A time to wait…

by BetsyFaithPosted on 3 Comments

Although I know that my performance does not determine my worth, I am convinced it will continue to be a struggle for me to live like I believe it. Last year, I moved away from my long-time hometown. Adapting to a new area where I have no bearings has been quite the adjustment. While I didn’t have a steady job, I struggled with identifying my purpose and the direction I should be pursuing in my career.

I struggled with identifying my purpose and the direction I should be pursuing in my career.

Each time I thought I was making a right decision, I ended up in a job that was not a good fit. I was accepting offers out of desperation–the need to feel valuable, to have a sense of purpose. I was able to walk away from the first ill-fitting position, and once I realized that the second one was not for me either, I prepared to give my notice. However, the situation had already been taken into account by the powers that be, and even if I’d had any second thoughts about staying, the Lord closed that door because the place was shut down at the same time that I had planned to leave.

The decision now came down to choosing out of abundance as opposed to desperation.

For two more months, I hunted and struggled and planned and prayed, and slowly whittled away what little profit I had had from selling my home of 17 years. I had more interviews and even an offer that was similar to the first two positions that weren’t right for me, but having finally learned something, I turned it down even though it was the only offer on the table, and I was more desperate than ever to have an income. Then, all of a sudden I had an offer for a part-time position followed by two full-time positions–all of which I felt very comfortable accepting. The decision now came down to choosing out of abundance as opposed to desperation.

My mind wandered back to a year ago when I knew it was time to move after years of anticipating the move. I wondered if maybe I had gotten it wrong. Maybe I had rushed the process and should have waited until this year. But I knew that the timing had been right. Looking back on this year of job and income inconsistencies and personal struggles with purpose and direction, one might think that this was a wasted year. But it wasn’t. My outlook has evolved, and I have learned so much about where I am now in my life, both physically and mentally. This year didn’t allow me to produce much from a worldly perspective, but I have found strength and understanding that I could not have obtained any other way.

His timing is perfect regardless of my plans; I can’t mess up His plan!

I recently read a verse a friend had posted–let me rephrase that. I recently MISREAD a verse a friend had posted: I waited impatiently for the Lord to help me, and He turned to me and heard my cry (Psalm 40:1). When I realized that David had written “patiently,” not impatiently, I had to smile at my error and the fact that it wouldn’t have mattered if David had waited impatiently, because the Lord’s faithfulness doesn’t depend on our perception. I was impatient for circumstances to work out, but He still worked in my life through the process. Would it have been any different if I’d been patient? Probably not. His timing is perfect regardless of my plans; I can’t mess up His plan! And yes, I am probably just a little more sure of that now than I was a year ago.

Take me to church…

by BetsyFaith, ParentingPosted on No Comments

Recently, my young adult son relayed a conversation to me that he had had with an older adult male regarding attending church. They were discussing how they felt the need to be role models in their homes and be leaders when it comes to establishing habits like regular church attendance. I am thankful for the mature males in the church who have been role models for my son as he was growing up since there was no male role model in our home.

I still cringe for a moment when I hear a commotion in the next room because for years it was my son causing the disturbance.

As a single mother, it’s truly challenging to fulfill all of the needs of a child, and in my experience, particularly when it comes to spiritual roles. Although it wasn’t always what I wanted to do on Sunday morning, most of the time I packed up my son and his shenanigans and headed to church. He was always a handful, and to this day, I still cringe for a moment when I hear a commotion in the next room because for years it was my son causing the disturbance. My church family was gracious to us, however, and though I always felt terrible for my child’s behavior, they came along side of us and continued to encourage and support us week after week.

Despite the distractions and the frustrations, I continued to take him to church, hoping that doing so would eventually bear fruit. I kept going back to the Word, reading where it exhorts Christians not to forsake assembling together (Hebrews 10:25) and to train up children in the right direction (Proverbs 22:6). These are long-term, seed-planting acts that don’t necessarily reveal their worth in the short-term, but as my son has entered adulthood, I have begun to see the positive results of raising him in the church.

…we embrace the fact that Christ died to redeem us from our sins, we repent, and we are consequently forgiven.

It isn’t to say that every young person raised in the church avoids trouble. I honestly didn’t know if we were going to survive my son’s teen years. Without going into too much detail, I’ll just say that red Gatorade mixed with vodka has stained my living room carpet, and I’ve had conversations with the police regarding the paintballing of one of their cruisers, just to name a couple memorable moments. Life certainly isn’t perfect because we’re Christians, and we go to church. We make mistakes like everyone else. In addition, we embrace the fact that Christ died to redeem us from our sins, we repent, and we are consequently forgiven.

It’s about the importance of building one another up and being accountable as we worship together.

It’s never been the case that going to church saves one’s soul or prevents anything from going awry throughout the week. It’s about the importance of building one another up and being accountable as we worship together. During those periods of my life when I have gotten out of the habit of attending, however, I have witnessed a general falling off of my own constructive habits for not necessarily destructive ones, but definitely for less constructive ones. Being consistent in attendance helps me to stay on track in my Christian walk, and I know now that it has had a positive impact on my son’s life.

But what if I can fly…

by BetsyFaithPosted on No Comments

I really don’t like how moods affect my outlook. Sometimes it seems like I can accomplish anything, and other days, I ask myself when it became so difficult to get out of bed. I have tried on occasion to take a mental inventory of where I am in those great moments of optimism and strength, attempting to “bottle” it in my mind for later. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way. Inevitably, I end up again in the land of pessimism with an empty bottle and no recollection of what was in it.

When my son was younger, I took pride in the fact that I could participate in activities with him. Prevailing against my own fears and concerns for my aging physique, I shrieked my way down water slides and hiked mountains that left me aching for days. One water slide was called the Stealth V. It looked intimidating to me, and my son was even visibly shaken after experiencing it, which shook my resolve even further. He came running up to me, dripping from the drain pool at the bottom, and said, “Mom, you’ve got to try this! I might go again.”

…the higher I climbed, the more I regretted my accursed “no regrets” approach.

The fact that he was having second thoughts about going again was a red flag, but I have this thinking process where I convince myself I can try anything once. At least I know I gave it a shot. No regrets. I ascended the five stories of steps with a tube to ride down on, and the higher I climbed, the more I regretted my accursed “no regrets” approach. I watched as the riders in front of me disappeared over the edge of the giant V-shaped abyss, where they would cascade down one side of the V and up the other, until they came to a stop in the drain pool many yards below.

I wanted to scream, but felt the air had been sucked out of my body.

I noticed that they were basically all young people, which of course made me question my reasoning in trying this thrill ride. But it was too late. I was next. I flopped my tube on the narrow platform next to the attendant and climbed on top. The young man instructed me to hold on to both handles, and then shoved my tube over the edge. It seemed that the V dropped off at a 90-degree angle, which it really didn’t, but it felt that way to my empty lungs as I tried to inhale amidst the absence of air. I wanted to scream, but felt the air had been sucked out of my body. In that instant, I had split-second visions of my tube rolling down the side of the V, my bones cracking as I rolled with it. But somehow I stayed upright, facing downward at my fate until gravity spun my tube and I found myself staring back at the point of origin disappearing in the distance. By the time my tube began to ascend the opposite side of the V, I found my breath and let out a pitiful “Woohoo!” This was mostly out of relief that I was almost back on ground level and the knowledge that I would not put myself through that ordeal again. Yeah, I did it once. That’s all I needed.

…it’s easy to focus on the empty bottle where the optimism once was…

It’s hard to believe my Stealth V experience was about seven years ago now. Recently, I was presented with the opportunity to go urban sightseeing on an electric scooter. Having broken a few bones over the course of my life, I was slightly hesitant to try it, but after a little practice, I became somewhat comfortable balancing on it and rode for over an hour. I applied the same principle as before. I had to try it, or I would regret that I didn’t. I didn’t want the regret. The old saying that people regret more what they didn’t do in life than what they did do seems to be embedded in my psyche. When I get stuck in those valleys of depression and pessimism, it’s easy to focus on the empty bottle where the optimism once was and think, “I better not try this; what if I fall?” There is one drop left in that bottle, however, and it whispers, “But what if I can fly?”

I’ll keep stepping out in faith, believing that if God leads me to it, He’ll lead me through it.

Appropriately, those scooters are called Birds, and I did “fly.” I’ll keep stepping out in faith, believing that if God leads me to it, He’ll lead me through it. Not just the entertaining aspects of life, but anything life presents. The principle is the same, even when it doesn’t turn out how I think it should, or when it takes my breath away in the process. No regrets.

Seeking the Source

by BetsyFaithPosted on No Comments

Several years ago, I read that I would have to walk the entire length of a football field to burn off the calories from eating one M&M. If that ratio is even remotely accurate, it has had a profound effect on my eating habits, or at least the thought process that I embark upon before indulging in something decadent. Then it becomes a test of my mathematical skills and how many treats I can justify enjoying.

I have recently started working out at a gym to combat the effects of a myriad of M&M’s and other sweets that are my weakness. Forcing myself to focus on some rarely used muscles has brought some realizations to light. Over the years, I have injured myself periodically. I have broken my right elbow and my right ankle, and unrelatedly, the only teeth in my mouth that have issues are on the right side. I think it probably has something to do with my left brain being so controlling, and perhaps subconsciously trying to protect the other side. (I am posing like a thinking emoji at this point).

It’s strange to think that even after all those years, not only my body retains the memory of the injury, but my mind obviously plays a part in how I respond to it.

Although some might say it is coincidental, I believe there is more to it than happenstance. For example, I have noticed that when I work out I tend to tense up unrelated parts of my body. When I do bicep curls, for some reason I tense my left leg. In response to this realization, I began intentionally relaxing my leg when I do this exercise, but it has taken some serious focus for me to do so. In addition, when I do hamstring curls, my left leg tries to take over and do the bulk of the work. Now, this motion seems more obvious–my right leg spent some time incapacitated years ago when I broke that ankle, so my left leg tries to bear the weight, literally.

It’s strange to think that even after all those years, not only my body retains the memory of the injury, but my mind obviously plays a part in how I respond to it. Although I continue to rewire my thoughts to equalize my workout, I don’t seem to be making much progress. Habits supposedly take about a month of repetition to form, but I don’t go to the gym everyday, so I don’t seem to be changing how I respond.

Deciphering why I respond in a certain way to an impetus has helped me to make progress in other areas, or at least understand myself a little better.

Honestly, I’m none the worse for wear in that respect. Sure, one side of my body is always going to be stronger, but that’s not uncommon. This entire realization ultimately led to a deeper one. The injuries I have sustained emotionally and mentally are substantially ingrained in my mind as well, and probably much more detrimental than any physical compensation I have made. Have you ever asked yourself, “Why do I get angry when…?” or “Why do I always seem to…?” Deciphering why I respond in a certain way to an impetus has helped me to make progress in other areas, or at least understand myself a little better. For example, I began asking myself, “Why do I still feel compelled to eat everything on my plate even though I’m often full beforehand?” On the surface, I know that being forced to clean my plate when I was growing up has had an impact on my eating habits to this day. But there’s more to it than the obvious.

Upon deeper reflection, I realized I had connected performance to acceptance by certain people in my life, and somehow, eating everything on my plate was a standard I strove to meet daily for years in the subliminal hopes that I would be worthy of acceptance. This went on for years, not just 30 days. Such an established habit is difficult to undo, especially with the performing for acceptance piece woven within, through and around it. This is just one example. I have response mechanisms in place for so many aspects of my life–as all of us do. I try to address the ones that have had the most substantial negative effects.

Believing that His grace is sufficient removes the onus to “fix” everything that is awry and rest in the knowledge that He is strong and in control despite my weakness.

In 2 Corinthians 12:9, God promises “My grace is sufficient for you, for my strength is made perfect in weakness.” He doesn’t say He will perfect us here on earth; this isn’t heaven. His strength is perfected in weakness. These everyday struggles–food, acceptance, rejection, whatever fills in the blank–are the means of God weaving His strength into our lives. This beautiful enigma is both challenging and comforting. Believing that His grace is sufficient removes the onus to “fix” everything that is awry and rest in the knowledge that He is strong and in control despite my weakness. I can’t mess up His plan. Sure, I have made some poor choices, but His grace is still sufficient. I have failed to break bad habits–His grace is still sufficient. I will strive to instill the habit of relying on Him in all things–His grace is always sufficient.