Choice

Choice:

1. The act of choosing; selection.

2. The power, right, or liberty to choose; option.

3. One that is chosen.

4. A number or variety from which to choose.

5. Care in choosing.

6. Alternative.

(http://www.thefreedictionary.com/)

Inspired by Erin's post and a message by our Pastor this past Sunday, I wanted to share what I'm learning about choice.

Sometime between 4 and 5 a.m. I hear his footsteps; his little grunt as he climbs onto the bed. I feel the cold of our bedroom seep under the sheets as he lifts them; putting his face to mine. His perky voice chirps, "Gikky? Heroes?". I fight the urge to cover my head and roll over, knowing that it's much earlier than I want to be up.

And that's when I get to choose. To choose to mother him whenever he needs it, despite my desire to sleep in past 5 a.m. To choose to greet him with a smile instead of a grumble. To choose to thank God for the blessing of this little boy and not resent the fact that he's an early bird. Choosing kind peaceful words instead of using a cutting, cursing, irritated tongue. In that moment I get to choose the start of our day. I know what the days are like when I choose to grumble, to ignore, to resent, and stew. It's not worth tainting a new day just to stay under warm blankets a few minutes longer.

The power to choose is sometimes overwhelming. I want to choose what seems easy. What seems easy isn't always the best choice.

I'm learning so much about choice in every area of my life. We have recently chosen to try a new church. It took us several months of back and forth before we decided to try. We were nervous about leaving a place we've called home for the larger part of 8 years, we were timid about making new acquaintances, worried about how the kids would do in the nursery/Sunday school. Despite our apprehension we felt the nudge and followed it, making the choice to step out of our comfort zone and we are feeling so blessed by it.

The Pastor shared a message about Herod and how he chose to use his hurt and anger. He asked us to look at our own life and reflect on what makes us angry. He compared our anger with Herod's and it was powerful. He suggested that most of what we get angry about can reveal areas in our life that need work, areas that we don't want to lose control of. Inspired by this I began to look closer at my everyday irritations. And it's true. It's control. I strongly desire control over what happens in my life, it gives me a sense of security and comfort. When that control is challenged or even usurped, I lose it. And by 'it' I mean control of my emotions, my power of choice, my stability and zeal as a follower of Christ.

This week I'm choosing joy. I'm choosing peace, gentleness, forgiveness, mercy, and most importantly self-control.

Saint Britney?

Ok, definitely not true. However, I have a short story of her "help".

Over coming self-doubt is a huge issue for me and I've been hard at work in the recent past trying to take those thoughts captive and not let them control me.



I was battling such thoughts while giving Cedar a bath the other day. As if on cue, I suddenly heard the lyrics from Britney Spears' song "Stronger" blaring from the living room (thanks to my own personal D.J. Willow and her love of Glee music). Immediately I collected those thoughts rambling around in my head trying their best to deteriorate the light and cheerful mood we had been enjoying that day. In minutes memory verses fled into my mind and strengthened my armory against the enemy. One more battle won. One step closer to victory.



Thank you Britney for a random act of encouragement that I seriously never thought would come from, well, in judgemental terms, from the likes of someone like you. Thank you Willow for your impeccable timing. And thank you Jesus for being stronger and sharing a bit of it with me. I am daily in awe of your strength and love.

The Dance

*gotta love a farm girl dancing with a goat!*

Oh Garth Brooks, you used to light up my heart like the combined flames of a campground full of fires. *rolling eyes and laughing* I did love that song though. . . on to the real reason for today's post:

Dancing. I love to dance. Willow LIVES to dance. Daddy Oak doesn't dance. And Cedar, well, he dances like a superhero. Rock it little man. Rock it.

I am currently near obsession with the idea of organizing a flash mob. Watching Modern Family's last episode didn't help any. In college before I even knew what a flash mob was, a few friends and I thought it would be awesome to walk in front of Warriner Mall, drop our back packs and start singing and dancing. How awesome would that be?

I've been thinking about dancing as a metaphorical term lately. The seasons and how they dance, trees swaying in the wind, the balance of relationships, the limbo between being eco-friendly one day and wanting to eat a cheeseburger from Mickey D's the next.

According to the dictionary "to dance" is to 'move rhythmically'. Rhythm is key. The breathing in and breathing out of a day, the ups and downs of life's adventures. Two other def. were also offered:
-To perform- isn't that true? some days I feel like all I'm doing is performing for someone else.
-To skip or leap as in joy - oh how I loved this one! Psalm 149:3 says, "Let them praise his name with dancing and make music to him with tambourine and harp".

I want to set my life to a Godly rhythm, the only one I want to perform for is Him, and joy, oh joy! I have it all in Him. I want to embrace the up and downs of life, being swayed by the winds of life, all of it by dancing! So get up! Make a joyful noise! and DANCE!

I LOVE this. LOVE it.

I also want to share an awesome blog I've found. I love what she's doing and wish my excitement about it would spread like wildfire to the rest of the family.

Friends in High places

I've wandered through life for years praying for friends. Real friends. People who you know have your back and don't care about your ugly stuff. Not just any friends. No, Mister. I was on the hunt for THE ONE. I have a long history of desiring a best friend; coveting the relationships I see others having. Stemming from first grade when my then best friend, Jolene, moved away it's been a hole in my heart that no one had yet to fill. I wanted someone who not only shared similar interests but who Daddy Oak joked was my "chick soul mate".I wanted what I saw my grandma having. Friends that she knew before kids, friends that raised their kids together, went on fun weekends away together, were there for each other through losses and divorces and in their 60's were still baking cookies and getting together on Sunday mornings after church for donuts. I wanted more than anything to find (rather to see God put together a real life "operation-friend-drop") one(or more) who I will sit over coffee with 50 years from now remembering when we weren't so wrinkled or drinking so much prune juice. Several times I've convinced myself out of desparation that this one's the one. This is. The. One. Only to have my heart ripped out a la some alien sci-fi movie.

No more! I declared. No more will I open my heart to have it so viciously (showing just a *little* of my flair for the dramatic here) ripped out. So I rolled a stone in front of it and became a cynic of friendship for over a year and a half. Done. Done I say!

But as we all know God is so funny. Ha. Ha. and here I am again. But not. My heart has recovered and through His Grace has found a new stance on friendship. I will never find The One. Because He was there all along. I was desparately searching and begging for something that only He can provide. He humored me. Loved me and brought me through the pit of despair I put myself in due to my impossible standards and state of oblivion. He is my One. He is the only one that will probably care about what I'm doing fifty years from now. He is the only one who will never shy away from my ugly stuff. He knows my ugly stuff. He LOVES my ugly stuff.

And you know what. . . through this realization He has also put many amazing people in my life. So today after an encounter yesterday with someone who two years ago I would have proclaimed as "The One", and after a night out with two friends who I will probably still be staying up late talking into the wee hours when we are in our 60's, and an instance of realizing the love of a mentor who has come into my life right at the right time: I know that I have Him and I am thankful for His love for me and His perect timing. And above all I know that He is My One. My One.

Simple

Is it really that simple? All week I've been feeling like I could pull my hair out. The kids are beating each other with sticks, my head feels like it's going to explode, and we feel so. . . distant. This isn't a normal feeling that I have towards my relationship with the kids. This morning as I stood amidst the chaos in a pile of raisins on the kitchen floor (Willow's "seeds", apparently I have a future member of FFA on my hands) holding a child covered in his own poop that my one clean shirt was now also smeared with (it's all in the details, right?, I wanted to run away. But where? I took a step back and knew exactly where I was going to run, a place I have been running away from lately, because "I could do it all myself". As seen by the evidence before me I realized that what I was telling myself was a lie and I needed Him. I asked the kids for forgiveness, said a prayer for peace and patience, and turned up some worship music (well, after cleaning up the poopy child and changing my shirt). If a random stranger stopped by our house and peaked through the window 10 minutes later he would have seen us. Us. Crazy, dancing up and down, hollering, laughing, happy lovers of Jesus.

A clean house won't make my life better. Obedient and cultured children won't make my life better. Unless I have Jesus. It's that simple.