Yah, Let’s do THAT.

At church on Saturday I was reminded of the triumphant story of GIDEON and his seemingly ill-equipped self and just a few dudes willing to fight with him. So much goodness from all of it,  but there’s THIS that just won’t go away…

…and put trumpets into the hands of all of them & empty jars & torches….  [judges 7:16]

Gideon was a scared-y cat, a runt, an unlikely pick to lead an army.  He answered God’s call to defeat the enemy.  Through a drastic selection process, of sending the scared home, and watching how each of them drank water, God dwindled Gideon’s army down to 300. Through major showing off-because God does that- he handed Gideon and his soldiers

  • trumpets
  • empty jars
  • torches

These were their weapons, their tools…well those things and a great faith.  Then Gideon instructed his army, to blow their trumpets, to smash their vessels, to hold their torches high. And they were to shout…

For God and for Gideon

I’ve spent most of my life as one form of Gideon’s soldiers. In His process of selecting me, God has tested my vision, my focus.  I have willingly left in fear. I have done it wrong and was sent home.  I have been handed tools, but instead of great faith, I have compared myself to what my enemies hold, as well as my allies.  I have complained and sulked and whined.

I sat in church wondering how many other woman have done the same. How many of us have discarded what God has given us as not worthy to win the battle?

So often we wish we could be artists, or writers.  We desire perfectly clean houses, and God-fearing children and a husband who is bound to be called into full time ministry at any moment because of his stellar spiritual leadership.

We hold our trumpet–our noisemaker–and instead of a weapon to slay the day, its sounds more like fighting children, siblings who seem to hate each other. And a snoring husband, who falls asleep before he prays with you.

And we stare at our dishes in the sink for two days & we can’t remember the last time we washed our hair (true story).  We don’t even write down our grocery list, much less the next best seller at all the Christian book stores, that all the mom’s who have THEIR *ish together read between yoga and playdates at Chik-fil-a and putting something in the crockpot for dinner.

And we sit and think of the degree we should have finished, and about that other lady at church who leads so well and started her own non-profit and in her first day got 3,000 likes on Facebook, which is weird because there are only like 85 people at your church.

And we want that families income, and her house, and her wedding ring, her job and her self-discipline to wake at 5 am and drink a cup of coffee from the Keurig before Crossfit.

Only to be left to become the noisemaker ourselves (as we yell at our kids) and utterly empty.  An empty vessel, nothing left to give. nothing. Hand us a torch, and we will burn it all down, just so we don’t have to do laundry.

But there must be a time — a time in our life — in my life–like now.

Yeah, a time like now.

To rise up, gripping whatever God has handed us…

All of our beauty, all of our flaws, all of our giftedness…

The gift of rocking a baby or saving an animal…

We must embrace our weapons, of kindness, of patience, of love…

Holding tightly to the gift of organizing, or multi-tasking, or encouraging or serving, or just making it through another Monday…

We have weapons of forgiveness, and a clean car and shaved legs…

All of them exactly held by the exactly right person.

We are not noisemakers! 

We are trumpets, sounding loudly to drown out the voice of comparison, rejection, shame, self-hatred.

We are not empty vessels!

We are merely poured out in total surrender, daily being filled by living water so we may thirst no more.

We do not live in darkness! 

We have a torch to carry, to usher light into the darkness that surrounds us.  This torch is to be passed on to the very bratty kids we raise, the ones that hate each other.

All of us, in this camp together, can sound our trumpets, fill our vessels and proudly hold our torches, and we can all shout together

For God and for [insert your name here].

We can defeat this enemy that daily rises against, whispering that we aren’t enough, that we don’t have enough, that we don’t do enough.  When we do this, we don’t have to be afraid, for the Lord is with us….

And God’s presence is enough.

Humans of New York published a photo of a lady in the subway, who is a Christian, planting churches in New York.   I see these in my Facebook Feed, anyone can subscribe, which means anyone can comment. And people are mean, and hateful and tell you that your trumpet is useless and your vessel is ugly and your torch isn’t Scentsy so it’s not good enough.  Boldly she proclaimed the Gospel, and then said, “Feel free to share it. I won’t be reading the comment section.”

So let’s do that.

Let’s not read the comment section.

Instead, let’s live in obedience, and the safety of God’s gifts to us and his calling to use them accordingly. His gift of humanity, of being real and imperfect, Let’s stand with our different versions of trumpets and should with confidence and peace, because he assures us that it won’t kill us.

Those 300 of Gideon’s men were victorious with what God gave them, because of the faith to do what he instructed them to do. We can, too. They won. We win.

FOR GOD AND FOR TIFFANY

I Am A Horrible Christian

I am, without a doubt, an absolute horrible Christian.

Often people see my FB posts, or even read a blog or two.  I’ve had woman who have told me how “amazing” I am to follow God the way I do.

I just laugh.

My sister-in-love mentioned to me one day, while in conversation in the car…. One day I’m going to expose you for who you really are.  Everyone out there thinks your so sugar sweet and super Christian, but little do they know.

I just laugh. It’s funny, because it’s true.

Seriously though, I’ve never meant to misrepresent myself.

I truly follow Christ.

I love Him completely with my whole heart.

Daily, I attempt to live for Him and live out my purpose in Him.

But, really, at the end of the day, I’m human…and I pretty much suck.

mouth

So for those of you who don’t know me, or don’t know the sinful side of me….allow me to confess…now keep in mind, I don’t need judgement for my confession or for what I do. Nor do I need you to tell me it’s okay, nor do I need you to be offended because of whatever reason you have.

  1. I LOVE Horrible TV Shows like Sex In The City and Will & Grace.  It’s great writing, with great characters.
  2. I sometimes, occasionally, every now and then Cuss. Almost every single day. Sometimes I even drop the “F” Bomb.  It’s definitely cleaned up in the last 20 years, no more do I hang with the sailors, but I do have a potty mouth.  My kids are constantly correcting me, when it should be the other way around.
  3. I fight with my husband. And sometimes I say mean things I can’t take back.  We are not the perfect couple. Our arguments are meaningless at times with no resolution.
  4. I hide from my kids. In a secret room, because sometimes I just can’t “mom” or meet their needs.
  5. I am HORRIBLE about finishing anything.
  6. just kidding
  7. Sometimes I just don’t understand people, so I judge them. Like seriously judge their shoes, or why they think the way they do.  And I look at them with funny faces…and they think I’m interested, but really I’m confused.
  8. I sometimes think about stealing stuff from stores.  I don’t actually do it, but I wonder if I could get away with it.
  9. I don’t always feel like talking about Jesus or sharing my “story” or witnessing or testifying…i’m okay with getting out of Walmart without even making eye contact.

cuss

We know that the list is longer and the sins deeper, because this list isn’t all that impressive or funny or shameful.  So when you see my posts or blogs or tweets and think how deep and reflective and thoughtful I am, imagine me instead, avoiding all my projects, and ignoring phone calls.  Imagine me just being a human trying to get along, without perfection, hoping for a giggle, working on cleaning my mouth out with soap.  I’m a work in progress, but aren’t we all?!

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No Money Back Guarantee For You

I’m driving to pick up kids the other day, one hand on the wheel, the other scooping sugar out of a packet with a candy stick. My youngest bought Fun-Dip to give out for his Valentine’s Day party. I couldn’t resist, so I grabbed one as I ran out the door, so I could shamelessly eat it in the privacy of my car.

fun dip

I remember when I was a kid how old and ancient it seemed the age thirty was. Now that I’m a few days away from being one year closer to FORTY, I realize there are certain things that aren’t guaranteed as you grow older.

  1. Sophistication. I would watch the grown ups, the ancient people on the Awards shows and my grandmother’s Soap Operas during the day, with their long cigarettes, and love lives and Bermuda love triangles. Every adult seemed to have some level of sophistication that someday, when I was thirty I would acquire. As I was driving with my Fun Dip sugar trickling down the front of my dirty shirt, my hair in a bun, I realized that I am anything but sophisticated.
  2. Wisdom. I am at a place in my life where I have no idea what I’m doing. For the first time in a long time, I’ve exhausted all my ideas of what my ideas were. I’ve run out of any type of solution to any and all of my problems. Although I am wiser, I have by no means gained near enough wisdom to successful live the rest of my life. The more I  “mature adults” I meet, the more people devoid of any type of deep knowledge become my friends. Our age does not define our level of wisdom.
  3. Career. I thought by this age I would be on the downside to retirement. My mom worked for the same company for 28 years. By now I should have some sort of idea as to what I’m going to be when I grow up. For the last 14 years I’ve served in full time ministry in some capacity. But, sister, let me tell you, there isn’t a whole lot of financial return on that . Yah, yah, I’m making an eternal investment, yah, yah, I’ll have my reward in heaven. Even though I am completely content with what God has for me, I sincerely expected to be a little more stable in this particular area at this particular time of my life.
  4. Future. It seems every few weeks I hear of someone I know, who’s husband has a heart attack or has passed away. More women are getting cancer. When you are young, there is a switch in your brain that hasn’t been flipped, and you’re in this state of bliss where you actually believe…not so much that you will live forever…but that you won’t ever get old enough to die. But as your friends become grandparents and your own kids move out and go to college, the reality sets in. Today could be the only future you ever know.

My closet eating Fun Dip escapade was a reminder that even though I’m getting older and there is nothing in life guaranteed, that I’m not sophisticated or even wise…I can enjoy small moments. I can taste the sweetness of life. I may be acting a fool at 38, but I appreciate every moment of it. In a way that I didn’t appreciate things at 15 or 25. I definitely didn’t appreciate straight up sugar on a stick the way I do now. And that’s growth my friends. That. Is. Growth!

LG|LP

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How To Not Be Like Your Parents

“You look just like your mother!”

“The two of you are just a couple of bookends.”

“You and your mom even sound so much alike.”

Every corner I have turned, I have stumbled upon someone who is shocked at the uncanny resemblance I have to my mom. We look the same, although I am much taller. My eyes are blue, and hers green. But we have similar mannerisms, and often say the same phrases at the exact same moment. My brother said once during high school that being in our house is like living with two of the exact same people, who speak in stereo.

Then there is this guy.

Zak ebrahaim

When his uncle uttered the words, “Like father, like son,” an entirely different curse was spoken into existence. But he took a stand, and decided to NOT be like his father. It will take ten whole minutes of your life, but take a watch:

Zak Ebrahim is the author of the book The Terrorist’s Son. He grew up in Pittsburgh with a school teacher mom and an Islamic extremist father who was on of the men responsible for the 1993 World Trade Center bombing. A National Youth Convention, Busch Gardens and Jon Stewart challenged Zak to change his worldview. Although he grew up in a house of hatred, Zak has committed to living and spreading the message of peace. Zak has professed that he is not his father.

Even though we may look, sound and sometimes even act like our parents, we have the power to say no to carrying on any destructive habits they may have inadvertently passed on to us. Parents aren’t out to pass on their junk. In fact, most of them spend their entire lives trying to protect us from the very things that negatively affected them. But here is a TRUTH: Curses are a part of our history, whether we like it or not. VICTORY: We can choose what we do with that.

This day I call the heavens and the earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. now choose life, so that you adn your children may life and that you may love the LORD your God, listen to his voice and hold fast to him. For the LORD is your life, and he will give you many years in the land he swore to give to your fathers, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Deut 30:19-20

No matter how fantastic your mom is or how horrible our father is, make a choice to let go of anything that chains your heart, digs up the hurt from your childhood, or allows you to soak in unforgiveness. Like Zak who was doomed for a life of violence and instead chose peace, you have permission to not be like your parent. You can be a curse breaker. Choose life, choose blessing…there is freedom awaiting for you, and that freedom will allow you to love… and my friend, love is what it is all about!

Who do you look more like, your mom or your dad? Comment and share with me your story of breaking curses!

LG | LP

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That One Time We Sold EVERYTHING

“I think we should just get rid of it all.”

He looked at me and said, “I was thinking the same thing but was afraid to tell you.”

We were moving back to Texas, and had a house full of “stuff”. A 2800 square foot house full of “stuff”. Toys, clothes, shoes, things to dust. Boxes and boxes of stuff.

And we hauled it all into our front yard, posted the signs and sold it. Well actually, we gave most of it away…and the rest, we might as well have.

It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Not just because it was me, but because I had to stand along side my kids while they learned the difficult lesson of materialism.

We loved our stuff. We attached ourselves to our stuff. Those are “my” dishes I bought in Mexico. Those are “my” legos. That’s “my” bag. Mine. Mine. Mine.

We kept a few things. I had a few pieces of furniture that have been in the family. I kept our memories, and school stuff from the kids. Those are still piled in my best friend’s garage in Florida. ( and I can’t wait to go back and dig through my boxes and get rid of more).

We came to Texas, all five of us, with just some clothes and shoes(and deodorant).

We call it “being in transition” but really we were technically homeless. So we shacked up with my bro and his fam for a few months until we could figure things out. Michael was waiting for his job transfer to come through from Florida to Texas, and I was figuring out how to organize the four of us in a few rooms, while feeling guilty for kicking my nephews out of their rooms.

We finally moved into our own space with still nothing but our clothes. We didn’t have a huge hunk of cash, so we financed mattresses, a fridge and a couch and dining room table (which we are still paying on a year later…smack me in the face).

My room has a bed. Yes just a mattress on metal slates. I have a broken tower fan in the corner by my side of the bed, just for the noise–it doesn’t stand on it’s own, it just leans in the corner.

We have the minimal of everything. And have now for a year.

And it’s absolutely freeing and amazing, and I love it!

Well, sometimes….

Sometimes I get caught up in the materialism of the city I live in, because believe it or not San Antonio, Texas is a town that likes stuff, likes to buy stuff, and wear new stuff, and spend a lot of money on stuff.

But most of the time I stay pretty grounded, because none of the “stuff” matters.

That one time we sold all of our stuff changed me forever. Not just on what I should own, or what I buy for my kids. No just about living minimally (Because ladies if you have to clean all the time, you need to get rid of it!) But about so many other things in the world.

I find myself sometimes sickened by the materialism in America. Not just because other countries are in poverty or need. Not because I’m on some high-horse, filled with pride about being able to simplify.

The reason I get sickened is this — people don’t even see what materialism, and wanting stuff, and taking things for granted is doing to them. People don’t see how it completely blocks a flow of the Holy Spirit into their lives. People fight for the wrong things, and work for stuff that doesn’t matter. People ROB THEMSELVES of joy and peace and love because of their Americanized perspectives.

I know, I know. Not you.

It’s just me.

This has been my soapbox lately. This idea of wastefulness and taking things for granted. This soapbox standings is probably why I got in a few heated discussions over the Ice Bucket Challenge for ALS awareness and fundraising.

Maybe it will pass, this feeling of being disgusted by our world’s selfishness and willingness to just accept things as they are.

But I hope it doesn’t.