Seriously. It's invisible to mortal eyes. It's bright red and big as a barn, but when you look, it just isn't there.
That's the only explanation I can come up with for the state of this poor minivan which I drive. It has numerous dents, dings, divots, scrapes, and a few growing rust spots. There are a lot of little dimples from the hail storms back in 2002, and missing paint all over the place. It looks really disreputable, and at some point my much-tried husband probably won't let me park it in front of the house any more. It's that bad.
I park it every day in a parking garage at work, and that's where the vast majority of the damage has occurred. There's always a big dent in the rear lift-gate where someone has backed into it. I'll come out of my office at the end of the day to discover a new one. I used to get these fixed, at great personal expense, but I gave it up as a bad job, because every time I paid to get that dent removed, some other klutzy driver would come along and replace it. I never see this happen, of course, because I'm at work. I just see the results. There's another big bowl-shaped dent in the passenger side now, but I did that myself. When my parking garage was closed last summer I had to use another one down the street which has strange traffic patterns and some very tight turns. I misjudged the tightest turn on my second day parking there, and got a wall with the side, and now there is a huge dent there to commemorate the occasion forever. But most of the damage has been caused by others. I can only assume it's because the van is invisible.
For instance--I have been rear-ended twice at stoplights. Why? I'm bright red and big as a barn! You'd think that would help, but it doesn't. People just don't see me. I've also been backed into at stoplights this calendar year--twice--the latest episode being just yesterday. I was waiting in line to exit the gas station (gas was only $3.83!) and the woman in front of me suddenly started going backwards at a fairly good rate of speed. In other words, it was on purpose, not just an accidental roll. I did the only thing I could--I applied myself with vigor to my horn. She slammed on her brakes, but too late. WHACK! Into my front bumper. The woman got out of her car to check damage (maybe a small scratch to her car, a much larger one to mine of course) and screamed "I thought you could SEE me!" and got back into her car and drove away.
This was deeply puzzling. Of course I could see her coming, but there wasn't a single thing in the world I could do about it. I can only imagine that, per usual, she couldn't see ME. Or I appeared so small and insignificant that perhaps my presence wouldn't actually matter in any way. My barn on wheels has gone stealth again, apparently.
Next year, when my daughter gets her driver's license, the van will be hers. I have mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, it's magnificently pre-disastered, and since she has the shortest commute it makes sense that she'll drive the car with the lowest gas mileage. And since it's a big van just loaded with airbags, if anything hits her (or, let's be realistic, if she hits anything) the chances for personal bodily damage are low. So it makes sense. On the other hand, with that thing being invisible the way that it is, the chances are more than good that at some point she will indeed have a collision of some kind with someone who just didn't know she was there. Good luck kiddo, you're going to need it.
Love, Spud.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Fairwell Bathroom
We have a lovely house, with lots of old-fashioned wallpapers and mature trees. The selling point for me was the pantry, and the counter-top that was big enough to roll out pie crust on. The real draw-back is the kids' bathroom. It works just fine, but it is just plain ugly. It has dark mauve paint, a yellow and tan floor, deep peach (like bad makeup) sinks and tub that are full of pits and rust spots, yellow-gray tiles behind the tub, and a deep peach toilet with forty-some years of hard water stains in it. All in all, a very depressing sight. But it's a nice big bathroom, and a couple of years ago I invested in navy rugs and towels, and ocean-themed accessories and shower curtain, and it looked much better. The ugliness is still there, but when you look in there now you're distracted from the "what were they thinking" original colors by all the navy. Seriously--what were they thinking? I cannot imagine.
Yesterday, Phil, our cheerful remodeler, began demolition on the room. The noxious tiles came down, the sinks are gone, the tub goes out today. But before that happened, of course, I went in and removed all traces of rugs and towels and accessories. So now when you look in, you see the original room in all it's hideous glory, plus gaping holes in the walls and the inevitable construction dust. I found myself suffering a momentary fear that it would stay that way. But within the next few weeks it is supposed to be transformed into a white and gray masterpiece of bathroomness, and all my lovely blue things will move back in.
Lately I've been thinking that I resemble that bathroom. In the last few weeks it's become clear to me that there is a lot more phariseeism left inside me than I ever thought, too much rigidness, too much actual disdain for others (not everybody, mostly annoying drivers!) which is just judgmentalism. I'm puzzled by this. I've always tried very hard to give everybody the benefit of the doubt in every situation. Most people regard me as an optimist, especially when it comes to matters of faith. It's long been a goal of mine to extend the grace I have received to those who (probably unintentionally) offend or slight me. I'm a nice person, darn it! So where on earth is all this coming from? How could I not know it was all in there? How could I possibly be a nice person with all that deep down inside? Am I all just navy blue camouflage?
Lately I've felt that I have the makings of an iceberg--nice clean ice showing, with a massive dark blob underneath, hidden from view and potentially dangerous. It's dismaying to realize that my sin tendencies are thriving, despite all of my wishes to the contrary. This is such a classic Romans 6-8 scenario. Between what I've read and what I've seen in recent weeks, these things happen to be at the forefront of my mind--but I'll bet they exist all the time.
So how to think rationally about this? How to get back my spiritual sanity? How to remodel? Well, the bottom line is that I can't remodel. Just like I had to hire Phil to transform the bathroom, I have to "hire" God to transform me. I just can't do it myself. And much as I'd like to have that nice new bathroom today we have to endure the process--there are no good shortcuts. It'll be done when it's done, and to be done correctly it will have to take some time and inconvenience and dust. Much as I'd like to be a paragon of Christian womanhood, there are no shortcuts--I have to endure the process, and even then the results might not be what I expect. I may have seen the plans for the finished bathroom, but I haven't seen the plans for the finished me. And the honest truth is that I'll go to my deathbed with a good chunk of dark ice still there. It's not that God is not an excellent remodeler, it's that I get in His way all the time. My deeply ingrained habits and thought patterns persist. God works on them faithfully, and I help when I can figure out what He's working on now, but it's going to be a very long haul, and I understand that the job won't be done in this lifetime. That's painful to admit, but it's true.
This is the kind of issue that makes me long so for heaven. When I get there, the dark blob of underwater ice will be gone. I'll appear as the brand-new-shiny-clean person who will finally be a finished work, based on Someone Else's finished work. It's not even possible in this life to imagine how very wonderful that will be, because we aren't capable of realizing how very horrible we are now. Even at my best I fall so far short of what I will be when I am in the presence of my Lord and Savior at last and forever. Fireworks! Feasts! Giddy celebrations! Praise and thanksgivings! All these things come to mind when I try to grasp the reality that will surely come. And I'll take one good long look at where I came from, and wonder "What was I thinking?".
"Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus."
Thanks be to God.
Love, Spud.
Yesterday, Phil, our cheerful remodeler, began demolition on the room. The noxious tiles came down, the sinks are gone, the tub goes out today. But before that happened, of course, I went in and removed all traces of rugs and towels and accessories. So now when you look in, you see the original room in all it's hideous glory, plus gaping holes in the walls and the inevitable construction dust. I found myself suffering a momentary fear that it would stay that way. But within the next few weeks it is supposed to be transformed into a white and gray masterpiece of bathroomness, and all my lovely blue things will move back in.
Lately I've been thinking that I resemble that bathroom. In the last few weeks it's become clear to me that there is a lot more phariseeism left inside me than I ever thought, too much rigidness, too much actual disdain for others (not everybody, mostly annoying drivers!) which is just judgmentalism. I'm puzzled by this. I've always tried very hard to give everybody the benefit of the doubt in every situation. Most people regard me as an optimist, especially when it comes to matters of faith. It's long been a goal of mine to extend the grace I have received to those who (probably unintentionally) offend or slight me. I'm a nice person, darn it! So where on earth is all this coming from? How could I not know it was all in there? How could I possibly be a nice person with all that deep down inside? Am I all just navy blue camouflage?
Lately I've felt that I have the makings of an iceberg--nice clean ice showing, with a massive dark blob underneath, hidden from view and potentially dangerous. It's dismaying to realize that my sin tendencies are thriving, despite all of my wishes to the contrary. This is such a classic Romans 6-8 scenario. Between what I've read and what I've seen in recent weeks, these things happen to be at the forefront of my mind--but I'll bet they exist all the time.
So how to think rationally about this? How to get back my spiritual sanity? How to remodel? Well, the bottom line is that I can't remodel. Just like I had to hire Phil to transform the bathroom, I have to "hire" God to transform me. I just can't do it myself. And much as I'd like to have that nice new bathroom today we have to endure the process--there are no good shortcuts. It'll be done when it's done, and to be done correctly it will have to take some time and inconvenience and dust. Much as I'd like to be a paragon of Christian womanhood, there are no shortcuts--I have to endure the process, and even then the results might not be what I expect. I may have seen the plans for the finished bathroom, but I haven't seen the plans for the finished me. And the honest truth is that I'll go to my deathbed with a good chunk of dark ice still there. It's not that God is not an excellent remodeler, it's that I get in His way all the time. My deeply ingrained habits and thought patterns persist. God works on them faithfully, and I help when I can figure out what He's working on now, but it's going to be a very long haul, and I understand that the job won't be done in this lifetime. That's painful to admit, but it's true.
This is the kind of issue that makes me long so for heaven. When I get there, the dark blob of underwater ice will be gone. I'll appear as the brand-new-shiny-clean person who will finally be a finished work, based on Someone Else's finished work. It's not even possible in this life to imagine how very wonderful that will be, because we aren't capable of realizing how very horrible we are now. Even at my best I fall so far short of what I will be when I am in the presence of my Lord and Savior at last and forever. Fireworks! Feasts! Giddy celebrations! Praise and thanksgivings! All these things come to mind when I try to grasp the reality that will surely come. And I'll take one good long look at where I came from, and wonder "What was I thinking?".
"Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus."
Thanks be to God.
Love, Spud.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
How Do I Love Thee?
My husband and I have been doing a study of John's gospel for the last several months, and one thing that has come up repeatedly has been the Big Two commandments. Well, I'm here to say that I fail utterly at both of them! But it got me to thinking--*do* I love God? I have always assumed that I did, but how do I know? Considering it's one of the Big Two (I'll bet you think you know what number two is, but you might be wrong) it's worth thinking about. So here is Number One: You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength. A tall order, to say the least.
So how do we know that we love anybody? It's somewhat easier with other humans, although still a bit nebulous. The clearest example for me is my own little family. I do love my tribe. There are four humans and two cats, and nothing makes me happier then when we are all in the same place together. If one of them is out, my ears stayed tuned to cell phones ringing for me, and door hinges squeaking. (I was really perturbed when a well-meaning friend oiled the front door hinges without asking, because then I could no longer hear my family coming in!) On long trips we have long conversations, an activity that fills my tank. We do things with each other and for each other. I miss them like crazy when they're gone, worry about them when they're ill, spread the news far and wide when one of them does something laudable or just plain amusing. If it would do any good, I'd throw myself in front of a speeding car to save them, but fortunately that particular need has not arisen. I like to think that they actually need me. Like many females, my nurturing instinct is fairly high, and feeling needed also makes me feel loved. It's probably perverse in some way, and I'm sure a psychologist would be happy to tell me how, but it's true.
So those things make me believe that I love my family--they are pieces of evidence that lead to a conclusion. I love them, they love me. Goodness prevails. But can any of this translate? You know, with my family or my friends, no matter how far flung, I can always pick up a phone, tap out an email, even hop in the car and go behold them in person--have some two-way communication, some face-to-face time. This is harder with God. For the most part He is neither visible nor audible in the ways that we are accustomed to. This is why I struggle some days with this question. It's possible I'm just over-thinking again, but considering the fact that it's one of two commandments, maybe it's important! I should keep thinking!
Do I enjoy our time together? Yes, but I'm sometimes a very poor initiator. God does not have skin on, and as the saying goes, out of sight out of mind. Not an excuse, just a reason. But there have been some times of prayer, particularly in times of stress or sorrow, that have been both painful and sweet, bringing an unexpected joy to my soul. You'd think that would bring me to prayer more often, wouldn't you? But like dinner-time conversations, not every one is sweet and affirming, and so in my wretched human state I often neglect Him. So if I love, I love poorly.
Do I do things for God and with God? Sometimes! As a parent, there are times when I need to push my daughter to do things that she would rather not do either because of laziness or fear. I could just let these things go, but I really do try to be a good parent, and I know it's a healthy thing for her to overcome laziness and fears. She'll grow and thrive and become a more mature and happy person for the experience. I love her, so I make her do these things for her own good. God doesn't make me do things, but I sure know that He WANTS me to do things. In recent years I've become a little more willing to stretch myself and go beyond my own comfort zone (which is pitifully small) because I know that I'll grow and thrive and become more mature and happy. And because I know God wants me to. I still love poorly, but I'm trying to get better.
Do I worry about God, and miss Him when He's gone? Of course not! I do sometimes worry greatly about the state of Christianity, and how God is being represented in the world. And thank the Lord, I'll never have to miss Him. The most horrifying thing in the Bible is Ezekiel's vision of God removing His presence from Israel. I can't think of anything more desperately awful than God not being there. I am so deeply grateful I will never experience that. Maybe I'm not loving quite so poorly after all. But do I spread the word when He does something extraordinary? Well, sure! But only to those whom I know already know Him and will be interested. And do I sacrifice for Him? More than I used to, but not enough. Okay, back to loving poorly again. Golly, I think I'm down to about a D+ at this point.
Does God need me? No, He doesn't. Not a bit. Ouch. But He wants me. In John 17, there is a bit where Jesus is expressing the fact that now He gets to go home, a desire that resonated with me, and then later He also says that those who are His will get to go there too. Jesus wants us to go be with Him, in His home. We are wanted. We are in His tribe. The joy and relief that comes with that knowledge is inexpressible. Even though I have no idea what is there, heaven is where my heart wants to be, and sometimes I just cry with tears because of the longing to go. Where did this come from? How can I miss a place I have never been? The Bible says that this world is not our home, that God's children have a true home somewhere else, and I think I must really love Him after all if I have such a deep desire to go there and be with Him.
The last thing, and the one that tipped the balance for me: I love the Bible. The more I read it, the more I study it, the more excited about it I get. God does not have skin on, and He does not speak audibly to me, but He does speak, and I get both puzzled and thrilled by what He says. The more I read, the more I learn about God, and the more I want to know more. This is what calms my heart regarding the whole issue of loving God. Even better than an email from friends, I value the fact that I have an enormous book of communication from Him. If I love His words, then surely it must mean that I love Him too. If we love Him, we are to feed His sheep, and do His commands, and love each other as HE loves us. I try. Oh, I do try.
Maybe I pass the test after all. God deserves better than He gets from me, much better, and I am acutely aware of this. And the fact that this bothers me is a good sign! With all my heart, soul, mind, and strength? Alas, no. Paul was correct in that a married woman is concerned with how she may please her husband (and children, and cats) and so my heart is dreadfully divided. This is the tribe that God gave me, and I'm trying to take care of them and love them well. Would I give them up if I ever had a choice between God and my family? You know, I don't know. Quite possibly I would. That is the definition of death, after all. But thanks be to God, even that won't be permanent. I get to have my cake and eat it too in heaven, where both my tribes will be together. Whew. I think I love God after all. I suspected I did. Some day, we'll all be home.
Love to you too,
Spud.
So how do we know that we love anybody? It's somewhat easier with other humans, although still a bit nebulous. The clearest example for me is my own little family. I do love my tribe. There are four humans and two cats, and nothing makes me happier then when we are all in the same place together. If one of them is out, my ears stayed tuned to cell phones ringing for me, and door hinges squeaking. (I was really perturbed when a well-meaning friend oiled the front door hinges without asking, because then I could no longer hear my family coming in!) On long trips we have long conversations, an activity that fills my tank. We do things with each other and for each other. I miss them like crazy when they're gone, worry about them when they're ill, spread the news far and wide when one of them does something laudable or just plain amusing. If it would do any good, I'd throw myself in front of a speeding car to save them, but fortunately that particular need has not arisen. I like to think that they actually need me. Like many females, my nurturing instinct is fairly high, and feeling needed also makes me feel loved. It's probably perverse in some way, and I'm sure a psychologist would be happy to tell me how, but it's true.
So those things make me believe that I love my family--they are pieces of evidence that lead to a conclusion. I love them, they love me. Goodness prevails. But can any of this translate? You know, with my family or my friends, no matter how far flung, I can always pick up a phone, tap out an email, even hop in the car and go behold them in person--have some two-way communication, some face-to-face time. This is harder with God. For the most part He is neither visible nor audible in the ways that we are accustomed to. This is why I struggle some days with this question. It's possible I'm just over-thinking again, but considering the fact that it's one of two commandments, maybe it's important! I should keep thinking!
Do I enjoy our time together? Yes, but I'm sometimes a very poor initiator. God does not have skin on, and as the saying goes, out of sight out of mind. Not an excuse, just a reason. But there have been some times of prayer, particularly in times of stress or sorrow, that have been both painful and sweet, bringing an unexpected joy to my soul. You'd think that would bring me to prayer more often, wouldn't you? But like dinner-time conversations, not every one is sweet and affirming, and so in my wretched human state I often neglect Him. So if I love, I love poorly.
Do I do things for God and with God? Sometimes! As a parent, there are times when I need to push my daughter to do things that she would rather not do either because of laziness or fear. I could just let these things go, but I really do try to be a good parent, and I know it's a healthy thing for her to overcome laziness and fears. She'll grow and thrive and become a more mature and happy person for the experience. I love her, so I make her do these things for her own good. God doesn't make me do things, but I sure know that He WANTS me to do things. In recent years I've become a little more willing to stretch myself and go beyond my own comfort zone (which is pitifully small) because I know that I'll grow and thrive and become more mature and happy. And because I know God wants me to. I still love poorly, but I'm trying to get better.
Do I worry about God, and miss Him when He's gone? Of course not! I do sometimes worry greatly about the state of Christianity, and how God is being represented in the world. And thank the Lord, I'll never have to miss Him. The most horrifying thing in the Bible is Ezekiel's vision of God removing His presence from Israel. I can't think of anything more desperately awful than God not being there. I am so deeply grateful I will never experience that. Maybe I'm not loving quite so poorly after all. But do I spread the word when He does something extraordinary? Well, sure! But only to those whom I know already know Him and will be interested. And do I sacrifice for Him? More than I used to, but not enough. Okay, back to loving poorly again. Golly, I think I'm down to about a D+ at this point.
Does God need me? No, He doesn't. Not a bit. Ouch. But He wants me. In John 17, there is a bit where Jesus is expressing the fact that now He gets to go home, a desire that resonated with me, and then later He also says that those who are His will get to go there too. Jesus wants us to go be with Him, in His home. We are wanted. We are in His tribe. The joy and relief that comes with that knowledge is inexpressible. Even though I have no idea what is there, heaven is where my heart wants to be, and sometimes I just cry with tears because of the longing to go. Where did this come from? How can I miss a place I have never been? The Bible says that this world is not our home, that God's children have a true home somewhere else, and I think I must really love Him after all if I have such a deep desire to go there and be with Him.
The last thing, and the one that tipped the balance for me: I love the Bible. The more I read it, the more I study it, the more excited about it I get. God does not have skin on, and He does not speak audibly to me, but He does speak, and I get both puzzled and thrilled by what He says. The more I read, the more I learn about God, and the more I want to know more. This is what calms my heart regarding the whole issue of loving God. Even better than an email from friends, I value the fact that I have an enormous book of communication from Him. If I love His words, then surely it must mean that I love Him too. If we love Him, we are to feed His sheep, and do His commands, and love each other as HE loves us. I try. Oh, I do try.
Maybe I pass the test after all. God deserves better than He gets from me, much better, and I am acutely aware of this. And the fact that this bothers me is a good sign! With all my heart, soul, mind, and strength? Alas, no. Paul was correct in that a married woman is concerned with how she may please her husband (and children, and cats) and so my heart is dreadfully divided. This is the tribe that God gave me, and I'm trying to take care of them and love them well. Would I give them up if I ever had a choice between God and my family? You know, I don't know. Quite possibly I would. That is the definition of death, after all. But thanks be to God, even that won't be permanent. I get to have my cake and eat it too in heaven, where both my tribes will be together. Whew. I think I love God after all. I suspected I did. Some day, we'll all be home.
Love to you too,
Spud.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Lack of Vision
I suffer from a lack of vision. It has nothing to do with my eyes, although they haven't always been that useful either, but more my ability to consider what could be. We live in a house, instead of an apartment or a trailer court, but it's not because of me. It didn't occur to me that we could afford a house, and I was resigned to apartment life, but my husband was not content with bug-infested places that had either too little heat or too much heat and landlords that had bad bookkeeping and a lack of concern. Why was I content? Who knows. Cowardice, I expect. But my husband took the figurative bull by the horns, and we moved into an itty-bitty house that we could actually afford.
I loved that first house. At first I dreaded going home to it because it was just ugly, but we took care of that problem and I was happy there. But we added to our family, and at some point our daughter put her foot down and announced that we just had to get another bathroom. Stu was okay with moving, because he was getting pretty claustrophobic in there. It didn't bother me at all, and I never really noticed because I was the one person who could actually stand all the way up in the basement, but apparently that house was a little short. So we started the process again, with me fretting that we couldn't afford a bigger house, and now here we are, where I never imagined we could be. But Stu imagined it, and it came to pass.
See, here's the thing. I hate taking risks. Although an optimist in many ways, when it comes to taking any kind of risk I become something beyond reluctant. I'm all too aware of how things can suddenly come unraveled at any time and I really fear dealing with the consequences when they do. This, not surprisingly, has big implications for my spiritual life as well. We're in a home church now because Stu said that it was high time, and despite my desire to stay put in my comfort zone, that too came to pass. And there are doubtless many ways in which God would really like me to change and progress, but with my lack of vision of where I could go, and my reluctance to go there anyway, I tend to stay put.
Thanks be to God, He sometimes grows me without my knowledge and consent. It's a good thing, too. Unlike me, God does have a vision for where He wants me to go and what He wants me to become. I just sit here and look at where I am and say "Ick". God gently sends people who will point me where I need to go. Some of them, of course, are gentler than others!
I've learned the value, in the last half-decade, of mentors. Some ladies have known they were mentoring me, some have not. Wouldn't they be surprised? There's a lot to be said for recognizing that someone is where you would like to be, and praying that God will help you get there. There's an elderly second cousin whom I admire more than I can say, and I would like even a portion of her wisdom and serenity. There's a woman who was consciously in a mentoring position with me, and although she might not see that I learned from her, I really did. She tells it like it is, and I'm learning to do that more, with less fear of the reactions I might get. Truth matters. There's another lovely lady I have met in the last couple of years who is warm and gracious to everyone, and full of good humor and honesty, and I pray that God will change me so that these things are reflected in me too, because she is the type of person who is just appealing to be around, and therefore likely to be able to influence others for God. It's more than just good manners, it's a way of looking at life and others. I've never had what you could call manners, but I'd rather have this.
So I'd really like to become a person who has genuine concern for other people, and remembers to pray for them on a more consistent basis, and ignores her own schedule more for the sake of others, and isn't afraid to be truthful. It wouldn't surprise me one bit to find out this is part of God's vision for me too, and if He wants it then it's more likely to happen. Guess we'll have to wait and see.
Love, Spud.
I loved that first house. At first I dreaded going home to it because it was just ugly, but we took care of that problem and I was happy there. But we added to our family, and at some point our daughter put her foot down and announced that we just had to get another bathroom. Stu was okay with moving, because he was getting pretty claustrophobic in there. It didn't bother me at all, and I never really noticed because I was the one person who could actually stand all the way up in the basement, but apparently that house was a little short. So we started the process again, with me fretting that we couldn't afford a bigger house, and now here we are, where I never imagined we could be. But Stu imagined it, and it came to pass.
See, here's the thing. I hate taking risks. Although an optimist in many ways, when it comes to taking any kind of risk I become something beyond reluctant. I'm all too aware of how things can suddenly come unraveled at any time and I really fear dealing with the consequences when they do. This, not surprisingly, has big implications for my spiritual life as well. We're in a home church now because Stu said that it was high time, and despite my desire to stay put in my comfort zone, that too came to pass. And there are doubtless many ways in which God would really like me to change and progress, but with my lack of vision of where I could go, and my reluctance to go there anyway, I tend to stay put.
Thanks be to God, He sometimes grows me without my knowledge and consent. It's a good thing, too. Unlike me, God does have a vision for where He wants me to go and what He wants me to become. I just sit here and look at where I am and say "Ick". God gently sends people who will point me where I need to go. Some of them, of course, are gentler than others!
I've learned the value, in the last half-decade, of mentors. Some ladies have known they were mentoring me, some have not. Wouldn't they be surprised? There's a lot to be said for recognizing that someone is where you would like to be, and praying that God will help you get there. There's an elderly second cousin whom I admire more than I can say, and I would like even a portion of her wisdom and serenity. There's a woman who was consciously in a mentoring position with me, and although she might not see that I learned from her, I really did. She tells it like it is, and I'm learning to do that more, with less fear of the reactions I might get. Truth matters. There's another lovely lady I have met in the last couple of years who is warm and gracious to everyone, and full of good humor and honesty, and I pray that God will change me so that these things are reflected in me too, because she is the type of person who is just appealing to be around, and therefore likely to be able to influence others for God. It's more than just good manners, it's a way of looking at life and others. I've never had what you could call manners, but I'd rather have this.
So I'd really like to become a person who has genuine concern for other people, and remembers to pray for them on a more consistent basis, and ignores her own schedule more for the sake of others, and isn't afraid to be truthful. It wouldn't surprise me one bit to find out this is part of God's vision for me too, and if He wants it then it's more likely to happen. Guess we'll have to wait and see.
Love, Spud.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)