The Slow Death of Joy

I read something kind of astounding today. It was not necessarily new information, in fact it was something I’d read countless times, but I’d never quite thought of it in this new way.

It was a daily devotional about Joy. The verse the author of the devotion was expounding on was “Wherever your treasure is, there your heart will also be.” Matthew 6:21. We’ve all read this, we know it. It is right there after the verse about laying up your treasures in heaven and not on earth were they can be destroyed. I thought I was doing that. But what I read in this devotional smacked me right between the eyes.

Ellen Miller, the author of this devotional book, shares the story of her adult son being addicted to Meth and being missing off and on for years. Truly every mother’s worst nightmare. After telling the story of her son’s addiction she says...

“I share my story with you because, like many mothers, my treasure was my children. For many years, I drew my identity, creativity, and self worth from my children’s well-being. My dream of raising healthy, happy children was my energy source. But I’ve learned through this journey that this does not work; I can’t commit my sanity or insanity to my children. My joy must come from knowing that God’s agenda is greater than my own. Thus I reassign him to be my treasure by placing my trust in his promise of grace and mercy. Once I shifted my focus from me to him, I realized I could be joyful and strong regardless of this heartbreaking situation.”

I found this so interesting because for me, joy has been a little elusive of late. I have been trying to find it again. I made ‘joy’ my word for 2011. I was determined. There are many things in my life that are just not fun anymore. My kids are older and don’t want to play cards with me or watch AFV on Friday nights. Homeschooling the Jr. High and High School grades is just not very fun. It is a lot of work, really. My house is so very small and I am finding it quite difficult to function with all these teenagers in such a small house. My visions of working in the kitchen side by side with my daughters, teaching them how to cook and keep house has become a dismal joke in my ‘one butt kitchen’. Having all the boys’ friends over to hang out is a near impossibility considering we have room for 5 people to sit comfortably in our living room. This was not how it was supposed to be. We were not supposed to be still living in this tiny house when the kids got to be this age. This tiny house was a stop-over.

Even after 20 years with the same company, and moving up and up through the ranks, my husband still works very long hours. My college age son is making decisions that I think to be unwise, and yet there is not much I can do about it except watch. My 2nd, almost adult son is never home, and instead is working constantly. A good thing, I suppose, but not quite how I envisioned it. I am finding having teenage daughters a challenge. There are so many hormones flying around my house sometimes I wonder if it should be declared unfit for human inhabitance. Being a woman myself you’d think I’d comprehend what was going on in my daughters’ minds and be able to be understanding and helpful, but frankly, I’m at a loss. One daughter won’t speak except in monosyllabic responses, and the other won’t stop speaking so anyone else can get a word in edgewise. This is not how I thought it would be.

I have decided that idealism and unrealistic expectations are the death of joy. I have killed my own joy slowly over the years by hanging on to the unrealistic ‘Perfect Christian Homeschooling Family’ vision, made possible by my own idealism.

I like very much how Mrs. Miller ended her daily devotion; “Of course, reassigning your treasure may not be easy. My only helpful tip: it’s easier to let go of something once you recognize it wasn’t yours in the first place.”

So I guess I should now go about the process of reassigning my joy. I’m not sure what this process will look like or even how to go about it, really, but I know I’ve got to try. You hear of so many amazing Christian people who have been through unparalleled adversity talking about having joy despite their circumstances. How did they do it? My husband is gone too much, my house is too small and my teenagers are driving me batty. I’ve let this kill my joy? What a wimp I am. The greats of the faith like Corrie Ten Boom, Detrick Bonhoffer , and Mother Theresa, must be shaking their heads in heaven at my milquetoast disposition.

They say the first step to recovery is recognizing you have a problem, right?

Newly 17

My Gunnar. He was just the cutest baby. He was fat and happy. He didn't crawl until he was 10 months old and he didn't walk until he was 15 months old. I had to carry him everywhere! He was 20lbs at 4 months, so that was no easy task!



It did not take him long at all to realize his preferred method of transportation was wheels.


And as soon as he could he went for the real thing. A gas powered engine. Gunnar loves a gas powered engine. I believe if I counted I would come up with at least 6 or 7 items in his possession with a gas powered engine.


So it should be no surprise that this day has come. This day where my newly 17 year old son buys a motorcycle.


And yet, this vision of that squishy little smily baby riding off on a motorcycle is one I don't think a mother is ever quite ready for.



Drive slowly, baby!

Blue

My Ev is on the blue teem this year at church camp. This is how she choose to show her solidarity.

Blue hair.

Oh boy.



(How cute is that???)

Church

Some days I feel like I'm drowning in an ocean of Religion, and yet I'm so thirsty for encouragement.

That just does not seem right.

It's Getting Busy Up There!

While we were in Arkansas at Millwood State Park, camping with family and friends, I saw something. Something I could not get out of my mind. For most of our party, what we saw was just an odd spectacle that we joked about around the campfire. But for me, it was something else. See, I’m a writer. Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t have any books published (YET!) but I have the mind of a writer. I see something like this…





...and I can't let it go! These are literally rail cars that someone put a front door on the short side, and a back door on the back side, and an air conditioner window unit in a cut out hole, and that’s it! They built a wooden structure over the top of them, kind of like a carport and called it done. I didn’t even see any windows! And it sent my mind racing. Who are the people who live there? What led them there? How did they get to a point in their lives where they decided a railcar was a good place to life? What happened to them? What’s their story?

And that’s why I can’t let it go. The question ‘What’s their story?’ I can’t very well knock on the door of one of those railcars (even the nicely panted red one with the floral wreath on it), and ask, so I have to make it up.

All week since we’ve been home a story has been unfolding in my mind about a young woman who finds herself living in a rail car apartment. Over the week the whole story has materialized. Beginning, middle and end. Plot, characters, storyline, it’s all there. I’ve written down the details of my story and maybe one day when things slow down a bit, I’ll actually get to write it. But for now, this lady (who already has a name) has joined all the other characters sitting in a little waiting room in my mind, waiting for me to tell their story. It’s getting busy up there!

A Quiet Dignity

Osama bin Laden was an evil man, there is no doubt of that. He had evil in his heart and he did evil deeds. He killed American lives by the thousands and proudly bragged about it, looking for ways to continue killing ‘The Great Satan’. It is good that he is dead. It is good that he will kill no more. However, to celebrate a man’s death, an evil man’s eternal damnation, feels wrong.

America should be proud. We should be relieved. We should be well pleased with our remarkable Military. But we should not gloat. We should not sing and dance in the streets, shouting “USA! USA!” We should have a quiet dignity. Our military men, those enigmatic Navy Seals, did their job and they did it well, and they should be praised and given the highest honors for a job well done. But we should not revel in an evil man's demise.

If we sing and dance and gloat and revel, how are we any different than the evil that we are trying to overcome? Do we not remember the anger, the fury, that was stirred up in the American heart at the images of the Battle of Mogadishu when the desecrated corpse of U.S. Staff Sgt. William David Cleveland was dragged through the streets of Mogadishu? Or when the servicemen involved in the ill fated rescue mission of the Iranian Hostages were drug through the streets of Tehran during massive street protests?

I realize that we are not dragging the body of Osama bin Laden through the streets, but perhaps a little more restraint is called for. Let us not become that which we are fighting against. We are Americans. We are better than this. Be proud. Be grateful. Say thank you to our service men and women, and then employ a quiet dignity.

Sometimes, You Win.

We've been having a little trouble with sneakiness from our almost 14 year old daughter. Nothing big, just sneaking stuff into bed after bed time and texting when she is not supposed to be. We've had some 'talking too's' and taking stuff away etc, but when Dave found Ev writing in her notebook (that she passes back and forth with a friend) and listening to her ipod LONG after she'd been sent to bed, again, we knew it was time for something different. Dave told her she had to write a report for him on how sneakiness effects trust in a relationship. I think she got it.

Report for dad:

Recently I have been charged with the task of writing a report about how ‘sneakiness effects trust in a relationship’, because I have been caught in such an act. So this is my payment for my disobedience. Enjoy.

Obedience has always been a problem for me. It is, likely for other people as well, but only my obedience /disobedience applies (directly) to me. For some people obedience may be harder than for others, for various reasons. But we all know we should obey, one way or another. The way we act on that thought shows if we really care that we need to obey, shows self-control, if we want to do what’s right and be who God wants us to be. I have definitely learned that I need to obey and should work harder at it because God wants us to obey because Jesus first obeyed him. I will tell you a story to prove it (sadly this is a true story).

Once upon a time, there was a girl who got into bed one night, and laid there for a moment. She decided she would not be able to fall asleep for at least the next hour (Which was probably not true, she didn’t even try; this is where it all went wrong…), so she took out the notebook that she and her friend shared and started writing. No more than about 20 minutes later, her father walks in, takes the notebook, and says “You’re not doing this right. Then she went to bed.

And her father was absolutely right. This girl knew when her parents told her to go to bed, she should do it right away, not piddle around and write in notebooks. She learned that the way she acts affects the trust in the relationship she has with her parents, and God. She learned that she needs to obey her parents because Jesus first obeyed God, in dying for our sins. If she is striving to be in the image of Jesus, then she needs to do as He did, and obey. So she will work hard every day to do what her parents say, and become exactly who God wants her to be.

P.S. She also learned that writing a paper on the subject of disobedience is a good way to learn the lesson, even if it is a punishment.

Sorry dad.

Love you,
Ev




And sometimes...you get a win.

My Spot

This was my spot last weekend.



Well, there and here...


While I was there, I watched this...
Yes, that is two grown men pulling another grown man in a kayak while laughing hysterically.

And this is what happens when an man sized boy tries to lay on a hammock strung up by a 12 year old girl. This also made me laugh uproariously.


And this made me sing the nursery rhyme Rub a Dub Dub, Three Men in a Tub.
And this made me smile. I will try to picture this lovely view when those two take to bickering again.

The Year Spring Break Died

We didn’t go on a camping trip this Spring Break for the first time in years. It feels weird to be home over Spring Break. We didn’t go for a couple of reasons. One, the Fireman in Training does not get Spring Break. Apparently, they over at the Fire Academy don’t think it’s important. Apparently, they think they are preparing these young men for ‘real life’ where there is no Spring Break. Rude.

And son number two, is busy working like a little bee. He had several jobs lined up this week and he really didn’t want to miss them. He would miss out on literally hundreds of dollars if he went with us. That reminds me, I’ve got to talk to the boss about a raise. My 16 year old son makes WAY more that I do!

Another reason we didn’t go camping is that our camping buddies (Dave’s Brother and his wife) went and left the country for spring break! They choose, instead of RVing with us, to go to the beautiful beaches of Panama, where my sister in law spent some of her youth as a missionary kid. Well. Rude again! Really, I mean, who picks the beaches of Panama over the Texas Hill Country…oh, yeah, never-mind.

We did try to find someone else to go with us, but we were unable. So it would have just been Dave and I and the girls. For us the whole point of camping is the family togetherness. Since it would have only been half of our family, it just seemed like we should stay home.

Oh, and also, I had the flu. Which kicked my butt! Even if we’d planned something, I would have been hard pressed to do anything or go anywhere. I couldn’t make it up the stairs without sounding like I was about to cough up a lung. (Pretty word picture, no?)

Interestingly, the Fireman in Training also got the flu. He sat in class all day Thursday feeling worse and worse and worse. He came home, crashed on the couch and didn’t move. For three hours. Finally I went over and felt his head. Wow. He had a temp of 104. I knew there was no way he was going to Fire Academy the next day, so I took him down to the CareNow. If you miss a day at Fire Academy, you must have a note and of course it was long after 5 so CareNow was our only option. I must say, that internet check in is the way to go. We waited an hour at home, they called, we went in and waited 5 minutes in the waiting room.

Once there, the guy who saw us, a paramedic, talked to Bryce about Fire Academy, apparently he went to the same one. They talked shop while we waited for the official results to come back on the flu test. Sure enough, Type A Flu. The guy asked Bryce if he’d been in class today. Bryce said yes, he did his PT’s and felt okay, but as the day wore on, he got worse and worse and worse. The guy said, “Congratulations, you probably gave half your class the flu, because it’s highly contagious at this stage, and because you have to take a doctor’s note in, they are all going to know exactly who gave it to them!” then he laughed. Fun for Bryce.

We went back home with Tamiflu, codeine cough medicine, and orders to rest, drink lots of fluid and stay out of school until Monday. I clarified this. It was Thursday night. I’d had this flu for a week already and if I had to do PT’s right then, I’d probably lie down and die. (Of course, that’s the case when I don’t have the flu, but I digress.)

Well, that doc was right. Bryce came home Thursday night and went straight to bed. He slept on and off all day Friday. Saturday he puttered around the house. Sunday he was fine. FINE I tell you. Tamiflu is magic. And so is a 19 year old immune system.

He went back to Fire Academy on Monday morning, right as rain. He did the PT’s with no problem. The Chief even said to feel free to slow down and not push too hard. He didn’t want to set him back. The idea is to get stronger not sicker. But Bryce did fine. He was a little weak but he still managed to do everything required of him in PT’s. Amazing.

Now it’s Wednesday. I am still coughing, and Bryce is climbing ladders, running, carrying heavy hoses, and all manner of other Firemanly activities. Ahh, to be young.

Enjoy the rest of your spring break! And may it be more eventful and healthier than mine!

The List

Today I shall write in list format. Sometimes, it's best not to reach too high.

1. My youngest daughter turnes 12 in exactly one week. I love her to death. She has a lot of words. A. LOT. OF. WORDS.

2. Evelyn is entering an art competition. She is an amazing artist. This is an official art competition held by a city nearby. With adults.

3. Gunnar does this...



Often. It makes a momma nervous. He wants to buy a street bike. This makes a momma really nervous.

4. Bryce does this now.



Yes, that's my firstborn driving a fire truck. I'm sorry, lets pause a minute and contemplate that statement. My child. Driving. The Fire truck. Do you know what that means? Shortly, they will expect him to do stuff like run into burning buildings, and stand out on the interstate at accident sites...all stuff I've spent the majority of my life teaching him NOT to do. This all feels very wrong.

And yet, look. My baby's driving the fire truck!

5. I had the flu last week, for the first time in years. It was unpleasant. I wish to not repeat that experience. The flu kicked my butt.

6. We are in the process of selling our house. This is not a fun exercise. Turns out, when one sells a house, one has to occasionally show it. To strangers. And it needs to be clean. CLEAN!!!

7. It is very difficult to keep a house clean with this many people in it. And momma has the flu.

8. The guy at the junk yard where Gunnar went to get a part for his truck yesterday told him he thought it was great to see a young man doing something productive and working with his hands. I believe his exact words were... "Better to be working on stuff than smoking stuff." Well said, Junk Yard Man. Well said.

9. Dave got a new truck. It's a company truck, so technically it's not his. But he loves it anyway. It's a giant white Ford. It's manly. We now own 4 Fords. How strange is that?

10. I have a kid in Fire Academy. And another taking college classes. And another entering adult art shows....and a baby turning 12. Dude.