For am I now trying to win the favor of people, or God? Or am I striving to please people? If I were still trying to please people, I would not be a slave of Christ.
Galatians 1:10
Last week my daughter’s Sunday School teacher sent me a quick email. “Is there any chance that you could substitute this upcoming Sunday for Hannajean’s class?”
I haven’t spent that much time with Hannajean’s friends at church and I was excited at the thought of a couple of hours with a bunch of six-year-olds. I began to write the email. Then I paused. My fingers, already stiff from a current RA flare, were making typing difficult. Each click of the keyboard sent a little shock up my wrist.
I realized if I couldn’t write an email without some discomfort, I’d probably need to skip the substituting.
I wrote her teacher and told her I couldn’t do it. I felt badly – but only for a second. I hoped she’d understand, but I knew there was a chance she’d see me as flaky or uninterested.
The last six months with RA have taught me a lot of lessons – some more difficult than others. One of the hardest things I’ve learned is that I can’t do everything that I want to do. Even though I’d love to join choir, reorganize my closets, and substitute at church..I can’t.
If I do much beyond teaching and being available for my family, then I am more likely to get an RA flare.
So I’m learning to say “no”, even when people are unhappy with my decisions. In a way, rheumatoid arthritis helps me clarify what really matters in my life and I focus more on the things Jesus is calling me to do.
He’s calling me to teach my precious students.
He’s calling me to love Hugh and my three rambunctious, laughing children.
He’s calling me to know Him more.
And if I do these things, I’ve done enough.
Today I MUST:
1. Go through my Twitter followers and eliminate all followers trying to sell me things. Like trips to Arizona. What is that about, anyway? I don’t want to go to Arizona. I can’t even find Arizona on a map.
2. Make a plan for more integration of Geography in my History classes. So my students can find all states – including Arizona.
3. Explain to Hugh why it is reallyreallyreally important for me to get a new, cool cell phone. Discuss that I need to be culturally relevant since I teach High School. Point out that my twenty dollar Target cell phone is neither cool nor relevant.
4. Write an email to my crazy Aunt explaining that when she sends me hateful emails and copies other family members that I want to throw things at her head. Possibly my cell phone.
5. Spend some time praying about my anger. Ask Jesus, “Why do I want to throw things at people’s heads?”. Remember to write down answer in cute new prayer journal.
6. Make a cute new prayer journal.
7. Explain to my son that the following statement is NOT acceptable: “You don’t love me because you took away my video games.”
8. Read new diet book from doctor. EW!!!!! Hate diets. Which is part of the problem. Sigh. Ask Hugh if I can take illegal street diet drugs instead of eliminating carbs.
9. Look at pile of papers to be graded. Light them on fire instead of grading them. When students ask if I am going to return their History Papers to them, smile encouragingly and say, “Great paper! It was on fie-ah!”
10. Go to Target and walk around looking at all the new Christmas things. Buy unnecessary toys for my children because I have “took away video game” guilt. Go home.
*The word “fie-ah” is a very cool way of saying “fire”. I understand not everyone has a keen grasp of slang, so I provided a definition.
Preferring anything above Christ is the very essence of sin.
John Piper
I got up very early this morning, happy to be home from our time in the mountains. I usually get up early on Monday, my thoughts full of the upcoming school week.
Does this student understand my notes on his paper? Are my kids ready for the vocab quiz? Who isn’t understanding Hamlet right now?
After I spent some time thinking about school, I started thinking about my own family.
Is Jon-David going to have a good week? Is Hannajean making more friends in her class? Will Lucy and Andrew argue again this week, resulting in more emails and phone calls from the teacher?
As I made my coffee, I thought about my health.
Should I take my shot this morning or wait until I get home from school? Will my rheumatologist give me another injection in my hands at my appointment this week? Is the new prescription causing swelling in my feet?
I thought about Hugh as I settled on the couch with my Bible.
Why did Hugh stay up so late last night watching House? Was he sad about his dad? Should I have stayed up with him, even though I was tired? Why did we argue right before bed? Do I have time to resolve our conflict before school this morning?
Then I opened my Bible. Not surprisingly, I couldn’t focus.
At all.
My job, my children, my health, my marriage…they already filled my heart and my head, leaving no room for quiet morning reflection on my Savior.
This is my daily struggle lately. How do I turn off my brain, my worries, my to-do lists, and simply sit at His feet? Why is it so hard?
I read this morning in my John Piper book that “preferring anything above Christ is the very essence of sin.” I wonder if choosing to prefer to meditate on all the detritus of my life is… sin.
I have a choice when I wake up. I can allow my brain to wander all over the place as I think about the hundreds of details of my small existence. Or I can push back the thoughts and focus on Christ.
I’m desperate for this kind of morning. I am tired of thinking, thinking, thinking about my small life. I want to reflect and sit and wonder at Jesus when I wake up.
So tomorrow I will get up and try again. When thoughts flood my mind, I’ll push them back and whisper…
“Not today. Not yet. This morning I’m going to spend thinking about Jesus.”
Hi!
I just got back from the mountains with Hugh and the kids. It was…amazingly wonderful. I feel rested and close to my family.
There was no internet access/cell phone coverage where we stayed. So we were completely unplugged. Glorious! I am seriously considering chucking all electronics in the trash and only reading Southern Living and the Bible from now on.
I have caught up on school emails (“Miz H?? Can I still turn in my late homework???”….”Hello, Jessica, please explain my child’s grade to me.”)…and I have popped popcorn.
Hugh and I are going to watch House and snug on our bed until we fall asleep.
It was great to leave, great to be home.
I got my new Fisher-Price Holiday catalog in the mail today. This is my favorite time of year. All the companies that have ignored me for twelve months (American Girl, The Wooden Soldier, Pottery Barn, etc..) remember that I probably have some money to spend this holiday season and they send me a catalog.
I sat reading my pile of catalogs tonight while Hugh took the kids out to dinner. It was blissfully quiet in my house and I started flipping through pages of fun toys.
On page 33 of the catalog, I noticed a doll. Her heart lights up to reflect different emotions and “special friends always know what’s in each other’s heart.”
Next to the picture of the doll, there is a key displaying all the emotions she feels – along with the corresponding color.
It explains that:
A Purple Heart =Feeling Giggly
A Yellow Heart = Feeling Happy
A Red Heart = Feeling Dreamy
A Green Heart = Feeling Silly
A Blue Heart = Feeling Sad
A Red Heart = Feeling Friendly
I read the list of the “Heart Colors and Feelings” a couple of times. Each time I read it, I got more and more upset. Every color is a peppy, sweet feeling. The only feeling that is even slightly “unsweet” is sad.
What about all the other feelings that I want my children to express? What about angry? Embarrassed? Worried?
I want a new Key. I want new dolls with new feelings that give my children the message that sometimes they won’t feel dreamy and giggly. That’s okay. ALL their feelings are important, not just the pleasant ones.
If I let my kids know it’s okay with me when they feel upset or vulnerable or nervous, then I think they’ll grow up knowing that their feelings are okay with Christ, too.
I’m going to go chuck the catalog in the trash. It makes me feel…
Not giggly. At all.
I hate parent-teacher conferences.
Hate.
It’s not so bad to be the teacher at the conferences. I sit across from parents and tell them great things about their child. Occasionally I point out one or two areas that need improvement. For example:
1. Effort matters. Their child needs to bring books, paper, and pencils to class every day – ready to learn.
2. It will get better. Even though their child may feel discouraged about their writing/test score/fight with a group of friends…well, it doesn’t stay this way. Writing will improve, tests scores go up, and friendships either repair or new ones are made.
Easy stuff, really.
Being a parent at a conference is a whole different experience.
This week Hugh and I met with our children’s teachers. They are both amazing women and I am extremely grateful for their ability and heart for my kids.
But one of the teachers told us some hard things about our child. Ten minutes into the conference I started crying and could not stop.
As soon as she told us some of her concerns, I wanted to run out the door screaming, get in my car, and drive to a mountain cabin for a few years.
I couldn’t leave because I had fourteen conferences for MY students in a few minutes. I wiped my eyes, hugged the teacher, and clicked into “teacher” mode.
Sometimes I believe I’m really balancing parenting and working. My children have everything they need, I am thriving in a job I love, and our family is doing great.
Other days (like the conference day) make me question everything. Do I need more time at home? Should I work less? How much of my child’s struggles are a result of my work?
I’ve spent the last few days praying through my child’s conference. Jesus has faithfully talked to me and lovingly showed me His direction for this situation.
It’s not a radical “stay-at-home-stop-teaching-start-cooking” plan. But it is about setting boundaries with how much time I spend on school. And it is about some practical steps for this child to become more engaged with people and Jesus.
I am grateful for my conference with my Savior. When I start to lose perspective and want to run away, He meets with me and gives me instructions:
1. Effort matters.
2. It will get better.
Easy stuff, really.
How long shall I take counsel in my soul…? Consider and answer me, O Lord my God.
Psalm 13:2-3
I am tired. I’ve worked non-stop on school for three weeks and I still have more to do. Lesson planning, grading, mid-terms, progress reports, preparing for twenty-five parent-teacher conferences over the next two days…My brain can’t catch up.
I find myself fantasizing about staying at home again. Then I’d write my novel. Or write on my blog more. Maybe be a better mom.
It takes about four seconds for me to remember that I’d rather teach than do anything.
But I’m still tired.
I brought my total exhaustion to Jesus this morning. I sat on my couch, holding a cup of Kona coffee, and closed my eyes.
“Jesus, I don’t know what to do. I can’t get everything done. Can you help me?”
Within five minutes of asking for His help, the Holy Spirit spoke clearly to me about four different things I can change in my week to be less tired and more available to my family.
He helped me. Again. He always does when I stop running around long enough to look up and acknowledge Him.
As I sat holding my coffee I remembered that in Him I live and move and exist (Acts 17:28). When I’m tired. When I’m not. When I”m ready to tackle my life. Or not.
I’m grateful for the practical help I received from Jesus during my prayer time. But I’m more thankful for His Presence.
Eight months ago today, my father-in-law drove ten hours to spend the weekend with us. He told his friends that “I just need to get some hugs from those babies”. David hugged our children, read Curious George to Lucy, and spent hours helping my son finish a school project.
Eight months does not seem possible. It was yesterday that he was here with us, alive. I still miss him.
There is an acceptable grieving time. I talked about my grief for the first month. People understood. They brought us meals. We got cards in the mail. I met friends for coffee to talk about the pain.
That is over. Now I feel awkward and embarrassed to talk about my grief. It’s been too long. I shouldn’t be sad.
But I am sad.
Hugh and I cried for a few hours yesterday. Hugh sat on the couch and his eyes got all red and his shoulders shook. I sat on the floor and touched his cold foot, missing and crying next to him.
The grief still effects our relationship with Hugh’s mom. She’s visiting this weekend and I don’t know how to be around her anymore. She’s messier now. I vacillate between wanting to wrap my arms around her and punch her in the nose.
Eight months. Eight days. Eight seconds ago David was in our living room.
Tonight I’m remembering.
