?

And what if now I’ve simply become the elder brother—taking comfort in my religion and “goodness” as enough to procure me a place in heaven? Am I loving God for HIM or am I loving him for his stuff?

One of the greatest tragedies of modern religion, I believe, is that it has somehow turned into a “How Good Can I Be?” competition. Well, I don’t know about you, but I am not good at ALL. Let there be no mistake —and in case I fooled you let me set the record straight—I know my heart, and it is wicked. I struggle with anger, depression, envy and gossip. (To name a few.) You don’t have to be on the Internet long to know that its wheels are greased by whispers and schadenfreude. And oh, how often it tempts me.

The Bible says that when we place our faith in Christ that the Holy Spirit comes to live inside us. That God takes up residence in our mortal flesh. Paul writes in Romans that it is a constant battle between that spirit and the flesh. He writes — why do I NOT do what I want to do and do what I do not want to do?

For we know that the law is spiritual, but I am of the flesh, sold under sin. For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. Now if I do what I do not want, I agree with the law, that it is good. So now it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me. For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out. For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing. Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me. Romans 7:14-20

I want to be a faithful, kind wife. I want to relinquish my futile hold on my life. I want to suffer well. But more often than not I am that quarrelsome, complaining wife that Proverbs warns against. More often that not I try to take control of where my life is headed. More often than I would like, I wonder, “why me?”

I read an AP article this morning about Pastor Matt Chandler and he said he wished he could say that he never questioned “why me?” but that there was a moment where he saw a Christmas card with a picture of husband who is a chronic adulterer and thought “why not that guy?”

One of my favorite local bloggers (who is way more famous than my description of “local” gives her credit) is Jennifer McKinney, who writes My Charming Kids. A few weeks ago, in the space of a day, she announced that she is traveling to Kenya with Compassion Bloggers and that they are expecting their fifth child. Well, I wish I could tell you that my initial reaction was “How awesome for her!” But my initial reaction was envy, something I confessed both to her and to my husband. Why not me? I wondered. Why should God bless one of his children so lavishly and withhold blessing from another?

Why do we do what we don’t want to do and not do what it is that we want to do?

Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord! So then, I myself serve the law of God with my mind, but with my flesh I serve the law of sin. Romans 7: 24-25

So my only hope, my only chance, is to give it all to a savior. I need Him. And I hope that is enough. I pray that is enough. I pray that someday when I see Him that I will be able to fall into His arms; that He won’t turn His face from me and say that though I cried “Lord, Lord,” that I never knew Him (Matthew 7:21-23).

I thought a lot about what I wanted to post here before I went to the hospital for surgery. What I would want to be the last thing I said to you, if it were to the be the Last Thing I ever said; ever wrote; ever shared.

And that was it. And that is all. Jesus Jesus Jesus. Rescue me. Heal me. Help me with my disbelief. Give me a mind and your spirit to do what it is that I want to do; not do what I hate.

2 Weeks Later

Today I am two weeks post-op.

In some ways it feels like the surgery was forever ago, but my still inability to do simple things like pick something up off the ground or sleep on my side, reminds me that it wasn’t really all that long ago.

The first few days post-op are blurry. That first night it took two nurses to help me out of bed, and it was crazy painful. They want you to walk as soon as possible after surgery to help with healing, but it’s ouchy. Last Sunday, my first night home, I had Aaron wake me up during the night in order to take my pain medicine. But by Tuesday, I was off the prescription pain killers.

I had all of these things I wanted to do while I was recuperating: make a scrapbook from our NYC trip last summer; update my online photography portfolio; get all of my photography-related receipts entered in Excel; read books. And I have done approximately 0 percent of the things on my list. I’ve mostly done a lot of tweeting, watching Pixar movies on Netflix instant and relishing in how awesome the Buffy series was.

I’m trying to not focus on that too much, since after all the point of recovering is to recover, not catch up on my to do list, but still.

I feel so incredibly boring. My days are repetitive. The biggest difference is which dog is going to cuddle with me and cause my feet to fall asleep. (Current snugglers: Scout and Montego.)

I’m ready to go back to work. I’m ready to drive (anywhere!). I’m really ready to vacuum. (But I can’t do that for six weeks!)

But recovering is slow. And it’s (super) cold outside. So it’s okay if I watch another episode of Friends first, right?

Choose Well — Wedded Wednesday

The best way to have a good marriage is to pay attention to the character of the person that you married.

The book of Proverbs has a lot to say about this matter, in fact. The spouse you choose can make or break your life.

Proverbs 21 says that it’s better to live on the corner of a roof than with a quarrelsome wife in a lovely home (9) and that it’s also better to live alone in the desert than with a complaining wife (19).

And though it says “wife” (and believe me I take that to heart, because I do not want to be that kind of person), I think it goes either way.

Better to be single—forever even—than to marry the wrong person. Than to marry someone who will make your life harder, not better. Better to live on the roof, Proverbs tells us, than in a mansion with a bad spouse.

And I know that’s easy to say from this side of marraige vows, but I have to tell you that though I am married to a good man, a man with character who is not quarrelsome or a complainer, that marriage is still hard. So why stack the deck against yourself?

I have been coming back to this draft all day, trying to expand on what I’ve written above, but I guess I don’t really have much more to say about it than this: Choose well. Choose carefully. Your life depends on it.

Post-Op

I’m still really sad about the Vikings loss. Is that lame? I almost wish we’d gotten beaten soundly (like the Jets) rather than losing due to stupid errors and fumbles and bad calls. Football … it’ll break your heart!

My mom went back to Ohio today. I miss her already. And not just because she waited on me and cleaned my house and baked banana bread. It’s just nice to be around her, since I’m most often not. It’s hard the first few days, knowing it’ll be some time before we see each other again.

I’ve ventured out a few times this week, mostly for house-building related stuff. Last night we met up with Aaron at a lighting fixture store to pick out every light fixture for the house. It was fun, and we’re almost finished with all of our selections. (Still to go — appliances.) I can start to see the house coming together in my mind, and I am so excited about it. We’ve been living in a little 2/1 since the wedding; we’re not going to know what to do with ourselves with so much room! (Neither will the dogs!)

I am feeling pretty good, though I tire easily. Since I had a blood transfusion, I’m still pretty anemic. (Though I was probably anemic before the surgery.) So I’m hoping another week at home and I’ll be ready for work by next Monday. Hoping hoping hoping.

I always thought I’d like a few days at home where I could watch TV and be online and eat ice cream guilt free, but in reality, it’s boring. I can only watch so many reruns of The Office, and daytime commercials are capital-D Depressing. At least there are a few channels who rerun Buffy the Vampire Slayer, so Giles is getting me through it.

I have to say that for the first time in a longtime, I feel hopeful when it comes to starting our family. I don’t know how it’s going to go or what is ahead, but I’m so glad to be able to dream. I can see us putting together a little nursery in our new house; me rocking  a baby with Eller snoring at my feet.

The fibroids only weighed two pounds (“only”), but I feel at least 10 pounds lighter. Time to look forward.

A Purple & Gold Sunday

It’s a big day. The NFC Championship game. The Vikings are in New Orleans and my Facebook News Feed is a amalgamation of Who Dat and Skol Vikings.

Early in the season, Aaron and I discussed what we would do if the Vikings made it all the way to the Super Bowl. We’d go, of course. We’d figure it out, book a cheap hotel room, find tickets online. (Since we’re season ticket holders, we would be entered in a ticket lottery, but like all lotteries the chances of actually winning=minuscule.) My husband has been waiting his entire life for this (no stretch), so we’d at least try to make it there. (Several weeks ago he shook his head and smiled. I asked him what he was thinking about, and he said, “That fat little 5-year-old kid who watched the Vikings on a tiny black-and-white TV? Well all his dreams are coming true.”)

But life is different for us now than it was in September. I just had surgery and we’re building a house, so no last minute expensive Florida trips are in the works.

One of A’s fraternity buddies is in the Big Easy right now, and I wish we were too. But we already have a trip planned for the Crescent City in May, for a wedding. (And again, I just had surgery.)

I love New Orleans. It’s where my brother was born. It’s a place my parents were in love. It’s a city of music and food and history and personal memories and incredible loss and heartache.

But today I only have one thing to say to the city I have long loved: WE dat.

Pack some swim trunks, Favre. I hear Miami is nice this time of year.

Skol.

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