Bucket List Lesson Number Two

Last night I took the plunge and started taekwondo class, which is number five on my bucket list. Along with my friend and fellow taekwondo mom, we stretched and kicked and punched (and moaned and giggled), but as promised by the instructor, we managed to get through the class and even enjoyed ourselves.

Because I am horribly uncoordinated, I decided I'd better practice what I remembered of the moves this afternoon. When Elijah came home from school, I said, "Hey, does this right knife hand strike look okay?"

His response was honest: "Yeah, it looks good, but you need to work on not letting your muscles wobble so much."

After a little laughter and a few more strikes, I let that sink in a little. And it stung.

I have been lifting weights most of the summer, and I can verify that I'm a lot stronger than I was in the spring. I'll even show you my biceps if you ask, but my daughter will roll her eyes in embarrassment. The problem? That nasty stuff that lingers. (Men readers, please don't tune out now. I do have a point.)

My first response was laughter, yet that self-doubt that plagues me (and you too, I bet) whispered that I'm no better. I'm wasting my time. This is all just a joke.

Yet I know this is not the truth. I know I'm worth more than my level of physical fitness or how smart I am or how much money is currently in my checking account.

A poem that I had hanging on my desk in my college dorm room came floating back into my consciousness, and that good old Trumbull (and Van De Stroet) stubbornness sunk in once again.

I am not a quitter. I am a victor. I am not a victim. I am an overcomer.

We are constantly barraged with the lies we choose to tell ourselves about our self worth, but you and I? We're priceless. We've been paid for, lifted up, and redeemed by grace.

And that means that a mistake that you've made at work, a poor decision you've made in a relationship, or something as silly as a little old wobble under my (nicely developing) biceps should never stall us. Together, let's agree to just keep pressing on.

Setting Me Right

Sometimes when I can't sleep in the middle of the night, I play Solitaire on my iPad, and this morning  I discovered this setting:

What? After all the losing games I've had over the past years, I could have simply slid this lever over and assigned myself all winning games? On one hand, that would have relieved a lot of frustration for me. Instead of getting to that place where it seems I have nothing left to try, I could hit Undo or Start this game over and be guaranteed a win.

While we're at it, I'd really just like to have one of these handy little levers for my life. This is where my all winning situations lever would be rather handy:


1. Arguments with my husband. I promise we don't argue that much, but when we do, I'm a little put off by those moments when this thought crosses my mind: maybe I'm a little crabby. Even worse is when he says something that is logical to my emotional or when he doesn't argue back and I'm itching for a challenge. My all winning situations lever would help him to argue enough but not well. I would always be right.

2. When someone needs my help but I don't want to. My lever will let me have a busy calendar or an apt excuse on the tip of my tongue. Handy.

3. Self-control. I will no longer struggle with overeating or lack of motivation for exercise.

4. Those tough times when it's my job to correct someone and he really doesn't want to hear it. Whether in my role as a teacher, parent, or editor, I've always (okay—usually) tried to be tactful and kind, but with this lever, I can be blunt and pointed (funny how those words mean the same thing, right?) without worrying about feelings. That would save so much time and effort.

Really, though, sometimes I do long for a life like this, for every situation to be winnable, to have the skill, finesse, and persistence to pull off every challenge. Still, it seems there's something rather prideful in my quest to be right, to win every. single. time.

I have a God who knows what I need and when I need it, and it isn't always through winning. In fact, my sometimes losing personal setting means that I must admit I'm irritable and impatient and imperfect. It exposes my selfish motivations.

God really isn't up in heaven looking down on me and flipping a win/lose switch. He isn't saying, "She's lost three times in a row. Think I'll give her a win before she quits."

Through the Holy Spirit, God is here with me—and you if you've invited Him in. Instead of giving us situations we can always win, he has us set on Always Improvable. He sees us as we can be, not as our current selves, and that should give us a measure of His peace. It's our role, then, to accept correction and redirection and understand that if God is doing the remodeling of our hearts, then we will all win...through grace alone.

A Sponsorship Story

When we were in Ethiopia, we elected to stay at the Morning Coffee Guest House for a couple of reasons. First, there we would get more insight into Ethiopian culture, and second, because we read that the owners give away 30% of their guest house income.

The main reason we'll be staying there on our next trip isn't because of the great hospitality of the owners, the satisfying meals, or even the wonderful guests we met on our first trip (and hope to see on our second). The biggest reason we'll be staying there the second time is all about life story and missional focus.

Why I Won't Promote Adoption

Here we are, only a few weeks from picking up our two beautiful children Tadesse and Biruk from their orphanage in Addis Ababa. Some friends are excited to ask me all sorts of questions, but some hang back, likely afraid that I'll corner them into adopting for themselves.

But I won't. Because I'm not like that. Instead, I'm going to tell you why you shouldn't.

Living ...with Style

I have an odd—maybe vain—habit. When I've practiced a piano number to almost error free (See my previous post about that), I record myself to listen for inappropriate pauses, tempo changes, and my muttered frustration at mistakes. Then I work to fix those areas.

Today when listening to Lorie Line, who wrote most of the music I'm attempting to play, I didn't hear her correct notes. I heard her style. Her playing didn't resemble piano key-plunking as mine often does. Her rhythm didn't seem tiresome and rigid. It flowed. And her dynamics? Well, let's just say that I pretend mine are always mezzo forte, and something is lost in my interpretation.

What To Say (and What Not) To Your Friends Who Are Adopting

Note: This post is a work in progress. I'm posting it now because I want input from other adoptive parents and because I know it will never be complete.

Since I've begun this adoption process, I've learned a lot about people's misconceptions. At first when reading the blogs of adoptive parents, I thought they were overly sensitive. Now I'm just beginning to understand. I just keep trying to remind myself that people are not trying to be offensive, that they just are a little naive about the process.

So voila—this post describing the right and not-so-right things to say to adoptive parents. This post is for those of you who may find the subject of adoption awkward.

Here and There

My week in Ethiopia has given me much to be thankful about, namely

1. Tap water with pressure. Every day in America—and sometimes twice a day—I am relieved to step in to a steaming shower with water so pressurized that it feels like a massage. We don't recognize that many of the world's people lack clean drinking water, and I saw countless people hauling water who didn't have running water in the house. That's a daily chore in the rural areas of Ethiopia.

2. Toilet paper and sewer systems. Enough said.

Sleepwalking

This is what I woke up to this morning. A Mario Kart top bed sheet, crumpled and thrown down the stairs. I stared at it a moment, thinking, What in the world? before laughing at the thought of Elijah in his late-night sleepwalking, feeling the urge to hurl this unruly, untucked bed sheet downward into our living room.

We had awakened to light rap, rap, rapping (Sorry--English teacher inside joke) on our chamber/bedroom door to find Elijah sitting outside, mumbling gibberish. This has become a frequent spectacle at our home. (Kaylee has caught him on video, but I'm not quite mean enough to post that on my blog.)

His sleepwalking fog reminds me of what I consider one of the most confusing passages of the New Testament, Romans 7: 14-20:

Meet My New Friends

I have always had a label for people who habitually do tasks the same way or at the same time every day or every week. I would call them rigid. Controlling. Boring. Now because of my very judgmental assessment of these people, you could call me spontaneous, stubborn, and unstructured. You could say that I'm a person of poor habits. All of those would be correct.

I've been trying to become a little less so.

Readers, meet my new friends Coffee and Weights. New friends, meet my readers.

Some of you may have seen me lamenting on social media about my new friends. They are tiresome and bitter, but I still long to be close to them.

Waking Up

Last night the last thing I said to my husband was, "I'm really tired, so don't wake me up in the morning. I'm going to sleep in." Translation: "I want to think I'm going to sleep in. I'll probably be up at 6:00."

Sure enough, at 4:30 a.m. this morning, my eyes popped awake. (When I wake up, I wake up. No groggy stuff. Groggy hits at 3:00 p.m.) After a few moments of stumbling around in the darkness to get dressed, I slid open our squeaky deck screen to step outside and enjoy the sunrise (yes, I had to wait a bit).