Q: What's bothering you? Why so glum today?
A: I'm aging badly. Only 44, I look nearly 50. Moderate to severe acne starting at age 12--relieved only by pregnancy and nursing--ravaged my skin. For as long as I can remember, my skin lacked smoothness. Serious scars on my chin and temples, coupled with sun damage, have ruined my looks. I'm doomed. My appearance will get far worse by age 50. My neck, arms and hands are sprinkled with sun spots and wrinkles, despite fairly consistent sunscreen use starting in my late twenties.
Q: Surely the acne has stopped by now?
A: It had. But now that menses has returned, the acne has as well--though less severe so far. To say I'm depressed by this development is an understatement.
Q: Why do you share this pain here, in this space?
A: I want my bloggy friends to escape this pain. No matter their current age, they need to know that the damage they allow now will begin to show up quite cruelly in the mid-forties.
Friends, whatever your skin type, keep it protected! Take vitamin D supplements, use sunscreen, wide-brimmed hats, and sunglasses. I was never taught to use hats as a child, and I don't remember anyone applying sunscreen on me. 80% of the damage occurs before age 18.
Q: What else would you like to share?
A: If you know an acne sufferer, be especially nice to him or her. Acne leaves lifelong emotional and physical scars. It is becoming more prevalent in adults, especially in adult women, due to hormonal imbalances.
Q: How can a woman deal gracefully with aging and skin damage?
A: I'll get back to you on that one, as soon as I get used to an uglier me. In the meantime, give thanks for the things you don't struggle with. Are you free from body weight concerns? Rejoice! Are you free from chronic diseases? Rejoice! Do you have great, full-bodied hair? Rejoice!
And work on your heart. Pray for a gentle and quiet spirit. A beautiful heart will soften looks, however compromised they are.
When we get to heaven, we're all beautiful! Praise the Lord!
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Saturday, May 22, 2010
your faithfulness, I know
Early April, 2010, we had reason to worry. Unemployment was out, leaving us with meager income from low-paying, part-time custodial work. Scared we were, in our flesh, even though God had always provided. Who wouldn't be, with the likelihood of defaulting on a home so real?
I remember that week. We performed our duties, lived out our roles, behaving as always. Kids need three meals, snacks, baths, schooling, diapers, teeth brushing.... ..every day is full of tasks. Children have a way of propelling life forward, regardless of circumstance.
Suddenly, a phone call. Census work, applied for months and months earlier, would start in three weeks.
God's timing.
In January, 2001, we started trying to get pregnant, six weeks after suffering a difficult loss. The first pregnancy happened in a couple tries. Not this time. Several months went by. We waited. I grieved. I agonized. I thought of nothing else.
Then, I surrendered all to God, telling him I would accept his will.
Next month, pregnant.
God's timing.
In December, 2008, my Mary turned two. Without talking. A milestone definitely missed. I pondered. I worried. I researched. I pondered. I worried. I researched.
Then at 27 months, she talked. A little at first. Then a whole lot. Soon, sophisticated words and sentences poured out.
God's timing.
I wanted to get married in my twenties. Despite two engagements, no one seemed right. I broke things off. I worried. I agonized. I thought of little else.
I worried. I agonized. I thought of little else.
Then, at thirty-one, I became a Christian. I was in love. With my Savior, my Bible. My Christian radio. I grew and grew.
But I still longed.
At that same time, my would-be husband became depressed and grievously lonely in Pennsylvania. On a whim, with minimal planning, he moved to the smallish, high desert Californian town I lived in.
Two years later, we met on a church-sponsored group hike. Event after event, we got to know one another from a distance.
Then, something changed. Interest sparked. But nothing spoken.
An ice skating event arose in a mountain town ninety minutes away. At the last minute, everyone cancelled. Except for us.
I nearly fell on the ice once. He caught me. And then never let go of my hand.
Eight months later, we married.
I was thirty-three. He was nearly forty-one. I waited a decade for a husband. He waited two decades for a wife.
God's timing.
The Census job will end early next week. The local paper and job websites offer no hope.
I could fret. Agonize. Research. Cry.
Agonize. Research. Cry.
Or I could rest. Knowing. Praising. Rejoicing.
Knowing. Praising. Rejoicing.
Faithfulness verses:
Numbers 23:19
God is not a man, that he should lie, nor a son of man, that he should change his mind. Does he speak and not act? Does he promise and not fulfill?
Lamentations 3:22-24
Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, " The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him."
Isaiah 25:1
O LORD, you are my God; I will exalt you and praise your name, for in perfect faithfulness you have done marvelous things, things planned long ago.
I remember that week. We performed our duties, lived out our roles, behaving as always. Kids need three meals, snacks, baths, schooling, diapers, teeth brushing.... ..every day is full of tasks. Children have a way of propelling life forward, regardless of circumstance.
Suddenly, a phone call. Census work, applied for months and months earlier, would start in three weeks.
God's timing.
In January, 2001, we started trying to get pregnant, six weeks after suffering a difficult loss. The first pregnancy happened in a couple tries. Not this time. Several months went by. We waited. I grieved. I agonized. I thought of nothing else.
Then, I surrendered all to God, telling him I would accept his will.
Next month, pregnant.
God's timing.
In December, 2008, my Mary turned two. Without talking. A milestone definitely missed. I pondered. I worried. I researched. I pondered. I worried. I researched.
Then at 27 months, she talked. A little at first. Then a whole lot. Soon, sophisticated words and sentences poured out.
God's timing.
I wanted to get married in my twenties. Despite two engagements, no one seemed right. I broke things off. I worried. I agonized. I thought of little else.
I worried. I agonized. I thought of little else.
Then, at thirty-one, I became a Christian. I was in love. With my Savior, my Bible. My Christian radio. I grew and grew.
But I still longed.
At that same time, my would-be husband became depressed and grievously lonely in Pennsylvania. On a whim, with minimal planning, he moved to the smallish, high desert Californian town I lived in.
Two years later, we met on a church-sponsored group hike. Event after event, we got to know one another from a distance.
Then, something changed. Interest sparked. But nothing spoken.
An ice skating event arose in a mountain town ninety minutes away. At the last minute, everyone cancelled. Except for us.
I nearly fell on the ice once. He caught me. And then never let go of my hand.
Eight months later, we married.
I was thirty-three. He was nearly forty-one. I waited a decade for a husband. He waited two decades for a wife.
God's timing.
The Census job will end early next week. The local paper and job websites offer no hope.
I could fret. Agonize. Research. Cry.
Agonize. Research. Cry.
Or I could rest. Knowing. Praising. Rejoicing.
Knowing. Praising. Rejoicing.
Faithfulness verses:
Numbers 23:19
God is not a man, that he should lie, nor a son of man, that he should change his mind. Does he speak and not act? Does he promise and not fulfill?
Lamentations 3:22-24
Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, " The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him."
Isaiah 25:1
O LORD, you are my God; I will exalt you and praise your name, for in perfect faithfulness you have done marvelous things, things planned long ago.
Friday, May 21, 2010
the battle for purity - junior high
I came across this short video about junior high boys and porn (Randy Alcorn speaking). It's a must see for all concerned parents.
Randy Alcorn warns us to never let a junior high boy be alone in his room with the Internet. Doing so would be like giving him stacks of pornographic magazines. Most adult men addicted to pornography started viewing it in junior high or high school.
He goes even further in the piece, and says that to trust your boy in his Internet use is to abuse him.
If you're not already, start praying about the purity of each child. Often. The world will battle us and belittle us in this quest. We must stand firm. It bothers me that I can't even take my kids to Walmart without having them see a huge cardboard picture of Miley Cyrus in an ultra mini.
How much worse will the aisles get in the next five years, before my first hits the teen years?
Randy Alcorn warns us to never let a junior high boy be alone in his room with the Internet. Doing so would be like giving him stacks of pornographic magazines. Most adult men addicted to pornography started viewing it in junior high or high school.
He goes even further in the piece, and says that to trust your boy in his Internet use is to abuse him.
If you're not already, start praying about the purity of each child. Often. The world will battle us and belittle us in this quest. We must stand firm. It bothers me that I can't even take my kids to Walmart without having them see a huge cardboard picture of Miley Cyrus in an ultra mini.
How much worse will the aisles get in the next five years, before my first hits the teen years?
Momma Robin's Morning (if you dare read)
My dining room features a sixteen-foot-long window, offering us a backyard nature viewing at every meal. Yesterday morning, as I gathered remnants of the hot oatmeal breakfast we'd enjoyed, I noticed a robin land right under the window.
Not moving a muscle, I watched.
Digging her beak into the soggy grass, she swiftly pulled out a squirrelly worm, about the size of a baby snake.
How do they always know precisely where to place their beaks? They score worms faster than I score handfuls of chocolate chips! From my secret place.
The inhabitants here might smell my poison, but they never see it.
"I think I smell chocolate, Mommy. Are you eating some?"
Surely, I mused, Momma Robin won't manage to take flight with that snakish thing in her beak?
She pecked it, grabbed it and swung it around. Then dropped it. Three or four times, she repeated the process.
Is she slowly killing it? Wanting it to stay still, I wondered?
Finally, the worm's nervous system gave out.
Next, Momma Robin pecked at it furiously, tearing it into small morsels.
Oh, dear.
Disgusting!
I shivered.
The baby robins, nestled in a maple tree by our window, waited for Momma.
She did her morning duty, just like I do. Breakfast morsels prepared for hungry babies. Faithfully. Systematically.
In the end, I didn't know for whom I should feel sorry. The worm. Or the babies?
At any rate, you won't find me grumbling about my morning duties tomorrow. (Not that I ever do that. I never wake up at 6:00 a.m. feeling cranky. Not me.)
Now I know.
Momma Robin, my kindred spirit?
She has it far worse.
Not moving a muscle, I watched.
Digging her beak into the soggy grass, she swiftly pulled out a squirrelly worm, about the size of a baby snake.
How do they always know precisely where to place their beaks? They score worms faster than I score handfuls of chocolate chips! From my secret place.
The inhabitants here might smell my poison, but they never see it.
"I think I smell chocolate, Mommy. Are you eating some?"
Surely, I mused, Momma Robin won't manage to take flight with that snakish thing in her beak?
She pecked it, grabbed it and swung it around. Then dropped it. Three or four times, she repeated the process.
Is she slowly killing it? Wanting it to stay still, I wondered?
Finally, the worm's nervous system gave out.
Next, Momma Robin pecked at it furiously, tearing it into small morsels.
Oh, dear.
Disgusting!
I shivered.
The baby robins, nestled in a maple tree by our window, waited for Momma.
She did her morning duty, just like I do. Breakfast morsels prepared for hungry babies. Faithfully. Systematically.
In the end, I didn't know for whom I should feel sorry. The worm. Or the babies?
At any rate, you won't find me grumbling about my morning duties tomorrow. (Not that I ever do that. I never wake up at 6:00 a.m. feeling cranky. Not me.)
Now I know.
Momma Robin, my kindred spirit?
She has it far worse.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
His need vs. my need
Tough days here. Much grace called for.
Peter is struggling so much. Last night, after he launched into yet another disrespectful fit--there had been at least ten--I lunged forward to spank him. But due to his angry resistance, I ended up wrestling with him instead. Then, because it had been one of the worst days of both our lives, we fell to the carpet and just cried. And held each other.
Sobbing, he said, "Why am I like this? Why am I just trouble? I was born so bad!"
That broke me.
I soothed him, and myself, for several minutes. And then I told him how much I loved him and admired him. And how sorry I was for him, that he had ADHD to deal with. And how it must be so hard to fight for control that just isn't there.
And I told him that sometimes, when he spends a whole day being angry, it is hard for me to remember that he doesn't want to be angry. That he doesn't mean to be angry.
And I explained that God's grace is sufficient for him, just as it is for Momma with her headaches. Yes, ADHD is very hard to live with. But God has a purpose in it. We have to open our hearts and embrace all that he has for us--even the things we wouldn't choose.
He understood. Melting into me, he lounged quietly, soaking up my love.
And while I held him it occurred to me that spiritually speaking, he was an old man already. Seasoned. Weathered.
_______________________________
So, why the flair up lately?
My husband is gone entire days and evenings now, due to his Census work, his part-time work, and his school attendance. I am doing everything. I'm constantly hurried, which is unsettling to Peter.
With three other children to care for and no physical help, I can't provide the feedback Peter's brain craves. The constant reassurance. The constant contact. He pushes himself on me, trying to make sure I put him above the others, because he simply cannot wait, any more than a one year old can wait. Seriously.
A number of circumstances have rendered me more of a slave than normal. Do you feel like that sometimes? That you're mostly slave labor? Not in a negative way, but just practically speaking? Here are my recent circumstances, and I don't list them in a complaining spirit, but just as an illustration.
- The spring mud. Each time they go out it's another load of clothes and another vacuuming. Chunks of mud do more damage the longer they stay on the carpet. Sometimes, the kids have to stop everything and get showers, which requires my presence and assistance. The alternative is to keep them in, which isn't an option after a long, closed-up winter.
- My toddler eats so messily that it takes an hour of cleaning three times a day to make our table, floor, booster seat, and baby adequately clean, together with the dishes and counter clean up (not looking for perfection here).
- Meal prep, three times a day, gets more complicated when you use whole foods and when you have four children to prepare plates for. A simple breakfast of hot oatmeal can take forty-five minutes to prepare, with all the individualized toppings and age-appropriate dishware, silverware and cupware. Giving the kids access to their own brown sugar, their own berries, their own milk, is a battle for which I don't presently have the patience. Let's just say they'd have oatmeal with their brown sugar, rather than brown sugar with their oatmeal.
- The bathing and diapering/potty training are always complicated, and now, without help, our evenings are quite harried. The one and three year old need a lot of assistance, and the older ones are prone to fooling around during this time. It takes some riding herd to get it all done in time for stories and prayer to be included. Without stories and prayer, every one falls apart. They need those two things to feel secure about their lives. Some things have to stay the same in their young lives. Bedtime stories and prayer aren't negotiable items.
- Without cable TV, they play more games and do more crafts--both of which require a LOT of supervised clean up.
The pace at which I must keep moving to ensure that minimal physical needs are met, leaves me little time to attend to Peter's high maintenance personality. And with Daddy's own ADHD flaring up due to the change in his schedule, I've got two competing, yet strikingly similar personalities to juggle.
Peter tried Strattera (non-stimulant ADHD medication) a while back and we found it to be very effective. But it aggravated anxiety, so we discontinued it. Then, because the anxiety was high no matter what we did, we tried the Strattera again (months later). This time it didn't aggravate anxiety, but instead seemed to improve it. After one month though, it quit working entirely. This week I sense an increased impairment in mood control, which didn't occur with this medication the last time. Many people do find that it just quits working, for whatever reason. Needless to say, we're done with it! I didn't give it tonight. I think we've reached the end of the road, medicinally speaking.
I'm left with a situation I can't fix. Or improve. Or control. And we're all affected.
As much as I want to be intentional and good at this parenting jig, I simply can't. Too many complications thwart my efforts.
My hands are tied.
Except for two things. I can read Scripture to them despite the chaos. I can pray with them despite the chaos. Most days, if I've done those two things, I force myself to feel good about the day, no matter what else happened.
God has tied my hands, I am convinced.
And why? Why would he give me a set of circumstances that seem hopeless? Are hopeless?
This blog title says it all.
Glory to the Father.
If these kids achieve success, whether measured my way or the world's way--any kind of success--it will not be because of me.
And that is precisely the way God wants it.
My human need to shine as a parent...to feel successful at it...conflicts with His need to be glorified.
My conclusion then, is this:
I need to drop my agenda. Just drop it.
And follow Him.
Peter is struggling so much. Last night, after he launched into yet another disrespectful fit--there had been at least ten--I lunged forward to spank him. But due to his angry resistance, I ended up wrestling with him instead. Then, because it had been one of the worst days of both our lives, we fell to the carpet and just cried. And held each other.
Sobbing, he said, "Why am I like this? Why am I just trouble? I was born so bad!"
That broke me.
I soothed him, and myself, for several minutes. And then I told him how much I loved him and admired him. And how sorry I was for him, that he had ADHD to deal with. And how it must be so hard to fight for control that just isn't there.
And I told him that sometimes, when he spends a whole day being angry, it is hard for me to remember that he doesn't want to be angry. That he doesn't mean to be angry.
And I explained that God's grace is sufficient for him, just as it is for Momma with her headaches. Yes, ADHD is very hard to live with. But God has a purpose in it. We have to open our hearts and embrace all that he has for us--even the things we wouldn't choose.
He understood. Melting into me, he lounged quietly, soaking up my love.
And while I held him it occurred to me that spiritually speaking, he was an old man already. Seasoned. Weathered.
_______________________________
So, why the flair up lately?
My husband is gone entire days and evenings now, due to his Census work, his part-time work, and his school attendance. I am doing everything. I'm constantly hurried, which is unsettling to Peter.
With three other children to care for and no physical help, I can't provide the feedback Peter's brain craves. The constant reassurance. The constant contact. He pushes himself on me, trying to make sure I put him above the others, because he simply cannot wait, any more than a one year old can wait. Seriously.
A number of circumstances have rendered me more of a slave than normal. Do you feel like that sometimes? That you're mostly slave labor? Not in a negative way, but just practically speaking? Here are my recent circumstances, and I don't list them in a complaining spirit, but just as an illustration.
- The spring mud. Each time they go out it's another load of clothes and another vacuuming. Chunks of mud do more damage the longer they stay on the carpet. Sometimes, the kids have to stop everything and get showers, which requires my presence and assistance. The alternative is to keep them in, which isn't an option after a long, closed-up winter.
- My toddler eats so messily that it takes an hour of cleaning three times a day to make our table, floor, booster seat, and baby adequately clean, together with the dishes and counter clean up (not looking for perfection here).
- Meal prep, three times a day, gets more complicated when you use whole foods and when you have four children to prepare plates for. A simple breakfast of hot oatmeal can take forty-five minutes to prepare, with all the individualized toppings and age-appropriate dishware, silverware and cupware. Giving the kids access to their own brown sugar, their own berries, their own milk, is a battle for which I don't presently have the patience. Let's just say they'd have oatmeal with their brown sugar, rather than brown sugar with their oatmeal.
- The bathing and diapering/potty training are always complicated, and now, without help, our evenings are quite harried. The one and three year old need a lot of assistance, and the older ones are prone to fooling around during this time. It takes some riding herd to get it all done in time for stories and prayer to be included. Without stories and prayer, every one falls apart. They need those two things to feel secure about their lives. Some things have to stay the same in their young lives. Bedtime stories and prayer aren't negotiable items.
- Without cable TV, they play more games and do more crafts--both of which require a LOT of supervised clean up.
The pace at which I must keep moving to ensure that minimal physical needs are met, leaves me little time to attend to Peter's high maintenance personality. And with Daddy's own ADHD flaring up due to the change in his schedule, I've got two competing, yet strikingly similar personalities to juggle.
Peter tried Strattera (non-stimulant ADHD medication) a while back and we found it to be very effective. But it aggravated anxiety, so we discontinued it. Then, because the anxiety was high no matter what we did, we tried the Strattera again (months later). This time it didn't aggravate anxiety, but instead seemed to improve it. After one month though, it quit working entirely. This week I sense an increased impairment in mood control, which didn't occur with this medication the last time. Many people do find that it just quits working, for whatever reason. Needless to say, we're done with it! I didn't give it tonight. I think we've reached the end of the road, medicinally speaking.
I'm left with a situation I can't fix. Or improve. Or control. And we're all affected.
As much as I want to be intentional and good at this parenting jig, I simply can't. Too many complications thwart my efforts.
My hands are tied.
Except for two things. I can read Scripture to them despite the chaos. I can pray with them despite the chaos. Most days, if I've done those two things, I force myself to feel good about the day, no matter what else happened.
God has tied my hands, I am convinced.
And why? Why would he give me a set of circumstances that seem hopeless? Are hopeless?
This blog title says it all.
Glory to the Father.
If these kids achieve success, whether measured my way or the world's way--any kind of success--it will not be because of me.
And that is precisely the way God wants it.
My human need to shine as a parent...to feel successful at it...conflicts with His need to be glorified.
My conclusion then, is this:
I need to drop my agenda. Just drop it.
And follow Him.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)