Archive for the ‘identity’ Category

Mine   Leave a comment

I find many of the greatest frustrations I face involve projects or meetings or relationships which don’t turn out the way I have in mind.  When I have a project, I want it done right.  I have a vested interest in making it work well after all, because my name’s on it.

Maybe you’re a gardener.  Perhaps you’re having a real problem this year with Japanese beetles destroying your roses and blackberries. You’re doing everything you can to get those pests off the plants.  But the outcome is iffy because there are so many of them!  Your yard doesn’t look like you want it to and you’re the one who has to figure out a solution.

You may be walking your child through some new era in his life–getting ready for the college application process, learning to drive, overcoming a mental health issue or navigating hurdles at a job.  You’ve put uncounted months and years into helping your child.  You have a major interest in the outcome.  And you want that outcome to be one that is good.  Bottom line is, you feel responsible.  After all, this is your child.

Here’s where I think the English language falls short.

 

Can you think of a word to replace “my” in any of these phrases?

My house

My garden

My project

My ambition

My work

My child

My career

My health

My life

 

I haven’t been able to think of one yet.

What other word should there be, though, when I am the one doing the work to maintain the health, well-being and success of any of the above?

 

The problem is that I have confused responsibility with ownership.

I’m not the owner–I’m just the steward.

 

Posted July 18, 2017 by swanatbagend in identity, reality

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A Farewell to Birkenstocks   Leave a comment

This week, I had to say goodbye to my Birkenstock sandals.

It was not easy.

I’ve had this pair for nine years, or a bit more.  They were manky and flea-bitten, sunken, tread worn off most of the bottom, some stains, very dark, and when at spring break the top of the inside leather sole basically disconnected from the base of the right sandal, I ended up duct taping them together repeatedly to get through the week.

After we got back home, I kept duct-taping them because with re-entry, I didn’t have time to look for new sandals.  So several more weeks elapsed before I finally was able to get a visual on a new pair of Birkenstocks.

Then once those arrived, I took my time breaking them in–always a good idea, because a new pair always feels so stiff and can make your feet a bit sore.

Then the old ones sat by the back door with another pair of deceased shoes waiting to go to the clothing recycle.  I kept putting it off.

But these Birks were about as used and disgusting as a pair of sandals could get.  Definitely got the money’s worth out of them.

Why couldn’t I let them go?

Those sandals had been around so long, they had come to represent my life.  They’re like my Crunchy Mom uniform.

The sandals were something I wore every day in the house, summer or winter, rain or shine.  I put on tennis shoes to go out if I’m going anywhere, except on the hottest days of summer.  But at home I don’t like tennies because my feet get sweaty.  So–these Birks and I had been together pretty much every day for nine years.

They represent my hard work as a homeschooling mom who does most of her own cooking.

And they start with a really good memory–our first trip to the beach.  How do I know that’s when?  I had just met friends of our friends and we were having dinner together at the picnic table.  There were so many of us, there was too much on the table, the boards were uneven, Sri’s beer fell over and some got in my Birkenstocks under the table.  At first I was annoyed, but then I pulled it together and started singing, “I got beer in my Birkenstocks–it feels mighty fine….”

Hard to recycle a memory.

But hey, that’s why I still have the memory.

 

Posted June 28, 2017 by swanatbagend in identity, motherhood

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Perfectly Peaceful   Leave a comment

I wonder if there’s a way to physically feel the perfect security we have in Christ.

Can you remember a time when you were perfectly free from cares, on a vacation perhaps, spending an evening with a close friend or two?  Perhaps just horsing around outside with the kids, living in the moment.

Holding a small, warm, solid baby sends me to a pretty peaceful spot.

Perhaps you feel this way on Sunday morning, or when you’re in the woods by yourself and the only sounds are those of the birds, bugs, and animals, and the wind.

Or maybe for you thinking of feeling perfectly peaceful and safe takes you back to childhood.  You’ve been tucked into bed, and there’s some light coming in from the hall.  You still feel at rest after being warmly hugged and tucked up under the covers.  You can hear your mother and father talking in the kitchen, and the murmur of their voices, backed with running water from dishes or the background noise of the radio playing creates a soporific music that sends you off to sleep.

I’d like to always feel that way, instead of worried, buffeted about by the concerns and stress I face every day.

What would it be like if you could literally feel that physical peace–

knowing that we truly do have that kind of security in Christ?

 

Posted March 12, 2016 by swanatbagend in identity

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Not as Old as I Thought She Was   Leave a comment

So I realized a few days ago that I am now the same age that my mother was at the time I got married.

I was already aware that my oldest child is close to the age I was when I got married, so I knew in a general vague way that I was technically old enough to have a child doing suchlike adult things as getting married or having children.  I have friends who are grandmothers so there’s no reason I wouldn’t be at that point myself.

However, for some reason, looking back in time twenty-seven years at who my mother seemed to be at the time I got married, is different from realizing that I have a child who is old enough to become married.

I think it’s because your mother is always old and wise.

It’s just that once you become old and wise yourself, you realize that old ain’t old any more.  Wise, sure, but trust me, my age is not old!

But wait a minute–I sure thought of my mother as old and wise when I got married.  I didn’t even really think about it.  I guess I just assumed it.  She knew everything there was to know about being an adult, she was a functioning adult with a thriving career and many interests, who knew how to fix every problem.

But I’m fairly certain I have not gotten there yet.

Which I guess is what makes this so strange to think about.

Posted November 19, 2015 by swanatbagend in identity

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Come However You Are   Leave a comment

I have been thinking this week of our Savior’s capacity to absorb, absolve and take into himself all of our mess and shame and guilt.

There is no end to it.  No matter how much we are damaged by others, how much we are doubted by ourselves, it is all neutralized by God.  He meets the onslaught of our failures and it does not even slow him down.  This tidal wave of love is not repulsed by our refusal to believe that he covers it all.  He is not remotely disturbed by our disbelief in his mercy and compassion, the compassion that is for us, for you and for me personally.

 

Come with your regrets
Come with the things you can’t change
Come with all your fears
With all your shame, with everything
Come with the pieces of your bruised and broken heart
Don’t wait
Don’t wait

Whatever pain you’re dealing with
Let me offer this

Come however you are
Come with all your heartbreaks
Come with all the mistakes you’ve made
Lay them down at the cross
Give them to the God who loves you
Hurt, scared, falling apart
Come however you are

–City Harbor

 

Nothing can separate us from this love, neither life nor death nor the present nor the future.

Nor us, ourselves.

 

Posted November 15, 2015 by swanatbagend in identity, reflections

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Moment of Truth   Leave a comment

Yes, that moment happened to me this summer.  We were on a road trip to a wedding, and stopping briefly at a truck stop to use the restroom, I was coming out of the stall to wash my hands.  I looked up into the mirror, under the flattering light of fluorescent bulbs, and it happened.

That’s really what I look like?”

Oh man.  Not a good feeling.  Old, wrinkled, and somewhat bloated.

Well.  There’s good in every moment, right?

So… if I’ve joined the rest of the human race in the dilemma of weight that appears in unwanted places, and does not leave just because we want it to–that’s not such a bad thing.

Could motivate me to consider a new hair style or maybe different color of clothes.  Definitely aware that I need to work on taking care of myself.

Practice seeing things from someone else’s perspective.

Hmm….If I was too good-looking, it would scare people off.

Reality check: God uses it all.

 

Posted September 20, 2015 by swanatbagend in identity, transitions

Routine   1 comment

A routine is the framework we hang our lives on.

I know mine keeps me going and sane many times.  I mean that in multiple ways.

People often comment on how organized I am when they see our house and learn that I homeschool.  More so if they find out that I only go to the grocery store once every two weeks, with a menu planned to last that long.  I just stop in on the off weeks to get milk, bananas and lettuce.

And that’s true, I am very organized.

And it’s also true that being organized and having a daily and weekly routine helps keep us productive, most chores done, some seasonal work up to date (just being honest here as I still have quite a bit of fall yard work undone), and school both completed and recorded.

But that’s not what I mean when I say a routine is the framework we hang our lives on.

When everything else is blowing up in your face–you’re unsettled, depressed, uncertain–circumstances are unpredictable: at those times, having a next step to step into when you can’t even think clearly is a real gift.

I can’t tell you how many school mornings in the winter, I’d get up, make breakfast, light a candle in the den to drive away some of that January stuff, and then the only reason I knew what to do next was because I had a routine.  I’d already done it.  I kept doing it.  Later in the day, things were better, and I was thankful I hadn’t ended up spending half an hour crying in the shower, or just gone back to bed.  (Of course it helps if you have other people who won’t let you stay in bed.)

Another time routine is a gift is when I’m really anxious.  If something is disturbing me, whether circumstance or just an unfavorable brain chemistry at that moment, thinking can get pretty adrenaline affected.  Things seem to spin.  I start with one thought, move to another, and then a third, but end up right back where I started.  At times like those when my world feels as if it’s spinning out of rational control, when I do the next thing in my routine, and then the next, and then the next, I eventually get through it.  I don’t slip off the edge.

I figure this is probably what women pressed to the limit in truly difficult situations do as well, in places where they’re displaced, there’s disease, disaster, death.  They figure out a routine.  And they do it.  Because that’s what they need to keep going.

And it’s a real gift.

 

Posted November 25, 2014 by swanatbagend in identity

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