Stupid Act or Lesson Learned?

Yesterday, I did probably the dumbest thing I have ever done in my life. I don’t know where my brain was, but it certainly was not functioning.  Maybe it was in my haste to get ready to head to church with all of the extra things I was taking for a special celebration during and after the service. Or it might have been because of my incredible level of distraction due to taking Jon’s service dog back again for the first time since his “retraining” at Pilot Dogs. Whatever the reason, I simply was not thinking.

I had the hatch of my leased Prius raised with all of the extra things we were taking that morning, and I had one more thing to add. I decided to back out of the garage, making it easier for Jon to load his dog.  And, you guessed it, with the hatch still raised, it smashed into the garage door, ripping off the spoiler on the edge of the hatchback.

The damage was complete. It broke every contact that holds the spoiler in place, so I drove on to church with it dangling by the back light wires.

All the way to church, I was beating myself up for my utter stupidity. I think I called myself every derogatory word I could think of at the time. I was totally astonished at how utterly moronic this episode was, and all I could think of was how much money this was going to cost me to get it fixed.

Then, I remembered.

What was the lesson?

If there wasn’t a lesson, then I know I would have been nudged by the Holy Spirit to realize my hatch was up. I have had those warnings many times before, and I have come to expect that extra support from my Comforter. It didn’t happen this time.

Now, maybe I was so distracted, I just didn’t hear it. Or, maybe there is a deeper lesson.

When I, ashamedly described my ditzy act during Sunday School, one of the ladies reminded me that maybe I am supposed to provide this opportunity for someone else to reach out and help me.

It was no surprise that this woman’s husband jumped to my rescue to help remove the light so that the broken spoiler could actually come off.

It’s a holiday weekend, and I have to wait another day to find out how much damage this unthinking act is going to do to my bank account. Regardless, as soon as I switched my thoughts from my shortcomings to His purposes, I felt much better inside.

Life is full of ups and downs, but our attitude is truly what makes the difference in how we handle them.

Hummingbirds and Joy

Today, while on my morning walk, I was waiting for some “aha” moment that would give me the inspiration needed for writing my blog. Not much of late had been shaking my world enough to actually write about, so I implored of the Lord to lay something on me.  Something really good! Of course I have no idea if anyone actually reads my blog, but I wanted to be able to have something that felt worthy of a readership.

Nothing.

I waited a bit longer and asked again.

Still nothing.

Just when I thought that at least for today, I would not be adding to my second edition of He Reaches My Heart and Teaches Me, I saw the sweetest hummingbird.

I was reminded of how the hummingbird defies aerodynamics and flies more like an insect than a bird. Somehow their ability to hover is so much more fascinating than watching a robin or cardinal in flight. There are many articles on the internet to explain how the hummingbird stays in one spot, but what I found more interesting about this tiny creature was how quickly it disappeared.  One second, I am watching in awe as this miniature being seemed to effortlessly hover over a flowering plant. Just as it registers in my brain that this was a hummingbird, it was gone. I mean, really gone!  I could not, for the life of me, determine where it went. And I was sad.

Here, for a fleeting moment of joy, and then gone.

Immediately, I felt the Holy Spirit teaching me yet another powerful lesson from nature.

We seek those times of joy as though they are the goal, and yet, almost always before we are ready, they so very quickly disappear. When joy becomes the sole reason for our purpose, we are going to be sorely disappointed. Joy does not last. It is a beautiful thing--just like that darling hummingbird. But before I could blink, it was gone.

I can be sad that it vanished, or be thrilled that it came.

Joy is not, and cannot be, the goal. Joy is a gift of the journey. Our goal is to live out our purpose.

Each of us has a purpose. Most likely, we have had several that have been reshaped along with the seasons of life. But we each have to walk our own path, seeking the purpose of our divine design. We find joy along the way. It's a byproduct of the walk.

Today, I was reminded by this beautiful hummingbird that moments of pure joy do not last, but when they come, we can use them as a source of gratitude to grasp onto during the more mundane stretches of our journey.  I am thankful for the hummingbirds that come along the way. They are gentle reminders of hope and enable us to focus on finishing the course.

Do not be distracted by the hummingbirds along the way. Revel in their sweet refreshing, like ice-cold water after a long hike in the hot sun. Rejoice that we have  hummingbirds to remind us of the goodness of the real journey.

Much peace to you, fellow travelers!

Results

I wished I loved to garden. I long for beauty around my home—flowers and greenery, and healthy trees and shrubs. I love to see beautiful lawns and manicured plant life. But the reality is, I hate the work.

I purchased fifty bags of mulch from our local high school football team. Now that I have laid out forty-four of them, I feel compelled to ponder why I dislike this work so much.

Is it the weeding? I'm not sure. There is something innately satisfying about pulling up things that don’t belong. However, when more than half of the weeds have small prickly parts, then the satisfaction is outweighed by the discomfort.  So, yes. I hate the weeding.

Is it the effort it takes? Well, I am not one to shy away from hard work, although, when the sweat drips onto my glasses while my hands are too full of dirt to wipe it away, I am not a happy camper. When my lower back is screaming at me to stop, and I still have many more feet to cover, I am also not too thrilled. When my knees say that they have had enough, and I’m not nearly done…. well, you get the picture.

I also know there is a very deep emotional disdain attached to gardening. My mother loved to garden. It was her first source of stress relief. She longed for me to want to work along side her, but there was simply too much “stuff” between us. When I did not live up to her expectations (which was quite frequently), then helping her in the garden became my punishment.  I was not allowed to play with my friends until I pulled up fifty dandelions, or planted a dozen petunias. Needless to say, the negative tension from the “Mommy wounds” is still strongly connected to anything having to do with gardening.

This morning, I stopped with just six more bags of mulch to do. I have two trees left to clear around. I wanted to finish the job today, yet these muscles that rarely get used have told me they were done. 

I am looking at the work I have completed. There is a robin prancing over the newly laid mulch around an oak tree in my back yard. She looks happy. That makes me happy too.

I want to finish the job because the results far outweigh the angst.

Adequate in Many Ways But Expert in None

We all have gifts and talents of some sort. Some have gifts that are rather obvious. Others? Well, if we look, we can eventually find something to recognize as a genuine strength. I have written before about wishing that some of my talents were more polished.

For instance, I love to sing. I always have. At one time, I really thought I could make a living with my voice. But then, life got in the way, and what was once such a passion became more like a hobby.

I sing each week in our worship team at church, but my voice does not bring me accolades as a star, nor does it bring an increase to my finances. I sing because it is a blessing. No CD’s bear my name. No one clamors to hear me. No concert tours. No YouTube videos. Just a Sunday morning service each week. And it is really okay.

I have other gifts. I write. I pray. I teach. I lead. I do each of these things actually pretty well—considerably better than the average bear. Yet, none of these are so extraordinary that others seek my gifts and expertise.

Periodically, I often stop and wonder if I should have chosen one of my gifts to refine to a higher level. If I focused all of my time and energy into just one arena, I could truly make it something special. I know that would be true.

When, however, I think of the cost to pour all of my resources into only one bucket, I get jittery inside. It is like choosing to nurse only one kitten of the entire litter. How could I not nourish and tend equally to each one?  Which would I choose? How could I ever decide?

I know I have been blessed with multiple giftings for a purpose. I just don’t know what that is, really.

The question is—which is better? One amazing gift that is so extraordinary that others seek my expertise; or above average in multiple ways?   Based on my gut reaction when I try to choose one gifting, I am guessing there really isn’t a choice here. For some reason, I have been called to be good at several things, but great in none. I am trying to fully embrace this understanding, but it sure isn’t easy. Somehow it feels like settling for less.

I asked Papa about this some time ago, and He asked me, “What would you give up?” I still am pondering this question, and the answer is still quite obvious to me. I don’t want to give up any one of them.

So, that means, I must find peace in being adequate instead of awesome in each of my giftings. When I am able to reframe this for myself, I realize that adequate in multiple ways is not to be taken lightly. I need to stop comparing myself to those who have a more narrow focus. It is a choice I have made and it really is okay.

I Make A Terrible Nurse

I am a terrible nurse. I have been trying to understand my wretched thoughts and frankly, I’m coming up empty.

I’d like to think of myself as a caring and compassionate soul. I truly do. But when my husband is sick, somehow, my thoughts are on me, and what a burden it is to care for him.

My husband is blind, so he takes some caretaking on a regular basis anyway. I’m used to that part. But when he is sick and can’t even do the things he normally does for himself, I have to fight my internal eye-rolling, and ugh-sound making.

I hate this part in me. I don’t want my ugly feelings during his sickness to define me, and yet, I have no clue how to rid myself of them.

Here are some factors that get in my way:

1.     Jon does not take care of himself. He doesn’t exercise, he eats a lot of potato chips and red meat, and only takes a polite portion of the healthier options that I regularly fix. For example, I often will make a yummy kale and mushroom side dish for dinner with lots of onions and fresh garlic. He eats about a ¼ cup, and I finish the entire pan.

2.     Jon reaches for OTC meds before he tries oils, supplements, or homeopathic options. I abhor medicines and only take them when I am desperate. I try to help him with this, but he doesn’t understand, nor does he seem interested in learning how to do this for himself. It makes me feel stuck because I want him to own his wellness journey and he won’t.

  

3.     He is unaware of his own body needs. This is a huge factor. He doesn’t know what a fever feels like, and describes chills and sweats, but doesn’t think to grab a thermometer (he has one that talks to him!), or use essential oils to help.  In addition, because he is so unaware, on numerous occasions, he has not made it to the bathroom in time. Just as with a young child, this causes me hours of clean-up and disinfecting.

4.     Jon used to pride himself on never getting sick, however, in the 17 months we have been married, he has been quite ill 7 different times. This does not include the migraine headaches that he gets at least three times a month.

So with these things going on in my brain each time he is sick, I am just mad. This creates an internal war with my compassionate, loving side. When I pray, I pray angry prayers.  I wish I had a nurse’s heart. What does it take to get rid of my selfish thoughts when my husband—the love of my life—needs me to remember my most sacred vows?  You know, “in sickness and in health?”

I guess I should be grateful that I am at least aware of this internal war, but I just don’t have a clue how to get myself to where I really want to be.

Thank you, Papa for creating in me a clean heart! I need it all the more when my husband is sick.