I had forgotten. These were the words running through my mind as I drove home. I had just had lunch with an old friend from law school. (Yes, according to my kids I am old and so are my friends. Sorry friends!) We were reminiscing about our adventures in school; the professors, the other students, the time spent trying to relax, and our competition...
In each class, there would be an award given out to the student with the highest average in the class for the semester. In our second and third years, we had several classes together and vowed to beat the other one to grab the award. The competition was always very close. (I think I won the most awards, but who's counting?) The thing is, until we were talking, I had forgotten about who I was at that time. I had forgotten that I really put my heart and soul into something I wanted and had achieved my goal. I had forgotten the gifts and talents that God had given me that allowed me to succeed in school. I had forgotten that I really could put two or more coherent sentences together. I had forgotten an important part of me.
I didn't mean to. It just happened. Life happened. Five kids in twenty-one months, happened. I think a lot of us forget who we are when life happens to us. We get caught up in the mundane and necessary activities of life and can forget some of those gifts and talents we posses. Or we minimize them to the point that we don't use them. Or we are faced with a life altering situation so we set them aside. There comes a time, though when it's important to dig up those forgotten gifts and talents. They were meant to be used; for both our own benefit and for the benefit of others.
So, what gift or talent have you forgotten or abandoned? What important part of you have you buried? I tell you, now is the time to dig them up!
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Approved
You have been approved. We often see or hear these words in connection to a pre-approved credit card or loan. I see the word almost daily as I slide my credit card to purchase groceries. Yes, I go almost every day....I do have five teenagers.
Approval, we all long for it. Some are fortunate to receive it. Some are just left longing to hear it. I was one who was left longing. You see, my parents divorced when I was very young. I didn't have any memories of my father until I was 5 or 6. That's when he and his wife came to visit for a weekend. I remember being very excited. I was sure that once he spent time with me, he would never want to let me go again. The three of us went to the mountains. I was thrilled because we went high enough to see snow which is a big deal for a girl living in the desert of Arizona! I remember them taking me to Jack-in-the-box. They bought me dinner and watched me eat it in the back seat of their car. I remember being annoyed because I thought we were going out to a fancy restaurant with cloth napkins, not to a fast food place to eat in the car! Did I mention I was a bit precocious as a child? Throughout the entire weekend I was on my best behavior. I wanted them to approve of me. I wanted to show that I was good daughter material.
Sadly, I was not approved; I did not measure up. I did not hear from my father again for several years. During that time a lie was planted and took root in my heart. The lie that I was flawed; that there was something so wrong with me that even my father couldn't look past it. That lie spurred me on to find a way to cover my flaws and make myself acceptable. I tried to follow all the rules, do well in school, and be responsible; anything that would allow me to hear those words I longed to hear....you have been approved. The problem was that I could never do enough. I was left tired and empty.
Then one day God sent me a birthday cake.....
A wonderful gentleman who lived down the block from us would bring us a cake from his family's bakery from time to time. These cakes were both beautiful and very delicious. More importantly, the cakes always included lavish amounts of encouragement. And as a mom with five small children, I needed a lot of encouragement!
One day, he delivered a cake the day before my birthday. The kids and I had just been discussing what kind of cake we should make when he rang the bell. As I thanked him, I heard God tell me, "I celebrate your birthday every year. Your earthly father may not be here, but I am and I love you."
I had been approved as a daughter and I've never been the same......
Approval, we all long for it. Some are fortunate to receive it. Some are just left longing to hear it. I was one who was left longing. You see, my parents divorced when I was very young. I didn't have any memories of my father until I was 5 or 6. That's when he and his wife came to visit for a weekend. I remember being very excited. I was sure that once he spent time with me, he would never want to let me go again. The three of us went to the mountains. I was thrilled because we went high enough to see snow which is a big deal for a girl living in the desert of Arizona! I remember them taking me to Jack-in-the-box. They bought me dinner and watched me eat it in the back seat of their car. I remember being annoyed because I thought we were going out to a fancy restaurant with cloth napkins, not to a fast food place to eat in the car! Did I mention I was a bit precocious as a child? Throughout the entire weekend I was on my best behavior. I wanted them to approve of me. I wanted to show that I was good daughter material.
Sadly, I was not approved; I did not measure up. I did not hear from my father again for several years. During that time a lie was planted and took root in my heart. The lie that I was flawed; that there was something so wrong with me that even my father couldn't look past it. That lie spurred me on to find a way to cover my flaws and make myself acceptable. I tried to follow all the rules, do well in school, and be responsible; anything that would allow me to hear those words I longed to hear....you have been approved. The problem was that I could never do enough. I was left tired and empty.
Then one day God sent me a birthday cake.....
A wonderful gentleman who lived down the block from us would bring us a cake from his family's bakery from time to time. These cakes were both beautiful and very delicious. More importantly, the cakes always included lavish amounts of encouragement. And as a mom with five small children, I needed a lot of encouragement!
One day, he delivered a cake the day before my birthday. The kids and I had just been discussing what kind of cake we should make when he rang the bell. As I thanked him, I heard God tell me, "I celebrate your birthday every year. Your earthly father may not be here, but I am and I love you."
I had been approved as a daughter and I've never been the same......
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Stories
I enjoy hearing people's life stories. My family teases me that no matter where I go I make new friends and learn their life stories. Really all I do is ask questions and then listen. It usually starts out with a mutual smile or a look and some superficial comment about the weather or the line we are standing in. That usually opens the door and soon they are sharing a part of themselves with me. Often, I hear, "I've never told anyone this, but...." or "I don't know why I'm telling you this, but..." I think they tell me because I am willing to stop and listen.
The other day, I was at the pharmacy waiting for a prescription to be filled when an older gentleman came to the counter to drop off his prescription. He sat next to me while we waited. He had just been told that he had diabetes and would have to give himself insulin shots. He said he was a bit apprehensive since he would have to give himself the shots in his stomach, but that he supposed he would handle it just fine. He began to tell me about his children; he has nine, "all from the same wife and marriage." He told me of his life as a boy at a Catholic boarding school and his five friends who were with him all his years there. He spoke so tenderly and lovingly of the priests and nuns and how much he loved his life there. He said he didn't want to leave when he graduated; they had become family. He also told me about the worst day of his life. It was the day he was coming back from his 4th tour in Vietnam. He and a fellow soldier were walking from their gate when someone spit on them, saying obscene things to them because of their service. He eyes told of the pain and sadness that was still present because of that day.
At one point my thoughts went to the errands I had planned to run after the pharmacy. As the pharmacist called my name, I knew I had a choice to make; stay to listen a little while longer or politely excuse myself. I chose to stay....the grocery store could wait that day. I am so glad I did.
He talked more about his life, his experiences, the accomplishments of his children, and the stomach cancer he had endured. I did eventually leave. I had to start my afternoon taxi service of picking up kids from school. I hugged him and thanked him for sharing his story. He thanked me for listening.
I may never see this man again, yet his story will stay with me and has now become a part of my story. We all have stories to tell and mostly, we want to tell them. Amazing things happen when we do. We just need someone to listen. As the story teller, we get to remember events and people from our lives, share them with someone, and pass on the wisdom we have gained. As the listener we hear of other's struggles and success, their experiences, and gain insight into their lives. We discover our commonalities as frail, broken people who are trying to do the best we can with the lives that we have been given. The sharing of these stories connect us to each other, and isn't that how God intended it to be.
The other day, I was at the pharmacy waiting for a prescription to be filled when an older gentleman came to the counter to drop off his prescription. He sat next to me while we waited. He had just been told that he had diabetes and would have to give himself insulin shots. He said he was a bit apprehensive since he would have to give himself the shots in his stomach, but that he supposed he would handle it just fine. He began to tell me about his children; he has nine, "all from the same wife and marriage." He told me of his life as a boy at a Catholic boarding school and his five friends who were with him all his years there. He spoke so tenderly and lovingly of the priests and nuns and how much he loved his life there. He said he didn't want to leave when he graduated; they had become family. He also told me about the worst day of his life. It was the day he was coming back from his 4th tour in Vietnam. He and a fellow soldier were walking from their gate when someone spit on them, saying obscene things to them because of their service. He eyes told of the pain and sadness that was still present because of that day.
At one point my thoughts went to the errands I had planned to run after the pharmacy. As the pharmacist called my name, I knew I had a choice to make; stay to listen a little while longer or politely excuse myself. I chose to stay....the grocery store could wait that day. I am so glad I did.
He talked more about his life, his experiences, the accomplishments of his children, and the stomach cancer he had endured. I did eventually leave. I had to start my afternoon taxi service of picking up kids from school. I hugged him and thanked him for sharing his story. He thanked me for listening.
I may never see this man again, yet his story will stay with me and has now become a part of my story. We all have stories to tell and mostly, we want to tell them. Amazing things happen when we do. We just need someone to listen. As the story teller, we get to remember events and people from our lives, share them with someone, and pass on the wisdom we have gained. As the listener we hear of other's struggles and success, their experiences, and gain insight into their lives. We discover our commonalities as frail, broken people who are trying to do the best we can with the lives that we have been given. The sharing of these stories connect us to each other, and isn't that how God intended it to be.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Writing
I love writing. I think it all started in second grade when my principle's gerbil had several babies and he devised a creative way to adopt them out. He had his picture taken at the local jail and student were given the opportunity to write a story of how he ended up there. A boy and a girl winner would be chosen from each grade and would get their very own baby gerbil.
I loved thinking of the various scenarios that could have landed him in jail. I ended up writing a fabulous story of how he unwittingly helped a pair of thieves by entering a house through the chimney, unlocking the door, and helping them load the contents of the house into a moving van. Now, it seems very much like an episode of the Jetsons cartoon I once watched..... I loved writing the story; adding detail to bring the story alive and replaying the scenes and dialogue over in my mind. And I particularly liked winning my gerbil, which I named Squirmy because it squirmed so much in its cage as I walked home with it. (My mom several years later told me that every kid who wrote a story won a gerbil. But it didn't matter to me, I loved that gerbil and discovered a dream!)
I continued to write, not only for school projects, but also for myself. Actually, I started to write letters to friends that I didn't intend to send. This helped me get my thoughts out on paper and often times gave me new perspectives for situations I was encountering in my life. These were my first journals.
Now, I write almost exclusively in my journal. Sometimes I write in preparation for a speaking event, but those opportunities have diminished with the moves. Or maybe, I packed that dream away, too.... So the thought of writing something to share with the 'world' is frightening. There is a vulnerability and permanency there, not to mention punctuation rules to follow!
So why write a blog? Because writing is one of my dreams, but I need practice and accountability.
Why now? Because I find that I am often telling my children and others to not let fear hold them back from what they love to do. I tell them to take a risk even if it means they might fail. I don't want the people I know and love to miss out on the abundant life God has for them because they are afraid. Apparently, my children have been listening because now they tell me the same thing. They are watching. So I write; even though it scares me and leaves me with a pit in my stomach when I push the publish button. And the truth is, I don't want to miss out on adventures in my life because I'm afraid; afraid of failing, afraid of what others would think, afraid of succeeding, afraid of criticism, afraid of everything. Fear is such a dream killer.
I have a plaque in my office that I read almost every day that asks: What would you attempt to do if you were not afraid? I would write. How about you?
I loved thinking of the various scenarios that could have landed him in jail. I ended up writing a fabulous story of how he unwittingly helped a pair of thieves by entering a house through the chimney, unlocking the door, and helping them load the contents of the house into a moving van. Now, it seems very much like an episode of the Jetsons cartoon I once watched..... I loved writing the story; adding detail to bring the story alive and replaying the scenes and dialogue over in my mind. And I particularly liked winning my gerbil, which I named Squirmy because it squirmed so much in its cage as I walked home with it. (My mom several years later told me that every kid who wrote a story won a gerbil. But it didn't matter to me, I loved that gerbil and discovered a dream!)
I continued to write, not only for school projects, but also for myself. Actually, I started to write letters to friends that I didn't intend to send. This helped me get my thoughts out on paper and often times gave me new perspectives for situations I was encountering in my life. These were my first journals.
Now, I write almost exclusively in my journal. Sometimes I write in preparation for a speaking event, but those opportunities have diminished with the moves. Or maybe, I packed that dream away, too.... So the thought of writing something to share with the 'world' is frightening. There is a vulnerability and permanency there, not to mention punctuation rules to follow!
So why write a blog? Because writing is one of my dreams, but I need practice and accountability.
Why now? Because I find that I am often telling my children and others to not let fear hold them back from what they love to do. I tell them to take a risk even if it means they might fail. I don't want the people I know and love to miss out on the abundant life God has for them because they are afraid. Apparently, my children have been listening because now they tell me the same thing. They are watching. So I write; even though it scares me and leaves me with a pit in my stomach when I push the publish button. And the truth is, I don't want to miss out on adventures in my life because I'm afraid; afraid of failing, afraid of what others would think, afraid of succeeding, afraid of criticism, afraid of everything. Fear is such a dream killer.
I have a plaque in my office that I read almost every day that asks: What would you attempt to do if you were not afraid? I would write. How about you?
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Dreams
Dreams can be scary. I'm not talking about the dreams you have at night (although they can rock your world), but those dreams that God places in each one of us to motivate us to live a life fully alive. Those dreams that when pursued, cause us to say, "This is what I was made for!"
Each one of us is created by God with these dreams, yet few of us truly live them out. We sense the dreams, but in our fear we minimize or hide them. We doubt the need they will fulfill. We allow other things and people to take priority. So we slowly begin to pack the dreams away. We tell ourselves that we will get back to them when we have more time or are better prepared to execute them. Soon, we find that we have packed them away somewhere deep inside. We hope that we can be satisfied without the dreams.....satisfied with our safe, comfortable routines like everyone else.
That's what happened to me. I knew that God had great plans for me. I knew that He would use my life and my experiences to bring Him glory and praise. And for a while, I tried to follow His lead and pursue my dreams. But then the moving started......
Slowly, like my possessions, I began to pack my dreams away. The moves shook my confidence in who I was and to whom I belonged. I doubted my abilities, my significance, my call. So I packed my dreams away. Although, I did keep a small part out, hoping it would satisfy; hoping it would be enough. It wasn't.
But God...
He is not satisfied to let us pack away our dreams to be forever forgotten. He knows their importance, not only for us, but for others, and for His glory.
But God...
He will use circumstances and people to remind us of our dreams; our desire for more. He will challenge the comfortable existence we have created.
That is what God has done. He has brought me to a place of emptiness, loneliness, and dissatisfaction. A place where I knew a part of me was missing.....my dreams.
But dare I look for them? Dare I pursue them? Dare I share them?
But God...
A conversation with my oldest daughter reminded me of my dreams. Then she and my husband dared me to find the box where I had packed my dreams away. They dared me to look inside, take out its contents, and share it with them. As I began to do that, I felt the life begin to come back to those once dead places in my heart. I heard God remind me again, "I have great plans for you!"
So this is the journey of unpacking my dreams and bravely pursuing the call God has given to me. My hope and prayer is that what I share here will encourage others to be brave; to pursue the full life God has for them. And that through this process God will receive all the praise, honor, and glory.
Each one of us is created by God with these dreams, yet few of us truly live them out. We sense the dreams, but in our fear we minimize or hide them. We doubt the need they will fulfill. We allow other things and people to take priority. So we slowly begin to pack the dreams away. We tell ourselves that we will get back to them when we have more time or are better prepared to execute them. Soon, we find that we have packed them away somewhere deep inside. We hope that we can be satisfied without the dreams.....satisfied with our safe, comfortable routines like everyone else.
That's what happened to me. I knew that God had great plans for me. I knew that He would use my life and my experiences to bring Him glory and praise. And for a while, I tried to follow His lead and pursue my dreams. But then the moving started......
Slowly, like my possessions, I began to pack my dreams away. The moves shook my confidence in who I was and to whom I belonged. I doubted my abilities, my significance, my call. So I packed my dreams away. Although, I did keep a small part out, hoping it would satisfy; hoping it would be enough. It wasn't.
But God...
He is not satisfied to let us pack away our dreams to be forever forgotten. He knows their importance, not only for us, but for others, and for His glory.
But God...
He will use circumstances and people to remind us of our dreams; our desire for more. He will challenge the comfortable existence we have created.
That is what God has done. He has brought me to a place of emptiness, loneliness, and dissatisfaction. A place where I knew a part of me was missing.....my dreams.
But dare I look for them? Dare I pursue them? Dare I share them?
But God...
A conversation with my oldest daughter reminded me of my dreams. Then she and my husband dared me to find the box where I had packed my dreams away. They dared me to look inside, take out its contents, and share it with them. As I began to do that, I felt the life begin to come back to those once dead places in my heart. I heard God remind me again, "I have great plans for you!"
So this is the journey of unpacking my dreams and bravely pursuing the call God has given to me. My hope and prayer is that what I share here will encourage others to be brave; to pursue the full life God has for them. And that through this process God will receive all the praise, honor, and glory.
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