The fact is...

Fact: I am a mother of four children.

Fact: I home school them.

Fact: I love them to the point of bursting.

Fact: Most days I have at least one moment of legitimate desire to knock them silly.

Fact: My life is the farthest thing from perfect that it is possible to be.

Fact: I love my life.

This week started out on a really low note. At five a.m. on Sunday morning, one of our boys woke up with the stomach flu. He threw up every hour for six hours straight. Fifteen hours after he started throwing up...I woke up with the stomach flu.

Thankfully we were leaving the next day for a 3 day family getaway, so this stomach bug didn't affect us at all. (Read-dripping sarcasm) 

I spent the better part of our first day sitting on a chair, watching my kids play at an indoor water park. Weak legged and weak stomached, I still dutifully rode water slides and ate snack bar food in my swimsuit with my paler-than-death legs and flabby-because-its-winter stomach visible to the world. My husband dutifully took the bigger kids on the most stomach-lurching water rides, and when they were tired of screaming and whooping and climbing stairs to do it again, we met up at the wave pool for a while.

Time moved a bit slower, and while I was relaxing and breathing deeply and enjoying the time away, I was also watching my kids with care. Because that's what parents do when their children are in the water. They pay attention.

And do you know what I saw?

These kids of mine, the wild, crazy, loud, messy, humans that live under my roof and fight with each other so often that it makes me want to hang them by their toe nails from the nearest tree...they love each other.

So. Much.

I watched them splashing around, playing games. 

I saw the older two keeping as much of an eye on the younger two as their daddy and I were.

I observed all four of them laying on their stomach in the shallow water, talking and laughing.

I witnessed them taking turns choosing rides, or riding rides they didn't really care to, just because one of their siblings wanted a slide-buddy.

My heart filled to bursting, let me tell you.

They are friends.

Its what I always wanted for them.

Because I cherish my friendships with my own siblings so much. 

I looked at my husband, and I smiled through tears, and I said "Look at them. They love each other. How did we get so blessed to have children who are such good friends?"

And my mind remembered so many other moments. Times where I thought they were going to kill each other, or never speak to each other again, or never learn to get along...

And then I remembered still more times, when they laughed together till they cried, when they stood up for each other in front of their friends, when they protected each other and put each other's needs above their own.

I cried a few silent, heart-bursting tears.

Despite the fact that my life is a disaster pretty much all the time, one of the things I want most for my kids is already a reality in their lives. They have unconditional love, and lifelong friends, already built into their lives.

Day three of our getaway, another kid woke up puking, and so did my husband.

And so we packed up and headed home, after stopping by a store to purchase a bucket and a package of trash bag liners for it. (Just in case you were starting to worry that I was trying to paint my life in rosy hues)

Today they have had several fights.

I have bopped them all on the head at one point or another, and reminded them to be kind.

But you know what they are doing right now?

Playing, laughing, and singing, together..

It's a minor miracle, to be sure, and by the time I finish this post they will probably be back to bickering.

But I keep remembering them splashing in the water of the wave pool, grinning and playing.

And so when the next fight breaks out, and I have to remind them, again, to "treat each other with kindness, because these are the only siblings you get and they will always be with you and you will never have better friends than these people in your life," I'm going to remind myself of their faces, filled with joy and love and camaraderie.

The facts can't always be seen or heard above the cacophony of my life, and that's probably true for you too. I hope you'll take a second today and focus on something that you hoped for your children, or your marriage, or your life in general, that is already something you are living.

Aren't you grateful for it? Doesn't it make your heart fill to bursting?

My children...they are each other's best friends.

To quote one of the kids from the movies "Cheaper By the Dozen" : "There are times I want to KILL her. But I would kill FOR her all the time."

And that's a FACT.

Do You See What I See?

Lights have been twinkling on both sides of my street at night.

The UPS truck has made multiple appearances each day.

The stores have been crowded, but the shelves have been picked nearly bare.

Wreaths grace every door.

Perfectly, and imperfectly, decorated trees brighten rooms in almost every home.

Presents spill out from under those trees.

Stockings, once hanging straight and picture-worthy, are now starting to twist slightly, and they are bulging in the center, and no one can use the fireplace because the stocking contents will melt.

Travelers are weary from trips, long or short, to see family.

Christmas Day is upon us.



I drink in this time of year like the holiday flavored lattes from Starbucks.

I recognize that it becomes more commercial every year...but I don't really see that.

I smile every time my eyes rest on my decorations, or those of others.

I jump up and down like a kid when snowflakes fall.

I get excited about cooking for parties.

I love seeing the presents under my tree.

I SEE Christmas present, but I also see Christmas past.

I see a weary woman traveling beside her husband.

I see the miles stretching out in front of them.

I see the urgency on their faces, and the lines of fatigue and the hollowed cheeks. I see the pain of the past year still haunting their eyes. The names they have been called. The invitations they haven't received. The struggle to make ends meet. The difficulty of sharing a life, a name, a home, without being truly intimate. The awe of watching a miracle grow inside her, and the fear that accompanies it.

Their faces may not show that they know Egypt is coming soon, or, before Egypt, a birth in a stable, or after Egypt...so much more. I may not see the memories of a star, and foreign kings bearing gifts, and angels singing in the night sky, but I see in their faces the knowledge that something is coming. Something that has already changed them forever.

They've been living lives altered completely by what hasn't even happened yet. So they KNOW that when it happens, nothing will ever be the same.

I see her hold her stomach, cradling the miracle, protecting the blessing that came with its own heart ache, the way it seems all miracles and blessings do. And when I look at her, and him, I see all that is yet to come.

Do you see what I see?

I see Some One who will quake across time and space and creation, burning up the centuries of hopelessness with His arrival.

I see love in its most helpless and most powerful form.

I see sweat, and blood, and tears, and pain.

I see laughter, and happiness, and relief, and peace.

I see a tiny little baby, a life so precarious and delicate, so dependent on the love of those around Him.

I see the Strong Mighty Yahweh, stretching out His hands as an offering for all of mankind.

I see the lowliest of workers, told by heaven's trumpeting host, to come worship Him.

I see the richest kings, bearing gifts, bowing down to a child without an earthly penny to His name.

I see what He has done. The sacrifices made, and those that will soon follow.

I see the Love that WOULD NOT sit by and suffer the absence of fellowship, but stepped into the confusing, messy, painful, lonely, anxious world and said...

"ENOUGH. I am making all things new again."

I see tiny little baby hands, and when I do, I also see the nail scars.

Christmas isn't just about His birth.

It's about everything that came before, and everything that comes after.

It's the striving, and uncertainty, and fear, and loss, and pain, and worry, and hurt, and death, and longing, and waiting...those are all there in the Christmas story, and in our story.

Do you see them? Of course you do.

Now look at them through the eyes of the Baby.

And really, truly SEE the Christmas story.

Redemption. Grace. Peace. Hope. Mercy. Love. Strength. Faithfulness. Protection. JOY.

My heart jumps every time.

Because the story of His birth is really the story of OURS.

He came to DIE.

So I could LIVE.

I look at the manger, and I see the cross.

I look into the eyes of the Son of God, and I see that He left His heavenly home...but I also see that, by leaving, He opened His home to US.

I see my sister there, rejoicing, singing, laughing, dancing, playing...I see so many faces that I love, and miss, and long to touch again.

I look at Bethlehem. But I see heaven.

And an empty grave.

And a defeated foe.



When Satan looked at the manger, he probably thought there had been a mistake. He was a bit leery, sure, but not too awfully worried. God had messed up. Satan was still on top.

And he certainly felt victorious at the cross.

And the people- the man and the woman who's faces had already shown so much confusion and hurt and worry- their faces were etched in grief, and loss and terror.

HOW COULD THIS BE? All of this, all this time, all for nothing? I wonder if they saw his tiny, perfect hands at the same time as they were gazing upon the bloody nails. Did they see the beginning at the end?

If only they had seen, and maybe they did, that the end really...was the beginning.

Jesus stretched out his hands to grasp his mother's fingers...and to grasp mine. And to make it possible that one day, oh some long-awaited day, I will clasp hands with my loved ones again.

You will have your reunions with those you love. When you see the manger, do you see their faces? I do. Every time.

The coming of the new-born King adds a thrill of hope to the lines etched in the faces of us all.

Do you see what I see?

Truth

You know how you have good seasons in life, where the grass is green and the birds chirp cheerfully and the breeze is warm and the scale says what you want it to say when you step on it and the brownies don't have calories and you never get new zits or gray hairs and you can't stop singing songs about how joyful and happy you life is?

Yeah, this is not one of those seasons in my life.

(Actually, I don't think I've ever had a season where the scale said what I wanted it to say, but the rest of it has been true from time to time. (Well...the brownies probably did have calories, but I choose not to think about that. Ever.))

The weather outside reflects how I feel. Its cold and dreary. The grass is dead and the birds have flown south for the winter. I have new zits and gray hairs every single unfair morning. And I'm fighting a cold, so there isn't much singing of any kind going on in my life.

Poor, poor, pitiful me.

I was chatting with my mom on the phone this morning, and something happened inside me while she was talking. She didn't have to say anything specific. She just speaks, and because she's my mom...I hear her like a daughter hears their mother's words.

And I remembered.

All my life I've watched her run to the Word when she was hurting. And I've seen her sink into the Word when she was afraid. And grief-stricken. And alone. And sad. And confused. And anxious.

I've known, my whole life, where to go when I needed comfort, because its where she always went, and I SAW the way she found breath and strength and hope and shelter there.

Maybe you're having a summer season of life. If you are, I'm glad for you.

But maybe you're in the dead of winter, like me. And if so, I have some summer for us to HEAR!

"Therefore, we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are being consumed, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary struggles are producing for us a glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes, not on what is seen, but what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." II Corinthians 4:16-18

"Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this: The faithful love of the Lord never ends. His mercies never cease. Great is His faithfulness. His mercies are new every morning. I say to myself, 'The Lord is my inheritance. Therefore I will hope in Him." Lamentations 3:21-24

"Let all that I am praise the Lord; may I never forget the good things He does for me. He forgives all my sins and heals all my diseases. He redeems me from death and crowns me with love and tender mercies. He fills my life with good things. My youth is renewed like the eagle's." Psalm 103:2-5

"Yahweh! The Lord! The God of compassion and mercy. I am slow to anger and filled with unfailing love and faithfulness. I lavish unfailing love to a thousand generations." Exodus 34:5-7

"You light a lamp for me. The Lord my God lights up my darkness. In your strength I can crush any army; with my God I can scale any wall. God's way is perfect. All the Lord's promises prove true. He is a shield for all who look to Him for protection." Psalm 18:28-30

"I will praise Your name for your unfailing love and faithfulness. For Your promises are backed by all the honor of Your name. As soon as I pray, You answer me..." Psalm 138:2-3

"Do not be afraid as you go out to fight...today. Do not lose heart or panic or tremble...for the Lord your God is going with you. He will fight for you...and He will give you victory." Deuteronomy 20:1-4

"Praise the Lord! Praise God our Savior! For each day He carries us in His arms. Our God is a God who saves. The Sovereign Lord rescues us from death." Psalm 68:19-20


There are no other words that give life.

Only His words.

And so I'm doing what my mama taught me today.

I'm sinking deep into my favorite chair, wrapped up in my favorite blanket, with The Words of Life in my lap.

And I'm clinging to the summer He offers. Maybe not around us. But WITHIN us.

It's enough, O hurting heart.

It's life, O desperate soul.

It's breath, dear gasping spirit.

It's hope, dear suffering brothers and sisters.

HOPE.
LIFE.
BREATH.

It's there for us, in His word.

Dive in. Sink deep. Let Him breathe summer into your inmost being.

HEAR. TRUTH.

Thankful

Last night I was reminding my kids that today is Thanksgiving Day, and they needed to start thinking about things to be tell us that they are thankful for.

Nate, who is 7, spoke up immediately. "I'm thankful for my mom and dad. And for the world."

"Really, buddy? The whole world?" I responded. "Can't you be a little more specific and personal than that?"

"Mom, I AM thankful for the world. Otherwise we would have to live on Mars or something."

His look of incredulity as he explained makes me smile again this morning.

Thanksgiving is a big deal in my family. It always has been.

Possibly because of the massive amount of food involved. Bausums looooove to eat good food.

Certainly the fact that it is traditionally a time for extended family to gather together makes it a particularly sweet holiday for us. We Bausums like family reunions almost as much as we like good food and good music.

We are an extended family that isn't extended at all. The saying goes that "cousins are siblings too." And to us, that's not far off the mark. We've spent our whole lives eating good food and singing good music and playing good card games together. Anyone who can't bond over a game of spades, a piece of pie, and a verse of a well-loved hymn...well, there's something wrong with them, I think.

I've been pondering this morning, thinking on how it is that the entirety of my extended-but-not-extended family remains so close, and so very committed to family gatherings and relationships.

It's because of our parents, obviously.

My dad and his siblings. The 5 of them, and their spouses. Their love for each other and desire to hang out and do life together for all of these years.

Without that, I wouldn't have grown up playing cards or singing or eating pie with my 30 first cousins.

Today, as I prepare for a small Thanksgiving meal (Just me and my own little clan) I am also preparing for tomorrow, for heading to reunite with all my extended-but-not-extended family. There are so many more of us now than just 5 siblings, their spouses, and 35 first cousins. Now more than half of us have spouses and children of our own. In fact, the number of extended-but-not-extended family members at this weekend's gathering will be somewhere around 100.

We can't fit in anyone's house anymore. We have to rent, or borrow, church fellowship halls for our family reunions. We are busting at the seams of every place we go.

And...we love every minute of it.

Now, truth be told, there are a few cousins-in-law (my husband being one of them) who get a bit overwhelmed by the enormity of the whole event. They haven't spent their entire lives in the middle of the chaos-that-isn't-chaos like we have. And they don't know everyone's names and middle names, and they can't chime in when we sing some of our family songs. (Although many of them have been in the family long enough to know some of the songs and some of the names.) They can't really understand. They just have to endure it, because it's their family now too, albeit loud and enormous.

The nostalgia attached to my family-gathering memories cannot adequately be expressed.

And as the years have passed and the family has grown and spread out and become too large to all fit in one house anymore, the gatherings have become less frequent, and some cousins can't make it, and that always makes us a bit sad.

We understand, of course. It's a long, expensive trip from another country.

It's an even longer trip from heaven.

But, we cling together, despite our missing links, and we remember them in conversations, and we carry on our cousins-are-siblings-too motto, and we play cards and eat food and sing songs, and our spouses sit in the corner staring at the chaos with glassy eyes, and our kids run around playing with their second cousins whose names they may or may not remember, and when a young one gets hurt, an older one brushes them off and kisses the wound and then sends them to play, and when a joke is told, we all laugh, and when a song is played, we all sing, and when someone asks if its time for dessert, we all say yes, no matter what time it is, and when we have to leave to head home, we all linger, not wanting it to end.

Yes, that is what a Thanksgiving holiday looks like to me.

We don't sit around saying what we are thankful for, necessarily, but we are overwhelmingly thankful.

For laughter. And music. And food. And chaos.

For our parents. Our spouses. Our children.

We are thankful for the safety and quiet in our hearts when we are together. These are our PEOPLE. Any one of my cousins would fight to the death for me. And I would for them. There is something very calming in that knowledge. It's worth more than I can express.

We smile wistfully at each other occasionally, thinking of our extended-but-not-extended family members who aren't with us, and though we may not say it, we are all thinking the same thing.

We are thankful for heaven.

We are overwhelmed with longing for that reunion.

We are ever-aware of the missing pieces of our family, and ever-grateful that they have been repositioned from our past and our present, into our future.

So, this morning as I prepare to start cooking for today and tomorrow and the next day, I find that I am thankful for the same thing as Nate was last night.

The world. MY world. The people and memories and promises for the future, and hope for tomorrow, and even the pain and the sadness and the broken hearts and the hurt...all of it.

I'm choosing this:

"I will offer You a sacrifice of thanksgiving and call on the name of the Lord." Psalm 116:17

Sometimes it is a sacrifice to offer thanksgiving. How well I know it.

But we can call on the name of the Lord. And THAT, my friends, is reason enough to be thankful.

Quiet

If you know me at all, it probably will surprise you to learn that I LOVE quiet. But I really do. It's one of my favorite things. I almost never, ever, get to experience it. But I do really like it.

Thirteen years ago my husband and I visited the New York Stock Exchange during a trip to NYC (Obviously, I didn't really care at all about seeing it, but, if you've met my husband (CPA, VP of Finance, money-man extraordinaire) you can understand why we made that stop) and I will never, as long as I live, forget the chaos and sheer overwhelming craziness of that trading floor.

And I thought, at the time, "Seriously? People do that all day long? How do they not lose their minds? They really need some quiet."

A woman shouting across the tops of 50 other people. A man shouting back at her. Both of them waving papers above their heads. All the people in between them doing the exact same thing with other people across the room from them. (Seriously, how hard would it be to WALK to where the other person is standing and discuss whatever they need to discuss? Why the shouting and waving? Aren't these supposed to be smart people? Where is the logic in this particular course of action?)

The images remain with me still, and I mention them now because, in an effort to compose a blog this morning, I find that my thoughts, and emotions, and focus, are having a NYSE level episode.

There is so much going on inside this head and heart that I cannot, for the life of me, narrow the focus down to any one thing. I can't quiet myself enough to hear anything...

My favorite season of the year is upon us. The boots, and sweaters, and scarves, and cider, and leaf piles, and apple pies, and pumpkins, and family get-together plans, and decorations...sigh. It's just the best. I think I feel that way because, in my mind, it's an entire season that is a teaser for the holidays coming up. All of fall is spent preparing for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and those are just the most wonderful times of the year. (There is a song that says so, so it must be true.) The Hallmark Channel started their countdown to Christmas movie marathon ON HALLOWEEN! How fantastic is that? My kids and I have been watching the cheesy, bad acting, terrible plot movies every day, and will continue to do so, and we love every second of it, despite the bad-acting and cheesy content and terrible plots. (Although, this weekend my 10 year old did wail (while burying his head in a pillow) "Why do all these really good movies have to have KISSING in them?!?!?!")(But he still sits down and watches the movies with me, so he clearly doesn't mind TOO much.) My daughter commented, as we were eating a batch of ginger snap cookies I had just taken from the oven, "If Christmas had a taste...this would be it." The fireplace was warming the room, and we were sitting together as a family, enjoying a rare evening at home together, eating freshly baked, Christmas flavored cookies, and I could almost see that scene in one of our beloved, cheesy Hallmark movies.

Of course, ten seconds later one of the boys burped as loud as he could. And the whole moment was ruined. Which leads me to yet another topic: how in the world can any humans on this planet be so LOUD? No matter what they are doing, my children manage to accomplish it with a sonic-boom level of volume. Playing, fighting, singing, even just talking, is loud enough and continuous enough to cause permanent eardrum damage. I may or may not have been known to say the sentences "My ears need a break, kids, so can you please stop talking altogether for at least 10 minutes?" and "We are playing the quiet game. It's mandatory, and its starting now. Ready? Go."

My closet is busting at the seams. I don't have space to hang another single clothing item. Things are piled in the floor and on shelves and shoved into corners. And also, I have hardly anything to wear, ever. Which either means that I'm way too picky about my outfit choices, or I need to get rid of 75% of the things overflowing my closet. I think its the latter. Which would then give me space for NEW items...

Shopping. I love shopping so very much. It's probably part of the reason I love the Christmas season so much. I get to shop, and my husband doesn't make his 'yelling' face at me. (Actually, that's not true. The money-man almost always makes his yelling face at me when I shop, even for Christmas gifts. But at least I don't feel guilty and remorseful about receiving the FACE during the holiday shopping season)(that's not really true either...it's a terribly intimidating face, y'all. He makes it well, and I shift my eyes and squirm internally every single time he aims it in my direction.)(but at least I have a justifiable reason for the shopping, and that makes the face easier to handle.)

My 12-almost-13-year-old daughter is a BALL of hormones these days. Holy cow. It boggles the mind.  She came down the stairs sobbing because we watched the first 5 minutes of a CARTOON without calling her...except that I did, in fact, call her, and she just took too long coming downstairs...and she was crying uncontrollably. I was so flabbergasted that I laughed. For future reference, this is NOT the appropriate way to deal with a hormonal-sobbing for no reason-preteen. 

I have friends who are awaiting scary test results from their doctor.

I have friends who are praying for miracles for their loved ones.

I have friends who are making plans to attend funerals.

The desire to wrap my arms around these people, and try to shelter them from the pain and the fear and the uncertainty, is strong. I would carry their burden for them if I could, because I know how it feels to carry the pain, and I wish I didn't know, and I wish for their sake that they didn't know either. My heart won't stop hurting for them, and my spirit is filled with the urge to pray...and so I pray, and I cry, and I ask the God of all comfort, who has comforted me so completely, to wrap His arms around these friends, and to shield them as I wish I could but as only He can, and to remind them that He is not absent, even in their darkest places...especially in their darkest places.

It's a cacophony inside me. The good, the hard, the over-the-top dramatic, the quiet perfection, the gut-wrenching pain...it all swirls around inside, and bubbles to the surface unexpectedly, waving arms and shouting to be heard and trying to drown out all the other things...

And this morning, as I sit and type, I hear the Lord's voice above the chaos, over top of all the other noises and distractions and emotions.

"We are playing the quiet game. It's mandatory, and it starts now."

And I laugh, because it is quite a relief to me as a parent, knowing that the Lord is putting me in a noise-time-out the same way I do my kids. And then I sit, eyes closed, breathing in the quiet in my heart, grateful that He knows I need it and reminds me of it.

And then the moment ends, interrupted by a little boy running down the hall. He climbs up beside me as I type, and snuggles next to me...and then he passes gas.

And I laugh again.

And I imagine the Lord does too.

Because He knows how loud my life is.

And He isn't asking me to spend all day sitting quietly.

He is just asking me to hear Him above the rest of the NYSE level shouting, and when I hear Him, to listen, and respond, and take a second to let His peace seep in. 

Today my prayer is that we can feel His embrace, shielding us from the cacophony of life for a moment, reminding us that there is peace to be found inside the storms, if only we will tune our ear into His voice above all the others.

"Now may the Lord of peace Himself give you His peace at all times and in every situation." 

2 Thessalonians 3:16

In other words...the mandatory quiet game starts now.

The Rant

Oh, the internal rant I have just engaged in.

My husband is getting ready for work, and my kids are all still sleeping, so the rant has remained internal for the better part of 5 minutes, until the coffee seeped into my foggy morning brain and I remembered something.

I have a blog.

My genius husband set it up for me so that  I could rant to it instead of him!

Ding. Light bulb.

Warning: the rant is about to commence.

I was watching a show, and one of the characters was asked "What is your biggest regret?"

And you know the response? "Nothing. Regret is pointless. I don't regret one thing in my life."

That seems, at first, like a healthy way of thinking.

And its also a lie. And also stupid beyond belief.

EVERYONE regrets something.

Don't even pretend that you don't. That's the dumbest load of crap I've ever heard. It's Hollywood's way of saying "Don't feel bad about anything. Just live how you want, and then move on. Embrace your mistakes, and don't live a life of regret."

How lame. And cliche. And totally wrong. And no, in case you're wondering, I don't care that, perhaps, the writer of this particular show was attempting to send a different message; a message about not living a life wishing to change the past. If that was what the writer was hoping to convey, then they should have SAID that. No. The writer was sending a clear message about right, and wrong, and how there isn't really any such thing. As long as we don't FEEL regret. The feeling itself is what is actually wrong. Instead of wishing we could change something about our past, let's just all accept everything we've ever done and everyone else has ever done as part of life...and keep on doing whatever we want, and regretting nothing, and if we all do it that way then no one will ever have to wonder if anything is right or wrong. Life just IS. Make whatever choice you want. Just DON'T regret it. And definitely don't apologize, because that implies the regret that we are now saying is the ONLY thing wrong with choices made in life.

And so, with the expressions of my face, I ranted at the TV. (And that is not an easy thing to do, let me tell you. It involved every single facial muscle I have, and they are all pretty tired now.) (and my fingers will be joining my tired face muscles by the time I finish this post, because they are typing rather aggressively.)

Are you kidding me? You're saying that you never once said something that hurt someone that you wish you could take back?

Even if you choose not to regret your '80's hairstyle and clothing choices, or indulging in too much food or wine or...whatever else, you should at least have the decency to feel bad about hurting some one's feelings.

Gosh. What a crock.

And I turned the channel.

Because the only thing worse than having a child wake up too early and interrupt my solitary TV-and-coffee time, is having that time ruined by lame lines on shows.

OF COURSE we all regret things.

I sincerely regret many of my hair style choices.

I will always regret stirrup pants.

And tube socks.

And certain shades of nail polish and eye shadow.

And riding certain rides at the fair.

And I will forever regret multiple movie choices. (Seriously, "Scream" and "I Know What You Did Last Summer" ? Ugh. I can never get those hours of my life back.) And because of my feelings of regret with regard to many movies I have seen, I am a much more selective movie viewer now. "Is it scary? Or stupid? Because if so, no thanks."

And now I will write something that could potentially cause someone else to have full-facial muscle rant. (I guess that is the risk that all writers take. I wonder if they ever regret it?) (insert snarly-eye-rolling-face here)

Regret is something to be embraced.

It is a tool that helps us learn. And change. And grow.

The night before my sister, Joy, left on what was to be her final trip overseas, my family planned one last 'out-to-eat' bash. I had a newborn baby, and three other little kids, and my husband was out of town on business, so I opted not to go. I knew I would see her the next morning before she left for the airport. So I stayed home that night. And now there is a family picture taken at that restaurant of everyone but me, and it's the last picture that will ever be taken on this earth with her in it.

And I will always, always regret that. It makes my heart ache every time I think about it.

But you know what? I make different choices now, because of the regret I feel with regard to that choice. Now, I make more of an effort to spend time with people, even if it puts me out, or adds stress to my day and life.

I never, ever hang up the phone with one of my family members without telling them I love them, because I am always aware of how many more times I WISH I had said it to Joy. And while I can't say it to her any more times on this earth, I can allow my sadness about that to change the way I speak to people now.  I choose to say kind words rather than hurtful ones, and I choose to apologize for the hurtful things I DO say, because I regret those words and the pain they caused, and wouldn't it be just awful to say something hurtful, and then never get the chance to try and make it right? That's a regret I don't want any more of. And so my remorseful feelings, with regard to the past, change my future.

When I get angry with my kids and raise my voice, I always regret it. And I apologize. And you know what? This isn't a bad thing to teach our kids. I want my children to see that I screw up, and I know it, and I wish I hadn't done it, and I'll try not to do it again, and I am remorseful about the damage caused by my actions and words.

I would much rather them regret mistakes and learn from them than go through life as if there is nothing WRONG except the feeling of condemnation they heap on themselves for choices they made.

Don't misunderstand. I don't want my children, or myself, to live their lives under the burden of their past mistakes.

I want them, and myself, to live with the awareness of mistakes, and consequences, and let that SHAPE   future steps and choices.

And now my rant has run out of steam (or at least my fingers and facial muscles have).

Self-perfection

"If I had a nose like Alice Bell...oh I shouldn't say that. I was comparing it to my own nose, and that is uncharitable. Someone complimented me on my nose once, and I"m afraid I've thought about it far too much." (Anne of Green Gables)

No, no one has ever complimented ME on my nose. (Obviously. I have a Bausum nose, and that is enough to exclude it from compliment-worthiness.) 

But compliments, in general, that have been thought about far too much...yeah, that rings a bell.

A friend once told me I had nice armpits. Promise. It was the weirdest compliment I've ever received. I never before knew that armpits were something that could gain admiration. But now that I know...now I check my armpits for un-admirable sights before I leave the house. This particular compliment is one of my favorites, because it still makes me giggle, and then check for pit-falls (see what I did there?) I've clearly "thought about it far too much."

Another favorite compliment of mine: Someone once told me that I am a very self-aware person. (I always thought of it as self-deprecating, but self-aware sounds cooler somehow.) I take that to mean that I am AWARE of my flaws. And I am. Promise.

For example, I totally know that I am loud.

I know that I have a brain-to-mouth filter with a serious mechanical malfunction.

I am aware of the fact that I am sarcastic.

And crabby before coffee.

And a terrible, terrible dancer.

And not very compassionate by nature.

Or merciful.

Or sweet.

Or able to easily conceal my true feelings on a subject. (because of the malfunctioning filter, so technically NOT my fault.)

I know that kids think I'm mean. I am never intentionally mean, but I am frank, and cut-to-the-chase, and kids think that's mean. I am aware of that.

I am aware that I am a polarizing personality. I have people in my life who really love me, and people in my life who really don't like me much. Even if they never say so...I am aware.

You would think all this self-awareness would be accompanied by self-acceptance...

You would think.

But even though I know the things that are less-than-likable about me, (and I am even the first person to point them out most of the time, just in case anyone was wondering if I KNEW a particular disgraceful tidbit about what makes me...me...) Even still...

Just like the compliments seep in, and are thought about far too much, so too are the opposite-of-compliment comments.

Those are even harder not to dwell on.

And, in all objectivity, I can, (because I am self aware, duh) see the point being made, and accept my flaws as a person, and concede that I screw up with regularity, and even understand that the opposite-of-compliment points are only going to help me in the long run.

And still I find myself reeling.

Which makes no sense.

Because I'm already aware of the fact that I'm difficult to like, and hard to understand. And while I am accepted by some, I am held-at-arms-length by others, and because I am a forthright person who embraces total openness (and I'm pretty sure that's a flaw, not an asset) I inadvertently open myself up to opposite-of-complimentary comments. 

I deserve it, my husband points out frankly. If only I could fix the mechanically malfunctioning filter! I would be less likely to reference something someone might judge me for, or dislike me because of, or find appalling.

But...

Then I would be less KNOWN.

Hmm. More accepted. But less known.

How can those be my only options?

And the reeling has led to some pretty intense emotions, let me tell you. And some serious self-recrimination. And some grueling self-evaluation. And self-awareness has been replaced by self-judgement.

Because if SO MANY people have more things to dislike about me than like...clearly it can't be ALL them that are mistaken.

And I promise, honest to goodness, that I am not fishing for more compliments here. (Unless you want to tell me I have nice earlobes or something.)

I'm actually arriving at the point, and am just taking a round-about detour before coming to it, because another flaw of mine is being long winded. 

One of the people in my life who has decided to love me despite the afore-mentioned laundry list of flaws, told me something this week, and its the thing that has helped the most in settling the reeling self-awareness-turned-self-browbeating.

"Remember who you are." (oh man, I cannot resist the urge to pause for a "Name that movie" trivia...it's from The Lion King. Did you get it right? My kids all did, btw.)

"Remember WHOSE you are."

"Remember what He says about you."

Those words are pinging around inside me with all the others. And they are having a calming effect on my reeling emotions.

Because what HE says about me...its the longest list of the most unbelievable compliments. He says I'm lovely, and worthy, and sacred, and wonderful, and treasured, and fought for, and worth dying for, and redeemed, and grafted in to the Royal Family of Heaven, and protected, and...

It's enough. 

It really is.

The other stuff is all still true. I'm a mess. I'm a screw-up. I'm unmerciful and I lack compassion.

But you know what?

I am more merciful and compassionate than I was 15 years ago.

And I am actively working on the mechanical malfunctioning of my brain-to-mouth filter.

The One to whom I belong is still working on me.

And He's working out His perfect will IN me.

And while I am acutely aware of my imperfections and flaws, I am also glowingly accepting of the fact that He still wants me to bear His name, and carry His heart, despite all the additional junk I carry with me.

And He's whittling away at that junk, and someday, when I'm very old and wrinkled and totally aware of the fact that I am very old and wrinkled...someday He will finish His work in me. And I will meet Him face to face.

Until then, I'm a mess in progress. And I'm aware of it. Tell me, if you want to, that something in my life needs work. I am in total agreement with you. LOTS of stuff in my life needs work.

And...He says I'm perfect to be His child.

"He forever made perfect those who are being made holy." Hebrews 10:14