Five Minute Friday: Remember

It's Friday, woot woot! A day for cleaning and preparing and anticipating guests. A day for a fabulous Five Minute Friday with the Gypsy Mama and wonderful women all over the face of the earth. You are more than welcome to join us! Just scroll down and click the button on the right. But first, read this:)

Five Minutes- no edits, no givesies backsies. Writing on today's prompt: Remember

GO

So this post could just be one giant "to do" list, right? Because I don't remember a thing unless I write it down.

And my children just wait patiently as I verbally scroll through my family roledex until I hit the name that belongs to them. It's hard to remember.

But I really should share this one. It's something I'm going to remember for a very. long. time.

A guest pastor preached the other night at our church. He compared confession and absolution to using the facilities.

I kid you not.

It was one of those sermons that had the kids sniggering, the adults dumbfounded ("Is he saying what I think he's saying?"), and all of us paying attention. After the service, my 7 year old ran frantically around the church surveying the parishioners. "What was your favorite part? Mine was the sermon."

So anyway, he goes through the processes needed to go, but then the craziest thing sticks in my mind. The word for forgiveness means "release." As in, "You are released from your sin, your debt, your waste."

Flushed down a spiritual toilet, I suppose, never to be seen again.

He remembers your sin no more.

Maybe this is a bit crude for our refined sensibilities, but in a world that revolves largely around the bowel movements of other people, it resonates with me.

It makes me think twice before I go swimming in the sewage of past sins.

And it reminds me that if I want to spend time remembering the consequences of my indiscretions, I can look no further than the cross and empty tomb. The cleansing waters of my baptism. And I am clean.

Messy Monday: Picture Perfect, Almost

I lift up my eyes to the hills.
From where does my help come?

My help comes from the Lord,
who made heaven and earth.

Psalm 121:1-2

I clean my house for pictures. It feels good to get that out there. I straighten the house on birthdays, not just for cleanliness' sake. I know we will be taking pictures of the cake and the food and the presents and the faces.

I have this habit of looking past our smiling faces

and seeing the pile of laundry in the background.

I want to post the shots to the family blog, but, yikes. They might notice that we don't have it all together. In truth, it's laughable that anyone would ever think we do. It is in everyone's best interest to know- we don't. I clean my house for pictures. And to be honest, I'm not very good even at that.

See this? One of my favorite pictures of one of my favorite people:

Mama loves Baby. Mama loves Jimmy Johns.

 

Let me assure you, I don't see any of this stuff in anyone else's pictures. Just ours.

 

It is God's ever present reminder to me of how my entire life would look without Him.

 

I'm not God to my family, but I sure do try to be. It is one of the pitfalls of parenthood. Things have to get done. They just do. There is absolutely nothing wrong with owning our responsibility. But then we beat ourselves up when things don't just fall into place. We clean just enough to give the illusion of semblance. Or we deep clean because we just can't stand the mess anymore, all the while sacrificing our patience, rest, time with kids and spouses, or friends.

 

We just can't seem to manage to get something done without neglecting something else.

 

Cleaning isn't wrong in and of itself. (Unless you are looking for an excuse to NOT clean, to which I say you certainly shouldn't. It is very unhealthy.) It is the self-inflicted demand of perfection. It is using the cleanliness of your life as some sort of gauge to tell you just where you fall on heaven's list of godly parents. It is the unrealistic definition we have of a "good" parent, a "good" child of God.

Being good at what we do has less to do with what we "accomplish," and to what caliber our simple minds judge those accomplishments, but it has everything to do with relying on the only One who truly is Good.

 

A messy house is a God-given reminder that He is in charge and you are not. He can keep it all together when you are falling apart. He's got the whole world in His hand, Honey. Your whole world.

 

He will not let your foot be moved;
he who keeps you will not slumber.
Behold, he who keeps Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.

The Lord is your keeper;
the Lord is your shade on your right hand.
The sun shall not strike you by day,
nor the moon by night.

 The Lord will keep you from all evil;
he will keep your life.
The Lord will keep
your going out and your coming in
from this time forth and forevermore.

Psalm 121:3-8



 

What a gift.

 

So when the mess consumes and I give up, I know what I'm going to do. I'm going to kick the toys and laundry and AWOL shoes out of my way. I am going to lay on the ground, and look up to the hills.

 

From there my help comes.

 

At least the ceiling is clean.

“Tense Time(s)”

Hello Blogosphere! As way of a brief introduction I am not Lauren... I'm the other contributor to this delightful blog. My name is Jennette & I'm currently completing my last 9 weeks of graduate school. I'm engaged to a wonderful man of God & am continually reminded of what a blessing Brian is in my life! To sum me up in a short amount of words - I'm an 85 year old stuck in a young person's body. My "old soul" can be seen in my love of organ playing, conversing with people of all ages, baking bread (& sharing it), knitting or sewing when I find the time to do so, etc. But those activities don't really matter. The thing I want you to remember is that I love Jesus & I pray that His love is shown to you through His power working in me.


Do you ever sit and ponder about time? How much time it takes you to run errands? What about how much time it takes to learn to master a new passion or hobby? Or how long it takes to complete homework or a big work project? Frankly, I don’t have much time to just sit and think about time. I usually find myself having inner thoughts and ponderings about topics I’d love to further study and learn to digest at a higher knowledge than what I currently have. And recently my thoughts have been driving me to hash out the topic of time in correlation to a few passages of God’s Word.

As humans, we are bound by time. In one week, there are 168 hours for us to fill. 24 hours to one single day. Do you necessarily fill all 24 hours in a day exactly how you imagine it to go at the beginning of the day? I know I don’t. Wish I did. But many factors enter into the changes—whether planned or unplanned—that affect how a person’s schedule plays out day to day.

I’m coming off a two week Spring break that was SO glorious to enjoy. Seemed like I had all the free time in the world. Because, for two short weeks, every day was a Saturday. Beautiful thought, right? Well, kind of. While I enjoyed the enormous amounts of “free time” I had, towards the end of break, I did begin to long for structure to my day. To help guide me in knowing how to spend the time God has given me to balance my vocations as fiancée, daughter, student, friend, and living out my life as a baptized, redeemed child of God.

I’m thankful that God is not bound by time. He is Alpha AND Omega. He is first and last. He is constantly present in my life in many and various ways. And the same is true for you. For everyone. God is present and knows the inner most trials and joys we each experience in our lives. God is forever. He is eternal. How do we know this? God’s Word tells us all of these (and many others) aforementioned truths about him. I’m especially comforted by these words from Hebrews 13:8, "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever."

Along with the beauty of knowing that God is forever, never changes, and is always there, we learn from the prophet Isaiah (40: 6b-8), “All flesh is grass, and all its beauty is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades when the breath of the LORD blows on it; surely the people are grass. The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever.” Nothing else matters. Yep, that’s easier said than understood, but it is true. God’s Word survives amidst all the changes we deal with in this life. Just as God is beyond time, so also His Word is timeless.

And so we press on during this Lenten journey. We press on in living out our vocations. In spending time preparing for & living out our responsibilities which God has given to us. Being present as moms and dads in our children’s lives. Working. Studying. Forgiving. Loving. We press closer and closer to hearing and learning more about the journey to the cross our Savior took in order to save all (who believe in Him) from sin, death, and the power of the devil.

I’ll close with the beginning words of Psalm 78. Praise God for giving us His Word. May we never tire of inwardly digesting and sharing His living and active Word with those we meet in this world.
 

"O my people, hear my teaching;
listen to the words of my mouth.
I will open my mouth in parables,
I will utter hidden things, things from of old—
what we have heard and known,
what our fathers have told us.
We will not hide them from their children;
we will tell the next generation
the praiseworthy deeds of the LORD,
his power, and the wonders he has done."
[Psalm 78: 1-4]

Five Minute Friday: Rest

It's Friday and it's a little late, but I'm sure that will all be addressed in this Five Minute Friday!

The Gypsy Mama has another prompt for us (read: me and women all over the globe) who just want to write. Written in 5 minutes flat, I'm not sure what to tell you to expect- it has been a day. If you'd like to join us in the Five Minute Friday conversation, we'd love to have you! Just click on the button on the right.

Ok, here goes.

Rest

GO.

Let me tell you, I've already corrected this post once. Rest, the prompt is rest. Not home. We did that one already. Go back to sleep, Lauren.

And in the darkness we realize that yes, it is a school day, and no, we don't want to get out of bed, but the 7 year old is dressed and hungry and raring to go. And we just want to rest.

We hit the ground running. Clothes on. I'll shower tomorrow. I hope. Toast in the toaster. Cereal in the bowl. Milk in cups. Homework in the folder. Spelling words read and spelled. We have the dance tonight, Mom. So I won't see you until tonight.

The other three are up. Go potty. Get dressed. Brush your hair. We'll get your teeth later, Lil has to get to school. She brushes her teeth, pulls a stocking cap on the hair I just carefully braided. Repeatedly. Puts on her coat, gives a hug and is out the door.

Hubs comes back in a bit. We load up the other three kids and take a road trip (literally 35 minutes) to the nearest Walmart. Shop shop shop. Stock stock stock. Another stop to get meat. Meat meat meat.

After home and unloading and putting away and making lunch I am well off my caffeine high, but I need to write my Five Minute Friday. No- I need to nap. So I manifest my writing in between the sheets.

And today I realize just how quickly the ST in REST invites his buddies to the party and I am STREST. Stressed.

Today I realize how important God's 7th day rest was to my life today. To be wired for a 7 day week. Could you imagine 8? or 9?

I realize that it's no accident that we stop to go to the bathroom several times EVERY DAY. Imagine, once a week... That would be the only time I ever SIT DOWN.

I realize my need for a God who calls me tro climb into the lap of HisWord and I relish every moment I get to rest in it. Let's do that now.

STOP

There Will Be a Day

This post is actually the article I wrote for last month's church newsletter. A woman in our congregation told me it had her husband in tears of laughter, and since he is 30+ years removed from this stage of life I figured it might mean even more to those in the throes of it all...

 

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Excruciating = this morning’s excursion. You ever have a plan and have that faint feeling that it’s probably a bad idea, but your agenda is so loud it drowns out the warning, and it isn’t until you are past the point of no return that you realize, yep- bad idea? And then your efforts all boil down to one word. Like excruciating.

To recount each offense against my psyche this morning would be to fill your next half hour with depressing minutia leaving you despairing that you’ll never get that brief time of your life back, so I think just the “highlights” will suffice.

McDonalds and Walmart with 4 young kids.  Now I know that there are moms who have gone through the fire with many more or less children than 4, but humor me. A 30 minute drive sprinkled with whining, crying, and occasional screaming just loud enough to overshadow the “positive” and “encouraging” message of KLOVE over the radio.

Eventually we see the McDonalds drive-thru line, which is just long enough that I feel compelled to drag all four children into the brisk air and into the equally busy restaurant where my kids apparently lose their hearing and sense of spatial awareness because I cannot simply tell them to move out of other people’s way, but I must physically move them (p.s. I am sick with a bug that’s stuck around for a week already), and in the process of getting the food with which ¾ of the kids are none-too-impressed, the oldest knocks my Diet Coke down to the ground and brightest spot of this whole trip is dripping from the counter and soaking her pants and the McDonalds employee looks at me with such heartfelt pity I don’t know if I want to laugh or cry.

And then a woman, a more experienced mother (of, say, 25 years) takes my tray and asks me if I’d like her to put my children in the booth. I nod in my stupor, look to the two new soda cups that have materialized out of nowhere, and despondently begin my refill. I want to cry. so. bad. But I don’t. I walk to the table, thank the lady and employee who is mopping my mess, and feed my spirited children. The sympathetic employee offers to take my trash (maybe thinking he’s pulling me back from the precipice of a mental breakdown) and we head to Walmart. The atrocities that await us there are numerous, but not so monumental as to warrant a retelling.

On the way home from what is undoubtedly one of the worst outings of my mothering life, the radio gets static-y and I flip adeptly to the other KLOVE station out of Omaha. It is only then that I really hear the song, But I hold on to this hope, and the promise that He brings. There will be a place with no more suffering. There will be a day with no more tears, no more pain, and no more fears. There will be a day when the burdens of this place will be no more and we see Jesus face to face.   (“There Will Be A Day,” by Jeremy Camp)

In the big scheme of my life, I won’t remember those little calamities that drove me to walk away from the children in my cart today to recollect myself. I won’t remember the unkind words “good” Christian parents don’t think, let alone say. I do think I’ll remember the kindness of those around me, not simply as the examples of the “goodness of mankind,” but as witnesses to God’s constancy and provision. Through these angels of mercy He reminded me that He was still there for me. Even when my own agenda pushes me into a “bad idea” and I can’t go back and I can’t go around, but I must go through my trial, He gives me what I need and who I need. And then He points me to that day ahead where I will finally get to rest. Where everything won’t be so hard. Where I can be with my Savior at last.

 In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. 1 Peter 1:6-7