The long-awaited and highly anticipated CD release party for Longing For Eden has come and gone. The band members are taking this week to refresh, regroup and start preparing for the next recording session which is coming up in a couple of weeks. Over the last few days, I have enjoyed listening to and reading about the reactions of various attendees to the concert, and have noticed that many of the comments had to do with how the band connected with the listeners. The words "real" and "authentic" were recurring themes in many of the comments that I saw and heard. One of my co-workers told me how her husband had very reluctantly come with her, lamenting all the while that "I can't believe I'm going here. You know this isn't my style of music." He had himself convinced that he was going to be miserable the entire time. She told me that afterward, she asked him, "Honest opinion; what did you think?" He told her that he surprisingly enjoyed the music and the show, but the thing that struck him most was how "real" the band was, because they shared their struggles and their less-than-perfect life stories of past addictions and brokenness, as well as the grace and hope and love that pursued them in the person of Jesus. This is only one of many stories with the same theme that I have been hearing. I'm not sure if anyone else experienced this, but I was approached by several people afterward who shared their own stories of brokenness, and was able to minister God's love and grace to them. I am so excited to continue this journey and to see where God takes us next!
The weekend before Easter, my sister texted me that mom had gone to the hospital, then home, she was sick with the flu. Then it was scar tissue, then she was taken by ambulance to the hospital after collapsing. That all started on Thursday. I found out Saturday how ill mom truly was. I was suppose to sing Sunday for a very special service with four churches present. I asked God, "Am I suppose to go, or stay and sing, what is going on"? He spoke to me and said, "Stay and sing tomorrow, go next weekend as you had planned with your sister, you will be of help then." I cried, "will I get to see my mom at least one more time before you take her to heaven?" He laughingly said, "Yes, many more times." A huge sigh of relief waved over me as I calmed down instantly. I needed to hear that from God's mouth, in just that way. I did as God told me. They finally found the problem, did the necessary surgery Saturday, then another one Sunday and mom's life was miraculously saved.
That Sunday night, about 10:00 p.m. I was drained. Our dog, Scooby-Doo, had to go outside to potty. The day before, he had run away to scout out the neighborhood, since it was now Spring. I didn't shut the door as I got another text. I was half asleep & ready to go to bed after answering another text when Paul asked, "Is Scooby outside?" I was like, oh crap, yeah! He went to potty a little bit ago. We called, no Scooby. I drove all over MacDale then home, no Scooby-Doo. I went out yet again, half exhausted & now worried, looking all over MacDale and nearby places calling for Scooby until I barely had a voice, still no Scooby. The next morning Paul took Sarah to school and then looked for Scooby in the car, no Scooby. I got into my car about 9:00 a.m. with two towels ready for dirt or blood. I prayed, "God please let me know where Scooby is, even if he is dead." I pulled out of our driveway, looked over and saw a tan patch of fur. I drove over, backed into the neighbors drive, saw them and said, "I think that is my dog." They said, "we took the collar off to call the tag number to see if we could find the owners." "I am so sorry. It was hit just before the kids came out to get the bus and I asked my husband to pick the dog up and take it to the yard so it wouldn't be mangled by other cars." Tears started streaming down my cheeks as I thanked them for their kindness. The gentleman put Scooby in the towel and on the car seat for me as I thanked him again.
When Sarah came home from school, we told her. She screamed, cried, wailed and asked WHY, over and over. We buried him in the back yard and had a little service for him. Sarah was so upset that she threw up half the night. Her stomach was still a mess the next morning, so she didn't go to school. Scooby was like a brother to her since she has no siblings that are being raised in our home.
That weekend epitomized what Paul had just told Sarah the day before all this started. Enjoy the time you have with others, because you never know when they won't be here with you.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-4 To everything there is a season, A time for every purpose under heaven:
A time to be born, And a time to die; A time to plant, And a time to pluck what is planted; A time to kill, And a time to heal; A time to break down, And a time to build up; A time to weep, And a time to laugh; A time to mourn, And a time to dance; A time to cast away stones, And a time to gather stones; A time to embrace, And a time to refrain from embracing;
Thank you God for sparing my mom, and giving us seven years with Scooby-Doo.
People started coming in 45 minutes before the doors were even supposed to open. Family. Friends. Co-workers. Church members. People who we haven't seen in years.
Five minutes before showtime, we took to the stage, put our monitors into our ears, picked up our instruments and awaited the final countdown. Deep breath. Curtains up! Music starts. Crowd cheers.... It was surreal.
Then came the moment I had been hoping and praying for since October of 2012. The final moments would find the center screen lowering to display the music video for the song I wrote. I exited the stage and found an aisle where I could sit on the stairs. As "Little Girl Lost" started playing, my daughter who was the reason I had written it in the first place, came and sat beside me and put her head on my shoulder.
That moment made it a night I will never forget!
http://www.longingforeden.com/video/
Today is St. Zita's Day. She's my patron saint and a great example of simple faith and obedience. I found a way to celebrate her and to raise A Taste of Redwall's profile after mass. I turned my cinnamon roll recipe into monkey/otter bread. People are more interested in listening to your sales pitch if they can chew on yummy bread while they do it.
My life has been revolving around A Taste of Redwall, a fundraiser for St. Martin DePorres' Orphanage. It's involved lots of talking to people I don't know and asking them to do me favors. Such work is exhausting, but I can do it when it's for kids. Even so, I was struggling and asked a friend to tell me again why this work was so vital. She told me things I didn't know. The orphanage is home to 68 kids. Two of them are albino and in extra danger because their families consider them a curse and witch doctors exploit them for their body parts. When she told me that, I didn't need any more motivation.
Everyone has work to do for the the Lord, but that is difficult. It helps to remember that he doesn't ask you to waste your time. The Lord's work always serves a greater purpose, even when it's simple, repetitive or awkward. Keep going until you reach "Well done, good and faithful servant."
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I recently attended a youth conference with our Sr High youth group. I was there as a leader, but if you have ever been an adult leader on a youth trip you know that there is so much for you yourself to learn on these trips. We were scheduled to leave Friday afternoon. The days leading up to the trip I became overwhelmed with fear and anxiety about leaving my kids. I love those crazy kids. If it were finaciallly possible, I would prefer to take them on every trip we go on. But the fear and anxiety, that was straight from Satan. Then Friday morning I became very ill. No fever or chills, just not keeping anything down ill. I had every reason to say, "Well there you go, I Should just stay home and snuggle the kiddos all weekend!" Whenever I am about to dig deep into God's word, and learn things that will transform my life....Satan gets a bit nervous. He tries all he can to get me to stay in my comfort zone. To help me to rationalize why I sould just go with the flow of what everyone else is doing or would do in my situation. Trust me, He tells me these lies often. I prayed. I was reminded that when I am trying to follow God's leading, I need to do the last thing he asked me to do. Just do what that last thing he asked of me is, until I hear something different.
I rest on His unchanging grace;
In every high and stormy gale,
My anchor holds within the veil.*
Support me in the whelming flood;
When all around my soul gives way,
He then is all my hope and stay. *
All other ground is sinking sand,
All other ground is sinking sand.*
I have been working on a dance for Longing For Eden's CD release party this weekend. The song is "Tell Her That She's Beautiful", a song written about a woman who, through an unfortunate upbringing, grew up believing that there was absolutely nothing pretty or lovable about her. She shared her story during a meeting, and as she was receiving prayer, someone prayed "Lord, tell her that she's beautiful." After the meeting ended, my husband was so touched that he sat down and wrote the song.
I believe that women will really connect with this song, as we have had it woven into our psyche from the time we were very young that our value as women lies in our outward beauty. We have a tendency to compare ourselves to others, and so easily fall prey to the belief that we somehow don't measure up to the standards set by society, so we end up struggling with feeling inadequate, unattractive and unlovable, and we have a difficult time truly believing anything different. We struggle to believe it when someone tells us that we are lovely, that we are valued. We struggle to believe what God has to say about us; that we are "fearfully and wonderfully made." That we are the apple of His eye. That we, as His creation, were declared by Him as "very good" when everything else that He created was deemed simply "good". That He sees us as His pure spotless bride. Marie, one of the backup vocalists for the band phrased it this way: (God tells us) "...you were created with reverence and respect and not only that you are unique and marvelous. I created you in such a way that you have passions and desires that are uniquely you. I didn’t just throw you together because I needed another human being on the earth; I formed you and created you as my own masterpiece for a purpose." I love this!
So this weekend, I pray that the women who hear this song and see it expressed through dance will hear God telling them that they are treasured, that they are loved, that they are beautiful.
O.K., if you read the blog entitled "Bad" on Wednesday the 16th, it was unpolished, then switched. There's another blog there now. Please check it out if you haven't. You may be saying, what? Oh, don't get your panties in a bunch! We are eight different women working together through, text and email, with real and very busy lives, so cut us some slack. Things get befuddled. It's life. Here is the blog "Bad" remade.
Earlier in life, I was a bad girl. The evening that I gave away my virginity, I had to go to church as my dad preached. I honestly thought a bolt of lightening would strike me dead then and there. Yep, typical preachers kid here. I was under daddy's thumb and wanted out. Unfortunately, I was very naive and got married to "my first" at barely 20. Soon after, things changed. No really, he told me "I will end your life"type change. He also cheated on me. That was a gift from God. I left and filed for divorce. That whole time, I was petrified of becoming pregnant.
Then freedom! No preacher dad or controlling husband. I was really bad then. I became pregnant with my son Luke. It was like God took a board and whacked me in the head with it. I had not yet grown up and knew the best thing for my son Luke was to give him up for adoption. Later I calmed down and married my husband Paul. Soon after, doctors told me I would probably never have children. It saddened me a bit, but it was also a relief. I conditioned my mind to not want children, in order to be able to give my son away. Also, I figured this was God's judgement for my previous sins.
Paul prayed for a baby and Sarah was born. Later, we briefly tried to have another child but none were conceived on my schedule, so I said forget it. Then Sarah's neurological problems became evident. I was afraid if I became pregnant, she would cause irreparable harm to the baby or I. Once again, any time I thought I was pregnant, I freaked out and mentally throw a fit on God. I'd be seriously ticked off for days/weeks till my monthly flow came. Then, I would repent, realize God was in charge and be glad He loved me, even when I was bad.
At 36, my Christian ladies counselor friend, told me, "if you are so bothered by having another child, then talk to God and do something about it". I did. I heard God say in a saddened voice, "if you don't want more children, have surgery and I will pay for it". I did, and I never received a bill from the doctor.
My world wasn't the picture perfect Christian life. I didn't long to have a child. I was freaked out by the possibility of getting pregnant most of my adult life, for one reason or another. So my views on children are a bit jaded. Thankfully, even though I was bad earlier in life. God is in the process of making me into His likeness and image. So, I'm bad, remade and it's way cool.
In the Christian circuit we hear so much about forgiveness. God's forgiveness towards us. Our forgiveness towards others. But it seems like the most difficult forgiveness to grasp is forgiveness towards ourselves.
I had a long conversation this afternoon with a former foster daughter who is currently working towards having her own child returned to her from foster care. She was upset because of her lack of control in her current situation. She has left a trail of despair from choices that she has made in her past. And although today she is working extremely hard to live differently, the fallout of those choices is still chasing her down.
I listened to her go on and on about how she feels like a failure. A bad mom. Worthless. Powerless. And at times, hopeless. She can't do anything right. Her intentions don't matter. She messed up and can't fix it. She feels guilty. God must be punishing her.
I reminded her of her own childhood. That she has been living a pattern that she learned as a little girl. That her past choices were shaped by her own hurts. That her mistakes had nothing to do with whether she loves her son or not. That God loves her. That God loves her son. That God forgives her shortcomings. Then I asked her "When are you going to start forgiving yourself?"
She cried.
As we continued talking, I recognized myself in her feelings. How often I am so hard on myself for not living up to the standard that I impossibly try to hold myself to. The failures. The "bad mom" moments. The feelings of not being capable of doing anything right. The guilt from taking on responsibility for situations that I had no control of. How it is much easier to forgive others than to offer that same forgiveness to my imperfect self.
I am surrounded by non believing friends. Many of them opine the same exact questions, draw their own conclusions, declare themselves right with such a forcibly closed mind I don't even bother most times. But this one question has stuck in my own head like a burr. "How could a God so massive and ulimited, able to create the entire universe, IF He exists, care about my mundane life?" He does.
From scripture we have the story of Hagar. Found in Genesis, we learn she was Sarai's Egyptian servant. Now Sarai was married to Abram. Abram, later Abraham, was promised to be the father of nations, but at their very old age, not one child had come. So, as was common in the pagan culture around them, Sarai gave Hagar to Abram as child bearing concubine. This was not God's plan. It most certainly was not his will. Sarai, later Sarah, was to be the biological mother. Hagar became pregnant.
Sarah started to flat out abuse Hagar and her son. Sarah kicks Hagar out of the camp and sends her into the desert to die. God came.
Here in scripture is the only time we see God named El Roi, (pronounced El Ro-ee) meaning, the God who sees. God came, saved her and her son's life and sends her back with peace. God saved Hagar and comforted her **because He cares.**
He created the Universe becoming the ultimate parent. What parent, when a child cries out, just walks completely away? When we cry out to Him in our distress, He hears. He comes. He comforts. He may not fix it all, Hagar's life was never easy, but He does give strength. He sees when others make up lies about us and spread them. He sees when we are hurting. He sees the injustices of the world and will absolutely right them. He sees us out of love. He is real. He does care. He will make it all right and better when He comes.
As human beings, we always have areas that could use some growth and improvement, and so we set goals for ourselves. Some goals seem to frequently show up on "New Year's resolution" lists such as losing weight or spending more time in prayer and Bible study. Some people avoid making resolutions because they know that most people abandon their goals only a few days or weeks into the new year. I still write a list of goals at the start of each year, and many times I modify the list throughout the year. For years I have been specific with my goals, but it was only in the last year or so that I discovered the benefit of attaching the goal to another activity that is already a part of my daily routine. Maybe this seems too rigid, but think about it, if your preschoolers didn't have a specific time of day when they brushed their teeth, they probably would forget to brush their teeth most days. When we get into a routine of brushing our teeth when we first get up or after we eat breakfast or before bed, then it becomes easy to remember to do so. For example, I wanted to read chapter books to my young children, but many days it didn't actually happen. When I started keeping a book near the kitchen table and began reading to the kids during lunch, a new habit was established. We don't forget to eat lunch, and now we rarely forget to read another chapter or two of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe or whatever book we are currently enjoying. If I have a new goal, such as working with my children on their Bible memory verses every day instead of cramming them in the day of AWANA, then I try to plan exactly when we will do it every day. Planning to do things before, during, or after a particular meal seems to be very helpful because we never forget to eat!
Yesterday morning I saw a post from a friend about another act of violence at a high school. This time, it hit much closer to home, only an hour and a half from where we live. I have dear friends who live in that area, and I still am not aware whether or not anyone that I know was directly impacted. I have a very difficult time listening to all the gory details of these things, so I have only caught bits and pieces of the news stories and little tidbits from comments made by my Facebook friends. I don't pretend to understand why anyone would purposely harm others; all I can do is pray for all involved, including those who made the choice to do these things. As difficult as it is, I have to remind myself that God loves them just as much as He loves me. Jesus took their trespasses on Himself just as He took mine. I have friends who made very, very poor choices in their past (including murder), and I have seen firsthand what God can do in the life of such a one. So I lift up these young people and ask God to be merciful and to intervene in their lives so that they can fulfill the destiny that He has for them.
Redneck, a term we have all come to know. Today, the term denotes a gun carrying, camouflage waring, slang speaking, beer drinking, throw it together with what you have on hand, fight picking, truck driving, idiot that does not ware a suit or dress and never will, unless someone dies or gets married, and it won't fit properly even then. Does that about cover it?
Allow me to enlighten you. The term redneck originated in the coal mines. When the coal mines began, these were basically slave jobs that immigrants preformed. Immigrants were not offered many employment options. The company valued their donkeys more then their workers. The men were paid in script. This was only useable at the company store. The stores prices were much higher then an ordinary store. Therefore, the store gave credit. It wasn't till the 1970's that the company stores closed. The homes the miners lived in were owned by the company. The tools were purchased from and must be sharpened by the company for which the company charged. Payment was not given for any work until the coal came out of the ground and the wages were changed to suit the company as it profited them. If a collapse occurred, whom ever made it out or was not on that shift, would have to dig their coworkers out, dead or alive, as well as the coal, in order to be paid. If the husband died, their first born son usually died also, because the oldest would work with his father. Then the next son would take their place in the mines. If there was no son to work, the family was put out on the streets soon after. Rent could only be paid in script and the only way to get script was to work the mines. So, a widow with only daughters would have to leave her home with nothing but the clothes on her back.
As one would imagine, the miners eventually revolted. The company hired Pinkertons to restore order. The minors left the small homes and lived in make shift tents. The women hung their pots and pans toward the top of the tents, in order to deflect bullets that were shot into said tents at night by the Pinkertons. The miners would distinguished themselves from the Pinkertons and company, by waring a red bandana around their neck. Thus the term "redneck" came to be.
How do I know these things? My father-in-law, Joesph Smerdell, began to work for the coal mines when
he was eleven years old. Before his death, at ninety one years of age,
he was honored at a dinner for over seventy five years of membership in
the United Mines Workers Association. At that dinner, a lady preformed a
monolog, telling stories as a coal minors daughter. She recounted how
one miner would go drink and gamble with his script and gain more. When
he came home, he passed out. His wife, took
the extra script and put it between the pages of her bible as she read it. When her husband
woke up he asked where his winnings were. His wife said, "if you would just read the bible, all your questions would be answered". He just grumbled and
sulked back to work thinking he had lost it.
Much later, I found out there
were those in my own family who owned coal mines. This sickened me. However, they had
issues of their own. Go figure. So, now when you think of the term redneck, you will know where the term originated and the reason for it. Our country has a long history of treating outsiders badly. May we realize that all are made in the likeness and image of creator God, including rednecks.
I smiled bravely in the face of every pregnancy announcement of family and friends. I cried privately. I searched for answers. I went to specialists. I took pills. I endured procedures that would make grown men faint. I dreamed about those lines showing up on that stick. In my mind I played out my version of announcing to the world that we were expecting. It never happened.
Instead, we built our family through foster-adoption. It has been a long process. We fell in love with dozens of children only to watch them leave. We had people tell us that we were crazy for caring about kids who didn't belong to us. When we finally adopted our five children, we also adopted issues like Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Reactive Attachment Disorder, Mood Disorder, Anxiety Disorder, Learning Disabilities, Depression, Anxiety, Sensory Integration Disorder, and Sleep Disorder. Prior to coming to our home, our children have suffered abuse, hunger, abandonment, homelessness, neglect, domestic violence, drug exposure, and criminal activity. The requirements to meet all of their needs is a daily challenge.
Today, I no longer live in the disappointment that used to plague my every thought. I am too busy being a mom to the children that God has entrusted to us. It isn't exactly what I was expecting, but it is exactly what God had planned.
A friend is going through the particularly dark time known as depression. I've been thinking about things that helped me. The one that stands out the most was a little two page, stapled, pamphlet that a friend gave me. The subject was Mother Theresa and how she struggled with depression. It was breaking news back then, and I read it over and over. I wrote on it, underlined it, loaned it out briefly. Whenever the darkness came back I returned to her words and the comfort they gave. My mind still turns in her direction when the day is dark.
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