I am so fake.

From head to toe.

Don’t believe me?

I have NO idea what my natural hair color is. Haven’t seen it in years. Don’t want to. My guess is that it is some sort of flat brown with a lot of gray. I have a wonderful stylist who colors my hair every ten weeks. I consider it money well spent.

Then, there’s my face. I’m not one of those people who won’t leave the house without makeup. But let me tell you, when I put it on, the one thing I never forget is my eyebrow pencil. Why? Because I have NO eyebrows! I mean, they exist. But they are so blond you can’t see them. Trust me when I say that having eyebrows makes a huge difference in the way your face looks.

As I type these words, I am wearing teeth whitening strips. I want my pearly whites to be pearly white come conference time. Does this really matter? Were they so hideous before? No. But it makes me feel better.

The lotion I’ve been using since capri weather struck has a tint in it. This is basically so I can go out in public wearing shorts without blinding innocent bystanders.

See what I mean? Fake hair, eyebrows, teeth, legs. All fake.

I can live with that. But what I’m struggling with today is the rest of me. The inside of me.

The real me.

I want to be the kind of person who actually lives out what I believe. But faking it comes so easily. I think it’s even easier for those of us who were born and raised in the church. For whom “Christianese” is our first language. You can’t scare me with words like justification, sanctification and propitiation. I can talk doctrine, quote scripture, and offer up any number of spiritual platitudes. No sweat. And if you want to challenge me to a sword drill, you are on!

But does it really matter how quickly I can find Galatians 5:22-23 if I don’t live a life that bears the fruit of the Spirit?

Does it matter if I know I am justified and sanctified by faith through grace and that it is not of myself if I keep trying to do it all by myself (Eph. 2:8-9)?

Why is it so much easier to get hung up on following the rules than it is to focus on the relationship?

I try so hard to do it all and fail miserably. Then I feel like a fraud – a fake – a wannabe. Satan attacks, reminding me that I know better and still keep making the same mistakes.

But then the Spirit intercedes and reminds me that “There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” (Rom. 8:1)

The verse popped into my head, but I had no context. Guess what I found when I looked it up? This verse comes right after Romans 7:15 – 25 which begins with Paul saying “For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do the thing I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” It’s a tongue twister, but it hits me right where I live and makes me feel a little better.

‘Cause I bet you’ve never heard anyone say “That Apostle Paul, he was so fake”.

Romans 8 ends with these words: In all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

In this, I put my hope.

There is nothing I can do to make God love me more. There is nothing I can do to make God love me less. I am His and He is mine.

And there is nothing fake about that.

photo courtesy of photobucket.com

So, it’s Monday. 8:45 A.M.
I’ve already changed four diapers – two of which I probably should have been wearing a hazmat suit for – and apologized to two three people.
I’m on a roll!

Last week was crazy. But wonderful. I got to spend most of it with my dad, which was awesome. And, we tore out all my downstairs carpet and replaced everything. This is not the time for me to go on my “I hate carpet” rant. Trust me when I say that ripping it out was a cathartic experience!

The downside to last week was that I did absolutely no writing or editing. I also got way behind on email, voicemail and facebook (hence the apologies of the morning). Oh crud. When I finish this, I’ll have to apologize to someone else – I missed a meeting. Drat.

Anyway. As I am new to this whole “I am a writer” business, there was one unexpected benefit to having a week made up of mostly manual labor and no time or energy for writing.

My creative brain is overflowing this morning!

While I was tearing out carpet, cutting boards, measuring walls, painting molding, spackling (I think the word “spackle” is cool – go ahead and laugh) – I managed to work out quite a bit of the plot of my next book. In fact, I’m going to have to take a few minutes this morning and jot down some notes so I don’t forget all lovely plot twists I thought of last week.

Maybe taking a week to do something totally unrelated is a good idea.

Of course, a check of the calendar indicates that I have exactly 20 days to finish polishing my manuscript, perfect my elevator pitch and one-sheets, by some new clothes (that part might not be a requirement, we’ll call it a perk) and lose 10 pounds (hey, I write fiction).

I need to do all that while keeping my children and husband clothed and fed, visiting some potential classrooms for Emma next year, coordinating some teacher appreciation stuff (yep, I’m the room mom), promoting the CDS Fun Fest (June 4th – mark your calendars) and making a run to Vanderbilt for my sister’s graduation (go Jennifer – you rock!).

Could someone PLEASE schedule me a massage?

I have a very active imagination.

I know what you’re thinking . . . “Yeah, we sorta figured that out ever since you admitted that you’ve been walking around with detailed, novel length stories in your head. You’re a loon.”

True. I take full responsibility for my own weirdness.

But, I find having a very active imagination to be a gift. When I read verses like Eph. 3:20 where it says that God is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all we can ask or imagine . . . well, I think . . . whoohoo! Bring it! ‘Cause this girl can imagine some pretty amazing scenarios!!

So I started wondering about the other disciples in the boat. There they are, the twelve, thinking this might be their last night because they are losing the fight. Jesus shows up, walking across the rolling seas. And Peter. I do love Peter. Talk about a man with an imagination. I mean, really! Where did he come up with this? “If you are who you say you are, ask me to come to you on the water.” What kind of question is that? But that’s not really the point of this post – that’s a freebie!

Sometimes I find the things Scripture doesn’t tell us as interesting as what it does. We have no idea what the eleven guys in the boat did while Peter was tiptoeing over the waves. But our own experience gives us some good ideas.

So picture it. Imagine it was you in the boat. And your buddy starts climbing out. What would you do?

“Peter! Don’t!” Frightened hands reaching to restrain him.

“I always knew he’d do something stupid and get himself killed. He just doesn’t think.” Deep sigh.

“Show off.” Eyes rolling.

“Who does he think he is? He can’t walk on water. He’s always been a bit arrogant but really, this is taking it to extremes. When he goes down, we’re all going to get wet trying to save his sorry self.” Righteous indignation.

I find it interesting that while the account of Jesus walking on the water is found in Matthew, Mark and John, only Matthew records Peter’s part in the drama. I wonder if John was embarrassed that he didn’t think of it first. I know . . . I know . . . Scripture is inspired and clearly God wanted Matthew to tell the story. I get it. Just work with me here!

Maybe Matthew was the one who was most jealous. Or most impressed. Keep in mind, they all heard Jesus. They knew Jesus had called Peter to come. They didn’t just have to take his word for it. But still . . . he got out of a boat. In the middle of a storm.

I have some friends who are “out of the boat” – and in far more spectacular ways than me.

An acquaintance at church who, even though she has young children at home, has opened up her home and heart to foster children in need. I am blown away by that! I’m not sure I could do it.

A dear friend who, even though it makes absolutely no sense to most people, has put her home on the market. Why? They are downsizing their lives so they can be better positioned to go on short term missions trips. To Africa! With the whole family! I’ve known this girl for years. She’s been a faithful and dear friend, but it was only a few months ago when she said “I’ve always had a heart for Africa.” Really? I had NO IDEA.

I could go on. I know of two others who are serving on foreign fields. Single. No real hope of ever marrying. But they felt the call and they answered it.

And the biggest question they hear is “Why?” And sadly, when they say, “Because I felt called to do it” people often look at them like they’ve lost their minds.

I’ve wondered about my own reactions. When I hear of someone who is living their life, totally and completely sold out to Christ. Willing to take whatever steps they feel him calling them to take. Even if it seems nuts. Have I looked down my nose? “Don’t they know what this will do to their children?” Questioned the timing? “Maybe that would be fine in a few years, but now?” Wondered what their decision might cost me? “They are so selfish – I’ll have to pick up the slack.”

No, we don’t have the benefit of hearing the call ourselves. But maybe we should remember that for the one who is called, there is only one option.

Getting out of the boat made NO SENSE!

But getting out of the boat was the ONLY thing that made sense.

Because Jesus said “Come”!

Credits: A friend of mine posted about how Jesus is always there for us when we’ve jumped, or been pushed, or went kicking and screaming, out of the boat. I’ve been thinking about it ever since. You can read her comments here. Thanks for the encouragement Kim!

http://lovegracepeace.wordpress.com/2010/04/07/always-there/

Matthew 14: 27-30 – But immediately Jesus spoke to them saying, “Take heart; it is I. Do not be afraid.” And Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat and walked on the water and came to Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me.”

Lynn’s synopsis: Peter jumped out. Peter freaked out. Peter called out.

I am so out of the boat.

I guess I didn’t exactly jump out of the boat. It was more like a tumble (I’m not known for being graceful). But regardless, I’m out of the boat.

And I am freaking out about it.

Bless Peter. I’m so glad he’s in the Bible. I love him. I love that he had a big mouth and a big temper and that he blew it – frequently and spectacularly. And I’m thrilled that God used Peter and we all can smile when we read about Peter’s antics in the gospels, because we know how the story turns out. How Peter became a bold and courageous apostle. How he lived – and died – for Christ.

But today, I’m thinking about how Peter freaked out.

The man got out of the boat. Of his own free will, he stepped out of a perfectly good boat and onto water. Water! And he walked on it. We don’t know how far he walked before he realized what he had done. Maybe it was a few steps. Maybe 50 yards. But regardless, Jesus called him and he obeyed. And then he totally lost it.

For the past week or so, I’ve been freaking out quite a bit, once a day, OK fine. A lot. We’ll leave it at that.

For me, getting out of the boat has more to do with telling people I’m a writer than the actual writing. Because now that people know . . . what do they expect? Will I be explaining to people five years from now, ten years from now, that ‘yes, I’m still writing but no, I haven’t been published’?

Was there any reason for Peter to get out of the boat, other than to be obedient to the call?

Does it matter if I’m ever published? Maybe to my pride. But otherwise, no. What matters is that I’m taking the next step, in obedience to my Father.

So why am I freaking out? Because I’m a perfectionist. Because I care way too much about what people think about me. Because I’m afraid of going to this conference and being embarrassed by my naivety. Because I’ve gotten my eyes off of my Father and on myself. Because I’m trying to do “this” myself when I’m not even sure what “this” is. Because I’m thinking about me – me – me.

But when he saw the wind, he was afraid, and beginning to sink he cried out, “Lord, save me.” Jesus immediately reached out his hand and took hold of him saying to him, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?” -Matthew 14: 30-31

I have no idea why Jesus wanted Peter to get out of the boat and I have no idea why God wants me to write. But it’s not just about me. God is up to something. God is always up to something. He’s that kind of God!

And when I call out to Him, He takes hold of me and says, “Baby, why are you doubting?”

Ps. 138:8 The LORD will fulfill his purpose for me; your steadfast love, O Lord, endures forever. Do not forsake the work of your hands.

Just a quick note to thank you, my approximately 10 readers, for praying for me as I edit/re-write. I would appreciate it if you could add something to your prayers.

I need moments of insight and flashes of creative genious, but really, it would help if they could come at some time other than midnight. Two out of the past three nights I’ve had “ah-ha” moments when I’m trying to relax and turn my brain off so I can sleep.

And then, I’m so afraid I won’t remember it in the morning, I have to come in here and turn on the computer and try to get it all out of my brain so I don’t lose it in my sleep.

I’m exhausted.

But, your prayers are working. Keep ’em coming! My first chapter is now a prologue and tonight, I figured out how to work some of the old first chapter into what was Chapter 3 (now Chapter 2). So I’m feeling better about my character development. I just wish this particular flash had come 3 hours ago.

I really hope I don’t think of anything else in the next 10 minutes. 🙂

And I really, really hope this blog post actually makes sense when I read it in the morning!

I had this great idea for a blog post, and I’ll probably post it in a day or two. But, I went to my critique group tonight.

I came home and made a pan of brownies.

It’s not that they were unkind. They weren’t even criticizing the writing. Said it was beautiful and well-written. Said I should totally keep it.

Just NOT as a first chapter.

Don’t get me wrong. They don’t think I need to re-write it. They think I need to CUT it.

CUT it.

(As an aside, those of you who know me very well know that my neck and chest flush and get all splotchy when I am rattled. I will be wearing turtlenecks to critique group from now on.)

Here’s the kicker.

They are totally right.

And, to make matters worse . . . I have KNOWN this for weeks. I knew my precious first chapter, my first attempt at writing fiction, my special little phrases that I have read, and re-read, were going to have to go away. Because there’s a lot of “telling” in my first chapter. And that is a no-no. And if I want an agent to read the 2nd chapter, the first chapter has to go.

I.DON’T.WANT.TO.DO.THIS.

I like my first chapter. I re-wrote some of it in the past few weeks and I like it quite a lot more than I did before. I like that you meet my characters . . . the very first ones I ever brought to life . . . and that you care about them and that many people who have read the now doomed first chapter actually cried with them. I like that I almost got choked up reading it tonight. Me. And I wrote it.

So pray for me. I’m going to have to do something I do not want to do. And I only have a week to cut it, re-work the necessary facts into the rest of the manuscript and get the new and improved first 40 pages ready for contest and critique submission.

Excuse me while I have another brownie. And maybe some Coke.

Yes, I know it’s Thursday Friday. I’m not that far over the edge.

But I want to talk about Wednesdays.

Our Women’s Bible Study meets on Wednesday morning at 9AM. We meet in Fall and Spring. And in Fall and Spring, my Wednesday mornings are disasters. A few recent examples . . .

My phone rings as I am getting out of the van. It’s the school. Sound familiar? That’s because I blogged about this a few weeks ago . . . scroll on down to read about it.

Last week, I make it to Bible study. I actually make it until 10:45. When my phone rings. Right in the middle of Beth Moore saying something important. Are you kidding me? Nope. School nurse. Again. Emma hasn’t spoken a word all morning. (Admittedly, this is bizarre behavior). I stay to the end of Bible study (since James is taking a nap and there’s no point in having 2 grouchy children – see how I rationalize things?). I get Emma home and she plays all afternoon like she doesn’t have a care in the world. For those of you who are friends of mine on Facebook, you might take note that this was the same day of the dog poop/ice cream scoop incident.

This brings us to two days ago (see, I told you I had my days straight). The morning started out OK. I got up without falling out of bed. But at 7:25 I remembered that the carseat wasn’t actually “in” the car. I mean, it was sitting there. Just not fastened to anything. So began the frantic, hyperdrive carseat installation wherein it is possible that I might have lost my temper. Once. Twice. OK. Fine. Three times.

Brian leaves with Emma only slightly late and James and I are facing a whole 90 minutes to get ready and head out the door. All we have to do is shower and dress and fill 10 Easter eggs with treats and surprises for Emma to take to school. No problem!

I couldn’t find the eggs. You know how this goes. You are at Wal-mart and you think “should I buy that $1 bag of Easter eggs” and you say “NO! I have 100 left from last year when I forgot that I had 50 from the year before and bought another bag. I do NOT need more eggs” and so, you don’t buy them. You pat yourself on the back for your frugality only to find yourself standing in your storage area, looking at 20 rubbermaid containers. None of which give you a clue as to which one is holding your Easter decorations. And the 100 eggs. I may have slammed the storage room door in frustration. Because I did NOT HAVE TIME to look for those blasted eggs.

I get James into the car. I get the diaper bag. I get in the van. It’s 8:50. We are doing great! All in all, for a Wednesday, it hasn’t been too bad. And then it hits me.

I don’t have my cell phone.

And I know who had it last. I turn to James. He grins at me, but has no idea where he left my phone. I search through every bag in the car. I search James. I search my own pockets. I retrace my steps. No phone.

I email Brian and my mother-in-law, begging them to start calling my cell phone and keep calling until I pick it up.

It’s now 9AM. Bible study has started. And I am not there. I’m wandering my home in search of my cell phone. And I really don’t need any lectures here on how this is my own fault because I shouldn’t let James play with my phone.

Somewhere in the midst of this, I knew, with a certainty that I cannot fully explain, that I absolutely, positively HAD TO GO to Bible study. That something was going to happen, something would be said, some insight would be shared, and it was imperative that I be there when it did.

This did not lessen my frustration as I continued to run around the house listening for my phone to ring and praying I had not left it on vibrate.

At 9:10, I heard it, snatched the traitor from behind the toy box (why I didn’t look there first, I’ll never know) and ran for the car. Brian was thankful I had found my phone and started saying all sorts of soothing things like “Honey, you need to calm down. You are on your way to a Bible study, honey.”

I can appreciate the irony here without any assistance.

“Honey, if you don’t let this go, you won’t get anything out of today’s lesson.”

It really irks me when he’s right.

I wish I could tell you it got better before it got worse, but . . . the next thing I heard was a beep. My sweet mother-in-law had just sent me a text telling me she’d had to put her beloved dog to sleep during the night. I sat in the van for a few seconds and just shook my head. As far as Wednesdays go, this one was making a strong play for “worst ever.”

I made it inside, tried not to be too disruptive as I took my seat at 9:25, and slowly began to get in the frame of mind I should have been in from the start.

Oh – you’re wondering about the big insight? Yeah. It came. Around 11:15. When Beth Moore looked straight into the camera and said “Esther was called to obedience. She was not called to figure out how it was all going to come down . . . And you are not responsible for how this thing works out.”

I felt like someone was shining a spotlight on me as she spoke the words. I literally got chills.

Because I’ve spent an embarrassing amount of time in the past few weeks trying to figure out how to make this work. How to write, edit, re-write – this strange new thing that I feel increasingly called to do. But how to make it work with the more than full-time job I already have . . . with my core roles of wife and mother . . .with the house that needs to be cleaned and the laundry that needs to be done and the meals that need to be cooked.

I’m a planner. I’m a fixer. I’ve been trying to figure it out.

“It’s tough being a woman who feels responsible for the ‘how’.” – So true.

But praise God!! I’m not responsible for the how. Just the obedience.

Good thing. James just threw my phone in the trashcan.

There are rules? Shouldn’t somebody have mentioned this before now? (This is a loose quote from a book – which will remain unspecified lest I be laughed to scorn).

My first experience with a writing group went quite well. Or at least, I think it did. I wasn’t humiliated. Everyone was friendly and supportive. I received positive feedback and truly constructive criticism of the newly re-written first 4 1/2 pages of my manuscript. All in all, it was a wonderful experience. Especially because I was surrounded by ladies who don’t think I’m loony.

But, in the midst of my critique, one of the ladies made this startling pronouncement . . . While you can start the book with the bad guy, one of the rules of romance writing is that the guy and the girl have to meet in the first chapter.

Excuse me?

Did she just say . . . Rules? There are Rules!? (One of which is to never ever use a question mark and an exclamation point together. I’m a rebel.)

Yep. She said rules. And from what I’ve been able to gather over the past few hours of random web-surfing (while I should have been doing laundry), there are quite a few of them. Things like the heroine must have inner beauty that the hero finds irresistible. And the hero must be flawed, but not fatally. I’m fairly certain, hopeful, praying that I have followed most of the rules purely on an intuitive basis.

Because let’s face it. I’ve read a lot of books. A Lot. And many of them have been romances. (That is not a typo. I do read books that aren’t romances. I do. Stop laughing!) I’m hoping the rules have sunk in by osmosis and just managed to find their way into my manuscript without conscious effort on my part.

While it would be nice to think that writing is an art and as such cannot be constrained by rules, if you want to be a published author that is not the case. So, I’ll be brushing up on the rule book this weekend. Wish me luck!

I’ve had a horrible day.

It started out fine. Brian took Emma to school so I had a bit more time this morning. I got the car washed and pulled into the church parking lot at 8:55AM. And then my phone rang. It was the school nurse.

Emma has a cough. Yeah. I know. She’ll be coughing from now until June. So will I. She inherited my allergic cough. Nothing I can do about it. She’s fine.

I went on to Bible study, but was distracted by maternal guilt. What kind of mother tells the school nurse she is NOT going to pick up her child from school? But I was at Bible study. And we missed last week because of “snow”. And I really, really, really needed to be at Bible study. I needed to talk to adults. I needed to hear whatever Beth Moore had to say. I’ve spent the last week taking care of everyone in the house with various illnesses, while not feeling well myself and not having anyone interested in taking care of me. I needed to be refreshed and renewed.

My phone rang again at 9:45. This time, it was the teacher. And this time, I could hear Emma coughing in the background. A LOT of coughing. Every 30 seconds or so.

I managed to get her an appointment with her allergist for 11AM. The problem with an 11AM appointment? Nothing. For Emma. EVERYTHING for James. He fell asleep 30 seconds before we got there. He did not wake up happy.

I’ll spare you the details of the next hour, but they included a lot of crying (mostly by James, maybe a little by me), Emma’s ADHD meds wearing off, me being clawed on the neck by James’ fingernails I meant to trim yesterday, etc.

Somewhere in the middle of it, I thought “This is NOT what I had planned for today.”

And then I remembered yesterday’s post and that Voice asked me if I was, perhaps, throwing a fit because things weren’t going my way.

Now, in all fairness, my thoughts about throwing a fit when things don’t go as planned were more along the lines of the big things. You know, having a child with a rare genetic syndrome or losing three family members to cancer in the space of six months. BIG THINGS.

But, apparently, God meant it for the little things, too. I wish I could tell you this insight made a huge difference in my morning, but I’m still struggling with it. I still don’t see the point in my entire week going down the toilet (as I told the nurse).

So, the moral of this story is simple. If you have the nerve to blog about some sort of spirtual insight, you should expect to get to test it out in the real world. Probably the very next day. You have been warned!

(I have to go now. Emma is trying to remove my hands from the keyboard. She wants to play Starfall.)

My son has reached a fun age. Most of the time. He is teaching himself how to jump – hilarious. He is already exhibiting a tenacious independent streak – like mother like son. OK. Like his entire genetic line, but I digress.

But at 18 months, he’s reached a place where his receptive language far surpasses his expressive language. In other words, he totally gets it when I say no, but he has no words to express his outrage.

So, he falls out in the floor and cries.

This drives me insane. He needs to learn that being told no is not justification for a tantrum. He needs to learn to obey in spirit as well as in action. He needs to learn that if he falls out in the floor and throws a fit, he’ll be spending some time in “time out” because mommy is NOT going to tolerate this behavior.

So, on a recent morning when he fell out in the floor, I scooped him up in my arms as I commented to my husband that “I will not have a child who behaves this way”. As I carried him into his room, I said to him, quite sternly and parent-like, “James, you are going to have to learn that when Mommy says no, she has a reason for doing so. Just because you don’t understand the reason doesn’t mean you can throw a fit about it.”

And then, as so often happens when I’m having a self-righteous moment, I heard it . . . the Voice.

And I’m telling you, He was laughing as He gently, but firmly, put me in my place.

“Really? You aren’t going to have a child who behaves this way? You think it is inappropriate for a child to throw a fit when he has been told no. You think your son should obey you willingly and without complaint, even when you have made a decision he doesn’t understand? That is very interesting.”

Gulp.

I kissed my son and put him in time out. Then I went and put myself in time out.

How often do I behave like a spiritual 18 month old? How often does God look at me and shake His head and wonder when I will outgrow this infantile behavior. Because I can tell you right now, I’m all for doing God’s will, I just have a tendency . . . OK, a general predisposition . . . OK, I pretty much throw a fit when His will takes me down an unpleasant path. Because I want to know WHY!

     “I’ll obey Lord, just, please, explain it to me.”

     “Father, I want your will for my life, but could you give me a glimpse into the plan, here?

     “This would be so much easier if I understood the logic.”

But just as there is no way for my 18 month old to fully understand my logic, there is no way for me to fully understand the infinite wisdom of God.

But my son can learn to obey even when he doesn’t understand. He can learn to obey without falling out. And he will. Have you ever seen an 18 year old fall down in the floor and cry when his parents tell him no? I hope not.

So what do I do now? I can learn more and more about my Savior. Because the more I know Him, the more I’ll trust Him and the easier the obedience will be.

I guess I need to grow up!

2 Peter 3:18 – Grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. To him be the glory both now and to the day of eternity. Amen.

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