Seen

This. This is a selfish post. Indulge me.

Tonight, I had a panic attack.

I don't get them often-I've only had one since college (8 years ago), besides the one today-and they are never full-blown. They're more like episodes. I've never felt like I was dying or anything. I just suddenly feel trapped. I have trouble breathing. I can't calm down.

Did I mention I was at a work party? Yeah. I was. Go me. I knew I shouldn't have gone to this party, that I was not really in a "people mood," but I really wanted to be there and went anyway. It wasn't long at all before I realized the social interaction was too much. I went away from everyone, sat on the floor, and tried to calm down.

Unsuccessfully.

I tried to leave without being seen, but my boss caught me and I started crying on her and...yeah.

That's how I make a scene at a party.

After some inner struggle between sticking it out or being a coward and running away, I managed to convince my friends that I was ok to drive home, and... I was a coward and ran away.

I really was perfectly fine to drive home, and I think I needed it. It was about a half hour drive, so I did some business with myself.

Because the triggers for that panic "episode" didn't start at that party. The general loudness of a bunch of preschool teachers all packed together in an enclosed space definitely didn't help, neither did the spicy food, but that wasn't the cause. I knew it.

So on that lovely (seriously, the skies were glorious) , long drive home, I asked myself exactly what my deal was.

And here's exactly what my deal is.

I want to be seen. I want to be validated. I want to be known for who I really am and not just for who people think I am or who they think I should be.

Over the past couple days, earlier than that, really, I've just put myself out there, only to be slapped aside, and usually by some people with really great intentions. I've shared some things that are really crucial to the core of who Ruth Campbell is, and people, people who I expected to see me and love me for me--they pushed aside what I'd said and instead pressed their idea of me onto me.

I don't like being pressed.

They argued with me about what I was saying, and basically, without fully realizing it, were arguing with what God has done in me, with who I am and who He has made and is making me to be. I don't even know if what I just wrote made any sense at all, but the thing is, I am not seeking understanding half as much as I'm seeking respect and as much as I'm seeking validation, to know that it's okay that I'm me-even if other people don't get it.

And I know my sin here is a sin of idolatry because I'm seeking validation in someone or something besides God. Because I know He sees me. I know He made me stubborn and strange, awkward and awesome, weird and wonderful. That should be enough.

Because I see my preschoolers. And sometimes they act out to get my attention. And I'm like, "Kid, I love you. I am crazy about you. You don't have to get my attention. I see you. I love you. I love you for all the amazing things you are, even if I don't always like what you do. You don't have to fight to get me to see you."

I know that's God's response when I sin to get His attention. Because if I'm honest with myself, that's the reason I sin sometimes, to seek validation from Him.

But this idolatrous sin isn't like that. I'm not seeking His attention, but others. And that in itself isn't sinful. In fact, I firmly believe that sharing stuff about me, about my struggle, about who I am in light of God's grace, these are things God wants me to share. But when I'm met with rejection, even rejection disguised as encouragement, it still hurts. It hurts so much that I've been ignored because someone doesn't understand, and didn't respect me enough to realize I might just know a little bit about what I'm talking about.  And that pain bleeds over into everything. It hurts so much that suddenly anyone who has a slight disagreement with me over something trivial is, in my mind, personally attacking me and trying to invalidate me. It hurts do much that I'm having panic "episodes" at what should be relaxing events. It hurts do much that I'm just bursting out at the seams, wanting to shout, "Please. Please see me!"

And I know that's so selfish. I also know that's where I am right now.

Satan has just been at me all year. Starting January 1, 2013, seriously, ALL YEAR. And I know he's not going to get me. He knows it, too, but he's a sore loser. And he's going to fight me with everything he has because he knows God is up to something. He doesn't like it.

That's not an excuse, because I'm still responsible for me, but that's what is going on.

And right now the biggest temptation is to run away, not like I did from the party. That was more of a retreat. Right now Satan wants me to run away and go into hiding and lick my wounds and pretend that I really don't have anything worthwhile to say. Because Satan knows I do have something to say, and that really burns his biscuits, and he's throwing opposition at it. The opposition is coming through these arguers, these would-be encouragers who can't truly encourage me because they haven't truly seen me.

And I'm really just so sure that God is going to use even all of this. He is the Redeemer, and my prayer is that this honesty on my part will help people understand or at least appreciate where I'm coming from, open some lines of communication, and help all of us grow together in godliness. Because I'm not running away.

I'm not.

I am sorry for my overreactions. I'm sorry for seeking validation in something other than God. I'm sorry I have trouble communicating and don't say what I need to say. But it will all come bursting out, sooner or later. Usually sooner. I can't keep things in. Never have been able to.

I'm not perfect. I have a lot of things I can work on, a lot of ways God can grow me.

But I won't apologize for being me. I'm odd. I like science fiction. I don't like Jane Austen. I don't like manicures, pedicures, massages, or having car doors opened for me (unless there are no automatic locks). I have a masculine sense of humor. I like flowers, but I don't like getting them. I like pink, but not as much as blue. I don't like expensive things. I bite my nails. I don't like chick flicks. I am often brutally honest. I am awkward and scared of being a grown up. I don't like watching team sports and can't play any. I have panic attacks at parties. I feel guilty when I think I'm inconveniencing someone. I talk to kids and forget to talk to their parents. I apologize too much. I struggle with both giving and receiving grace. And I have a stubborn streak like you wouldn't believe.

Because I'm me. I'm not who I should be all the time, but don't you dare argue with me about who I am. I don't need anyone but God to validate me, but right now if I don't speak the truth, I'm going to explode.

Again.

And let me tell you, I already done did that once tonight, and I don't want to do it again.

His grace is enough. His power is made perfect in my weakness. That's a good thing, people. I'm weak. I'm proud of it, panic "episodes" and all. Because the only boast I can personally claim is a boast in my weakness.

Don't you dare try to take that away.

Impatient Patience

Hope deferred makes the heart sick,
But desire fulfilled is a tree of life.
Proverbs 13:12 NASB

It is perhaps a mark of faith to have the audacity to pray for patience. It is definitely an act of stupidity to pray for patience a second time.

I know that from experience.

Because God rarely, if ever, just offers anyone something as complex as patience on a silver platter. God grows patience in us by giving us situations, often trials, that make us wait.

Despite my stupid requests for patience, I'm still not as patient as I'd like to be. I'm not about to pray for more patience, though. I don't think I'm ready for more painful situations that make me wait. In fact, I still think I'm still dealing with some waiting from the LAST time I prayed for patience. 

Which, for the record, was over ten years ago.

Ah. There. Now you're getting it.

About six or seven years ago, when I was definitely in the midst of a painful waiting period, I said something that made my friends roll their eyes. They thought I was being cute or stupid, but I was serious. I was very serious. And at the time, I couldn't find anyone who could understand what I meant.

This is what I said:

"It's not that I'm impatient; I've just gotten really tired of waiting."

I got some condescending head nods and, "Riiiiight"s in response, and I can understand why. In their experiences, impatience was just an unwillingness to wait. But when someone has been patiently waiting for something for awhile, is hard to persevere.

I couldn't find counsel. I just found people who thought I was being ridiculous-not worthy of being taken seriously. And, you know, that's okay, because even then I realized that being relatively alone in my struggle was part of the ordeal God wanted me to endure.

But in the middle of that waiting, I came up with a cheesy acronym. It helped me through the really hard times, and it has served as a reminder over the years.

W.A.I.T.

Waiting always involves trust.

It's never easy to wait, whatever it is we're waiting for. Whether it's one of my preschoolers waiting for me to give him a cracker or it's me waiting to get some direction career-wise. But if my preschooler knows I love him and want the best for him, then he should trust that I'll give him what he needs. And if I believe God loves me and wants the best for me, then I should trust Him to provide for me.

The thing is, it's one thing for me to say something like that in a blog. Readers can nod their heads and agree that God is good and we should trust Him. Hooray! Everything is wonderful.

Except...sometimes it's not.

Because sometimes saints pray, and results aren't easy or quick to see. Sometimes young women pray for God to bring them a husband and children, children they desperately want and don't feel quite complete without, and yet those women grow old without seeing dreams fulfilled. Sometimes young men pray that temptations will be taken from them, yet they still struggle. Sometimes single moms pray that God will provide jobs and living situations that will give their children some kind of stability, and yet things don't work out. Sometimes beautiful people want to get out and serve others, but their health won't allow them to, even after they have prayed and prayed for healing. Sometimes a mother earnestly prays for salvation for her prodigal child, enduring every act of rebellion with a new crashing wave of pain, and never sees any sign of change.

And the world, even the Christian world, sometimes ESPECIALLY the Christian world, looks at these people and say, "They must be doing something wrong. God must be punishing them," or "They must not have much faith."

Or they just ignore them completely.

The fact is, I know a lot of patient people who have grown tired of being patient. They aren't impatient; they're EXHAUSTED. And a pithy word of "encouragement" isn't going to bring healing. It seems that Christians just want to slap Spiritual band-aids on wounds that require extensive healing.

If a person has been praying, waiting for a fulfilled hope, a healed illness or injury, a solution to a serious problem, then believe me, a platitude or Scripture reference isn't going to do anything but frustrate. The person who has waited doesn't need you to tell him or her to be more patient or trusting or godly or whatever.

He or she needs rest.

And there is only so much that we can do for those who have been waiting. We can fill some practical needs, but we can't fix everything.

Sometimes we think we have to fix everything. So we say things to cheer people up, things that don't work and often have the opposite effect. We try to downplay problems. We try to act like everything will be okay, when we really don't have a clue what the other person is going through.

Honestly, sometimes there just isn't anything we can do. We can just pray. We can just wait. We can just let the person who has been waiting and praying that he or she isn't praying and waiting alone. We can let him or her know it's okay to hurt, it's okay to be angry sometimes, it's okay to even doubt a little.

Because patience is hard, and it's even harder when you have to go through it alone.

Sometimes all people need is a hand to hold in the darkness--not a hand that will lead them, but just to let them know they're not in the darkness alone . You don't have to have all the answers; you just have to be there.

And sometimes when you come beside someone in the darkness, God will show up, too. All the problems might not be solved, deep pain might continue.

But for that moment, there is rest. There is a chance for the waiting person to breathe, to remember in Whom he or she places trust...

And there is strength and grace to wait again.

Be slow to judge, quick to listen, eager to love.

And keep your Spiritual band-aids in your pocket. Chances are, they won't be needed.

Like  one who takes off a garment on a cold day,  or like  vinegar on soda,
Is he who sings songs to a troubled heart.
Proverbs 25:20 NASB

The Things I Won't Let Anyone Steal

"Star Trek V: The Final Frontier" is arguably the worst Star Trek film ever. But what can you expect when William Shatner writes, directs, and portrays a character who boldly goes on a mission to defeat "God"? It really is sad, especially after the epic brilliance of "Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home," in which Leonard Nimoy writes, directs, and portrays a character who knocks out a rude punk bus passenger, masters the use of colorful metaphors, saves the whales AND humanity, and also looks pretty smashing walking the mid-1980s San Francisco streets in a bathrobe. But I digress....

"Star Trek V" was a stinker, but there's a scene in it that I kind of like. In case you haven't seen the flick (you're not missing much), here's some background:

Sybok, Spock's long, lost half-brother has hijacked the Enterprise. He's a Vulcan, but has renounced the logical ways of his people and embraced emotion. His big thing is "sharing pain." He does some kind of psychic Vulcan mind trick to make people relive their most painful experiences, and he pretty much brainwashes people into following his "pain sharing" cult. And then they all go frolic off into the unknown to meet God...but not really. It's actually some kind of alien thing that was using Sybok. Or something. I think.

Honestly, I don't really have a clue what was going on in that movie. And I don't know if Shatner did either. I think Shatner just wanted to beat God. Because he's the Shatner.

But, yeah, Shatner did have a pretty good line in the movie. Sybok had gotten to Bones and Spock, making them "share their pain." But when it was Shatner's...uh...Captain Kirk's turn, he said something deep and brilliant. Because the Shatner wanted him to:

(remember to say it in a Shatner voice)

"You know that pain and guilt can't be taken away with a wave of a magic wand. They're the things we carry with us, the things that make us who we are. If we lose them, we lose ourselves. I don't want my pain taken away! I need my pain!"

Now, I have never met an emotional Vulcan brainwasher with delusions of finding God on a distant planet, but I've met a lot of people who remind me of Sybok. Like Sybok, they think they're doing good things. They think they're helping. But, in an unusual sense of the phrase, they are "identity thieves."

These are good people (as good as any of us can be) with good intentions. They aren't hacking passwords or stealing credit card numbers or illegally obtaining social security numbers.

They are just guilty of getting all up in people's KoolAid without even knowing the flavor.

And I really think these kinds of "identity thieves" are well-intentioned. They meddle because they genuinely care. And that should be acknowledged and even appreciated, but it can't be an excuse for someone to "fix" a friend or his/her problems.

I'm not talking about burden-bearing. Scripture is clear that we are to care about one another and take care of one another. But it's one thing to come alongside someone, listen, and pray, and it's another thing to try to make another person's problems disappear. Especially when one doesn't really know all the details.

And, to make this personal, I've had a lot of people try to fix me without really ever listening to me. So they don't really even know or understand what it is they're trying to fix. And if they did, they would probably realize that it can't be fixed, and doesn't really need to be fixed even if it could be.

I'm an anxious, awkward person. No really. I mean, hello! I started this blog post a with a Star Trek reference. I'm awkward, okay.

Back in middle school, high school, even early college, I would have agreed with anyone who said that I needed to change. I would have agreed that my anxiety in social/unfamiliar situations was the result of me letting fear overcome my faith, of sin. I know I would have agreed with anyone who said that, because I DID agree with people who said that.

But as I've gotten older and slightly more comfortable in my skin, I've come to the pretty clear conclusion that I will NEVER stop being awkward. I'll ALWAYS be uncomfortable, and even to some degree, suppressed in unfamiliar situations.

It's not sinfulness to be socially awkward. And while it's not always desirable, it's part of who I am. It's something about me that is unique and even beautiful. Sometimes it makes life harder, but life isn't supposed to be easy. And if someone tries to tell me, usually in a misguided attempt at encouragement, that I'm not awkward, I will fiercely defend my awkwardness. I won't let people try to steal that.

And I know that seems odd to some people, but I learned a long time ago that I am not a strong person. I don't buy into the "believe in yourself" junk that after school specials tried to feed me for most of my childhood. It sounds so good, and maybe if I wasn't so awkward, I might have less trouble believing it.

But God has made me, and I believe God wants me to be awkward. I believe God wants me to be weak. I believe God wants me to believe in Him and not in myself. I believe God has purposes for my anxiety, for my social awkwardness, and I won't let anyone try to steal those things away from me.

And another thing I won't let people steal is my pain. I'll admit, compared to a lot of people, my life's pain is pretty minimal. But to make a long story short and to not go into details that involve others who might not want their story shared, just know that I got my heart broken. It was a little over 8 years ago. And it involved a lot of other painful details that pretty much make it the saddest part of my life.

But the thing is, it was also the most beautiful part my life.

And I don't share that story much because, well it was a long time ago. People never did like to hear me moan on and on about it. Plus, I've healed enough to where I don't need to talk about it much.

But a few years ago, when the wound was fresher, I did need to talk about it. But there were precious few who would listen, really, really listen.

Most of what I got from people was about a minute of half-hearted listening followed by a five minute sermon about why I should move on and how I deserved "God's best" and about how sinful it was to look in the past and rob myself of future joy.

People, for the most part, wanted to fix me instead of really listening to me. And let me tell you, that is one if the most frustrating things in the world. And it hurts me to see it happen to other people, to see well-meaning "identity thieves" trying to "pain share" without really investing anything more than their uninformed, misguided opinion.

Because sometimes "God's best" doesn't look like what we think it should look like. And sometimes God allows or hearts to be broken because that's part of who He wants us to be. And if anyone, however well-meaning, tries to steal away my heartbroken, rejected identity, I will fiercely defend it.

And that might be hard for some to understand. And quite frankly, I don't care whether people understand or not. Understanding isn't as important as respect.

If I, or someone else, was doing something destructive or not following God, then yes, by all means there should be some intervention. That's not meddling; that's biblical brotherly love.

But here's the thing. The pain I have from being rejected is part of who I am, but it doesn't keep me from reaching out and risking to love others. My anxiety and awkwardness don't keep me from stepping out in faith and trying new things. Nothing that the world deems negative is anything that holds me back.

Fear and faith are going to be a constant struggle. They just are. The pain of rejection is always going to haunt me, threatening to make me shy away from reaching it to others. It just is.

But my weaknesses are not as the world sees them, and maybe other people's weaknesses aren't as you see them.

And what's more is that there is mercy in the struggle.

I serve the God who uses the weak to shame the strong, the foolish to shame the wise, and those that aren't to shame the things that are. 

It's actually a good thing that I am weak, and I WILL boast I'm my weaknesses. For when I am weak, He is strong.

And no one can steal that away.

The Reason for No Fear

Easter is the most important day on the Christian calendar. I guess I've always had things a little confused, because if you asked me what the most important day on the calendar is, I'd always, without hesitation, say CHRISTMAS. And honestly, I've always felt just a little bit guilty about that.

I guess it's because I really like happy endings. Actually, I like amazing endings, and not just happy endings. I like stories that have glorious conclusions, where all the characters are metaphorically (or sometimes even literally) staring off into the sunset, feeling fulfilled. The strife is ending and a new adventure, a seemingly perfect adventure, is beginning.

My favorite Star Wars film is "The Return of the Jedi" because it is a glorious conclusion to the story (for the time being, I am in denial and refuse to acknowledge that more Star Wars films are being made, and when they are made, they probably won't count anyway). My favorite LOTR movie/book is "The Return of the King" because it is a glorious ending, where Frodo sails home into the Gray Havens, and Samwise goes back to his home in the shire with his family. I like glorious conclusions.

So I'm not sure why Easter doesn't seem as amazing as Christmas, since Easter is the glorious conclusion--Jesus states "it is finished," dies, and then defeats death forever. Maybe it's because I'm looking forward into Revelation where Jesus will come again and "the last enemy to be destroyed is death." But I don't think that's it either. I don't really see Christmas, Easter, the Rapture (or whatever you want to call it) as separate stories, as I would different books or movies in popular series. The Bible is made up of a lot of stories, but it is one book--one amazing book about the Holy God, a sinful people, His work to bring them back to Him, and His glorious, eternal reign.

Christmas is my favorite time of year for a lot of reasons, but mainly because it's when God came down to be with us. But that wasn't the beginning, just as Easter wasn't the end. The truth is, there is no beginning and no end to this story.

But today in church we were looking at a passage of Scripture, Matthew 28:1-10. The sermon was good, but sometimes--well, a lot of times--the Holy Spirit has something to say to me that takes a little detour from what the preacher is saying. Today was one of those times.

Because last Christmas, I was really intrigued by what the angels had to say to those they visited. Every time they visited someone, they always said, "Fear not." "Don't be afraid." And when I was younger, I thought they were just saying that because, hey, angels are probably pretty scary. If you read a Biblical description of an angel, they don't look like naked babies or beautiful ladies with feathery wings. They look, well, pretty freaky, with seventeen bazgillion eyes and lots of wings and flaming swords and such. Sometimes they're described as looking like men, but even then, their appearance is probably enough to cause fear. So I think that part of the reasons why the angels started their discourse with "don't be afraid" was probably because they were frightening.

But last Christmas, as I was reading, I discovered that every time the angels said "Fear not" to someone in the Christmas story, they always gave a reason why there should be no fear. To Mary, Gabriel said, "Do not be afraid, Mary; FOR you have found favor with God. And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall name Him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High; and the Lord God will give Him the throne of His father David; and He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and His kingdom will have no end."

To Joseph, the angel said, "Don't be afraid to take Mary as your wife, FOR the Child who has been conceived in her is of the Holy Spirit. She will bear a Son; and you shall call His name Jesus, for He will save His people from their sins."

To the shepherds, the angel said, "Do not be afraid, FOR behold, I bring you good news of great joy which will be for all the people; FOR today in the city of David there has been born for you a Savior who is Christ the Lord."

And then today while reading the Scripture from Matthew 28, I noticed something. The women, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary, went to the tomb where Jesus had been placed after his death. But instead of finding Jesus, the women found an angel sitting on the stone that had been rolled away. The guards had fainted. The women and the angel were alone. And the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid, FOR I know you are looking for Jesus who has been crucified. He is not here, for He has risen just as He said."

The angel also told the women to go and tell the disciples what they had witnessed. Scripture states that they left the tomb with both fear and joy. And I imagine that they were just shaking all over, so excited, so amazed, so in awe of the greatest news that they had ever heard or would ever hear, so overcome that they couldn't have kept it to themselves, even if they had wanted to.

And I imagine the shepherds were also shaking all over, trembling with both fear and joy, as they rushed from their pastures and ran to go find the Savior of which the angels had spoken. It was the greatest news they had ever heard or would ever hear. And they were glorifying and praising God, unable to keep it to themselves, even if they had wanted to. I somehow doubt it really was that much of a silent night.

Because with all the reasons the angels gave to have no fear, all of those reasons were really ever pointing back to one thing: Jesus had come. There was a Savior. The Savior was God Himself, come to redeem sinful man back to Himself. Because the story of Easter, the story of Christmas, the story of EVERYTHING is that God is Holy, man is sinful, and the only thing that ever could save us from God's judgment and wrath is God's mercy and love.

We should be afraid. We are all sinners, all rebels. We've rejected God and lived to please ourselves. By breaking part of the Law, we've broken all of it, and there should be no hope for us. But the angels gave us the answer. "FEAR NOT!" We don't have to be afraid. Jesus came so we wouldn't have to be afraid.

And that frees us up to live, really live for God's glory. Satan is crafty with those half-truths, and I think a lot of people miss the reason why God redeems us, and I fear by missing part of the story, they miss all of it. God redeems us because He loves us. So many people want to end that sentence with a period, but there really should be a comma. God redeems us because He loves us, and so that we can live lives that proclaim His glory.

When we live lives that proclaim His glory, we are who He created us to be. We are benefited, oh yes, we are definitely benefited. But more importantly, most importantly, the God who is worthy of all glory is greatly glorified.

The story doesn't end because He's the One writing it. The work of Redemption is finished, but the One who Redeemed is alive! Jesus, God in flesh, came down, died, and rose again.

Jesus. He is why we don't have to be afraid.

Happy Easter!

Don't Call Them Babies

One of my biggest pet peeves is when someone refers to my preschool class as "The Baby Room," "The Baby Class," or simply just "The Babies."

I teach the youngest group of children in my preschool, the one-year-old class. Since we are quickly approaching the end of the school year, the majority of my students are already two. A few of them only missed the age cutoff by a few weeks, which means the two-year-old classes contain some children who are only a few weeks older than some of my kids. But even if all of my children were still one-year-olds, they would not be babies.

I understand that my kids aren't able to do the things the older classes are able to do. I definitely get that they have limitations, but I also don't underestimate them. They aren't babies.

The problem is, a lot of people don't really understand the difference between infants and toddlers. One-year-olds are in an ambiguous stage of life, as it's hard to tell when the baby stage ends and the toddler stage begins. The easiest way to tell? Does the child walk (toddle)? Voila! Most likely, the child is a toddler. Sometimes you do have toddlers that aren't quite toddling yet, and sometimes you get babies that can toddle, but who aren't yet on the same developmental level as a toddler. Kids learn to walk at different ages. Some are early walkers, and some, like me, wait until they're nearly a year and a half before being brave enough to try the toddling thing. But the toddler age starts at one, not two, as some people seem to think.

And there are other things that toddlers do that distinguish them from babies. Toddlers eat more solid foods. Aside from choking hazards, toddlers can eat just about anything a grown up can eat. They have most of their baby teeth. They aren't living just on milk and baby food.

Older one-year-olds (sometimes younger ones, too, especially if they have older ones to emulate) are just beginning to grasp the idea that there are other people who matter in the universe (besides self). They enjoy playing alongside and even WITH other children. They start to develop compassion and kindness, as well as a sense of independence and (in a lot of cases) stubbornness. They aren't babies anymore. Their personalities are starting to form.

They are also learning like CRAZY. They are learning new vocabulary and grammar moment by moment. They are putting the code of language together by using two or more words in a sentence to communicate. They are building on previous knowledge and actually beginning to use basic logic. They're labeling everything in their world, including each other  :-). The main reason one-year-olds are my favorites is because they are SO fascinated by everything. The whole world is new and wondrous to them, and they are old enough start exploring. I like seeing everything through their eyes. I like experiencing the excitement they sense at encountering our amazing world.

There aren't babies at preschool because, while babies can definitely learn, babies don't belong in a preschool learning environment. We have lessons. We have crafts. We have music. We have structure. And while I strive to make everything on their level, I also have pretty clear expectations for my students. They aren't babies. They know how I expect them to behave at school, and they know there are consequences if they fail to meet (or raise, which does happen a lot) my expectations. Babies can't do that. But, then, my class isn't for babies.

Now, I can completely understand if someone is trying to help their older child understand why he or she needs to be more gentle or gracious with younger children. Children can understand "baby" better than "toddler" or "younger child." By all means, if you need to call my kids "babies" to help an older child understand that my kids are younger, go for it. I also understand that people have pet names for their kids, or that they have trouble realizing their baby is growing up. I don't have problems with that. Call your own kid "baby" all you want, as long as you're letting him or her move forward developmentally. In fact, sometimes I call older kids, "babe," but not in any way where I'm demeaning them or their abilities.

But don't let me catch you calling my preschool class "The Babies." They are a smart, confident group of kiddos with distinct (and adorable) personalities. I have a lot of love AND respect for the students in my preschool class, and I'm just as blessed as can be for the privilege of being their teacher.

So please, don't call them babies!

Expectant

I don't like being cold. I used to be hot-natured, back when I was a kid, back before I lost weight. I used to think that being cold was better than being hot, because I could always put on more layers. But then one day I felt the cold, and it bit down into me, soaked through my skin, seeped down into my bones. It wanted to freeze me, to take all my heat until I was as cold as it was, to make me like it was. A sweater couldn't banish it. All I could do is huddle up underneath my blankets and hide from it, until the ferocious beast of cold gave up. For a while.

I'm sitting here at the last edge of winter. The sky is pale and white, as if snow decided to cover the blue instead of the green. The trees are still, but not completely. They are ever so gently swaying.

It's an expectant sort of day.

It seems as if all creation is holding its breath, as if to say, "Spring is coming. Life is coming. Renewal is coming. Wait. Wait. Wait. Be ready. Wait. The time to grow, the time to move is coming. Wait."

And I'm sitting here with a blanket, but not completely covered. I'm letting the cold wash over me, allowing it to chill me, but not to freeze me. I want to burst forth into spring, but it's not quite time. Wait. Wait. Winter is still here, but it's fading. It chills, but it can't freeze. It knows its time is nearly over. It knows it can't keep its hold on life.

But for now, I welcome the chill, if only until the end of the season. I let it remind me of times when I was nearly frozen.

But I couldn't let it freeze me. Not when there us so much warmth, so much life.

Jesus died when he was thirty-three. When this entry is posted, I will also be thirty-three. When Jesus was thirty-three, he completed all his earthly work and ministry. Me? I'm vacuuming carpets and watching whiny kids for slightly more than minimum wage, while Kermit the Frog sings "Rainbow Connection" on the TV in the movie center at the drop in center. And I remember being a kid and singing along with Kermit, wondering "what's so amazing that keeps us stargazing, and what do we think we might see?" And I was once a dreamer. And here I am, thirty-three years old and still waiting for those dreams to come true.

And when the icy winter wind blows, it seems to say, "Your dreams won't come true. You will never get away from mediocrity." I want to huddle under the blankets and hide from the cold reality of a cold, cold world that has no use for dreamers. It has little use for those who hope.

But the winter wind can only blow in its season. And the wind is about to change. And if I'm hiding under my blankets, I might miss it. The bare trees aren't hiding. The pale sky isn't hiding. They are watching.

I'm setting aside the desire to shy away from winter's last efforts to freeze.

It is an expectant sort of day.

The spring is coming.
It's almost time to move.
It's almost time to grow.
Be ready.
Be watchful.
Be expectant.
Wait.
Wait.

Wait.

Not Enough: The Half Truth and The Whole

So, my blog life has been strangely silent. I have no apologies, but maybe an explanation is in order. Here goes.

I have been mildly depressed since, oh, about New Year's Day. I remember having a day off for the holiday. I was home alone. I felt sick (because this cute little brown eyed blonde girl infected me with a cold that turned into a beast of a sinus infection). I had only been back home a couple of days after spending time with my family. I was feeling lonely, which is not too normal for me. And it hit me that I didn't feel like doing anything besides sleep.

And I'm still kind of in that place. I'm not sad. I'm taking care of myself. I'm going to work and spending time with friends and just generally loving life.  But when I get home at the end of the day, I don't want to do anything.

I do think a lot of my problem has to do with the winter. It's cold. I get home and get cold and just want to lie down. My depression isn't a sad sort of depression. It's an apathetic depression, which might be worse.

And on top of that, I've been super sensitive. An innocent comment can turn me into an emotional wreck. If I even think that someone might possibly disapprove of me or of what I do, it makes me paranoid and defensive. If I fail, I'm super critical of myself. And I've really had to fight against that sort of mindset lately.

And then one day, maybe a few weeks ago, it hit me what was really going on. There's a lot of good stuff going on right now. God's been teaching me more about what it means to be burdened for others. God has been working in me and through me in lots of little ways. I've got a fundraising 15 mile run lined up for April. The funds are going towards an overseas mission trip, which I'm excited, honored, and completely terrified to be a part of. I'm terrified because I'm pretty sure the things I'll be doing on the trip will be things I never thought I'd do before--like public speaking and teaching and...stuff. But God's showing me that there's things He has for me that are so beyond my expectations of myself. ...I mean, there was a time when I thought I was bad with kids...lol. Who knows what other ways I could be wrong about myself? Bottom line, God's got some big stuff to do in me and through me.

And Satan doesn't like it. And Satan has been throwing his best stuff at me. He's hitting me in my insecurities. He's throwing apathy at me. He's trying to make me sin by not trusting, by disobeying, by looking for fulfillment in things besides God. I'm not just saying "The devil made me do it." I'm at fault for my own sin. But I'm not blind to the fact that Satan is trying to keep me out of what God is doing. Which must mean that something awesome is about to happen.

Satan is a sore loser.

I'm learning right now that one of Satan's favorite tactics is the half truth. He loves them. In fact, I think a lot of people are going to go to hell because they believe half truths.  People believe God is loving, and He is, but they fail to see that He is also holy. People believe that God is good, and He is, but they fail to see that He is also just. People believe that we're supposed to love our neighbor, but neglect to understand that love doesn't mean you stand idly by while people sin. And these are crafty little half truths that keep us from the whole truth that will set us free. Satan's been using them for a long time. In the garden of Eden he asked Eve, "Did God really say you can't eat any fruit? You won't die if you eat it. You'll have knowledge. You'll be like God." ...he told part of the truth while blatantly lying about the rest. "Did God really say...?" That's how he works.

And lately Satan has told me many half truths. "You're not enough. You can't help your friends who are hurting. You can't bear their pain. You can't heal their wounds. You make too many mistakes. You fuss at kids. You don't teach your preschool class as well as you should. You don't teach your Sunday school class well. You are awkward. You can't do anything right. You have hangups about a lot of things. People don't understand you. You're backwards. You waste time. You sin. You pursue things besides God. You fail. You mess up. You aren't worthy of grace. You. Are. Not. Enough."

Satan said, and is still saying, all those things to me. And it's easy to listen because, well, he's right. The things Satan sometimes tells us are true, but not the whole truth.

I'm not enough. That is undeniably true. But the whole truth is, God IS enough. Through my sin, through my failures, through my weakness, HE IS GOD. And nothing can separate me from His love. If I run away, even if I could run fast, He's fast enough to catch me.  Even if I fail, He is powerful enough to redeem. Even if I rise on the wings of the dawn or settle on the far side of the sea, even there His hand will guide me, and His right hand will hold me fast.

Satan tells me a lot of half truths. He tells me I'm not enough. But I know the whole truth, and it does set me free. The truth is, I don't have to be enough, because God is enough.

And Satan is going to keep throwing his best stuff at me. Some days will be better than others. But the battle for me has already been won. If Satan is after me, well, so is God. And He's stronger, and He's smarter, and He knows me perfectly. And still loves me. You're right, Satan. I'm not worthy. But God's worth confounds my worthlessness. His love conquered death. That power is at work in me.

I'm going to get through this rough time. Hopefully spring will help chase away the blahs, or maybe I'll just have to wait for a more figurative spring. Either way, I'm thankful for even this season. The daffodils are blooming even in the ice and cold and snow. By His grace, I think I am too.