Burdenofglory’s Weblog

Someone offended me yesterday.  I suppose I could have laughed it off, as I did initially, but the underlying message was ugly.  Plain and simple.  My offended spirit grew throughout the day.  I imagined taking a baseball bat to my offender, and how satisfying it would be to whap him right in the knees.   I felt helpless.  How could I forgive this person?  Worse yet, I was going to see him soon, and would have to “be nice.”  I don’t like pretending to “be nice.”  My mind wandered to the idle chatter we might be having, and my throwing out the offensive remark in a group of people, sarcastically laughing as I gave my offender the evil eye.

I remember Pastor Stu asking us how we would like it if we had a little screen above our heads reflecting all our evil thoughts.  Now you’ve seen mine.  Ick.

My sovereign God had been prepping me for this all along.  Pastor T has been preaching about loving our enemies.  Of course, I was right in the midst of grieving about a broken relationship, and how I felt like just letting things remain in their current state of chaos.  Pastor T’s sermons encouraged me to not just let it be;  I need to pursue this person in love, no matter the reaction.  And not only pray for the person and his soul, but that I could faithfully love him and continue forgiving him, no matter what.

Then Pastor Keith filled in two weeks ago.  His sermon was titled “Let it Go.”  He said as Christians we need to go to the person who has offended us and try to resolve the conflict if it is a big deal.  Otherwise, we need to let it go.  I have seen how true this really is, as Christians get offended, get bitter, gossip about their conflict, and sometimes even leave their church instead of trying to resolve a problem.  We’re supposed to be a light.  Our conflict resolution ain’t cuttin’ the mustard.

By the way, if I’ve offended you, and you can’t let it go, this is your invitation to walk up to me and resolve it.  Be gentle.

Back to my original conflict.  I was in the shower yesterday afternoon (perhaps this is a home school mom phenomenon), getting madder and madder.  Then I started thinking about the name of my blog: “Burden of Glory.”  I thought about the few unbelievers that could be reading my blog, and how I would explain to them what “burden of glory” means.  Then my husband came in and asked me what I was doing.  I told him how I was really doing, then ended with explaining, in layman’s terms, what “burden of glory” means.

What God has prepared for us for eternity is so wonderful, so unfathomable, that we can only see glimpses.  It is like an eclipse.  You can’t look directly into the sun, for it will burn your retinas.  But once in a while, you can catch a glimpse of the sun around the moon during an eclipse.  This is awe-inspiring in itself;  the whole sun would just be too much.  Our glimpse of God and eternity is the same.  The weight, or burden of comprehending the whole thing would be too much for us.  Glimpses are all we can handle.

My glimpse made my anger dissipate.  Placing my offense next to the weight of glory made my offense unimportant.  I was able to smile at this person last night, and I actually forgot the transgression all evening.  I let it go.

I can’t say that pondering the burden of glory will dissolve every offense against us.  That is how God ministered to me in this moment.  But I know He is faithful, and He has all kinds of ways to heal our hurts.

Thank you, Lord.

Today I tied my shoes.  I haven’t tied them for 3 weeks, and it is quite the accomplishment.

The vise that clamped my lower back for 3 1/2 weeks seems to be loosening its grip.  I’m hoping to be pain-free soon.

A couple weeks ago the perfect storm occurred:  my daughter moved out, I realized I had a hernia, my back pain was steadily growing worse, and a continuing conflict in my life reared its ugly head, again.  Yes, I would have curled up into a ball, but I couldn’t.  I could only lie flat on my back.

As usual, God showed me much about myself and Himself through suffering.  He freed me up to do many things.

1.  He freed me up to plead and wrestle with him unabashedly.  In A Praying Life, Paul Miller challenges us to approach God as little children.    Children say exactly what’s on their minds (just ask Rebecca, if you really want to know).  Children are shameless.  They pester.  They completely trust you to take care of them, and it frees them up to ask and hope for anything. Jesus says, “LOOK AT THEM!”  We need to shamelessly ask, hope, and pester our Heavenly Father.  I did.

2.  God freed me up to ask for help.  I am not a “needy” person.  Being “needy” kind of gives me the heebie jeebies.  Thank you very much.  I can get the door with this 50 pound basket of laundry.  I can run this show.  I can carry this kitchen cabinet.  I can handle my problems, without crying to a friend.  I can even shoulder the burden, so my husband doesn’t have to.

Years ago, I had a friend who had surgery.  She was a very giving, capable gal, who always went the extra mile for others.  We went over to visit her after surgery, and I had to help her get food, help her get up, etc.  I had a surge of love for this woman I’d never had.  She never NEEDED me, and it was hard for me to show her how I felt about her.

I remember a mom telling me that taking care of all my children’s needs was robbing my husband of the opportunity to show the kids how much he loved them.  And here I thought I was helping him out, and showing him how darn capable I was.

A friend has told me TO CALL HER WHEN I NEED HELP.  Emotionally.  Physically.  Spiritually.  She feels distanced from me because she doesn’t feel needed.

Well…that all changed the last couple of weeks.

My dear husband has had to hoist me out of bed, chairs, and the car.  He has helped me get dressed, rounded up girls to do my work, and had to finish my projects himself, because I couldn’t finish them.  And you know what?  He didn’t mind at all.  He gladly did it.  He didn’t care how incapable I was.  I didn’t feel guilty for putting more work on him, either.  I felt loved.

Maddie rubbed my back last Sunday as we were walking up to take communion, whispering,  “Mommy, does that feel better?”  In my mind I answered, “My back doesn’t, honey.  But my heart could break I love you so much right now.”

I called that friend, who sometimes doesn’t hear from me for weeks.  I called her while she was out of town.  I interrupted all sorts of important things.  She didn’t care.  She thanked me for calling.  She loved me well.  I didn’t feel like a failure because I couldn’t do it myself.

3.  God freed me up to show compassion for others.  I know some people who struggle with chronic back pain, and sometimes it is difficult to understand what they’re going through.  It isn’t now.  As my pain fades, I hope I remember vividly how debilitating my pain was for such a short amount of time.

4.  God freed me up to receive prayer for healing.  Sometimes I’m not sure if I can really ask for such a little thing.  You know.  Drawing attention to yourself, look at me, my back hurts.  But I stood there while they prayed for me.  And you know what?  The next day was the turning point.  I felt things loosening up just a bit back there, instead of tightening up even more.  Ahhhhh.

Would I still roll up into a ball if I could?  Well…

My daughter is still gone.  But she calls me.  She spent the night last night.  Saturday she brought her boyfriend out and cooked supper for us and the grandparents.    So I guess even if she is an independent college girl, she still likes me.    I’m glad.

The doctor said I have an umbilical hernia, and have probably had it since birth.  I may have noticed it recently due to Maddie and Rebecca both poking me right in the belly button in the same weekend, making it a bit sore.  But I don’t need surgery.  Score.

You obviously know by now the back pain is decreasing.

And the continuing conflict?  The past year I’ve decided this may always be a thorn in my side.  And that is okay with me.  If God chooses to take it from me, I’ll praise Him.  If he chooses to let it continue, I’ll praise Him.  Who am I to question my Lord?  How much has He already taught me through this trial about forgiveness, commitment, perseverance, reliance on Him, and prayer?  A lot.  How much would I have learned without the trial?  Zero. Or close enough.

A few weeks ago I went to Grace Chapel with Ashley, and Ben Loos, the assistant pastor,  preached about Romans 8:28:  “And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.”

His conclusion was that suffering is our servant.  When Christ died on the cross, he conquered death and suffering.  He uses suffering to make us more like Himself.  Ben said he wasn’t teaching us anything, but just reminding us.    There is a reason I went with her that week.  This is an invaluable reminder to me.  Suffering is invaluable, too.

It can set you free to make you more like Christ.

I often ask myself why I help with the Teen Parent ministry.  Trying to find people to help kind of makes me feel like I have the plague.  People form a wide swath around me in church, knowing I may ask them for help.  Okay.  Not really.

I often find myself with absolutely no passion for this work.    The burden the moms carry is so heavy.  You try to help them, and give them Godly wisdom.  They get pregnant repeatedly.  I love them, but hate the circumstances their choices have thrust their lives into.  I have a bad attitude, wondering if I’m supposed to be doing something else for God that is really satisfying.  And see results.  You know, mass conversions and a write-up in World magazine.

Do I help because I was in a similar situation when I was young?  I don’t know.  That may have had something to do with it initially.

Do I help because I know God has called me to urban ministry, and this was convenient because it met in our church?  Maybe a little.

Do I help because I love little kids and babies?  Hmmmm.  I really didn’t like kids until I had some.  Then I only liked my own kids.  But in the last decade, God has changed me, and I really do like kids.  I’m not someone who looks forward to nursery duty and dreams of running my own daycare.  I’m not much of a game-player, and don’t ask my kids what cute crafts we’ve EVER done.  I’m the snuggler, and the listener as they grow older.  Obviously, kids who don’t like to snuggle and don’t have much to say won’t connect too well with me.  But I’m willing to try other avenues.

Anyway, I was wondering why the heck I still do Teen Parents after 5 years.  Then God brought spring in her full glory, and I got to take the older children to Cooper Park to play Tuesday night.

This is Exzavier.  He is 5 and can do cartwheels like a gymnast.  He is very athletic.  He seems smart, too.  He has been in foster care a couple years, and has recently been returned to his mama.  Back at Zion, I used to babysit him when he was a toddler, waddling around like an old man with a pot belly and a frown.  Now he is aggressive and angry, and I have to constantly call him down.

He sucks his thumb in time out.  Even though he called me a smarty-pants, he gave me a dandelion and two hugs before he left.  We have a love-hate relationship.   I can’t resist.

This is Exzavier’s little sister, Jaidah.  She frequently just wants to sit on my lap and snuggle.  Yep.  She’s got my number.  I’m helpless.

This is Diana and Yari.  Their mommies have been coming since the beginning,  just like Exzavier’s mommy.  They are two peas in a pod, always finding games that exclude Kyra, who you will meet next.  They are smart, charming and witty.  I’m on to them, but I don’t let on.

Here is Yari almost eating sand.  Why, oh why do kids do this?  Do you know how many times I told the kids not to do this?

Here is Diana giving me the “look.”  I would like to say I’m immune to the “look.”  But then I’d be a liar.

This is Kyra, and her little sister Muhallah.  They are two of the most beautiful children I’ve ever seen.  They have sweet, sensitive spirits.  I just like to look at them, like I do  apple trees in blossom.

I’m the moth, and these kids are the flame.  I want to take them all home.  Marcus told me I have to stop helping with this ministry if I keep telling him this.  I can’t change their circumstances.  But I know Who can.  I will keep praying for them, and loving them when I get the chance.  I may have been led into this ministry for many reasons, but they are why I continue.  Oh, Lord.  Bless these children, so they may know your hope and salvation.  Amen.

Don’t even get me started about the babies.

The Christian life is a series of waves:  sometimes you’re on the crest, and sometimes you’re in the trough.

I’m in the trough.

I’m generally an optimistic person who has a purpose, and sticks to the task in an organized, efficient manner.

The last few weeks I’m not any of the above.  I’m not sure when it started.  It may have been my week of nausea.  Or it may have been when I found out a girl who accepted Christ last year in Teen Parents decided to enter into a relationship with another female.  Or that another girl, who is Katherine’s age, and has a beautiful baby, is having HUGE problems.  HUGE is an understatement.

The downside to my optimistic personality is that when I’m feeling on top of my game, I don’t always have as much compassion with those not feeling like I do.  I also have a harder time seeing my subtle sin.  I’m just gettin’ her done, and not taking any prisoners.  I’m not contemplating what is keeping me up there on that crest.  Faith in my own efforts, or God’s efforts through me?  I think I already know the answer to that one.

In the trough state,  my subtle sin is not so subtle.  I notice some embarrassing things about myself.  Like reading an article about a Christian organization that I don’t always agree with doing some really good things.  I don’t rejoice about this.  I feel like saying, “That’s nice,” not so very nicely.

Why can’t I feel joy with them?  I guess it is my pride, and that if the other party doesn’t agree with me, then no one should agree with them.  Ewww.

The trough shows me my bad attitude about things I don’t want to do.  Do I really want to have a bad attitude over 2/3 of my life?  I mean, come on.  How often do we actually get to do things we really want to do, that fulfill all our selfish desires?

I also realize how much I worship “safe” and “comfortable,” to the point I’m willing to give up a lot for these things.  Like not selling myself out completely to Christ.  Like not even enjoying life to its fullest, now.  Prudence is good.  Being practical and having common sense is good, too.  But it definitely isn’t all there is.  I want more than “safe.”

At least I can see the wave threatening me.  I have called out to God this week, asking Him to have his way with me.  Show me all the ugly stuff – let me repent and turn from it.  Help me have an attitude that looks for opportunities to glorify You in every situation.  Help me not just to focus on end results, but the processes to get there. Help me not to worship my 90-foot idols called “SAFE” and “COMFORTABLE.”  Show me how to lay down my life for You.  Help me rejoice when someone does something in your name, even if I don’t agree with them.  Thank you, Lord,  for sustaining me.  Through the crests and the troughs.

C.S. Lewis explains these troughs much more eloquently than I in The Screwtape Letters. Here is the demon Screwtape explaining the situation to the young Wormwood:

Their nearest approach to constancy, therefore, is undulation – the repeated return to a level from which they repeatedly fall back, a series of troughs and peaks.  If you had watched your patient carefully you would have seen this undulation in every department of his life – his interest in his work, his affection for his friends, his physical appetites, all go up and down.  As long as he lives on earth periods of emotional and bodily richness and liveliness will alternate with periods of numbness and poverty.  The dryness and dullness through which your patient is now going are not, as fondly suppose, your workmanship; they are merely a natural phenomenon which will do us no good unless you make a good use of it.

To decide what the best use of it is, you must ask what use the Enemy wants to make of it, and then do the opposite.  Now it may surprise you to learn that in His efforts to get permanent possession of a soul, He relies on the troughs even more than on the peaks; some of His special favorites have gone through longer and deeper troughs than anyone else… It is during the trough periods, much more than during the peak periods, that the patient is growing into the sort of creature He wants it to be.  Hence the prayers offered in the state of dryness are those which please Him best.

Amen.  Even if I don’t feel like it, God is at work in me.

My sister-in-law’s husband was out of town, so we hauled our kids to Valentino’s on Tuesday night, when kids eat free.  My kids do not eat free, nor should they.  If Val’s gave out free meals to kids as big as mine, they would go broke, even after managing to stick around for 60 years.

When my kids were of the free age, we went to Valentino’s A LOT.  We usually picked up Grandma Judy, went to visit Great-Grandma Marvel, then went to Val’s on 27th and Highway 2.  Oh, the memories.  They used to have the Pasta Bella Lady, who would make any concoction you could think of, right in her little booth.  We loved her, her smiley face, and the custom dishes she cooked up for us.  The food was always good, but I think we also just liked our happy tradition of going to Val’s on Saturdays.  Oh, yeah.  Grandma always paid.  That was nice, too.

Then they closed our Valentino’s, and started the cattle-feeding station at 70th and VanDorn.  Oh, I’m sorry.  It’s called the GRAND BUFFET.  But it could be the Golden Corral.  I feel like the line we’re filing through is like the line of cattle being steered toward the trough full of corn to put on lots of fat, so they’re not stringy, but tender.  The first time we went, they even had a space for the tip on our bill, even though we hadn’t even eaten yet.  And when we did eat, there was no smiley waitress taking our plates and making small talk, just a laminated tag that told them that, “Yes, we’re filling up at the trough yet again. “  Or, “We have rolled our swollen bodies out to our vehicle.”

Why does the GRAND BUFFET/TROUGH have ribs?  Fish?  Chinese?  I don’t understand.

There is one redeeming quality about the TROUGH.  They have real hot fudge.  And little m & m’s for my brownie-hot fudge-m & m sundaes.  I’ll give them that.  Marcus appreciates this condiment so much he has suggested cutting holes in our countertop, and installing hot fudge and caramel containers.  I say we wait until we have an ice milk machine, or what is the point?

Oh, yeah.  I was talking about the other night when we went to the old, original Val’s on 33rd and Holdrege.  I pass it every week when I take Katherine to guitar lessons, and some weeks it is all I can do to drive past it when my stomach is in complete control.  I’ve swerved.  But never pulled in for a full commitment.

I always start with a BIG salad.  No other restaurant serves such a yummy combination of things on their salads.  I’ve seen healthier salads, but I don’t go to Val’s to reduce my cholesterol.  A meal in itself, really.  Maybe that is why I only had half a piece of pizza – Rebecca’s leftovers after she left half her meal on her plate after popping up for the next course.  Another Valentino’s buffet phenomenon – who in their right mind would leave pepperoni pizza and a whole breadstick on their plate and look for something better?

Kids go for the smiley-face fries and the mini corn dogs.  The only other place I’ve seen corn dogs was in my old school lunches.  I never ate one.  Not once.  They tickle my gag reflex.  But my nephew, Hudson, didn’t care how I felt.  He ate a whole plate of them.

My little man, Cooper, enjoyed his food so much, we just enjoyed watching him eat his food.  A mommy of young children mentioned that Val’s is a good little kid place to eat because they can get up several times.  A squirmy little kid could get one thing per trip, increasing the amount of trips, but reducing wiggling when at table.

I suppose I need to wrap this up with a “Moral to the Story.”  I like the old, simple Valentino’s, and not the new-fangled, cattle feedlot Valentino’s.  I guess that is all I wanted to say.

Years ago, in some study about how men and women communicate, it said women have about 40,000 words a day, and men have 10 (give or take a few).  So we shouldn’t be surprised when men come home from work with nothing to say, while a mother with young children has used up no words except “boo-boo” and “bah-bah.”

Sorry, men, that you had to read through 737 words to get to this point.

My friend and I were supposed to meet for coffee this week.  We did, but cut our indoor chat short so we could go walk around Holmes Lake.  God had given us a perfect March day, after all.

I forget how refreshing it is to walk outside after a long winter.  My treadmill gets the job done, but is in a completely different category.  I was not power walking, just walking fast enough to keep pace with my 6-foot friend (close enough), who said she couldn’t walk fast due to a knee problem.  Right.

My friend laughed at me, as I kept telling her to wait up, since I needed to take a picture.

The filtered sunshine, the light breeze, and the natural surroundings turned every scene into a picture for me.  I couldn’t help myself.  I will definitely be going back as spring creeps in, more and more.

I can’t say I knew the significance of Lent until a few years ago.  I didn’t even know when Ash Wednesday started.  I remember our first Good Friday service.  Mike Hsu preached about Jesus drinking the cup of God’s wrath.  I finally understood what took place on the cross besides physical pain.  Jesus took God’s wrath for our sins upon Himself.  I also remember someone’s wife, who wasn’t a believer, coming to that service and weeping the whole time.  She gave her life to Christ soon after.

When I finally decided to “give something up” for Lent, a dear, mature Christian lady looked sideways at me.  She told me that when her kids were young, they chose a family member secretly, and did special things for them during Lent.    “That’s nice,” I nodded and smiled.  Then she pushed the piece of cake I had refused closer to me, in case I changed my mind.

I never asked her, but I like to try and figure out why she didn’t want me to fast something during Lent, since she fasts and prays for spiritual strongholds all the time.  She grew up Lutheran, following all the traditions of the church.  When she was an adult, she became Pentecostal.  Is it possible she found Lent fasting an empty tradition, and  just going through the motions?  “Does anyone know why we’re doing this?”

Since my daughter, Rebecca, was very horrified and impressed that she was going to give up sweets for Lent, she asked everyone last Tuesday night at Teen Parents what they were giving up.  After I took her aside and told her it was really between God and the fastee, I had a conversation with a woman who helps,  since Rebecca had brought it up.  I told her fasting at Lent seemed like a good thing.  Mindlessly following traditions is bad, but the meaning behind the traditions is good. God told the Israelites plenty of times to go through certain rituals to remember what He had done, and give themselves visual reminders of it, since their fickle hearts were so easily led astray.

Without further ado, here is my informal list of reasons I want to observe Lent by fasting:

1. It gives me permission not to be mastered by my desires.
2. When I am missing the thing I gave up, I pray about the following:  the unsaved people I know, families, and for repentance and revival at Redeemer.  Tim Keller’s study on prayer we’re doing in our Lifegroup is helping me with this last prayer focus.
3. I want to slow down and reflect on Christ’s work on the cross, and teach myself the Gospel daily.
4. I just want more time to reflect, period.
5. The Bible directs us to fast and pray for spiritual strongholds.  I really don’t do this all year, because I probably don’t think eternally enough.  Fasting during Lent helps me think this way.
6. It helps me commit to praying corporately for a length of time on Wednesdays at noon.

There are many more reasons, but these affect me this year.  How humbling it is to give up such a miniscule thing for my Lord for a season.  I hope my commitment to prayer and fasting have effects that last far beyond Lent, into eternity.

I just received my wheat order for the year:  100 pounds of unbleached white flour, and 400 pounds of Prairie Gold wheat.

I’ve made bread since Katherine was born.  Back then I did it because I quit my job, which meant I needed to save money, and I actually had time to cook.  I bought wheat flour back then.

Eventually, I met gals in the church who ground their own wheat and ooooooo I loved their bread.  So I eventually bought a wheat grinder and a Bosch mixer, which mixes 6 loaves of bread at a time.

I’ve been thinking about this the past few months, after reading Bethany’s blog about healthy food.   Many people commented about how they choose to eat healthy.  They pick their battles.  Organic food sounds nice, but with a large family, that would quadruple my grocery costs.  No deal.  I do grow my own food, which I enjoy in the winter.  Remind me of this next August when I’m canning again.  I try to make most of our meals, and not buy prepackaged stuff, besides frozen pizza and Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, both of which my children think is nectar from the gods.  However, baking bread from freshly ground wheat is my main commitment to healthy eating.  That’s that.  Did you know wheat flour loses its nutrients a day or so after you grind it?  That’s why I freeze it, and my bread, after baking it.

When I instructed a young mom about baking fresh bread, she said, “I guess I’m really a homeschooler, now!”

During another one of my bread-baking talks, a different friend told me,”I’m not that granola!”

Does that make me a homeschooling-granola mamma?

I had never heard of a person referred to as “granola” before this year.  A “guy” said Redeemer was the “Granola Church.”  Hmmmm.  I had to ponder what that meant, and what that meant I was.  Am I a hippie?  Nope.  No communal living, and I wear all my undergarments.  I do make my own granola, but I don’t think he was referring to Redeemer as the church that makes it’s own breakfast cereal.  I think he was referring to our political views.

Like, perhaps, some people from Redeemer voted for Obama.  Well, I didn’t.  I think some people may have, but I love them and they love Jesus.  I don’t agree with them, but we’re not all supposed to be ears in the Body, now, are we?  We will all pray for our new leader together, regardless if we voted for him or not.  And I may even share my granola, with my “granola” friends, and even my “non-granola” friends, if they want some.