confessions of the spiritually impoverished

i have to confess that after years of being at home with four kids, sometimes homeschooling, sometimes just trying to contain the chaos, i thought that putting our four kids into school would magically transform me into a more patient, less frazzled, all-around better version of myself.with a wave of the magic school bus wand, i would become, basically, an entirely different person.

while the kids are loving school and i am enjoying adult lunches and major closet reorganization projects, the whole amy-transformation aspect of full-time school has been rather disappointing. i am only with them for a few short hours in the afternoon and evening, most of which is filled with piano lessons, soccer practices and time with friends. and yet somehow i manage to be just as impatient, frazzled and all-around disappointing as i ever was. plus now, i don’t have the “hey! i just spent 8 hours educating  your rear ends so cut me some slack!” excuse. sigh.

all this failure and bottom of the barrel-scrapping, this cycle of falling short, confessing and picking up where i left off has me doubting. not doubting God’s grace or mercy. or His acceptance of me despite my failures. what it has me doubting is exactly what i am supposed to be striving for. i always thought we were supposed to work toward being the best, achieving great things for God with our lives. maybe not a the grand world stage but each in our own quiet way working towards perfection.

but what if my best isn’t all that great? what if i am the minor league, single A player dreaming of the big leagues when in truth i just don’t have what it takes? i used to think that acknowledging one’s spiritual poverty would open up a treasure trove of spiritual wealth. that i could pray and try and read and then one day God would entrust me with His spiritual credit card. with access to His  righteousness and an ever-creasing credit limit, i would purchase storehouses of patience and maturity.

i know that whatever i achieve in this world is singularly, utterly, entirely dependent on God’s work on my behalf but is it biblical to consider the possibility that He is calling me to be mediocre? not giving up, not living in defeat but more accepting this thorn in the flesh and praising God despite His unwillingness to remove it. can i somehow glorify Him through all my failings rather than glorifying Him by overcoming them? does a life of repentance honor Him as much as one of obedience?

as i sit surrounded by almost innumerable material blessings, from my wool socks and comfy lounge pants to my well-stocked fridge and overflowing pantry, there are millions waking up to live a shivering day of hunger pains and emptiness. they were born into this poverty and will most likely die in it. who am i, in all my greed for God’s greater blessings, to assume that i deserve more than i have already been given? He has given me His love, His forgiveness, His righteousness. perhaps it is my fate to hunger for more and not be satisfied this side of heaven. maybe it is better to live in God’s ghetto where at least i know how much i lack than to keep dreaming of mansion i wasn’t destined here on earth. maybe it isn’t a longing for God that i hunger for. maybe i am looking for scraps to feed my pride rather than food to feed my spirit.

so this is my prayer “not my will, but yours be done.” that will, that perfect Holy will lead Jesus to a life of deprivation, to a cross, to pain and humiliation and dying. it lead Him through those things on His way to the throne of Heaven, to a place of great honor. may that same will bring me to my knees, Lord and someday bring me home.

Mislabeled Butterfly

I just got a Groupon offer for laser nail-fungal removal. Really?!? Not only would I have been happy to go through life never knowing that such a thing as laser nail-fungal removal existed, but I am deeply offended that Groupon would think I am in need of such a service. What in my Groupon buying history would indicate that I might have a fungus-infected nail in need of removal? (Groupon also must think I am the hairiest woman ever given all the hair removal offers I am sent.)

This isn’t the first time I have felt mislabeled. Somehow my Pandora stations always end up sounding dark and gloomy, more reflective of a moody teenager than the content thirty-something I wish to be. Netflix is always trying to convince me that I am a Asian-Shakespearean-Adaptation watcher when I am looking for Forties Era-Lighthearted-Comedy. On the inside, my wardrobe is all color and light while my closet is all greys and blacks. Hmmm. I am sensing a trend here.

Every once and a while, I need to shake things up and thumb my nose at the moody, depressing Asian film watching, black clothes wearing girl I apparently am. So this winter, when the Indiana overcast skies were closing in, I added a little color to my life, or rather my head. It seemed like such an innocent bit of fun but months later I, along with my faithful hairstylist, am still suffering the consequences. The fake color is still hanging on while my real color is desperately trying to take root. (Think Pepe Le Pu stripe of ash blonde down the middle of auburn with a touch of brown). Above mentioned faithful hairstylist says there is nothing to do but wait it out…and wear lots of hats.

I can’t help but think this is a picture of so much more than the fallout from one of my impulsive decisions. So often I feel like my hair looks. Somewhere in the middle of transforming into my true nature. I have a streak of glory, moments of obedience followed by long waves of fleshly let downs, days of defiance. I am all gooey and undone inside my chrysalis, no longer a caterpillar but not yet a butterfly. Mostly darkness now but waiting to “burst forth in glorious day.”

There is no telling how long the process will take but I can do something to help it along. The choices I make string together in a pattern. Just like my movie choices and Pandora thumbs up create a template for my likes and dislikes, I can choose right over wrong, selflessness over selfishness, and create a pattern of righteousness. Little by little these decisions will grow. Little by little so will I. I may be a gooey mess today but one day my butterfly with emerge.