(Becoming Jane)

          “One more step and I’ll shoot.”

          My adversary chuckles, spits, and takes one more step toward me.

          “Really-one more step and I’ll shoot.”

           His eyes never blink as he takes one more step.

You get the idea-I’d be a goner.

My kids figured this out a long time ago. Make your beds before you leave, take out the trash, fold your laundry, do the dishes, homework first…. All mere suggestions.

When did I become such a wimp?

Establishing, requiring, and maintaining limits have never been my particular strengths. Apparently, I’m not the only one who can’t identify the last straw.

Obese people who become trapped in their own beds because of their inability to physically move their weight didn’t recognize their violating morsel. Experts tell us that abused women experience eleven violent encounters before they report their abuser. Why eleven? Why not one? Or two? Or ten? What makes eleven the last straw?

The employee who hands over his badge because he’s had one too many incidents of belittlement in front of co-workers, the teenager who grabs a backpack in the middle of the night and disappears after the final verbal blow by a parent, the neighbor who calls the city complaining about an unkempt yard, the bullied schoolkid who takes a gun to school-what makes people finally decide it’s the last straw?

A recent movie depicts a character overlooking her husband’s adultery, but demanding a divorce when she finds a package of stashed cigarettes-the last straw of broken trust in an already-broken relationship.

Recognizing the last straw is about identifying the point when the grievances exceed your limits of endurance-it’s about being able to say “enough.” Really.

So we began our homeschooling journey.

My second daughter’s severe seizures beginning at the age of four limited our schooling options, so we continued homeschooling.

Now, twenty years later, my oldest child has graduated from college (last year) with the highest distinguished honors. Scholarships and honors line her resume, including an internship at the White House. Homeschooling apparently worked for her. My second daughter is now in a transitional life skills program for those with special needs at the local junior college. My son graduates from our homeschool this year, and my youngest daughter, next year.

Some years I loved homeschooling; other years, I struggled with it. Not sure I would do it all again.

I’m mostly satisfied with the results of our homeschooling experience, though. Through the years the kids pursued their interests and cultivated their unique gifts-they’re all talented musicians. They developed athletic skills, served on mission trips and sports camps, experienced the world of musical theater, traveled throughout the U.S. and England, and even sang the national anthem at the Ballpark in Arlington for the Texas Rangers in front of over 37,000 fans. The friendships they’ve cultivated will last a lifetime, they treat others with respect, and they’re fun to be around. Oh yes, they also do well academically.

I’m most grateful that they love the Lord and seek to please Him. I’ve rarely felt tempted to play the Holy Spirit’s role in their lives-they’re already sensitive to His leading. And I love the way they love each other. Nothing can compare to those rewards.

From as early as I can remember, I’ve known His presence. Not that I was born a Christian-there was a moment in time when I gave all of myself to all I knew of Jesus. But I was young when I received Christ, so most of my life has been spent enjoying the fellowship of almighty God. Quite a privilege for someone who’s just dust.

And then I encounter crossroads. Decisions to follow His standards-His direction-or take an easier route. Struggles. Comfort vs. hard choices. Sometimes I grow weary, lose heart, and make decisions from a place of discouragement. Why bother? Most of us have encountered a similar place at some time in our lives.

Like Eve, we may question God- Are You holding out on me? Are You really good? Or like Esau, we may find ourselves indifferent to the privilege of being His child-we may take our birthright lightly. Like Samson, we may be driven by the impulse of our eyes, living for the things in life that look good.

Whether the struggle is as apparent as a one-time car mishap or as hidden as a quiet accusation of the heart, God knows. And while we can be confident that His discipline doesn’t usually come in the form of lightning bolts, we can pray that it doesn’t come through silence. Life’s greatest tragedy doesn’t intrude as fire from heaven; it comes stealthily-taking His presence lightly, disobeying our Lord, and neglecting the most precious relationship offered to us. Grieving Him robs us of our most treasured gift… the whispers of God.

I dropped off my special needs daughter at her transitional life skills class before I got gas again, ran to the bank, paid bills, stopped at the cleaners, did two loads of laundry, made urgent phone calls, picked up my daughter at school, fixed my kids’ lunch, took my youngest daughter to basketball practice, and researched colleges that looked like a good fit for my baseball-player son.  

Somehow, this week will include four trips to and from the local junior college, three basketball practices, five baseball games, one basketball game, shopping for a prom dress, five loads of uniforms to be washed plus all the regular laundry for a family of six, a doctor appointment, two piano lessons, a piano ensemble recital, a voice lesson, a Bible class and a writer’s guild meeting (for me), a basketball fund-raising event, picture-gathering for my son’s upcoming graduation power point presentation, and grocery shopping twice-I can only fit five gallons of milk in my fridge at a time and with four kids over the age of sixteen that’s two grocery runs a week.

Also cluttering this week’s bulging calendar-a Special Olympics basketball tournament and a MHMR state survey for my special needs daughter, including mountains of paperwork and a home visit, requiring, of course, a clean and orderly home, a TB test and follow-up screening, and documentation in pristine order. They’ll be sure to ask, “Has the cat been vaccinated?”

Where the heck did I stash my state-required in-case-of-terrorist-attack kit?

And I’d like to get a book proposal finished this week.

Lupus management requires a daily thirty-minute workout (not in the sun) with eight-ten hours of sleep a night, plus naps on the tiring days. The doctor says reduced stress is a must. Right. Highly nutritious meals and plenty of sunscreen. I don’t have time to apply sunscreen multiple times a day and does Instant Breakfast count as highly nutritious?

I don’t think I have a point to this blog. I merely wanted to whine. Indulgent of me.

I’m sure most moms can relate-we all need a break. So cancel a few things this week and hang out in Starbucks for a few moments. Maybe we’ll run into each other. I’ll be the one napping in the corner cushy chair.

I love her straightforwardness.

Jesus was the same way. When followers pressed in around him, when lepers cried out to Him, when blind men reached for Him-He often asked, “What do you want me to do?”

The question probably startled them as well. Well, isn’t it obvious? We want relief. We want You to fix our circumstances, to deliver us from pain, to heal us, to change hearts, to drive away our enemies, to cause our problems to disappear, to make it all go away… to be God in the details of our lives. To do something-anything-on our behalf.

Sometimes He acts by intervening in dramatic ways. Parting seas, commanding walls to fall down, defeating the enemy by raining down hailstones from heaven, pronouncing healing in an instant, breathing life into the dead. Other times, most times, in fact, He uses His still, quiet voice and whispers His direction into our hearts.

When the leaders of the early church faced an issue of great dissension and debate, they came together for discussion. They examined the words of the prophets; they reflected on the wonders of God. Prayer is implied, because they mention agreement with the Holy Spirit. The next part, my friend, author and speaker Jan Winebrenner pointed out-they used good judgment. “It seemed good to them.” (The writer of Acts 15 uses this phrase three times.) It came down to presenting the problem to God, examining His word and previous works, and using thoughtful consideration to make a decision that “seemed good” to them. Then they acted.

Sometimes God’s will is like a glorious sunset painted in the sky. No doubt it’s from God. Other times, He acts in more subtle ways. He gives us the wisdom, courage, and strength to act, to follow the direction of His leading, to reason through our circumstances under the leadership of the Holy Spirit. Although I’m kinda partial to standing on the sidelines and watching God move mountains, sometimes He wants us to be more involved in the process of working through our problems. God often leads us to use good judgment-common sense-to do something ourselves.

Mom had other phrases for angry people, especially those that whined when they were verbally one-upped by someone-”If they can’t stand the heat, they need to get out of the kitchen,” or “Those who live in glass castles shouldn’t throw stones.” Those who have their own failings, their own sets of frailties, and their own areas of vulnerability, incompetence, and deficiency shouldn’t be casting stones. They’d be wise to step back and take a look at their own life before pronouncing judgment on others.

Jesus had His sayings, too. Hypocrites “strain gnats” in your life while they “swallow camels” in their own lives. They’re more than willing to point out the “speck” in your eye while they have “logs” floating in their own eyes. And those who carry a whole arsenal of stones to cast your way don’t seem to hear Jesus’ admonition, “He who is without sin may cast the first stone.” Or maybe they’ve heard the words and truly believe they’re justified in rock throwing. Other sayings probably apply to them.

Difficult people are a fact of life-we’ve all encountered those who are harsh, critical, eager to be angry. Like the “pot calling the kettle black” they will be oblivious to their own failings while they magnify our inadequacies. One of life’s certainties is that we will encounter stones hurled our way, and it helps to be equipped with more than just a few clever sayings.

So, when someone tries to hurt you… when someone hurls a verbal spear your direction. When someone takes aim because you didn’t meet their expectations. When someone scoffs at your pain. When someone triumphs at your mistakes or blames you for their insufficiencies, you have a choice.

Instead of flinging back the stone in return fire, leave it on the ground. Don’t pick it up, don’t roll it around in your hand contemplating the damage you could do in return-choose grace instead. Look at it, yes, recognize and acknowledge the pain it caused, then choose to leave the stone where it lies. Let the stones fall. Let them heap up to become a monument to the grace you’ve chosen to live in, the freedom of forgiveness you’ve experienced and can now bestow on those who hurt you, and the peace of releasing your antagonist to God’s realm. You can choose to rest in the confidence that God is good and He freely bestows grace, to you, as well as to the stone-thrower.

As Mom would probably say, grace is just a stone’s throw away.

“Do not be eager in your heart to be angry…” (Ecclesiastes 7:9).

Grace discovered the wonder of creation-again. She turned her new camera into a paintbrush to transform the color of her world (the camera has a feature enabling it to change colors of the objects it photographs, so the Santa hat is now green in her photos).

Rodney decided that spinach dip is almost as good when the dipper is an apple slice. Braden drew convincing pictures of The Iron Man as we watched the flick. Bethany giggled through a foot spa. Piano sonatas serenaded us throughout the day-with four piano players in our family, our piano rarely gets a rest.

Rockband was a hit-Caleb was crowned the most accomplished on the drums. I failed the guitar. Our family was spared the misery of listening to me attempt vocals. Grace’s score was 100% on vocals-imagine that. Bubba and Caleb plotted to open new songs by beating the challenge scores. Caleb wanted to look up cheats, but Bubba insisted on doing it the hard way.

Karis spent the day with her sweetheart’s family after we opened gifts this morning.

Dad called Jason and wished him a Happy Birthday. Confused it with Merry Christmas. We decided we should all call Jason and wish him a Happy New Year’s, Valentine’s, St. Patrick’s, and by-the-way we’re about to start our Easter egg hunt. Where was he, anyway? He didn’t see the Witten jersey I wore all day. The sports-blogger in him would appreciate it. The kids searched to find my Christmas day attire. Now I can get a discount at Albertson’s when I stop for groceries on Sunday. Probably only one more Sunday to cash in on that offer.

My rambling isn’t because I’ve had too much eggnog-I’ve had a huge dose of family. And I can never get too much of our entertaining clan. Before the evening is over, we’ll watch another movie, play a few games, and listen to someone play another tune or two on the piano. We’ll savor our sparkling juice in our indigo long-stemmed glasses, we’ll hug and say our I-love-yous, and we’ll be glad for another year of celebrating Christmas together.

Merry Christmas!

My husband and kids also get the same text. Sometimes multiple times a day.

No, I don’t need a block on my cell phone; no filters are necessary.

My son gets three or four texts in a row that start with the familiar Dmwajtg… in class, on the basketball court, at the movie theater. My oldest daughter receives them when she’s carrying on official state governmental business. My youngest daughter, when she’s getting ready to step on stage. Or when they’re just hanging out at the house or running around with friends. (Sometimes their buddies get the same message.) My kids read their messages and smile when they come to that one. They text back smiley faces, goofy faces, simple words and phrases.

It’ll happen again tomorrow. My phone will buzz, and I’ll open my phone and read my message. Dmwajtg…. I’ll hit reply and text, I love you, too, honey. And I’ll be glad we made the decision to give a cell phone to my special needs daughter.

God had a plan for Jonah’s life-a specific mission to deliver a warning to Jonah’s enemies about God’s coming judgment. Jonah didn’t like his assignment; he knew that sounding the warning might cause the Ninevites to repent and then God wouldn’t destroy them. He preferred to see God annihilate his enemy. (I suppose mercy wasn’t one of Jonah’s spiritual gifts.) So Jonah ran. God redirected him-that’s the part where the whale comes in. God eventually used him to deliver a message Jonah didn’t want to deliver. God showed mercy on Jonah’s enemies-that’s the part of the plan Jonah didn’t like (can’t you just hear Jonah saying “@!#%! I knew it!”). So Jonah was mad at God. God challenged his thinking by questioning Jonah’s anger and using the illustration of caring more for something stupid like a plant (the plant enriched Jonah’s life at the moment) than showing compassion for the lives of men, women, children, and even animals.

God’s questioning resembled the tongue-in-cheek kind of questioning that parents do with their kids when the parents already know the answers and the kids are inventing outlandish explanations to nonsensical behavior. I’m sure God must’ve had a private laugh at his clueless prophet’s expense while Jonah crossed his arms, stomped his foot, and jutted out his bottom lip. Jonah was mad and by-golly he had good reason.

I understand. I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve been in Jonah’s position. In my earlier years I snickered at Jonah’s childish pouting, but I really can’t be that hard on Jonah-he thought God hadn’t delivered on the promises of deliverance and retribution. Jonah felt like God let him down. God hadn’t behaved the way Jonah thought a deity should-these people had mistreated Jonah’s people and justice demanded that the Ninevites be punished. It wasn’t fair. God’s ways confused him. God’s sovereignty left Jonah grasping for a world set aright. This didn’t look like anything Jonah had envisioned for his world. Not at all.

I chuckled at Jonah’s silliness until I encountered my own undesirable God-assigned missions. Then I joined Jonah’s ranks. Okay, now I get the pouting thing. God is asking too much of me. This just isn’t fair. Like Jonah, I’ve had days when I preferred the belly of the whale to carrying out God’s divine task.

Does God ever roll His eyes at us? I wonder if He sighs and groans that I’m a lost cause or shakes His head at my inability to “get it.” How many plants-the material creature comforts of life-do I pout over? Do I even care that there’s a lost-and-dying world needing a message of hope? And do I prefer revenge to compassion? Really?

I’m quick to choose His mercy for myself-why not for others? Maybe I should consider how quickly God withered Jonah’s plant. Or how consistently He extends mercy to me.