Lately I've taken to listening to the audio Bible on YouVersion's Bible app in the mornings as I exercise or as I'm getting ready for work. I have been out of spiritual practice, so since I'm exercising regularly, I figure coupling my physical exercise with some kind of spiritual exercise is a wise move.
I'm listening to the Gospels right now because it feels like it's been a while since I listened to stories about Jesus or read anything about Jesus. We're real good at talking about the behaviors expected of Christians and the rules and regulations to live a more Christian life, because that's the stuff we have control over to some degree, and man, we love rules. But the Gospels are bewilderment, mystery, magic, confusion, frustration, rebellion, storytelling, crazy faith, epic failure. The epistles are a bunch of friends who come around regularly to nudge you back on the right path. Jesus is the model for how his followers should look in contrast to societal norms, and it's a certain kind of crazy awesome weird.
I'm reminded of this as I listen to Jesus tell stories to his disciples, as I hear the narrator tell stories about Jesus healing people, about demons driven out into a herd of pigs and about pigs dashing off a cliff, about how scared people were, how they asked Jesus to leave their region but the healed man asked to go with Jesus, and how Jesus told him to stay and tell people about God's mercy, and I imagine how angry the farmer must have been to hear his 2,000 pigs were dead because of Jesus, how hard it is to see past our own griefs into the miraculous. That herd of pigs seems to follow me throughout the day. Do I rejoice that Jesus healed a man or am I angry that he took away my profit this season? I don't even have a herd of pigs, what am I talking about? What is my herd of pigs, my prized possession I would never sacrifice, not even for another man's life?
The Holy Spirit must use some circumstances, people, places, or creatures to carry off the demons in our lives. Lots of country songs talk about how a song can bring back a memory; I wonder if the opposite is also true. I think some people are put into our lives in particular seasons, and maybe without knowing it, they carry our demons away, through a conversation or interaction, they carry away whatever it was we were struggling with. Our burdens are cast away with that person.
This morning, I listened to Jesus tell a bunch of parables about Israel. The one that stuck with me throughout the day goes like this: “When an impure spirit comes out of a person, it goes through arid places seeking rest and does not find it. Then it says, ‘I will return to the house I left.’ When it arrives, it finds the house unoccupied, swept clean and put in order. Then it goes and takes with it seven other spirits more wicked than itself, and they go in and live there. And the final condition of that person is worse than the first. That is how it will be with this wicked generation" (Matthew 12:43-45).
After Jesus drove out the demons in the possessed man and sent them into the pigs, he told the man to tell his family how much the Lord had done for him, about the mercy that was shown to him. And he did. He filled the empty places that were left by the demons with the fruits of the Spirit, spreading the story about how a Man came who cared for him so much that he drove a legion of demons out from inside his spirit, who carried away the terrors that possessed him, who ordered them away and restored him to himself, a fuller version of himself, one absent of impure spirits and filled with the spirit that produces love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.
Imagine what it would have looked like for the man to have returned to his family without this miracle story. To resume his every day life, whatever that might have looked like. To leave his soul wide open, swept clean and vacant for whatever other demons might come to dwell there. It's a dramatic portrait, like a foreclosure in the country, grasses and vines swallowing a house, slowly gripping its foundation and crumbling the concrete that held it up. Without regular maintenance and the presence of people to take care of the structure, all things degenerate and are consumed, governed only by the laws of nature. It isn't enough to kick out the demons of our past. Something better needs to move in.
I've carried the story of the impure spirit around with me today. It lodged in my heart as a reminder to do the daily maintenance required in order to keep the ugly out and invite whatever is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, or admirable in. Daily I send out the demons to drown with the herd of pigs.
Showing posts with label discipline. Show all posts
Showing posts with label discipline. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Whole 30 Day 7
Brandon and I decided a week or so ago to launch into the Whole 30 Challenge after hearing about the overall improvements in health and well-being from a close friend of ours. In short, the plan requires cutting out all grains, legumes (including soybeans), dairy, sweeteners, and alcohol for thirty days in order to do a full-body cleanse and right your digestive system. We can eat all of the fruits, vegetables, meat, nuts (except peanuts) and oils we want. The goal is to consume only those things that you can identify - so processed and pre-packaged foods are out.
We thought this would be really difficult to do. Our diet revolves around cheese and carbs. And wine. And sugar - I typically scoop three spoonfuls of sugar into my tea before work and then again at lunch, never mind the bowl of chocolate on my desk at work or the sneaky desserts at night. And day one was quite hard - I could have chewed my fingers off for want of chocolate. It was crazy. I didn't know you could have such cravings, a mantra I REALLY WANT CHOCOLATE pulsing through your brain. Intense.
But we have stuck to it, and after one week, we are feeling incredible. Brandon has dropped ten pounds and I've lost seven, and I wasn't even looking to lose weight. Besides weight loss, we both are sleeping better and have more energy. And some of our less blog-friendly digestive symptoms have almost disappeared.
I just have to say what an advocate I am for this. It will definitely change the way we prepare food after these 30 days are up, simply because of how much better we feel. I will certainly eat cheese again, and drink wine, and be merry along with it... but these things -- carbs/cheese/sugar/etc. -- should be seen as special occasion foods, not every meal foods. Cheese in my eggs, cheese in my salad, cheese on my broccoli, cheese, cheese, cheese. Bread at breakfast, bread on my sandwiches, pasta and rice and bread at dinner, bread, bread, bread! Given the choice between cheese and bread at every meal and losing seven pounds from my waist in one week, I'll take the seven pounds.
Of course, this does mean no more bowls of ice cream while I watch the Biggest Loser. It serves me right.
We thought this would be really difficult to do. Our diet revolves around cheese and carbs. And wine. And sugar - I typically scoop three spoonfuls of sugar into my tea before work and then again at lunch, never mind the bowl of chocolate on my desk at work or the sneaky desserts at night. And day one was quite hard - I could have chewed my fingers off for want of chocolate. It was crazy. I didn't know you could have such cravings, a mantra I REALLY WANT CHOCOLATE pulsing through your brain. Intense.
But we have stuck to it, and after one week, we are feeling incredible. Brandon has dropped ten pounds and I've lost seven, and I wasn't even looking to lose weight. Besides weight loss, we both are sleeping better and have more energy. And some of our less blog-friendly digestive symptoms have almost disappeared.
I just have to say what an advocate I am for this. It will definitely change the way we prepare food after these 30 days are up, simply because of how much better we feel. I will certainly eat cheese again, and drink wine, and be merry along with it... but these things -- carbs/cheese/sugar/etc. -- should be seen as special occasion foods, not every meal foods. Cheese in my eggs, cheese in my salad, cheese on my broccoli, cheese, cheese, cheese. Bread at breakfast, bread on my sandwiches, pasta and rice and bread at dinner, bread, bread, bread! Given the choice between cheese and bread at every meal and losing seven pounds from my waist in one week, I'll take the seven pounds.
Of course, this does mean no more bowls of ice cream while I watch the Biggest Loser. It serves me right.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Because I Said So
I'd like to have some kind of built-in sensor that beeps or flashes at me when I've crossed the line separating sane, firm, yet loving mother and insane, irrational wacko mom. Maybe it could make a noise like a metal detector... you're okay, you're okay, you're okay... firm enough, firm enough, firm, firm, firm, AHHHHHHH STOP!!!! STOP!!!! You've LOST IT!!!!!!
Nothing in particular has triggered this desire in me tonight. Just the usual battle against my son's attempt to starve himself every night. No, not starve himself. Just take two hours to eat dinner, one hour and fifty minutes of which he spends spinning in his seat, giggling, talking, and maybe chewing occasionally. I do not have patience for two-hour long dinners. Once I've lost all patience, there's no gaining it back the rest of the night. Everything, and I mean everything, needs to be done NOW, when I say so, and if not, the screaming begins. I'm not really much of a screamer - I guess it's more of a voice raised louder than normal. There's no screeching. But it feels like I could screech. I feel like a boiling tea pot - only some of the steam escapes, but man, I am churning up the heat on the inside.
This son of mine wins the race for the slowest human being on the planet. On some occasions, a sloth moves faster. Ask him to put his socks on and maybe twenty minutes later he'd be done. The rest of the outfit might take several hours. And it isn't because he can't do it, though of course that's his whiny little excuse... no, it's because he hates me. Okay, probably not. I don't know why he does this. I don't understand why, when asked to do something, rather than complete it promptly he takes...... a....... day....... and...... a...... half....... to....... move...... his....... hand....... to........ pick..... up........ his...... fork.
IT IS SO EXASPERATING!
I have asked the child if he likes me yelling at him. He says no, but I don't believe him. We try to tell him that he has a choice - to be good or to be disobedient - and whichever he chooses will determine his happiness. Most of the time, I'm happy to say, this works. In fact, it worked for a while tonight. Elvis needed to choose to eat his dinner, and if he chose to eat his dinner before the timer went off (an hour after dinner had started, mind you), he could have a bowl of ice cream. If he chose to continue wiggling in his chair, pouting, and complaining about the food he hadn't yet tried to taste, he would go from the chair in the kitchen to bed - no ice cream, no games, nothing. He chose wisely, and by 7:00, he had just two pieces of pork chop left on his plate. By 7:05, both pieces were in his mouth, and chocolate ice cream was waiting to be eaten, too.
Amazingly, my son turns into a ravenous wolf when ice cream is involved. If he moves as slow as a sloth when asked to do something he doesn't feel all that compelled to do right this minute, he sprints like a cheetah when the price is right. This only aggravates us more. The child has it in him to complete a task willingly and expediently. The key term in the previous sentence is "willingly", and that's what it seems to boil down to - whether it is his will, or mine, or dad's, that ultimately wins out. And Elvis does not want to do what he does not want to do. That's that.
Added to Elvis's stubbornness is our chosen parental philosophy: You will not win this battle, boy. My son wins when he has proceeded along the path of obedience. The dramatic pout and collapse to the floor causes him to lose, every time.
I don't mean to make it sound like Elvis is the worst kid on the block. By no means, and in fact, I've seen a dramatic improvement in his behavior the last few weeks - from improved manners to a willingness to serve - and those moments are beginning to outweigh the times when he flat out refuses to do what we want him to do. He really is a good little boy. But he's still three and a half years old. He's got a clever way of manipulating and manuevering his way however he can to get out of what it is we have in mind.
I really would like some kind of pacemaker for patience, though. Because I am just as strong-willed as my child. And my husband is, too. Sometimes I wonder whether my insistence on a task being complete is me teaching my child obedience or whether it's me wanting him to do it and it's my way or the highway no matter what so you better get on it because I said so. I don't want to exasperate my children the way they tend to exasperate me. I want them to respect authority, but I also want them to feel empowered to question authority. Maybe it's a litmus test I'm looking for - something I can dip into each demand and interpret the results in order to determine whether this is a lesson in obedience or whether this is me trying to run a dictatorship.
The last thing I want to do is break his spirit. I want my children to know that they are loved, deeply loved, and though I know that enforcing rules, teaching them how to obey, and teaching them the consequences of disobedience are all extremely important, this part of the parents' job is the hardest. It comes with no immediate reward. It usually comes with tears. Instead of instant gratification, this kind of love won't reveal its true value for a long time, maybe years, and even then, it won't be obvious that the end result has anything to do with this kind of love.
When I get into dictator-mode, I pray, hard, that I'll be able to rein myself in. And even when I'm not in dictator-mode but rightfully expecting obedience, I also pray that another part of love - grace and mercy - will step up on occasion, because while obedience is necessary, giving grace and mercy is crucial. How else do we learn God's forgiveness and grace except to be given it as well?
I'm glad God's mercies are new every morning, and I hope that mine can be, too.
Nothing in particular has triggered this desire in me tonight. Just the usual battle against my son's attempt to starve himself every night. No, not starve himself. Just take two hours to eat dinner, one hour and fifty minutes of which he spends spinning in his seat, giggling, talking, and maybe chewing occasionally. I do not have patience for two-hour long dinners. Once I've lost all patience, there's no gaining it back the rest of the night. Everything, and I mean everything, needs to be done NOW, when I say so, and if not, the screaming begins. I'm not really much of a screamer - I guess it's more of a voice raised louder than normal. There's no screeching. But it feels like I could screech. I feel like a boiling tea pot - only some of the steam escapes, but man, I am churning up the heat on the inside.
This son of mine wins the race for the slowest human being on the planet. On some occasions, a sloth moves faster. Ask him to put his socks on and maybe twenty minutes later he'd be done. The rest of the outfit might take several hours. And it isn't because he can't do it, though of course that's his whiny little excuse... no, it's because he hates me. Okay, probably not. I don't know why he does this. I don't understand why, when asked to do something, rather than complete it promptly he takes...... a....... day....... and...... a...... half....... to....... move...... his....... hand....... to........ pick..... up........ his...... fork.
IT IS SO EXASPERATING!
I have asked the child if he likes me yelling at him. He says no, but I don't believe him. We try to tell him that he has a choice - to be good or to be disobedient - and whichever he chooses will determine his happiness. Most of the time, I'm happy to say, this works. In fact, it worked for a while tonight. Elvis needed to choose to eat his dinner, and if he chose to eat his dinner before the timer went off (an hour after dinner had started, mind you), he could have a bowl of ice cream. If he chose to continue wiggling in his chair, pouting, and complaining about the food he hadn't yet tried to taste, he would go from the chair in the kitchen to bed - no ice cream, no games, nothing. He chose wisely, and by 7:00, he had just two pieces of pork chop left on his plate. By 7:05, both pieces were in his mouth, and chocolate ice cream was waiting to be eaten, too.
Amazingly, my son turns into a ravenous wolf when ice cream is involved. If he moves as slow as a sloth when asked to do something he doesn't feel all that compelled to do right this minute, he sprints like a cheetah when the price is right. This only aggravates us more. The child has it in him to complete a task willingly and expediently. The key term in the previous sentence is "willingly", and that's what it seems to boil down to - whether it is his will, or mine, or dad's, that ultimately wins out. And Elvis does not want to do what he does not want to do. That's that.
Added to Elvis's stubbornness is our chosen parental philosophy: You will not win this battle, boy. My son wins when he has proceeded along the path of obedience. The dramatic pout and collapse to the floor causes him to lose, every time.
I don't mean to make it sound like Elvis is the worst kid on the block. By no means, and in fact, I've seen a dramatic improvement in his behavior the last few weeks - from improved manners to a willingness to serve - and those moments are beginning to outweigh the times when he flat out refuses to do what we want him to do. He really is a good little boy. But he's still three and a half years old. He's got a clever way of manipulating and manuevering his way however he can to get out of what it is we have in mind.
I really would like some kind of pacemaker for patience, though. Because I am just as strong-willed as my child. And my husband is, too. Sometimes I wonder whether my insistence on a task being complete is me teaching my child obedience or whether it's me wanting him to do it and it's my way or the highway no matter what so you better get on it because I said so. I don't want to exasperate my children the way they tend to exasperate me. I want them to respect authority, but I also want them to feel empowered to question authority. Maybe it's a litmus test I'm looking for - something I can dip into each demand and interpret the results in order to determine whether this is a lesson in obedience or whether this is me trying to run a dictatorship.
The last thing I want to do is break his spirit. I want my children to know that they are loved, deeply loved, and though I know that enforcing rules, teaching them how to obey, and teaching them the consequences of disobedience are all extremely important, this part of the parents' job is the hardest. It comes with no immediate reward. It usually comes with tears. Instead of instant gratification, this kind of love won't reveal its true value for a long time, maybe years, and even then, it won't be obvious that the end result has anything to do with this kind of love.
When I get into dictator-mode, I pray, hard, that I'll be able to rein myself in. And even when I'm not in dictator-mode but rightfully expecting obedience, I also pray that another part of love - grace and mercy - will step up on occasion, because while obedience is necessary, giving grace and mercy is crucial. How else do we learn God's forgiveness and grace except to be given it as well?
I'm glad God's mercies are new every morning, and I hope that mine can be, too.
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