Have The Sunday Night Blues?

Do you get the Sunday night blues?  The weekend is over.  The laundry still isn't done.  The alarm clock will be screaming tomorrow at an hour too early.

This Sunday, I was starting to feel pretty sorry for myself.  I had just come off a funeral and the tenth anniversary of 9/11 haunted me all day.  Especially since I’m heading to New York in the morning.

The last thing I want to do is jump on a flight, Lord. 
 
As I put the girls to bed, they hugged me extra tight.

“Why do you have to leave in the morning?  Why can’t you stay home with us?”

I just need more time with them, Lord.  It’s so hard to leave.

I fought back tears as we opened our devotional together. 

And God spoke.

Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.  Matthew 6:34

The words cut to my heart. 

Sometimes, God does that.  He speaks to me loud and clear.  His words are like healing balm to my fresh wounds, and I’m thankful for today.  For tonight.  For this moment.  And this moment is so lovely that I have to stop and catch my breath.

In the midst of my revelation my 5-year-old bellowed, "You're going to be alright, Mom.  You've got to face your fears!"

Where the heck did that come from?

It's all part of the grace of this moment.

Tomorrow?  Well, as Mark Twain once said, “I am an old man and have known a great many troubles, but most of them never happened.” 

Do you find yourself preoccupied with tomorrow instead of embracing this moment?

What Ruins Your Day?

My cell phone died an unexpected death.  Yesterday.  I won’t give you the gory details, but let’s just say it’s lying on a highway somewhere along Route 315.

And it really upset me.  I mean it really ruined my day. 

I was grumpy.  I was irritable.  I felt lost and disconnected.

All because of a stupid phone that can be replaced!

But that was yesterday.

Today, I’m headed out of town for a funeral.   Three young boys don’t have a mother anymore.  It’s unexpected.  It’s tragic.  It’s unexplainable.

A mother can’t be replaced.

So I’ve had a bit of a paradigm shift.  You see, I have much to be thankful for – including three beautiful children I can hold tonight – and I really don’t care anymore about my cell phone.  And I’m pretty embarrassed that I let it ruin my day.  (Yeah, I even had to apologize to my kids this morning.)

What silly things have you let ruin your day lately?

Has God Forgotten About Your Resume?

Do you wish you had a different job?  Do you think you are uniquely qualified – maybe even called by God! – to do something else?  


You’re not alone. 


I know, lots of people feel this way.  What’s the big deal?


Here’s the big deal.  Did you know that the Apostle Paul – arguably the most effective New Testament figure – likely had these same thoughts?


Check this out.


In Acts Chapter 22, Paul tells how he first responded when God told him he was going to be sent away to the Gentiles.



God:  "Leave Jerusalem immediately, because the people here will not accept your testimony about me."


Paul:  "These people know that I went from one synagogue to another to imprison and beat those who believe in you. And when the blood of your martyr Stephen was shed, I stood there giving my approval and guarding the clothes of those who were killing him."


Paul was probably thinking to himself:  Wait a minute, I’m uniquely cut out to work in Jerusalem, remember? After all, I have been an insider.  I know the ropes.  I understand the culture.  I have even walked in the shoes of those who persecute Christians.  I can make a difference right here!  I’m the guy to do it.


God's response?  "Go; I will send you far away to the Gentiles."


Did God forget about Paul's resume? 


After all, why would God send a highly-qualified insider out of his home territory to a place where he has nothing in common with the culture, geography, or religion of the people?


It’s like sending someone who has worked his way up Wall Street to run a soda pop stand in Ohio.


It's like sending a Republican to Berkley. 


It’s like sending a surfer dude to the desert.


It’s like sending Pastor Eric from the Ivy League to North Dakota (and then to Ohio!)


You get the point.


Maybe you've even told God, “Hey, you must have made a mistake here.  I'm meant to do something much more important.  What about my resume?”


I've even wondered, does God just like to mess with us?  Does he like to pull a fish out of water? 


Or, like Paul, could it be that he has something bigger – maybe something even BETTER – for our futures? 


[This post was inspired by Pastor Eric’s 8/28/11 sermon at Upper Arlington Lutheran Church.  You can download it here.]

Too Busy (Not!) To Read With Your Kids

Let’s face it, we have to work hard (and use some creativity) to maintain strong relationships with our children.  Especially as they grow older.  What was “cool” last year might not maintain their interests this year.

And here’s our greatest challenge.  Time.  If you’re like me, you have plenty of ideas, but you’re weak on execution.  You have plenty of distractions.  Plenty of excuses.  Many of these excuses are even legitimate (like your day job!).

One answer to this dilemma?  Books.

Nick (my 10-year-old son) and I both love to read.  So I told him to pick out some books for me this summer.  His choice.

Now, before you give me the “I don’t have time” lecture, please save it.  You have time to read.  Really.  You can read when your kids are sleeping, when you can’t sleep, when the rest of your family is zoned out in front of the TV, or even in the bathroom.  Been there. Done that.  It’s doable. 

This summer, I started with Gregor the Overlander (one of Nick’s favorites) and was quite taken with Suzanne Collins so I wanted to see what The Hunger Games was all about.  (I loved it, by the way, but decided Nick can wait to read it until he’s a bit older.)

Then, following Nick’s lead, I read The Hobbit and The Fellowship of the Ring.  Little did I know, I would become a J.R.R. Tolkien groupie (I’m waiting to read The Two Towers as soon as Nick finishes).

The good news?  Nick and I have uniquely bonded.  (So what if the rest of the family thinks we’re crazy when we talk about magic rings, hobbits, elves, and journeys to Mordor.) 

It’s about establishing a new connection.  Getting in their world.  Starting a dialogue. 

How do you nurture that connection with your growing children while a million other things are competing for your time and energy?

Have you tried reading lately?

Faking The Pain – (Part 4 of 4)

Sometimes, we pretend like the more spiritually “mature” we are, the less pain we feel.  Granted, we use over-spiritualized language and make those around us feel foolish – even sinful – for walking in pain.  See if this sounds familiar.

“If you are really following God, you won’t base your happiness on circumstances.  If you start putting your hope in God alone, he will take away your pain.”

Really?

And where does God promise to “take away” our pain if we just have enough faith?

Don’t get me wrong, I believe that God is a healer and a comforter. I believe that He takes great delight in meeting us right where we are.  I just start getting nervous when Christians start claiming that you just need to have more “faith” and the pain will go away.

Sometimes, it doesn’t work that way. 

Did the Apostle Paul feel “happy” about the thorn in his side?  Did he lack “faith” when he begged God to take it away?

Did Jesus dismiss the excruciating pain as he hung on the cross?  Would the pain have gone away if he just had more “faith”?

I think not! 

For reasons I will never understand this side of heaven, God purposes to use pain.  In fact, sometimes it appears that pain alone can produce the kind of enduring strength that most of us long for.

So why do we think we are entitled to a “pain free” existence?  

Could it be that pain is for the strong?

************

[For those of you who have followed the "Faking the Pain" series, many thanks.  Thanks especially for your private notes and emails.  No more faking the pain around here, ok?]

Sure Cure For The Rat Race

Are you tired of the rat race?  Here’s my suggestion.

Get away.  Take a week (or two) and leave the race completely.  It puts things in perspective. 

I just spent part of my family vacation off the grid.  Which is how I met Rick and Jenni. 

Rick and Jenni decided to get out of the race.  Permanently. After tiring of their fast-paced lives in Chicago, they left their careers and purchased a small group of cottages on Michigan’s far western shores of Lake Superior.  Now, they spend their summers renting lodging to families (like mine) who are trying to get away.

No mobile coverage.  No stores.  No hospitals.  No restaurants.  No people.  No Starbucks. 

It was novel at first (except the Starbucks part).

After a couple of days, I tried to imagine my family in Rick and Jenni’s shoes.  In the mountains.  In a town of several hundred people.  We could have our own rental lodge and reside right on property to save money. My husband would be in charge of maintenance (which I guess would put me in charge of cleaning and laundry).  Our kids could learn about wildlife firsthand – spending their summers on kayaks and winters on snowmobiles.  I could spend my days writing (in between cleaning toilets) and I’d just have to buy an espresso machine and appropriate supplies.

But then my vision turned sour.  I could see high-maintenance city folk knocking on my door at midnight because of a leaky toilet.  After cooking the 40th meal in a row and scrubbing the 140th toilet I’d be screaming, “Where are the restaurants!” and “Where is my cleaning lady?”  I’d be driving my kids 50 miles for play dates and 120 miles to the nearest movie theater.  And what would we do without our cell phones?

Maybe getting off the grid isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.  I’m a city girl.  I actually like people.  And truth be told, I even like the rat race.  I just need to get away every once in awhile to help remember. 

When's the last time you got off the grid?

Faking The Pain (Part 3 of 4)

I was having coffee with a friend who is struggling in her marriage.  I mean really struggling.  Yet she’s figured out how to get by. 

What’s her secret?  She’s given up all expectations in the relationship. 

“Marriage is about managing expectations.  If I expect nothing from him, at least I’m not disappointed.  I am so tired of opening myself up, only to be hurt again.”

I wonder, is she faking the pain?

While I don’t want to discount her pain – and I know firsthand that unrealistic expectations (or even reasonable expectations) can cause more hurt and pain when people disappoint us – I’m just not ready to subscribe to the theory that one can “manage” pain by giving up hope.

Numb the pain?  Maybe.

Ok, I realize there are seasons when we’re in survival mode – when numbing the pain is the best we can do.  But hear me out.  Have we missed the boat on this whole “pain management” theory?

We say things like, “People are always going to disappoint me.  I only need God to make me happy.”  We marginalize our relationships with other people so the pain doesn’t hurt as much.  We put up walls.  We pretend it doesn’t hurt.  Then, we tell ourselves we are spiritually mature for “managing expectations.”

Is this the best we can do?  Doesn’t God have something better in mind?  And hasn’t he put us in relationship with other people – people who will give us joy, hope, and even pain?

While expectations can kill, life without hope is sterile.  Lifeless.  Sure, I’ve heard it said, “Hope is in God.  Expectations are in other people.”  But in practical terms, the lines are a bit gray.  Which is why I’m constantly struggling to balance these two seemingly competing sisters:  Hope and Expectation. 

How do you reconcile the two?

The Power Of Unplugging

I’m officially unplugged.  For the next two weeks!

Am I already going through withdrawal? You bet.

Mind you, I had every intention of keeping up my blogging through August – even while I’m camping in remote places like the Porcupine Mountains.  After all, I’m a modern day multi-taskaholic.  Who says I can’t blog and camp at the same time?  Besides, I’m the middle of a “Faking The Pain” series that I want to continue.  Badly.  And I’m part of a writing group that just launched the WordServe Water Cooler.  I don’t want to take time off!

But wait.  I hear my children calling:

“Mom, why are you working during vacation?”

And I hear my husband calling:

“Suz, get off of that @&#% laptop!”

I’m pretty stubborn, so I’m still not convinced. 

Then I hear God calling:

“Be still.  Slow down.  Stop talking and listen.”

Ok, I get it. 

{See you in two weeks when I pick up with Faking The Pain, Part 3 of 4.}

Faking The Pain (Part 2 of 4)

My friend lost two immediate family members last year.  Unexpectedly. 

She’s tired of faking the pain. 

She explained to me that she used to think life had its ups and downs.  High seasons and low seasons.  Good days and bad days. 

But she doesn’t think that anymore.

Instead, she sees life as two parallel train tracks:  Joy and Pain.

Sometimes, Pain is so strong and is running so fast that she can barely see Joy – it is miles and miles away.  Other times, Joy is charging full speed ahead and Pain trails behind.  She relishes these rare moments – when she is overwhelmed with Joy and goodness and it feels like Pain is defeated. 

But it doesn’t last. 

Most of the time, Joy and Pain run in tandem.  She can feel them both.  Side by side.  Which means that she experiences great Pain and immense Joy at the same time.   It actually works well.  She doesn’t have to fake it – or feel like a hypocrite – when someone asks her how she is doing at breakfast as she says, “Fine.”

And 30 minutes later she is a mess.

That’s how Joy and Pain are.  In fact, she even believes that they are supposed to run parallel.  That life works best and grace multiplies when Joy and Pain are in balance.  Pain allows us to experience Joy.  And Joy allows us to experience Pain.

This irony became clear to me last week when I celebrated my daughter’s 8th birthday.  I was in so much Pain that my insides were crying.  Like I could collapse at any moment.

But 10 young girls arrived on my doorstep for a sleepover.  And they brought me the sweetest Joy I have known in days.  Popcorn.  Movies.  Dancing.  Looking at stars.  Telling stories late into the evening.  Magical moments that brought me back to simpler days.

And the Pain in my stomach made the Joy even stronger.  Clearer.  Richer
.
***********

Have you ever experienced the great irony of these two friends:  Joy and Pain?

Marketing 101: Know Yourself. Be Yourself. Stop Whining.

How do you best market yourself as a writer (and a person)?

In one short post, I’m going to share my playbook.  I’m linking up with Rachelle Gardner and my fellow colleagues at WordServe Literary to give away some unsolicited marketing secrets.

Don’t read this post if you are looking for a shortcut to building a platform.  I don’t have one.  And please don’t read this if you’re looking for time-saving secrets on social media, online communities, or networking with other bloggers.  Sorry.  I don’t have easy answers.  While I engage in all of these strategies, I’d like to share a different perspective.

Know yourself.  Be yourself.  Stop whining.

1)  Know Yourself.

You want practical advice, not a soap box.  Right?  I get it.  So here’s how “knowing myself” has worked so far.

First, I know my limitations.  I have no time to waste.  I’m a too-busy lawyer with three small kids and a husband who already thinks I’m stretched 100 ways too many.  Does this stop me?  Of course not.  I just have to make choices. 

• I shoot for quality, not quantity.  I choose to connect with other writers and readers that are like-minded – people who inspire and sharpen me, regardless of what they can “do” for me.  And while I’m not making the biggest splash around, it’s been incredibility meaningful.  Meaning motivates me.
• I hang out on Twitter because it’s fun and efficient.  Of all the social media vehicles, I like Twitter the best.  It’s fast, fun, and incredibly efficient.  I’ve been on Twitter for less than a year, and it’s hands down driven more traffic to my blog than any other source. 
• I’ve joined one online community, and I’m committed.  About a year ago, I joined The High Calling as a contributing editor.  I guess you could say it’s part of my marketing plan, but that’s not why I do it.  I feel at home there.  It’s a place I’d hang out even if I bagged the whole writing scene.  
• I’m in it for the long haul.  There’s no quick fix.  I know that my personal platform is going to happen brick by brick.  I’m not looking for quick results, just measurable progress over time. 

2)  Be Yourself. 

Now, you may wonder what this has to do with marketing.  Stick with me, it’s a fair question.

When I was a young trial lawyer, an old pro pulled me aside (come to think of it, I think he smacked me over the head) and gave me some key advice.

“Always be yourself in front of the jury.  If you act fake, they can see right through it.”

Pretty good, huh?

I happen to think readers are a lot like jurors.  So in this world of marketing madness on steroids, I’ve decided to just be me.  I just can’t fake the whole networking thing.  If I went around leaving random comments on blogs that said, “Please follow me and I’ll follow you back” I think I would shoot myself.  (I don’t do auto messages either.)

The good news?  If I’m networking with you, it means I actually like you.  I'm not faking it.

Besides, being myself is the one thing I can do better than anybody else.  (You probably have that same gift.)

3)  Quit Whining.

Writers love to whine (present company especially included).  We have it so hard, don’t we?

Lisa doesn’t work outside her home.  Of course, she has all the time in the world to market and network.

Terry developed a platform because he has a big endorser.  It must be nice.  I don’t know anyone important.

Marketing isn’t what I signed up for.  I just want to write, ok? 

I’m an artist!  Marketing is beneath me.

Excuses, excuses.  Does this sound familiar?

Look, we all know that marketing doesn’t drive us to write.  Writing drives us to market.   You may think marketing is just a necessary evil (or just plain evil) but if you are passionate about getting your message out to other people, you’re going to have to sell yourself to an audience. 

So stop whining and get to work!

Yeah, the work involves things like blogging and networking – the things I already told you I haven’t mastered.  But if you set your mindset first – know yourself, be yourself, and quit whining – it might not be as tough as you think.

It’s actually tougher!

[If you care to continue the discussion on all things writing, please join me and my WordServe colleagues daily at the WordServe Water Cooler.  I'm thrilled to be part of this newly-launched community of talented writers.]

Faking The Pain (Part 1 of 4)

I break from a meeting and check my phone.  A text comes through like a knife, and I learn that my friend’s illness has gotten worse.  I want to stop. To cry. To pray. To even breathe.

But I can’t.  I have to be back in the meeting in five minutes.

So I fake the pain.  I’m good at this.

After all, I’m getting paid to be strong.  Lawyers aren’t weak, and they certainly don’t cry during meetings.  And it’s not like my pain makes me special.  It just makes me normal.

For 30 seconds – before I re-enter the meeting – I argue with God.  What kind of God allows pain to be normal?

Why God do you put us in this skin and allow this charade to continue?  Is this really want you want?  For your children to wear masks.  And is everyone around me faking it too?

One in four people will suffer from mental illness in the course of a year. 

Over 40% of people will be diagnosed with cancer during their lifetimes.

The unemployment rate is approaching double digits (and men are 45% more likely to lose their jobs than women).

Of course we’re not fine.  No one is exempt.  But just like me, everyone around me is good at faking it. 

I pull myself together and head back into the meeting.  I really feel like shouting, “It’s not Halloween anymore.  Everybody, please take off your masks.  Starting with me!”

But I don’t shout.  And I don’t take off my mask.  I fake it just enough to make it through the day. 

Later, after work, I sit down at my laptop.  I look at my blog.  For 18 months I’ve written about kids, family, work, holidays, cooking, and even dancing.  I’ve written about everything but pain.  If you don’t know me – really know me -- you may think I lead a life of joy and bliss.  You have to read between the lines to find the pain.  But it’s there.

I hate pain.  I hate watching others in pain. 

But I’m tired of being afraid of pain.   So I’m going start writing about it – for the next three Mondays.   I’m going to finish that conversation with God and ask you to join me. 

Do you find yourself pretending like you’re fine on the outside when inside your are a mess?

Will We Be 18 In Heaven?

I’m getting ready for my 18-year-old niece’s graduation party.  I pull a skirt and blouse out of my suitcase.  In Ohio, I’d be trendy.  I’d even be a bit edgy on casual day at the office.

But I’m not in Ohio.  I’m in Vegas. 

Midwest hip has long been out in Vegas.  So I run to my niece and cry, “HELP!”  I don’t want to be a middle-aged aunt tonight.  So she hands me a red dress and I don’t look back.  The dance floor is calling me.

In my sister’s tiny back yard stands a wooden dance floor.  The men came to set it up today in the heat of the Vegas sun.  Nails pounding.  Sweat pouring.  But the sun is down.  The DJ is playing.  And the neighbors (and the police!) have been warned.  It’s not every day that we celebrate a woman coming of age. 

So we dance.

I look around the dance floor and I’m the oldest.  By about 20 years.  At first I feel a little silly (in my niece’s red dress and all) but then I don’t care.  I feel like I’m 18 again.  And it feels good.

My father spots me across the yard and he starts to walk toward me.  He had a bad fall today, and I know he is bleeding.  And hurting.  But his long pants are covering his fresh wounds, and I know he wants to dance.  He wants to feel 18 again too.

We both look at my niece, and she is beautiful.  It is her 18th birthday, and she is the star of this show.  And she loves to dance.  After all, it is in her blood.  So my father takes her hand, and they dance.  Together.

Mind you, he may have had trouble walking today.  But tonight he will dance.  With ease.  

Then my mother – the most beautiful woman alive – takes the dance floor.  She and my father are trying to do the jitter bug to rap music, and I’m laughing so hard that I think I might wet my pants -- not a good thing when you are wearing somebody else's dress.   And I’m reminded that these moments are gift.  These moments when we feel 18 again.

I happen to think we’re all going to be 18 in heaven.  Especially when we’re dancing.

(Kaitlyn at 18!)

When Is Healthy Competition Unhealthy?

Most workplaces thrive on competition.  Especially – especially - law firms.  I happen to know. 

After sixteen years of working at one of the largest and most competitive law firms on the planet, I’ve come to accept the inevitable: my work is often a zero sum game. 

Someone has to win.  Someone has to lose.  Welcome to the profession.

This reality hit me hard last week after a successful jury trial.  I extended my hand to the losing party, but he pulled away with anger and harsh words. (His wife also gave me a big scowl.)  What was I expecting, a hug?  After all, the goal in court is to win, not to make nice. 

Court isn’t the only place lawyers compete.  We compete for clients.  We compete for talent.  We compete with other lawyers.  We compete on behalf of our clients.  So why should internal competition be any different? 

[Click here to continue reading at The High Calling]

Putting Out Fires And Saving Sticky Buns

The coffee is brewing.  The bacon is sizzling.  And the sticky buns are baking.

Before the fire.

If you came to my house the morning of July 4th – before the infamous Upper Arlington Parade – you would have experienced this first hand.

I set my house on fire.  And we’re not talking about fireworks.

This playing with fire tends to stress out my husband (aka the Fire Putter Outer).  In fact, even before the flames, I can see him sweating while watching my crazed multi-tasking.

I’m frying eggs in one hand and cutting fruit with the other hand.  Pouring cereal for daughter #1 (she doesn’t like eggs) while daughter #2 insists on cracking eggs herself for the sticky buns.  Of course, she misses the bowl and we pick the egg shells out of the batter with our bare hands.  It’s 7:30 am and the guests will arrive in 30 minutes.  I sigh in relief when the sticky buns enter the oven at 7:35 am.  Finally, I can chug my coffee.

Then the smoke starts.  The sticky buns are sticky.  We use real butter.  And everyone knows that real butter burns.

My husband tries to detain the smoke, but it’s no use.  The flames are upon us.  He throws water on the fire and quickly squashes it.  (He then exits stage left to get some “air”.)

I am determined to save these sticky buns.  The real butter (albeit burnt) is calling me.  The guests don’t arrive for 20 minutes.  This gives me time to clear the smoke, turn on the fans, and transfer the buns into a new pan. 

And these buns are delicious.  After breakfast, we have plenty of eggs and fruit left.  Even the bacon remains.  But the sticky buns are gone.  Every last one.

A guest remarks, “I love these sticky buns.  Can you give me the recipe?”

My husband gives me the look and I laugh out loud.

Being a mom, wife, daughter, lawyer, and writer has a lot to do with saving sticky buns.  The fire will come.  I’m convinced that we spend too much time trying to prevent the fire when we really need to prepare for the fire.

Because once you make it through the fire, you have nothing to fear. 

**************

Each one’s work will become manifest, for the Day will disclose it, because it will be revealed by fire, and the fire will test what sort of work each one has done.  (1 Cor 3:13 ESV)

Is Writing Deadly?

I spend a lot of time sitting.  And according to a new study, this can be deadly!

That’s right.  A recently study by the American Cancer Association shows sitting too much will shave years off your life.  Women who sit more the 6 hours a day are 40% more likely to die sooner than women who sit only 3 hours a day (for men, the same study shows excessive sitters die 20% sooner).

Just a bit alarming.   Don’t you think?

Even putting my day job aside, what about all the time I spend writing.  Yikes!  How does one write (or blog) without sitting behind a computer?  It’s virtually impossible.

Am I taking years off my life at this very moment as I sit behind this screen, exercising only my fingers and my brain?  Ok, I’m starting to panic.  But what are my options, anyway?

1.  Quit writing.  I could find a new hobby.  I could take up golf or try roller skating.  Or maybe I should put the treadmill in the middle of our family room and start watching TV.  Better yet, I could start cleaning in the evenings.  My husband would be thrilled (since he doesn’t share my view that a clean house is overrated).  But I just might be miserable.  I’m terrible at golf, I haven’t roller skated since 7th grade, and I really hate TV.  Need I say anything about cleaning?

2.  Exercise more.  Given all the time I spend sitting, I just need to kick the cardio up a notch.  I could start running more.  I could train for another half-marathon.  I could try P90X again, even though the first time I wanted to die (not to mention eat everything in sight).  Or maybe I should be one of those people who parks her car in the far corner of the lot.  (I can just hear my kids complaining about the extra walking, but maybe I need to start working on them early!)

3.  Stand more.  I could get rid of my chair and my desk.  I could get one of those standing work stations – you know, the kind that is ergonomically correct so that I’m not hunched over when I type.  I could even get a stool (just for resting periods), and I could time myself to make sure I don’t sit more than 3 hours a day.  My mother happens to be pretty good at standing.  I can’t tell you how many times we’ve said, “Sit down, Mom!” and she replies,

“I’d rather stand!”

 Maybe she is on to something.

4.  Ignore the research.  But then again, aren’t you sick and tired of these studies?  It’s like we have no future – everything has been predetermined.  If you eat chips, you’re going to die of heart disease.  If you smoke, you’re going to die of lung cancer.  If you ride a motorcycle, you’re going to get killed in an accident.  Pretty soon, you’re going to tell me that my life span is genetic, and there’s nothing I can do about it!  Am I just another statistic?  And if God is in control, does my sitting (or lack of sitting) really make a difference anyway?

Maybe not.  But I don’t think I’m going to ignore the research either.  No, I’m not going to stop writing.  I’m not going jump back on P90X or get rid of my desk chair. 

But I think I’m going to try to sit less.  Want to join me?

Be Careful What You Put In Writing!

TMI.  Also called “Too Much Information.”  It’s a bad habit of mine.  I tend to say too much.

When you’re a writer and your life appears on a blog, you need to be careful of TMI.  Or so I’ve learned.

I was recently at my nephew’s graduation party, and I met a guy who reads my blog.  (Pretty cool, huh, that even tough guys read Lawyer Mommy?)  He even has a name for me.  He calls me Stinky.

After all, I’ve written about the fact that showers are overrated.  I’ve openly admitted I don’t wash my hair every day.  And he couldn’t quite get that sordid imagine out of his brain.  Stinky.  Stinky Woman.  Stinky Lawyer Woman.  If the shoe fits, wear it!  (In this case, the shoe stinks.)
 
I wonder, have I lost my mind?  Why does a grown, professional women put her weaknesses on paper (not to mention on a public blog)?  Especially stinky ones.  Do I have to be so vulnerable?  Couldn’t my readers do without the smelly talk? 

Maybe I should just write about my “perfect” life in Lawyer Mommy Land.  You know, I have the perfect marriage.  My kids never break the rules.   I never doubt God.  I never doubt myself.  And I shower three times a day.  Does that smell better?

Despite the fact that you probably wouldn’t believe it, you probably wouldn’t read it.  Who wants to read about someone who never makes mistakes, has it all figured out, and never skips a shower?

Not me!

That’s what I love about grace.  God takes us just as we are.  Treasures in jars of clay.  Broken.  Even stinky. 

But my nickname is also a sober reminder that sometimes we need to guard our words.  It’s one thing to make fun at our own mistakes, but what if I told you my husband was stinky?  That my kids were incorrigible?  That my boss was unfair?

Would that be TMI?

Mary or Martha?

The story of Mary and Martha (two of Jesus’ best friends) has my attention.   I like to imagine Mary and Martha living in the 21st Century.

Martha is a trailblazer.  (Heck, she owned property in the ancient world -- a rare status for women!)  She's also a constant worrier and worker bee who is rushing around to get everything done and ordering everyone around.  She’s outraged that everyone around her is plain lazy (or incompetent) and she’s always saying, “Do I have to do everything myself?”

She brings home the bacon and fries it up in a pan.  She's taking care of her family -- both emotionally and financially -- and she wonders when someone is going to take care of her instead!  She’s keeping score of who’s doing what (and who’s not doing what), and she’s always nagging at someone. 

Sound like anyone you know?  I get stressed out just watching her.  Maybe because she hits too close to home.

Unlike Martha, Mary is calm and laid back, sitting at Jesus’ feet.  How does Mary get anything done?  And why does she let Martha do all the work?   

I don’t think Mary is lazy -- she just has her priorities ordered.  She works smarter, not harder.  And when the guest of honor arrives in her home, she knows better than to run around and try to impress him.  Instead, she just sits and listens.

Mary knows how to delegate. She orders the schedule. The schedule doesn’t order her. When her meeting cancels unexpectedly, she stops and gets a pedicure. And when her kids don’t have school in the morning, she lets them stay up late and eat popcorn.

She’s known to change plans.

So many of us want to live like Mary but we feel trapped in Martha’s world. 

I am a type B person trapped in a type A life.  I have a type A job, wear type A clothes, and live in a type A neighborhood.  My family’s daily routine has just about no spontaneity let alone flexibility.  Everything we do revolves around the “schedule” -- homework, play dates, after school activities, and scheduled appointments. If it’s not on the schedule, you might as well forget it!

Like Mary, I want to sit at the feet of Jesus and listen. 

But is it possible to live like Mary in a modern-day world? 

Martha probably asked the same question.

Stuck Or Strong?

Abigail is one of my favorite women of the Bible.  (After all, I named my third born after her!)

I am struck by Abigail for the following reasons:  1)  Abigail’s lousy situation;  2)  Abigail’s brave response; and 3)  God’s ultimate provision.

1)  Abigail’s lousy situation.

Abigail is smart and beautiful, but she’s (unfortunately) married to a jerk.  Samuel describes it like this.
“She was an intelligent and beautiful woman, but her husband [Nabal] was surly and mean in all his dealings.”  (v.3)

We can assume that Nabal was likewise a jerk to Abigail.  Was he always a jerk, or did he turn mean after they married?  We’ll never know.  What we do know is that she was stuck in a bad situation that was about to get worse.

Nabal was so stubborn and stingy that he wouldn’t even compensate David for protecting his property.  This angered David, who vowed he would not “leave one male alive of all who belong to him!” (v. 22)

In other words, destruction would soon descend on the house of Nabal.  One of Nabal’s servants warned Abigail the evening before David’s army would attack, pleading with her to take action.

What’s a woman to do when her husband won’t respond to the voice of reason, and she knows her household is about to be destroyed?

2)  Abigail’s brave response.

“Abigail lost no time.” (v. 18)  She takes matters into her own hands.  While Nabal is unaware and drunk, she packs up food and gifts and rides on her donkey to meet David.

She puts herself in harm’s way – she pleads for peace when David and his men are ready to fight.
And she doesn’t just act.  She takes responsibility for her entire household.

“My lord, let the blame be on me alone.  Please let your servant speak to you; hear what your servant has to say.  May my lord pay no attention to that wicked man Nabal.  He is just like his name – his name is Fool and folly goes with him.”  (v. 25)

Notice what Abigail doesn’t do. 

She doesn’t make excuses for Nabal or pretend that everything is “fine.”  She also doesn’t say, “There’s nothing I can do, my household is doomed.”

She also doesn’t try try to harm Nabal.  Don’t think it didn’t cross her mind!  Maybe she thought about poisoning him in his sleep.  She doesn’t even plead to God, “Strike my husband dead!” 

Instead, she influences the situation for good.  She looks at where she can make a difference.  She acts swiftly and decisively. 

3)  God’s ultimate provision.

Did Abigail honor God with her actions?  I think she did.  She acted with grace and honor and left the results to God.

God likewise honored Abigail.

After Abigail saved the day (and Nabal sobered up) she went back and told Nabal what had happened.  He had a heart attack.  Ten days later, he died.

You guessed it, when David learned of Nabal’s death, he “sent word to Abigail, asking her to become his wife.”  (v. 40)

Did Abigail live happily ever after?  I don’t know exactly.  But I do know that God provided for her in her time of need. 

******

I don’t know your situation.  It might be lousy.  But learn from Abigail and use your influence for good.  Instead of an attitude that says, I'm stuck, there's nothing I can do, Abigail teaches us that, even in the midst of what appears to be a hopeless situation, we can act in faith.  Instead of being stuck, we can be strong.

Kids And The Devil

I was putting my girls to bed the other night when Abby (age 5) asked, “Is the Devil real?”

I gave my lawyer answer and tried to punt.  After all, what parent wants to be up with her kids before bed (they're already afraid of the dark) talking about the Devil. 

“We don’t need to worry about the Devil, sweetie.”

She wasn’t satisfied.

If you’re reading this, chances are you may not have resolved the question in your own mind.  Most Americans don’t believe in the Devil.  And this includes many Christians.

In a 2009 Study of the Barna Group, four out of ten Christians (40%) strongly agreed that Satan “is not a living being but is a symbol of evil.” An additional two out of ten Christians (19%) said they “agree somewhat” with that perspective. A minority of Christians indicated that they believe Satan is real by disagreeing with the statement: one-quarter (26%) disagreed strongly and about one-tenth (9%) disagreed somewhat. The remaining 8% were not sure what they believe about the existence of Satan.

Let’s face it, believing in the Devil in our culture is kind of like believing in the Easter Bunny.  (My kids are scared of him, too!)  After all, what parent wants to tell her child that an evil, powerful being seeks to destroy her faith and ultimately her soul?  Not me. 

It would have been much easier to say, “No honey, he’s not real.  Just go to sleep.” 

But being a parent isn’t about taking the easy way out. 

Given that I personally believe the Devil is real (no, I don’t believe in the Easter Bunny), I couldn’t continue to dodge the bullet.  So I answered Abby very matter of fact, the best way I knew how.

“Yes, the Devil is real.  He hates God and wants you to hate God too.  But God is stronger.”

You know the next set of questions.

“Where does he live?  Can he get me?  Where is he right now?”

Great, I thought to myself.  This is going to be a fun night of sleep.

“I really don’t know where he lives.  I do know that God is stronger.  God can beat him up.  So, if I follow God I don’t have to worry about the Devil hurting me.  He can never ever take my soul.  God protects us.”

Abby seemed satisfied as she blurted out in her favorite condescending tone:

“The Devil is dumb and stupid.  And I hate him!  If I saw him, I’d punch him in the face!”

She slept all night without disturbing mom.

It’s My Money!

We recently established a “giving fund” that the kids’ contribute to from their own money.  I expected them to be excited – to have some tangible impact and personal connection to the causes we’ll support as a family.  What I didn’t expect was the strong feelings invoked in my 5-year-old, Abby.

And I’m not talking about positive feelings.

When it was time to put in her dollar, she wailed and moaned.  With her fists clenched and her eyebrows raised, she raged,

“You can’t do this!  It’s my money!”

You would have thought we were cutting off her right arm.   Her older siblings tried to convince her she really doesn’t need the dollar (and it could help another kid who might not have food or clothes) but she still didn’t care.  The queen wasn’t parting with the crown jewels any time soon.

Being the patient mother I am, I ripped the dollar out of her hand and threw it in the pile.  She put her head down in a final, contrived pout.  I thought to myself, I’d hate to get stuck on a deserted island with this chick.  She'd take every last crumb for herself.

I know, I shouldn’t be so hard on her.  She’s young.  She has time to learn that the world doesn’t revolve around her wants and needs.  But I also know that gratitude isn’t just going to appear on her doorstep one day.  She’s not going to “grow into it” over time or voluntarily relinquish her self-protective nature.

We have to be intentional. Sooner, not later.

Several days after Abby’s rant, I stumbled upon a post by Amy Sullivan -- How To Raise Selfish Kids.  I laughed out loud.  Been there.  Done that.  One of the reasons I follow Amy’s blog is because she’s passionate about cultivating a radical attitude of giving in her children.  And as I read along, I realize my heart wants the same thing for my own children.

But I have so far to go.  Some days, I act a lot like Abby.

Baby steps.