cherished

I read about Lance Armstrong's confession with Oprah Winfrey last night and thought about myself.

Like Lance, I also expect to always get what I want. I am a controller of outcomes.

Softening the word to influencer sounds more special and sometimes that really is the better word, but truthfully it's because I don't trust.

I want too much. I pine for what isn't mine. I lust for dreams that really aren't defined (yet) as mine.

Knowing all of this is beyond humbling. It makes me cringe and want to hide away. I want to be mad at the world and God because of my own yuck. (I wonder why that is.)

Yet, there's this place inside of me that cannot deny what could very well be truth.

I am cherished. Just as I am. Controlling tendencies and all.

So I choose to believe it very well could be Truth.

Today's post was part of my friend, Lisa-Jo's fun challenge each Friday to take five and Just. Write.

     "...for five, short, bold beautiful minutes... unscripted and unedited...

     without worrying if it's just right or not."

Share your heart . . . add a comment below.

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An obsession for Control

Recently I read The Muir House, written by Mary DeMuth. The story gripped me and held on tightly long after the pages ran out of words. 

I've been thinking a lot about this book in particular and how it relates to my life. I am really looking introspectively to see how I could grow more and how I have grown in the days that led me up to the reading.

As I reflect upon this read, I invite you to join me in the discussion. Get yourself a copy of the book and invite others to do the same. And pop in--anytime--to share some of the topics that have bubbled up for me through this book. 

[I'll do my best not to reveal too many specifics about the book for those of you haven't read it yet, and this place will try to stay topic focused.] 

And, by the way, if you *like* Mary DeMuth's Community Page on Facebook, you'll find lots of opportunities to win the book through various avenues.

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One of the central themes in The Muir House centers around Control--a biggie for many of us.

Willa, the main character, wrestles with hateful words that swirl in her head--words spoken to her from years past. The words give Willa a sense of Power and Entitlement, making her exercise Control over the distance she keeps from the person who spoke them.

She feels as though she owns *the right* to turn her back, even on family; after all, she was hurt--her heart shredded by the one person who should have sheltered her. Willa clings to Controlling the boundaries she creates in her heart; she's adamant she won't let that person in, or anyone else who just causes her hurt and confusion.

Yet, Willa feels a tug to know more about the life she's lived as a child. She is Obsessed with knowing more and longs for Control over the details. Willa can't control the memories from surfacing and make sense of them, and maybe if she knows the specifics of her childhood, she can make sense of her life. Maybe she can understand *why* she struggles the way she does.

Fear can rumble and blare in the shadows of living. And for Willa, she couldn't embrace her Now and live for the future when she couldn't control her Past. She wrestles with who she is and what she wants her life to become--who she *should* be and what she *should* do.

Willa wants to Control her future and she's afraid. 

Dreams. Hopes. Longings. We all have them. And we all question God's will and purpose as we sift through the visions of our heart. Sometimes we can't help to look back on our living and wonder what place these dreams have in our lives, and why are they there? 

Words spoken by another have cut into my heart deep. I have oozed out confusion, like Willa. I have bled hurt. I, too, have felt entitled to use that pain against hope--holding it up with entitlement and desperately clinging to Control over what a relationship is and what it could become.

Fear of being hurt and of my dreams being influenced by the person who causes me pain has been my motivation for Control.

Like Willa, I have questioned How I should live, Who I should be, What I should do. I have wrestled with the unknown details and lived a quest to know pieces of my life that would help me Control the future, all because I didn't have Control of the past.

Living forward is scary when memories haunt us. We want to sever ourselves from their place in our lives, and yet perhaps there's *purpose* in it all.

• What do you think about Control? 
• How have you seen evidence of it in your own life, or another person's? 
• Have you been obsessed with Control? 
• Have you lived in Fear over the future? 

[Join the discussion next week on Chapters 5-9.]

how I am changed

Parenting wrecks me.

I make it out to be so much more than it is.  

It's more than making sure my boy uses his manners, and keeps his face clean, and learns to make good choices.

Because someday {when he's my age} there might be a time or two when he'll wipe his face with his hands while driving (kinda like I sometimes do when I'm all alone in my car).

He might even pick his nose, or burp and not say excuse me (things I never do, of course).  

The boy is likely to pig out on everything bad on a Sunday (kinda like I did just yesterday), even though I try to teach him to eat healthy.

It's possible that he'll sometimes choose not to wear his seatbelt and rationalize it's not necessary when he's only driving down the street.

When he's away from my ear-shot he'll probably use foul language when he's ticked off, and drive too fast.

He might be mean to someone, gossip, lie, cheat, steal, and whine over the things he doesn't have when he wants them.

Chances are, he'll do it all wrong.  Just like me.

For now, I try my best to keep him safe and even then I'm not in control, as his bus drives away, or he plays on the playground at school a little too recklessly, or he goes to a friend's house and does things he'd never do in my presence.

I have to remember that God is in control.  And I am not.

Just as He's in control of the boy's life, God's in control of my life as I do this parenting-thing.  And He has purpose in this beyond my child.  It's more than him.

It's about Him, and what He's doing in my life.  

He makes it about my growth - how I change - as a result of this parenting-thing.  People see something different as a result of how I've been influenced by the challenges of parenting.

Who I've made me to be is shattering before my years.

When I question whether it's worth it - this parenting-thing - it doesn't take long for me to remember that it's not my choice, really.  My Father created me to have a role like His - to parent a child.

God uses our parenting roles to give us eyes to see what love is - in a deeper, truer way.

And I see...slowly...

Parenting is about sacrificing ourselves.

Parenting is forgiving - again and again and again, and AGAIN.

Parenting is accepting - unconditionally.

Parenting is guiding.

Parenting is teaching.

Parenting is extending grace for children to be themselves and freely live their life.

Parenting recognizes imperfection and gives room for mistake-making.

There's so much my Father is teaching me through this journey called parenting.  Through it, I'm learning more about trusting Him and really surrendering to His ways.  

I see that He really does know best and He really does have my best in His mind.

There is a huge benefit - a value added to my life - in being a parent.  It's a hard one to acknowledge, though.  And I struggle to give thanks for it.  Parenting grows beauty in me through the painful refining.  It takes the painful, hard times.  They are necessary.  And I am better served for those times.

Thank you, Father, for the enormous purpose in all of *this*.

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Unwrapped *Gifts* of {Grace}...

...a thank you note from the boy for Easter gifts he knew came from me and not Mr. E.B...

...talking about Christ and how He "lives in our hearts" with my boy and his friend...

...a sliver of *truth* exposed in my words...

...{fun} ideas to tell the Truth about Easter with the boy...

...*seeing* that I encourage others to live in freedom...

...a morning run without rain...

...*seeing* that my God is the same God who freed the Israelites...

...excitement and hope for writing...

...words to write after a brief time off...

...how blurting-out tells me something important...

...pausing on *now*...

...wanting more for the man and me...

...calmness in me...

...*seeing* how I could've taken a different approach, {and therefore learning}...

...the boy's use of polite, thankful words...

...seeing how "just playing" is sometimes a better approach than focused teaching...

...celebrating my groom's life...

...the man reaching for me and wanting to touch his bride...

letting it all go

We all long for things.  Calling it hopes and dreams sounds so much prettier than chasing after the wind.  Yet, it's the wind we sometimes chase.

I've made years-full of plans, and I've counted months, weeks, days and even hours.  All the while longing for things that aren't right-now.

Finally, I've gotten to a place {at least for now} where I am tired of longing for what isn't evident right before me.  I'm unbelievably tired.

It's a scary thought - letting go of the longing.  Yet, I'm not sure why.  There isn't anything I'm holding on to, really.  Just images that aren't a real part of today.  And so, really, there's nothing there when I open up my hands to release.

(Except, it feels like there is something there.)

It feels like there are rooms to my heart - spaces that hold things - and when I clean out those rooms and release their contents, I'm not sure I'll ever get them back.  Even if the images are from God, if He hasn't brought them into these days {yet}, there isn't anything to get back.  

(I let my heart settle on this.)

There really aren't rooms in my heart that have spaces to hold real things.  Tangible things don't live inside my heart.  And holding on to these things doesn't mean that by claiming them they are mine.

It's a huge realization.

The letting go of thinking I have an ounce of control is so freeing.  

My shoulders feel less tense and my jaw less like a vice grip.  Suddenly my heart is able to *see* in the most amazing ways.  Where eyes weren't literally placed, sight is given - to the joys that make the heart beat.

Today's gifts get unwrapped and not overlooked when we're able to *see*.

And so, I'm just letting it all go...the need for control, and to know, and for everything to be the way I think is the right way.  I'm collapsing my fears and worries, and breathing in energy and alertness for the moments that are before me, in my immediate purview.

My Father who created me isn't cruel.  He's a good God who wants the best for me - His best.  I'm thinking a lot about this lately and walking more in trust of His ways.

Help me to surrender, God...to let it all go into your hands...

A *Different* Story

Fear leads me to want control. I nearly ache for the comfort of being in control. At least trying to be in control. By putting in effort and trying with all my might, I am trying to show that I am not complacent and that I am able to do much. The athletic company, Nike resonates with me because of the company's motto - Just Do It. As if I have to do something and doing nothing means I am lazy, or something.

Something happens, though, when fear tries to control. Confusion grows like an ugly mushroom in a front yard. It's there and try as you might to make it disappear, it shows up in another place. No decisions are made at all and lying down in the yard feels practically impossible to do with all the fungus growing around. Eww. Confusion and mushrooms are equally gross. Envy is just as ugly and I think it, too, stems from fear. Envy grows when the fear of not being good enough is thought after comparing someone else's life - their story - with your own. Try as you might, though, their story just isn't your story.

In what feels like the biggest moment of awareness yet, I have realized that I have lived with incredible fear, and not only that I have tried to control it. I have thought I am not good enough the way I am. I have envied other people's stories. It has become a real thought that my story must look like the stories I see around me. Along the way I have not discovered what I even want my story to look like. I have followed the thought that my life should be a certain way. Realizing that I cannot make my story like the stories around me, I have tried to reduce my fears of making a mistake or not getting it right the next time, and I have focused on (trying) to control just about everything. And yet, I cannot control any thing.

I didn't have the Story Book Fairy Tale when I delivered my son or went home as a different person - to live now as a mother. In looking at some people, I have thought maybe I did something wrong in not having the experience that they had. After all, shouldn't a husband and wife gaze lovingly into their little baby's eyes and just be in awe together at the little miracle that is now theirs to raise?! I didn't have that. I felt lonely and yet I couldn't dare mention it. I didn't dare let my husband help with the baby - our baby - during the night. After all, isn't it a nursing woman's responsibility?! And shouldn't someone get some sleep?! And shouldn't a wife have a good meal on the table for her husband when he got home from work, even if it is only the first day she has had a child to take care of all by herself?!

Expectations.

Fear of not living up to them.

Controling to reduce the fears coming true.

This leads to a life of Exhaustion.

This is a life just spinning its tires, and yet...

staying in the

same spot.

I am realizing that life doesn't come with a rule book. There isn't a standard list of should's that everyone should follow...not even anyone with her first name Amy and her middle name Renee. And I am also realizing that no one is any better than me. No. One. And, with that...I am no better than any one else. No. One.

All of these realizations are colliding and I am overwhelmed with one thing more than anything...Trust steps out. Trust surrenders the should's and Trust receives Grace - Grace to live a unique story that doesn't compare with any other story out there. A unique story. Trust acknowledges fear and gives it over to a greater purpose. Trust understands that even in the fear, there is much to be learned.

In thinking about all of this I am changed. Instead of having envy for someone else's story - stories I only know in part - I choose Gratitude. I am grateful that my story, as different as it is from all the stories around me - is capable of helping others, even as I struggle to live it. For, it is in the struggling itself - in the dark shadowy valleys - when I learn about Trusting the most.

Sometimes in those dark valleys when I struggle to live my story and when the idol of self that I have created is broken in a million-gazillion little pieces, I become more like who I was meant to be all along. In the pain I am able to focus more on my story and find me without the distraction of Envy or Fear.

So, as my Father holds me around his neck, like a lamb who wandered away and whose legs the Sheppard broke so she wouldn't wander away from Him again, I am so close to Him that I feel safe and secure in myself. And it is then when I realize that the point most likely has nothing to do with what I do in my job, or whether I have another child, or if I look a certain way, or what I weigh, or how fit I am, or even whether I have credit card debt. No. The point is that every part of my story is used to lead me more closer to Trust. And in honoring my story I find much Rest. Deep Rest. And incredible Freedom!