When You're Not All-Sufficient

No one would believe I’m a perfectionist by looking at my kitchen counter.

Paper piles of important notices and special offers, graded homework, statements and other items that need attention permeate the landscape like the dandelions multiplying in my yard. Procrastination reigns as I continue to stack paper atop paper until one of two things happens: I'm unable to cook dinner due to lack of counter space or I’m expecting a guest whom I wish to impress with my clean countertops. In any case, I focus on the task of paper sorting and end up purging most of it because deadlines have passed and I missed the party, function or special buy on that nifty item I knew I needed.  If it takes me five or 10 minutes to discard that mess, why do I avoid the process? I’ll tell you why.  As a frustrated perfectionist, if I can’t do it right, I won’t even begin the project.

I know this about myself; my kids know it; my husband knows it. They claim I like things done a certain way…my way!  I’ve attempted to disguise it, but apparently, this trait has leaked out anyway. I suppose they experienced some sort of epiphany like I did recently. I was driving one morning, praying out loud in my typical fashion, bemoaning my poor spiritual influence as a parent. “I’m not a good enough role model for my kids. I’m missing teaching moments. I should create more spiritual moments. I’m not all sufficient.”  The moment I breathed that last sentence, God switched the light on inside my brain. Annette, you’re not supposed to be all-sufficient. I’m the All-Sufficient One. Oh yeah. Sigh. Relief. What in the world have I been doing, trying to take God’s place?  Trying to be everything for my kids? I’ve put so much pressure on myself for their spiritual well-being that I’ve neglected to trust God with my failings, my utter lack, my incapability to be their All.  

I want God to be their Everything. He is the only One capable of being present at all times, in all ways, in all situations. He has all the answers; I don’t. Why am I trying to fill God’s slot in their lives? Is it the perfectionist in me that seeks my will for their lives? Doesn’t God know them better than I do since He created them?  My heart knows that, but I sure don’t parent that way. Most of the time, I assume I know best and spend time instructing God on the matter. I want to clue Him in on the plan I’ve concocted for their spiritual growth.

My plan doesn’t include pain, suffering or hardship. It includes nonrebellious living, no major sins and following God wholeheartedly. This would be laughable except that I really have prayed and hoped God would follow my will. Praying the alternative is not much fun…His will for them, not mine. I desire that my kids take the high road instead of the hard road. Taking the path of sin and moving away from God for years is not the life I would choose for them. Suffering through relationship pain, physical pain or emotional pain is not on my top ten list of things for them to experience.

I ponder my own road…salvation, growth, immaturity, love, marriage, hurt, heartbreak, suffering, pain, divorce, second chance, love, marriage, growth, maturity…How can I exempt my children from the ups and downs of life and their choices, when I myself faced pain and loss? That hurt and heartbreak forged my growth in Jesus and caused me to lean and trust in His sufficiency. I hope my story will lead them to Christ without having to experience willful living. But, maybe their story will include things I don’t wish for them in a million years. God alone knows what each of my children will experience in order to follow Him with their entire hearts. Still, I’m hesitant to pray His will for them because of the fear of the unknown. When Jesus prayed for God’s will, it cost His life.

This is the point in which my all-sufficiency takes over. Perhaps I can rig my own plan for their lives, one that doesn’t cost them anything. I recall that I’ve been attempting that for years now and keep failing. Even with my perfectionistic tendencies, I can’t be a perfect enough parent, role model, teacher. My children will make mistakes, choose poorly, experience pain, endure hardship, and I must trust and point them to the All-Sufficient One. His plan is perfect; His will be done…  

Lying Out of Love

I’ve been lying profusely for the last 6 months. Deceit and duplicity have been my modus operandi, and it’s about killed me. Still, the end does justify the means occasionally, right? And, in this case, my siblings and I collaborated together in an effort to conceal a surprise 50^th anniversary party for my parents. We felt compelled to go to confession for our sin, only we aren’t Catholic.

Since October, we’ve been consorting for this big day, hoping that our parents would remain clueless until the event. Though the official anniversary date is March 24, we planned the party for April knowing they’d never expect it. Sure enough, disappointment donned for mom as she realized that ‘alas, no one was planning a family thing.’ She was a trooper, however, and attempted to sound happy with a short trip to Victoria, Canada with the love of her life for 50 years. But, we knew better. We knew she really desired a shindig with friends and family, party favors and program, catering and cake. After all, her picture is in the dictionary under the word “party.”

So, we planned, plotted and prepared via email, text and voice over a distance of 2250 miles. Since none of us live in Olympia, Washington where my parents live, we schemed with a close friend of the family who became our liaison and partner in crime. Somehow in all the scurrying and sneaking, no one slipped the surprise occasion, which is a miracle itself.

In order to insure our parents would be at the right place at the right time, my brother-in-law faked a “repair” trip to work on some coffee machines in Olympia and asked them to meet for lunch on party day. The day before the event, I flew from Bloomington to Seattle, staying at my brother’s house an hour from party central.  The morning of, we descended on the room in full force, transforming it with glittering ribbon, white tablecloths and golden balloons.

Unfortunately, the elegance of the room would be discounted by the entertainment prepared for the event. We elected to perform in typical Weston fashion, which involved a homemade skit and songs poking fun in the nicest of ways. After all, this is what we Weston’s do. An occasion of any kind is fodder for us to roast our family members like a pig over a spit. Thus, one must be thick-skinned and hard-shelled, like an army vehicle. Anyone who marries into the family must practically sign a pre-nup agreeing “to endure skits and/or songs on various momentous occasions which poke fun, laugh at or ridicule your personality.” It sounds more horrifying than it is. In my dad’s case, it usually involves mile high boxes of Kleenex razzing his sentimental weepy side during Hallmark movies or Little House on the Prairie.  In my situation, it normally involves some sort of reference to my multitude of blond moments. However, our performances are produced in love, and in our sick Weston humor, we understand this.  

As the clock ticked closer to the marked time, excitement grew like birds clamoring around a feeder. A few guests arrived, and then…the guests of honor arrived.  Ten minutes early.  Unwelcome early. And, this too is typical for mom and dad. We should have known they would arrive unfashionably early. Yet, even though most of the guests arrived after they did, they were stunned, surprised, shocked. They finally noticed me, daughter from Indiana, from more than halfway across the United States standing in front of them, and they were almost speechless. “How did you get here?” they asked.

“Plane, you know. Yesterday.” I had purposely called mom the day before, giving her my phony plans for the weekend, throwing her off track, just in case. Now, I was standing in front of my parents, thankful their hearts seemed to be healthy. Today’s surprise wasn’t going to necessitate a trip to the E.R. for heart attacks.

Mom and dad’s faces conveyed the adage “a picture is worth a thousand words.” Their faces truly said it all…joy, smiles, love. I’m not sure that I’ve ever anticipated an event so much in my life thus far. The excitement of going to Disneyland can’t begin to compare to the anticipation of this gift of honoring my parents for 50 years of marriage they’ve worked desperately hard to grow with prayer, commitment and love. To give back to two people who have given everything to their children and grandchildren, who have left a legacy of commitment through all kinds of circumstances, was worth the months of secrecy and sneakiness. I guess you could say I lied out of love…

Friendships

Maddie climbs into the car, slams the door and plops her book bag on the floor. "Is everything okay?" I ask.

"No, I don't feel good. My throat hurts."

"When did that start?" I drive away from the school hoping that the sore throat doesn't progress into something more serious that may keep her home from school the next day. 

"After lunch, it began to hurt." Silence prevails as we head for home until Maddie bursts out, "Well, aren't you going to ask me the usual question?" 

I rack my brain searching for the right answer but return empty-headed. "What is that, Maddie?"

"You know--how was my school day?" Uh oh, I think I know where we're headed with this conversation.

"Oh, uh, how was your school day today?"

"It was HORRIBLE. Gretchen is done with me!"

Her sore throat seems to have paled in comparison to the drama at hand. Her choice of words is always interesting and yet again, I stifle a smile. "What happened, honey?"

Maddie begins the long saga of what led up to the dissolution of a 4-year friendship. At the conclusion of the story, I conclude that two tired, cranky girls fought over silly stuff. Reconciliation is hopeful, but right now, Maddie is crying and just needs some hugs and a little love and tenderness. At home, we sit in the comfy chair and discuss how friendships can be difficult and occasionally misunderstandings and miscommunication can occur. "Late night gymnastics meets and early mornings at school can contribute to little girls being impatient and unkind," I say. "Maybe you need to ask Gretchen if you said anything that hurt her feelings. I bet she still wants to be your friend."

Feeling a little better, she bounces off my lap to get ready for gymnastics. Life doesn't appear quite so bleak. She plans to talk to Gretchen and get to the bottom of the situation. 

The next day, Maddie cheerfully hops into the car--nodding her head at me. "Yep, Gretchen and I are friends again. I told her I was sorry and she did too. You were right, mom." 

Ahhhh, I wonder how much longer I'll hear those sweet-sounding words...  

April Fool's Day Fun

This morning I roused the 10 year old out of bed with an attention-grabber. "Hey, you'll never guess what I saw in the backyard this morning."

"What?" she asks.

"You won't believe it!"

She sits up in bed fully awake. "What did you see?"

"A mountain lion!"

"REALLY?!" She's going for it lock, stock and barrel.

"Remember a few weeks ago when a mountain lion was sighted in some of the neighborhoods?  Well, it was in our backyard. It was so scary!"

"Why didn't you get me up? I would have wanted to see it!" Maddie is fully engaged.

"April Fools!" I exclaim, bursting her bubble.

"Ohhhh! That's mean!" She plops back down into bed, pulling the covers over her.

Since I was a small girl, April Fools Day has been a big day in our house. My mom was the master of making jokes, putting baggies of dry dog food in our lunch and even making cardboard frosted sheet cakes for my dad to share with his co-workers. I like to think that I carry on the tradition in our house with my own children joining in the fun. Two years ago, my son Nick put saran wrap underneath the cap of my shampoo bottle and mixed flour and water to make it look like milk in his sister's cereal bowl. Then, Maddie switched the cereal in the boxes, so that when the other kids poured out Fruity Pebbles, they received Reese's Puffs instead.

What's the best April Fool's Day joke or prank you've pulled or how has someone fooled you?!

Are You Looking?

While driving in the mornings, I pray aloud in the car until I get to my first destination point. This gives me at least 15 minutes of uninterrupted quiet time.  I’ve tried praying in my head, but my mind wanders too much. I’d rather endure the quizzical looks from passersby who see my mouth moving than silently pray and end up formulating my grocery list because of my lack of focus. Last week, I went through my usual routine praying for each family member only this time I prayed that I would be an encouragement to someone that day.

My day was jam packed with appointments, important things like getting my nails done and going to the dentist—in that order! I don’t particularly enjoy going to the dentist office for the six month cleaning; in fact, I’ve convinced myself I’d much rather give birth.  The smell, the sound of drills whirring, the swishing of fluoride causes me to start whining like my dog when she realizes the vacuum cleaner is coming out of the closet!

When the hygienist called me back to the dreaded room, I had been reading a book, The Prodigal God by Tim Keller. Any place that has a waiting room is an opportunity for reading even if it’s only five minutes. Consequently, I always have a book with me. I shoved the book in my purse and followed her back. She was curious and asked about the book. As I explained the topic, she opened up and shared a book she was reading about family. I hoped to keep her talking to avoid the inevitable scraping and polishing, but it turns out that dental hygienists are good multi-taskers. They can talk to you about deep subjects while they are hurting you and expect an answer, even if it sounds like gobbledy-gook.

“I’ve been married for a year and a half, and it’s been a rough couple of months. How long have you been married?” she asked.

In between scrapes, I say, “Eleven years.”

“Oh, well do you have any advice for me?” she asks.

I’d laugh at the humorousness of this entire spectacle except for the seriousness of her question. Me, with my mouth open, eeking out one or two word responses up to this point. I’ve never understood why dentists insist on carrying on a conversation when they are working on the vessel you need to actually use in order to participate. Never has made sense to me. She lets me off the hook for a minute. “I know that’s a big question. I’ll let you think about it.”

Great. I’m laid back in a chair attempting to formulate an answer to a not so simple question with my mouth full of saliva and polish. She talks some more about other things. “You went on a vacation to Kauai this summer, right? How was it?”

“Goob,” is all that comes out of my open mouth.  I’m thinking that dentists should start scheduling before and after the appointment time if they actually want to talk to their patients. I bet they all have a good laugh at the end of the day when they retell stories of how ridiculous their patients sound when they attempt to converse.

Finally, I squeeze in an answer to her question. “My advice would be to pick your battles and don’t take yourself too seriously. I tend to make mountains out of mole hills and need to chill out sometimes. I’m not very flexible and need to realize that there are other ways to do things. Some things just shouldn’t be made a big deal.” (Gee, I ought to heed my own advice.) I add, “Oh, and another great book to read is Sacred Marriage by Gary Thomas. It transformed my view of marriage…how it’s not about my happiness but my holiness.”  It’s amazing how fast you can talk in between the cleaning process.

This young girl appeared appreciative of my on-the-spot advice and wrote down the book title. For once, that teeth cleaning seemed faster than ordering a coffee at a drive-thru Starbucks. As I grabbed my coat, purse and goody bag, it donned on me…this was my God-appointment today. He opened a door for me to encourage someone, and I actually stepped out of my comfort zone, took a chance and spoke with courage amid the barrier of swishing, swirling and sucking.

She was looking for encouragement, and I was looking for a God-ordained opportunity.  I am looking, are you?

A Lasting Legacy

“Unless the LORD builds the house, its builders labor in vain.” Psalm 127:1

The young couple met in high school and began a cycle of dating and break ups.  I’ve lost track how many.  He was a grade ahead than she and graduated from Breo-Olinda High School in 1959.  They finally stopped breaking up and tied the knot March 24, 1961.  Their old high school has since been torn down and rebuilt elsewhere in the town of Brea paving the way for city expansion on that hallowed ground where they first met. And, while the old B-O gymnasium where she watched him play basketball is history, their marriage of 50 years is still standing.

It’s a miracle, really. I’m sure they’d both admit it. Dad’s parents died when he was a young boy, leaving him an orphan bouncing between relatives. Aside from his older brother by 10 years, he had no significant father figure in his life to show him how to be a man, a strong family leader. Mom’s family was dysfunctional. With an alcoholic father and a mom who managed to hold the family together, she also didn’t have a great picture of family life. And, while both families had respect for God, they didn’t claim to live for Him. So, with a shaky foundation, they began their life together…young and in love.

They could’ve been a divorce statistic, but they’re not. A few years and a couple of kids into their married life, mom was introduced to Jesus and decided He was worth following. Dad saw Billy Graham on television one night and made the same decision. They began a legacy like Ruth did turning her back on her Moab roots and following Naomi’s God. Dad and mom moved out of California to the foreign land of Oregon to raise their family. They never looked back, and it’s made all the difference in their marriage, their kids and their grandchildren.

I’m not saying they didn’t struggle. They fussed and fought, bickered and battled. Months and sometimes years of striving ensued. I would hear their fighting from my downstairs bedroom and fear divorce. I know I didn’t understand all that was occurring. Perhaps financial strain and my dad’s traveling a lot at the time contributed to the tension. Other times stand out in my memory as desperate attacks from the enemy to destroy my parent’s marriage.  In spite of all the torment during those horrible times, my parent’s stuck together like glue. They arose from that period of time like David after killing Goliath.  Through those challenging times, their marriage became unshakeable, impenetrable, indestructible.

Lest you form a picture in your mind of all war and no peace, that is not the case. I simply do not desire to deceive you with 50 years of wedded bliss. Foremost in my growing up years, however, are portraits of my parent’s love and affection for each other. They hugged and kissed each other everyday, much to my chagrin. “Oooh, gross,” the three of us would say. Those three little words, ‘I love you,’ were shared between them each day. They were nuts about each other and made sure we knew it. Their relationship was always first. Commitment to staying married through the ebbs and flows of love became their goal. With their unstable family history, they placed preeminence on building a Godly foundation in their marriage. No examples from the past to follow, they began a legacy of Christian values for their family. Like the pioneers who traversed the west conquering winter elements, gigantic mountains and fierce enemies, they persevered paving the way for those of us who follow them.

How grateful I am for this shining example in my life. In a world that dumps marriage as easily as dinner leftovers, my parent’s marriage stands as a beacon of hope for those who persist despite the odds. I, too, want to be counted in that esteemed group who love, cherish and honor their spouse through thick and thin, babies and teens, gray and bald. You go, mom and dad, we’re right behind you, following in your footsteps!

“May your fountain be blessed, and may you rejoice in the wife of your youth.” Proverbs 5:18

Feed Your Crave

Driving down the highway last week, I saw a White Castle billboard blaring “Feed Your Crave.” 

I can proudly claim that I’ve never eaten at White Castle. Never even heard of it before 10 years ago when I first moved to the Midwest from the West Coast. Frankly, the burgers pictured don’t look appetizing. I’d sooner eat a taco consisting of low grade meat from Taco Bell than consume a White Castle slider. Just seems like something might slide up the way it went down.

Still, what kind of advertising suggests I heed my carnal cravings? Sounds like these guys are giving me permission to eat the entire bag of dark chocolate Cadbury mini eggs, right? I mean, a serving size of 12 small eggs is simply not enough. I want more! And, I’d really like more than one bowl of Turkey Hill chocolate pretzel ice cream at night, too. My husband can indulge in the entire bag of Dorito spicy sweet chili chips now that he has White Castle’s consent. Who cares if these foods are loaded with unhealthy ingredients. I need to feed my crave, right?! It would be different if I craved foods such as legumes or fruit. Instead, I’ve been cursed with the chocolate crave.  In fact, most of us probably crave foods that are unhealthy, energy depleting or fat producing. 

Forget about food, what about my other cravings? My longings to be accepted, liked, loved? Should I feed those at any expense? Should I do whatever it takes to keep a friend, climb the corporate ladder or social status? Does my desire to be liked cause me to be a chameleon, adapting to whatever setting in which I find myself? Worse yet, do I compromise my faith as I stuff myself with unhealthy desires? Do I realize that all of my cravings only bring emptiness, dissatisfaction and a guilty conscience?

In the Old Testament the Israelites grumbled and complained until they received what they thought they wanted only to decide they wanted something different. Psalm 78:29-31 says, “They ate till they were gorged— he had given them what they craved. But before they turned from what they craved, even while the food was still in their mouths, God’s anger rose against them; he put to death the sturdiest among them, cutting down the young men of Israel.  Earlier in Psalm 78, the writer says that they put God to the test by demanding their cravings. The Hebrews pined for tangible, immediate gratification rather than relying and trusting in God for the ultimate satisfaction of their longings. How like us to settle for White Castle when we could dine on the gourmet food God provides. 

None of us should buy into White Castle’s advice. Our cravings lead us down paths replete with selfishness, self-absorption and sin. This is exactly what happened to the Israelites. They whined and pleaded like a 3 year old begs for candy at the grocery store check-out counter. Then, when God gave them what they determined would satisfy them, they grumbled for something else. They just couldn’t seem to grasp that they needed more of God, not more of what He could do for them. We do the same thing, don’t we? We crave the next shopping purchase, the next exciting event, the next lunch with a friend, the next whatever thinking “it” will complete us, but it won’t.  We’ll be left with wanting more, and more, and more.

1 Peter 2:1-3 says, “Therefore, rid yourselves of all malice and all deceit, hypocrisy, envy, and slander of every kind.  Like newborn babies, crave pure spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow up in your salvation, now that you have tasted that the Lord is good.” Newborns don’t seem to need anything but their mother’s milk, do they? A mother would be crazy to feed her baby a carrot or a candy bar. The only nutrition they need comes in a breast or bottle. Mothers give their babies the best food for healthy growth, and babies don’t cry out for something other than what mommy provides.  God assures us that we mature spiritually in the same way that babies mature physically. Craving fulfillment through outside sources may bring momentary happiness like my 10 year old enjoying her nightly ice cream. Once she has finished her tasty treat, however, she sneaks a bit of candy because it wasn’t quite enough. When we feast on Him, we taste that He is good and that He is all we need.

We can feed our crave…if we crave Him!