Merry Christmas from the Brittons 2016

Merry Christmas! How are you? I hope you're looking forward to celebrating the birth of Jesus and thoroughly enjoying the Advent season.

Let me get you caught up with the Brittons.

We did NOT move this year! Yay! We're still living in Bloomsburg, PA. While summer is mild and fall is gorgeous, we're not excited about the coming winter months. This year promises to be cold and snowy. But, since Allen and Davis have joined the ski club at school, they're willing to deal with it.

We're already praying for safety during those Wednesday afternoon ski trips because we've used up our injury quota for years to come. Last year during football season, Allen re-injured his shoulder but continued playing and even played a season of basketball. Near the end of basketball, he asked if we could get his shoulder checked out. Turns out he had a “slap tear” or torn labrum. His doctor recommended physical therapy instead of surgery which would have included 6 months of rehab. So, spring found him at our physical therapist once a week at 6am. He worked hard, rarely has pain in that shoulder now and played a great season of football this fall.

In the 5^th game of our football season this school year, Davis severely sprained his ankle. He couldn't walk off the field and the team trainer quickly called an orthopedic doctor, who's also a football player's dad, from the stands to the sideline. Davis was out for the next 3 games, became good friends with the team trainer because of all the hours spent icing, taping and rehabbing that ankle and now does exercises every day during his chemistry class in order to strengthen his joint.

Both boys attended Pennsylvania Free Enterprise Week this summer where they, along with about 500 other high school students, tried their hand at running a company. They learned about marketing and stocks and the costs of running a business. They both enjoyed it but Davis' interest in business as a profession seemed to be particularly peaked.

Both boys started on the varsity football team, Allen at free safety and holder, Davis at defensive end and left tackle. They're considering wallpapering their rooms with all the college letters they're receiving and they're enjoying the newfound freedom of driving themselves around town in their Nissan Altima, or the Vroom Vroom Car as Bobby likes to call it. Though neither is quite sure where they want to attend college or what they want to major in, they're learning to face the future and all it's uncertainties quite bravely. They are just juniors, after all, they have some time, and we're quite proud of them.

The "Vroom Vroom" Car

Allen is taking another AP history class and planning a trip to Germany, Austria and Switzerland (and Lichtenstein, says Allen, everyone forgets Lichtenstein!) in the spring with the German Club. He worked at the Bloomsburg Fair in September. Friends of ours from church hired him for their apple dumpling stand which their family has run for years. Allen worked about 60 hours hauling drums of ice cream, taking customer orders and scooping Penn State ice cream (that's a real thing for those of you non-Pennsylvanians!).

Davis also planned on working at the fair, but since his ankle injury was the Friday before he was to begin, he had to sit this year out. This summer Davis played a lot of golf with a patient friend who's on the golf team at school. He also attended a mission trip with our church youth group to Ocean City, MD. There, they helped serve meals to international students, shared the Gospel on the boardwalk and participated in Bible studies with a local church. He recently got his braces off which makes him happy and Allen irritated in equal measure. Allen gets his braces off on February 2^nd. We're all counting the days.

Davis' Braces

At Thanksgiving, Bobby fulfilled a bucket-list dream of his by taking us to the National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, NY. We spent a long weekend wandering around the Hall of Fame, reading inspirational stories, looking at team memorabilia, listening to famous clips of baseball games and watching video of incredible plays. We stayed in a cozy and comfy cabin just outside town, enjoyed the cute shops in Cooperstown and the beauty of Lake Otsego.

Bobby also really stepped out of his comfort zone when he reluctantly agreed to be the president of our high school football booster club. He did a great job and has been asked by more than one person to take on the job for another year. I'm not sure he'll do it again, but I'm so proud of him for all his hard work. I didn't realize the booster club presidency came with first lady responsibilities, but alas, it did. I ended up selling ads for the weekly football program and helping to organize senior night. It was fun to be involved, help out and get to know people better.

This year I hosted a weekly Bible study at our house and attended Moms in Prayer meetings to pray for Central Columbia schools. I was lucky to be able to make a trip back to Alabama in March to celebrate my Grandmama's 95^th birthday! And, I grudgingly had my second knee replacement in 2 years. This time my right knee needed to be replaced and the same doctor who did my left one in May 2015 did this one, too. I found this surgery harder to recover from, but am happy to report that all's well now. As my doctors continue to joke, luckily, I only have 2 knees (har har), so hopefully I'm done with major surgeries for a long while.

As you can tell from this blog, I continue to write fairly regularly and appreciate the outlet it offers. Thanks for indulging us and reading this letter here instead of receiving it in the mail. Doing our part to save the rainforests, I suppose.

Allen in the foreground, Davis with the Auburn hat

May you find a chance this Christmas to slow down, reflect on your blessings and plan for the coming year. May you feel the presence of the Almighty God down to your bones, may you swim in His love and revel in His grace. May your time in the glow of the Lord Jesus change you, grow you, and set you free to live the life you've so freely been given.

Gather 'round ye children, come

Listen to the old, old story

Of the pow'r of Death undone

By an infant born of glory

Son of God, Son of Man

Gather 'round remember now

How creation held its breath

How it let out a sigh

And it filled up the sky with the angels

Son of God, Son of Man

So, sing out with joy

for the brave little boy

Who was God,

but He made Himself nothing

He gave up His pride

and He came here to die like a man.

“Gather 'Round, Ye Children Come”

• from Andrew Peterson Presents Behold the Lamb of God

Merriest of Christmases to you, dear friend!

Amy, Bobby, Allen and Davis Britton

 

Thanksgiving


The dictionary defines Thanksgiving Day as “a day appointed for giving thanks for divine goodness.” While it strikes me as amazing that the dictionary still acknowledges the divine and not just a day to eat as much turkey and dressing as possible, I'm thankful that it does. I'm glad it's still tradition to count your blessings and express gratitude. And, I hope everyone makes that part of their Thanksgiving ritual, a time when they can openly number the goodness in their lives and the One responsible.


While we've had lots of traditional Thanksgivings with a jumble of family and we've eaten cranberry sauce from a can, our last several have been unconventional. While they've been fun, they haven't looked exactly like I think they're supposed to.


Beginning about 5 years ago, we decided that we couldn't go back to Alabama for Christmas AND for Thanksgiving. So, we've opted to stay close to home in November. One of the first times we tried this we were living in Nebraska. We were so new to the area that I still regularly got lost, we were living in a hotel and we hadn't yet found a home to rent . So, we decided to visit my Aunt Sally and Uncle Gary in Minnesota.


We spent a long weekend cooking and eating, of course, but we also played cards for hours, laughed at stories of Aunt Sally and my dad growing up and bought a huge bag of popcorn that we tried to polish off during the Auburn – Alabama game. We were comfortable and welcomed and wanted. Just how I want to feel when I step into someone else's home and just how I want others to feel when they step into mine.


The next two Thanksgivings we still lived in Nebraska, but we spent both at the home of Diane and Dallas McKellips. We were good friends with them, their kids and grandkids from church. We ate dinner at tables scattered throughout their family room and kitchen, then spent the rest of the afternoon playing card games that I never quite got the hang of. It was fun and delicious and we truly felt like part of their family. When I asked Diane what I could bring she told me to just bring whatever made it feel like Thanksgiving to us. That would have been my grandmother's cornbread dressing which is lots and lots of trouble. So, Allen decided he couldn't live without my mom's strawberry and pineapple jello “salad” instead.

Thanks Wikipedia!

 
We called my mom for the “recipe” which goes something like this: Get two small boxes or one large box of strawberry jello, not the sugar free kind. Just make the jello like the package says, but don't add quite as much water as they tell you to. Let it sit in the refrigerator until it starts to “jell”. But, not too long. Then, stir in a can of crushed pineapple, drained, and some frozen strawberries that you've thawed. But, don't put all the can of pineapple in if it looks like too much and you may need to cut the strawberries. Stir it around and put it back in the fridge and hope it sets up.


If you're smirking or laughing about now, you should ask my mom for her biscuit or cornbread “recipes.”


Grandmom's strawberry pineapple jello “salad” sat happily on the McKellip's counter where Allen ate about half of the 9x13 pan. That dish continues to make annual appearances on our Thanksgiving table where it's about the only “traditional” thing we have, and, yes, I know it's not strictly “traditional.”


Now that I'm thinking about recipes, I have to tell you this. On our first Thanksgiving living in Austria, I decided I would bless all our new missionary friends with my grandmother's cornbread dressing. So, I placed a very expensive long-distance call for her recipe and moral support. I had no idea (no idea!) that you had to MAKE cornbread and biscuits BEFORE you even mix it all up and bake it again. No idea. I've had this dressing for most of the Thanksgivings and Christmases in my life. It's what the holidays look and taste and smell like to me. But, now I usually just wait for the trip south to eat Grandmama's. It doesn't taste quite the same if she's not sitting nearby anyway.


Our last two Thanksgivings have been even more unorthodox. Last year, we took a trip to Washington DC where we ate our Thanksgiving lunch at the Museum of the American Indian. I had a “taco” which consisted of ground beef on top of some sort of round bread. Bobby had corn on the cob with gigantic kernels of corn, and at least one of our boys had a hamburger. Just like the first Thanksgiving, right?


That evening, after walking miles and visiting most of the monuments on the National Mall, we drug ourselves back to our condo near the Capitol. We made Grandmom's strawberry pineapple jello “salad” to eat with turkey and fancy cheese sandwiches. Then, we gathered at a tiny table beneath a mural of the White House to eat and give thanks and rest our tired feet.

Cooperstown, NY

 Last week, we spent Thanksgiving in Cooperstown, NY. We planned to see the Baseball Hall of Fame and wander around a cute town. Thanksgiving Day we slept in at home, ate a big breakfast (we did have biscuits, but I did NOT call my mom for her recipe) and packed peanut butter sandwiches for the road. We ate sandwiches and tiny bags of chips in the van knowing that for dinner we would again have “our” Thanksgiving tradition of fancy turkey sandwiches, this time with swiss cheese and cranberry chutney and, of course, Grandmom's strawberry pineapple jello “salad”. We ate at a table in a cabin with the Dallas Cowboys on TV in the background.


While our Thanksgivings aren't always “traditional”, there is always much to be thankful for. We've had adventures and laughter and fun. We've been blessed and hopefully blessed others in the process. What I hope my kids will remember and what I want to remember too is that there's great joy in sinking into whatever the holidays may look like for you. For us that means living too far away to get home easily, for you that may mean making the rounds to three Thanksgiving dinners at three different homes. But, for all of us, taking a minute to thank the “divine” for family, friends and good fortune is a beautiful practice.


Ann Voskamp in her book One Thousand Gifts encourages us to number those blessings we have in life, those gifts small or huge, those things that take our breath away or make us sigh. I've kept a “thankfulness notebook” for several years now. While I don't write in it every day, I do often pick it up to write new blessings or reminisce over those I've already counted.


A few gifts in my notebook are candles that smell really good, $29 basketball shoes, and Facebook birthday messages. I've included bowling with fun people, a chilly night and a snuggly sweatshirt, and Valentine decorations left up too long. New knees, Bobby who keeps on loving me, and chapstick with different flavors at each end have made my list, too.


But, the things I'm thankful for at the moment are my family, laughing with my way too grown up kids, my mom who clipped a recipe for strawberry pineapple jello “salad” a long time ago, and knowing I can thank the Divine for this crazy, beautiful life no matter what day it is.

“Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos into order, confusion into clarity...It turns problems into gifts, failures into success, the unexpected into perfect timing, and mistakes into important events. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today and creates a vision for tomorrow.”

--Melody Beattie, author

The Romance of the Daily

I enjoy a good love story.  I relish and seek them out.  My friend, Heather, says she'll watch any movie as long as there's enough love to keep her interested.  I don't think Heather and I are alone.  I think women across the globe long for stories that make them sigh, stories that come back to us in our dreams.  

I've long wondered why I'm so drawn to romance.  A while ago I started wondering if there wasn't some spiritual implication in all this.  Guys are drawn to a quest or battle, a fight between right and wrong, good and evil.  Women are typically drawn to the love story.  So, I started looking around and here's what I found.

“Real life” totally gets in the way.  I have a wonderful, romantic husband.  He occasionally brings me flowers and makes grand gestures.  He regularly lays down his life for me and our kids and I know I'm spoiled and blessed beyond measure.  But, we live in a world where work is stressful and surgeries need to be recovered from and kids need our undivided attention.  We live where there's dust on the mantle and the silly “all natural” toilet cleaner doesn't keep the toilet clean for very long.  Intimacy doesn't always sound like a great idea and dinner out sometimes sounds like too much effort when we can order in and watch another episode of “Once Upon a Time” on Netflix.  

In an article on familylife.com called “5 Romantic Needs of a Woman,” Dennis Rainey says, “But creating adventurous romance requires planning and enthusiastic effort.”  I don't know about you, but my planning and enthusiasm muscles are sometimes the last things I want to exert.

I don't want to just pop in The Princess Bride or pick up Jane Eyre when the desire for romance comes along, but sometimes it's all I can manage.  In her article on christianitytoday.com, Caryn Rivadeneira says, “Any of us who enjoy reading fiction – of any stripe – do so in part for the entertaining escape.  Whether it's romance or mystery, literary novels or action-packed adventures, we love reading because we love getting lost into other people's lives, worlds, interests, and desires.  We can enjoy all the good of their world or crying at the hardship, all the while understanding that it is made up.”  She goes on to say that romance is lovely and that God even uses romance to describe His passion for us, His people, in the Bible.

“Entertaining escape.”  I want to tread lightly here. Escape just for the sake of escape may not be good or right.  But, everyone needs a breather now and again.  When Allen and Davis were tiny babies and we still needed help as often as we could get it, I felt a bit, um, overwhelmed.  I was a clueless though passionate mom to those twins.  I was unprepared for what life would be like with two babies and felt like I was sinking in a pit of diapers and burp cloths and tiny socks.  I nursed and nursed and slept, then started nursing again.  Part of what got me through that time was a series of books called The Mark of the Lion by Francine Rivers.  What I remember about the books is that a girl named Hadasseh lived this brave, romantic, beautiful life.  She was a Jewish woman who remained true to God even after being sold into slavery, taken to Rome from her home, and thrown into the coliseum to be eaten by lions.  

I read these books aloud to tiny baby Allen and Davis while I nursed them.  At one point in the book, blood-thirsty crowds start chanting, “Jugular, jugular!”  Oblivious, I kept right on reading until my sister stuck her head in my room and asked what was going on.  I think she gently suggested different reading material for her nephews' first introduction to fiction.  It was just so much easier to read about Hadasseh's inspirational life than to go out and live my own.

But, it's not just an escape I long for.  It's an unmet need for things to be better.  To look out at the world and actually see the good.  I long for those “ahhh” moments, the moments that make you want to weep with the beauty and perfection of the romance.  Those moments like when Buttercup realizes the Dread Pirate Roberts is her long lost Wesley, like when someone proposes by having a banner flown behind an airplane over a football game, like the picture I saw online of a Marine holding hands with his beautiful, emotional bride, hidden around the corner of a wall, praying just before their wedding.

It seems I should be able to transfer this joy and comfort in the love stories of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy or Buttercup and Wesley to joy and comfort in the living God.  God's love is perfect and holy and sacrificial and all things good.  Though I've read Song of Solomon, I can’t seem to regularly think of God's love for me as romantic.  I've spent so much of my life thinking of God as my Father and Savior and Friend.  How do you make that transfer to knowing God loves us with a romantic love as well?  Should I even be trying?  Because, so far, I haven't been successful.

In the first chapter of Song of Solomon alone, the man compares his love to a horse and her eyes to doves.  They speak of the bed they share and what his head smells like as he lays it on her chest.  That's all just in the first chapter!  But, the most romantic picture of all is Christ, coming to the dreadful earth from the paradise of Heaven and giving Himself, literally dying, for the one He loves, the one who is worth it all.  

I've heard the symbolism of living the Christian life being like a grand adventure, an epic battle and a romance of the ages.  I want to live like Stephen Curtis Chapman's “The Great Adventure” and saddle up my horse every morning, knowing I have “a trail to blaze.”  I want to leap out of bed wondering what God has for me.  I want to be like Jean, an Assyrian refugee we once knew.  A fellow missionary said, “I like hanging around Jean, exciting stuff happens because he loves God so much.”  

I'm sure Jean worked on his relationship with God.  Maybe his relationship with Jesus was marked by “planning and enthusiastic effort”.  Maybe Jean wouldn't have thought of this as romance, but maybe he didn't need that imagery.  But what about women?  Do we NEED that?  Does the thought of “falling in love with Jesus” spur us on to being better Christians?  

There's a song by Jason Gray called “More Like Falling in Love.”  Part of it goes like this:

I need more than a truth to believe
I need a truth that lives moves and breathes

To sweep me off my feet, it's gotta be

More like falling in love than something to believe in
More like losing my heart than giving my allegiance

Caught up, called out come take a look at me now
It's like I'm falling, oh it's like I'm falling in love

It's a good song and I like it a lot.  I think it sums up my feelings on this whole romance thing.  I want to feel like I'm falling in love.  I don't just want a set of principles to live by.  

But,...

Hardee's Biscuits, yumm

I fell in love with my husband over frozen yogurt and the Shakespeare theater, Hardee’s biscuits on Saturday mornings and water skiing, watching from my screen door hardly able to wait to see his blue car pulling up in my driveway and holding hands walking into the free movies at Auburn.  Now, 23 years into marriage, I'm still crazy about him, he still makes me laugh like no one else and I'm still happy to see him pull into the driveway.  

But, it's different than it used to be.  I may not thrill when he touches my hand like I used to, but now I'm known by him.  He senses my moods and my thoughts.  He cares for me and protects me.  The heart-pounding and the barely contained excitement may have tempered, but the love, deep and abiding, is still there.  It's still beautiful and strong, but it's really different.  I'm not falling in love, I have already fallen.  I'm in.

So, while I love a good romance and it reminds me of where I've been, it also reminds me of what's to come.       

Again, in Madeira’s christianitytoday.com article she says, “It is the ideal of being forgiven and love conquering all that appealed to me.  And while my brain knows this isn't always true, my heart wishes it were.  The good news is that my soul knows it will.  Not in a book.  Not in this life.  But one day.”

One day!  One day all the pieces will fit, this will all make sense and we'll love it!  We don't know the time, but one day Jesus will come back and call those who know Him, who've given their lives over to Him.  We'll be with Him in His Father's mansion, better even than the Beast's mansion in Beauty and the Beast or living in Biltmore in North Carolina.    

Of course, I don't want to be locked up whiling away the hours doing nothing but reading Jane Austen and watching “Wives and Daughters.”  I want to live the romance.  I want to appreciate what I have and enjoy the here and now.  I want to see the beauty and feel the love around me.  I want to dwell there, in the romance of the daily.  

So, go ahead and cry when Jerry Maguire says, “You complete me.”  Go ahead and sigh when Kate Bosworth tells Topher Grace how many smiles he has in “Win a Date with Tad Hamilton.”  But, don't forget that it's just a poor picture of what will really happen when Jesus comes back in the clouds, when He speaks your name, when we finally get the happily ever after we’ve been longing for.

How to Successfully Love Your Husband When He Feels Like a Failure

Maybe “failure” isn't much of an issue in your marriage. Maybe your husband breezes through life with a smile on his face. He was born under a lucky star. That's awesome. You've just saved yourself about 10 minutes! You don't have to read this! Congratulations! Go hug your husband!

However, if your husband sometimes struggles with feelings of failure or inferiority, then keep reading. You're not alone. Just so you know, I have permission from my sweet husband to share this stuff. You're not intruding on something private that I should have kept close to the vest. We're good.

Several years ago, Bobby owned and ran a store. It was a beautiful, wonderful store that actually helped people and Bobby loved working there. It was his dream come true. Long story short, it closed. Bobby describes that time as a period of mourning. Though he jumped right into looking for another job, it was hard and not much happened. He worked a couple of jobs where he was “under-employed”, but he didn't find a good fit until a friend (a dear, wonderful man who we will remain indebted to forever!) connected Bobby to another man who hired Bobby for a job that was 671 miles from our home in Alabama.

Bobby jumped on it. He loves his work, for which we're thankful even though it involves the adventure of occasionally moving across the country.

My husband works hard and provides abundantly for our family. I'm incredibly thankful. But, during the dark time when Bobby was still looking for a job, I wasn't. Though I had moments of loving him really well, I was often frustrated and angry. I could be snarky and impatient because of my fear. What if he never found another job he loved? What if he never found another job?

I could have loved him so much better.

I'm convinced every guy out there feels like a failure at some point. Maybe job issues aren't his concern. But, maybe he doesn't feel a strong connection to his children, or his relationship with his parents isn't the best. Maybe he doesn't read as much as he thinks he should, or doesn't make it to the gym 3 times a week. Whatever the issue, the result is the same: feelings of failure, of feeling “less than” he thinks he should be.

I have some ideas on how I can love my husband better during those hard times and I want to share them with you.

Believe, and help him believe, that this plan isn't only for him. God chose this path for you and your children too. My whole attitude changed when God reminded me of this. God's plan for your husband may be to walk through a disagreement with a co-worker, or to be told by the doctor that he has diabetes and MUST lose 50 lbs. God's plan for you is to be the helpmeet to the husband who has to walk through that.

No one suffers alone, but no one celebrates alone either. When you said “I do”, you made a commitment for better or worse, remember? This is just the “for worse” part. Believe that “for better” is right around the corner.

1993, All Young and Naive

Pray. This can't be overstated. It's imperative, vital that you pray for your husband. Pray fervently and often. Pray when you wake up and when you're making breakfast. Pray in the shower and when you're walking around the block. Pray at stop lights and before he comes home. Just pray and pray and pray.

In those prayers, make sure you're not just rehashing what's wrong. You CAN do that. God can handle it. But, thank God for what's going right too. List the things you love about that man. Tell God how thankful you are that out of all the men in all the world, God picked this one for you.

Show affection. Kiss your husband before he goes to work. Make it a really good smooch on the lips. Hug him when he gets home. Pinch his behind when he walks by you in the kitchen and hold his hand when you're watching TV. Knowing that you're attracted to him physically is a boon to a man's ego and self-worth, 2 things he desperately needs when he's in the pits.

Take care of yourself. Workout, read your Bible, use that face mask that's supposed to tighten the skin around your eyes or take an afternoon nap. Whatever you need to do to help get your game face on, so you're ready to love that man, do it. Did you hear me? I said, whatever you need to do, DO IT.

Keep the house reasonably tidy. You'll be able to think more clearly if things aren't falling down around your ears. For me, this means having fresh flowers on the kitchen table most of the time. I need to have clean clothes in the drawers and for the couches to be tidied up before bed. In my world, the rest of the house stuff is negotiable. I like making dinner from scratch and having a freshly mopped floor but, that doesn't always happen. We're talking Necessary stuff here, only what will make you stark raving mad if it goes undone.

Ever wonder why so many actors often “fall in love” while working together? They're ACTING like they're in love so they start to BELIEVE it's real. If you're having a hard time loving your husband, stop and think how Elizabeth would act with Mr. Darcy or how Bella would support Edward or what Snow would say to Charming. Then, DO it. ACT like you're in love. The feelings will come back as you practice.

True Loves' Kiss  (abc.go.com)

Okay, if you're not married, or a grown up, you might want to skip to the next paragraph. Sex helps! 50 million bonus points if you initiate. Have sex with your husband a lot. A LOT. Plan ahead to make it a great night. Do you need a nap, a bubble bath, to shave your legs, drink a glass of wine? Do it. This is almost as important as praying for your husband. His confidence and attitude and disposition will all be affected for the better. Yours will be too.

Realize that you're doing eternally important work. The job of loving your husband is huge. Loving your husband well when he's down is overwhelming. Know and embrace that this is a challenge. It's hard and time-consuming and exhausting. But, you can do it! God and your husband wouldn't have chosen YOU for this marriage if you couldn't.

“Keep a cheerful disposition, pray often, and love your husband more than anyone else on earth; you won’t need anything else.”

Feet of Clay by JJ Webb

Things I'm Learning From Knee Replacement #2

It hit me somewhere last night between midnight and 3am.  I was wandering around my bathroom trying not to wake my husband, waiting for pain medicine to kick in before trying to sleep again.  I didn't want to be there.  I desperately wanted to be snoring beside said husband, cuddled between our clean sheets and paisley quilt.  But, instead I was reading my Bible study book and stretching. 

It's been almost 6 weeks since my second knee replacement.  Honestly, I have nothing to complain about.  I've been walking without a cane or walker for weeks.  My scar, though red and angry looking, is healing nicely.  I'm going up steps almost normally and I can bend my knee to almost 100 degrees.

But...

I want to be done.  I want to hike in the woods and float down the river in a kayak.  I want to be at zumba class and out walking the streets of my neighborhood.  I want to sit through an hour long tv show without getting fidgety and sore.  Even now, I want to be able to type this and sit still without needing to get up and do some exercises.

But, that's not the plan for me at the moment.

So, last night as I was looking at my frizzy hair in the mirror and wondering why my huge bar of hand soap wasn't getting lather-y anymore, I realized that God has me here, on hold, for a reason.  I want out, I want normalcy, I want to be pain free. And, by the way, I want it now! 

But, I think I've learned some stuff in the waiting.

First,  I think God has me here to learn patience.  Yughh.  I don't want to be patient but I know it's a beautiful and valuable characteristic.  I once was a facilitator for a small prayer group.  I would email three ladies weekly asking them to share a prayer request or two with the group.  They weren't cooperating.  I got few responses; though, I knew they all valued prayer and wanted to be part of the group.  One week, in a snit of frustration, I emailed my three prayer partners and said sweetly, “Until I get prayer requests from y'all I'm praying that you have patience.”  I heard from them all that day.  Not one asked for patience.

Next, I think God's allowing this time of pain and frustration so that I can better identify with the sufferings of others.  I know what it's like to be in almost constant pain.  I know what it's like to have your family change plans to accommodate you, embarrassed though you may be.  And, I know what it's like to long to be able to take pain medication, again.  It's amazing the people I notice these days limping across grocery stores and parking lots.  I often want to stop and say, “Knee replacement?”  It's a club I'm not thrilled to belong to, but it's a club I understand.

I think I'm going through this also to, in some way, identify with the sufferings of Christ.  I'm not having thorns shoved into the skin of my forehead or nails driven into my wrists.  But, when I take another painful step, when I lay awake staring at the light seeping under my bedroom window, I remember that Jesus suffered intense pain.  And, He did it all for me.  I didn't understand His sacrifice in the same way before all this.

Humility.  Yet another prayer request I don't often hear.  But, pain, surgery, a lack of mobility, and admitting I've had two knee replacements before I turn 50 have taught me to be humble.  I'm not strong.  I'm not invincible.  But, I am humbly asking for and accepting help.  I'm really terrible at this.  The delicious meals, the sacrifices of time to take me places, the sweet hands offered when I take a wobbly step are helping me be better at accepting the service of others. 

Several years ago I was co-coordinator for VBS in a church that expected 300-350 children ages 4 years - 6^th grade.  We were also in the middle of a huge building project which caused hallways to be blocked and alternate routes to be needed.  It was crazy.  About halfway through the week, I was hiding with my co-coordinator in an office somewhere when I leaned toward her and said I had something I needed to confess.  I told her how I appreciated her working with me because I was terrible at asking for help.  I had just learned that about myself.  I was very proud of this insight.  She looked at me, nodded and smiled, understanding.  Then, she said, “Amy, I could have told you that!”  I was shocked.  I had no idea.  At least now I KNOW.

I would much rather be the one to show up on someone else's doorstep with lasagna.  I want to be the one to sit on the couch and comfort a friend.  But, it's a blessing to be able to accept that love from others.

Lastly, God has me here to experience the comfort and support of my family.  My husband has always been protective and affectionate.  He's quick to see when I've had enough and to help shield me from those trying to take advantage.  I'm sorry to say I haven't always appreciated that about him.  I have sometimes accused him of treating me like a child and underestimating me.  I was wrong and I'm so thankful he persisted in treating me like I'm precious and fragile. 

My 16 year old twin boys have surprised me with their caring concern, too.  While they've both been sweet and quick to offer help, they've shown their love in very different ways.  Davis seemed to hardly want me to move post-surgery.  He insisted on helping me retrieve my walker and scolded me about trying to do too much.  When Allen let me drive to get egg rolls one night, Davis shook his head, questioned his brother, increduously, then said, “I would have made you wait another week.”  Allen, who “let” me drive was right there in the passenger seat on the egg roll run.  He was also fond of putting my walker in the next room.  He thought I should have to work for it.

Though I'm still far from patient and humble, I think I'm now more content in the waiting.  I think I'm more willing to wring what God has for me from this frustrating and painful time because I've been reminded that there's a purpose.  As is often the case, I've found a couple of quotes that sum up my thoughts better than my own words can.

“The greatest Christians in history seem to say
that their sufferings ended up bringing them the closest to God -
so this is the best thing that could happen,
not the worst.” ~ Peter Kreeft

“Life is not in my hands.  I am not in control of every aspect of it and it is only when I fool myself into thinking that I am that the frustration sets in.” - Joan Chittister, OSB Wisdom Distilled from the Daily

            

Well, I Swear!

Actually, I don't swear.  At least not habitually and it's intentional.  I don't think I'm better than those who do cuss and I won't try to say I've never done it.  I just think there are better ways of expressing my anger or incredulity.  I don't think you're going to hell if you choose to swear.  I just think you're pretty lazy.

I grew up in a family that chose not to use profanity, so it was never an option in my formative years.  But, we were Auburn University fans and Auburn, like most colleges, uses some choice words in their cheers.  When I grew old enough to realize what those cheers were actually saying, I asked my mom about it.  She said something like, “Those kids go off to college and think they can start talking however they like.”  She said it with a “Tsk” and shake of her head.  I love Auburn, just don't see the point in wearing War D**n Eagle emblazoned across my chest.

When I was in 8th grade, my sister and I were both in the Golden Panther Marching Band at Lanett High School.  Each year there was one special half time show with more oomphh, more pizazz, more paraphernalia.  On this special night, my sister and I were rushing around trying to gather all the parts of our uniforms (gloves, hats, special shoes and socks), instruments, and frightening Halloween masks.  Our band was going to turn into a bunch of monsters at some point in the show, and throw down a rockin' version of Thriller.

But, we were having trouble getting out the door.  We were really late and my sister, band president and all around model high school senior, didn't do late.  We had already tried to leave the house a couple of times, always forgetting something vital. We thought we had finally made it and took off down our street in my sister's Maverick only for her to realize she had forgotten her dadblame mask.  She hurled her car into my Uncle George's driveway to turn around and in her very southern accent said, "Shit!”  I was shocked.  I seriously didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

I've been married 23 years and dated my wonderful husband for three years before our wedding.  We've made each other mad more times than I can count, but I can only remember once when that anger manifested itself in bad language, coming from me, I'm sorry to say.  It had something to do with stress,  a late night, and parallel parking a van.  It ended in laughter.  Apparently I can't pull off a good expletive.

So, it shouldn't surprise you that I, along with hordes of other Auburn fan moms down through the ages, taught my children the lyrics to the Auburn fight song "War Eagle" as follows:

War Eagle, fly down the field,
Ever to conquer, never to yield.
War Eagle, fearless and true.
Fight on you orange and blue.
Go! Go! Go!
On to vict'ry, strike up the band.
Hit 'em high, Hit 'em low
Stand up and yell, hey!
War Eagle, win for Auburn,
Power of Dixieland!

Only that's not how the fight song really goes.  Where I taught my kids "hit 'em high, hit 'em low" it actually says, "Give 'em hell!  Give 'em hell!"  Which, by the way, rhymes with "stand up and yell".  But, anywho....

My children recently visited the College Football Hall of Fame with my sister and her husband (he can swear with the best of them, but can't abide anyone saying the word "hate").  While there, my kids and sister participated in a “fight song karaoke.”  That's where my sheltered 16 year old boys learned the truth.  

We've tried to teach our children that they will encounter times of frustration and irritation; that they'll be tempted to swear up a blue streak.  But, we don't think they should.  We think they should use their imaginations a bit.  Just think how much more interesting the movie The Usual Suspects would have been if instead of cussing more than 70 times they had said things like:  

"Back when I was picking beans in Guatemala, we used to make fresh coffee, right off the trees I mean. That was good. This is gross but, hey, I'm in a police station.”  Or, they could have used the word atrocious, or abominable, or subpar, or unacceptable, or lousy.  Would the movie have suddenly become silly or would it not have been taken seriously?  I doubt it.

If they had used “stink” or “bull honky tonky” maybe.  I learned “bull honky tonky” from my cousin who grew up in Fort Worth.  He's a pastor now.  He claimed that expression for the state of Texas, but I lived there for 4 years and never heard anyone outside of my family use it.  It's really fun to say.  You should totally incorporate it into your vocabulary.

So, bottom line, if you're going to swear (which you shouldn't), you should think of those wordy durds like fouls in a basketball game:  You should make them count.

Brian Lamb, the founder of C-Span agrees.  He says, “I don't like swearing on the air. As a matter of fact, I'm not a prude, but... I watch HBO and some of the comedy stuff, and I'm constantly asking myself, 'Why have we gone there?' It seems like it's unfortunate. It's so cheap. It's so easy.”

The next time you feel some cheap and easy word about to fly out of your mouth, take a second and see what else you can come up with.  I bet you'll surprise yourself and come up with something G-rated that's even better.

Talking Across the Table

Do you have friends who whine and complain about stuff? Do you have family members who only talk about themselves? Do you like talking with these people? Do you go out of your way to spend time with them? Do they annoy the stink out of you?

I recently realized I'm that person.

I don't know how it happened, but my prayer life has been like that. God must hate to see me coming. “Oh no. Here comes Amy. Where can I hide? I wonder what she's whining about today?”

I know God doesn't look at me like that. But if He did, I would totally understand.

I once had a vision. It wasn't a real vision, more like a really clear picture in my head. I was sitting at the dining room table in my parent’s house, praying. I have no idea what was on my mind, but I was really going to town, verbally throwing things at God and then throwing something else. I didn't take a break or let up. I didn't give Him a chance to speak. I just kept going, on and on. Then, I “saw” Jesus sitting there, on the other side of the dining room table. He kept trying to say something, but I kept interrupting Him. He was too gentlemanly to stop me, so He kept listening and smiling and trying to get a word in edgewise.

Grandmama, across the table at her 95th birthday dinner.

I didn't realize I had become so self-centered. I was slipping down a slope of frustration and anger. I was constantly asking God to fix stuff. But, I wasn't making my request before the throne of grace in an attitude of trust and freedom. I wasn't acting like I KNEW God would answer. I was acting like a 4-year-old who thinks if they ask louder and longer and with enough tears, they'll get what they want. Not pretty.

There was no joyful expectation. There was just this ughhh, grasping and whining and ughhh.

Thankfully, God gently exposed my attitude. I'm sorry to admit this, but He had to show me in three different ways.

First off, I read the May 26^th devotion in Oswald Chambers' classic My Utmost for His Highest. Then, I started praying through Phyllis Tickle's book The Divine Hours, Prayers for Summertime. And, finally I started re-reading the Mitford books by Jan Karon.

On May 26^th Oswald Chambers says Jesus never mentions unanswered prayer. “He had the boundless certainty that prayer is always answered.” Then Chambers says, “The danger with us is that we want to water down the things that Jesus says and make them mean something in accordance with common sense; if it were only common sense, it was not worthwhile for Him to say it. The things Jesus says about prayer are supernatural revelations.”

Do you pray like that, as if God ALWAYS answers? Do you believe that? I've had “unanswered prayer” in my life and I bet you have too. So, do I choose to believe that God just hasn't answered yet, or that His answer was “no” or that He answered in a way I didn't notice? Do I choose to believe that He always hears, He's always attentive, He's always near?

A year ago, I was recovering from a total knee replacement. It wasn't horrible, it was just painful in ways I didn't expect – it affected my whole body, not just my leg and left me winded. I was tender and fragile. It was then I read about a book called The Divine Hours. It was described as praying scripture without picking up your Bible. It sounded holy and peaceful and beautiful; things I desperately needed.

I prayed through the book last summer and as June approached this year, was surprised to discover that I remembered and longed for the peace and order The Divine Hours would bring. So, I began again to pray with all those who've prayed before, “Lord God, almighty and everlasting Father, you have brought me in safety to this new day: Preserve me with your mighty power, that I may not fall into sin, nor be overcome by adversity; and in all I do direct me to the fulfilling of your purpose; through Jesus Christ my Lord. Amen.”

Lastly, I began reading again the Mitford books featuring Father Timothy Kavanagh. Father Tim is an Episcopal priest in the fictional village of Mitford. These books are a beautiful picture of a life well-lived. It's fun to follow Father Tim as he walks to the Main Street Grill or gets called out to lunch with his oldest parishioner who tells him all her romantic family secrets. We get to watch and listen as he shares his faith and lives out his calling. The books are encouraging and sweet.

I once met Jan Karon, the author of these books, at a book signing. I quickly confessed my desire to write. She finished her signature, looked up with a smile and said, “Just do it! Honey, it's not brain surgery.”

Sitting around the table at a CRU ladies retreat dinner.

Lauren Winner in Girl Meets God confessed to loving the Mitford books. But, she was also embarrassed to be seen reading them, too simplistic I suppose. On her commute in NYC, she covered the books with brown paper so her secret would remain safe and she could continue getting her daily dose of encouragement.

So, God used these 3 books to guide me back to Him. I hadn't strayed, I was just desperate to get God to behave. I rehearsed my issues to Him over and over (and over and over). I told Him what needed to be done and when it should happen. I had a death grip on my plan and wasn't about to let go.

Since realizing this I would like to say I'm “cured”! I can let go and let God. But, I still slip up, often. My grasp may be looser, but it's still a grasp. I don't live with my hands unclenched yet. I'm more willing to listen, more willing to relax, more willing to trust. I still snatch things off the altar and start dragging them home thinking God doesn't know what He's doing. But, I'm quicker to turn around and go back; quicker to leave my petitions, my offerings, myself.

I'm trying to get closer to what G.K. Chesterson talked about when he said, "You say grace before meals. All right. But I say grace before the concert and the opera, and grace before the play and pantomime, and grace before I open a book, and grace before sketching, painting, swimming, fencing, boxing, walking, playing, dancing and grace before I dip the pen in the ink."

That may be one of the problems I've been having: a Believer's life really isn't supposed to be divided into “prayer” and “cooking dinner” or “prayer” and “working out”. It's supposed to be a life of continual conversation. A give and take. A ceaseless communication. A hopeful, joyful, peaceful togetherness.

Just like talking across the table.