Mother of the Year? No Thanks

And what do you benefit if you gain the whole world but lose your own soul? Is anything worth more than you soul? 

--Matthew 16:26

If you've read my blog for any length of time you're aware that I struggled through a time of infertility before being blessed with my precious son, Dayton. And I feel that since I begged and pleaded and wept innumerable tears for this child that I should be the absolute best mother that I can be. Of course, there are countless resources and influences competing for my attention in the instruction of how to achieve this goal. Everything from newsletters filling my inbox, to magazines crowding my end table, to Pinterest and Facebook filling up multiple tabs on my browser. And of course, the good ol' fashioned advice from friends, family, acquaintances, and people I've never met before in my life. Oh, and not to leave out pediatricians, nurses, and other professionals of varying backgrounds. It's an information overload and it results in immense pressure. Especially for someone hardwired for perfection.

You see, I can't look at a list of the 25 best activities/habits/learning concepts to do with your toddler and choose just one or two to start with. I have to try the whole 25 because that's the best way, the perfect way, the 'mom of the year' way. But since that's impossible, I end up doing none of them and feeling like 'crummy mom of the year' instead. I can't possibly use all of the advice I'm given, I can't possibly live up to the standard of every best practice, I can't possibly do all of the ideas of Pinterest. But the perfectionist in me says that I fail if I don't and that has left me frozen in inaction.

Truth be told, I've been drowning under all this pressure---mostly imposed upon by my own self, I willingly admit. Drowning, and yet dying of thirst. You know, water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink! I get that. I totally get that.

But this weekend I was given an opportunity to wade knee deep in the Living Water. O, how it watered this parched and weary soul.

Twenty-four of us from my church convoyed over to Cedar Point for Point Fest, their annual Christian music festival. I debated for a couple of weeks whether or not to go--the money & leaving my son ALL.DAY. being two main reasons holding me back (it's hard to spend money on yourself after having a child--it just is!). But as this dry feeling began eroding more and more of my joy, my resolve, my drive, my sanity it became clear that I needed this badly. I didn't know what God would give me but He always shows up when I go looking. Always. And so I prayed for something, anything, that He wanted to give me, I said I'd take it.

Four bands, each giving a different message, each one profound, powerful, and of God. But the one that hit me the deepest, the one I'm holding on to and declaring for my truth from the Almighty Himself, came from Toby Mac at the end of the night. In a song I've had on my iPod for years and have listened to many times but that night I heard it with fresh ears. It struck me like a bolt of lightning, the floodgates of heaven opened in my soul and the water came rushing in. It'd be trickling through all day, soaking in slow and steady, but in this moment, I was drenched in the Living Water.

'I don't wanna gain the whole world, and lose my soul'. 

I don't want to be mother of the year 

and lose every semblance of grace in the process. 

I don't want to spend time reading about mothering while ignoring the one who needs mothered. I don't want to waste time talking about mothering while the one who needs mothered is trying to get my attention. I don't want to be supermom, that mom, a Pinterest mom, and end up with a child that had 'perfection' but no modeling of grace, joy, and redemption. I don't want to be the best mom anymore, I want to be the mom who does what's best for my family.

You see, I've been striving after the wrong things. I've been chasing someone else's standard, even chasing my standard is wrong. It's God's standard that matters. God's standard is grace, but I've been living in un-grace. No grace for myself, no grace for the ones around me. God's standard is love but it's awfully hard to love when you're living in un-grace. God's standard is joy, praise, gratitude, but un-grace will suck that out of a life at warp speed. Un-grace is the offspring of perfectionism bred with disappointment.

But as a redeemed child of God and a divinely appointed mother of my son, I can live in grace. I can model forgiveness, mercy, and compassion. I can praise and worship with my heart, my attitude, my words, and my song. I can show Dayton that it's okay to be imperfect, to mess up, to struggle (because I don't think for a moment the struggle is over just because I had an a-ha moment), because God is bigger than our biggest messes and His grace never runs out. I want to show Dayton with my life, not just teach him with my words, that gaining the whole world is worth absolutely nothing, if you lose your soul in the process.

If were to somehow meet every standard I've encountered in the world, to teach Dayton everything he's supposed to learn right on schedule, to prepare every meal with creativity and perfect nutrition, to do it all, it would mean NOTHING, nothing, nothing, NOTHING, if were to also lose my soul to un-grace in the process. Heaven forbid it. I'd rather lose a whole lot of the perfect and keep my soul alive in grace instead. Hallelujah! Amen.

The Future Hopes of a Silk Ribbon Quilt

I love my new background. I chose it on the Fourth of July, when I wrote my last post, because it looked fresh, summery, and inviting. There's just something about old, careworn quilts that I love, especially quilts with stories. My family doesn't seem to be too big into quilting, but someday I will inherit a very old quilt made from silk ribbons. I hope I have this story right...(Mom, let me know if it's not!)

My great-grandmother lived next to a cemetery and in those days the ribbons were made from real silk, instead of the plastic stuff they're made of now. After a time the cemetery caretaker would take down the wreaths, and offer the ribbons to her. Mamie would take them and hand-stitch them into beautiful, soft silky blankets. One particular quilt she pinned a note to explaining that it was for her first great-grandchild. She died when my mother was just a child so this blanket was made with hopes for the future in the belief that the family tree would keep on going. My great-grandmother probably figured it would be a child of my aunt's, being the oldest, but it was my brother Adam in 1980 that was the fulfillment of her future hope.

It seems that families and quilts go hand-in-hand. Patches of clothes and bits of fabric, silk ribbons saved from the cemetery, stories in every piece, love in every stitch, plans and intentions for warmth and love to continue on.

And I think of my family as a patchwork quilt, sometimes a crazy quilt. I have a hard time defining my family. If you asked me about them I'd have to ask you 'which one?' With Mom and Dad being divorced I've got step-parents, step-siblings, even step-nephews in the mix now. Of course I have my brother, his wonderful wife, and his precious baby girl to count. I've got family on my mom's side, and family on my dad's side. I consider my in-laws to be my family giving me two more brothers, another sister-in-law, a niece, and a nephew, as well as many aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents. And of course, there's my very own nuclear family: Curtis, Shiloh, Bode, and even Simon the Cat. We're a small family, and very furry, but we're a family all the same.

If I could turn my family into a quilt it would be colorful, vibrant, with many patterns and styles. My mom would be represented by soft pastel flowers, her sister by bright bold colors, my baby niece with little pink teddy bears, my 4 year old nephew with John Deere, my PapPap with corduroy sturdy and warm, my Grandpa with something red, white, and blue for his time in the Navy.

The pieces of a quilt don't all have to match or go together. By arranging them just right a mish-mash of fabrics can turn into a beautiful piece of art and love. The pieces of my family quilt don't all match or go together, but they're arranged just right, by God, in my life. When I finally abandoned the idea that a family is defined by only one certain set of criteria and simply let God shape and mold my family, or families, I was given a beautiful gift. A crazy quilt hand-stitched by the Ultimate Creator. He choose each person with care and placed them just right in my life, and I was placed just right in theirs.  Some of the edges are frayed and the pieces might not be quite square, but it's a masterpiece all the same.

Some people think that divorce means broken homes and broken families. And sometimes it does. I see a lot of that with students at my school. But in my case...God took all of us torn fragments, added some fresh new pieces (the next generation of my nieces and nephews) and made something whole out of it. My family might not look like the ones on TV, or like the people in the next pew at church. But my family is mine, patches and all. And like a warm cozy quilt stitched up with love, I appreciate it and value it very much.

Someday I will be able to pass on one of Mamie's silk ribbon quilts to the next generation, and my intention and my prayer is that something far greater goes along with it. I want the fibers of a family to be sewn up into my future little ones and my nieces and nephews--faith, love, acceptance, forgiveness, graciousness. These core values, the fibers of a family, is what brought all the pieces of my 'family quilt' together and what keeps us together. And its that family quilt, the one that isn't tangible, that is the real legacy.

Do You Hear the People Sing? I will!

My husband is amazing. He's not a big fan of musicals or live theatre. All that singing and dancing...not so much. He's more of a combine derby/tractor pull entertainment enthusiast. But he loves me and he knows just how much I love the theatre. So for the second year in a row I get to go see a show as late birthday/Christmas gift. Last year we saw 'Wicked' at the Stranahan in Toledo. And this weekend we're going to Cleveland to see 'LesMiserables' at Playhouse Square. I've been listening the soundtrack on my iPod to get me all pumped up and ready to see it...as if I really need any pumping up....(((read on)))

I've been trying to figure out how to explain it to Curtis, in about 10 minutes or less. Which is impossible. The show is nearly 3 hours long and covers a time span of at least 20 years. I've decided to boil it down to the central themes and give him a few names to get through the first act. Intermission will be spent trying to prep for the second act. Which thankfully isn't nearly as complicated. But honestly, if you're not familiar with the book or show the specifics of this post may not make sense to you. But I ask you to keep reading anyway...ignore the names and song titles. Read my heart instead, because my heart sings with music.

This is a show I've seen twice before--once on Broadway and once at Playhouse Square. My dad first took me to see it when I was 9 or 10 years old. We were vacationing in Ocean City, New Jersey which is about a two hour drive from NYC. On the way there he wanted to get me ready for the show...so he gave me some basic information about the plot, and then he had to tell me about prostitutes (one of the characters is one very briefly)...which is odd...because he hadn't told me about sex yet. And then he told me about flashers, which has nothing to do with LesMis but everything to do with NYC apparently. I've never looked at raincoats the same.

So there I was 10 years old, totally confused, and a little freaked out about the prostitutes and flashers...but I fell in love with it anyway. It takes place during the French Revolution (as if you couldn't tell from the name) and with all the French names I had no idea who was who but that didn't matter. It was the humanity, the music, the ambiance that had me completely spellbound. I didn't grasp it then, but it's a memorizing show about love, grace, redemption, sacrifice, war, liberty.

I can remember going back to Ocean City and talking to my older brother about it. To this day I have absolutely no idea why my dad took me and not my brother, but to be honest, I'm glad that he did (sorry, Adam...if you read this!). I tried to explain a show I barely understood, which has resulted in what will be a lifelong inside joke about John is John (the main character is Jean Val Jean) and 24601 (he has spent 20 years in jail and that is his prison number). Thankfully, my brother got introduced to the show in some other way and came to enjoy it almost as much as his little sister. If my niece had been a nephew, he would've gotten a homemade '24601' onesie. Sorry, Marissa...maybe I'll make you a 'Castle On A Cloud' onesie.

Anyway....my dad bought the 3-CD complete symphonic recording, which I listened to religiously. I fell in love with the character of Eponine, who suffers from unrequited love. This is why 'On My Own' was my first real solo in 7th grade. I cannot tell you how many thousands of times I sang that song alone in my room, feeling the pangs of being unnoticed and unloved by someone I 'loved' very much. *sigh* The angst of youth.

Thanks to that CD set, I memorized the entire show. To this day you could pick a spot anywhere in the show and I could probably recite the rest of it to you. Which is probably why when I went through my first real heart-crushing, devastating break up at age seventeen I remember singing 'I Dreamed a Dream'...because it felt like my life was over and that music was all I had to express the agony.

Recently I've fallen in love with different aspects of the show. I'm older now and finally understand the deeper themes of this complex epic. I see the issues of grace and justice, the real struggle between Val Jean and Javert (the 'antogonist' always trying to get Val Jean back in jail). Themes of sacrificial love and redemption unfold throughout the show. Some characters give up all they have, including their lives, out of love for another, giving that character a chance at redemption--a new better life. It's complicated and painful, but beautiful...just like life.

I have many favorite moments, but my hands-down favorite line in the entire show is :

 to love another person is to see the face of God.

This line was printed on our wedding programs, and I quote it often. I've even scribbled it on the pages of my Bible...1 John 4:12 (No one has ever seen God. But if we love each other, God lives in us, and his love is brought to full expression in us.)
This line, like the entire show, inspires me. I want to be changed by that idea. I want to love my husband with grace-filled, sacrificial love so that he can see God through me. And someday, when I'm a mama, that is my deepest hope. To love them in such a way that they see God. Because it is true; when we truly love a person--a love that requires Grace and Sacrifice--we see the face of God.

'Les Mis' has been translated into 21 languages, been performed in 42 countries and 291 cities. In October 'Les Mis' celebrated its' 25th year with a concert and two productions in London. (Incidentally, Nick Jonas played one of the main characters in the 25th anniversary show, so that was a double geek-out for me. Yes, I shamefully admit to liking a Jonas brother...but really just Nick.) Approximately 55 million people have seen the show. Clearly, I'm not the only one who gets inspired and all wound up about this show, as complicated and messy as it may be. Perhaps its the messiness that draws us. Or maybe it's just the really phenomenally crafted music. Either way.
I'm ridiculously excited about getting away this weekend--the past couple of weeks have been especially draining. It will be great to just relax in a fluffy hotel bed, swim in the pool, and reconnect with the man I love very much. The man who loves me enough to buy tickets to a show that he knows nothing about and probably anticipates not liking. But I hope he does like it. I don't expect him to love it, especially not like I do (I'm a little nutty over it, if you couldn't tell) but I do hope he likes it. Or else...I might not get to see another show next year! Hmm...I wonder what's playing next year?? Is it too early to plan?

An Honest Place

It occurred to me today that the name of this blog is 'my MERRY heart' and I'm not exactly sure how merry my posts have been. By nature I am analytical and a bit melancholy so it only make since that my posts lean on the pensive side. I wouldn't say they've been negative...just not...merry. Joyous. Celebratory. Merry.

I don't want to feign emotions I don't feel, or write something I think I'm supposed to write. I'm committed to being sincere, authentic, and honest. My writing becomes ridiculous contrived and not worth reading when I try to write from any other place than an honest one. A writer said once... that writing is cutting open a vein and bleeding on the page. I have to agree with him. Why would I want to write it if it's not really of me? And why one Earth would anyone want to read it?

So what to do? This blog is the journey to a goal--a merry heart. But I keep getting stuck in the ruts. And sometimes I just want to smack my head against something--where is the joy, where is the celebration? Because even if all else is mediocre, I still have one thing to always celebrate--Grace.

Immeasurable grace. Grace I could never pay back, could never even begin to put a down payment on. Grace like sinking into a deep feather bed. Grace like a long drink of cool water. Grace like a being held in safe and loving arms upon coming home. Grace indescribable, unfathomable, unbelievable.

Grace. I tell people my favorite word is believe but that's not really true. Because the word which liberates me, the word that sets my heart on wings like eagles, the word that picks up me up when I've fallen, and fuels me when I'm all burned out....is Grace. Amazing grace. Sweet grace. Undeserved grace.

Grace, as my grandmother defines it is, God Revealed At Christ's Expense. G-R-A-C-E. Christ gave all that He had so that I don't have to waste away in this life and spend all of eternally separated from the Creator of Goodness and Love. Grace redeemed me from my brokeness and mess. Grace made me new, gave me hope, gave me a reason to keep going. Inconceivable grace.

Grace is what allowed Paul and Silas to sing while in a Roman jail. Grace is what sustained John in his exile on the Island of Patmos. Grace is what brought many saints and believers through the desert land of disappointment or despair. Grace.

I have to be honest with you...writing this...I'm not feeling it. I'm wrestling with that honest place. Because the honest place is feeling depressed but I know that's not truly me. That's just my emotions' way of dealing with what has been an immensely stressful last few days. And oddly enough, it's always the first good day that opens the floodgates. When the adrenaline subsides every emotion that was being kept at bay comes flowing in. And I don't want to indulge that. I want to combat it with joy. With insisting that I choose freedom in Christ, rather than bondage in my emotions. Emotions. They can be so good and they can be so bad. Fickle as they are.

I'm writing this to remind myself that I have much to celebrate. Even when my day-to-day facts of life are mediocre, stressful, or a let down. Even when I'm feeling stalled out and that I can't do with my life what I want. Even when I'm feeling that my gifts would be best used elsewhere...I have a reason to embrace and insist upon joy. Because the bi-product of grace must always be joy or I am simply taking it for granted. I don't have to pretend to be happy and blow sunshine and bubbles out of my ears. But I do have to wade in the undercurrent of joy or I've forgotten the magnitude of GRACE (God Revealed At Christ's Expense).

And I'm writing this so you can hold me accountable. I have a propensity for negativity and a predisposition for depression/anxiety. I'm much more likely to indulge in a good pity party--balloons and noisemakers and confetti--than to celebrate Christ.

So what to do with 'my merry heart'? Fill it with the confessions of an honest person wrestling with fickle emotions and confused dreams, but always and forever return to the reality of grace and celebrate Christ. The psalmists were real in the anger, sorrow, and strife but always and forever returned to the goodness of God. They praised Him anyway. I love that idea. Praise Him anyway. Even when I just want to feel sorry for myself, I will choose to praise Him anyway. Praise Him for Grace, for what He chose to do for me. If Jesus chose to die for me, the least I can do is choose to celebrate the Life I've been given. I can't promise to keep all sadness and sorrow from these pages--that would be inauthentic--but I can promise to always praise Him anyway and forever celebrate Grace. And maybe in the end, that's the way to a merry heart.

Is it just me, or am I going in circles here?

That's exactly how I felt the other day. Like I've been going round and round and round on some kind of really awful merry-go-round. It's exhausting--because every now and then I get hit with a ton of bricks, or a grand piano, or an anvil (very Looney Toons) of reality. I'm never going to triumph over this, not in this life, not in this flesh. And then I think, what's the point then? Why am I trying? Why do I fight the good fight and press on and all that other stuff?

Because to give up would be unthinkable.

It's hard for a perfectionist to accept never reaching perfection. It's hard for someone who is compulsive, loves controls, and is great at making neat little to-do lists to have to throw all that away because God doesn't work that way. I've come to the earth-shattering conclusion that God doesn't fit in a to-do list. Not time for Him, not His plans, not Him in anyway. He's so much bigger than my to-do list.

One of my cousin had a seven year plan that went something like...go to college...graduate...start a career...get established in said career...then get married. Yeah, his seven year plan got thrown off course when he met, fell in love with, and married his wife. We all had a good chuckle. It's great to have a plan but don't ever expect God to follow it.

Sometimes He'll go along with part of it...almost like He's humoring me, I think. And then just when I think I know what the next step is WHAM! There's a sudden plot twist and we're going in an entirely different direction. Well, it's probably not an entirely different direction but it feels that way for the girl who needs the security blanket of to-do lists and a nightlight of control.

I realize that my 'need' for these things signifies a lack of trust in God's sovereignty and goodness. If I believe He is in control and will only do what is best for me, then I wouldn't worry so much and have to compulsively account for everything. I could just follow Him--mistakes, trips, falls, and sidetracks included. If I didn't rely so much on my own ability to do things right, I could be free to just follow Him. Because God is bigger than my greatest falls. He is stronger than my biggest weaknesses. He has already triumphed over that which I can never triumph.

So I do go in circles. I think we all do. It's part of the human condition. Call it a thorn in our side, or the weakness of flesh, or human stupidity. The name doesn't matter, it's how we deal with our not-so-merry-go-round of life that counts.

I'm not sure that I have a neat tidy concluding paragraph. I think I'm still working on that--in my heart, in my life, in my head. If I ever get it figured out I'll be sure to share it. I'm sure it will be quite profound. But I think the lesson for me today is to find peace somehow in the fact that I'm not going to get it right. But Jesus did. So I don't have to. It's not about what I can do for God or for myself...it's what He can do for me. What He already has done, is doing, and wants to do.

There's something very freeing in that for a perfectionist like me. It's not just accepting sin and going, 'oh well, we're just fallen.' (I had someone say that to me once what I had to confront them about the sin of gossip...I mean, really...oh well, we're just fallen???? REALLY?) It's more about accepting grace to cover those sins, grace to make up for the reality of our fallen state. Grace is either enough or it isn't. Jesus is either bigger than us and our sins, or He isn't. God is either in control, or He isn't. God is either goodness and love, or He isn't. And I either trust in these things and more forward in obedience...or I'm say that all those things aren't true. Fact. Period. Exclamation Point. !

So I won't give up. I'll keep on keeping on and all that other good stuff. And I will try to start every day in a shower of grace, a nice long bubble bath of His goodness, soaking in all He has already given me. Then choose to dress myself in compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience, and followed by a strong suit of armor--truth, faith, righteousness, and peace. Because if I start each day already covered in and filled up with God's truths, I've got a shot at getting away from that not-so-merry-go-round. If I can really build each day on the foundation of Him, then maybe the set-backs and upsets won't be so devestating to me. And if I can just learn that God is already perfect, I don't have to be...then I have a chance at becoming perfected through His love.

I wrote what you just read several days ago. Last Friday morning, I think. And this morning (that would be Tuesday) God pointed out something else. A parallell point which I feel that I should add--that He wants me to add.

First--a backstory...my brother is 5 years older than me so when I was in high school (the peak of the drama years for most of us) I went to visit him at college. I stayed in a room with a couple of his girl friends (girl SPACE friends) and listened to them talk. The one was pouring her heart out about what some guy had just done or not done or whatever, and the other tried to reassure her that he was a jerk, or he didn't mean it, or whatever. And I remember thinking: this doesn't go away in college/ It's all still a mess and people are still stupid and boys are still horrendous? Great.

So fast forward to this morning...thinking about a situation entirely different save for the fact that people are still involved. And I realized: this doesn't go away. Ever. It's still a mess, and people are still stupid. Enter God's sweet voice...

So you're going to have to find a better way to deal with this.

Because you have a right to be hurt, or angry, or frustrated.

But you can't act out on those feelings,

and you have to do more than complain to me about it all the time.

I'm more than your sounding board.

I'm the source for your strength, the answer to your questions,

the only option for choosing something better.

So that was my breaking news for today. It's not going to go away...the main players may change as I go through my stages of life but the plot isn't going to differ too much, the dialogue will stay largely the same...unless I choose a different response.

Apparently we're all on two merry-go-rounds here....or maybe a merry-go-round and a ferris wheel....or a scrambler...or anything other amusement ride that goes in circles. A circle with God and a circle with people...and maybe even a circle with ourselves. Learning and re-learning the same things, struggling with the same struggles, feeling frustration/pain/confusion from the same situations. Haven't I been here before? Yes, I have...and I think I'll continue to until I do that which God has invited me to do--choose something better. Choose Him. The ultimate brass ring. Hmmm...I guess that's a neat, tidy ending paragraph. If only doing it were so simple. 

Off With Your Head!

The author of the book I'm reading Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World used the Queen of Hearts to describe herself and her temper. I have to say while I laughed, my heart was stinging. I knew exactly what she meant. A tyrant, sputtering ridiculous commands in selfish anger.

And again yesterday when Proverbs 31 president Lysa TerKeurst confessed a bad attitude as an outward indication of an inward problem, I had to cringe. As she named off a handful of tell-tale signs of inward decay & rot, I had to wince as I identified with two or three of them. No one likes to have their ugly exposed for what it is.

I've always had a short temper. As a child I'd stomp my foot so hard the china closet in the basement would shake. A time or two I threw whatever object that was closest at the source of my anger (typically my teasing big brother...but not always). In high school when I found out some of my best friends had been gossipping about me, I threw my purse at the dance mirrors in the choir room. It broke. It was the second day of school. With a brand new music teacher.

That day I went home and wrote up a bunch of verses about anger, and a couple Latin phrases my fantastic  Latin teacher had taught us. I taped them to my mirror. It seemed fitting. And I calmed down considerably. When you  have to shell out some cash because of your anger and the choir of 90+ students look at you like you've wandered from the set of The Exorcist...you learn to get a grip.

But lately, my grip's been slipping. I hear myself start to lose it and the words 'Off with your head' form on my lips, foaming at the mouth, waiting to be shouted at the next frustration.

I've been struggling lately with feeling that I am being taken advantage of (and I realize that one should not end a sentence with 'of' but I couldn't come up with a better way to phrase that). But I read this morning that I'm to honor God, even when I feel dishonored. If I'm being honest, and I have to be honest or what's the point in writing anything....IIIIIIII Doooooon't WAAANNNNAAA!!!! (read that real slow and whiny) I don't want to do the Godly thing, I want to do the fleshy thing. I want to live in the moment, stomping my foot, throwing things, feel indignant about how I've been treated. It's not fair. And, childish outbursts aside, I think God would agree that things aren't fair.
But He never promised life would be fair. In fact, He told us it wouldn't be fair, easy, or comfortable. It wasn't for Him, the promised Messiah, the Savior of all Mankind, the God of all the Universe. It wasn't fair that He should be called crazy, be forced to escape from stoning or being thrown from a cliff...and it wasn't fair that he died a humiliating, agonizing, slow death for sins He never committed. Sins that had already broken His heart, now were breaking His body and, for a short while, breaking His relationship with His Father. That is the ultimate injustice.

But the Scriptures never show Him whining. I see Him lose His temper in righteous anger, a truly justifiable indignation of the sacrilegeous defilement of His Father's house. But He doesn't ever explode at the disciples' failure to just get what He was saying. The gospels don't show Jesus losing his mind over little things. Jesus doesn't lash out when His own family tries to have Him committed. He doesn't stick around for the abuse either, but He doesn't get down in the mud, slinging angry words. No, the only time Jesus seems to get in the mud is to produce a miracle.

In this new light, the light of Heaven, my slights and frustrations seem piddly in comparison. What right do I have to look at Heaven, shaking my angry fist, spewing angry words, and stomping an angry foot? Venting my self-centered feelings to God, forgetting that it's His creations I'm talking about. Never noticing that I'm simultaneously breaking several commands...all those things relating to anger, love, and forgiveness.

In this new light, I don't look so pretty. I look like the red-faced Queen of Hearts. But I have one thing she doesn't, because Lewis Carroll never wrote it in, unlike the Author of my story. Redemption is my plot twist. Forgiveness awaits me, and an opportunity to do better. I can draw close to the Prince of Peace, and in His presence, I will also emit peace. While looking into His face, I won't be looking at myself and thinking only of me. And He will start to show me how He sees His creations...with love, compassion, and tenderness.

Jesus doesn't say that it's right or okay that we suffer injustices and a world that just is plan unfair. It was never meant to be this way. So of course it's not okay! But He will help us get through it until the day comes when we enter a world that is fair. How glorious will it be to never hear again, "whoever said that life is fair?" And for all of us short-tempered folks, how truly amazing will it be to never feel that tightening sensation in my veins as I try to resist a good cry of 'OFF WITH YOUR HEAD?' No more selfishness getting in the way of meekness and peacemaking. Just Love and Goodness every I look, every where I am, even inside me.

Someday...no more Queen of Hearts lurking deep within me, stewing and threatening to surface. And in the meantime, I have to let His grace fill me up so much that it spills out onto everyone around me even when I've been wronged. I have to focus on Him so self fades so much that I can swallow hurt feelings, wrong-doings, and every little thing that just gets me going. I'm going to pray for some perspective. I mentioned in yesterday's post (which if you haven't read yet, check it out) the Francesca Battistelli song 'This is the Stuff'. It's my new anthem and prayer. The world is full of situations to drive me crazy and get my frustration building but I have to remember how big I'm already blessed and it's not the end of the world. And in the moments, I have to listen for the Prince of Peace to direct me, and I think inevitably He will point out....how will taking off someone's head do any good?