Exhaustion, pt. 2

At this moment I finally have peace, solitude (except for the dog snoring), and silence--note that peace and silence are two different things. Gracie was crazy today and since I'm mostly crazy (about parenting anyway), we made for quite a pair. The funny thing is that this very moment I know how to parent. I know what I should do when she openly defies me. I can imagine myself in the middle of TWWTTYO (The War With the Two-Year-Old) and I am acting calm, together, and speak a language she understands and respects.

The real story is that those moments crowd out every other perfect moment of the day. There were maybe three times that just about broke me today, but the rest was complete joy. There is nothing like snuggling and sleeping in with your child. Singing in the car on our errands fills me with such fullness I sometimes cry. At the end of the day I want to be able to forget the craziness and remember the joy. Why is that so hard? Why do I walk out her room after putting her to bed and recount the failures of the day instead of the awe-filled minutes.

I think the whole disease, for me, is more than just about my growing as a parent. Why do I look back on the failures of my life and see them in greater proportion than the joys. I have an amazing husband, unbelievably perfect daughter, a job that incites my passions for ministry, friends that make me want to live on a commune so we can always be together, and many, many more blessings.

I would love to get to the end of the day and not think about the failed attempt at discipline, the flopped conversation, the toilet paper on my shoe, the missed deadline. Instead, I want to recount the blessings of the day--the million shades of green I got to see on my way home, the giggles of a two-year-old who thinks I am the funniest person ever, the way my husband looked at me from across the room and filled my heart with love.

Starting now--literally--my head hits the pillow and I know nothing but joy, blessing, and fullness.

Exhaustion

One week into blogging and I'm already out of things to say. Think sheer exhaustion. If I proceed to post a thoughtful reflection I'm sure I'll make a fool of myself. So I guess that is all I have to say today. I'm sure this one is going to get a lot of comments:-)

Random thoughts

I had dinner with a friend the other night and we talked a lot about her struggle with whether or not to leave her church. She talked about the preacher and how every week he gives a "come to Jesus so you don't go to hell" sermon and comes across angry and hateful. I totally get that that church is not home for her. However, our conversation ended up being about what worship is supposed to be. I said that worship is all about what we do and not what we get out of it. I said that it doesn't always matter (though usually does) if the sermon is completely lame. I said that singing hymns, saying creeds, reciting the psalms, and hearing the gospel read is what worship really is. My friend had a hard time with that because she wanted to be "fed" for the week. I get that. I want to be fed too, but we don't go into worship with that attitude, right? I think we do get fed through worship, but that is secondary to the worship of God. Whether or not we get fed or not isn't the point, but when we worship we experience God, and how can we not be fed?

She heard me saying that the sermon doesn't matter, but that's not what I meant. Believe me. . . I think sermons matter! It's just that the sermon is still worship. Our hearing, understanding, and responding to the sermon is worship, not feeding. Our souls being fed in worship is God's gift to us because of our wholehearted worship. I don't know; maybe it's all semantics.

Finally posting some thoughts

Alas, I finally blog on my blogspot!

I saw a Sara Groves, Bebo Norman, and Fernando Ortega concert last night at a Baptist college in Chattanooga. The venue was a large sanctuary with jumbo tron screens. It turns out that the college was having a prospective student weekend and all of the "prospective students" got free tickets. Mark and I were among the few "elderly" folks there. OK, so we're not really that old, but we felt like it last night.

The hosts of the concert were staff of the college and just about did us in. We felt like we were in a scene from the movie, Saved--complete with a "Give me an 'A'. Give me a 'W'" and so on until everyone was screaming, "Jesus is Awesome". I'm not kidding. And while I do believe that Jesus is, in fact, awesome, I had a very hard time getting into the cheer. The funniest part of the pre-show was a guy who went on a rant about how thankful he was for his salvation (and let me just say that I am as well) only to end his remarks with, "And I am so excited about the day of judgment". Then he walked off stage. Mark and I laughed out loud. I don't think anyone heard us, but it was a really funny statement.

We talked some more this morning about why that seemed so funny to us and why the whole "Jesus is Awesome" cheer seemed a little far out. We decided that it plays into the need to either get people jumping up and down or crying their eyes out and racing to the altar. I think sometimes it's all about emotion at the expense of intellect and true reflection on what it means to love and be loved by God. I also thought about the level of extremes in that model and that there is no time for silence or introspection. I'm thinking that you don't have to be on the brink of emotional meltdown to experience God. I'm still thinking about it.

OK, now on to the concert. Can I just say that Sara Groves is my hero? I've always thought it was weird that people put singers/bands on pedestals (except for my affair with Bon Jovi in junior high), but my Sara is simply amazing. Her honesty coupled with her simplicity and amazing voice put me smack dab in a space of grace. Her music for me is a means of grace--especially her song about her son that says, "He looks like an angel when he's sleeping. . .but he looks like Charles Bronson when he cries. . ." OK, so that one is less than spiritual, but most of them say everything that I want to say but can't express. I don't want to be her, but I do strive for her sincerity in songwriting.

Bebo and Fernando were good, but I wasn't there for them. Bebo talks to much and Fernando wasn't as good with a band. I just like him at the piano, with only a cello or something.

I suppose this is all for today. The Youngman house is working on what discipline is the right discipline for children, so I should have some pretty funny stories about my attempt to be authoritative. Peace for now.