Out of the Fog and Back on My Knees

After a particularly troublesome spell, I'm finally coming out of the fog.  It's been interesting, but not too fun. 

Maybe this is what separates me from the big time writers and speakers:  I still can't reconcile my personal life with my (very limited) public life. 

How to the "real" writers do it?  How do they keep writing, talking, and encouraging others when they have dry times spiritually, when God seems silent, and when relationships are sticky?  I picture them firmly on the pedestal where I have placed them, continuing faithfully in the Word, trusting God in prayer, and finding spiritual applications to share with us average Christians who are slogging our way through life's difficulties.

Somehow as much as I want to be "real" with you here, I keep slipping into my preferred stance as an expert-wannabe, and then I groan when "being real" forces me to acknowledge that I am in the same trenches with you, fighting similar battles.  The glitch is that I can't freely share the nature of my battles, since the story involves some seriously messed up, intertwined lives.  People would be hurt if I broadcast our squabbles on a public forum like this.

With my apologies for being so vague, let me just say that after a prolonged conflict, I feel like the end is in sight.  It's been a doozy, let me tell you!  For the past few weeks, I have decided to stop making excuses for sticking my head in the sand, and I've started spending one solid hour in prayer every day, almost without fail.  As a result, I am seeing answered prayer and breakthroughs in the battle. Maybe next time I won't be so slow to return to the Power Source.

Rather than reprinting the story here, you can read about a similar lesson in prayer on my personal blog, Memories and Musings from Mexico:  Mixed-up Prayers.  It's a true story that happened in Guatemala after my third son was born in 1989.  Back then the only time I could be quiet and alone for devotions was when the baby woke up to be fed at 2:00 A.M.

That's what I'm trying to do again, meet with God for a solid hour when the rest of the family is asleep.  Nothing needs to be done in the middle of the night.  The phone isn't going to ring, no neighbors will be stopping by; the only thing I am missing is sleep.  It seems to be harder in my 50's than it was in my 20's, but it's still just as vital to sacrifice whatever it takes to have time to talk to God and listen for my daily marching orders.

Do tell, how do you carve out a private time and place to meet with the Lord each day?  Surely there's a better solution that doesn't involve crawling out of bed in the wee hours of the morning.  Please share!

IRL:  It's good to be out of the fog and back on my knees again in earnest.

What Kind of Apology is That?

Suddenly several past blog posts are returning to haunt me. Was I really the author of that ridiculous post about forgiveness?

Just last Saturday, I had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Again. I sinned against many, and many sinned against me. Basically it was one of my excruciating headache days where frankly no one in my family had a hope of pleasing me -- short of disappearing altogether, but no one took the hint.

The next day, one person bravely approached me and said, “I’m sorry.” (Expectant look accompanied my continued silent treatment.) “For everything,” he added. (Accusing look replaced the expectant one.) “All day yesterday.” (Disgusted look inserted.)

WHAT KIND OF APOLOGY IS THAT? Most of us would agree that a general apology of that sort just does not cut it. I want him to itemize precisely how he hurt, neglected, and offended me, and to express his sorrow and regret with evidence of a repentant heart. I mean really! Does he think I will just erase the whole day for he asking? Without making him suffer?

Thankfully guilt flooded my heart before any snarky words escaped my lips. The Holy Spirit practically shouted at me how often I do the exact same thing. I simply give a quick oops-I’m-sorry-I-sinned type confession just to maintain a position of intimacy with the Lord. It just hit me over the head that maybe God wants me to actually itemize my sin sometime, not so that I will suffer with the weight of it, but so that I will experience the relief of having it lifted. Without confessing my sin, am I really turning from it?

This past week has been a continual battle with more than a fair share of difficulties and trials. Within 24 hours, my beloved MacBook began to fail (with no handy dandy Apple store to run to for help), the car battery died while I was in the city with a granddaddy migraine, and finally my Kindle died, too (but has been resuscitated, thankfully). The only way I could possibly hope to experience victory was through warfare prayer against despair, but I didn’t dare enter that level of prayer without being fully cleansed from all sin and unrighteousness.

The problem with my MacBook is largely because I had overloaded it with too many programs without deleting all the garbage that had accumulated on the hard drive. It didn’t have nearly enough space for all the processes I was requiring of it.

Spiritually I am in the same boat as my computer, running way too many applications with way too much garbage (and sin?) cluttering my heart, mind, and daily agenda. With one simple step, I can have unlimited gigabytes of spiritual, mental, and physical power available to me. Without oversimplifying or belaboring the point, I just want to admit that I am returning to the Power source, and trying to set things right.

Meanwhile I commiserate with those of you who battle with long-term, debilitating illness. I guess you just learn to compensate for your lack of energy by doing a lot less. How you stay sweet with your loved ones I will never understand.

Oh, and I did forgive him-who-shall-not-be-named for all his many offenses. Bless his heart. Why should I expect him to remember what he did? I can’t remember myself any more.

IRL* For now I am trying to clear my foggy irrational brain and figure out where to address all my apologies.

Mistaking a Mercedes for a Toyota

In the midst of a crazy week, humor reappeared unexpectedly, providing a few laughs for unsuspecting bystanders. Last Monday while running errands in the city, I almost ran off with the wrong husband. The sidewalk was extremely narrow, and when a car pulled up close beside me, somehow I got it in my scattered brain that my dh* [see "Jamie Jo Speak" in sidebar] had arrived to pick me up.

It's a good thing the door was locked. A man in another car further up the road, who turned out to be dh, was honking to divert my attention just as I was leaning down to see why on earth my husband-who-wasn't-my-husband was refusing to unlock the passenger door. A handsome middle-aged man shrugged and smiled apologetically, instantly shaking me from my daze.

On Thursday, dh and I were telling a friend about my many episodes of not being very observant when it comes to cars, how in high school I offended a rich boy by mistaking his Mercedes for a Toyota, and how not so many years ago I drove my mom's new car to the grocery store without noticing the color or make of the car in the dark garage before leaving, only to panic in the parking lot after shopping when I realized I no clue which car was "mine."

The very next day after recounting these embarrassing stories, Friday night, I was helping the same friend with a Mother's Day outreach to pregnant moms at a Christian birth center. She lent me keys so I could get supplies from her car. Going to the street, I went straight to the car with the Texas license plate (something I do notice!), and was frustrated that the key did not fit in the lock. Figuring I only had the ignition key, I squinted (minus reading glasses) to locate the unlock icon on the key ring (a handy trick I learned when I lost my mom's car). Even that didn't work.

As I stood there obviously perplexed, an amused spectator kindly pointed out that each time I pressed the unlock button, another car—a red car nothing remotely like the one I was attempting to open—would flash its headlights. Oops. What are the odds of having two cars parked on the same street in Oaxaca with Texas plates? The man, however, looked at me like I was nuts. Who in the world doesn't notice the difference between a red and a.... I still couldn't tell you the color of the first car. It was some strikingly non-red color like blue or silver or gray.

A while back we were discussing the question "How do you keep from losing you?" We were referring to the person we used to be before going to the field. Incidents like these prove that maybe I haven't lost "me" as much as I thought. I've grown and changed through the trials and challenges life has supplied, and hopefully the essence of who I am is more Christ-like than before, but deep down I am still the same space cadet* I was as a teen. Like certain pesky sins, some traits plague us throughout our life, no matter where we live.

IRL* Then again, maybe it's a wonder I haven't lost myself; I lose enough other things!
*What we used to call scatterbrains before they invented ADD.