Done Praying Things "Away"

It’s true.  I’m done.  If you added it all up, I’ve spent hours, days…maybe months (I’m not that young, you know) praying things away.

“God, take away my temptation! Make it go away!”

“Dear Lord in Heaven! You know my co-worker is hateful, make her hateful attitude disappear!”

“Sweet Jesus! Please, please, please take the pain away!”

Okay. Before everyone in the theological world (and I’m thinking not a ton of those people read my blog) go ballistic…I believe God can take anything away.  I also believe in the power He has to heal.  I’m one of those Holy Rollers.  God can do anything He wants.

But, when we pray for more of Him…well, can things that aren’t of Him truly stick around?

Hmmmm.

Has God taken my temptation?  Well, I sure have less in certain areas of my life than I used to.  Has God healed relationships with my co-workers or friends?  Sure.  Has He healed me before?  Miraculously. Goose bump stories, for real.

But, something I’ve been noticing is that even when He seems to “take things away,” I’m no more prepared to face the next bad thing that comes my way than I was before. And it’s not God’s fault. It’s mine.

You see, I’ve been praying all wrong.

Sure, I say things like, “Use this for Your glory, Lord.” But, what I’m really saying is, “Please make everything perfect – like I think it should be – and then I’ll be able to give you praise for all to see...with my fabulous life!” Ugh.

Look what I ran across last night…in my Bible.  Of all places. Good stuff. Go figure.

Paul says, “Devote yourselves to prayer, being watchful and thankful.  And pray for us, too, that God may open a door for our message, so that we may proclaim the mystery of Christ, for which I am in chains. Pray that I may proclaim it clearly, as I should.” Colossians 4:2-4.

Oh, boy.  Paul prayed for an open door for the message of the mystery of Christ. That supernatural love, forgiveness, power.  Notice he never once asked for anyone to pray that his chains would go away.

Con. Vic. Tion.

We all know, but hate to admit, that our icky life moments are when God shows up biggest and brightest.  The problem is that most of us would rather He just make everything perfect so that we could say to the world, “Look, I’m not in chains.  I’m living the easy life! Live for Christ and things are super!”

Paul was more concerned with doing God’s will. Paul was more concerned with God adding to him the strength he needed to deal with chains so that the Gospel could go forth…than he was with the chains disappearing.   

Paul knew God could use chains.

I love the good times. I could live on the mountain.  But, it will rain on all of us.  More than once.   There are those of us who experience frequent monsoons.

Some of the sin pulls I have will probably be jockeying for position in my life until the day I die.  But, if I’m praying for God’s open doors, His grace, His love, His power…those sin pulls will be pushed to the back corner of my heart’s room each and every time. And I do believe, there are times they are pushed out altogether.  No more room.

Some people will rub me the wrong way…all the days of my life.  But, if I’m praying for more of God’s grace in my life…and in theirs…well, how can human attitudes top that?

Some illnesses will wreck our mortal bodies…and all of us (let me channel my best Sunday School teacher voice here) “unless the Lord comes back first!” will succumb to death.  But, from the moment we asked God to come into our earthly lives…and yes, take away our sins…He began to build an eternal home for us.

We do ask for Him to take away our sins.  But, again…we also ask Him into our hearts.  We add Him. Can sin stay where He dwells?

I know this may seem like semantics.  So be it.

But, today…I’m going to focus less on the chains and more on the open door.

Are you praying for subtraction...or addition? Are you asking for the chains to go…or for the open doors to come?

www.diaryofacavewoman.com

All the Kings Horses & All the Kings Men

This picture is exactly what it looks like. It's pretty hilarious.

Now.



Oldest, compliant child...always trying to please.  Middle child, just simply being a toddler, while mom tries to "reason" with him.  Baby crying...well, that's often typical of babies, regardless.  Young mom not wanting to make anyone upset, so basically doing nothing. She's doing a fabulous job of that, by the way. Husband, frustrated at the lack of support the wife is giving, as he tries to actually parent.

Broken, people.  Messed up.  And news flash...we all are, or have been, or possibly will be again.

We are born into a messed up world. The world is broken. Eden was perfect. We broke it.

So, even when we're given awesome things in life...we have a tendency to break them.

But, the really dumb part?  We try to "fix."

When I face trouble, my basic, fleshly tendency is to "fix." I run to horses and humans. Horses?  I see horses as what I think could or should happen.  My thinking...what's in my figurative stable, or imaginary warehouse of knowledge and expertise.  Sad, I know. "Okay, if I just do this...yes, that's it. Fix!" And humans?  "What would my Aunt Gertie do in this situation?" or, "I just saw this on Dr. Phil...what did he say?"

We should seek wise counsel...but, truly wise counsel will always direct you to even wiser counsel.  And that's where the real fix steps in.

We all know the old nursery rhyme.  We all know that Humpty Dumpty couldn't be fixed by all of the king's horses or his men.

But, what about the king?  I mean, I don't remember anything about him.  Did Humpty ever call out to the king?

Okay, it may sound silly framed within a child's game. But, hang on.  Why do I run to the King's creation and not to the King?  Why do I not think the One Who crafted the very universe, my body, loved me enough to send His only Son...why do I not realize that He would be the ultimate fixer?

AUGH!

To add insult to my own self-inflicted injury, it's been in the Bible for ages.
 

Isaiah 31:1,"Woe to those who go down to Egypt for help, who rely on horses, who trust in the multitude of their chariots and in the great strength of their horsemen, but do not look to the Holy One of Israel, or seek help from the Lord." 

In a day of social media, it's like we get Christmas letters from one another each and every day. You know what I'm talking about. Perfect days, perfect families, blah, blah, blah. For those of you feeling broken...it's tough. I've been on both sides...perfect looking days...broken days.  Please hold on, I am going to get to some hope for all...

So, we're broken, people.  Broken world. Broken. Broken. Broken.

But, when we remember that long ago, there was a King.  He made a perfect world for His children.  His children broke it. The King knew his horses and men could never fix it.  He knew there was only one fix...and it was all on Him.  He sent His one, perfect, unbroken child...to pay for the messes all of His other kids made. 

He broke the One child Who didn't deserve it...for all of us who did.  And do.  And will. 

So, I'm broken. I said it. Cat's out of the pretty, little, velvet bag. Yes, a new creature in Christ...but, scars from this life are at times more visible than others, and mostly, I am happy to say that I can look at them with peace. 

Peace?  Peace.

Because when the harried young families, depressed middle aged woman, lonely old man, victimized teen or any lost soul stops looking for the fix and finally looks to the Fixer...peace enters the picture.

When I share victories from my family...it's because the King has fixed us.  When I share from a broken place...it's because I have peace that surpasses understanding...knowing that the King has fixed us. Has. Meaning...He has already provided everything we need...if we will just accept it.

Psalm 20:7, "Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God."

May we be able to accept it all. The fact we're broken. The fact we can be fixed. Just not by ourselves...horses, chariots or men.

We sit on walls we shouldn't.  We fall far and hard.

Unlike Humpty...so thankful we can be put back together again. My husband and I run to the King, and have to decide to do so whenever we face any sort of "break." We all do. To say otherwise is to lie. And we're all tired of those.

It's a new week. New challenges. Old heartaches. New joys. Old reminders.

It's a new week.  Same King.  Let's trust Him together. He can fix anything.

The Worst Hypocrisy

I'm pretty transparent.  I put my flaws out there before anyone else has time to point them out for me.

However, lately...well, you haven't heard from me because...I've succumbed to the worst kind of hypocrisy.

We all know what a hypocrite is.  We maybe have known one...we most likely have been one.

For the past few months, I've let my typically transparent form of encouraging others be overtaken by this sort of thinking:  "Is it really right to think I have something to 'say' or believe I can help others when I have so many issues in my own life?  Isn't that hypocritical?"

I've had what I call "shell" days off and on my entire existence.  Not days at the beach. Days in which I've felt like a shell of a human being.  One foot in front of the other. Step, step, step...sigh. I haven't "felt" it or thought I "looked" it, so I've not "shared" it.

Shared what?  My hope.

For you see, when Shell KyAnne thinks she's the one stepping, it's not - and never has been - her doing the stepping.

Before you go thinking I'm about to copy and paste the "Footprints" poem here...hang with me.

I'm always "referring" to hope.  Hope is all that sets us apart from people who have yet to enter into a true relationship with Jesus Christ.  And not the golden-haired, blue-eyed, serene-looking guy on the wall in the fellowship hall at your granny's church.  The broken-hearted, broken-bodied, filled-with-so-much-love-and-desire-for-you guy, who hung on a cross for all of that junk that makes you feel like a shell. That Jesus.

So, even in my darkest times...I'm still stepping.  I may not "feel" like functioning and I may not be bouncing off the walls...but, I'm moving.  If I didn't have the hope of Christ, I'd be in a fetal position in the corner of my bedroom with a bag of Cheetos and a 2-liter of Dr. Pepper.

I'm going to quote myself and than the Bible.  Yep, the Bible quotes will be way more powerful.

Page 66 in "Diary of a Cavewoman," Shell KyAnne declares, "Don't believe the lie that a person walking in God's peace never appears to have a crazy existence. Quite the opposite, I believe. A person with God's peace has the supernatural ability to live in a crazy existence...and still walk."

The Bible says this, "For we do not preach ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord..." (II Corinthians 4:5) and "'My (Christ's) grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in (your) weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.  That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties.  For when I am weak, then I am strong." (II Corinthians 9 & 10.)

The worst hypocrisy?  Having the hope of Christ in my life (hope that gives me strength to walk when I want to quit), and not constantly sharing it...even in the midst of my weakest times.

So, I'm sorry for the days I haven't shared hope with you...even when I knew God was telling me to.  Forgive me for being a hypocrite.  You may be running today...I hope you are.  I run a lot of days.  But, there are days...it's a prayerful and purposeful one foot in front of the other.  For those of you feeling like a shell today...I know.  He knows.  He's strong, so we don't have to be.  That's the Gospel.

Step...step...step...

www.diaryofacavewoman.com

Cabin Fever

So, many of you have had a little (cough!) snow lately.  I have been reading about your days "stuck" in the house. It's been very, very interesting.

Some of you parents love it.  Some of you parents hate it. At the end of the day, all of the parents love their kids...so it's all good.

I love snow. But, my husband says that's because I never had to milk cows in two feet of it.  He also says it's because I grew up in a place where school was cancelled for two inches of it. He's actually onto something here.

But, I truly love snow for the same reason about half of you love it...the potential of a "snow day." Sitting around the house with my young, eating stuff, playing games, constructing "quilt & dining room chair" tents, thawing out by the fire after building a snowman.

However, I want to bolster those of you who get a little stir crazy at the thought of being cooped up all day with your beloved.  I get this, too.  Remember, I stayed home for a decade.  A DECADE, people.  I have played more games of Candy Land and Go to the Head of the Class than I can count.  I have sung, "Old Blue" and "Itsy Bitsy Spider" more times than Beyonce has belted out "All the Single Ladies."

I have broken up more fights over the "red" bouncy-ball than you can imagine.  I have cleaned up more messes off the kitchen floor than I care to really dwell on right now.  I have said, "Guys! I'm not kidding! You will take a nap and you will not get up out of bed again!" so many times that I should have it embroidered on a pillow.

I, too, have had Cabin Fever.  Or...Cave Fever.

I actually, no offense, chuckle when I see statements such as, "Perfect day with my kiddos!  We baked, we built snowmen, we read our Bibles, we cuddled, we drew pictures of butterflies..."  You know what I'm talking about.  Hey, I don't doubt anyone does all of that...I have had many a day with my boys where I could write a very similar scenario. But, it would have also had to include...

"...put someone in time-out, tweezed a Lego piece out of an ear, plunged the toilet - twice, wiped crusty snot out of someone's hair (snot noticed while "cuddling"), had a talk about not drawing anatomically correct pictures of our brothers..."

Something like that.

I'm not picking on the lovers.  I would actually be more on your end of the parenting rainbow than not.  However, I just felt a huge need to encourage those of you out there struggling with not always "loving" every minute of cooped-upedness. (I made that term up.)

I mean, I could tell you how much you're going to miss your kids when they're grown, like mine, and that you will kick yourself for not being Mary Poppins on those snow days.  But, most of you already know that you're going to miss your kids...someday. :)

Before my rhetoric gets as deep as the snow in Kansas City today, let me wrap things up.

Enjoy as many minutes as you can with your family.  Those you can't enjoy - appreciate.  Appreciate the minutes in which we are tools in God's hands to teach our kids patience, kindness, long-suffering, love...and all that Fruit of the Spirit we grown-ups are still working to cultivate.

Fever isn't always a bad thing.  Sometimes it's just a sign that your body is fighting off an infection.

Dealing with not so perfect moments is kind of the same thing.  We do battle every day.  We fight for our kids to become the people that God has made them to be.

And sometimes, that means somebody doesn't get the red bouncy-ball.

When "Those Kids" are Your Kids...

Well, not all of the kids in the chaos portion of this picture are mine...but, I do have to admit to birthing a couple of them. And I have to say that I'm pretty much related-by-blood to all of them. I am not related to the small child with the "floaties" on...way in the background.  His parents, possibly the folk in the water below, are probably saying something like, "Don't let 'those kids' scare you, Sweetie.  Hopefully, their parents will get control of them soon, and they'll be gone."

Yep, to the strangers around our clan that day...I was a parent to some of "those kids."

You know "those kids."  They are the ones who run through the mall unattended, or the ones who kick the back of your seat on the airplane. Grrr.  "Those kids" drive most of us nuts.  Even when they're "our kids."

My hubby and I have done are darnedest to not raise anything resembling "those kids." And for the most part, thanks be to God on High, "our kids" have typically not been "those kids."  But, trust me...there have been "times."

For instance, the demon-possessed-like fit the middle one threw in front of the Baskin-Robbins' display case, because that particular store wasn't carrying his favorite flavor.  He was two...but, still! The older brother...actually the oldest brother...all four-years-old of him...just stood there, dumbfounded.  Staring at me and telepathically screaming, "Are you kidding me?!  Parent-up!"

There was the time all three boys started crying, for some random reason, while crammed in a shopping cart in the middle of Safeway. Loudly. Hysterically. Maybe they all started crying because they were all three crammed in a shopping cart in the middle of Safeway.  I never got a real answer, and though 1.5 of them were old enough to actually speak in full sentences, I still got nothing. Regardless, no one could deny the fact that at that moment, they were "those kids."

A point?  Well, I have a few.

1)  We've not only had "those kids" before, we've most likely been "those kids" before.
2)  We have to differentiate between "those kids" and those "kids."  Meaning...sometimes kids are just being kids.  Joyfully so, I might add. Like in my picture.  Don't go to the family pool if you don't want a little, friendly, family chicken fight!  Also, don't go to McDonald's for a romantic dinner.  There will be kids there, most likely being kids.  Just sayin'.
3)  When kids are being the annoying or disrespectful kind of "those kids," well, we have to be brave enough to be "those adults."  Wise adults.  Brave and wise enough to confront behaviors that may be harmful to our children...not to mention those around them.

I have been a kid. I have had kids. I teach kids.  A total lack of respect amongst the young is on the rise...at an alarming rate.  I have found myself, for years, praying for God to help me know when kids need loving correction, and when kids need me to simply chill out.

I'm still praying.

Are you?

Can't Touch This!

You know what time it is...just looking at the picture! I came into my heyday as a mama during that historic era known as "Hammer Time."

Whenever I see the image of this poor kid in his salmon-colored shirt and gecko-printed "Hammer Pants," that crazy song goes off in my head.  If your time was before "Hammer Time," simply take a few bars from troubled rocker Rick James' most well-known tune, then add the warning: "U Can't Touch This!!"

You know my mind marches to the varying beats of its own, large, drum line. Still, I'm guessing you're wondering how I'm going to go from Rick James to life encouragement.


Well, it's all about the things I can and can't control.  Things I can and can't touch.

When my guys were little, I could control stuff like what they ate and watched.  I couldn't control when they were going to throw-up or wet through training pants.

As they grew, I could control who they spent the night with or went to a ballgame with.  I couldn't control those darned, little girls who wanted to smile at them.

Now?  Well, it's pretty much down to controlling what I cook and what kind of toilet paper I buy...for when they visit home.

Most days, I can't even control my own emotions.

As I've grappled for years with the things I can and cannot "touch,"  I always go back to two things that give me the comfort I so desperately need:

1)  God is in control.
2)  God decides who or what can or cannot touch lives.

Sometimes I want to jump in front of my boys, daughter-in-law, grandson, husband...and shout, "You can't touch this!!"

Then I am reminded that God's ways are much, much higher than my ways.  I am reminded of the times my life has been "touched" by things that were completely out of my control. And sometimes, these things seemed all-bad.

But, I know better...now. 

Some of my biggest moments of despair and heartbreak led me exactly where God wanted and needed me to be.  Some of my hugest disappointments have caused me to evaluate things that needed evaluated.  Brought me to a place where I made a change.

My misguided, crazy instincts have me puttin' on the "Hammer Pants," diggin' out some huge, car-ornament for a necklace, and dustin' off the boom box.  I want to dance all around my kids, my grandkid, my husband, my friends, my life, and yell...at the top of my lungs,  "Can't touch this!!"

God must be chuckling a good bit before He whispers in my ear, "You're going to throw something terribly out of whack there, Sis. Better let Me get this."

I Hate to Practice

Don't I look like a piano player? Sittin' on the bench, rockin' my outfit and sportin' some confidence?

From a young age - in large part due to the fact that I had an older, ivory-tinkling brother - I was fascinated with the large, brown piece of furniture in the "front room" of our house.

When I was four, I banged on it so much, my mom enrolled me in piano lessons.  She figured if she couldn't keep me away from the noisemaker, she might as well get someone to help me learn how to make is sound a little nicer when I did pound on it.

There was one, colossal problem.  I just wanted to play.  PLAY.  Do you hear me, people?  I wanted to play! And I wanted to play what I wanted to play! And practicing and playing what other people wanted me to play was not playing!

But, here's a bigger, more colossal problem.  Without practice and without listening to the instruction of my teacher...well, my piano pounding was still just noise.  And really annoying noise at that.

In grade school, I wanted to play "Nadia's Theme" from the 1976 Olympics, but my teacher made me play Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata."  Gag. In junior high, I wanted to play from the Carpenter's anthology of love songs, but she made me play a Franz Listz "Hungarian Rhapsody." Double gag.  In high school, I wanted to play anything from my Michael Jackson "Thriller" cassette, but she made me play Bach Inventions Nos 4 & 13. Eye roll.  In college, I wanted to play Bruce Hornsby's "The Way It Is," but she made me play Debussy's "Clair de Lune."  By this time, I had surrendered.  Cue the Debussy.

You know what was a bigger, more colossal, colossal problem?  The fact that when she did let me attempt to perform what I wanted...I had to practice that, too!  I just wanted to sit down and rock out!
Wasn't gonna' happen.

Scales, arpeggios, scales and more arpeggios.  Some Mozart, some Jackson, some hymns...they all required practice.  All of 'em.

Forget "good to great" - most of us, not just our kids, want to go from nothing to great.  In 60 seconds.

We're always harping on our kids to practice. To work. To study.  What about us?  I want to show up with a slammin' lesson for each of my classes every day.  But, I don't want to go up to my classroom on Saturday afternoon and work on one.

I want to write, speak and encourage those around me - in a big way.  I don't always want to actually, physically sit down and type something up.  I don't always want to pray, fast and study to have something encouraging to speak.  I don't always want to turn off my Hallmark movie and call that friend I know could use a kind word. Sigh.

I hate to practice.  I hate forming good habits. It takes a lot of work.

But, you know what? I've loved, and still love, being able to make music.  I got to watch three, little boys march around the living room as I played, "Old Blue" and "Happy and You Know It." I can entertain school classes with my very own, "I'm Not Gonna' Write You a Hall Pass."  I can plop down in my family room on our rickety bench, at the end of a stressful day, and play and sing, "10,000 Reasons." Sing, pray, worship, cry and eventually, feel God's presence envelop me.

You know what else I love?  My relationship with God. I love when He swoops in to save my day, or makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. I love the victories He gives me and all of the good times.

I just don't always like to get up and read my Bible.  I sometimes say, "I'll just have to talk to You later, Lord. Because, being the silly girl that I am, I'm too super busy right now trying to do some incredible stuff for You, without any preparation or consultation whatsoever."

In other words...I hate to practice.  But, I think I'd better go do it anyway.

How about you?