Book Review: The Same Kind Of Different As Me
It took a while to decide which book to take to Maui. It was a big decision! I love taking one–and only one–book on a trip and reading the whole thing start to finish. Then, the same way that music or smells “take you back”, that book then “takes me back” to that place, creates a theme of the trip, engulfs me in its story for the duration of the trip. And, because I tend to fall headlong into a story and have trouble crawling out of it into daily life, vacation is the perfect time to read a story or novel. I can sink down into it and not stress about the laundry remaining undone. I can live temporarily in its pages during vacation but then return from the physical and virtual journey at the same time.
So this time I took The Same Kind of Different As Me. It was a journey to be sure. I traveled from the dusty fields of a Louisiana cotton plantation in the 1960s to the 2005 Presidential inauguration. I silently wept in my airline seat while my kids watched VeggieTales at my side. I lay awake at night in our hotel and thought about my life, the gospel, the lost. I was convicted and challenged, encouraged and inspired.
The book is the true story of Denver Moore, a black homeless man in Fort Worth, Texas, and Ron Hall, an international millionaire art-dealer, whose wife relentlessly pursued her dream of reaching people with the transforming power of the gospel of grace. Reading the real-life account of Denver’s life made me shudder, especially juxtaposed with the environment in which I read the book–lounging on the white sands of a Hawaiian beach. Hearing the miraculous account of Ron and Denver’s meeting and Deborah Hall’s dream reminded me of God’s spectacular power and relentless pursuit of His eternal plan:
“To bring good news to the poor … to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound.” (Is. 61:1)
My recommendation? Read it. It’s a surefire way to stir an apathetic heart.
My favorite line was when Denver Moore–when asked how they should give his introduction before preaching–replied that he didn’t want them to say anything about him because “I don’t want to tell em ’bout me. I want to tell em ’bout the Lord.” When they insisted that they had to give an introduction Denver replied,
“Just tell em I’m a nobody that’s tryin to tell everybody ’bout Somebody that can save anybody.”
Amen, Denver. Ironically that very day I was trying to figure out what to write in a bio of myself that I have to submit later this week. Denver’s one-line bio was perfect. If we could all just have that perspective, amen? I spend far too much time worrying about my pathetic bio and not enough time praying for souls. This book is a healthy dose of eternal perspective. And we can all use a bit of that, amen?
So if you have a chance, check out The Same Kind of Different As Me, and have the kleenex handy.
Summer Book List: My Fifteen Favorite Fiction Picks
Several of you have mentioned that it’d be fun and helpful to have a list of favorite picks in the fiction department. I’m sure that I’m forgetting some, but this is off the top of my head, books that stand out to me as goodies from the last few years. These are in no particular order, but I see the first seven as the most remarkable and impacting reads. If you’re looking for pure fun, start with #9 or #12. Deep and impacting? Start at the top. All links are to amazon, but your local library is the place to go! Happy reading!
1. The Hawk and the Dove Trilogy (Slow at first, but stick with it! The story of a Benedictine monk in an English monastery in 1303: Deals with issues of humility, community, and the marginalization of our sick and handicapped. Must read. I bought this one.)
2. Ella Minnow Pea (This book fascinates me. A story of a fictional island that restricts the use of certain letters because of foolish superstition. First off, the way it’s written is absolutely genius. But the implications are fascinating as well. You have to see it for yourself.)
3. Year of Wonders (This one tore me apart: Seventeenth century England, during the Plague. A small village, when infected, chooses to quarantine themselves entirely in order to avoid spreading the deadly disease. It is horrific, heroic, inspiring and disturbing all at once. My only warning is that the end is stupid. If it had ended on page 272 it’d be great, but for some reason she adds this ridiculous ending. Ignore it.)
4. The Help (Current bestseller. It’s the story of three women, set in 1962 in Jackson, Mississippi, and how their lives intersect. Civil rights in a whole new light. Couldn’t put it down. It’s long too, so be sure to understand that your family will be severely neglected for a while during this one.)
5. The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. (I’ve always said a novel in letters could never be done. At least not well. I was sooo wrong. This is amazing. Set in 1946, a story set in London and Guernsey island at the end of WW2. Humanity, frailty, love … it’s fabulous.)
6. Still Alice. (Another recent bestseller. This is a heartbreaking, but beautiful and insightful look at the progress and effects of early-onset Alzheimer’s. The author is a neuro-scientist, and uses her years of studying this devastating disease to inform her writing. Gripping: I think I read it in one sitting.)
7. Lowlands of Scotland Series: Thorn in my Heart, Fair is the Rose, Whence Came a Prince. These are the story of Jacob, Rachel, and Leah, set in 1764 in Scotland. I think these should contain a warning label because they will seize you emotionally. I became obsessed, sneaking up to bed early to read, staying up until the middle of the night carrying my book around to sneak in moments when I could. Carry kleenex. Powerful stuff. BTW there’s a 4th in this series too but I could never get into it for some reason.)
8. The Secret Life of Bees. (A coming-of-age story set in the 1960s. I haven’t seen the movie, but this book is great.)
9.The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency series. (I don’t even remember how many are in this series, but you must read them all. They are all wonderful. The perfect light book for a summer afternoon. Mma Ramotswe will become your new best friend. I love her so much. Set in modern Botswana, this “traditionally built” African woman sets up shop as the No. 1 Ladies detective in her country. Amazing. This author, Alexander McCall Smith, also has a 44 Scotland Street series–I’ve read one–, and an Isabel Dalhousie series. I’ve read several and like them as well, but Mma Ramotswe takes the cake.)
10. Pride & Prejudice: Read it again for the first time.
11. Anything by Rosamunde Pilcher. (The Shell Seekers is her most popular, and probably my favorite, but the lady doesn’t have a bad novel in her. They’re all delightful. No real challenge or redeeming value but well-written; the woman’s just a born story-teller. Enjoy these by the pool sipping lemonade.)
12. The Rumpole series. (Again, I don’t know how many are in this series but I’ve read every single one and am begging for more. Not sure everyone will share my love for this odd British humor: Rumpole is a short pudgy aging British barrister who is rather unremarkable, who carries in his pocket a copy of the Oxford Book of English Verse, and is married to a woman whom he refers to as She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed. I love my Rumpole!)
13. An American Childhood (Annie Dillard is a literary genius, so brace yourself for some mental mastication. Such richness in this book though. The part about her rock collection wore on a bit, so I skimmed that part. Her insights into children and adolescents is amazing.)
14. The Things they Carried (I haven’t read this since my very first fiction writing course at OSU, so my memory is fuzzy, but it made an impact on me. This looks at the blurred line between truth and reality in the Vietnam war, in which the author served. It inspired some of my own writing. Pulitzer Prize finalist.)
15. A Year in Provence (This is Peter Mayle. I read a lot of his books and liked some and didn’t like some, can’t remember all which ones. This is a light read about spending a year in the south of France. He’s funny. Another light read.)
In praise of novels
On my schedule there is a new slot, each Saturday and Sunday night, from 7:30-9pm. It is called “Novels.” See, some people are list people. I’m a list person. I’d probably qualify as a hyper-list person because lists aren’t sufficient for me. I must then take my list and actually schedule out all the moments of my day (at least those which are “mine”, which are few), in order to get things done and give myself the structure and routine that my sanity requires. Someone once said a budget enables you to tell your money where to go instead of wondering where it went. I’d apply that to schedules as well. I schedule my time to tell myself where to go, otherwise I wonder where I went.
So, after a few very busy weeks, I scheduled in a week of rest–no studying, no teaching, no meetings–nothing except working on house and yard projects, playing with my children, and finally allowing myself to indulge in the stack of unread fiction novels that sit on my nightstand. Oh, I love fiction.
My source for good fiction is a blessing that came with marriage: My mother in law. She’s a voracious reader, preferring it to sleep, in fact, and knows my appetite for well-written, wholesome, thoughtful fiction. I am a hopeless INTJ in personality; thus, the drive to accomplish and be efficient and purposeful is as ingrained as the fight or flight response. Therefore, I want to read something that will provide both pleasure and betterment. I want to learn without knowing it. I want to study the world without studying. Carry me along in a well-written story and show me the world from a perspective wholly other than my own. Now we’re talking.
She began as my novel source when I was pregnant with my son, Dutch. The first 6 months of Dutch’s life were my allotted novel-time, and I allowed myself to read whenever he was nursing, but only then. Jeff bought me a clip-on booklight,and I’d sit up through 2am feedings, chapter after chapter. I must have read at least 25 books those first few months. Ella Minnow Pea, Year of Wonders, and the Rumple series still stand out as my shining favorites from those early days of quiet. Later, the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency, The Hawk and the Dove and a Liz Curtis Higgs trilogy had me savoring, laughing, weeping, and repenting, sometimes all in one sitting. Those were a sacred 6 months–the only time of my adult life when I was involved in nothing. No school, no ministry, no work. For six months I nursed my baby and read books. I hardly left the house but I felt as though I traveled the world. Contemporary Botswana, 1790s Scotland, a small Derbyshire village in the plague of 1666. As music often takes one back to a season or moment, I can still remember turning the pages of Peter Mayle, my orange stiped Boppy nestled around my waist, propped up in bed, eyes squinting in the dark, tiny Dutch nursing contentedly and Jeff sleeping soundly at my side.
But now life is much different. Heidi’s early months brought many things, but novel-reading was certainly not one of them. I wouldn’t change anything about my life. All the rich busyness is my choice, and my blessing. But I’m reminded afresh that there are two things necessary for this girls’ mental health: fiction and running. Running will be another post. For now, I say: Fiction has its place.
So what shall we then read? And how can we keep our fiction reading from becoming like a habit of soap operas or some other form of slow brain-rot? A few ideas:
1. Is it helpful? We are free to read what we like; that doesn’t mean everything is helpful for us to read. I love to read perspectives that are other than my own. However, I have more than once put a book down, and tossed it, when it painted images in my mind that I do not need. Raunchiness, raciness, and vulgarity are for people who have dim intellects and lack imaginations. Consider that humor usually requires a victim. I love humor; but be mindful of the victim.
2. Is it challenging? This could possibly mean reading a book from a wildly different perspective from our own. That said, the most challenging book I have ever read, hands down, is the Bible. Nothing challenges us to the core more than this. A quick dive into the story of the Rich Young Ruler will cure us of the stubborn acedia that renders us spiritually lethargic.
3. Do you have to look up a word? Another favorite of mine, The Quotidian Mysteries, is a fascinating thin little book which is essentially the Sacredness of the Mundane, written by the hand of a genius. When I picked it up I did not know what quotidian or acedia meant. I had to look them up. I love that! I just finished Annie Dillard’s An American Childhood and had to look up arcana. Really, spending our lives using a quarter of our given vocabulary is like spending our whole life eating nothing but potatoes and pancakes. Let’s learn some words and use them!
4. Does it broaden, deepen, widen, enrich? Yes, this is similar to the first question, but this takes it a step further. Sheer pleasure, I believe, can be a perfectly acceptable purpose. It enriches. But does it also make us think, challenge us, take us beyond our picket fences and help us understand a world that’s not our own. History comes off the page and impacts our daily lives when it’s told in a story, told through tears sometimes, allowing us to step inside and feel the dirt between our toes. Fiction should help us understand.
And now, it seems, I have spent my first officially-scheduled novel time not in reading novels but in blogging about them. Oh well. I always welcome suggested reading, so pass along your own favorites. And I wish for you this summer at least one good wholesome novel, an ice-cold lemonade, and an afternoon or two beneath a shade tree, turning pages.
Spiritual Immunizations & Quaint Religious Charms
I believe that the unbelieving world, as opposed to the church, can at times give us the greatest insight into what is lacking in our Christian faith. This is one of the reasons I love reading secular books (and should more often). This time, a message hit me not from one, but three angles in the past week.
Last weekend, in a great sermon on godly parenting, Joel gave an interesting illustration that’s stuck with me all week. He made the rather bold point that if we, as parents, are just giving our children a little tiny dose of Jesus we may be doing them more harm than good. We may, in fact, be preventing them from wholeheartedly trusting and following Christ as adults.
Consider immunizations. When we give someone a flu shot, we’re actually giving them what? A little tiny dose of the flu. Give them just enough and it will keep them from getting the full-blown flu. The natural reaction of the body is able to ward off and render harmless the flu virus. Is it possible to immunize our children from Jesus? Studies have often shown that those who are soured most on Christianity are not those people who have had no exposure to church and the Bible, but rather are those who, as children, either had bad experiences in the church or parents who sat in pews on Sunday but showed zero evidence of living out that faith the other six days of the week. They had a tiny dose and therefore were apparently immune to the full-blown effect of the risen Lord.
Why is this? Because a parent who models a half-hearted or Sunday-morning faith is essentially saying, “I know all about this Jesus guy and He’s not significant enough for me to actually change my life. It’s just not that big of a deal.” That, friends, is a scary message to give our children. It’s not just that we haven’t given our children enough religious experience, it’s that we’ve proven by our lives that there are no real-life implications of believing in God. Kids aren’t stupid. Why would they want to believe in something that doesn’t matter? So they abandon ship. Of course, they hold this stance only until they have their own children. Then they decide they want their children to “have religion”, so they wind up doing the exact same routine as their parents. No real faith, just going through the motions. And in these motions, another generation is immunized from faith in Christ. Frightening.
Along this same vein, a paragraph from Annie Dillard’s An American Childhood stuck out to me tonight. Dillard, a secular author, beautifully articulates this from a perspective outside of my own. Here she reminisces her fond memories of summer Presbyterian church camp:
“The adult members of society adverted to the Bible unreasonably often. What arcana! Why did they spread this scandalous document before our eyes? If they had read it, I thought, they would have hid it. They didn’t recognize the vivid danger that we would, through repeated exposure, catch a case of its wild opposition to their world. Instead they bade us study great chunks of it, and think about those chunks, and commit them to memory, and ignore them. By dipping us children in the Bible so often, they hoped, I think, to give our lives a serious tint, and to provide us with quaintly magnificent snatches of prayer to produce as charms while, say, being mugged for our cash or jewels.” (p. 134)
Did you READ that? I read it over and over. The women is a literary genius, of course, but she’s also hitting the nail on the head, and the conviction is well-earned. If our lives have not been transformed, utterly and completely transformed by the power of the gospel, then what are we doing teaching it to our children? The gospel is scandalous; its claims are spectacular, it is “wild opposition to the world”. How tragic it would be if we taught our children to study Christ’s claims, “commit them to memory, and ignore them.” Wow. Is that not what we are doing when we ourselves ignore them? Are we not then merely giving our children’s lives a “serious tint” and giving them “quaintly magnificent snatches of prayer to produce as charms”?
That is cause for fear, parents. For all Christians, for that matter. The friends, neighbors, co-workers in our lives learn about Christ the exact same way our children do--by watching us. That is reason to evaluate the way that we live out the gospel, to get on our knees and spread God’s Word before us and pray, “Do this to me! Do this to me!” We must not immunize our children from the beauty of Christ by living as if He matters little or not at all.
In the middle of all this I am also reading The Hole in our Gospel by Richard Stearns. I’d rather you read it yourself than hear me do it injustice in a summary, but in short–this one man’s life was transformed from success to significance when he put into practice the claims of Christ and followed the clear calling on his life. He boldly asserts that we will not be able to reap a harvest of souls converted to Christ until we cultivate the spiritual field of hearts by living out the gospel of love, compassion, and social justice in our world. How many thousands of lives have been touched simply because this one man decided to really act on the claims of Christ. It is humbling, challenging, inspiring.
Few of us need to learn much more. We just need to do what we know. My prayer, my goal, my personal challenge, is to obey every Word that I read each morning. That might mean reading less. 🙂 But I pray that our children would be more than spiritually immunized and have more than quaint religious charms thrust into their hands. Let’s ask God what that means for us today.
Deceptively Delicious is Honestly Ingenious
When my husband and I got married, he was shocked to discover that I had never experienced three of the sweetest pleasures life has to offer: Corndogs, boxed mac ‘n cheese, and Slurpees. So of course I obliged and sampled all three–deeming the first two unfit for human consumption and reluctantly admitting that the third was pretty hard to beat on a hot summer’s day. Our budget got the best of me, however, and so our limit of spending $25/week on groceries necessitated Winco’s 39-cent mac ‘n cheese more than I care to admit.
Thankfully as time went on our budget grew and our waistlines shrank, and I’m now living in the lap of luxury on $50/week and have grown to love experimenting with healthy foods and challenging myself to stretch the dollars my hard-working husband has earned.
Of course, I love sweets like nobody’s business and have two small children who for some reason don’t think roasted yams and spinach salad are a good idea. So, as we all tend to stray off course when no one’s steering the ship, we had drifted into the land of quesadillas and peanut butter sandwiches … for every meal. We needed a course-correction.
So I picked up a library copy of the much-acclaimed cookbook Deceptively Delicious by Jessica Seinfeld. I was skeptical. Firstly and mostly because I’d seen “vegetable sneak-in” ideas before and they usually managed to get a tablespoon or so of something relatively healthy into an otherwise nutritional monstrosity, and that didn’t seem worth the effort. Secondly, one of my main goals in nutrition is teaching my children about healthy eating, so tricking them into swallowing vegetables seemed counterproductive. I envisioned the poor souls sitting in a college cafeteria unwittingly eating powdered mashed potatoes without knowing it’d really been cauliflower I’d fed them every Thanksgiving.
However, I was pleasantly proven wrong. The author (Jerry Seinfeld’s wife) does a great job sticking in pointers and helpful advice on mealtime manners, creating a positive eating environment, and teaching children how to contribute to the meal-prep in age-appropriate ways. She also includes a quick overview of the fruits, vegetables and legumes used as “sneak-ins”, including the nutritional value and how they specifically benefit our children’s growing bodies. Great information.
For me, the recipes are a great starting point and source of inspiration. She seeks to make things simple for busy moms, so she still includes boxed pancake mixes, white flour, white sugar, canned beans. She also prefers light or low-fat items such as light tub margarine, imitation light mayonnaise, and reduced fat cheeses. I lean more toward whole-grain-at-all-cost, evaporated cane juice (available now in bulk at Winco!), and dried beans, and I also prefer real mayonnaise, real butter, and full-fat cheeses, especially for kiddos. So, I haven’t followed any of her recipes to a tee, but as I mentioned before–great source of inspiration.
So speaking of inspiration, we’ve had five fabulous nutritional successes thanks to Jessica Seinfeld’s ideas, and I’m excited to experiment with more. I’ve included these five here. Even if you don’t have kids, simply tweaking your favorite recipes to include some nutrient-rich ingredients could greatly improve your diet. You might even develop a taste for some of these things, and find yourself craving beets. Anything’s possible.
Overall, I’d recommend the book. It would have done us wonders in those early years of marriage. She even has two healthy mac ‘n cheese recipes … although I haven’t seen her redeem a corn dog. Some things, I suppose, just aren’t worth salvaging.
——-
Ocean Cake
(Named by my three-year-old who is obsessed with ocean animals. Warning, this is very green, but delicious! You could call it Monster Cake or Shrek Cake or whatever makes it exciting for your children. The fact that I can actually serve this as dessert still blows my mind. It is crazy-healthy. I made this doubled and put half in a loaf pan, half in muffins.)
- 3 TB melted butter
- 1/4c. brown sugar (you could even leave this out if you really want super healthy–I like a little sweetness)
- 1/4c. ground flaxmeal
- 1 bag baby spinach sauteed or steamed in water and olive oil until wilted (or you could use 1 box frozen spinach), then pureed in blender
- 1 c. ground oats (pulse in blender)
- 3/4c. whole wheat flour
- 1/4c. milk
- 1egg + 1 eggwhite
- 1/2c. applesauce (I used homemade, with peels for extra fiber and nutrients, no sugar added)
- 2 mashed bananas
- 1/2tsp cinnamon.
Pour in muffin papers sprayed with Pam. Bake 20 minutes at 375 degrees, or longer if using loaf pan.
Pink Pancakes
(This one still has me in awe. My kids LOVE pancakes and we have them every Saturday night. My three-year-old was skeptical when they were magenta-colored, but they devoured them so fast I couldn’t keep them coming quick enough. These are my new favorite thing.)
- 1 egg
- 1 1/2 c. milk
- 2c. whole-wheat flour
- 2 tsp baking powder
- 1 TB evaporated cane juice (or sugar)
- 1/2 tsp salt
- 1/2 c. ricotta cheese
- 1/4c. beet puree (peel, cube and steam/boil beets, then puree in blender)
These turn out bright pink/magenta, and are so delicious. We skip the syrup so this meal has whole-grain, protein, and vegetables all wrapped up on one yummy and kid-friendly entree. Adding blueberries would be fun and nutritious as well.
Veggie-packed Chili
There are a million variations of chili/taco soup/tortilla soup. I usually just make it with whatever I have on hand. Tweak it however you like.
- 1 c. dried pinto beans soaked overnight (follow directions for cooking beans–1:3 ratio of beans to water; or you could use canned beans)
- 1/4c. leftover taco meat (or chicken or beef or nothing at all)
- 1 packet taco seasoning (or your own seasonings, chili powder and cumin, etc.)
- garlic (as much as you want–I’m a garlic girl)
- 2 cups shredded carrot (I just pulsed in blender)
- 1 cup pureed yams
- 1 can corn.
Cook all day on low in crock pot.
YUM. The yams are the secret; they make this chili taste sweet and a tad tangy. Sprinkle with shredded cheddar cheese. My one-year-old devoured this.
Cauliflower Tunafish
(My three-year-old loves tunafish on crackers. I was so skeptical about adding cauliflower, but it’s delicious. In fact he said, “Please mommy don’t eat all my tunafish!” We were both enjoying it.)
- One can Trader Joe’s tuna packed in water
- 1 TB real mayonnaise
- 1/4 cup pureed cauliflower
- salt to taste.
Chickpea Chocolate Chip Cookies
(This is really remarkable. I had to try because I didn’t believe the chickpeas could be anything but offensive in a cookie. You have to try it for yourself. They practically melt into the cookie and you cannot taste them. A chocolate chip cookie that’s 100% whole-grain and full of protein?! My dreams have come true…)
- 1/2c. real butter softened
- 1/4c. evaporated cane juice (or sugar)
- 1/4c. brown sugar
- 1 egg
- 1 c. ground oats (pulsed in blender)
- 3/4c. whole-wheat flour
- 3/4tsp baking soda
- 1 tsp. real vanilla
- 1/2tsp salt
- 1c. chickpeas (I used dried and soaked and cooked them myself, but you could use canned, just be sure to rinse them so they’re not salty)
- 1 c. chocolate chips.
Bake at 350degrees for 8 minutes. Then hide them because otherwise you will eat them all in one sitting.
Enjoy!
Snapshots of my Mother
Today we returned from our weekend in Bend, and on my porch I found a tall, narrow green box. I recognized its type. Shaking my head and smiling I took it inside and pulled the cardboard tab that freed the contents: A snugly-packed dozen of breathtaking roses in yellow, ivory, pink, and red. They are perfection set against my scratched and well-worn kitchen table, and managed to elevate our rather humble dinner of microwaved quesadillas to a bountiful and elegant affair.
It is Mother’s Day, of course, and who were the roses from? None other than my own mother. In true motherly fashion, she gave more than she would ever receive. In fact, she also sent them to her daughter-in-law, and her mother-in-law. In true celebration of all the other mothers in her life, she honored them all, a gesture which was emblematic of who my mom is in all of life.
I’m in the middle of reading An American Childhood by Annie Dillard.(Remarkable! More on this book later.) In it she describes her own mother, and the blurry snapshots she remembers of her early childhood reached from the page and gripped me so intensely I wished with everything in me that I could meet this woman! It also made me recall some of my own disjointed early memories–my own snapshots of my mother that live with me and undoubtedly flavor the way I live and love and mother my own children. Here are several.
Scent is my strongest memory, and my mom’s was heaven. The soft dip of her skin right above her collarbone seemed to be the origin of this mom-scent, and to lay my head on her chest gave me the perfect position to close my eyes and breathe it in. It was safety, warmth, love all at once. It was everything all ok.
We were in Molalla Thriftway when the thought bubbled up in my mind and spilled out my mouth, the way thoughts do with kids. I was sitting in the front part of the cart, dangling my legs. Brach’s candy to my right, donuts to my left, we just passed the bacon–“Mommy, you should bottle up your smell and sell it to everyone because it’s the best smell in the world.” She smiled and kissed me. My heart soared.
I loved my mom. I adored her. She was the definition of beauty to me. Her fingernails were so long, so hard and thick! But she had a bad habit of picking at her hangnails, which I do now, and wholeheartedly blame her for, among other things, most of which have to do with my ankles. But of course now I am sympathetic to how irritating it must have been to have a little girl constantly following her around and incessantly investigating her body and asking embarrassingly candid questions. I very clearly remember asking my mom why her thighs made funny dimples when she sat down. Oh good grief; I’m never letting Heidi see my bare thighs. And I thought it was so strange that she always had slivers sticking out of her legs–I was convinced she must have spent our naptimes crawling around on the cedar deck.
She always played praise music. My dad played Elvis and sometimes I would cry at night because I was convinced that my dad would go to hell because he listened to Elvis. When my mom finally coaxed this admittance out of me she set my poor theologically-confused self straight and I could sleep again at night.
She was eternally patient with these night crying spells of mine. Often I would cry because I missed my Grandpa Zyp–whom I had never met. I thought of him often, wondered what he was like, wished I had known him before he’d died in 1976. He seemed so real to me I missed him terribly. She would sit on the edge of my bed, as though not a thing in the world were bidding for her time, and listen to me explain again that I missed him, and could she tell me again how funny he was and how he would have loved me.
She listened again, countless nights, as I cried because I could not understand eternity. This lasted a long time. Somehow not being able to comprehend eternity was seriously troubling to my little soul. I’d read and dream of heaven, wanting to be excited about the prospects of glory, but paralyzed by the fear of not understanding what eternity could possibly be like. Forever and then what? She’d listen, smile, pray with me.
I remember being proud as a peacock that my mom never left me with a babysitter. Other kids got left with babysitters all the time. Not me. They took us with them everywhere. I vividly remember mom and dad getting criticized for taking us with them on a romantic excursion that they’d been given by the church. We all stayed at a Bed & Breakfast near Mount Hood, and etched forever in my memory were the mornings Kris and I watched morning cartoons while stretched out on the lace and floral linens of the fancy beds. Knowing that they’d been criticized for it made me all the prouder that they took us with them. They’d chosen us! I knew they loved us more than most parents loved their kids. That was the secret I tucked in my heart–I was so loved.
Mom’s discipline was effective because she’d won our hearts. When we were naughty–let me rephrase that, my brother was never naughty–when I was naughty, she let me know it broke her heart. She was firm, consistent, letting me bear the brunt of the consequences, but somehow I was so convinced of her love for me that it almost seemed like being naughty was hurting her personally–the one thing I’d never want to do. I’m still not sure how she did it, but I pray, often, that God will enable me to do the same.
—
And now, my mom is friend to me, Oma to my children, and still my constant source of wisdom, confidence, love. There is no one on earth to whom I’d rather go for a listening ear, wise council, godly perspective. In her presence I am me–without guard or guise.
And she has quickly won the hearts of my children as well. Oma is magic to them. Reading stories, teaching words, weaving tales. She educates with every breath. When I am blinded by behavior she somehow always sees the heart.
Thank you, Mom, for the years of sitting on my bed at night, listening. Thank you for letting me smell that special spot on your neck, and for taking me on that romantic excursion that should have been for you and dad. I don’t know why it mattered so much, but from that point on I knew nothing much could go wrong. Thank you for giving me the gift of security–the secret of knowing you loved us more than we could probably even imagine.
And thank you for roses. You, ever-giving. Happy Mother’s Day.
Love Dare 9-11
Somehow I got the Love Dare days mixed up, so the last post’s #7 was really #8. I’ll iron it out later, just keep doing them! 🙂
Day 9: Think of a specific way you’d like to greet your spouse today. Do it with a smile and enthusiasm. Then determine to change your normal greeting to reflect your love for them.
Day 10: Do something out of the ordinary today for your spouse–something that proves (to you and to them) that your love is based on your choice and nothing else. Wash her car. Clean the kitchen. Buy his favorite dessert. Fold the laundry. Demonstrate love to them for the sheer joy of being their partner in marriage.
Day 11: What need does your spouse have that you could meet today? Can you run an errand? Give a back rub or foot massage? Is there housework you could help with? Choose a gesture that says, “I cherish you” and do it with a smile.
Enjoy!
Nugget on Dignity for Today
Pride is dignity’s counterfeit.
“What is man what you are mindful of him, the son of man that you care for him? Yet you have made him a little lower than the heavenly beings and crowned him with glory and dignity.” Psalm 8:3-5
Dignity
I’ve been hesitant to write anything from the 2nd half of So Long, Insecurity, because I’ve heard from a number of you that you’re headed out to read it yourselves. I don’t want to spoil it, but I suppose you can’t hear the truth too many times.
As she rounds the bend, Beth outlines some of the ways that people react to insecurity, most of which are addictive or destructive behaviors: Displaying false arrogance, binging, drinking, withdrawing, using medication, etc. Then she made a fabulous point, which was this: “Though I was no longer reacting to insecurity the way the enemy wanted me to, I had not yet begun to react in the way God wanted me to.” Yes! Perhaps we’ve come far enough in our walk with God that we don’t react to insecurity by grabbing a cigarette or eating a half-gallon of ice cream, but I still need to deal with the root of it. And at the root, she brings to the surface this truth. From God’s Word, and from the prime example of God’s beautiful woman in Proverbs 31:
She is clothed with strength and dignity. (v.17)
We usually speak of the Proverbs 31 woman as “the Virtuous Woman” and she certainly is, but Beth Moore argues that the Hebrew language of this passage suggests that she would be more appropriately named a Woman of Valor. Brave, mighty, dignified. Why? Because she recognizes the most crucial component of our identity: We were made in the image of God.
We were made in the image of God and bought by the precious blood of Christ, which gives us a God-given dignity that is beyond measure, that is mind-boggling, that is unable to be taken away. We have dignity and strength because of who God has made us, and He therefore desires us to walk in that dignity and strength.
And isn’t that essentially what insecurity is? It’s forfeiting our dignity. It’s making fools of ourselves. It’s bowing down to others in ways that are neither healthy nor godly no selfless in any way shape or form. The high school girl who sleeps with her boyfriend in order to receive love: loss of dignity. The friend who smothers another friend, emailing over and over and over to try to get the affirmation and reciprocity she desperately wants: loss of dignity. The wife who calls her husband ten times a day or questions him non-stop about whether he thinks she’s pretty or not: loss of dignity. The person who second-guesses every single thing she does and lives by the approval or disapproval of others: Loss of dignity.
That makes me mad. So stinkin’ mad. Because of Satan’s schemes, we look around and see the evidence all over the women in this world–a pervasive loss of dignity that has reduced women either to sex objects, people-pleasing spineless nitwits, jealous and envious competitors, or nail-biting worry warts … or all of the above!
Still lots more to read, but perhaps uncovering the secret to true humility, to defeating the besetting sin of pride, to overcoming the crippling effect of insecurity, is by embracing our God-given identity as dignified women of strength, made in His image, bought by His blood. What would happen if we did this? Let’s give it a try.
Insecurity Insights
So I’m halfway through Beth Moore’s So Long Insecurity book. It’s classic Beth Moore–reads quick, a bit long-winded (which is the pot calling the kettle black), but VERY spot on as she calls a spade a spade. Because I can relate to her a lot, the things she writes about are frighteningly identifiable. Here are a few things that have jumped out at me:
Identifying Insecurity:
“Do I have a strong desire to make amends whenever I think I’ve done something wrong? Are you kidding me? I have a strong desire to make amends even when I haven’t done something wrong.” Totally me! Ugh. How many gazillion times have I been the one in my family trying to make someone happy who I think is upset, apologizing for things that aren’t even wrong! It’s like I’m saying “I’m sorry I’ve tried so hard to make you happy and you still aren’t. Will you please forgive me?” Ugh! Ridiculous. Stems from insecurity and a fear of man.
“How often do you have to ask yourself if what you’re feeling is even real? Or if your desires need to be squashed or pursued? If you’re discerning or just suspicious? If you’re like me it’s more often than you want to admit.” Guilty as charged.
“Whether she feels inferior or superior, she takes a frequent inventory of her place in the space … Never think for a moment that pride and self-centeredness have no role in insecurity.” Nailed. Pretty much thinking about myself a lot.
Our Prominent False Positive:
“Most of us have what I’ll call a prominent false positive: one thing that we think would make us more secure in all things. You want to know how you can pinpoint your own prominent false positive> The thing you tend to associate most with security. Think of a person you believe to be secure and determine what earthly thing he or she has that you don’t feel like you possess, at least in matching measure. That’s liable to be your prominent false positive.”
On the Effect of our Media-driven Culture
[From Psychology Today]: “Women who are surrounded by other attractive women, whether in the flesh, in films, or in photographs, rate themselves less satisfied with their attractiveness–and less desirable as a marriage partner.” Beth comments: “If we don’t learn to separate entertainment from identity and hyped images from real womanhood, our feminine souls are going to pass straight through the shredder … Learn what you can handle and what you can’t [of media intake].
The yuckiest root of insecurity: PRIDE
“It’s about ego, and we all have one. Let’s face it. Sometimes people and situations make us feel insecure because they nick our pride, plan and simple … No outside force has the power to betray and mislead us the way our own egos do … big egos insist on our being a “the” not just an “a” … Pride lives on the defensive against anyone and anything that tries to subtract from its self-sustained worth. Confidence, on the other hand, is driven by the God-given identity and the conviction that nothing can take that identity away … Humility is the crucial component of true security. it’s the very thing that calms the savage beast of pride … We will never feel better about ourselves by feeling worse about others. Superiority can’t give birth to security.”
That last sentence hit me. Have you ever looked at another woman and just thought, “Gracious, she is stinking perfect.” And so to make yourself feel not quite so low in comparison you try to think of something that she must not do perfectly. And I’ve heard women do this out loud more times that I can count. We are deceived into thinking that if we can just find out some bad things about other people, or at least some imperfections, we’ll feel better about ourselves. Wrong. Security will never come from superiority. Amen!
Insecurity Toward a Certain Gender.
Lastly, Beth made an interesting point about how we either tend to be insecure primarily with regard to men or women, depending upon what sort of rejection we’ve experienced growing up. I’m sure people can be insecure around both, but she was saying how we tend to be insecure toward one or the other. Hers, primarily, was men, and it manifests itself, therefore, a lot in her marriage. This totally struck me because I realized as I was reading this book that I have zero insecurity in my marriage. At home, I’m absolutely secure. Jeff has been the most loving, trustworthy, affirming, secure, faithful husband, and has in so many ways transformed my heart. And, as I looked back over my growing up and school years, and tried to pinpoint moments of rejection that I can still recall with a sting, I can’t remember any of them involving guys–all the moments I can remember being hurtful growing up were all involving other girls.
This very possibly manifests itself in the fact that I’ve always been scared to death of doing women’s ministry (ironic, yes?). Whereas I associate guys with nothing negative, I realize I still tend to associate women with hurt, rejection, insecurity. Hmmm… interesting. Seeing that God has now made it clear that He’s called me to minister to women, it makes you wonder if that’s not a specific scheme of the evil one to thwart God’s plans. Maybe that’s making too much of it, but it’s still interesting to me. Bottom line? I’m still a little insecure and wary of women … and yes, that includes myself. 🙂
That’s all for now; more later when I’m finished. The sun is peeking out and Jeff just walked in the door. Thanks for reading.