Keep your eye on the prize!

I soooo desire to be a Godly woman.

I read Proverbs 31 and my heart flutters with excitement as I mentally prepare new ways to live out this passage practically in my life.

I bake homemade bread, and I buy books on training up Godly children and becoming a Godly wife. I decorate my home and wash the dishes and sweep the floors-- all in the attempt to "look well to the ways of my household".

A woman at church the other day offered to come help me with laundry one following day of the week. I laughed with gratitude and beamed proudly that I was all caught up with laundry. She stopped me short saying, "Oh I know! You're the mom who has it all together! Maybe I can just play with the kids and let you rest?"

(Of course, my mom is chuckling to herself as she reads. I can hear her now. "Callie? My Callie has it all together? Ha!")

See, I let the mask fall off around my mama. She can peel back the layers of my heart-- laying bear the raw, ugly reality behind the Proverbs woman visage!

Even when I have it all together on the outside, I so often fail at Godliness. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say, I rarely succeed at Godliness!

I am terrified at the thought of being a pastors wife! I am selfish and needy. I make HUGE idols of acceptance and love. I'm fickle and inconsistent. I take on way more than I can handle, then let people down. I suck up praise and attention like a sponge! Oh man, I am a huge mess!

I can feel myself breaking out in a cold sweat when I think about being put under a microscope by a congregation or session. Nervously biting my fingernails I think, "Oh my...what will they uncover?"

But do you know what God does?

Right in the midst of all my worrying and planning and reorganizing--my striving relentlessly to keep my eye on the Proverbs 31 prize...

I read His Word. And He graciously and loving says to me once again, "Child, I am the prize. Take your eyes off the fruit and put them on me! I'll worry about the fruit. Just love me!"

And just like that, the panic stops.

I get so caught up in the pursuit of being the Godly woman that I forget to love and seek Jesus!

There is no "being the Proverbs woman" without the work of the Spirit. And am I in pursuit of the Spirit? No! I'm in the pursuit of good works!

Silly girl, seek Him! Stop making gods of things that aren't God! The goal is not to achieve a certain level of Godliness. The goal is to love Him! The delight is not in being the Proverbs 31 woman. The delight is in knowing Him. And in knowing Him, I will become the Godly woman!

The Pastor John Piper says,

"To delight in the good of all the universe, but not to delight in God, is like being glad that a candle is lit, but being indifferent to the rising sun. Apart from embracing God as our chief delight, we are (quite literally) infinitely parochial."

I know I'm not the only one guilty of this. Let's delight in Him, ladies! Let's take our eyes off the candle, and fix our eyes on the Son!

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Feathers feathers everywhere- As far as the eye can see.

Yeah...so today I took a trip to Kroger to get groceries, (which for me is like payday...oh yeah!) and when I returned, I found that a small, Graysen-like explosion had gone off in our house.

Luckily, everyone survived--with the exception of the hot pink feather boa that Gray received for Christmas, which had molted on every visible surface of our house.

I choked back the flames that were slowly igniting in my sinful, justified little heart, and calmly demanded that Graysen pick them all up and put them in the trash.

Reasonable...right?

I spun on one heel and returned to the kitchen to gloat over my fresh green beans and granola bars. (What a wonderful job I had done buying groceries! Oh come on...ladies, you know that feeling! You know what I'm talking about!)

After almost an hour of checking on Graysen, who had cleaned up nothing, I pulled out the big threat. "Graysen, I am going to throw away every toy that I find on this floor!"

She immediately started crying...though not moving.

She looks up to me and says, "Mommy...I figured it out. I've realized that this is just one big, bad dream."

"What is a big, bad dream?"

She grunts--still not moving a muscle--and says, "Having to pick up all these feathers. It's just a terrible dream!" She then bursts into tears.

Trying not to smirk at her obvious over-dramatization, (wonder where she got that?)I reply, "Well you shouldn't have unleashed your passive aggressive on the feather boa." It's messy.

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Place your order.

So Brandon, Graysen and Noah have all been sick.

Well, yesterday, Gray turns to me and says, "Mommy, I would like some homemade chicken and rice soup!"

And I reply, "Of course, baby! I'll make you some."

She then turns to her daddy and says, "Daddy, I ordered chicken and rice soup...what do you want?"

Brandon gasps and looks at me, then says, "Graysen! You don't say ordered! You say asked...you asked your mommy to make you some soup."

Graysen then looks at me, shrugging nonchalantly. She responds, almost in question form, "Well, yeah. Okay, but I just ordered some?"

She looks at the shocked expression on Brandon's face before looking back at me like, "what. is. the. big. deal?!".

Brandon, who is obviously "running on half a tank" skips straight on over all the speech-making and arguing, and in a voice of authority and declaration says, "Graysen...your mommy is not a drive through!"

(Word...I hear that.)

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"Baby dry"

This post is dedicated to my wonderful Aunt Peggy, who supplied me with a whole CASE of "Baby dry" Pamper's diapers. Thank again, woman. You are awesome. :)

So the irony of Pamper's "Baby dry diapers" is that, should your little boy baby somehow wriggle his little boy baby parts out of the "Baby dry" diaper in the middle of the night, both baby and the mommy sleeping in close proximity turn out to be not so dry...much less "baby dry". However, the "Baby dry" diaper, did remain "Baby dry".

So...I wouldn't so much call it false advertisement, so much as it is just a little misleading.

Funny thing is, when you're awakened at 3 am and have a six week old baby, there are very few things that can persuade you to actually pursue consciousness and get up, other than the before-mentioned six week old baby.

So when I suddenly awoke at 3 am this morning and noticed that the front of my t-shirt was all but soaking wet, I thought perhaps I had been sweating in my sleep...yeah, kinda gross. But baby hormones do strange things to one's body, so it was totally a possibility.

It was only when I got up three hours later that I realized the baby was soaking wet also. And when I removed the wet outfit, realized that his little boy part had somehow worked its way out of the now half-removed "baby dry" diaper. Tinkle. I slept in a puddle of tinkle long enough that it was completely dry by the time I got up...

Mommy sleep...it is hardcore dude.

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And the rain, rain, rain came down, down, down.

I love the rain.

On a lazy spring day with a good book and a cup of coffee, a good rain is the cherry on top.

I could sit at my kitchen table and look out the window for hours, watching the droplets of water slowly fill the uneven cracks in the warm, steamy concrete. Even the kids become lethargic, nibbling at a snack and draping their little bodies across one another on the couch while they halfheartedly watch Kipper.

Ahh. Life at it's best.

But rain... on a day when you have to load two young children and a newborn into the minivan in their Sunday-best, then unload and run them into the Sanctuary--screaming and dripping, then have them sit still and quiet through an hour and a half of worship--still wet and now cold, then repeat the whole process on the way back to the house...

Awful.

I'll go so far as to say that I feel personally offended that God would have it rain on me on a day like this.

I mean...why? What did I do to deserve this?

Of course that is ridiculous, but I'm just being honest.

My life as of late feels much like this example of a rainy day. I'm tired and frantic and unorganized and just dripping with self pity. And the storms never stop.

Seminary life is no joke.

We have been met with the storms of financial instability, the rain of depression and hopelessness, and the slow trickle of insecurity of the call to be here. The rain of attack from Satan on our marriage is violent and never-ceasing. Our hearts are so saturated by the rain of life that it overflows, no--we pour it out--on our children. They're flooded with our anger and impatience in discipline, our disinterested and distracted interaction, and an overall sense of anxiety and restlessness.

And what is my reaction?
Why? Why God? Why me?

I like to play dumb with God. I like to look up to the heavens with my lip jutted out and pretend that I think this rain is a sign of His disappointment in me.

But I know better. It's quite the opposite. These trials are not made for hearts of stone, but hearts of flesh. Hearts that need to be broken, and humbled and made dependent upon Him.
Must I really be so sanctified? Yes.

Paul writes, "So to keep me from becoming conceited because of the surpassing greatness of the revelations, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to harass me, to keep me from becoming conceited. Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong." 2 Cor 12

Oh, what comfort is derived from remembering this!

I know that the rain that floods and drowns my soul is the very same rain that gives life. Without rain, we would wither and die. And I take hope in the verses of Mathew that promise that though the rain never stops, God will sustain me if my hope is set in him.

"Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock." Matthew 7:24-25

Like a man thrown overboard, tossed and turned by the waves, weary and exhausted by the struggle to climb back on ship, I seek refuge in Him. And He delivers me. My joy is made new, for my joy is in Him. And maybe my lungs will continue to sting and ache from the battle in the sea. Maybe the rains will return. Maybe I'll fall back in to be tossed and turned and faced with destruction. But if so, I will give Him praise for reminding me of my weakness...and His Power that is made perfect in it.

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Happy New Years!

Today for lunch as I was dropping hot dogs into boiling-lava-hot water, Graysen meanders up to me and asks casually, "Mommy, what are you making?"

To which I reply, "Oh I'm just making you some lunch. Hot dogs and mac and cheese...yum!"

Graysen wrinkles her nose and paces back and forth across the kitchen floor. She stops, asking with a gulp, "Mommy...Is this hot dog and mac and cheese soup?"

My new years resolution-suggestion of Graysen...buy a cookbook.

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A Morgan Christmas- Part Two

So this morning I broke out the magical-Santa drinking a bottled coke- snow globe, and I finally got that whisper-y "WOW" out of Noah that I've been looking for.

Tough one to crack, that one.








We then had some yummy homemade muffins, grits, and beanie weenies.

The muffins were a hit with Graysen.






And when we were all full (of heartburn...Oh, wait. That was just me.), Daddy showed the pups how to hang ornaments on the tree.









And here's the finished product.

It's just oozing Morgan. Seriously, you should see it up close. It's the perfect combination of color, light, and Christmas-tackiness.




So to sum it all up in a cliche...

New lights....$30.00

Tree....$40.00

My totally awesome wreath, complete with gaudy peacock feathers....Priceless, baby.

That's right, I made her myself. Isn't she a beauty?

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