that’s good / that’s bad

The kids went to a birthday party this week, and brought home an unwelcome guest. We spent the whole today in bed or on the couch, nursing our fevers, calming coughs, and soothing sore throats. As I tucked my princess in bed, she asked me to pray for her cold. I did, but probably not how she expected.

I had the pleasure this last week of reading The Shack, Wm Paul Young’s conversation with God. One of the recurring themes in the book is how we have set ourselves up to judge so many things. We judge other people, we judge situations, we judge all of Creation.

At times we might even be guilty of judging God.

When the voice of wisdom speaks to the lead character in the book, she says that we ought not judge a situation based on how we feel about it. We judge that which brings pain to be evil. We judge that which brings discomfort to be not of God, because it certainly doesn’t fit into our will.

And yet, when I think about my father’s painful and prolonged death from a brain tumor, I have to think twice about the situation.

His tumor was painful, and robbed him of much before it took his life. That certainly seems evil (or at least bad) on the face of it.

But through his illness, he provided a written testimony that was read by several thousand, including a large number of hospice patients who faced similar situations.

Through his refusal to call it quits against a tumor that was a 100% killer, I learned something about determination. I’ve had to draw on that lesson repeatedly in the years since.

Through his ongoing concern for my mother, at a time when he could easily have been very self-focused, I saw what true love does under pressure. In my better moments, that shows up in my own marriage, a role model that I hope is seen by my kids.

So tonight, I prayed first that my daughter would heal quickly from her cold. Then I prayed that, if there was something to be learned from having to slow down for a few days, that He would help us to understand that.

Above all, I prayed that we would be grateful for what we have, especially each other.

At five, a cold is a horrible thing. At 44, it is a nuisance. I think we both miss the point – that there can be unexpected blessings in a day where the pajamas stay on and the most strenuous activity is turning the pages of Prince Caspian.

too weak, two week

I’m trying something new in the endless battle of the bulge. I’m doing the RPM class at the gym (a.k.a. “Spin,” or “really painful bike riding, set to music“  in most other gyms). I’d say it’s as easy as riding a bike, but that might give one the impression this is not a difficult effort.

I have never sweat so much in my life.

I almost blacked out the first morning.

My legs were sore for almost a week.

Sounds like fun, huh?

As I began this new brand of torture, I also started looking at changing my approach to food. I’ve been watching very carefully what I do during the day, keeping fat content and other stuff at bay, while trying to kick in the protein and other good stuff.

As I was thinking this morning about what to get to take me through the week at work, I had a troubling thought:

I will put a tremendous amount of thought and effort into what I eat, how food is prepared, portion size, etc., and there’s certainly nothing wrong with that. But why is it so much harder for me to bring that same intensity to bear on what is my biggest problem? Why is it that I can focus for a year and a half on busting my gut, but I have trouble maintaining my focus on holiness and righteous living for more than two weeks at a time?

Don’t misuderstand – I’m not going back to old patterns of behavior every two weeks; instead, I find that I am intently focused on taking all the right steps, calling people, being highly involved in others’ lives…all for brief periods. Then I retreat again, back into my coccoon, back to the safety of not having to deal with real people.

It perplexes me. I see what I need to do, and I can talk a good game – but there are times when my heart just isn’t really in it.

I know that a muscle builds endurance through being torn and rebuilt. Strength doesn’t come from light work. As Benjamin Disreali said, “No pain, no gain. No gain, no brain.” Most people leave off the last half of that quote. I’ve been able to retrain my brain regarding exercise. I know what will likely happen if I don’t work out, and I know that losing the weight of a sack of concrete has made my days much less painful.

I also know that there are similar benefits and risks in not getting “fit” spiritually. The obvious problem is that the risks are less tangible.

So what do I do to make the risks more real? How do I reach a point where I take to heart what my head already knows, that I don’t want to cross the finish line in the back of the pack?  I really want to hear, “Well done – good job” at the finish line, not “Well, I guess you made it.“

Perhaps I’ve forgotten one of the mantras of recovery – one day at a time. Thinking ahead is not a bad thing – but maybe I need to establish a pattern of single days – one that lasts longer than two weeks – before I start getting concerned about the long term.

it is well

We’re in a season of anxiety right now. We have kept current on the mortgage, we’re scraping by…but we have been depending heavily on help from family members to stay there. I think that means we’re sinking.

There were times in my life…no, strike that, reverse it…for most of my life, my response to the current stresses and strains would have been predictable. All this stress, I would tell myself, has earned me some kind of reward – maybe stopping by that place that’s only a little out of the way on my drive home, or maybe using a few bucks I don’t really have to pig out on a bag of cookies.

But I’m not defined by those actions; I’m not even defined as an addict. I’m more than that.

See, I have a Father. Not the genetic one – he was good to me, but he would be the first to say that he couldn’t meet my needs like the Father I’m referring to.

My Father isn’t a figment of my imagination, an invention of man created to fill some evolutionary void or weakness of character (or to balance some mental illness).

My Father doesn’t create accidents. He creates children.

My Father doesn’t see fit to have large amounts of money transferred into my bank account, unfortunately. Nor does He encourage me to sit on my patoukis and expect all to work out without any thought on my part. I’m going to try to find a second job, and we’ll take yet another look at how to trim some from the home budget. That isn’t a lack of trust; it is using common sense.

But He does lead me; He shows me that He isn’t just standing by thinking, “Whew – sucks to be him right now.“

He brings me peace.

Yep, things are a mess right now. But I have assurance that we’ll get through it. My Father has seen me through tough stuff before; He’ll do it again.

why do i go to extremes?

Darling, I don’t know why I go to extremes;
Too high, or too low – there ain’t no in between.
- Extremes, Billy Joel

I remember years ago reading Living on the Ragged Edge by Charles Swindoll. It is his investigation into the book of Ecclesiastes, and returns again and again to the theme of balance.

I need to dig that book out again.

As a person prone toward addictive/obsessive behavior, I have a lot of trouble with balance. I tend to become very focused; and even when the object of the focus is a good thing, my intensity towards it is not.

Example: I have a project at work. It is critical to the company, has a direct effect on our customers, and has a very short time line. There is time to get the job done, but I find myself toying with the project management tools available to me rather than actually doing the work. I know I don’t have time for it, but I would rather see what happens on a graph demonstrating the cascading effects of not completing the job, than actually doing the job and avoiding the effects.

Here at home, there are a million little things that need to be done, mailed, followed up, thrown away, repainted, put away, rearranged, washed, changed, spindled, folded, and mutilated…I can’t seem to get any of those handled. My mind is still focused on the one stinking closet reorganization that I didn’t finish last weekend, and now the other stuff, even the everyday, is getting harder to manage.

I’ve mentioned before my time at the gym. Earlier this week I started a new workout program, a very thourough and taxing one. Tuesday I worked my legs as hard as I ever have. I have spent the rest of the week praying that I don’t need to climb any stairs. I still wake up at 4:00 in the morning, knowing full well that I have no business going to the gym until my legs stop burning. But I still want to go.

Chasing the wind, as Solomon said. Much ado about nothing, per Shakespeare.

I have no wisdom this morning – only frustration.