Wildflower #2--My Mother

So as you can see, my hopes for becoming a regular blogger have not exactly held up. But here I am to continue with another Wildflower in my life--my Mother.

Imagine a woman with a gentle and quiet spirit, and very little tendencies to control or freak out easily. Imagine her in her fairly laid-back state getting married and proceeding to start a family. Now imagine that she has three children with semi regular personalities and dispositions. She is comfortable in her role as wife and mother, and she is happy. Imagine one day this wife and mother finds out she is to have a fourth child. This news, completely unexpected, somewhat takes her aback, but she pushes through her nervousness and anticipates the arrival of another addition to the family. Now imagine the inconceivable way that this mother's life was turned upside down from the day that fourth child arrived. She was nothing like the former children and necessitated seemingly brand new parenting styles in order to keep under control. 23 years later, I am here to attest to the good news that this fourth child was not put out of the house (barely) nor did she cause any untimely deaths or lost limbs (we hope). And here she is... but only because the womb that she first thrived in belonged to a mother different than most.

My mother and I are very different. Fortunately, it has helped us get along over the years much better than the average mother and daughter. But it's not always been smiles, giggles, and rainbows. Because of my strong-willed nature and extreme determination to push the limits, the challenges I brought to both of my parents were significantly different than my siblings. It has not been until recent years that I've been able to look on my mother with the perspective of an adult and see and understand at least a glimpse of all she went through being the mother of five. Contrary to my thoughtless assumption growing up, my mother is not invincible, nor is she unable to be hurt. She is soft, and tender. And I have finally been able to begin to appreciate the burden she bore for us all our lives and still continues to bear as the mother bird watching her little birdies turn into bigger birdies and flap their wings across the abyss of life the Lord has chosen for them. As she turns from child to child and gazes upon their young adult lives, she continues her post as prayer warrior and still has an occasional worry over how they are fairing away from the nest.

Last week my mom emailed me about something I got in the mail she thought I'd be interested in, and signed off with the usual "Love you!" after a few extra remarks. I was slightly distracted when I read it in the evening and ended up going to bed without replying. The next morning I found myself at work when I received a text from her. "How are you doing today? Did you get my email about the mail? Just wondering and a tad worried about you since I hadn't heard from you. :)" That smiley was fooling no one. It was a busy morning so I couldn't respond right away. She didn't waste any time and 32 minutes later in my work email I received this: "Is your phone working? ...sorry just being a mom right now." The email included two more smileys. I wrote back with something to the effect of "uh yeah... you are being a mom!" :) She's not typically like that so it was laughable to see her get a little worked up after not hearing back from me in only about a 12 hour time frame.

This summer has been more difficult than I expected. I am typically just fine on my own and away from people, but it has taken more of a toll on me than I thought it would. The thankfulness and heart of gratitude I have towards my mother for her intense care and affection for me is not lost in the kidding I may do about her tendency to over-worry sometimes. So many others have no mother to worry about them. So many have not been close with her or have only been manipulated by her to the point that they never experienced a truly loving mother's touch and sentiment, physically or verbally. And sadly those who fall into this category probably do not know they are missing out on such a poignant and piercing aspect of God's design for a family.

For my mother I owe my desire to be gentle and affectionate for those I may take care of. I imagine my future as a mother and I long to learn the ways my mother held and comforted me so I may do the same for my children. There is something very emotional about a mother's love. To be 23 years old and many years past the last time I was held, the depth of the impact of that affection can still bring tears to my eyes.

Life is unimaginable without her present and active in my life. Thank you, Momma, for showing me a healthy life and raising me to follow in your footsteps toward what the Lord designed for a mother to be. May I never take you for granted. You are irreplaceable.

Meet... My Father

What better way to start off this blog series than with the most influential man in my life, Mark Cox. And on the most appropriate day of the year: Father's Day.

Who is this man? To most he's a pastor, a preacher, and a teacher. To some he's a friend. To a few he's a son, a brother, and a grandfather. But to me he's a father. A good father. Me and my dad are extremely similar. Growing up I always hated when people would tell me I looked like him. Both of my sisters look like twins and they are mini-me's of my mother. I got my dad's genes. I always wished I fit in with the girls in the family but I fit in better with the boys. I don't mind it much now, but I hated it growing up. A few things we have in common are our sense of humor, our competitive nature, our tendency to analyze everything, our love for reading, and our passion for learning. Some of the best times I can remember with my dad growing up have been the intense theological conversations that have gone on for hours and hours. I love asking him questions and dissecting and analyzing and mulling things over with him. The passion that I've grown to have for spiritual things and yearning after the Lord I know I owe to him. He has a strong heart and a stable mind. His marriage to my mother has been an irreplaceable foundational security and stability in my life. I long to marry a man with a heart like my father's.

I have found that the majority of girls I have come to know in my twenty-three years have mentioned that they have always been closer, or at least gotten along better with their dad than their mom. Oftentimes the dad is the softy and the mom is the strict disciplinarian, causing the girls to butt heads with their moms and run to Daddy for comfort. However, this has never been the case in my house. The disciplinarian is my father. If we ever really wanted something you never ask Daddy first, you ask Momma. Because then when you get the "I don't care if Daddy doesn't care" it was extra ammo when presenting the weapon of argument to Daddy... "Oh and Momma said she didn't care if you don't!" ...not sure if it ever actually worked but I liked to think it did.

As a Christian and a psych major, I've grown up knowing that the most important figure in a child's life, boy or girl, is their father. I've always found that interesting. The mother carries the child, births the child, and typically does most of the caretaking with the children, but somehow the father's role is the most crucial.

I'm not going to lie and act like my dad and I have always had the greatest relationship, because in all honesty.... it's been really hard. Between the ages of 14 and 20 I would have told you ingesting kitty litter would have been more preferable to having important conversations with my dad (and my mom), and now looking back, I have to say I'm surprised they put up with as much as they did from me. To put it plainly, my teenage years sucked. Big time. For me and for my parents who had to deal with me. There have been many choices I've made in my life that have only constructed wall after wall after wall between me and my parents, but always most especially my father. The man who has loved me so unconditionally and has never withheld his love for a moment was continually pushed away by me. The further I dug myself in holes I was in the more isolated I became and the harder it was to receive any kind of love, particularly the love of a father. The past three years I have been trying to undo the damage I caused over a six to seven year period and I find it still to be a challenge to this day. Why? When so many of my friends are without fathers or with lousy fathers who don't take their role seriously, why would I ever push away one of the greatest father figures this world could contain?

I can't speak for anyone else, I only know my own life and that much I sometimes don't even know. But in my experience, when you have continued to mess up and continued to fall on your face over and over again, it becomes extremely hard to accept and believe that you are lovable. It is something I've had to choose to believe every day and allow the Lord to begin mending and healing in my heart so that I may choose to accept and not to reject goodness. If God, who is my heavenly Father, would choose to love me and to die for me in my sin, why would my own earthly father not also choose to love me and accept me in my sin? This is a lesson I have had to learn. I haven't known many people with my story and with the same familial issues I've had in this area. But this is the essence of my story. It hasn't always been pretty, in fact it's been outright ugly at times. But the love has outweighed the hate, and the light has overcome the dark. And I owe where I am today to a man who decided he would never give up on his daughter.

Happy Father's Day, Daddy. I wish the world could know a love like yours. Thank you. Thank you for representing Christ to me. I love you, because you first loved me.

Wildflowers

In order to get myself into more of the writing groove I decided to write a series of blogs that would require writing on a semi-regular basis to hopefully establish a habit. The purpose of this series is to write about the people, few and uncommon. The wildflowers among the weeds. The lovely among the decent. The splashes of color on life's canvas of dull black and gray. These are the people in my life that have shaped me into who I am today. The people who are still actively investing themselves and pouring into my life so that I may grow and learn and be more teachable and moldable in the hands of the Lord.

Those who know me very well at all know that I am not all about acquiring best friends. It takes a lot to be brought into my inner circle, and if I have spent a substantial amount of time with you or have shown explicit interest in spending time with you, you can take that as a sign that I value our time together, because I think highly of you. I'm not the type to fall all over everyone I meet and tell them how wonderful they are. When I do say it, I really mean it, wholeheartedly. And while I do love all people in a general sense, I save the intensity of my sentiments for those who mean the most.

In my own experience there are three types of people in my life:

1. The acquaintances--the people that I come in contact with on a regular basis but have little to no connection with. Sometimes an acquaintance will have a desire for a more in-depth relationship with me, but I am not a person who "humors" people in this way. If it's not there, it's not there. I won't be rude to you, but I'm not buddy buddy with everyone and if you know me very well, you know this.

2. The mentored--the friends that you and I have, not because of what they contribute to our lives but because of what we know we need to contribute to theirs. Any time I find myself with a friend like this I have always been able to credit the connection to God. I hear a whisper in my ear that goes something like, "it's not going to be easy, but you will serve a purpose in this person's life. They may hurt you, but I am using you. Do not give up and do not turn away." These could be the friends you are discipling, or those who have gone through something traumatic that you've been called to help them through. Sometimes it's messy, but there's always a reward in it.

3. The intentional--the relationships you set out to establish and to maintain. This would include anyone in your life that has value and meaning that goes beyond your initial appreciation for people. These are the people that have invested in you and for whom you show a great amount of fondness and deep sentiment. These are those whose presence calls forth the best in you. They are truthful, honest, open, and authentic with their relationship. These are the friends we all hope to find in this life.

This is a start to a series of blogs on the third type of people. The ones who have taught me the most about this life and who I am becoming. The people who have awakened something within me that I did not know could come alive. These are the ones who have refined me. My beautiful wildflowers. They have shown up unannounced with a profound and furious loveliness unignorable. Springing forth unbeckoned and bearing a beauty, fierce and unyielding. All I am I owe to them.

Get ready to be introduced.

Tangled in a Web of Glory

***WARNING*** SPOILER ALERT: If you have not yet seen Disney’s movie “Tangled” you might want to watch it before reading this. If you don’t mind knowing a few things going in to it, read on at your own discretion.

One of my favorite things to do in life is to find correlations between the trivial and the important. I love finding analogies between the physical and the spiritual world. And I love watching movies and discovering symbolisms in stories that also present an element of truth in my own life or in something I’ve seen in the real world.

When I saw Tangled, I was immediately captivated with the representation of Rapunzel’s hair. If you’re still reading you’ve probably seen the movie but I’ll give a little recap to freshen your minds. Rapunzel, according to www.imdb.com, has hair seventy feet long and a little over ten pounds in weight (that’s one strong neck!) and is prohibited from cutting it because of the “magical qualities that it possesses,” in the words of Flynn Rider. All of her life her hair has had the power to heal wounds and reverse aging effects, which is why her “mother” keeps her captive in a tower and doesn’t allow her to leave.

A ways into the movie Flynn gets a cut on the palm of his hand, and for the first time Rapunzel shows him the extent of what her hair can do. Here’s the clip if you want to watch it:

As Rapunzel sings the healing incantation, the hair begins to glow with a beautiful, magical radiance while wrapped around Flynn’s hand. When she’s finished, the glimmer fades and he unwraps the hair to find his hand completely restored. This scene is filled with mysterious wonder at the enchantment of this young girl’s gleaming long blonde hair. The song is beautifully mesmerizing and you can’t help but get sucked into this magical moment.

Fast forward to the end of the movie. Now, if you’re still reading and you haven’t seen it, this is really going to give a lot away. So be extra forewarned. Here’s a clip for this part as well. Start around 4:15 unless you fancy watching Mother Gothel plunge to her death first:

Flynn has come back to the tower to save Rapunzel. Mother Gothel has stabbed Flynn in the side of his abdomen, and as he takes in his last few breaths in a swift move of heroic fashion he slices Rapunzel’s hair off before she has the chance to heal him. Mother Gothel freaks out then falls out the window to her very, very timely and overdue death (she was probably half a millennium old by then). Flynn and Rapunzel share a moment before Flynn breathes his last. Holding him in her arms, Rapunzel softly sings the healing incantation and a tear falls from her eye, landing on Flynn’s cheek.

Here’s where it matters.

The tear seeps into his cheek and a tiny spark of light glimmers for a second. It lights up again into a sort of flower shape and then travels down to his side. Beams of light suddenly begin flowing out of Flynn’s gaping wound and in a display of brilliance and splendor it courses through the tower, filling empty spaces and flashing across the room up, down, and around them both. Rapunzel is in awe of what she sees. The beauty being poured out of the broken flesh in Flynn’s side is astounding. The scene is truly breathtaking.

The healing of Flynn’s hand was extraordinary and captivating. It was beautiful. It really was. But it was small. There wasn’t much to it. The song was sung, the hair lit up, and a small laceration was restored. No doubt the power of Rapunzel’s hair was experienced in that moment, but comparatively speaking, it was minimal. When the tear fell and an explosion of light burst forth surrounding Flynn and Rapunzel in brilliance and wonder and beauty, there is no doubt this was more glorious than the first. A knife wound to the abdomen brought more glory than a slight cut on the palm of a hand.

So what’s the big deal?

Christ is most glorified when we allow Him to shine forth out of the most broken and shattered places in our lives. Those awful hidden places in our hearts that we’ve buried deep down inside and want never to see the light of day… those are our knife wounds that He is longing to saturate with his healing touch, to claim victory over and to set up a fireworks display within and pour out the glory of His healing power. So often we just bring Him the little hand wounds, let Him wrap them in His proverbial hair, breathe a sigh of relief at the momentary glint of light, and then go on our merry way. But how many of us have been stabbed so deeply by life, whether self-inflicted by sin or circumstances out of our control, and we’re walking around with gaping wounds desperately needing His attention, but we refuse to come to Him. Why? If we try to handle it separately from the Lord, just like Flynn we will lie on the floor in that tower and slowly bleed to death. Maybe not a physical one but a spiritual one. How often we forget that He doesn’t just long to heal us for our benefit. He gets the glory! Your darkest and most deathly area of separation from Him could be the most beautiful and bring the most glory to God, our Savior and Redeemer.

“But He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” 2 Corinthians 2:9-10

We should be glad to bring Him our brokenness. God is glorified in our pain when we choose to bring it to Him. Not only does He promise healing and restoration but He promises Himself. He is the essence of Beauty and all Glory that could ever be manifested in you.

Let Him have your broken pieces.

Clinging and Clutching

After cleaning out my car a few days ago I began walking back to the house when a strange sensation came over me. I suddenly became very aware that my hands were empty. Such an odd feeling, both hands swinging by my sides with wind wafting between my fingers. What was I expecting exactly? I suppose my car keys in the moment, or my cell phone. But the moment of realization was glaring, as if to say, "look here, take note of this sensation." It shouldn't be abnormal to have empty hands. Should it? (Of course situationally one might argue I should have had my car keys since I had just been in my car, but this is not the point! Debaters, sit down.)

It is the day and age of technology. Everywhere we go there are gadgets in people's hands, held to the ears, captivating the eyes at attention. And if it's not a technological device, it's a purse, or a bag, isn't it? The last time I can remember sitting in one place having nothing to capture my attention was never. And it's not just that we're used to it, it feels awkward without anything. The idea of waiting for a table at a restaurant or to board an airplane might not readily spark a concern, but if the moment comes and there's nothing to occupy my thoughts and focus, it's awkward isn't it?

So what does it all mean?

There's a Tenth Avenue North song that I love called "Empty My Hands."

Empty my hands

Fill up my heart

Capture my mind with You

To put it simply--I need to walk with empty hands. I need to be content in a sedentary position without something to read, or to text, or to play, or to simply look occupied. This isn't merely about physicality. Why is it strange to walk twenty steps from the car on the street to the front door with empty hands? I feel naked. I find myself grasping at the air, looking for something to clutch, to cling to.

And yet I have been asked to empty my hands. The two most hated words my ears could hear for the past eight years would be "let go."

I don't want to let go. Ever. I am a clinger to what I grow to love most and that old familiar gut-wrenching pit-of-my-stomach feeling tends to rise up at the sound of those two words.

Let go.

In a world where virtually all things are relatively within our grasp, it's hard to say no, first of all. Second of all it's incredibly harder to let go once you've started holding on. Sign me up as the poster child of this concept.

When we come to a resting place on this journey of life, our tendency is to pull out the cell phone and play a game while we wait. Something to occupy the attention span until life begins moving again. But I don't want just any attention-holder.

"Be still, and know that I am God." Psalm 40:10

He has called me to be still... and to know. This means I must drop whatever is in my hands and walk more swiftly towards the One who deserves my undivided attention, focus, and devotion. Walking with empty hands shouldn't feel weird or awkward. It should feel free, and liberating. Without the distractions I habitually return to, I am free to look only to Him, following hard towards whatever He places in front of me to grasp onto. Never clinging to any but Him, but accepting the cup He presents before me on a daily basis.

Capture my mind with You, Lord. I empty my hands before You.

"Let us lay aside every weight, and the sin that so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith." Hebrews 12:1-2

SB '11

I'm really afraid this post will not even come close to conveying what actually happened during my spring break this year, but I hope somehow my words can formulate a little of all that was experienced.

The past several years I have spent spring break at home and working all the extra hours left to me by everyone else having a real spring break. This year I had wanted to do something special since it's my senior year and my last spring break as an undergrad. A couple of my friends and I had discussed a possible roadtrip to New York, or maybe a camping trip, and of course there is always that ever elusive longing to spend a spring break in Florida. But in the end we just went to my house in Indiana. I knew it would be fun because I was bringing some crazy, fun, and hilarious people home with me, but I definitely had no idea exactly what awaited us as I got in the car to drive nine hours through the night with my two wonderful friends Justeen and Rachel.

I've always considered myself a deep thinker. One who enjoys bending reality in a way that provokes philosophical thought and pondering. I love to marvel over the simple things and make a big deal about what is so easily taken for granted by all of humanity. I was afraid I was going to struggle at the wheel during the drive since we left at 10pm, but I have never been more energetic on a drive home before. Almost every sentence out of our mouths began with either "Isn't it weird how..." or "Have you guys ever thought of..." and the typical response to whatever it was would be something like "whoa... that's awesome" or "man... God is really amazing." And before we knew it, God had snuck up on us. From one thing to the next, everything we talked about somehow seemed to point back to how incredible our God is and how much we will never grasp or understand about His being. That ride home goes down as one of the greatest conversations I've ever had.

We didn't know it at the time, but this was causing an unexpected shift inside each of our hearts. Instead of sleeping non-stop and watching movies all day, we discovered a new dynamic in our conversations and we were suddenly thirsty to know more about the Lord. We asked each other question after question... not really looking for actual answers but allowing our minds to be stretched and our hearts to be cracked open... just enough to let Him breathe a fresh breath inside of us and stir up the passions and longings we'd allowed to become dormant for so long. I can't really describe what was happening. But whatever it was... we definitely were not looking for it.

We spent time with my parents. Justeen asked them so many meaningful questions every chance she got and I probably learned more about my family than I'd ever tried to know before. We laughed until we couldn't breathe. We stayed up until all hours of the night. But we didn't do any of the things we thought we would. And so many more things we never expected we'd want to do.

Without really meaning to, we ended up praying together every night before going to bed. Each night the prayers got longer and more intensely powerful. We began pouring things out in front of each other that each of us individually probably hadn't prayed by ourselves in a very long time, if at all. We went through names and names of people we longed to see come to Christ. We prayed for each other and for our relationships and for God to make use of us in our seemingly small lives. After we'd finish praying there was always this extra strong bond felt between us. Like we'd just fought a battle side by side. We began talking about things we could do to make an impact over our break instead of being lazy and unproductive. We made dinner for a family in our church and were told very specifically that we had been an answer to prayer. There's nothing quite like hearing someone say that you were the one God had in mind to use when that person prayed for something.

If I tried to explain every moment we experienced over this break it would take hours and hours of writing and hours and hours for you to read. The basic reality is that God showed up in a big way in our hearts this spring break. And the most amazing part about it is that we weren't even looking for Him. He just decided to show up and give us a good shaking up like only He can do.

One of my greatest prayers during the week was that He would instill within me a desire for Him that goes beyond any emotion. I didn't want that break to simply be a spiritual high of sorts and to come back to school and forget all about it. It transformed a lot of how I pray and how much time I spend in the Word. As crazy as this may sound, it is almost April and I am three days ahead in my Bible reading plan. Typically I am way behind at this point but I have been excited to get into it and really search out the Scriptures. Since we've been back Justeen has not stopped asking me to tell her Bible stories. It's been so amazing discussing the random stories of the Bible with my friends and just letting it soak inside us while we read and talk about it.

There was a reason for why God chose to invade our spring break like He did. I don't want it to be in vain and even when the emotion and feeling has died away I want to continue cultivating a deeper relationship with Christ and also with the incredible friends He has blessed me with.

Neither Florida nor New York could have compared to spring break 2011 in Plainfield, Indiana.

Stretching Myself

I'm feeling the pressure.

Both of my best friends just started blogs and are blowing them up with posts. I've made myself a challenge to match each post of theirs with one of my own. Doubtful it'll actually happen but I'll make an attempt.

I've been making a list of things I've decided to call weeklies. It's this idea I've come up with where I have a goal for each week to do something I wouldn't normally do for the entire week. This week's weekly is to pray only praises to God and not ask for a single thing. The only prayer I can pray beyond merely praising and thanking God for all that He is and does for me is to ask that His will be done. Even today I've been really tempted to ask for things, but instead I just simply say, "Lord, I want Your will. Let it be as You would have it." It's pretty hard to not ask for anything, but I woke up this morning and praises just started rolling across my mind. "God, You are so amazing to me. You provided me a wonderful place to live, You put food in my cabinets, You give me money to buy things that I usually can do just fine without, You gave me amazing friends, and You give me a second and third and fourth chance every day to follow and pursue after You." He is so merciful. I'm hoping this week's weekly will help me center myself on the Lord and reignite a reverence for Him that I've been lacking.

Who am I to ask things of the Creator of the universe? Who am I?

Of course He does want me to ask for things, which is why this is only a week long thing. But I know it's good for me to take the focus off myself for a while.

I'm kind of excited about this list. And what God is wanting to show me by doing all this.

As much as I hate to even type these words-- It's good to stretch myself... I just hope I don't pull something....