Cupgate 2015

            Can I take a second and weigh in on Cupgate 2015? (I know!  I have no clue who coined it, but I laugh every time.) Because the World Wide Web and your Facebook newsfeed haven’t received enough voices giving their two cents on this “controversy”, it is vital I do.

            From what I understand, this debate began with a YouTube video of some guy declaring he’s tired of the war on Christmas.  (And for the love of all…if I’ve misunderstood PLEASE, I beg of you do NOT correct me.  Because as you will soon see…I don’t give a rip!)  Can we put things into perspective, please?!  I have yet to come across anyone (declared Christian or nay) who thinks Starbuck’s is lining up its corporate troops for battle to wage the war against Christmas.  So, I’m thinking this “controversy” is a very, very small percentage of people.  Meaning, it’s a lot of media hype.  Nevertheless, I will present my thoughts…

1)      First things first, do we really believe Christmas is about images of reindeer, snowflakes, ribbons, etc on a disposable cup?  Even the Grinch knew better,”And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so?  It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes, or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled ‘till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps means a little bit more.”  So, in the case of Starbucks v Christmas, even the Grinch agrees Christmas doesn't come from a store.  Case closed.

 

2)      I sometimes wonder if Christians are so obsessed over their individual rights that we forget we are part of a bigger community, a global community.  And as part of a bigger community, our actions reflect on our entire family.  This man who came out (presumably claiming to be a believer…I’ve not seen the video so this is not a quote!) took it upon himself to speak for a larger majority.  In doing so, I feel he made my “family” look foolish.  Don’t misread this as never speak out.  There are certainly instances when we, as a community, need to speak out…I’ll get to that in a second.  I’ve been struck by this idea several times while reading the Old Testament.  On more than one occasion, one or a few people did something that resulted in the entire community being punished.  I’m not saying Christians are being punished and this man didn’t have anything relevant to say (though if he did, it was clearly lost on most Americans).  What I am saying is…our actions often reflect on all of us, which is a tough pill to swallow considering how often I mess up.  It’s a dangerous game to think I alone represent the Church and the entire existence and growth of it depends on me, but it’s sobering and convicting to think how many times someone may have been watching me and I represented my family poorly.  (To my family, I’m sorry.  I’m really trying! And to those who have seen my less than graceful moments, Jesus is not like that…He’s so much better!) 

 

3)      So, if red cups aren’t actually important (shocker, I know!) then when do we speak out?  Here’s what I know…there are much larger injustices in the world than the seasonal cup Starbuck’s releases in November.  In my community alone, there are hungry children, homeless families, refugees desperately trying to put their lives together, lonely widows, people being sold for unspeakable acts…to say there are hurting, broken people in need of love is an understatement! And we all know if it’s happening in my community, it’s happening in yours and every other village, providence, and country in the world.  These, my friends, are the things we should be speaking out about.  These issues are the ones we should be moved to declare war on…not a coffee cup.  These are the things God really cares about!  To be honest, I really hope Starbucks is served in Heaven…because I love it and because the irony would be too rich.  These are the things that God tells us over and over again is His word are the things we should be doing something about. So, Lord, I’m LOVING the chestnut praline latte right now and if you want to give it to me in a red cup when I get to Heaven, I will seriously laugh until I pee my pants and then savor each delicious sip!

My final thoughts…let’s all do ourselves a favor and take a page from the Grinch, “…and the more the Grinch thought of this whole red cup thing, the more the Grinch thought, “I must stop this whole thing! It’s only November, we must not forget, we haven’t even had Thanksgiving yet. So let’s all enjoy our Thanksgiving feast, and he, he himself will carve the roast beast.”

**This may or may not be a paraphrase/total rip-off of the Grinch.**

7 Things I Learned on Halloween...

                I’ve mentioned before how my mom in her manic-American-Christian-90s parenting stole much of my childhood, most of the fun parts anyway.  On that list was Halloween.  Because I was deprived of this essential rite of passage, I’ve had to overcome a pretty steep learning curve when it comes to allowing forcing my kids to participate in their own Halloween adventures.  Here is a list of the top 7 things I’ve learned about Halloween….

1)      It’s possible for you to ruin Halloween for your kids by not allowing your children to take part, but it’s equally probable that you will ruin Halloween by allowing your children to participate. You see, what my mom didn’t know is that by forbidding us to join, she was only creating a Halloween monster of her own.  My sister and I cannot go small when it comes to Halloween.  (My sister has actually declared it her favorite holiday…can you even, Mom?!)  We decorate over-the-top, we hand make over-the-top costumes (and I’m not just talking for our kids!), we strategize and plan and stress over that most sacred of nights (or not so sacred depending on which side of the Great Halloween Debate you fall on…bazinga!).    We spend so much time and energy making sure Halloween is fun for our kids that there is a really good chance our kids will grow to hate it and ban their kids from celebrating…someone has to break the cycle!!!  (And it won’t be me, so let’s hope my kids are more mature than I am.)

2)      Halloween is incomplete if someone doesn’t hate their costume.  It doesn’t matter if they begged, pleaded, cajoled, and bartered to get the costume they wanted. Inevitably, come Halloween they will hate it.  (Except in the case where I dressed our youngest as a chicken.  The only thing he begged and pleaded for was NOT to wear it! #totallyworthit)

3)      Which leads me to my next point…Halloween may actually be Satan’s holiday.  Who else would create a holiday where we are forced to put our children in elaborate costumes only to cover them up with a coat?  A friend of ours told a story of their daughter practically seizing on the floor because her parents told her she’d have to cover up her costume with a coat.  I don’t blame her!  Instead, why don’t we just tell our kids they can’t wear their coats, hats, and gloves until Halloween night.  It’s really a victory all around.  We don’t have to spend egregious amounts of money on a costume. (win!)  We don’t have to cover said costume up. (win!)  Our kids would look forward to wearing their coats, hats, & gloves. (win!) And, they’d actually be warm while going door-to-door begging strangers for candy.  (win, win, win!)  {You’re welcome and I may possibly announce my run for presidency in 2020!}

4)      If you feel a little guilty about celebrating a holiday deemed “un-Christian”, make it spiritual by praying a teenager answers the door.  Teenagers don’t want to be home on Halloween night.  In fact, if they’re handing out candy, chances are it’s a punishment and because teenagers are no fools, they know the sooner they get rid of all of this candy, the sooner their punishment is over.  Hence, when a teenager answers the door…jackpot!  They will be putting handfuls of delicacies in your children’s bags. (Bonus: if the parents no longer have little kids, they buy the good candy in an attempt to relive the good ol’ days of when they would take their own kids trick or treating…)

5)      NEVER, ever get stuck in a large group of trick or treaters.  First of all, they’re all in disguise making it easier to lose your kids.  (Also, when everyone dresses like Elsa and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle your chances of grabbing the correct child are even smaller.)  But mostly, in a large group, people get stingy.  They start to wonder if they’ll have enough or if they got to everyone’s bag and how many more big groups there are.  Keep your buddies limited and people focus on how cute that costume is and your adorable children and pretty soon they’re really filling that bag. 

6)      Yelling at your kids to say thank you is as good as them actually saying it.  When all is said and done, if you hear me yelling at my kids to use manners, you know that at the very least I’m trying to give them basic life skills.  It’s the thought that counts, right?!

7)      All those times your mom told you not to eat too much candy because you’d get sick…she was speaking from experience.  She had her own gut-ache from stealing all the good candy from your bag and she didn’t have the energy to listen to you whine about feeling sick too.  A person only has so much mental capacity to deal with pain and suffering. And let’s face it, when your shoving those fun-sized candy bars in as quickly as you can because a) you’re not about to let the good stuff be wasted on such unrefined palates b) you can’t take your time to slowly savor each bite when you’re chewing in fear that your five-year-old might bust you…you really aren’t feeling that good about yourself, no matter what the chocolate says. 

So, there you have it.  The top 7 things I’ve learned as an adult Halloweening.  I’ve vowed to take it down a notch next year, but let’s be real.  I will undoubtedly begin scouring the internet for costume ideas in March, search on Pinterest for Halloween food I’ll never actually make, and peruse the holiday aisles in an effort to destroy Halloween for my kids yet another year.

 

**In full disclosure—my mom has since apologized for ruining my childhood…well, at least Halloween.  (Love you, Mom!)

 

The Truth About Preschool

                I would like to take a minute to say that school is ruining my life.  I never thought I’d say that as one who loved school so much she became a teacher when she grew up.  I had these disillusions of what having children in school would be like and reality doesn’t even come close. (And on behalf of my former teacher self, my apologies to any of the parents I may have judged too harshly…I just couldn’t know…the struggle is real!)  I haven’t even entered full-blown school mode with my children and yet somehow, this two and a half hours has completely ruined my life.               

It’s true what they say, “you don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone”.  Gone are the days of lounging in our pajamas until 10:00 am.   Gone are the days of leisurely breakfasts.  I now set an alarm every morning to make sure I have enough time to make a nutritious  (who am I kidding, that goal was scrapped after the first week) edible breakfast. Gone are the days (and days and days) it felt perfectly acceptable to wear my hair in a ponytail and not bother with an ounce of make-up.  Gone are the days of my children scheduling their daily bowel movements for anytime they felt the urge.  (I never realized what a big deal this was until I found myself screaming at my five-year-old to “wrap it up” while he sat on the toilet five minutes after we should have left…sad, but true story.)  

You know what preschools should really advertise on their websites?  Forget their academic approaches, student to teacher ratios, and life skills goals.  What they should have told me was that every.single.day I was going to have to rush three kids through a morning routine, pack them in the car while frantically yelling, “Hurry up!  We’re going to be late!” I should have been told I would once again have to drive in morning rush hour traffic (I can only assume by all of your agitated driving that you too were not allowed your full time on the commode). It should have been said that I would have to unpack said children from car while frantically yelling, “Everybody out before we’re late!” and run into the building to ensure full academic participation on the part of my preschooler.

  Preschools should also be required to post a map of where each classroom will be located and allow parents to choose a classroom based on its proximity to the nearest door, not appropriate developmental group. (Because I can assure you I would not have chosen the absolute farthest classroom from the door!)

  I should have also been given some sort of warning that my ponytail, tattered sweat pants, and stained t-shirt would make me feel as self-conscious as my middle school self wearing knock-off Doc Martens to the Buckle.  (If you understood the last part of that sentence, you have my deepest sympathies that your parents were as lame and level-headed as mine refusing to a) shop at the overpriced Buckle and b) buy their 14-year-old $110 sandals. So uncool, Mom!)

 I thought moms were supposed to be a sisterhood of solidarity!  Don’t even try to pass off your perfectly coordinated yoga pants, jacket, tennis shoes, and fresh make-up as the “mom look”.  Because let’s face it, the mom look is perfected in those dark, circle-lined, frantic eyes, none of which your perfectly pulled-together ensemble possesses.  I just want to wear my pajamas, but no!  You ruined it with your faux-casual look and now I’m forced to put on jeans at least three times a week so it appears to the rest of the world that I haven’t completely given up.      

And here it is, Sunday night…time to start all over again. So let me stop right here and just applaud everyone who gets up every day and manages to get their children to school on time.  Can I also applaud your efforts in making sure your child shows up to school with two shoes?  (I don’t even care if they match.)  Can I take a minute to say kudos to you, brave one.  You’ve done it!  You have managed to do more in one morning than I cumulatively accomplished in three pre-preschool days.  I salute you! 

Also, as a symbol of camaraderie, how would you feel about sweatpants on Wednesdays?!

 

 

Cotton Candy and Petrified Starbursts

        Someone once told me I laughed too loud. I don’t know if I actually do…I probably, most definitely do, but is this even a thing?

 
        You know what else?  I once had a girl tell me I give too many compliments. It wasn’t the lack of sincerity or the target of my compliments that bothered her, it was the fact that it “lost meaning” when I gave so many people a compliment, apparently it made her feel not “as special”.  Seriously?!?  Is THIS even a thing? 

Can people really be offended because you think they’re hysterical or because you think they have great hair?  Are these the same people who hate puppies, ice cream, rainbows, and fuzzy things?

Honestly though—I now think twice about how jovially I enjoy a joke.  I don’t as effortlessly tell people what I enjoy about them.  And these are just silly things.  There are other parts of me that I’ve dulled to fit into a more acceptable version of myself.  Sometimes it’s because when you have a big personality you run the risk of suffocating what I like to call the “cotton candy people”.  These are soft and delicate and sweet and dear people…and much like cotton candy can easily melt, I fear they may melt under the intensity of my personality which could probably be more accurately described as a petrified Starburst.  (A little tart, might break your teeth, but after chewing for a bit realize is more pliable than originally thought, and you’d fight your 5-year-old for your favorite flavor.)

Here’s the thing…all my life I’ve wanted to be more like the cotton candy.  I’ve tried desperately to be the cotton candy, but I just can’t. Being sweet and dear just aren’t my most defining qualities. So when I can’t fit the mold, I just try to round off my edges, be a little less me.

 But every once in a while, I see a girl who is unapologetically herself and she totally rocks it!  She laughs a lot and it’s loud! Or sometimes she’s a gentle spirit who is at peace with her quiet nature. She may speak effortlessly to anyone around her or be a master listener. And no matter if her edges are rough or delicate and fluffy, she doesn’t use fear as her steering wheel, nurturing her insecurities just a little longer, living just a little less than she really wants.

When I see others being brave, I want to be brave too.  It feels like a permission slip has been signed and I have the freedom to live proud.  And I can’t help but wonder if I lived loud, if it would give permission for someone else to live just as courageously.  And when they start living shamelessly, I want to be the one who cheers for them. Because when I take steps that are scary, I want someone cheering for me.  (And let’s face it, as a girl who has spent most of her life as a Starburst, I’m always looking for a good reason to party!)

So here it is…you have my permission to be big or small, cotton candy or a petrified Starburst…but be who you be! 

And when you are, I’m going to be there (probably in costume because everyone knows themed parties are more fun), cheering and celebrating what God has chosen you to live for.  And you can cheer for me too…so long as my loud laugh won’t bother you!

Confessions of a Closet Fangirl

{Let’s just get this out of the way…I’ve been a bad “blogger” friend.  I have been avoiding writing for quite a while.  At first, I couldn’t think of anything to write about.  And then when I did, I was too busy.  And before you roll your eyes, I’m not someone who pulls the “I’m too busy card” often…but seriously, the last 18 months of our lives have been OUT.OF.CONTROL!  And then when something would settle down long enough for me to sit down and write, I’d talk myself out of it because it had been so long…it’s embarrassing! (Besides, almost anything I’d write about I already told my mom and as I’ve said before, she could very well be the only one reading this.) So there are my excuses and my apology. I’ve had a recent reminder that bravery and transparency give others the permission to be brave and transparent.  When I originally started writing “out loud”, it took all of the bravery I had and it was the one definite place I gave myself permission to let it all hang out, as transparent as I could be.  So forgive me and let us all move on.}

I wouldn’t normally describe myself as the fangirl type.  (And if you have no idea what I’m talking about when I say fangirl, do yourself a HUGE favor and youtube “One Direction fangirl moments” or any variation of that!  You can thank me later! ) Like I said, I’ve never been a fangirl.  Because of my mom’s super-awesome 90’s American-Christian parenting, secular music was banned in my house, so the closest thing I got to a boy band was a Christian version called Plus One and believe me, it’s as terrible as it sounds.  I’m sure my mom would put this particular house rule in the category of over-zealous parenting along with her apology for not letting us celebrate Halloween, but who here hasn’t had a few over-the-top parenting moments? 

**I actually instated a rule at our house for a while that no kids were allowed to pray at dinner because I was tired of listening to them fight over who should get to talk to God first—I’m serious, people!  (Talk about screwing your kids up!) (Also, I love you, Mom!) 

Until two weeks ago, I thought it was strange that anyone would have a desire to meet a celebrity, ask them to sign their name to something, and feel like their life was somehow enhanced in a supernatural sort of way.  I simply did not get it. 

That is until my “celebrity” BFF, Jen Hatmaker, in the flesh, was in the same arena as I. (And if you don’t know who Jen is either, honestly people, I don’t know how to help you.  I can’t be your pop culture guide, I am missing an entire decade of music, remember?!)  Honest to goodness, I felt like a 15 year old girl at her very first concert!  (In every way…we couldn’t afford the good seats, so we had to settle for being so far up the lights were almost in our way…)  But then miracle of miracles, we were given closer seats, mere rows from that truth-tellin, hysterical, insightful, make you think woman! 

I will go to my grave saying that when we yelled her name, she actually waved AT.US.  (Not just at the crazed crowd…at.us!)

All this to say, my friends secured a place for me in her line, to meet her, to have her sign her name in my book!  (It’s still all a little weird, right?)  As I stood there, I couldn’t believe how ridiculous I was.  I was finding my breathing shallow, my hands a little trembly.  I was trying to decide what I’d say to her.  Should it be something clever?  Something deep?  Should I show her my sense of humor?  Ask her to coffee?

 If this is how boys feel when they go to ask a girl out for the first time, have mercy!  Those poor things! It’s a wonder the human race hasn’t ceased to exist!

When my turn finally came, I stammered something about reading her book and something about my husband and…I don’t even know!  It was all happening so fast and the security people and event volunteers were all in such a big hurry and they were telling us to look at the camera and she was clearly putting on a very nice front for all these weird women who thought they had some special connection to her and were saying all these cheesy, unimpressive things and I’m pretty sure she could sense the holiness of the moment we were about to have and right as we were about to embrace and she would tell me how she’d been waiting for a friend like me her entire life and we should get our families together for dinner…they were pushing me away and trying to usher the next person in!

Can you even? 

So, there you have it.  Confessions of a closet fangirl.  I had no idea I had it in me.  My only regret is that I didn’t hug her and refuse to let her go, much like my friend Celeste when she got to meet Sandi Patti.  She made the absolute most of her moment, dang it!  (Though she too, was forbidden from Halloween, she was/is a die-hard Backstreet Boys fan, so she had a slight edge on the fangirl market.)

Until we meet again, Jen…

 

Your BFFTYHNIEE,         

(Best Friend Forever That You Have No Idea Even Exists)

Autumn

Sexy Back

                Last Saturday my husband decided it was time for a date night. I looked forward to going out with him all day.  There are so few moments between a husband and wife with small children that aren’t interrupted by someone needing a drink, or a snack, or needing something wiped that I honestly felt giddy at the prospect of going out…after dark…to a place with no children’s menu.

                It’s been a long time since I’ve been part of the dating scene, but I do remember that getting ready for the evening was a significant part of this ritual.  Perfect hair, fresh make-up, cute outfit, perfectly accented accessories, coordinated bag, and oh-no-you-didn’t shoes.  I began strategically planning in my mind…I was going to do it…I was bringing  sexy back.  Unfortunately, what Mr. Timberlake seems to have left out of his painfully inappropriate lyrics is that bringing sexy back is a lot harder than it used to be…

                You see, what kept me from bringing sexy back was my lack of planning for the very thing that stole my sexy in the first place. In my earlier years, I never had to calculate the time (read life) that three small children suck out of you. I never planned for the witching hour.  (You know, that inevitable meltdown by one if not all of your children at the exact moment you’re burning whatever is on the stove.) Speaking of burning something on the stove, I never had to plan ahead to feed the kids before we left…and write down every number I can think of because if me or my husband or the restaurant or the three emergency contacts or 911 don’t answer, the babysitter can call my college roommate’s ex-boyfriend’s grandma to help in the case of an emergency.  I never had to attempt to get all three kids bathed and in pajamas.  And can one ever  really plan for the child who refuses to wear pajamas after spending an eternity looking for the Ninja Turtle footie pajamas he HAD to wear?  In case you were wondering…he was hot. Or what about the other one who is too busy smiling at herself in the mirror to hear you ask her to PLEASE go get her pajamas for the 852^nd time.  And the baby, do you hear him screaming because he must eat…NOW!  Because when your three months old and you weigh in at the 100^th percentile, milk is clearly a very precious commodity.  My former, sexier self would never have had to plan for all that.

                By the time I finished with the kids, I had about 30 minutes to get ready before the babysitter arrived.  Not a problem. After all, motherhood may have robbed me of a lot of things, but it also taught me the art of primping on a time limit.  My hair wasn’t styled as planned, but a ponytail can be sexy, right?  I knew Jarod would never notice if I just slapped another coat of make-up over the one I’d worn that morning…or maybe it was leftover from the day before, who can keep track?  My cute outfit ended up being jeans that fit somewhere on the spectrum of My Underwear Won’t Peek Out the Top and Full Blown Mom Jeans that somehow ended up with spit up on them. Sexy, right?  I even topped it all off with practical shoes that showed off my perfectly un-manicured toes.  I forgot earrings and I initially grabbed the diaper bag, but thought better of it and grabbed the first purse I could find buried in the back of my closet.

                As we were walking out the door, I felt a little defeated.  I knew when I planned to bring my sexy back that I wouldn’t be able to obtain an exact replica of my former dating glory, but I had hoped it would at least resemble it.  But here I was, looking just like an unsexy mom, the kind of unsexy mom I swore I would never be.  I felt like calling it all off and just asking if we could eat cookie dough in bed and pick out another Netflix movie.  My husband reached over, grabbed my hand, and said, “You look great tonight.  I’m so lucky to have such a sexy wife.” 

                It was in that moment that I realized that even though motherhood has left my body with less perk and a lot of sag, for my husband, my sexy never left.  While I’m sure he wouldn’t complain if my body miraculously appeared as it did when I was 19, my body isn’t what captivated him.  My husband is captivated by me, by my commitment to my relationship with God and our marriage, by my service to our family…and I’d like to think my puke-covered-semi-mom jeans helped too.  So even if I can’t be restored to my former self, maybe I got my sexy back after all…

 

 

Stevie Wonder Identity Crisis

      I was recently faced with the challenge to find a picture of myself before motherhood and then was asked to consider who this girl was.  What were hopes and dreams, her aspirations?  I laughed looking at a picture of this thin, young girl all dressed up, ready for her senior homecoming.  And while that opinionated girl came off as fairly confident and a girl who “had her head on straight”, she only had vague notions of the future; she had no idea who she was or what she wanted from life.

Good ol' church camp...and slightly cropped top...
2004 really did rock, didn't it?

      So here I sit 10 years later still unsure of who this girl is.  I’ll be honest right now in telling you the “Christian” response to this question of my identity really held little weight in my life.  You know, the youth group answer that says, “your identity is found in Christ”.  For as long as I’ve been a Christian, nearly my entire life, I can honestly say I had no grasp on what that truly meant.  Maybe I missed that week in Sunday school or maybe I was too busy attempting to flirt with some cute boy at church camp that day, but somehow I missed it.

So here I sit 10 years later and am once again struggling with who I am…

For as long as I can remember, I have lived up to the label given me.  For instance, my parents said I was a “good girl”, so I strived to be a good girl.  My teacher said I was a “gifted student”, so I did my best to perfect my academics.  For me, these labels were fantastic motivators to always do better and strive to do my best, but they also became what I used to define who I am.  And let me tell you something…I’m exhausted, ya’ll!  (I added the southern accent for emphasis.) 

In the last 10 years, my labels have been changed so frequently and rapidly that I can hardly figure out what standard I’m living by anymore. I’ve gone from cheerleader to high school graduate, undecided to education major, honor student to college graduate, student to teacher…single to girlfriend, engaged to married, wife to mommy of one, no two, whoops…three kids, mom to stay at home mom, Nebraskan to…well, let’s not get carried away here. J  You see what I mean though?  I’m tired.  I can’t keep up…

The problem with my current evaluation system, my current standard of knowing who I am is that my standard is constantly changing.  It’s hard to meet an expectation that’s there one day and gone the next.  What’s more is that I often can’t live up to the standards that I’ve set for myself.  My identity in being a loving wife is abdicated when I snap at my husband for being late or not immediately doing what I’ve asked him to do.  My role as caring mother is terminated when I impatiently respond to a tantrum or am too tired to read that book for the 82^nd time this week.  I fail to live up to my own expectations and then what?

Well then I’m left sitting here contemplating who I really am.  I failed to live up to the standard of loving wife, so I guess I’m not a loving wife.  I’ve failed at being caring mom, so I’m not a caring mom.  I’ve failed to be a loyal friend, talented homemaker, and so on and so on. I’m forced again to face the reality…I don’t know who I am.  So, I read a book or blog or compare myself to the “perfect” woman of the week and resolve to live up to this new set of standards that will surely define me.  It’s an endless cycle…one I’m ready to break.

I had to face the question before me—who am I when all of these things are stripped away?  If all of these things are just pieces and jobs and priorities I’ve held…who am I?

I decided to revisit the old Sunday school standby.  If the Sunday school answer is always Jesus, this time didn’t prove any different.  My identity is found in Christ.  He set the standard I should strive for, the expectations I really need to meet.  Sure, he’s given me the role of wife, mom, friend…but he’s also given me guidelines for those jobs and he also knows these roles will change over time.  Which is why my true identity, who I am at the core of my being cannot be defined by my busyness or my to-do lists or my earthly relationships.  My true identity lies in who he created me to be. 2 Corinthians 1:21 says, “Now it is God who makes both us and you stand firm in Christ.  He anointed us, set his seal of ownership on us, and put his Spirit in our hearts as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come.”  I am established, anointed, and sealed by God.  This verse resonated in my soul (and also had me singing Stevie Wonder’s song Sign, Sealed, Delivered…).  It gave me assurance and hope that God has put his name on me, his seal, his approval.  Everything he intends for me to be is ultimately found in who Christ is.  And because he has given me his Spirit, I am capable of reaching that standard. 

The good news is that even when I fail, or forget who defines me, my failure doesn’t send me into a tail spin.  I recollect myself and set my eyes back on the one standard that will not change.  Furthermore, the “deposit” part of that verse gives me hope and helps me to remember that this life isn’t it…there is glory yet to come!

I am thankful that my identity is in Christ, the one who stays the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow…and I’m also thankful that I don’t suffer from the bi-monthly identity crisis I faced in high school.  Hallelujah, praise God that I no longer have to decide between a crop top and flare jeans or crop top and wide legged jeans…