Tag Archives: Christianity

On being ‘liked’: validation, social media, and Jesus

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(This post first appeared on Dancing With The One You Love in February of 2012. It still resonates today.)

On being ‘liked’

My morning routine usually goes one of two ways.

Up at six, four kids out the door to school by seven forty-five a.m., a cup of coffee in hand, a Bible opened in my lap, and a few quiet moments of reading and talking to God.

Or, if I’m honest, my morning goes another way. Up at six, four kids out the door to school by seven forty-five a. m., and a mad dash up to the computer by eight o’clock. Sometimes a craving rises up in me that can’t even be quenched with morning coffee. I sit in my tiny orange chair and wait for the computer to brighten, and try to look nonchalant although no one else is around. The computer purrs and I quickly click on my Facebook account. Did anyone respond to the witty status I wrote last night? Has anyone new ‘liked’ my author page? How many ‘friends’ does my husband have today? Oh, man, I have like five hundred more than him!

Do you ‘like’ me? Check yes or no.

Instead of a Christian woman, a writer, a mother of four, I am suddenly the school girl who receives a note in class. Do you like me? Check yes or no.

And a little box is checked off somewhere deep in my heart.

More times than I care to admit, my morning routine lies behind door number two.

I have become a social media junkie.

What about they people who really do ‘like’ me?

Lately, I have started to wonder if I give my husband Sergei as much attention as I give to refreshing my Facebook home page. Do my children know that I ‘like’ them best of all? Do they know that I am interested in the status of their day? Does my family know I am their biggest fan?

My first defense is to blame Twitter and Facebook and blogging. Yes, I was never like this before a giant cloud of all the people I have ever known were right at my fingertips. There was a time when I actually had to call someone on a telephone with a curly beige cord. But those days are gone. Now I can communicate with anyone from the comfort of my living room while I’m still in my pajamas.

And as a Christian, what about Jesus?

But whom I pay attention to is not my computer’s fault. This issue is much deeper than that. If I am not looking to Christ alone for validation, I will look in other places. And more distance from God, means a dimmer witness, less attention to my family, more world, less Jesus. It’s my fault. Worldly validation is like taking a hit of some drug. It feels good for a while and then tapers off. You end up feeling worse than before. You quickly start looking for another fix.

He’s the one who ‘liked’ me first.

The only lasting validation I can count on is from Jesus. And the only way I can ensure that I am showing my family the attention they are due is by stepping back, laying my sin at the foot of the cross, and asking Jesus to reset my priorities for his glory alone. The mornings I choose door number one, and take a few quiet moments alone with God is like 1,000 likes for my soul.

And they are true likes. They are “I like you so much that I died for you” likes.

What about you? Are you handling the things of the world well in light of your faith? Do you struggle with being ‘liked’? Would love to hear your thoughts on this one!

Forgetful goldfish and the kitchen sink

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 Forgetful goldfish and the kitchen sink

Okay, so today I am going to talk about goldfish and kitchen sinks. How will I tie the two together you might ask?

I have no idea.

When it comes to motherhood, faith, and life in general, it amazes me how easily I fluctuate between dual personalities within myself.

On one side, I am a person of faith who believes that God is not only the goal of my journey but also my companion. I believe I am the right mother for my children because they were entrusted to me. I believe that small measurable goals on a daily basis; things like drinking enough water, sleeping well, getting exercise, taking five minutes to talk to God, will bring about needed changes in my life.

And then, at the same time, sometimes even in the same breath, I am the other me. The failure. Anyone, even Roseanne Barr (or her character from the television show) could parent my kids better than me. I can’t seem to accomplish the simplest tasks. I’m more like a homeless person walking through the alleys of my faith, looking through garbage cans for blessings.

Or like the person James writes about in the New Testament:

“Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like a man who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and forgets what he looks like.” James 1:24

Aren’t we all like forgetful goldfish?

The more I talk to people, the more I realize I am not alone. Most of us are like forgetful goldfish. We are busy, busy, busy; we swim incessantly, but we go in circles, and eventually, we start drinking our own shit.

We’d do better living in houses filled with mirrors so that every time we turn around, we are reminded of who we are compared to God.

Slowing down in life requires a great effort

If our lives were like a kitchen sink (what can I say, I’m a mom. I spend a lot of time at the kitchen sink, and no this metaphor has nothing to do with goldfish), then what would the sink look like? Is it clogged up with good, but filling things like family, work, home, exercise, and friends? Or is it clogged up with sticky murk like reality TV and Facebook, retail therapy, overeating or having one glass too many of Chardonnay?

Being smarter goldfish

Now imagine the faucet in the sink as God. He offers cool, refreshing, life-giving water and most days we don’t even think to turn the faucet on. And if we do, our sinks just fill to the brim. The water can’t get through to our plumbing, to our hearts and heads and consciousness, because of all that junk we let fill us up.

I need help becoming a smarter goldfish. Yes, this is my life, it will be busy and there are lots of things that can fill me up. But if I can focus more on life-giving Drano in my sink; my reading something from the Bible, talking to God, serving those around me, I bet that cool water will flow.

And then maybe I’ll be able to enjoy the swim of life a bit more.

Your turn: What’s something clogging up your sink recently? For me, it is television, so Sergei and I and the kids aren’t watching it during the week for Lent. How bout you?

 

Special Needs Parents: I give you permission

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(I’m over at Not Alone: Where Special Parents Find Community, talking about how sometimes as we parent kids with special needs, we need permission to say it’s hard. Read the whole post here … It’s my first time there. I’d love for you to stop by!)

Special Needs Parents: I give you permission

Are you a parent to a child or children with special needs?

If so, I have a message for you today.

I GIVE YOU PERMISSION.

I give you permission to be tired.

I give you permission to cancel a therapy session.

I give you permission to feel weak.

When it comes to your child with special needs, I give you permission to allow a little grief to co-exist with other emotions like love and joy.

Are you a special needs parent? Then it’s my prayer this post will encourage you today.

READ THE FULL POST HERE …

Listen to my podcast with GirlfriendIt Radio!

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Listen to my podcast with GirlfriendIt Radio!

Closet drinking, Jesus, sitting next to real people instead of the computer, girlfriends proclaiming no judgement zones, vulnerability, making small measurable goals daily, the importance of reading the Bible, depression, laughter …. These topics and more were discussed yesterday on GirlfriendIt Radio with me, Patty Wyatt and Lisa Jernigan.

This is the second radio interview I’ve done. Patty and Lisa asked great questions and made it so easy for me to open up about times in life when I’ve failed one hundred percent, and how when I am falling, I might as well fall into Jesus’ lap. We focused on my depression struggles as a pastor’s wife, but ended up throwing in a lot more content.

We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled. The trick is, knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out.  -Ray Bradbury

Check it out! Turn it on while doing the dishes, or folding laundry, or just sit down on the couch, and pretend the three of us are there with you.

Oh, and afterward while listening I realized that I am long-winded and could probably be crowned the queen of run-on sentences. Sorry about that! :)

He will not let your foot slip–he who watches over you will not slumber; Psalm 121:3

Listen to the podcast: http://ow.ly/fSTpi

GirlfriendIT Radio on Facebook

GirlfriendIT Radio on Twitter

Find out more about GirlfriendIt Radio at Girlfriendit.com.

Big thanks to Patty and Lisa for the great opportunity!

Broken hands

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Broken hands

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I noticed something odd this year as our family decorated for Christmas.

Three of our Christmas decorations; an angel, and the two separate Marys from nativity scenes all have had their hands broken.

Broken hands.

The angel was broken a few years ago. I remember the scene well. My daughter Polly was playing with a couple of nutcracker ornaments on the bookshelf when she bumped it. The angel, standing prominently on top, wobbled off the side of the bookshelf. Her right extended arm holding a star for all to see, clipped Polly on the forehead and broke off. The cut on my then three year old daughter gushed. “Not this, not now,” I exclaimed as I rushed over, swooped her up, and called for my husband Sergei to help.

Around that time three years ago, Polly had been diagnosed with Moyamoya, a scary syndrome that thins arteries in the brain to the point of strokes and seizures, (in addition to having been born with Down syndrome), after witnessing an outwardly seizure exhibited while waiting for pancakes at a Bob Evans Restaurant in Michigan, that, afterwards left her temporarily paralyzed on the left side of her body, and through tests proved to be a catastrophic stroke. We were waiting for her first brain surgery to combat the newly detected disease.

We didn’t know what else to do while we waited, so we decorated for Christmas.

And gathered together as a family each night leading up to Christ’s birth, in advent, waiting, waiting, for our third daughter to have surgery before the next stroke or seizure hit, and waiting, waiting, waiting, for the hope of the Christ-child.

After the bleeding on Polly’s head subsided, and she was happily snacking on goldfish and watching a rerun of Barney on television. I picked up the one armed angel, and, upon realizing that God was there with us, protecting Polly from fallen angels and from seizing within, I quietly placed her back on top of the bookshelf, broken, more real, closer to me in her handicap, and closer to God in the fact that he was there, with us, in our brokenness.

Can a Christian be depressed?

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 Can a Christian be depressed?

Sometimes when depression rears its ugly head, I find myself wondering how a Christian can be depressed if the joy of the Lord is our strength.

But then God nudges me, and shows me that I am asking the wrong question.

I shouldn’t be asking how or why a Christian gets depressed.

Because I am a Christian.

I get depressed.

Why spend time deciding if it is right or not?

Those questions are a waste of the small reserve of energy I have at times like this.

I should just ask God for help, and to sit closer to me in life.

And realize that he already is.

But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness. “The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore, I will hope in Him.” Lamentations 3:21 – 24

Feeling sad today?

Pray.

Take a shower and get dressed.

Pick one thing to do; doesn’t matter how small or how big.

If you have children, look them in the eye and hold them tight.

Breath out another prayer.

And then come sit on the couch with me.

To do the useful thing, to say the courageous thing, to contemplate the beautiful thing: that is enough for one man’s life~ T.S Eliot

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Telling the whole truth; trading ugly for glory

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( Here’s a post from the archives. Still right here today, prodded by God to tell the whole truth in my life for his glory. Fall for me means kids in school, speaking engagements, writing assignments, and the continual journey towards publication of my memoir. This old post encouraged me today. I hope it does something for you, too.)

Telling the whole truth

These last two weeks, I actually sensed God’s desire for me to open up more about my personal life. I’ve written about my struggle in telling the whole truth in the memoir I recently finished writing, and about the severity of my experience with post-adoption depression after we brought our daughter Evangeline home from Ukraine.

A little bit of electricity zapped my fingertips as I hit the publish tab on both posts.

What would people think if I put myself out there? I should just keep these things to myself.

This year, in addition to therapy and after school activities and church and writing and querying agents for my book, I’ve also had the privilege to speak to a handful of MOPS groups in the Chicago land area. I talk about the birth of my daughter in the former Soviet Union and her diagnosis of Down syndrome and about the grief that ensued for almost a year after the loss of the child I expected.

I have other presentations about how to teach our kids to be good friends to those around us with special needs, and about loss and grief in motherhood.

Every time I speak, there is a part of me that is afraid of judgement. Maybe I shouldn’t share all of me. Maybe I should just share the good Christian/ pastor’s wife/ missionary parts of me and tuck away the other parts: the mom who didn’t want her child. The mom who went to a bottle of Chardonnay instead of to the Lord. The mom who adopted another child with Down syndrome; a quasi stab at redemption, only to find that she, of course, was still the one who needed redeeming.

But each time, and I’m serious when I say this, I can almost hear God’s voice saying “tell the truth.”

“Share all of you, Gillian. Because in the hard parts, in the times you made bad choices, in your brokenness and lack of faith, I was there. And that’s MY story in you.”

 

Before I speak, I usually run to the bathroom and grab a wad of toilet paper to sop up the sweat underneath my arms. I smooth my hair, and look at myself in the mirror.

I think of God’s voice telling me not to waste the life he’s given me. I think of one mom who may be struggling.

If my voice encourages her to speak up to someone about her struggles, then sharing the ugly parts of me is more than worth it.

And I think of Polly’s voice, chattering in my ear non-stop throughout the day. I think about her reciting the Star Spangled Banner with her class in the morning at school. I think about when she tells me that she loves me, and how it fills me up to the brim of my existence with thanks and praise that I get to be her mom.

I think about Evangeline. Oh, how I long to hear her voice. I anticipate it. I wait for it. And until then I stand up for her as her voice.

So, I step out in front of strangers and tell them my story, and I keep querying publishers for my book, and I keep writing down my rambling thoughts here.

I include the embarrassing parts for sure. But I also include the best parts, how Polly and I are crazy in love now. How thankful I am to be Evangeline’s mom.

How awed I am that God knew I needed to be broken in such specific ways in order to be used for his purposes and for his glory alone.

Last night, I got an email from someone who attended one of my talks in September thanking me for my willingness to be vulnerable and for sharing my dark moments, thoughts and actions in my presentation. She is a mother to a child with special needs. Here’s a little bit of what she wrote:

What you said made me feel “normal”, connected and accepted.  (I’m tearing up as I write this to you, even now, because it meant so much to me and I understand how difficult it is to be honest like that with others… even if they are “strangers”.)

That’s really the point of why I do what I do.

I have a voice, and I am learning how to use it.

I’m telling the whole truth.

What about you? How are you using your voice?

“I can handle a lot of people, but I can’t handle Evangelicals,” my new article about getting my feelings hurt & my poor response

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“I can handle a lot of people, but I can’t handle Evangelicals.”

What happens when you hear that at a party in your new neighborhood, and you are what most people would call an Evangelical?

My article,

Could I Love My Neighbor Who Didn’t Love Me?

Has been up at Christianity Today’s Gifted for Leadership but I didn’t see it until today.

Here’s an excerpt:

“I can handle a lot of people, but I can’t handle Evangelicals.” Mary grimaced as I stood next to her at our block’s progressive dinner. The party made me nervous. We had just moved to the neighborhood three weeks ago. I had this slight sweating problem, and I couldn’t find anything nice to wear in the packed boxes piled in the basement.

“Christian is another word for uneducated.” She rolled her eyes, brought a glass of Chardonnay to her lips, and took a sip. The opportunity to meet our neighbors had seemed like a good idea. But now, standing next to Mary, I wasn’t so sure.Doesn’t she know that my husband is the new minister of the church on the corner?

This article was tough to write.

It’s not easy admitting mistakes.

But serving and loving people for God is tough, and I make a lot of mistakes.

Would TOTALLY appreciate it if you would hop over, read, and comment.

It’s my first time there … Excited, and a little embarrassed. But mostly excited.

Wine and Trials, a guest post from Vivian Mabuni

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(Today I welcome guest blogger Vivian Mabuni. Thank you Vivian for taking the time to share with us :) ).

Wine and Trials

The best wine comes from grapes that experience an especially difficult season, be it drought or flooding.

What a wonderful wedding weekend! I’ve been turning over and over in my mind what the father of the groom shared at our table during the rehearsal dinner Friday night. He and his wife live in wine country up in Northern California. Wine is their thing and not only do they enjoy it, they take classes to continue to grow their knowledge and appreciation of all things wine related. Here is something I learned over a sumptuous dinner accompanied by a lovely white wine that I still don’t know how to pronounce:

The best wine comes from grapes that experience an especially difficult season, be it drought or flooding. The drastic change in weather unleashes something in the grapes that produces an exceptional wine.

The parallels to life from this example are too significant to pass by.

I know people who have walked through difficult seasons–with rain that doesn’t seem to end, or dryness and heat that cracks the earth. Some become bitter and resentful and die on the inside.

But others who chose to

sink their roots deep into God’s Word,

show up even after reaching the end of their physical limitations and emotional capacities,

walk through, rather than run away or numb away disappointment, grief, and despair,

stay abiding in the Vine (John 15) even when the environment is extreme,

end up displaying a beauty that emanates from places as deep as they have needed to go.

They become the exceptional wine that is set apart in flavor and quality. And they stand out and are admired and appreciated for their character. This character is forged through difficulty, discipline and not giving up when surrounding circumstances threaten to take away life.

I also learned up in wine country there are grapevines over 125 years old. They no longer need to be watered. The root system runs 20-30 feet underground. The grapes produced from these vines are faithful, dependable, certain. And year after year the wine from these grapes is consistently exceptional.

Isn’t that a great picture of what we can become?

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Vivian Mabuni joined staff with Cru (Campus Crusade for Christ) 23 years ago and has served on the UC Berkeley and UCLA campuses and on the Epic National Executive Team. Epic is the Asian American ministry of Cru. Vivian enjoys teaching and training college students at conferences and retreats and speaking at women’s events. She is a member of Redbud Writer’s Guild and is currently writing a book about her journey facing breast cancer. She has been married 21 years to her husband, Darrin, and is mom to three wonderful kids, Jonathan (18), Michael (15), and Julia (10). They live in Mission Viejo, California along with their German Shepherd, Koa.

Twitter: @vivmabuni

First Days of Mercy, Guest post by Paige Hamilton, Homeschoolin’ mother of five!

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Firsts have always excited me.

First smiles, first steps, first ballet class or soccer game. And at the end of every summer is the first day of school.

It’s the same each August, as I begin to anticipate the start of another school year. The freshness of a box of unused crayons or the newness of the notebooks filled with blank pages still arouses my mind with a heightened sense of possibilities for the year to come.

This school year has been no exception.

For the past two years I’ve had the joy of homeschooling my five children.

All summer long I’ve been planning and preparing for that wonderful first day of school, which finally arrived on Monday, August 13th.

Unfortunately it did not go according to my plan.

In fact, the whole day got started with some bad news, a friend revealing in an early morning email that her child had been diagnosed with cancer. Upon reading those words, my heart seemed to freeze in my chest, immobilizing me for what seemed like a short eternity. It wasn’t until after the kids began to rouse that I set about trying to organize the activities for our day.

As the morning progressed, the ends which were fraying began to unravel further. I had forgotten to charge my camera to take our annual first day of school pictures, so I had to use the camera on my phone instead. One child didn’t like her new math curriculum, while another was not happy with the book I had chosen for him to read.

In the middle of the morning’s lessons, the phone rang with a call that must be taken. Two minutes later, when I came back to the table, all of my students had disappeared. I sat down, hanging my head in shame, feeling like a failure.

Later, I received another phone call from a friend, confessing in scared whispers fears that her marriage was failing. I cried and prayed with my friend, but as I hung up the phone my already hurting heart ached with a heaviness I felt unable to bear.

And so the day progressed, with nothing going right and everything going wrong.

My boys wrestled with each other until it turned into more than just a game. My girls fussed with each other over whose turn it was to clean the bathroom. No one liked what I cooked for dinner.

By the time the children had gone to bed, all I wanted to do was curl up and cry. As I trudged off to bed, it felt as if my entire body were made of lead. In the dark the tears finally fell, and I began to express to my Savior all of my disappointment over the way my plans for the first day of the school year had gone.

In those quiet moments, the Lord gently reminded me that tomorrow morning I would wake up to His gift of a new day filled with His mercies.

He created mornings to be like that … as fresh and full of possibilities as a brand-new notebook on the first day of school.

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.

~Lamentations 3: 22-23

 

Paige Hamilton lives in the heart of Louisiana’s Cajun country with her husband Jon and their blended family of five children (who for the next month are ages 9,10,11, 12, and 13). When not climbing the endless mountain of dirty laundry, Paige enjoys encouraging ordinary women to grow in their faith in a very EXTRA-ordinary God through writing and speaking.

You can read more from Paige in her monthly encouragement newsletter called The Paige Turrner or on her blog, Paige’s Pages.

 

Thank you Paige for your timely, encouraging post about fresh days of mercy!