Whirled Peas

I have become a real Joyce Meyer fan.  Well, I take that back.  I have been a fan of Joyce since my mom introduced me to her in high school, but recently, her messages have resonated with me and held me up in some trying times.  Joyce has been like a spiritual mentor/mama in the best sense - coming in and out of my life (via the courtesy of my Samsung or Sharp) during many different phases of my life - never condemning when I was away, but always welcoming me back with a message that was purposeful, present and appropriate.  Like my best friend said, she tells it like it is, and doesn't mince words.  I can totally appreciate that in this particular phase of my life, when I don't have the luxury of ruminating in innuendo and analogy.  Maybe that's why my working mom enjoyed also watching her.  I can remember mom sitting in the dark in the early weekday mornings with her cup of coffee in hand, watching Joyce while I puttered around trying to shake the sleep off and get ready for school to make it in time for the first bell at 7:30.  Now, here I am, 20 years later, sitting in the early morning darkness every weekday morning, with my coffee in hand, watching my trio eat while Joyce preaches on.  Full circle.  Yeah, I know.  I've become my mother!

Anywho, the past couple of weeks of messages have been particularly helpful.  Joyce has doing a Boot Camp series, and most of what she has been speaking has been exactly what I've needed when I've needed it.  Especially the couple of sermons she's done on peace.  Which got me to thinking...how much peace do I really have?  How much peace should I have?  And, getting right down to it (since I have plenty of things on my to-do list, laundry piling up, dust balls forming and quite frankly, not enough hours to sit around and contemplate this kind of stuff), how much what is the absolute minimum amount of peace that I need in order to function as a contributing member of society? 

I wish I was one of those people who was able to find peace admist chaos, strife and malignment from others.  I'm working on it (since in most of the aforementioned areas I really don't have a choice anymore - HA!).  But, you're talking about someone whose innermost peace is primarily dependant and fed by things

 like this:

Family Command Center - Geeky, I know...

and this:

Calendar Neurosis at its finest...

I admit it - I love my calendars, whiteboards and shopping lists.  Adore them.  OK, so perhaps I have not extoled their virtues enough so that you have a complete understanding of the depth of my feelings.  Let me put it this way:  Calendars are the Katie Holmes to my Couch-Jumping Tom Cruise.  So, the concept of striving for peace without the benefit of all that is contained in those beautiful spiral-bound 1X1 squares gives me the jimmy-eye and a full-body shiver.  But, the concept Joyce spoke on  is simple:  you put your peace in other places (trust/peace outside of God's hands) and you will never know true peace.  But, Joyce (I say), really now...how can I be expected to give up my control (or what I think is my control) and have any kind of peace without order, structure, routine and knowing/documenting what to expect in the days/weeks/months ahead? 

Let's face it, peeps - I'm a Baby Christian.  I'm still learning, and often I have to catch myself from thinking that just because I am listening so intently and wanting so desperately to hear and just absorb everything that all of that effort will cause me to immediately believe it, apply it, live it and just walk on out there and tell the world what's what!!!   I admit that I'm totally struggling with this one.  Yes, I realize that I ultimately have no control in this life, despite what is written down makes me believe.  But, to have an ever-present peace with that knowledge of no control?  And to have peace because of that knowledge?  It's hard to wrap my mind around it - it doesn't make logical sense!

But here's where this one is really kick-in-the-crotch-fantastic:  in order for me to have peace in the midst of chaos, I have to not only give up my 'control', but I have to embrace the chaos, acknowledging that everything is His, and He will keep me in the palm of His hand, even in the midst of forgotten blankets, last-minute cancellations, MMA-like fights over The Tinkerbell Cup (even though there are 2) and forgotten dog dinners (c'mon...I know I'm not the only one who's done this, so no snarky comments!).

Good Lord.  No, really.  Literally:  Good.  Lord.  He is so good that he can love me in spite of me running around like a chicken with my head cut off, thinking that I have a say in it all and how it's ultimately going to turn out.  How patient and loving He is to to let me figure it out on my own!  I imagine that He just shakes his head and smiles as I run around updating schedules and menus - much in the same way that I smile and shake my head at The Munchkin or The Monkey when they run around gathering things that they "need" for a trip to the mall:  this doll, that purple crayon and the one pink flowered sock (don't ask...).

This one is definitely going to take some practice and some trips around the mountain before I fully understand it.  I'm going to have to work on it, I'm quite sure.  And work on it.  And work on it again. (10th year of wandering the wilderness and going 'round the mountain, 1 more to go...)

In the meantime, I'll try and reference my calendar with a little less neurosis, and try to take my (personally crafted, ironically enough) message I had inscribed on the front to heart - His heart, though...not mine:

Much love and stay tuned...

Fear & "Loave(s)-ing"

I admit that I struggle daily with my natural inclination to fear and worry.  I fear and worry about our children the most:  their health and their psyche.  I tell people that, with this many children, my parenting goals are low:  as long as none of my children wind up on "Intervention", "Dateline" or A Pole, I've done my job.  Some view that as my laid-back parenting philosophy(:::Snort!:::), when (in truth) it's actually a mantra I have repeat to keep from worrying myself into becoming the much-dreaded helicopter parent. 

But, I can't help but wonder:  Are the seemingly small decisions and statements that I make on a daily basis going to be brought up on a psychologist's couch one day?  I mean, look at the parent interviews on those shows.  They always have the voice-over while the cute baby and young-kid pictures scroll across.  "She was always such a happy child..."  And then they flash to the child-now-addict/serial killer, and she's saying, "It all broke apart on that fateful night when I was 6, and my mom wouldn't let me eat two meatballs in my spaghetti...I only got one...:::crying hysterically:::I never felt loved after that..."  (OK, so I'm being overly dramatic on that example to get my point across, but really - how many times has the 'trigger' event for a kid going from Boy Scout to Homeless Street Dude Shooting Up in an Alley seemed somewhat innocuous to you?) 

This past week has really been a doozy for me on the whole fragility of life thing.  I won't go into details, but it seems as though the "comes in threes" rule has applied - and it hasn't been easy to be confronted head-on with just how fragile our existence is, and how really, nothing is ever guaranteed in this life.  This week I have had to face that this no-guarantee rule no longer just applies to me - it applies to my children's lives.  And, when faced with that, I became very fearful of their future and overwhelmed by my responsibility as their parent to keep them safe, healthy and happy (and off of a pole).

You would think that, having been faced for 9 long months with the ultimate unknown, and having walked through it held up and sustained by faith and the many fervent and heartfelt prayers offered up on our behalf by friends, family, prayer groups and churches, I would be a lot less fearful of stuff like that now.  Truth is, having proverbially rolled the dice and come out of it a winner (winner chicken dinner - sorry, couldn't resist), I'm probably more fearful now of the future and the dropping of the "other shoe" than I was before. 

::::Le Sigh:::

I had a long talk about this fear thing with a dear co-worker and friend yesterday, who sweetly reminded me that God has a purpose for everything;  and, along with His purpose for my life, He has a purpose for each of my children's lives that I am only a part of because of His divine choosing.  My role is merely to guide and nurture, raise up, and then throw out of the proverbial nest so that they can fulfill that purpose. After thinking on that some last night, I realized that it's not my place to develop, suggest or otherwise dictate my children's purpose.  So, I can at least temper that fear and responsibility.  (One down, fifteen ga-zillion to go...)

But, then I began to panic in the dawn (Gunner is going through something right now - teething? tummy? - so I'm back in the Newborn Nights things with him).  So,I thought, that's (that = train of thought above) all fine and dandy - until the reality of raising up FIVE right creeps in.  It's a daunting thought:  5 lives - and you are the one responsible for making sure that each doesn't divebomb faster than Heidi Montag's last single* when you do push them out of the nest. 

Five - multiples - multiplying...it can be overwhelming.  And I was mulling/praying over it this morning in the stillness (finally! at 4:30AM), while rocking Gunner, looking at his peaceful face, and freaking out because I realized that every mom and dad on "Intervention" and "Dateline" had probably, at some point, done the same thing, and look what had happened to their child?!?!... 

And then, I remembered the story of Jesus and the loaves and fishes, and, as I was mulling/praying over that story, it started to parallel so closely with our current life.   One baby = lots of baby stuff, expenses, love expanded.  Five babies = a house that looks like a "Hoarders - Babies R Us Edition" episode, constant yet controlled chaos, don't-even-want-to-think-about-it amount of money, and infinite amount of love pouring out. 

The factor of 1 multiplied (1 = God's grace and His provision) - sometimes by just enough, and other times by more than we can imagine, all to meet our needs. 

Faith requires more than just stepping "out" sometimes, I think.  Faith requires stepping out and believing in an abundance that only He can provide.  I can only imagine what I would have been thinking if I had been one in that crowd and had been asked to believe that this transient dude passing through could take a few lil fish and a lil bit o bread and feed the masses.  I would like to believe that I would have been one of the ones in the crowd believing, without fail.  But, I know me.  And, I know I'm just starting this journey.  I can guarantee you that I would have been the one with the "Yeah, riiiighhhhtttt" look on my face. 

So, when the fragility of our lives hits me...when the enormity of it all overwhelms me...when the fear grips my heart, I will try my best to remember the story of Loaves and Fishes.  And I will try to step out and believe that my best parenting is enough - because God's purpose is bigger than mine, and He is the ultimate Multiplier...not me. 

Stay tuned, and much love...

* Typically, I don't even post links to that junk, but it's worth a giggle or two...