Birds chirp loudly. The sun assaults my face. Not asleep, but not yet awake, I imagine throwing rocks at the birds.
Wait..what? I like birds. What’s wrong with me? I turn my head and wince. My throat aches, my ear pounds and my head feels heavy and hurty.
Grumpy assaults me and I feel like I got hit by a tequila bottle. It must be the flu. I stumble down the stairs and reach for the coffee pot and Advil.
My daughter Faith wanders downstairs. “Mom, you have to take me to school now, Camille has a volleyball tournament so my ride fell through.”
I look at the clock and growl. I have twenty minutes to get ready for work. Twenty minutes to get two kids out the door in uniforms with packed lunches and backpacks filled with the appropriate gear for the day’s activities. Tim has already left for work and my man/child college student with classes that don’t start until 9:00 am is still snoring. The dog looks at me and sighs.
“I know buddy. No walk. No foot snuggle. This blows cupcakes.”
I gulp my coffee and burn my already sore throat.
Somehow we make it out the door. Faith asks to drive. I say “yes” reluctantly. Driving my recently permitted daughter stresses me out. She’s not a bad driver, I mean sometimes we run lights and stuff, but really, it’s all the other idiots on the road I worry about. I smile and nod yes, trying to find the nice mom hiding behind the bear.
I look at my phone and tune out as she drives. It helps with the terror.
After we arrive at the high school I take over and drive Kolby to Krispy Kreme. We load up on donuts and head to her school. I ask her not to eat in the car because we are still dealing with the red crayon marks and Capri Sun stains artistically displayed across the back seat. Did I mention I have only made three car payments on this car?
We park the car and head for the playground. Kolby finds a friend to play with and I head for the bench to rest my sick and weary behind. Along the way a high-spirited game of dodgeball interrupts. A large boy lunges for the ball but plows into me instead. I stumble and sprawl onto the asphalt.
“Sorry mam.” He looks at me with big eyes. I smile weakly, pick myself up, wipe off the dirt covering my nice work pants, then limp over to the bench. I think about suing but decide he probably has a small allowance.
All I want to do is sit. I hurt everywhere. The bench hums a siren song and I blissfully sigh and plop down. But relief does not come. Instead I feel wet. Maybe it’s because I am sitting in a huge puddle.
Bad words head for my mouth. If it wasn’t a Christian school I might erupt.
The END of the Rope
I head to work alternating between weak laughter and snotty hiccup tears.
Then a reminder pops up on my phone. “Speak at Divorce Care tonight.”
Of course! I forgot. How silly of me.
I am supposed to share words of encouragement and motivate others towards Jesus and healing tonight. I mean I haven’t showered, my voice is hoarse and my ass is a train wreck. I think I’ve got it covered.
No!!!!! I can’t do this. I just want to go back to bed and crank up my electric blanket.
And then I remember the topic of conversation the other night at my pastor’s wives group–“How do you deal with Spiritual Warfare?”
I recall my awkward response. For some weird reason I get totally nervous at these gatherings and act like a weenie because I’m painfully uncomfortable when it comes to spiritual measuring sticks–either real or imagined.
Is That a Demon on Your Shoulder?
The truth is spiritual warfare is one of those weird terms in the church world that people throw around casually. Some folks believe every bad thing that happens is demonic.
Out of toilet paper? It’s probably the demons who used it up. Car broke down? Demons. Broke? Demons. It probably has nothing to do with your spending habits.
While I don’t ascribe every bad thing in the world to Satan, I can say (with all certainty) that I do notice a difference before big events and occasions where God is impacting lives that bizarre stuff happens to pastors and their families. Things like random misunderstandings, arguments, illness, assaults of insecurity and doubt. The week before Christmas and Easter is usually pretty tough to get through.
And when I’m actually in tune enough to identify a spiritual warfare attack, I know it’s time to start praying and ask for others to do so as well.
And this is when the epiphany cracks through my thick skull.
Hey Sam…this is that spiritual warfare moment.
The illness, the puddle, the accident on the playground, the ruined work pants–all coinciding on the day when we head over to talk to a group of people whose hearts have been ravaged by divorce. Hearts who are grasping for a shred of hope to hang on.
Maybe calling and canceling is a terrible idea.
I remember back to when I was sitting in Divorce Care after my ex-husband walked out on me and how much it meant for me to have people pour into my wounded heart and take the time to invest in my healing.
This crap day isn’t some cosmic accident designed to piss me off. It’s a calculated plan to steal my joy, keep me self-absorbed and completely ineffective for the Kingdom of God.
So I close my eyes and pray.
I am no wordsmith when I pray. I don’t quote scripture or use big words. It’s often just grunts and tears.
I whisper a simple thanks. I am grateful that even when I am defeated, whiny and pathetic, I am still loved. I plead for protection and for God to use me in spite of myself.
And the relief finally comes, not from a magical cure or less messy circumstances, but from a loving father who gives me the strength to push through.
Do not grow weary in doing good, for in due season you will reap if you do not lose heart.
“Keller, I had a crazy dream. I dreamed we got the old poker gang back together,” Dan shared with my hubby Tim.
Don’t you just love crazy ideas?
It seemed an impossible feat. Over the last ten years the group of single thirty somethings (now forty somethings) had moved and married, divorced and proliferated, faced health challenges, job transitions and relational crisis–basically the gritty basics of life assaulting us.
My husband shook his head in disbelief, but his wide grin revealed his excitement at the possibility of reconnecting with old friends.
“Yeah, let’s do it! Tim replied.
Dan worked hard to pull the event off and surprisingly it seemed to all fall into place until the house he rented for the party flooded at the eleventh hour.
Seriously?
Opportunity or Disaster?
Just as I was walking out the door to take Kolby to an audition the call came in. “Keller, we need a place to hold the party.”
I looked at my husband and sighed. I knew the answer immediately. “Offer up your house Sam,” God nudged at my heart.
Come again? My dirty messy house. The one that overwhelms me and reminds me of my failure to balance work, kids, endless sports, ministry, and a husband who fills our house to the brim with his knack for thrifty bargain hunting.
I look around and see clumps of dog hair in the corners, textbooks and laptops everywhere, Lego’s, Emoji’s and American Girl chaos in competition for biggest disaster area. I know the toilet in the guest bathroom looks like a pack of truckers stopped by and the dishes are piled high.
And my heart aches because my house is like a snapshot of my soul–me at the end of my rope, reaching out for rescue like a small child with arms held high. Hold me Jesus. I’m struggling to wade through this wonderful, exhausting, roller-coaster life.
Choosing The Best Mess
“Let’s do it here.” I say.
“No, I’ll look at the clubhouse.” Tim pipes back.
I know my husband will fight me tooth and nail because my heart is acting cranky again and I’m supposed to be on a diet of low stress–whatever that means because I clearly suck at it.
I immediately start stuffing clutter in cabinets as if tidiness can hide my brokenness. And then I just stop and release, “Ok God, I get it. Messy is Ok.”
My husband protests and I bark back, “Just have the party here. It makes sense. God gave us this house to bless others. Just clean up a little, please?”
My husband gives me the crazy look, but I know this crazy is the right crazy.
Letting Go
I grab my little girl and we hit the road for a two hour drive, extended by an additional thirty minutes after my GPS sends me in the wrong direction. After I quietly berate my phone, I settle down and pray, reminding myself that in the big picture relationships matter more than a clean house and being on time in LA is a suggestion.
After the audition (which my baby nailed), I call to check in with Tim who is happily hosting the party–my darling extrovert in his element.
And I feel a sense of peace and strangely enough, rest. Not because my life is anymore less chaotic but because God revealed himself to me in the center of the mess.
A Message
When we arrive home later that evening, the roar of laughter hits my ears as I open the car door in the driveway. I open the front door and am enveloped in hugs. No one cares about the floors or the toys. I see beautiful faces and I am so glad I said “Yes.”
But then I sense something more–an undercurrent of restoration. Things are happening. Strained relationships are mending. Friends who let time elapse too long bond again. The old jokes and ridiculous names they call one another are music to the soul.
I sense the bigness of what’s going on. I’m just an observer but even I know this is more than a party, it’s a redemptive offering. I can’t believe they all showed up. I can’t believe a crazy dream led to this night.
I retire early and fall asleep with the party still in full swing, snuggled up next to my little girl, content in the sounds of laughter and revelry downstairs knowing that old friends are making new memories and hearts are full. What crazy dream do you need to say yes to?
I wrote this post five years ago and it feels like it needs to be updated. Because maybe you don’t know how awesome my kids are now in 2015?
Random person-“Wow, your baby is really smart (pretty, adorable…amazing)!”
Me-“I know, right?”
Am I really that obnoxious parent who unashamedly brags on her kids?
Yep. I am. I can’t stop myself. I hear the words slipping out and I want to grab them back, whip out my lasso and coral them in, but it’s too late. Once again, I have over-shared regarding my kid’s total awesomeness.
(2010) Have I told you about Kyle? We call him six-pack in training, our movie-star handsome, 4.0 GPA, nationally ranked football player, stud pitcher, kindergarten volunteering, gentle, loving, Godly, ridiculously humorous almost thirteen year old son?
Five years later…
(2015) Kyle is a 17 yr old senior in high school at J Serra. He still loves football–although he is now a linebacker, fullback and tight end, instead of a center. He is in the process of getting recruited for college ball–more on that to come soon. He is a captain of his football team, still movie-star handsome, a good student, not playing baseball now and thinking of playing a little lacrosse in the spring? He has no girlfriend (heck yeah!), is still soooo funny, even-tempered, hard-working, and is a county music, Jesus loving boy. He’s building houses in Peru next spring, driving our old gas guzzling Ford truck around, and enjoying every minute of his friends and youth. Strangely enough, he is now violently allergic to his favorite food–sushi? Suckaroo! Kyle loves the beach, working out and snowboarding. If he’s not at football practice he is usually hanging out somewhere with Brad and Kelly.
(2010) What about my little beauty Faith? Let me tell you about my sweetheart girl who dances like a fairy, cheers like a maniac, is smart, fun-loving, a talented actress(recently starred in Peter Pan as the Indian Grizzly Bear), is a great big-sis, and leads worship with gusto? Did I mention she is shooting a spec commercial for the Vizio tablet this weekend?
(2015) Faith is a freshman at J Serra and joins the Lions with her brother. She is a JV cheerleader and is on the yearbook staff. She is artistic, fashion-minded and dedicated. She works hard in the classroom and wants to pursue photography as a career. Faith loves Campus Ministry–mainly because the worship director is “so beautiful mom,” which I totally get, because I think pastor’s are hot too! Faith’s personality is mostly sunshine with a few storm clouds thrown in for good measure. She is extroverted to the extreme and so beautiful, inside and out.
(2010) How about the Kolbster? Baby Kolby is so freaking cute! She is months beyond her year, crazy clever, reads letters, knows every animal sound (including “hop” for bunny because I don’t know what the heck the bunny says), has killer hair, and talks incessantly about her big brother.
(2015) Yep, Kolby still has killer hair. I think we are all a little jealous. Kolby is in kindergarten now–a real big girl–and the joy of our lives. She is clever and silly and smart as a whip. Kolby plays soccer, does ballet and cheerleading, and is a part of a Daisy Troop. She still loves her bro Kyle but talks about other boys now too (gasp!) On any given afternoon she rolls with the Claymont Street girls gang of blond beauties. She loves to color, play with Shopkins, read books with mama and play Barbies. Kisses from Kolby are magical and her snuggles have true healing power. I know. I know. Someone stop me from bragging. I have diarrhea of the pompous mouth when it comes to my munchkins. But, I’m guessing most parents feel thisway. They love their kids so, so, so much, they simply can’t help themselves.
But in my defense, even God brags on his boy a bit. “Have you seen my son Job?” he tells Lucifer. “He’s a total stud, blameless, upright and courageous.” (Slightly modified by Sam from Job 1:8)
Sounds like some swagger wagon to me…
So maybe my crazy love for my kids is annoying, boastful, and even bombastic.
My friend is at the airport on her way to Hawaii. Her family is pumped because they are heading to the Disney Island Resort of Mickey awesomeness.
But, six hours is a long time with three kids on a plane, so she herds her adorable brood of blond tots to the potty for one last go.
And this is what she encounters…
Text from Friend: “How do I explain this to my kids?”
I won’t treat you to the text I wrote back because it’s politically incorrect.
But I will say this. Be very careful near airports!
There are apparently uniboob half-skirted creatures walking around with surly expressions and no one can stop them from making weird faces and peeing in this airport bathroom because the government says you can pick your gender and expression.
I must confess some confusion over the peeing part. If you are a dude and you get a sex change, do you lose or keep the unit? Some do and some don’t right?
(In all honesty, my parent’s wouldn’t let me see the “Crying Game” which I’m sure would have explained some of this.
Do they have fake vajayjay’s? And how do the doctors re-pipe? Anatomy didn’t cover this and I’m afraid to Google it on my work computer. It’s like Jr. High again. I laughed with all the other kids about the “69” graffiti on the wall but I didn’t actually know what it meant until college.
So how do mommies and daddies explain trans-gender to the kids when we are clueless too?
I know there are a few TV shows on the Family Channel now to help us make sense of our changing culture–“I am Cait” and “Help..my dad is turning into a woman.” But, strangely enough, I haven’t found compelled to watch.
So, here’s what I’m telling my kids.
Mommy doesn’t personally understand the motives to move towards trans-gender, but she does understand brokenness and its ramifications. She know sadness and loneliness and the extreme measures people will go to find the elusive happiness that eludes them.
Your purpose and meaning go far beyond your sexuality. Your identity is not in your maleness or femaleness or even in ambiguity.
Your identity is in Christ alone. But culture is sending a very different message to you.
The world says we can choose our identity by choosing our gender. Mommy disagrees.
Male and female God created them. In God’s image. We are all a reflection of our creator.
Our identity is in CHRIST ALONE.
I believe Trans-gender is throwing us all for a loop but it doesn’t have too.
It’s pretty simple. Our job is to love God and love our neighbor. And yes, that means the trans-gender neighbor-even if it’s awkward and confusing.
The truth is we are all in some type of bondage to the lies of culture. Some of us just wear the chains on the outside and it’s more obvious. I too have bought into the lies of sex, beauty and materialism equaling my worth. Only a belief in something bigger can deliver us.
Trans-gender is complicated and messy and its’ really hard to explain to kids. But it’s a conversation we all need to initiate because it’s not going away.
I hope you wrestle with this dialogue too. Let me know what you think and how you are explaining it.
–Samantha
And please, I’m cool if you disagree but keep it clean. Only grown-up comments please.
Truth–every time Taylor Swift’s song “22” comes on, I crank up my radio, sway in my seat, drive a little faster and sing along with gusto.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling 22 42.”
Yep, I change the words…mainly because it rhymes, it’s fun and I’m 42. Except now I’m not 42–today’s my birthday, now I’m 43.
I guess I need a new song.
My son gives me a card this morning and it says “Happy 29th for the 15th time!” It’s supposed to be funny, but I secretly wince. How come 29 + 15 sounds old too?
So here are my thoughts on 43…
1. It SOUNDS worse than it is. It’s actually not that bad. Last week, I traveled with my son. He looks far older than his 16 years–probably about 20ish. I could pass on a good day for mid to late 30’s. After, multiple days of people assuming we were a couple, I felt like a total perv, I told my son I was getting a t-shirt that says, “I’m the mom (not a cougar)”
2. Ok, I do miss the energy of youth (and maybe my perkier parts)…but that’s about it. A few wrinkles seems a small price to pay for all the benefits of maturity.
3. I have time now to enjoy my life. When the big kids were small, when I was a single working mom, when we started the church and I was trying to get my writing going…all I did was hustle, hustle, hustle. There was constant rushing and scrambling. Now–I can relax a little bit and appreciate all those years of wiping snotty noses and working late.
4. I treasure the wisdom I’ve gained over the years. You couldn’t pay me to go back to my twenties. All the emotions and turmoil of youth fade in light of parenting all the emotions and turmoil of my own teens.
5. I’m getting way more nostalgic. I used to set goals for myself for every birthday. Each year was a litmus test of accomplishments–the great grading scale of the American Dream. Graduate college. Get married by 25. Have babies by 30. Finish masters degree. Start church. Develop ministry. Blog. Write book by 40. Start women’s ministry. Run marathon.
Boy have things changed…
I forgot to include divorce, and career change and loss–and all the tragedy and circumstances that mold and shape us into people of depth and character. I never finished my graduate degree and I never ran that marathon, and truthfully, I could care less.
My yearly round-up is much simpler now.
I thank God I get to crawl into a toddler bed every night with my little girl and read her favorite books and growl and do all the voices of her favorite monsters and animals. I thank God for letting me go back East last week on an Ivy League football recruiting trip with my son. I will never forget laughing our butts off on the mountain roads of Vermont as we almost floated away in a hurricane in a rental car. I thank God for my lovely daughter Faith who will be a cheerleader next year in high school (just like her mama) and has the sweetest most loving spirit in the world. I thank God for my second marriage to a beautiful man, for the glorious redemption of having a family again and the ability to write and do what I love. I look at the people around me and pinch myself for the blessing of friends and neighbors and family.
I guess 43 is filled with perspective.
Here’s mine–Each day is a gift.
Fortunately, Taylor Swift is now 23–maybe we can get a new rhyme for 43?
My husband and I sit in a café and discuss buying a car.
Tim is the type of guy who becomes an expert on something before he pulls the trigger. So by this point, he can now tell me the make, model and location of every top-rated used car under 10k in the OC area.
We’ve narrowed it down to two options—one is new and one is used. The new car is a 2015 Hyundai Elantra and it’s AWESOME and has all the bells and whistles we “po’ ministry folk” are unaccustomed to. It’s a deal beyond a deal but it’s also out of our budget.
The used car is well, ummm…used. It has great gas mileage and it’s a 2006 Prius and more fiscally responsible—meaning we can afford it. it’s also good for the environment—right?
(did I mention the new car has a back-up camera, so cool!)
“What would our friend’s do?” My husband Tim asks.
“”Well we can’t compare ourselves to our neighbors because we make about a third of their incomes.” I reply.
“Ok, who do we compare ourselves to then?” Tim responds.
“We compare ourselves to the Ramsay’s. John is a pastor. Deanna is a singer/speaker and works part time. That’s an appropriate comparison.”
Tim looks at me wide eyed. “Yeah, but Deanna won a car on the Ellen Show.”
I nod. “Yeah, that kind of stuff doesn’t happen to us.”
We hold hands. Our tummies churn and we contemplate our finances.
……
This whole car business started because of a few numbers.
366,000
A big number, certainly, It’s also the amount of miles shared between our two aging but faithful SUV’s.
16 ½
That’s how many years my son has been alive. Not so big—but a big kid milestone. In two short weeks, my almost senior boy/man gets his license and like any teenage boy, Kyle is ready to roll
So we start a search for an another automobile that get’s more than the whopping 12 mpg of our 2004 Expedition or the 15 mpg of my newer 2006 Xterra.
The budget is limited. We have some money saved—enough for another really crappy car—but we also have mounting expenses from Tim’s hospital bills (spine injury and subsequent surgery), three kids this year in private school and college looming. Truthfully, it’s a tad overwhelming.
Tim finds some cars online and we debate each one’s merits like it’s a resolution in the UN.
Tim’s sweet father, upon hearing our car predicament, offers us a large chunk of change. We are thrilled and so blessed to be cared for so lavishly!
Now we had enough to get a NEWER used car. (And yes, for all those wondering, we could have financed a newer car but are committed to keeping our overhead low rather than raising it)
Through the car ministry at our church we are put in touch with the owner of the Hyundai dealership in Tustin. After a great phone conversation, he invites us to his dealership and we test drive a used Elantra and with a little prompting from the salesman a new one.
(ok, it’s not like he had to push real hard)
With the tremendous discount the owner of the dealership offers us (did I mention he is a generous volunteer at our main campus?), the new car is only 3 thousand more than the used car, but still, 6 thousand more than our budget. They are going above and beyond to bless us. The discount is even more than employees get.
Now what do we do? Do we justify spending more because it’s a great deal?
We go and sit in the 2015 model and pray, lifting this car dealio up to God. The people in the dealership probably think we are Jesus dorks—whatever. We close our eyes, hold hands and talk to God. We surrender up the decision and go to lunch.
…………..
Back at the cafe we make the painful choice to let the shiny new car go. It stings a little because it’s SO AWESOME, but we probably shouldn’t have been shopping in the lot we couldn’t afford to begin with.
I leave the restaurant and call my step-dad. He asks what I was doing at the dealership. I tell him about the two cars and how we have decided to stay within our budget, honor our financial goals to lower our overhead, and be responsible with the precious gift Tim’s father has given us.
“Why, don’t I give you the money? Six thousand–I’ll just give it to you.” My step-dad offers happily.
Silent tears stream down my face. “I wasn’t asking for money.”
“I know honey, he replies. “I love you. It’s a gift.”
And I think back to my own words. “That kind of stuff doesn’t happen to us,” And like Peter I am blown away at my doubts and God’s provision.
The next day we return to the dealership and climb in the new car before we write the check to take it home. As the ignition fires up a song blasts through the car.
God in my living, there in my breathing
God in my waking, God in my sleeping
God in my resting, there in my working
God in my thinking, God in my speaking
Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything
God in my hoping, there in my dreaming
God in my watching, God in my waiting
God in my laughing, there in my weeping
God in my hurting, God in my healing
Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything
Christ in me, Christ in me
Christ in me, the hope of glory
You are everything
Christ in me, Christ in me
Christ in me, the hope of glory
Be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything
God in my hoping, there in my dreaming
God in my watching, God in my waiting
God in my laughing, there in my weeping
God in my hurting, God in my healing
Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything
Christ in me, Christ in me
Christ in me, the hope of glory
You are everything
You are everything, You are everything
You are everything, You are everything
Jesus, everything, Jesus, everything
Jesus, everything, Jesus everything
We look at each other in amazement. “You think God is trying to tell us something,” I weakly laugh swiping away at the tears running down my cheeks.
Back inside the dealership, Tim asks the salesman, “Did you turn it to a Christian station because you know I’m a pastor?”
The salesman replies, “No, generally the boys in the back play the thump-thump music when they get the cars ready.”
We give each other the look—the “OMG, I’m freaking out inside look.”
I call my step-dad on the way home and tell him the story.
“I’m a part of an answered prayer?” he says.
“Yep, you are.” I whisper.
“Huh.”
I can picture his bemused grin over the phone.
Later I thank God in my prayers.
And I think about the love of a father—Tim’s father who blessed us, my step-dad who surprised us so generously, and our Father God who blew us away with this gift.
We didn’t ask. We didn’t beg. We aren’t worthier than any other person out there. But God through our parents gifted us anyway.
Everything. He is my Everything.
One day later we sit in church and the last song of the service sounds familiar.
God in my living, there in my breathing
God in my waking, God in my sleeping
God in my resting, there in my working
God in my thinking, God in my speaking
It’s never obvious but it’s there all the same—lingering expectations—the unstated kind.
And it starts from day one—at least it did in my marriage.
Because we all believe marriage is supposed to be…
(fill in the box)
We stand at the altar and unknowingly dump unspoken expectations all over one another.
And we cloak our aspirations in pretty words and flowery promises.
The pictures don’t lie.
Tim(my husband) cried during the ceremony and my grin is the size of Texas.
Because we erroneously believed marriage was supposed to (fill all our sexual, emotional, and relational needs)
We solemnly read our vows –nervous giggles spilling from my lips and Tim furiously wiping his watery eyes.
We promised to put the other first (and lied). The crowd coos and sighs. Then, we make a commitment before God and our guests and say “I do”, sealing the deal with a swoon and a kiss.
Reality vs. Ideals
But what if instead of PROMISES to love and cherish one another, we showed up at the ceremony with our true expectations.
(Play along with me)
“Tim, I promise to freak out when you are late, all too often put the kids first, over-react if you don’t like my cooking, chide you about parenting teens, snap when you forget to say I look pretty after an hour getting ready for our date, and go into hysterics when you ignore me when I am sick or hurting because I have severe abandonment issues.”
Samantha, I promise to get irritable when I forget to eat, expect you to manage all the housework, put work and ministry first (all too often), and snap if you ignore me when you get too caught up in your work because I need your attention too.
It would certainly make for a more honest wedding day.
Real, honest, sometimes selfish and more often than not –patterned expectations of what a marital relation SHOULD be like (in our eyes)
From our family of origin and past relational wounds we each bring an overloaded bag of expectations based on past hurts.
And each of us subconsciously EXPECTs our marriage will look like this.
Yet when all hell breaks loose and feelings get hurt—when we end up in opposite corners instead of on the same team—why, oh why are we so surprised?
Getting Honest
The questions to ponder are this: Are we bound by generational brokenness to repeat the patterns of our past? Is it possible to strive for a different type of relationship?
Expectations –good or bad are a powerful force in a relationship. They can influence and sometimes even determine our future because our behavior propels us towards the very things we either hope for or fear.
Expectation Management
My husband Tim loves to explain EXPECTATIONS this way…
Many years ago a friend of his dragged him to see the movie “Weekend at Bernie’s.” The movie was panned by critics and Tim expected it to be a total dud.
But instead of hating it, he thought it was hilarious—maybe not Oscar worthy, but laugh your butt expectation fun.
So, Tim decided this was a good plan—to manage his expectations by keeping them low.
In his mind it’s better to be pleasantly surprised than terribly disappointed.
And this is a great plan as long as he knows what they (the expectations) are. But sometimes it takes intense reflection and work to know the deeper areas of our hearts—the expectations we carry without realizing it.
In marriage, like movies, it’s vital to be honest about your expectations (to the degree that we know them) for your relationship—because without transparency there is ONLY disappointment when the other person fails to meet your un-communicated needs.
Do you hate fighting and believe ALL conflict is bad? Are you always waiting for the shoe to drop and disaster to strike because you lived through a divorce? Do you believe marriage is a prison or a ball and chain holding you back from the good life?
Or do you believe marriage has its ups and downs and you are committed to seeing both through?
Don’t underestimate the power of these expectations.
But don’t overestimate their power either, because there’s a power that’s even greater than expectations: God can heal our brokenness and it’s usually through the comfort and arms of the spouse pissing you off the most.
Healing the Wounds
Yes, I did say YOUR spouse will be the one to help you heal.
But you have to choose the marriage.
Choosing to behave differently than your past is possible.
We don’t have to live lives as victims of the past.
John Townsend and Henri Cloud say this,
“Those who blame external circumstances for their situation do not find what they want. Those who work on themselves, take responsibility for dealing with their circumstances, and then take action, have success.”
Motivation moves towards personal responsibility.
Marriage experts agree that both before and after you marry; you must be intentional about growth in your relationship.
Tim and I are very open about seeking counseling in our marriage. It is a non-negotiable with us. It keeps us growing personally and relationally. It also keeps the fires lit and the hope strong.
The best decision we have ever made is to invest in our marriage.
We have decided to learn everything we can about ourselves and each other, as well as practical tools to build our skills and strengths.
We study relationship books.
We go to relationship classes, support groups and seminars.
We take the time to do relationship inventories and assessments.
We found a good counselor.
And we are never above humbly asking for prayer and guidance when we hit the sticky spots.
We don’t have it all figured out—quite the opposite—but we are committed to the journey of figuring it out together.
“If you expect to hit some rough patches but have intentionally equipped yourself and your relationship to handle them, you’ll be able to navigate anything that arises. You’ll also know what your resources are and be able to ask for appropriate help as needed. If you intend to learn more and more about yourself and your partner as years go by and follow up those intentions with action, your relationship will stay fresh and current. If you expect that the investment of time and energy in marriage pays off, and add intention to your expectations, you will do what is needed and required to develop a strong, healthy relationship.”
Resources: All-in-One Marriage Prep: 75 Experts Share Tips and Wisdom to Help You Get Ready Now, www.allinonemarriageprep.com
And NO, it’s not my mom talking. It’s my pastor husband.
This picture is HOW I FEEL after church—like I want to bang my head against the wall because my husband won’t stop talking.
Being married to a relationally gifted man of Christ certainly has its perks.
Everyone is a friend
No party is boring
Often we are the party.
(Unless the party is in a foul mood…then we are the party pooper)
We can go to a mall, Starbucks, restaurant, golf course, etc… and come home with five new best friends.
There are no off-topic conversations. EVERYTHING is up for grabs.
But there is a dark side too.
I rarely leave church without my three kids and I experiencing debilitating hunger pains. It’s usually 2:00pm before we get out of the parking lot.
I’ve heard, “I just have to talk to this one guy” a bazillion times.
There is an unspoken acknowledgement between the kids and I that if Tim forgets something at church and has to “run back in real quick” we will probably wait another 30 minutes with the engine running.
And of course, every conversation is for Jesus, so how can we argue?
I adore my husband but sometimes he drives me bazonkers in the best of ways.
And he looks at me, wide eyed in befuddlement? “Why are you irritated darling? What’s wrong?”
(Because this is HIS normal)
And I want to scream, “Your normal is my crazy!”
But instead I just pray for patience. And every week I suck it up with a weak smile.
And then God gives me this little gift to tell me he hears my heart.
And I finally feel understood. Heard. Affirmed. Validated.
On the outside looking in, my life is Insta/FB worthy. I’ve got three great kids who are healthy and functional, a job I love, a new dog, and a husband/bestie who is a pastor.
There are 59 kids in our neck of the woods of Ladera Ranch. A rope swing dangles on a tree in our yard. It’s picturesque and our Christmas card’s don’t suck—thanks to the golden locks of my little lamb, my gorgeous son and cat-eyed girl.
It sure sounds pretty, right?
But this is so far from the WHOLE story.
If you only see my life from this angle it’s like you’re wearing beer goggles.
The details are foggy.
But in the morning, when the makeup rubs off and the bathroom smells like puke, the rest of the picture comes in crystal clear.
Our family is pretty ordinary, slightly neurotic and occasionally downright crazy. I think it’s awesome but it’s a far cry from perfect.
Sometimes I like to pretend I’m not divorced—a shuushed word in the ministry realm. I also wouldn’t mind forgetting past depravities and burying some of those wretched decisions of my youth in the sand (Can I just say I am so freaking grateful I didn’t grow up in the social media era!)
I am highly sensitive and I FEEL stuff intensely. It’s probably why I write. I create drama in my mind.
I also dated REALLY badly as a Christian.
Yep, I’m the one the Good Christian Girls pointed their fingers at.
Whisper, whisper, whisper, “Sam wore a bikini to the singles retreat.”
It’s true.
I didn’t know the Christian rules or I ignored them occasionally when I felt they were dumb.
I did missionary dating—that’s where you to try and convert a hot, rich guy who’s not a believer into one and then you lie to yourself and pretend you have something in common.
I did gold digger dating. No comments necessary.
I did “try really hard at purity” dating.
I made so MANY mistakes during my time as a single Christian woman.
Much of what I talk and write based off of me blowing it, turning to God in desperation, and finally surrendering my dating life to him.
And when I finally stopped to listen, there was a repeated theme that God kept bringing me back to.
My identity was broken.
And this gaping wound was causing tremendous pain, ruining my dating life and destroying any chance of meeting the man God had for me.
So what was my big sin that kept me from God’s best?
Not seeing myself through God’s eyes.
Beer Goggles vs. God Lenses (Note* Beer is a metaphor. I don’t drink beer although I do like a good Cabernet on occasion)
I incorrectly labeled myself and others because my lenses were distorted.
I pigeonholed people. I pigeonholed myself.
We think we are so politically correct. WE would never label anyone,
And yet…I see it all the time in dating.
I believe it’s one of biggest obstacles we face as singles.
We write people off all the time by their outside appearance, job or demeanor.
The problem: a label is a description applied from the outside, rather than something intrinsic to the labeled thing.
Labeling discounts character, spirituality, intelligence, humor and heart.
I was so guilty of this not only outward in my judgment of men but also towards myself.
So where does this start? As kids we get labeled by our well meaning parents, coaches and friends. A child incorporates the label into their identity and then feels the thing they were told they are.
The Results?
They stop taking risks
Forget what God created them to be
They believe the lies someone else fed them.
What were my LABELS?
$$, achievement, image was MOST IMPORTANT
And although I knew God’s truth, I still operated (or defaulted) to broken thinking and a false identity based on a worldly view during times of stress.
Gal 1:10 says, “For am I now seeking the approval of man, or of God? Or am I trying to please man? If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ.”
I had an approval problem and a label problem.
And because I believed lies about my own identity and self worth, I then judged others through a faulty lens.
I labeled myself and I labeled others.
If you do not know who you are, you will struggle your whole life to know what is right and what you should do. If you know who you are in Christ, you will know what to do.
So God, in his infinite mercy challenged my thinking.
I dated out of brokenness but expected health.
I was the girl who kept saying, “There’s just aren’t any good ones out there who are spiritually mature and have good character.”
What I really meant was there are NO wealthy hot guys who love Jesus like I do.
Then came the enlightenment moment!
I was at dinner with guy I met online. He was a wealthy business guy. And we had nothing in common.
The Epiphany—I was looking to replace one bad relationship with another.
I hid in the bathroom called friend –“call me and pretend it’s an emergency.”
She said, “Why? Is he awful?”
I said, “No he’s just awfully familiar.”
I cried uncle.
I surrendered…
I stopped dating. I needed to heal the broken parts.
John Townsend and Henri Cloud say this, “Those who blame external circumstances for their situation do not find what they want. Those who work on themselves, take responsibility for dealing with their circumstances, and then take action, have success.
Proverbs 4:23 puts it this way:
“Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life.”
Our external life comes out of our internal life. Therefore my ability to judge character would only be as good as my beliefs about myself.
I needed to learn, who I was in Christ.
I needed to dig deep into the lies I believed about myself to uncover my true identity.
God was saying to me, “What do you believe about me?
Do you believe I love you?”
I honestly began to search my heart, study His Word, I concluded He did love me—but conditionally.
Which was why I kept taking over in the dating area because I didn’t trust he had my back.
I also needed to unpack the lies and personal labels I’d been stamping myself with and rip them off.
I needed to know that my desire to be with a spiritually mature man was good.
That my heart for God was not shameful or less than, but good and worth fighting for.
That I was more than the way I looked and that I had value and worth to add to a relationship.
I had to stop comparing myself to others and look to God for my self-worth.
We must take off our horizontal glasses and put on our vertical shades. Look up not out.
Here is what God showed me during my dating fast:
•Recognize Your Value—
There is difference between having an inflated ego and simply understanding your significance based on your God-given gifts and value to Him.
God knew what He was doing when He created you. He gave you everything you need to do everything He wants you to do.
Stop focusing on all that you cannot do.
Take an inventory of your gifts. Embrace these and maximize them!
•Stop Harmful Thought Patterns—consider some of the thought patterns and other factors that are leading you to believe lies about your worth.
“Jesus came to announce to us that an identity based on success, popularity, and power is a false identity—an illusion! Loudly and clearly He says, ‘You are not what the world makes you; but you are children of God.’”—Henri Nouwen
•Begin New Thought Patterns—each negative thought can be countered with God’s idea of your value.
Scripture tells us to take every thought captive (2 Cor. 10:5). Counter every negative thought with the truth that God reveals about you in His Word.
Rom 12:2 says:
“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.
•Be Patient—healing does not happen overnight.
It will require replacing bad thought patterns with good ones. It will take daily dedication and conscious effort to stop believing the labels and lies and embrace your identity in Christ.
•Read God’s Word—study what the Bible says about your worth to God. Explore what He says about His love for you and His purpose for your life.
We must replace the lies with truth…
God, our Creator, sees us has having great worth because He created us in His image.
◦He created us a little lower than the angels (Heb. 2:7).
◦We are crowned with glory and honor (Heb. 2:7).
◦We are fearfully and wonderfully made (Ps. 139:14).
◦We are valuable enough to be purchased with the blood of His Son (1 Peter 1:18-20).
The more you reaffirm who you are in Christ, the more your behavior will begin to reflect your true identity.”—Neil Anderson
Story of Bookstore:
First met Tim. Thought he was cute and smart but I didn’t like the pastor idea.
Let me run this by you. I wanted a man who was spiritually mature but I told myself a pastor was not an option.
Here are the lies I believed:
Pastors are poor therefore I would have to work and couldn’t be a stay at home mom. Pastors live in a fishbowl and everybody watches you. Pastors are boring. My parents and affluent friends will not approve
Lie #1: God won’t provide
Lie #2 Good moms stay at home
Lie#3 I am not worthy of spiritual leadership
Lie#4 Man’s approval is more important than God’s best
So my friend sees Tim sitting with me at lunch at the café and she does everything she can to interfere because she wants me to marry a rich guy and be like her.
So, she corners in the bookstore at Mariners and makes me Pinky swear, “I will never marry a pastor.”
And then apparently God laughed.
On our first date, which took a while because I first said yes to going out with him, then changed my mind (because I had this nagging feeling this was a God thing)
Then called him back a few months later and said let’s do this.
Balboa Island –Dazzle me
But I had to wrestle with God some more before I agreed to be his girlfriend.
And part of that was because I was still holding on to labeling others.
Because what do we do?
We judge ourselves wrong
We judge others through distorted lens
So Tim wasn’t my type:
He wasn’t wealthy.
He wasn’t big and dark haired and he didn’t look like Superman
No boat or a Porsche or huge business.
Tim was about the exact opposite of my type. He was the same height I was, slim and muscular with light hair and glasses and when I wore heels I was about 3 inches taller. Tim was quirky and he liked retro fashion, house music, and he had a 1969 Caddilac the size of a boat. He was smart and loud and charismatic. And Tim was really fun.
I spent an entire night on my knees praying for guidance.
And God challenged me on my type. I had to trust that God would provide for me financially. I had to trust that I would still feel sexy and small and taken care of with a man who didn’t dwarf me in size. I had to trust that good character and honesty, a heart for God and spiritual leadership were more important than my type.
I had to surrender to God.
He brought the right man to me but I had to recognize the good gift right in front of me.
So I said yes to God and yes to Tim.
I recognized that being obsessed with what people think of me is the quickest way to forget what God thinks. You will never be able to please all people. But, you can live a life that is pleasing to God.
Matthew 7:1-2 says:
Judge not lest you be judged. For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you.
We do this so often in dating. We make quick rash judgments based on looks, career, height, and bank account.
And we miss out on some of the greatest people because of our broken thinking.
Matthew 22:37-39 speaks to this. “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”
I don’t like to be labeled! I’m a Pastors Wife. That’s like a comedy routine of awkwardness just waiting to be scripted.
People confess to me. They tell me their church attendance. Then they swear and swear some more apologizing at their gaffe.
It makes me want to swear just to make them feel better. (Ok, maybe I just like to say a bad word occasionally)
So why do I judge other people if I hate it so much?
When I catch myself discounting people. I stop, recognize the lie and reprogram my brain with the truth.
I am so happy I took a risk on a guy that wasn’t my type. I’m so glad I ripped off the labels on myself and the ones I put on him.
I love my pastor husband. He leads me spiritually, he is fun and open and easy to talk to. He’s a great daddy. He respected my purity and helped to restore much of my dignity after a devastating divorce. He loves my kids and he loves God. I am the one who was blessed.
So here is my advice:
Let go of the labels!
Go out with anyone once and then go out again (unless they are a stalker or crazy).
Reflect on your date.
Pray, pray and pray some more.
Open yourself up to real humans not labels.
Get rid of the beer goggles.
We need to see through God’s eyes.
The great theologian Blaise Pascal says this:
Not only do we not know God except through Jesus Christ; we do not even know ourselves except through Jesus Christ.”—
What would it look like if we stopped operating out of our brokenness when we dated and instead operated out of love?
Barbie dolls line the wine holder—a doll in each individual wine slot.
“Kolby, what’s going on with your dollies? I count about nine blond heads, “Why are they all in the wine holder? It’s kind of creepy.”
“Mommy they’re dead. That’s their coffin,” my preschooler replies.
“Oh?
“They got hit by a car and they died,” she chirps, unmindful of my startled face.
Oh Boy. I sit down and cuddle her close. “Let’s talk about dyeing, ok baby?”
Big eyes probe mine; tiny hands cup my face and questions tumble out, so big for such a little girl.
I guess she overheard us talking.
Maybe this is a gift, but it’s a conversation I’d rather have because her pet goldfish died, not because it was almost us.
……….
It’s Saturday night and Pacific Coast Highway in Downtown Laguna is jammed—the rhythmic thump of drums spill from packed clubs, girls giggle, catcalls fly, and wave’s crash in the distance.
With the window open, I point and search for just the right joint to stop at and grab an appetizer to cap off our date night. We want good food—foodie food—with flavor and intensity
“There,” I pointed, “let’s stop there at Mozambique.” I know the food won’t disappoint.
Tim glances over at the hopping restaurant I gesture to, and pulls off PCH .
But he swerves to the left instead of the right and makes an abrupt turn onto the ocean side of the street.
“Honey, what are you doing? Now we have to cross PCH.”
Tim shrugs, “If it makes you feel better we can walk back to the light.”
So, we hike up a block to the light, push the walk button, wait for the light to change and step out into the street.
My heels catch a pothole and I hold on to Tim tight for balance.
Then I hear the roar—a car accelerates fast. Pedal to the medal, tires flying down the hill gaining speed from the steep incline of the cliff.
It’s so dark. Lights blur my eyes—the headlights of the car descend on us. It’s like an avalanche. There’s nowhere to go.
I picture my body hitting the windshield. It’s going to hurt.
Then the push.
Tim yells and shoves me as hard as he can—still within range of getting hit, but more likely to hit the edge of the car, bounce and crack my noggin rather than go under.
My legs wobble. I fight not to fall.
Then the shrill honk of a car trying to warn the oblivious driver, blaring sound, tires screech.
The car slams on the brakes, from 70mph to stop.
And right on top of us, the car reels back, like an attacking animal reigned in. We jump out of the way as the front bumper brushes my legs.
I wave my hands around and scream “You Jackwaggon. “
(I might have said another bad word too)
I’m full of piss and vinegar. I want a fight. I want to sink my heels deep into her flashy red sports car and make her pay. I want justice.
The driver waves her hand at us and takes off. No apology. Nothing.
I wonder if she’s grateful she won’t serve time for vehicular manslaughter?
Tim takes my hand and leads me to the other side.
“Are you ok? I didn’t know how to protect you.” His voice is raspy and thick.
I wrap myself like a child into his chest; gulp in familiar smell, big hands smooth my hair, and he whispers, “its ok.”
Then the tears come—relief, shock, and finally thankfulness.
Thank you Lord.
Thank you to the angel in the car who laid on the horn like a lighthouse keeper warning a ship about to hit the rocks. You are our hero!
To my husband, who tossed me (mostly) out of the way in the sweetest attempt to save my legs, I adore you forever.
I’ve had some close calls with danger, but nothing like this one.
Not both of us together. Not leaving all of my kids without a mom and a dad.
I’ve thought about it over the last week. I’ve prayed and considered and reflected on our near brush with death or dismemberment, at the very least.
And I’m grateful I don’t have any unsettled matters—at least that I’m aware of.
I’m glad I say “I love you” and kiss my kids and hubby every chance I get.
I’m glad I get to do what I love.
And I trust my heart is right with God.
Not perfect, not even close, but right in the sense that I’m desperate to know him more and at peace that I will join him.
Dying isn’t the scariest thought for me these days—even scarier is living badly.
I don’t want to be so caught up in the rat race that I forget to follow my dreams or live a half-life of complacency.
I don’t want to take any of this for granted.
I want to know that what I do, as a mother, as a wife, and as a writer makes a difference in the Kingdom of God.
I want you to laugh and cry and think differently about a God who pursues you to the ends of the earth and loves you lavishly.
So, if I haven’t told you in a while, THANK YOU. Thank you for being you! Thanks for joining me and engaging with me and journeying with me.
Thanks for taking the time to read these words. Thanks for making this life of mine rich and full of countless blessings.
And if I’ve pissed you off recently, let me know.
I can grovel.
We never know when our time is up.
And I sure am glad I get to have the dead Barbie conversation with my little girl and not someone else. No matter how awkward and hard it was.
What if it was your last day? What would you do differently?
“Keller, I had a crazy dream. I dreamed we got the old poker gang back together,” Dan shared with my hubby Tim.
Five years later…
I know. I know. Someone stop me from bragging. I have diarrhea of the pompous mouth when it comes to my munchkins. But, I’m guessing most parents feel thisway. They love their kids so, so, so much, they simply can’t help themselves.
