It seems people forget how to drive when the first snow falls. Perhaps we simply forget to tap the breaks and slow down. Especially during the holidays. After all, we want it to be perfect.

I remember my first Thanksgiving as a new believer in Christ. God used a can of corn to slow me down and change an old thinking pattern.

My mom always served scalloped corn. So, I followed tradition. My little family didn’t really like it but the perfect Thanksgiving meal required it. Midway through preparing our dinner, there was one problem. Scalloped corn needed an egg.

The grocery stores already closed for the day in our Arkansas town. I panicked and almost sent my husband out to find that one egg to save our Thanksgiving until I realized how ridiculous it was to stress over a casserole. My anxiety was replaced with rational thought. “Just open the can of corn, dump it in a pot, and heat it up.”

I almost let a side dish steal the heart of the holiday.

A few weeks later, we traveled to Illinois. We visited three different homes on Christmas Eve and Christmas day before driving back to Arkansas. While unloading a trunk full of toys, we realized we kinda missed Christmas. The busy-ness made it fly. We decided that next year we’d slow down, stay home, and start our own traditions.

Bottom line: I refuse to stress out. Especially during the holidays. Can’t find the perfect gift, ingredient, or decoration? We don’t need it. Whatever doesn’t get done … doesn’t get done.

This year, with working extra hours in the candy shop, I let a few things go. My fancy tablecloth stayed in the drawer and Marie Callender made my pumpkin pies.

Yesterday, I heard on the radio: “Practice the pause.” When we get frantic, panicked, or sleepless let’s hit the pause button. Do we really need that gift, that food, that spotless house? Traditions are wonderful but if they rob us of sanity and time with family then perhaps we can downsize them or wait until next year.

Nothing is more important than our health and the people affected by our stress.

So when we’re tired and our thoughts are tangled and our hearts quicken, let’s just pause. Let’s breathe in the peace Christ came to bring. Let’s choose our health, family, and friends over perfection and making a good impression. Sit back and enjoy life abundant. It’s here and now. Immanuel, God with us.

Please don’t miss Christmas. Tap the brakes and “Practice the pause.” Love and grace to you, my friends.

 

Photo by Connie Zink @ www.facebook.com/connie.zink1

Jeff and I experienced countless military separations. I didn’t fear being a single parent or added responsibilities. But this time I was sending him into harm’s way. My mind was caught in a tug-of-war between duty and reality. I spent weeks processing the fact that he might die in Iraq.

It was a daily, hourly, sometimes minute-by-minute decision to seek peace. Conversations with God changed from, “God, he has to come home” to “Help me trust you no matter what.”

It was a stubborn, raw choice  to choose Faith over fear.

Partly because I needed to be strong for my kids. But mostly because I wanted to be free.

My pastor asked, “What will you do if Jeff doesn’t come home?”

“A piece of me will die but I will be okay … eventually … somehow … because God will be there.”

That’s all I had. And that’s all I needed. The promise that the Changeless One who saw us through all our difficult days ~ including our daughter’s death ~ would always be in the midst of my worst fears. Trusting God, I surrendered the outcome. 

Jeff’s deployment day came. Preparations distracted me but fear doesn’t give up easily. What if he doesn’t come back? Faith reminded me who held our future. Refusing to let fear win, I placed pieces of home in his foot locker: family pictures and a grape-jelly-smeared love note pinned to a stuffed puppy and signed, “Daddy’s Little Girl.”

We left early for Robert Gray Army Airfield so Jeff could arrive before his soldiers. Strong and handsome in desert fatigues, he eased the family van over dusty, cactus-flanked roads. I remembered him as a teenager driving his radio-less Nova, singing Elvis and Barry Manilow. He’d stick his head out the window to get the Rick Springfield look in his wavy, brown hair. We were carefree and immortal then.

Alone in the airfield’s parking lot, we walked to the back of the van to unload his gear. We lingered there in silent tears and embraces. Nine-year-old Hannah clung to him, her arms tight around his waist, sobbing, “Daddy, I don’t want you to go.”

Knowing it might be our last moments together, made words seem urgent. Yet, they failed to express two hearts connected by twenty-three years of life’s darkest pain and deepest joys.

As we sat, shaded by the van’s hatch door, Jeff pulled out a book from his backpack. It symbolized his grandma’s prayers. She was a Salvation Army soldier fighting a different war. Opening the tattered, red hymnal, he sang into the face of fear:

“My Jesus, I love thee. I know thou art mine…
I will love thee in life; I will love thee in death,
And praise thee as long as thou lendest me breath;
And say, when the death-dew lies cold on my brow:
If ever I loved thee my Jesus ‘tis now.”

Jeff found words to express his trust in the one who knew our future. I rested my head on his shoulder as our Comforter wrapped us in peace. We knew, no matter what, we’d be okay. Even in the midst of our worst fears.

Today, twenty years later, we still aim to choose faith over fear and to live each day to its fullest.

I pray this peace for you too.

God’s got your yesterday, your today, and your tomorrow. Will you surrender the outcome?

“Be strong and very courageous. Do not be terrified. Do not be discouraged. For the Lord, your God, is with you wherever you go.”~ Joshua 1:9

 

 

Last time, you saw my humbling misspell moment. It proves that God is rewriting my emotional script and I’m becoming more free to live as He designed.

About a year ago, I first realized, “You’re such an idiot” couldn’t control me anymore.

It happened the day I mailed a story to Good Housekeeping magazine. As I waited to turn into the post office parking lot, I checked the manila envelope for the umpteenth time and saw an error in the address. My self-talk slithered in on its slimy belly. But I caught it, mid-strike. “You’re such a … novice.”

The plain, simple truth that I’m a beginner and will make mistakes grabbed “idiot” by the face and squashed it. So, weeks later, when the magazine rejected my article, “You’re such an idiot” didn’t even twitch. I fought it for years, but it can’t discourage me anymore. It’s roadkill.

When a nagging thought shows up, I ask three questions:

1. Is it irrational?

Of course, I’m not an idiot. As Merriam-Webster defines it, I’m not a “very stupid or foolish person.” While I do enjoy my airhead moments, this label is unfounded, absurd even.

We are capable of doing foolish things, but they don’t define us. Our mistakes are not who we are.

We put the label on the action. That was dumb. Not, I am dumb. This may sound like silly semantics, but try it … and keep on whacking that mole … until you’re free from its power.

2. Is it imaginings?

Imagination can inflate a problem in a nano-second. The worse case scenario becomes the only outcome. And what was worse case scenario in forgetting the box number on the envelope? Delayed delivery, maybe. But, my brain saw the editors and mail people in New York discussing my lack of professionalism and pitching the unopened envelope.

Irrationality and imagination get us in trouble. Irrational thoughts are illogical. Imagined thoughts are inflated. Either way, they lie.

God promises we’ll be transformed as we compare and replace our thoughts with what is true.

My Texas pastor says, “take it all as information.” We recognize our wrong thoughts and actions and accept our weaknesses, so we learn and grow a little more like Jesus. Our identity is further rooted in Him. In who we are not what we do.

After all, we see in Genesis 1:27 that “God created human beings in His own image.”

Which brings us to the most important question when considering our thoughts and attitudes:

3. Is it true of God’s Image?

We’ll tackle that biggie another time. Until then, my friends, be aware of thoughts that shackle you from your full redemptive potential.

Enjoy the journey 🙂

Well, that was embarrassing. In my last blog post, I misspelled  costumes. Although I was able to fix it on my website, my email subscribers received the bungled version.

Hours after sending it, I was watching the play, Oklahoma! in Aurora’s Paramount Theater. Jeff, returning from a bathroom break, showed me my snafu. Why was he checking facebook on his half-a-minute walk back to his seat? Simple. He’s a spaz.

Anyway, he handed me his phone and my mistake glared at me as “Pore Jud is Daid” (misspelling intended:) lamented in the background. Perfect theme music for despair, which used to be my reaction to a public writing blunder.

Old me would’ve panicked. Full on tears, shortness of breath, and heart palpitations as old sound bites and rehearsed lines assaulted my mind:

“You’re an idiot. You can’t do this. What will people think?”

However, in the past few years, I’ve declared all out war on my thoughts. After all, Paul tells us in Romans “to be transformed by the renewing of our minds.” I’m learning that, as wonderful as people are, they don’t define me.

I’m not gonna lie. Rewriting our emotional script is hard work. A daily, sometimes hourly, conscious effort. Author Jennifer Beckham compares shedding unhealthy thoughts and mindsets to the arcade game, Whack-a-Mole. You smack one down and another pops up.

But, that’s okay because when we take the offensive, raise our mallet, and keep smashing those buzzards, we grow further into who God created us to be. Whole and free. To live on purpose with a purpose.

So, the new me has a new reaction to public embarrassment. After a few seconds of mental stress, a bit of whining, and a couple deep breaths, I chalked up my blog misspelling to a lesson in humility. Number 2,485, 751. Then I took my own bathroom break, accessed the website on my phone, and fixed it.

Are you dogged by negative self-talk?

Join me on a true-identity search. In the next few weeks, we’ll look at mindsets and messages that shackle us from reaching our full redemptive potential.

We might uncover some downright uncomfortable naked truth. However, like my Texas friend says, “Ain’t no shame” because when we whack those moles, we find abundant life in our God-given design.

Peace, my friends.

 

© Robin Melvin 2015