Nailing it Down

Once an older mother told me that the secret to being a happy housewife is to learn to be happy in the home. Ugh. I have so tried this. I still would much rather be at the library, the park, the sundial bridge, or wherever else is not at home. I won’t attempt to explain this, although I have some ideas, but it is what it is. Being at the park also lets me people watch, or judge, I guess. But I don’t usually know these people that I’m watching on so I’m not condemning them or anything, just thinking to myself, Glad my kids don’t do that..

I batter myself as a mother often, but the truth is, I have really good kids. Arriving to the park, I saw countless children run into a street. I was really shocked over this. When I arrived at the park, I looked at my kids and said, “No going in the street,” and that was that. There are many issues that I struggle with in parenting. Too many to list, actually. There are "things" however, that I nail down early. Right away, no exceptions. One of those things is running in the road. If I see my child run out in the road, they better say they’re prayers. Another thing that I talk to them about almost every day is how to behave around creepy people. I know it’s sad that we have to go there. But in this world, you do. So if we go to the park, or play in the front yard, we have the talk. In fact, several weeks ago at the park a family with multiple children walked by, and Jake SCREAMED as loud as he could. He was like inches from me and I jumped, “What?! What happened?” Jake said, “I didn’t know them.” Well, maybe I’ve taken it too far! We also are pretty serious about how the kids treat people. My pet peeve is when a sweet old lady says hello to Sonora, and she buries her head in my leg. She’s young, and now I’m training her to look into people’s eyes and smile. She won’t get in trouble for being bashful. But we are all learning to stand straight, smile, and look at people in the eyes. Treating people like they are important follows us into the home. I respect that sometimes my kids need time to themselves to develop their own interests. For the most part though, I brainwash them, “Jake, Sonora is your best friend.“ And vice versa. It’s a nailed down item. Around here, we enjoy one another.

I had a conversation with a friend recently about what kinds of things we nail down. Afterwards, I was driving and it kind of struck me that I need this sort of thing in my own life. I really appreciate this about myself as a mom, that I give my kids these certain parameters they know not to cross.  I felt like the Lord was asking me what kinds of things I’ve nailed down in my own life. Like, the “no matters whats” and I realized I didn’t have many. And when they did exist, they were pretty religious and not rooted very deeply in my heart. For example, “I will love God no matter what.” But I felt Him pressing me, “Why is this important?”
Then came the “uhhh…hmmm, huh.” You know.

I wasn’t really sure what I had nailed down. “Because I want to please you?” I answered. I had the verse, “Well done, good and faithful servant,” floating in my head and I told God that is what I wanted. That’s why I serve him, so I can hear that.

       Really? Apparently that is the best I’ve got.

Then I heard the Holy Spirit, “What if I will already say that? Then, what?”
I was flattered, of course, but it did feel like a rug was taken out from under me. That was like my big answer. I was proud of that one! I did try again. “Because you forgave me. I don’t carry shame anymore. You sent your son to die for me. I have grace. I am redeemed.” More rehearsed Sunday school stuff. Lots of stammering. This kind of rolls back into the parenting thing, because on a day to day basis I really struggle with embracing my God-given identity. I am not happy with myself, or the job I’m doing as a woman or a mother. The Lord knows everything, so it can be really difficult to offer Him rehearsed word vomit. I wasn’t really surprised that He was “surprised” that I loved Him and served Him based on something that I consistently refused to receive or walk in.
“You love me because I made you new? Hmm. You don’t live like you’re new.”
 
         You see, He knows everything. So here I am, with all the right things in my life nailed down, except the biggest thing of all: why I choose to serve God. I’m living in the hugest revival culture in America and sitting in my backyard, I couldn’t remember why I chose to believe.

I know that He knows that my love for Him is real. Authentic. All-consuming. But, why?
 
        I still didn’t get it nailed down, honestly. The question left me with my mouth hanging open. I had a quick vision of Father God just shaking my shoulders as I sat dumbfounded, only He was laughing and saying, “Summer, rest. I love you.”  I tend to obsess over anything that may evade me.

Having things nailed down is such a wonderfully safe place to be. My kids know when they get out of the car, they wait next to it. I know if I take a few minutes to get the baby, my kids won’t barrel out in the street. The Lord is stirring this in me because He is calling me into a place of trust and safety in him. A place where I need to know what I think, and why I think it. The answer can’t be “because He saved me,” or whatever. In fact, one thing that He has continuously shown me is this picture of me finger painting a canvas that is a black and white tree. My fingertips have color, and I get to design it. It’s like, only I can bring a unique glory that is His and mine. Only me. This is a personal thing now. When I am nailing this “thing” down, I want you to know that the reason it is taking me so long to figure out is because the answer is nestled so deep in my heart, and in His that I’m having to dig a bit. And also because the farther I go into that place, there really isn’t language. That’s ok. I’m happy to not have a language for it, or even a feeling, though the closest I can up with are trust, love, deep, real, satisfying, complete, eternity, well, joy, fun-- pitiful as they are in comparison.

That’s been my journey as of late. I also really struggled with whether or not should “soak” with the Lord for a bit or blog. I read a biography of Karen Kingsbury lately where she said writing was her time with God. So, here is a glimpse into my quiet time for today.

Maybe I should do an activation activity here? Take some time asking yourself what is nailed down in your life.

Some of my others are learning to love people (and doing it), serving my husband and children with a willing and grateful heart, and I hate ants in my kitchen. So, there ya go.

A Lesson from my Father

      I am sick. Disgusting-stomach-bug-sick. Don’t come to my house without hand-sanitizer. To make matters worse, my husband threatened to take me to the hospital today if I don’t “rest.” What is rest, anyway? I think I’ve forgotten. Apparently I am out of practice. So today and yesterday, though my husband prodded me, I only managed to take one nap. But have YOU ever tried to nap with two children running up and down the hall? Let me help you. Imagine the Rose Parade with a broken record {you can insert Paul’s voice here} in the background resounding, “Stop it, children. None of that children. Be quiet, mommy is sleeping, children.” That’s what nap time is to me, so forgive me for not “resting.”
I have not had coffee once today, NOT ONCE. I am waiting for Redding to ice over in this very second. Not that Redding is hell, obviously. It’s just a hot place. I crafted an original analogy apart from the original just to prove to my reader that JUST BECAUSE I don’t have caffeine does NOT mean my mind is mush. No, Siree. I can do this. I need to think a little today. Never mind that I keep succumbing to caffeine-binge induced narcolepsy and plowing my head into the keyboard rfgsdfgrtgsrhrthrjfoikujhgfddhgdjkljghfdfgfrtghtuyjukukukukukbfgf….errrrr, sorry.

Bad joke, I know.

Tomorrow is Father’s Day. I wanted to entitle this blog, and I may still, “Things my Father Taught Me,” and then blow you all away with my sardonic bitterness. Here's a sampling: NOTHING, he taught me NOTHING because he was never there and if I am honest, I do not know him one bit. I have a couple things I’ve conjured up in my head out of the heart’s necessity to attach something to the guy, but I can tell you only a couple of things. He liked to write (Thanks for that insight, Mom!), he played music like a dream (Thanks, Grandma!), and apparently he liked to eat liver mush (Thanks to his parents I’ve met twice in my life!). I have actually, mostly, come to terms with not knowing my dad. He died when I was 17, and now I’ll never know him. When I get to Heaven, I will, but let’s face it: All of  you who have lost someone dear, does that little over-stated one liner ever bring you comfort? It doesn’t to me, because I’m selfish. Having him here now would be nice, thank you.

I’m in a weird mood tonight. Probably because I despise being sick. And for as long as I can remember, I have despised Father’s Day. Not that father’s shouldn’t get a day to be celebrated for all of  their sacrifices, but why do I have to share in it? I really don’t want to. Usually I celebrate the country’s momentous day with lots of cake and bitterness. “Eat Brownies and Cry Day.”

Now I am married and I am forced into the occasion. It’s not hard for me though because I am married to a really great father. This may sound a little creepy, but I have often found myself trying to get a father’s blessing from my husband. I mean, why not? He’s a good man, he loves me, and he‘s a great dad. It’s not really his role in my life, but sometimes it’s just too easy. I hear the desperation in my voice, a quivering sentence wrought with  neediness, “When I sang Jesus Loves Me to the kids tonight, did I sound like a drunk caveman, or were you proud that I was yours?” [That exact example has never happened. Duh. I would never compare myself to a drunk caveman]. It’s like I can’t help it, though. I just have to know, “Am I enough?” From what I’ve read, in all of the orphan literature I’ve acquired over the years, it’s pretty normal how I feel. Because women need to know, from a man, that they are precious in every way. There have been plenty of convincing stand ins, ones that I love dearly. But you can never underestimate the real thing. Trust me.

So when I say that my Dad taught me nothing, it’s not really true. He taught me what a divine privilege it is to have a father. Because no matter how much self-induced inner healing I drag my heart into, the fact that I love Father God and feel whole and loved in His sight does not change the fact that this fatherless thing hurts. Especially on Father’s Day, when the red carpet is rolled out to the father’s that stuck around and invested time in their little angels, and my dad is not welcome there. And I wouldn’t invite him.

           By the way, I feel like I am being a little unfair to Stephen, here. That’s my dad. He lived a life of misfortune and despair, forced into foster care, and adopted by a loving family that probably arrived a little late to the scene. He turned to drugs to fill his void, and it was this substitute for living life that swallowed his up. I have forgiven Stephen, honestly. I do love him, and I don't take lightly that one day he and I will get to know one another in Heaven. Eat Brownies an…I mean, Father’s Day should be good tomorrow.

It’ll be good because I get to celebrate with my kids, and celebrate their dad. I celebrate Paul, first, and then, redemption. That though I never knew what it was like to have a father stroke my brow and call me his favorite princess, Sonora receives that treatment every day. And Jake tells me that soon he will be “big like Daddy.” There is a lot of favor for the fatherless in the Bible, and I can feel it. Part of what has helped me heal is that I married a family man. I have Paul. We get to give him a gift tomorrow, make him a dessert (well, that depends how I’m feeling. Now, a stove by the toilet would be convenient…), and tell him what he means to us. And I hope he knows that when I thank him from the bottom of my heart, and when I tell him that our family wouldn’t be the same without him-I wouldn’t be the same without him, I know. I do not underestimate for a second the value of a good daddy. Oh, and I am so grateful.

Paul, you are amazing. Thank you all that you do for our children, how tirelessly you work that they would one day look back and see your fingerprints smeared all over their childhood, from top to bottom. A glorious, irrevocable mess of memories that they will treasure for the rest of their lives. You are the father I always dreamed of having for myself, and for my children. Of course, you know your role in their lives well, and in mine. But I am grateful for the occasional pat on the back, slap on the knee while we're riding down the road, and the declarations you whisper over the sad little girl that surfaces in me from time to time, “I am proud of  you, keep dreaming.” You have always pointed me to my real Father’s heart, which has aided in healing my own. I love you.

--I have to add, though this is an addendum to the original, that I have Dave. That is my step-dad. He and my mom married when I was in 5th grade I believe, and were together even years before. Earlier I used the term "convincing stand-ins" and I meant Dave as one of them. He was a great father figure to me and I meant no offense in leaving him out. Some of the things I have found myself "jealous" for--can I be honest? I am jealous. I am jealous that some girls my age still call their daddies to chat. They go on dates together, just them. Dave and I don't have that sort of relationship, but that doesn't mean we won't ever. When a girl's daddy runs out, it takes a lot to build trust. It takes a lot to bring walls down. A lot. My husband is still working on it. Dave has been carefully building a foundation of trust since he married my mom many years ago. He has never been late for picking me up from school, he has continuously picked up my slack when I would forget permission slips, lunches, and backpacks. He took me to school every morning for nearly 10 years. He scraped ice off my windshields after icy nights when I'd have to get to work the next morning, but not before warming my car up. He took me to work and school when it was storming or icy out so I wouldn't drive in bad conditions. For the last two years in particular I have been kind of hounding myself over my relationship with Dave, because I love him and I have almost felt ready to call him "Dad." It's the truth. I just feel like it would be unfair for me to die and never have gotten to use that word on somebody, particularly someone who deserves it. I feel like he does. But I am on a journey of putting away the hurt I've felt from my own dad, and in that process, allowing myself to get closer to Dave in a way that is beyond step-parent. I am sure  many of you protested to me on behalf of my mom, who may have been offended that I left Dave out. Yes, he was part of the redemption in my life. He definitely was. But I think Dave has understood this process I am in, and has been patient and kind all along. He has never asked more from me than I can give. Right now, and even then, he would have always been willing to be my "daddy."  But I would not have it. Not until I made my dad serve penance for what he did to my heart by leaving. Dave and I are on a journey, and I am grateful that he understands that.  I look forward to knowing Dave more deeply as I age, and as the Lord heals my heart. That is what I want. Something deep, personal, and lasting.--

The greatest beauty of it all is that if you were to ask Paul why and how he has become a good father (Ok, honestly, a FANTASTIC father) he would tell you it was because he had one who showed him the way. It’s God’s design, everyone. God’s beautiful design.

Paul and Jake, Father's Day 2011

Daddy and his wild thang princess (I fought for that nickname, but Sonora has taken it fair)

The only existing picture I have of Daddy and Cori, who is the 3rd child, if you couldn't guess that by the fact that the only picture I have of her and daddy is at birth. 

One of the worst sick days of our lives. All three of these guys running fevers in a house with no electricity. Daddy shines really bright in tough situations...I think we'll keep him!

And just to discredit my unnecessary sarcasm, one day Stephen and I will meet in Heaven and it will be glorious. He'll play guitar for me, and we'll worship God together. It will definitely make up for all the Father's Day[s] he has missed!