Ups and downs. Good days and bad days. They're all a part of life. But if I focus constantly on the bad moments, I forget to live and enjoy the beautiful moments.
Wednesday was probably the hardest day I've had since July. That's why I blogged, but it didn't help quite as much as I thought. I lost control more than once and couldn't stop crying. Usually I cry, feel better, and move on. But not Wednesday. I couldn't stop thinking about Dad or hearing his voice. I wanted to feel better and move on, but it was just one of those days.
Thursday, I was on top of the world. It was just a great day! And Friday was even better because it was Jonathan's 6th birthday. As a special treat and a new first, I took Jonathan golfing, one of Dad's favorite hobbies. We had a blast (except when I got conked in the head with his club)! We talked and played and remembered. I asked him what the best day of his life was. His answer: Caleb's birthday party (a friend from church). I asked him what the worst day of his life was. He replied: If I got beat up. Crazy funny and amazing memories!
Through days like this, God is teaching me to learn from the and days and enjoy the good days. Besides, we wouldn't know what good days were if we never had a few bad ones.
October 28, 2013
October 23, 2013
Battling for Control
A while back, I had to read a book called "Confessions" by Saint Augustine. And I feel the need to do that in this blog post. Not so much for anyone else's benefit, but because I need to sort through all I have felt and experienced lately, and writing is how I do that.
So, I somewhat begrudgingly must admit that I am a control freak. I mentioned in my last post how when I saw my dad lying there and and there wasn't a single I could do, I realized how out of control life really is. Well, I'm still struggling with that. I know, because I lost control the other night and I freaked out a bit. It was the youth 5th quarter at our church and the theme was blacklight dodgeball. Let that sink in a minute. Blacklight dodgeball, as in dodgeball, in the dark, with some glowing shirts and shoes here and there. I was having a blast, locating the ball, dodging, and blocking. We were on the third or fourth game, I believe. I never saw it coming until BAM! A bullet of a ball to the face. I dropped to my knees and sat there. Just sat there. My nose began bleeding, and still I was stunned. Some friends came to my rescue and almost literally dragged me into the kitchen. I am now both ashamed and greatly amused by my reaction.
In the days following, I mused over my ridiculous reaction. How could I lose it like that? I began to realize how strong my desire for control truly was. Then one night, I read Job 11:7-9. It says, "Can you fathom the mysteries of God? Can you probe the limits of the Almighty? They are higher than the heavens- what can you do? They are deeper than the depths of the grave-what can you know? Their measure is longer than the earth and wider than the sea." Wake up call! I am once again reminded that I do not have to be in control. The Gods who knows everything- more than I could possibly comprehend- is in complete control. Why must I keep fighting?
This should end on a happy little note. I learned my lesson and I move on. WRONG.
Fast forward to last night, when I expressed to my mom my constant state of fear from lack of control. Every time she leaves the house, I'm afraid she may not make it back. Every time I tell someone goodbye, the thought that it may be my last goodbye to them haunts me. I am very afraid. But I long to be strong! I long to have the kind of faith that moves mountains! I mean, I survived the death of my dad, life should be a breeze from here on out. But it isn't. It's a constant battle. And I want to win standing on my own two feet.
So, I went to bed last night, and Psalm 91 comes back into my mind. "He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High God, will rest in the Shadow of the Almighty. I will say to myself "The LORD is my refuge and my shelter, My God in whom I trust."" I thought that dwelling in God was just for the hard, painful times. But nowhere in that verse is that implied. God reminded me, and has reminded me constantly since last night, that I am supposed to dwell in him all the time. I don't have to fight to live. I don't have to fight for control. I can rest in God's arms. I can dwell in his safety.
Since that realization, life hasn't been a breeze. It hasn't been all smiles. It has been a continual battle. A battle to totally depend on God and not myself. This very afternoon, I was on the brink of utter despair. I go to God's word and Pslam 20:6-7 speaks to my aching heart, "Now I know that the LORD saves his anointed; he answers him from his holy heaven with the saving power of his right hand. Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the LORD our God." (emphasis added)
Wholehearted trust and dependance don't come easily for me. But I am tired of being afraid and tired of trying to be strong on my own. I have a God who will set me free, if only I will let him. It may seem like a risk, it may seem tiring. But God has it ALL under control.
So, I somewhat begrudgingly must admit that I am a control freak. I mentioned in my last post how when I saw my dad lying there and and there wasn't a single I could do, I realized how out of control life really is. Well, I'm still struggling with that. I know, because I lost control the other night and I freaked out a bit. It was the youth 5th quarter at our church and the theme was blacklight dodgeball. Let that sink in a minute. Blacklight dodgeball, as in dodgeball, in the dark, with some glowing shirts and shoes here and there. I was having a blast, locating the ball, dodging, and blocking. We were on the third or fourth game, I believe. I never saw it coming until BAM! A bullet of a ball to the face. I dropped to my knees and sat there. Just sat there. My nose began bleeding, and still I was stunned. Some friends came to my rescue and almost literally dragged me into the kitchen. I am now both ashamed and greatly amused by my reaction.
In the days following, I mused over my ridiculous reaction. How could I lose it like that? I began to realize how strong my desire for control truly was. Then one night, I read Job 11:7-9. It says, "Can you fathom the mysteries of God? Can you probe the limits of the Almighty? They are higher than the heavens- what can you do? They are deeper than the depths of the grave-what can you know? Their measure is longer than the earth and wider than the sea." Wake up call! I am once again reminded that I do not have to be in control. The Gods who knows everything- more than I could possibly comprehend- is in complete control. Why must I keep fighting?
This should end on a happy little note. I learned my lesson and I move on. WRONG.
Fast forward to last night, when I expressed to my mom my constant state of fear from lack of control. Every time she leaves the house, I'm afraid she may not make it back. Every time I tell someone goodbye, the thought that it may be my last goodbye to them haunts me. I am very afraid. But I long to be strong! I long to have the kind of faith that moves mountains! I mean, I survived the death of my dad, life should be a breeze from here on out. But it isn't. It's a constant battle. And I want to win standing on my own two feet.
So, I went to bed last night, and Psalm 91 comes back into my mind. "He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High God, will rest in the Shadow of the Almighty. I will say to myself "The LORD is my refuge and my shelter, My God in whom I trust."" I thought that dwelling in God was just for the hard, painful times. But nowhere in that verse is that implied. God reminded me, and has reminded me constantly since last night, that I am supposed to dwell in him all the time. I don't have to fight to live. I don't have to fight for control. I can rest in God's arms. I can dwell in his safety.
Since that realization, life hasn't been a breeze. It hasn't been all smiles. It has been a continual battle. A battle to totally depend on God and not myself. This very afternoon, I was on the brink of utter despair. I go to God's word and Pslam 20:6-7 speaks to my aching heart, "Now I know that the LORD saves his anointed; he answers him from his holy heaven with the saving power of his right hand. Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the LORD our God." (emphasis added)
Wholehearted trust and dependance don't come easily for me. But I am tired of being afraid and tired of trying to be strong on my own. I have a God who will set me free, if only I will let him. It may seem like a risk, it may seem tiring. But God has it ALL under control.
October 13, 2013
Perfect Loves Drives Out Fear
Ever since the night I saw my Dad on the ground, I have slowly let fear enter my life. The scariest part for me that night wasn't when I found out he was gone, it was when he was lying there and I had no idea what was going on. I am afraid of the unknown. I am afraid of what I cannot control. And that night, I realized out uncontrollable life really is.
Tuesday night was hard. It had been a great day and a fun evening, but when I got into bed and turned out the lights, fear paralyzed me. I heard noises that made me jump and creaks across the wooden floors that terrified me. I got up, left my room, and balled up on the living room coach. The tears were flowing and I didn't try to stop them. I opened my Bible to none other than Romans. I began Romans chapter 1 and got to verse 9. It reads, "God whom I serve with my whole heart..." I had it underlined because I thought I meant it. I thought I could serve God with my whole heart. But could I serve Him willing to give up the people that made up a large part of my life and who were in my heart? My life was scarred when Dad died because it felt like a chunk of my heart had been ripped out with his death. If God would take my dad, what else would He take? And more than that, could I trust Him again? Multiple times in the Bible, Jesus says, "Fear not..." 1 John 4:18 says, "There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love." I believe that love and trust go hand in hand, and fear is their opposite. That night, as I crawled into my Mom's arms, pieces of that verse played over in my mind. Yes, I loved God. Yes, I wanted to trust Him again. Even if it means that I lose everything I love. Why? Why trust the one who took my Dad early? Why trust the one who let my heart be scarred? Because He is the same one who was willing to lose it all for my sake. He is the same one who wept over the death of a friend, the same one who prayed for God to let Him be spared from the cross yet said, "Not my will but yours be done." Jesus has offered to take my pain and fears and scars and wash my heart clean.
If "perfect love drives out fear," I want to seek to love my Savior more so fear controls my nights less.
Tuesday night was hard. It had been a great day and a fun evening, but when I got into bed and turned out the lights, fear paralyzed me. I heard noises that made me jump and creaks across the wooden floors that terrified me. I got up, left my room, and balled up on the living room coach. The tears were flowing and I didn't try to stop them. I opened my Bible to none other than Romans. I began Romans chapter 1 and got to verse 9. It reads, "God whom I serve with my whole heart..." I had it underlined because I thought I meant it. I thought I could serve God with my whole heart. But could I serve Him willing to give up the people that made up a large part of my life and who were in my heart? My life was scarred when Dad died because it felt like a chunk of my heart had been ripped out with his death. If God would take my dad, what else would He take? And more than that, could I trust Him again? Multiple times in the Bible, Jesus says, "Fear not..." 1 John 4:18 says, "There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love." I believe that love and trust go hand in hand, and fear is their opposite. That night, as I crawled into my Mom's arms, pieces of that verse played over in my mind. Yes, I loved God. Yes, I wanted to trust Him again. Even if it means that I lose everything I love. Why? Why trust the one who took my Dad early? Why trust the one who let my heart be scarred? Because He is the same one who was willing to lose it all for my sake. He is the same one who wept over the death of a friend, the same one who prayed for God to let Him be spared from the cross yet said, "Not my will but yours be done." Jesus has offered to take my pain and fears and scars and wash my heart clean.
If "perfect love drives out fear," I want to seek to love my Savior more so fear controls my nights less.
October 06, 2013
Confession and Forgiveness
For the past week, multiple people have approached me and encouraged me concerning this blog. They have told me to keep writing, and I wanted to, but I felt I had exhausted so many subjects. What could I write about that other people would want to read?
So, I've decided to be completely honest. To write about my family, my friends, my new life. Not so much for others to benefit, but to help me remember and understand. Because writing helps me see clearly.
Jonathan has decided to play Upward basketball again this year, and for me, that's a little scary. You see, Dad played more than softball, he also golfed and was fantastic at basketball because he was fast. Although teaching and coaching are my passion, I'm new at it. Dad was supposed to teach Jonathan to play. He was supposed to help him get over whining and get better. Pity party alert.
So Jonathan and I headed outside to do some dribbling drills. He did the first one perfectly because it required quick hands. The second one, I asked him to dribble a figure eight in and around his legs. "I can't do it!" He whined. "I'm hor-wible at this." I smile at him and tell him he has to practice to get better. "Humph" was his reply. So, we move on to a shooting game called "Around the World" where he had to shoot at different places. And if he missed, he had to go back. Well, he missed. "This is no fair! You're cheating!" I roll my eyes, losing patience. We continue with practice which consists of him complaining and me being less than encouraging. The fact that I would laugh and tell him to get up when he yelled over a "broken ankle" and a "hurt finger" didn't help the matter.
Finally, I lost it. "I don't have to be out here helping you, but I am. So quite whining! Toughen up!" I stormed inside. A mini sop-opera had ensued.
I peaked outside a while later to find Jonathan against the fence crying. I toke a deep breath and went to talk to him. I ask him why he is crying, but he doesn't know. I do. It's the same reason I used to cry in sports (and occasionally still do). He wants to be perfect, is hurt, and misses the real coach. I break. I tell him I'm not Daddy, but I'm trying. I want to help him get better, but he has to want to get better. I ask him what he thinks. In true drama form, he responds, "I need to think about it a while."
I head to the backyard and try and figure out how Dad would handle this. How would God want me to handle this? Patience. Encouragement. Love.
Then it hits me. I realize how blessed I truly am. What if Jonathan hadn't been born? I'd have no peach fuzz to teach basketball too, something Dad and I loved to do together. I can't be Dad, but doing things we loved to do keeps the memories alive. And what about Julia and her love for softball? I get to help her practice and get better, but that's a privilege, a blessing. God didn't have to give me two siblings with a love for sports, but He did. I don't have to practice alone. I don't have to fight to remember special moments with Dad. They flood back to me in sports. I add that to my list of one thousand gifts.
I find Jonathan where I left him, his face splotchy from crying. I sit next to him and we talk. We compromise. I promise to be encouraging and patient, if he agrees to give me a %110 and fight through the pain. And just like that, practice resumes. When he gets down, I fight to lift him up. When he cries in pain, I help him push through it with him laughing.
I am so blessed.
256. Solved argument
257. The joy of when Jonathan makes a basket
258. Tears of confession
So, I've decided to be completely honest. To write about my family, my friends, my new life. Not so much for others to benefit, but to help me remember and understand. Because writing helps me see clearly.
Jonathan has decided to play Upward basketball again this year, and for me, that's a little scary. You see, Dad played more than softball, he also golfed and was fantastic at basketball because he was fast. Although teaching and coaching are my passion, I'm new at it. Dad was supposed to teach Jonathan to play. He was supposed to help him get over whining and get better. Pity party alert.
So Jonathan and I headed outside to do some dribbling drills. He did the first one perfectly because it required quick hands. The second one, I asked him to dribble a figure eight in and around his legs. "I can't do it!" He whined. "I'm hor-wible at this." I smile at him and tell him he has to practice to get better. "Humph" was his reply. So, we move on to a shooting game called "Around the World" where he had to shoot at different places. And if he missed, he had to go back. Well, he missed. "This is no fair! You're cheating!" I roll my eyes, losing patience. We continue with practice which consists of him complaining and me being less than encouraging. The fact that I would laugh and tell him to get up when he yelled over a "broken ankle" and a "hurt finger" didn't help the matter.
Finally, I lost it. "I don't have to be out here helping you, but I am. So quite whining! Toughen up!" I stormed inside. A mini sop-opera had ensued.
I peaked outside a while later to find Jonathan against the fence crying. I toke a deep breath and went to talk to him. I ask him why he is crying, but he doesn't know. I do. It's the same reason I used to cry in sports (and occasionally still do). He wants to be perfect, is hurt, and misses the real coach. I break. I tell him I'm not Daddy, but I'm trying. I want to help him get better, but he has to want to get better. I ask him what he thinks. In true drama form, he responds, "I need to think about it a while."
I head to the backyard and try and figure out how Dad would handle this. How would God want me to handle this? Patience. Encouragement. Love.
Then it hits me. I realize how blessed I truly am. What if Jonathan hadn't been born? I'd have no peach fuzz to teach basketball too, something Dad and I loved to do together. I can't be Dad, but doing things we loved to do keeps the memories alive. And what about Julia and her love for softball? I get to help her practice and get better, but that's a privilege, a blessing. God didn't have to give me two siblings with a love for sports, but He did. I don't have to practice alone. I don't have to fight to remember special moments with Dad. They flood back to me in sports. I add that to my list of one thousand gifts.
I find Jonathan where I left him, his face splotchy from crying. I sit next to him and we talk. We compromise. I promise to be encouraging and patient, if he agrees to give me a %110 and fight through the pain. And just like that, practice resumes. When he gets down, I fight to lift him up. When he cries in pain, I help him push through it with him laughing.
I am so blessed.
256. Solved argument
257. The joy of when Jonathan makes a basket
258. Tears of confession
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