Becoming Me

Cough...Sneeze...Oink

becomingme@live.com (Angela) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 01:09:00 +0000

The H1N1 virus ( aka swine flu...or better yet as my sweet Pumpkindoodle mispronounced it "slime flu") has hit my home.

I'm either immune or am surviving on extra doses of grace and adrenaline. It's a good thing because my husband, son and daughter are not fairing well...however, they are not showing scary signs of complications either and I pray that they will not.

Pumpkindoodle has been fighting high fever for more than 72 hours...Z-man and The Professor have been suffering for little more than 24 hours...

I am very grateful for things I normally take for granted...things like extra blankets, grocery stores, enough money to buy necessary food items, apple sauce, shelter, a community of friends, accessible doctors, modern medicine, crayons, Netflix and of course the intangibles. Intangibles like the gratitude in the eyes of my family members, extra cuddles and snuggles from my kids, and the realization of how very blessed I am to have the priviledge to serve those I most love when they are most in need.

Walking Down the Lane - He Held My Hand

becomingme@live.com (Angela) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 13:33:00 +0000

(I am starting a new series called "Walking Down The Lane" Posting will be sporadic, but the purpose will be to share memories... I almost didn't finish writing this, but have been inspired by my friend Marilyn to "Write it Anyway" -- The first installment posted below is an 11 year-old memory that took place when The Professor and I were in that stage between dating and hanging out.)

Although we met in May, The Professor (then a grad student) and I did not become fast friends. Our first official date didn't occur until October 26, 1998, but we were getting to know each other via swing dancing, which was all the rage in Orlando during the late 90's.

One night, while The (future) Professor was walking me to my car from a dance club, I was almost too engaged in conversation to notice that we were approaching a haunted attraction located near the iconic Church Street Station (this attraction is now closed). This was one of those places that hired costumed actors to stand outside the building and spook passersby.

Before I can continue with the memory, there is something you need to know. When it comes to fright, I'm a lightweight. I cower under blankets, clutch my knees, and cover my eyes while watching horror movies (during the span of my life I have not watched more than eight and I consider The Sixth Sense, Jaws, and Silence of the Lambs horror flicks.) I also steer clear of scary and gory Halloween costumes and decorations. And I Do. Not. Do. Haunted Houses. Except for two ride on ones...one on which I close my eyes the entire time and fake calmness; the other one is Disney World's "Haunted Mansion." I'm also not too proud to admit that my heart raced rapidly as I waited in line for my first visit to Disney's favorite creepy house.

Now that you know that I am easily terrorized, you should also know that those costumed actors I referred to earlier were well-trained to sense fear. I know this because I was frequently stalked and touched by Dracula and some lady of the dead woman when I walked by the building. And by frequently, I mean twice, because after the second time I refused to walk on the same side of the street...until that night with The (future) Professor.

While we were talking and laughing, I glanced up and noticed that we were just one block away from "Terror on Church Street." Not wanting to appear a wimp in front of a man I fancied, I nonchalantly suggested we cross the street. Being oriented toward logic and efficiency, The (future) Professor nixed that idea because that would be walking in the opposite direction of where our cars were parked.

"But the other side of the street is nicer," I said, "and it is a great night for a longer walk."

I thought he would take the bait, and perhaps he would have if my posture and voice had not betrayed me with stiffness.

"Angela?"

"Yes."

"Are you scared?"

He caught me. I bit my lip and lightly stomped my high-heeled-shoe on the sidewalk.

"Yes. Those things don't like me. They follow me and won't leave me alone."

He smiled and refrained from laughing, although I knew he wanted to laugh.

"It's because they know you are scared of them. You make it too easy for them to do their job. C'mon."

Part of me was annoyed. I couldn't believe he was going to make me walk past the undead when he knew I was scared. I wanted him to humor me and cross the street. I wanted him to make me feel safe and as irrational as I knew it was, I could not fathom feeling secure walking by that haunted house.

I continued walking, but my pace was snail slow.

This time, he let out a little laugh and said, "Come on, it is going to be OK, just hold your head up straight and don't let them know that you're scared." And then he did something wonderful...something simple, but something that swept me with feelings of safety...he held my hand. He held my hand and he did not let go of it until we passed the haunted building. And then we both laughed. And then I knew that I really liked him.

When I first began writing down this memory I had no intentions of turning it into a devotion...I really didn't see how it could tie into one. But now that I wrote the memory something sticks in my mind and it is quite obvious, yet still I feel compelled to share.

There are times when I foresee a situation that scares me and I want to turn away and run...but know that running is not an option. Sometimes I know I need to keep walking...not on another street...not in another direction...but straight ahead. I need to keep moving, even when I don't want to move...even when I feel frozen with fear...even when I am stubbornly unwilling to take another step...I need to keep going.

Those are the times when God gently turns up my chin, steadies my shaking spirit, and says, "Come on, Angela, it is going to be OK." Then He holds my hand and walks with me; and even if it is a path I do not want to take, with Him by my side, I know I am safe.

At (In)Courage with The Doubting Self

becomingme@live.com (Angela) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 14:32:00 +0000

I'm at (In) Courage today with a post to which I think many can relate. Here's a sneak peek:

This post is for the woman who walks silently into a crowded room and stands alone hoping that someone will notice her.

This post is for the woman who sits quietly with her lips curved into a polite smile as she listens to small talk, but seldom joins the conversation.

This post is for the woman who walks up to a group of co-workers or moms at a PTO meeting and suddenly feels as though she's been transported back to high school. Although the other women are courteous and do not ignore her presence or respond with icy stares, she still feels out of place.

This post is for the woman who feels intimidated by her polar opposite...the woman who smiles eagerly, jumps readily into conversations with strangers, makes new friends with ease, and seems capable of swapping recipes with a door knob.

To read the entire post, please click here.

Not That Wife

becomingme@live.com (Angela) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 15:31:00 +0000

(This post was published on March 19, 2008, so the mentioned events are not recent...my husband's back surgery happened nearly 2 years ago. Still, this has always been one of my favorite posts even though my weaknesses are accented. --My apologies to those of you who have read this more than once...I normally don't repost things more than once, but today, I needed to reread this one.)

Earlier this week, during a phone conversation with my soul sister Jaime, I giddily recounted several falling in love with The Professor stories. The backdrop for the tales was painted more than nine years ago. Colors representing excitement, adventure, love, passion, yearning, searching, and expectation splattered the canvass of our love story adding texture to the abstract illustration.

While enrolled in premarital counseling class a pastor shared a story about a young couple struck by tragedy only weeks after their “I do’s” were spoken. A car accident rendered the husband paralyzed from waist to toe. The resolve of the young wife to honor and love the man she married never wavered. She nurtured him without complaint and worked both inside and outside their home. The pastor smiled as he announced that the couple would soon be celebrating 35 years of marriage and that the husband tirelessly bestowed praise on the wife of his youth who was a living example of platinum strength agape love. After hearing that touching tribute I thought “I will be that wife.”

Fast-forward nine years. I am not that wife. Boy those are tough words to type.

Tears swamped my jaded eyes only 12 hours after Jaime and I talked. My tears were not watery symbols of anger or displeasure with The Professor. Instead they were tears of self disappointment and failure. Three weeks ago the professor underwent extensive back surgery. The healing process crawls forward at a leisurely pace and although physical nerves are repaired emotional ones are, at best, frayed. I’m not that wife.

My exhaustion gets the best of me and ignoring James 5:9 I sometimes grumble. Sometimes I search for accolades. Sometimes I pout. And to make it worse my grumbling, pouting, and self-praise digging are not kept private. I flaunt them in front of The Professor, because I’m not that wife.

I’ve been a resident in my own “Perfectionists Anonymous” rehab center long enough to know that this thought process can be the first falling domino in a long line of self destructive behavior. Lamenting that I am not that wife, who by the way happens to be a women whom I have never met, hinders me from being the wife that God intends me to be to my husband.

I’m blessed that a forgiving heart beats in the chest of my Professor because I’m not perfect. Nor will I be. I’m the wife who makes mistakes that surpass burning toast and losing car keys. I’m the wife who gets angry, tired, and lonely.

I am also the wife who learns, albeit slowly, from her mistakes. I am the wife with a repentant heart. A heart that yearns to love as Christ loves and to forgive as Christ forgave. I am the wife who knows that her marriage is worth fighting for even if it means pummeling her own selfishness. I am the wife who is humbled so that her Father can be glorified. I am the wife who keeps trying, the wife who is driven to her knees beseeching assistance from the Perfect One. I am the wife who knows that only Christ can give her that platinum strength agape love she desires to give to the man who taught her that love is a choice.

"Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity." Colossians 3:12-14, NIV.

The Pleated Poppy Winner

becomingme@live.com (Angela) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 00:22:00 +0000

Congratulations to Ashley Johnson from the blog Shady Grove Creations. Ashley left comment #21 for the Posey Pin give away and that was the number generated at Random.org

A big thank you to Lindsey from the Pleated Poppy for sponsoring the give away and to all who entered.

This Week's Featured Blog Comes with A Give Away

becomingme@live.com (Angela) — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 09:27:00 +0000

The Pleated Poppy is both an inspiring blog and a sweet online boutique crafted by the lovely Lindsey Cheney. I seriously do not know how Lindsey keeps it all together. She is a homeschooling mom of three, writer, amateur photographer, and (in)courage contributor who also runs a business stocked with delightful products that she makes.

Here is a small sampling of her enormous talent.

She makes these crayon rolls...an essential for budding artists...

and these whimsical tea towels...

and these super sweet and soft headbands that look great on bald heads as well as noggins with lots of hair...

and my personal favorite, the posey pin.

Those are just a few samples of the posey pins, which come in sets of three and look fabulous on shirts, jackets, cardigans, purses, backpacks, scarves, belts and belt loops, gift bags/boxes, hats, and probably about 50 other places that those of you much more creative than me can think up.

For hosting this give-away as a part of Blog of the Week, Lindsey gifted me with a set of blue and white posey pins. I love mine and so does my daughter. In fact, we're sharing them. She wore one today on her top. It served two purposes...it looked great and hid a stain. I plan to use at least one to dress up a white turtleneck. I'd include personal photos, but my camera battery charger is MIA.

However, here is a picture from Lindsey who used some posey pins to dress up a hat. How gorgeous is this?

Here is your chance to win a set of three posey pins.

1) Visit the Pleated Poppy Shop and make a note of your favorite item

2) Come back here and leave a comment on this post (if for some reason you try to leave a comment but are unable, send me a personal e-mail...my comment section has been having issues lately)

3) In the comment be sure to include your favorite item from the Pleated Poppy *AND* how you think you may use the posey pins should you win the random drawing. The contest will be open until 8 pm EST on Tuesday, 20.

So...I'm just gonna write about stuff...maybe

becomingme@live.com (Angela) — Sat, 17 Oct 2009 17:00:00 +0000

Have you noticed that there can exist both a positive and negative component in just about every personality trait? For instance, friendliness is a lovely attribute to possess, but problems can ensue if one is overly friendly...add naivety into the overly friendly batter and you have a dangerous concoction in the making.

A characteristic belonging to me that has brought forth both triumph and woe is my competitive spirit. I push myself hard. My adrenaline levels climb at Cheetah racing speeds when I'm presented with a challenge. When I commit to a project I strive to achieve the best results. And, I don't rig games of Candy Land just because my opponent is five.* Yep, I'm competitive alright.

When properly harnessed, my competitiveness can propel me toward great accomplishments like:

Winning seven out of ten available scholarships that helped me pay for my college education

Moving to Orlando, FL two weeks after college graduation with two suitcases, $500, and no job

Remaining in Orlando after I lost my first job and lived on blueberry muffins and Cream of Wheat hot cereal for nine days when my checking account boasted only $1.27

Walking up and down two flights of stairs (repeatedly) while 9 cm dilated in order to avoid a C-section

Winning public relations awards within my first year in the field

I'm not bragging, just setting the stage.

On the flip side of my competitive coinage lies some not so pretty events:

My husband refused to play Scrabble with me for five solid years because I got too nasty whenever his wooden letters landed on the triple word score square...especially when one or (shudder) more of those letters was worth 8 points. Hell hath no fury like a wordsmith outsmarted by her left-brained, former math majoring husband.

On more than one occasion I disregarded the feelings of colleagues and dominated work and school projects to ensure that my ideas were implemented and praised.

I once stayed up until 3:00 a.m. baking and decorating Christmas cookies so that everyone would oooh and ahh over my creations at a church social.

There are more examples...some much uglier than what I shared. I'll spare you.

My competitive edge also has advantages and disadvantages when it comes to my writing. Throughout the past decade the quality of my writing has improved. That is a plus.

On the minus column is the fact that when it comes to blogging I have hit a wall built by my drive to out do myself each time I post. Yes, it is my heart's desire to write for God's glory and not my own...yet still I sometimes allow my perfectionistic tendencies grip control.

In an effort to break free from the rut I am currently in, I have decided to write more...yes, I still want to go for quality and of course I want to continue to grow closer to Christ and help others who share that journey, but not every post will be devotional in nature...not every post will have a lesson.

Every post will still be honest, transparent, and a documentation of my becoming.

I hope that you will keep reading.

Blessings, Angela

* I am not always mean...I have allowed my kids to beat me at board games ocassionally.

Giving Up on Perfect-Blog of the Week

becomingme@live.com (Angela) — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 02:11:00 +0000

This week's highlighted blog is Giving Up On Perfect written by Mary, a mom of a two-year-old daughter and a woman who now knows that the quest for perfection is futile this side of heaven. Mary's posts speak right to my recovering people pleasing heart...I am blessed when I read her stories about how she is relying Jesus and not on aspirations of being superwoman.

Here is my short interview with Mary.

How long have you been blogging?
I started blogging in April 2008.

Why did you start blogging?
I started partly because I was bored and lonely (my husband works evenings, and with a newborn, I was pretty much trapped in the house after work). I also love to write and share my opinions, and blogging seemed like a good way to do both.

What motivates you to continue blogging?
My writing continues to improve and I actually learn a lot about myself through blogging. But the best part is the people.

Does you blog have a mission statement? If so, what is it?
I don’t really have a mission statement for my blog. I should; I know I should. Perhaps I should just say my lack of one is all part of my attempt to give up on perfect?

What is your favorite verse from the Bible?
One of my favorite passages of Scripture is Lamentations 3, especially verses 22-23: "Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness."

DISQUS

becomingme@live.com (Angela) — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 14:55:00 +0000

Hi all!

Just a note to let you know that I am trying something new with my comment section to help me better organize and respond to comments. I have installed DISQUS.

Let me know what you think of the change.

Blessings, Angela

Broken Crayons and A Broken Heart

becomingme@live.com (Angela) — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 22:58:00 +0000

Photo by Tatyna Chernyak / Dreamstime.com

Not all adults treat children kindly. I learned this cheerless nugget of information before I mastered tying my shoes. The event took place during a play date at my neighbor’s home. The Dijon shag carpet scratched my knees as I leaned over and enthusiastically accepted Adam’s invitation to a coloring show down. With a carnation pink crayon clutched in my fist, I pressed the dyed wax against paper and vigorously shook my writs. Snap. The crayon didn’t bode well against my childish fervor. The green crayon snapped next, and then the orange. Adam’s father was incensed.

“Those are Adam’s new crayons,” he barked. “If you break one more I’m going to spank you.”

Before he finished his sentence the metallic crayon buckled under the pressure of my chubby four-year-old grip. The next sound I heard was the hollow thud of a strong hand connecting with the small of my back. Air escaped my lungs and failed to be replaced for what seemed like minutes, but was seconds in reality.

Funny thing, I remember so much about that day, but not a smudge of the physical pain. I’m sure it hurt. There was a large raspberry red palm imprinted on my back for at least an hour (He was a large man, I was a preschooler, I could have been seriously injured).

I remember the smell and color of the crayons, and the genuine laughter and enjoyment of playing with my friend. I also remember the breathlessness I felt after the strike, and the horror of being struck. Shame presented itself as well. Breaking the crayons was not an act of willful disobedience, rather a childish blunder, yet still, I felt like a bad, bad girl. I broke some crayons, that neighbor broke my tender heart.

Tears streamed my face as Mrs. P gently gathered my belongings, brushed strands of my butter blond hair away from my eyes, and instructed Adam to walk me home. An event created in five minutes will never be forgotten.

My sweet daughter is a year older than I was when what I now refer to as the awful crayon incident took place. She’s a social gal like her mama and her friends visit often. All of her friends are loved and welcomed in our home. Some children require a wee bit more patience than others. I can say that without guilt because I am sure that there are several parents who share that sentiment when it comes to my kids.

It’s my heartfelt prayer that our home be one of hospitality... not only to our adult friends, but to the friends of our children, even...especially, the ones who sometimes try my resolve. I pray that the words I speak to those precious ones be edifying; words that drip with kindness, love, and cheer. I pray that I will take the time necessary to get to know these little beings and be another encourager in their courts, because this world and its inhabitants sling some harsh blows. I pray that our home will be a safe haven amidst this blistering society, and that my children will know how to love because they see love in action every day.

"Then little children were brought to Jesus for him to place his hands on them and pray for them. But the disciples rebuked those who brought them. Jesus said, 'Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.' When he had placed his hands on them, he went on from there." Matthew 13-15

Blog of the Week - Annie Blogs

becomingme@live.com (Angela) — Sun, 13 Sep 2009 17:37:00 +0000

The author of this week's blog of the week is a true delight. She's a young gal with the wisdom, love, and grace of an older soul...her blog posts have made me think, smile, cry, stamp my feet along with her regarding certain frustrations, and laugh heartily. And sometimes I do all of those things while reading a solitary post. Please take some time to meet the bubbly Annie from Annie Blogs...seriously folks, she's going to be famous one day so here is your chance to at the opportunity to one day say "I knew Annie when..."

Here is my interview with Annie. Oh, and if you are a single Christian man or know of a good one, pay close attention to the first question...(winks and smiles)

Are you a mom? Nope- single. But always open to being set up. :)

How long have you been blogging? Since Nov. 2006

Why did you start blogging? My sister started a blog first, and I thought, "if she's doing it, so can I." About ten of our friends all started blogs at the same time and just tried to entertain each other. It was hilarious.

What motivates you to continue blogging? I'm a writer- it's my full time job. So blogging is great practice in discipline and writing in general. But more than that, I absolutely love the community that blogging creates. I love having a place to write every day, knowing that a few of my friends read it and can keep up with me. My sister says I will write more things on my blog than I would call and tell her anyways, so maybe it's a good way to keep up with my family as well? :) Or maybe I should just call my sister more often.

Does you blog have a mission statement? If so, what is it? Annie Blogs. For you. For her. For them. For Him.

What is your favorite verse from the Bible?
Psalm 73:25-26
Whom have I in heaven but You? And earth has nothing I desire besides You.
My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

Distilling Love

becomingme@live.com (Angela) — Wed, 09 Sep 2009 20:05:00 +0000

As I headed out of the kitchen, trash bag in hand, my load suddenly felt lighter and my feet felt wet and sticky. Jabs of pain radiated down my thigh.

Earlier that day I had hastily tossed a broken wire hanger into the trash can. I didn't think it was a big deal, but apparently the metal stick landed in just the right spot to tear open the bag and simultaneously gash my leg.

I stood surveying the stinky mess that blanketed the floor I had scrubbed two hours prior. What was once pristine was covered in filth.

In that moment I did a lot of futile wishing.

I wished that I had never thrown that hanger away.

I wished that my leg wasn't throbbing.

I even wished that my name was Carol Brady and that a trusty housekeeper named Alice would clean up the mess for me.

But none of my wishing altered my reality. There was a big ugly mess on my kitchen floor and I was responsible for cleaning it up.

As I examine my life, I can recall many messes made in the corridors of my heart, spirit, and mind. Like the gunky monstrosity caused by the broken trash bag, some of my messes were created by my negligence, sins, and mistakes.

-----Please visit me here to finish reading this story and to learn more about the hope that exists for cleaning up life's ugliest messes.

Blog of the Week Returns: The Mom Creative

becomingme@live.com (Angela) — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 02:29:00 +0000

OK, Ya'll I have moved into my new home in Ohio. You should know that I began this sentence with ya'll to prove (to myself I guess) that even though I am back in the north, there are three habits I learned during my 15 years down south that I'll never give up.

1) Saying Ya'll, because it is such a great word.

2) Two, using the phrase "Bless your/his/her little heart" when offering sympathy;

3) Sweet Tea.

I'm also trying to get back into the good habit of writing more often and keeping up with the blog world. The beginning of September seems like a great time to reintroduce "Blog of the Week."

Posted below is a short interview with the fabulous Jessica Turner who blogs at The Mom Creative. Enjoy!

Are you a mom? Yes, I am mommy to Elias, who is 12 months and into everything.

How long have you been blogging? Three years

Why did you start blogging? To share scrapbooking projects and other happenings with out of state loved ones.

What motivates you to continue blogging? I love the community of readers. I also love documenting part of my story through blogging.

Does you blog have a mission statement? If so, what is it? no, but I should come up with one!

What is your favorite verse from the Bible? Phil 4:13- I can do everything through Him who gives me strength. This verse has been such an encouragement to me during many seasons of my life.

Questions, Questions, Questions

becomingme@live.com (Angela) — Fri, 28 Aug 2009 21:11:00 +0000

I have been under-the-weather today and am just now getting to let you know that today is the day I debut at (in)courage. Those of you who have been hanging around here for a long time will recognize the post. And some fact have changed...my daughter is now 5 and my son is two. Guess what hasn't changed? Well, I never found that box of Cheerios and I still have questions.

Before you head on over there, I have one question for you. Are you having trouble commenting here? I ask only because about five people have contacted me to tell me that they can no longer comment on my blog. Odd...and I have no clue as to why, but I am looking into it.

Hope you all have a great weekend and please visit me here.

Committed to Marriage #4

becomingme@live.com (Angela) — Thu, 27 Aug 2009 07:14:00 +0000

Hanging on

becomingme@live.com (Angela) — Mon, 24 Aug 2009 18:31:00 +0000

I did not notice the intricate web or its creator until I had driven a few blocks from my house. After spotting the spider grasping the home it wove on my side view mirror, I pushed down slightly harder on the accelerator with the intent of blowing away the insect and its sticky silk.

Upon stopping at a red light, I glanced over at the web expecting the spider to be long gone. But it wasn't. Some of the web had disappeared, but the eight-legged Anthropod remained. I sighed and thought for sure that he'd be a goner once I reached the highway.

At the next red light I stole another peek. The spider remained. And he was there at the following light as well, somewhat frantic and urgent in his weaving, but he held on.

It was at that third light that my attitude toward the creepy bug changed. I began rooting for the spider and wishing that he would make it until I pulled into the grocery store parking lot. I wanted the spider to hold firm. I wanted him to survive, and I wanted to see him place his spindly legs on safer ground.

I wanted that for him because I had been there...to that place of barely hanging on. I am not there now, but the memories are not dull either. Circumstances of life have at times left me feeling as though there were just a few fragile strings standing between me and emotional and spiritual desolation.

Windblown. Disorientated. Battered. Frightened. Counted out. Unwanted. But not about to give up.

I have been there.

When I parked my car, I found a stick that enabled me to transfer the spider to the bark of a tree. And for probably the last time in my life, I related to a spider.

Because, I have been there too...at that place of second chances.

Resting in the nook of peace. Embracing hope. Dancing in the light of restoration. Delighting in the rescue.

"Therefore, brothers, since we have confidence to enter the Most Holy Place by the blood of Jesus, by a new and living way opened for us through the curtain, that is, his body, and since we have a great priest over the house of God, let us draw near to God with a sincere heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse us from a guilty conscience and having our bodies washed with pure water. Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds."

Hebrews 10:19-24 (New International Version)

Video Thursday - Committed to Marriage #3

becomingme@live.com (Angela) — Thu, 20 Aug 2009 08:11:00 +0000

Video Thursday - Committed to Marriage #2

becomingme@live.com (Angela) — Thu, 13 Aug 2009 09:08:00 +0000

The Sandbar: Courage Required

becomingme@live.com (Angela) — Mon, 10 Aug 2009 00:05:00 +0000

(Speaking of courage---the new site, (in)co urage, is now live. I hope you'll check it out after you finish reading this.)

She stood inches from the breaking waves using her big toe to write her name in the sand. Occasionally she dipped her feet into salty water, but it was rare for even her ankles to get wet. My five-year-old daughter, Pumpkindoodle, who errs on the side of caution, had no interest in exploring the ocean during our recent trip to the beach. My gentle coaxing did little to ignite her dormant adventurous spark until two of her friends, along with their mommy, decided to swim out to a sandbar about 20 feet away.

“Where did that island come from Mommy,” she asked.

“The sea level dropped in that spot and our friends are going to investigate it. It won't be there for long...would you like to check it out?”

“Um...I don't think so...wait...yes...yes, I'm going to go for it,” she squealed with a newfound resolve and firmly gripped my hand.

Her bravado waned when the waves thrashed against her waist. Sensing her fear, I picked her up, rested her against my hip, and reassured her with words of comfort.

“I won't make you keep going if you don't want to go, but if you still want to explore the island, I promise to hold you tight. I'll keep you safe and make sure your head does not go under water. What would you like to do?”

Pressing her forehead against mine she smiled then panted, “I am going to be brave. Let's do this together.”

Her feet danced before reaching the sand as we stepped onto the island. Exhilaration exuded as she gleefully jumped up and down exclaiming, “I did it!”

My daughter learned some lessons about true courage that day although it will be a few years before she can understand those nuggets of wisdom. While I permitted her to bask in the glory of her accomplishment, I knew that her newly garnered courage did not come from believing in herself. In fact, if that were the case, she would have demonstrated a reckless foolishness and rushed into the water unassisted. Instead, she realized her limits and placed her little life literally into the arms of someone reliable. Someone whom she knew would never sacrifice her safety.

By providing my daughter security as we ventured to the sand bar, I also subtly instilled in her a fundamental element of courage...trust.

Living in a crazy misguided world requires courage. Taking a stand for truth requires courage. Stepping over the invisible line that marks our zones of comfort requires courage. Obedience to God's calling in our lives requires courage. But true courage is not blind, nor is it rash. Courage comes from knowing that the ultimate outcome will be good. And not always in how we humans define good (i.e. getting our own way and being happy), but how God defines good (Romans 8 has some great examples of this).

“In the same way the Spirit also helps our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we should, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words; and He who searches the hearts knows what the mind of the Spirit is, because He intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose. For those whom He foreknew, He also predestined to become conformed to the image of His Son, so that He would be the firstborn among many brethren; and these whom He predestined, He also called; and these whom He called, He also justified; and these whom He justified, He also glorified. What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who is against us? He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him over for us all, how will He not also with Him freely give us all things?” Romans 8: 26-32, NASB.

Courage is derived from trust. Sometimes trust comes easily. Pumpkindoodle's willingness to venture to the sandbar in the face of fear was inspired by her wanting to explore with her friends. Trusting me, made it easier to do something that she wanted to do in the first place.

I find that trusting God sometimes means doing things that I do not want to do. Such as moving across the country seven times in ten years. Or, as was the case after The Professor and I first married, accepting a job that was levels lower than the position I previously had simply because it was the only offer I had at the time. Often times trusting God and responding with courageous obedience means taking the emphasis off of myself, focusing my gaze on Him, tightly grabbing His hand and saying “I'm going to be brave, let's do this together.”

“The Lord will hand over to you the people who live there, and you must deal with them as I have commanded you. So be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid and do not panic before them. For the Lord your God will personally go ahead of you. He will neither fail you nor abandon you. Then Moses called for Joshua, and as all Israel watched, he said to him, 'Be strong and courageous! For you will lead these people into the land that the Lord swore to their ancestors he would give them. You are the one who will divide it among them as their grants of land.'” Deuteronomy 31:5-7 NLT

It's Never Been Fair - Anniversary Repost

becomingme@live.com (Angela) — Fri, 07 Aug 2009 04:34:00 +0000

(This was originally posted one year ago today as a 9th anniversary gift to my husband. I changed the nine to a ten in paragraph six for the repost.)

All is fair in love and war…or so goes the old saying that traces back to John Lyly's Euphues written in 1578. For centuries, the adage has granted individuals the right to cheat on the battlefields of both ground and heart.

Ironically, any solider who has fought for his country will tell you that there is nothing fair about war. No matter the reasons for entering a fight, terror and ugliness abound savagely. But I’ll leave the subject of war for other writers to discuss. Love is the impetus of my current thoughts.

Contrary to Lyly’s famous line, the only commonality that I know exist between love and war is that neither is fair. Yet, unlike war, it is the unfairness component of love that can add unfathomable beauty.

Love, in its purist, sacrificial form has never been fair. As God sculpted Adam from the fresh earth, He knew that His most glorious creation would break His heart. Yet still, God breathed man to life. It was not fair, but the beauty cannot be denied.

When the world knew only darkness and despair, God sent hope in the form of His son, Jesus Christ. The sinless man and true embodiment of love was scorned, spat upon, rejected, beaten, and killed by a method that glorified cruelty as sport. The image of my sweet Savior nailed to a brutal cross swells a lump in my throat. It was the greatest atrocity committed by mankind, one in which I bear some of the blame. It. Was. Not. Fair. But the beauty, the stunning, breath stealing beauty, cannot be denied.

Ten years ago today, my mother and sisters helped me step into a white gown and placed a bouquet of pink roses into my unsteady hands. Pachabel’s Cannon played as my dad and PapPap guided me down the aisle to my Professor. As we exchanged vows, pieces of cake, and many kisses, delusions of fairness occupied space in my mind.

It took me less than two weeks to learn that our marriage was not going to be fair. Fifty-fifty? Equal give-and-take? Those are just good-intentioned, but flawed concepts. Our marriage experienced illnesses that rattled our faith, emotional pain that rammed us to our knees, and losses that ransacked our haven. Our marriage is not fair, but its beauty cannot be denied.

Arms open to embrace one in need of forgiveness…beautiful. Fingers entwined as a new life swallows her first gulps of air…beautiful. Tears cried for the one who aches…beautiful. Hands steadying the one whose body is ravaged my pain…beautiful. Laughter echoing throughout corridors…beautiful. Feet that stumble as they walk a rugged path, but also glide as they dance…beautiful. Lips that touch softly as evidence to both passion and commitment...beautiful.

Love. Unbridled, agape love, a love that is taught by its Creator, is not fair. I don’t think it was designed to be fair. But its glorious beauty cannot be denied.

Happy anniversary my Professor. Thank you for choosing to love this flawed, undeserving woman. Your face is handsome, but your heart is beautiful.

"Love is patient, love is kind and is not jealous; love does not brag and is not arrogant, does not act unbecomingly; it does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered, does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. I Corinthians 13:4-7 (New American Standard Bible)."

Opportunity Knocked on the Door of Chaos

becomingme@live.com (Angela) — Thu, 06 Aug 2009 04:30:00 +0000

When Holley Gerth, Senior Editorial Designer and Writer for Day Spring invited me to join her and more than twenty other amazing women for a new project called (in) courage, I froze with shock...and a little bit of fear. I could not erase a single word question from my mind. Now?

Had the offer come several months earlier excitement would have trumped doubt, but chaos and uncertainty loomed the day I received Holley's e-mail. The Professor's contract was not renewed at the end of the semester and very few job prospects were present. A move (and most likely an out-of-state move) was inevitable. And I was in the middle of a personal writing slump.

I wanted to say yes and I wanted to say no. So, I said maybe. And I prayed. And prayed. And prayed. After a few weeks of praying, I knew that I needed to accept the offer to join the (in) courage team. I think you'll understand more about why after the site officially launches on August 10th.

This week, the team of women I mentioned earlier is being unveiled one woman at a time. Some of you may be visiting me today because of Mary's link at Giving Up On Perfect. If you are not a regular reader of Mary's blog and enjoy a refreshingly honest writing style from a woman who desires more of God, then please head on over to her site. You will be blessed.

Another member of the (in) courage team is someone whom I wish was with me right now as I unpack boxes and settle into my new home in Ohio.

Melissa from The Inspired Room is an interior decorator, wife of a pastor, and mother of three children. She is passionate about what she has dubbed Authentic Living. Because Melissa is as talented at writing as she is in interior design, I will use her words to describe authentic living.

"By my loose definition, authentic living is living a life that works for you, instead of struggling against the one you have been given. It is finding satisfaction, contentment and fulfillment in the present. It is living on purpose and with purpose. And, perhaps more importantly, it is a life where we are useful to people around us because we are able to give of ourselves in the way we want to. It can be a life filled with dreams, hard work and determination, but at its foundation is authenticity to both who we are and what is appropriate for us at any given point in life. It is like a compass, it helps us to determine if we are spending our time and money appropriately. It is living well within our means not only financially, but emotionally, physically, time-wise, and in other ways as well."

Don't forget to stop by www.incourage.me today for a sneak preview of what is to come and then visit again on August 10.

Video Thursday - Committed to Marriage #1

becomingme@live.com (Angela) — Thu, 06 Aug 2009 04:04:00 +0000

Ten years ago this month, The Professor and I became husband and wife. With our vows we made a commitment to each other and to God...we made a commitment to marriage.

The Video Thursday Posts for this month will all be dedicated to marriage.

Video Thursday - Mere Christianity

becomingme@live.com (Angela) — Thu, 30 Jul 2009 07:37:00 +0000

Video Thursday - Chick-Fil-A

becomingme@live.com (Angela) — Thu, 23 Jul 2009 09:25:00 +0000

Sometimes we all need a good laugh. This gave my belly a work out.

What's Goin' On

becomingme@live.com (Angela) — Sat, 18 Jul 2009 02:51:00 +0000

Today, I'm just going to talk to you. I'm not going to get out my thesaurus, I'm not going to spend hours searching for the best adjectives, alliteration and phrasing....I'm just going to type with my fingers the words that are circulating in my mind almost in the fashion of a face-to-face conversation, albeit a one-sided conversation.

When I started Becoming Me about 18-months-ago I implemented a few self-imposed rules.

Rule # 1 - It would consist mostly of devotional posts

Rule #2 - Only serious and well written material would be published

Rule #3 - Each post, even the non devotional ones would include a Scripture verse.

Rule #4 - I would not obsess about growing my readership

Rule #5 - My posts would showcase my imperfections and be honest, sometimes even raw, so that whoever stopped by to read would know that through Christ there is hope for all human weaknesses and struggles.

Rule #6 - I would personally respond to every comment left on my blog

Rule #7 - I would update my blog regularly as well as visit and comment on other blogs often.

There were other rules too. Some I kept, some I modified, and others I threw out. But when began this journey I felt that I needed hard and fast guidelines. I tend to live my life that way. I like rules, they make me feel safe. And I like to follow rules, because doing so makes me feel as if I'm a good person and pleasing to others. If there was a course called "People Pleasing 101" not only could I teach it, but I would have a special segment about rules.

In an early post I labeled my self a "recovering perfectionist and people pleaser." Extreme rule making and following can certainly be a symptom of such. And there is another to this...one that does not seem to fit.

When I become overwhelmed by to-do lists, projects, rules, and such, I tend to shut down and let it all slide away. I've done that with Becoming Me recently.

When I found out that we would have to move once again (our 7th major move in 10 years), I became weary. Not only were we having to move, we were having to move because my husband's job had been discontinued. (I think that's what is called a "double whammy"). And let's make it a triple whammy...he was having a difficult time securing a new job. Even though I honestly was not fretting about the situation because I knew with all my heart that God would make it good in time, I was annoyed with the situation. Moving yearly can be taxing both physically and emotionally. The thought of packing boxes, leaving friends, driving across country, unpacking boxes, making new friends, etc. invoked frustration. No, that's too mild...it made me angry. Really angry. Not with God. Not with my husband, but with life, with the situation.

Although writing has always packed therapeutic value, I had trouble thinking, writing, even praying. I felt overloaded. I'm still feeling a wee bit overloaded.

I'm not weeping. I'm not feeling depressed. I'm not even enraged. I'm just tired and mildly drained.

The good news is that my husband has found another job. We will be moving again...this time to a small town in Ohio. And the move will be soon. The Professor accepted the job offer on Monday, drove to Ohio on Tuesday to find a place to live, signed a lease on Wednesday, and then returned home last night. And guess what? We're moving in two weeks!

I promise you, I'm not complaining...I'm actually quite excited about the move...mildly daunted, but mostly excited. I know that we are not moving alone and that this is just a new chapter in the story God is writing for us. That does make my heart joyful.

I'm not going to give up on writing. But I am going to ease up on some of my self made rules...I may not post something new for another few weeks or even months...or I may be inspired and write something new tomorrow. But that's OK.

(I do promise to reinstate Blog of the Week sometime in the Fall)