choosing joy

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 I was floating down the river with my younger sister.  We were floating down that river on our backs & looking into the clear water below.  And, because it was a dream & made perfect sense, we could see all kinds of sea creatures beneath us.  And as we floated down the river, my sister was carefree and relaxed, laughing and marvelling as she pointed out all the wonderful sea creatures that surrounded her - the dolphins, the vividly coloured starfish and a kaleidoscope of multi-hued tropical fish.  I could see them too,  but to me they appeared faint and unclear.  In contrast to her delight and pleasure, I was filled with terror and tried to hold myself up out of the water as I stared at their companions -  the sharks & stingrays swimming stealthily beneath, and a minefield of jellyfish who floated menacingly close.  I thought I knew what that dream meant, on waking, during a particularly difficult time in my life.

The other night I was lying in bed, thinking about the year to date.  And upon my reflection,  this year, all three months, had been pretty disappointing. And that wasn't really fair because this year was supposed to be different. Different from the previous three or four that had been so challenging.  We'd had winter-long sicknesses, recurrent croup and asthma, emergency ambulance trips, financial difficulties, relationship struggles, upheavals and uncertainties, (can you relate to any of this?) moving houses, moving cities, moving islands!!!  Not to mention all those 'aftershocks' and really, anything over 4.5 on the Richter scale in my opinion, is not an aftershock.  An aftershock sounds too much like an afterthought - insignificant.  When you find yourself leaping out of bed & running down the hall, into the kids' bedroom & then unable to decide who to grab first?  That feels scary.  When you hear your little girl screaming in terror because she's all on her own when an ugly jolty one comes? That feels significant (and we weren't even here for any of the big ones).

 I mean, seriously, this year had to be different!  On New Year's Eve, I decided against any of my usual resolutions - to lose weight, to be friendlier, be a better wife, remember my family members' birthdays, to read my Bible more, to stop swearing (or at least, stop swearing within earshot of the kids). All resolutions that I failed at time and time again.  No, this year I was simply going to lighten up, live a little more spontaneously, be a little more wild. . .  But then the kids all came down with the chicken pox. And Sunny's eyes, as he says, started 'playing tricks'  and there were doctors visits, and specialists visits and an impending MRI. And being told that he would need to have a general anaesthetic and our family history of complications with that - my brother's loss of life . .  . And why did they need to do an MRI anyway? Could I trust the doctors to do it right? & what would they discover?  What was WRONG with my beautiful boy?!?  And . . .  and . . . and  what happened to this year of carefree craziness?

I lay in the darkness in my bed, feeling overwhelmed & considering that maybe all this hard stuff, maybe its just life.  Maybe life is dark and mean and ugly. I may have had a very quiet little tangi to myself right there in my bed, in the dark.  This year, all less-than-three months of it had been shitful.  And it was not supposed to be that way.  This year was simply going to be 2014 - MY YEAR OF FUN.  My year of fun. . .  something about that phrase.  I reached for my phone, squinting in the sudden, harsh glare of the screen and scrolled through my notes. And there, on my phone,  I found what I was looking for.

  
Day 26 -   yelling out 'boo' &  giving Avei such a big fright that she fell over. Laughed so hard.
Day 27 - seeing Lorde win pop song of the year.
Day 29 - Sunny saying, 'If you were a proper mum you would do whatever we told you to.'

On and on I read.  And as I read those notes that I had written, I began to remember.  And my perspective began to change.

I have a friend, Ruth & the sun shines when she is around.   She is fun, dynamic and energetic. Oh, how I long to be like her.  How many times have I wanted to be someone different than Melancholy Meg?  Growing up, I knew that joy was more than just feeling happy and I knew that if you were a Godly person you should be joyful no matter what was going on in life.  Until recently, I would pray, 'God, give me joy. Help me to be joyful.' Like I honestly thought He was going to flick the joy-switch and suddenly I would give a merry chuckle and skip lightly down the street, forever-more viewing life through a rose-tinted lens. 

2014.   My 'year of fun'. At the start of the year I had decided to write down a fun moment or two from each day. That was all.  Lying in bed that night, reading through those joy-filled moments, a small thought began to grow and as I mulled over it the next week, I had this revelation.  Joy, like love, is not a feeling but a choice. And you may be shaking your head, wondering 'It took you 32 years to work this one out?'  Me too! & I don't mean a grit-your-teeth 'I will be happy, dammit!' kind of choice either.  

Experiencing joy starts with gratitude.  Choosing to be thankful for the moments of fun, laughter, love, & beauty.   I've heard it said that our perception is our reality.  So, if we want to experience joy, then we need to change our perspective & in so doing, alter our perception.  And how do we do that?  By being thankful.  By practising gratitude. By celebrating the Grace that's been shown to us, which means that in the end, everything is going to be ok. 

1 Thessalonians 5:18 - Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.

See, you don't just 'get' joy.  Unlike happiness, which is a fleeting feeling & is determined by our circumstances, joy is experienced when we practise thankfulness and gratitude.  It can be experienced regardless of our circumstances. In Ben Patterson's words 'joy is what you experience when you are grateful for the grace that has been given to you.' 

As I lay in bed remembering all those beautiful moments in what had otherwise been a cloudy three months, I felt a change occur - a fresh hope & renewed strength for the days ahead.  & I was reminded that yes, life can be dark and mean and ugly.  It can hurt.  But it can also be beautiful. 

So, I am choosing to remember and reflect on the beautiful moments, and practise gratitude with those around me, and to celebrate God's goodness, His love & His faithfulness.

I am choosing joy.

 
Psalm 9:1  - I will give thanks to you, Lord, with all my heart; I will tell of all your wonderful deeds.

 

 

 

 

the breath of life

                

Today my eldest daughter, Nevéah, came home from school and said, 'I told my teacher I had some Maori in me.'  I looked at her.  'Just a little bit,' she quickly added.  'Oh?' I asked.  'Yeah,' she said awkwardly, shuffling her feet a bit and looking up at me from under her eyebrows, 'because you know, we speak some Maori words . . . at . . .  home?' she trailed off, unconvincingly.  'Oh, ok.' I replied, and just gave her the look. 

 

It's true.  We do speak some Maori at home.  Just simple phrases.  We don't know a lot & with few friends around who speak it, we aren't even sure sometimes that our phrases or pronunciation are correct.  Still we bumble through, we give it go.  We do our best to get it right.  When I speak to the kids in Maori in front of people, it sounds forced and artificial, so it's easier just to speak it at home. 

 

It's like our special language. 

 

Each day I love to pull my wildly active toddler close, and whisper,  'Homai he kihi'.  Then she leans in and plants me a wet one on the lips.  Sometimes we hongi -  gently pressing our noses and foreheads together, instead of a kiss.  In Maori culture, during a hongi, it is believed that the 'ha', the 'breath of life', is exchanged and shared.  In that moment, when my small always-on-the-go child pauses for just seconds, there is a closeness that we share that can't be captured in a regular juicy kiss.

There is something special, something sacred, in that exchanging & sharing of breath.

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Long ago, right back at the beginning, there was the first sharing of breath - the first hongi.  Genesis 2 v 7 -  Then the Lord God formed a man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being. From this beautiful act, this outpouring of love; this sharing of life, came the first human life. Just imagine that for a moment - God Himself leaning down and breathing into the nostrils of this small, fragile human.  There was something sacred in that moment, in the sharing and exchanging of 'ha'; the Breath of Life.

What could we possibly give back, in response to that? That gift of Breath, the gift of Life?

Worship.   In the words of Ann Voskamp - 'worship is the essence of everything.  Worship is giving back to God what He's breathed into us'.  Is it the singing of songs, the reciting of prayers, the lighting of candles, the good works?  Yes, it's all of those things.  But it's so much more than just those things.  It is the pouring out of self,  an outpouring of love to Him.  It can be in the sacred rituals and in the every day, mundane activities.  It is the intent that lies behind those things - an act of sacrifice, and an act of love. 

 

Romans 12:1 - Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship.

 

In that moment way back at the beginning of time, God poured out His breath, shared His life-giving breath, in an act of love.  Later, His Son, in another most beautiful act of love and sacrifice, poured out His life so that we could share in that Life for always. 

 

Through authentic worship we have the opportunity to experience true intimacy with God, in every life moment and all that we do - an act of sacrifice, of love.   There is something sacred in that moment of 'giving back to God what He's breathed into us'.  This outpouring of love, this sharing of Life. 

 

John 4 v 24 - God is Spirit and those who worship Him must worship Him in spirit and truth. 

there was a little girl . . .

 

 

 

 

(Picture credit: http://www.pinterest.com/raegeo2000/nursery-rhymes/ )

We are sitting in the car & we are both being stubborn.  Neither of us are going to give in easily.  We are sitting here & it's too warm for so early in the morning.  He is digging his heels in & I am not going anywhere ‘til he caves.  He is falling apart & I hold my breath.  I will not give in & I will NOT lose my temper.  I explain again, ‘Sunny, we are not leaving ‘til you’re clicked in.’ He is gasping & sighing and his face is screwing up.  ‘I can’t do it! You HAVE to do it, Mum’. 

Calm voice, steady, assertive.  ‘You can do it, Sunny.  We are going to sit here ‘til you do it.’

Reassuring. ‘There’s no rush, just take your time.’  Panic and the kicking and the arching of the back.  My heart rate rises as the little girl sitting in front of him starts to make I-can’t-sit-here-happily-for-much-longer noises.  Then the tears and the wailing.  ‘I CAN’T do it! You HAVE to do it, Mum. You have to HELP me!’ 

 

I try another tack.  ‘I’ll help you, yes.  But I’m going to explain what to do.  I’m not going to do it for you.’  He screams and protests and tugs angrily at the strap.  It pulls taut across his neck & when he lets it go slack there are red marks left behind.  ‘See! I can’t do it.  IT'S TOO HARD!’  he screams, flying out of his carseat and over the back of the seat.  Scrambling forwards, until he is in the front of the car with me. Clinging.  With as much self-control as I can muster, I gently pull his fingers from around my neck and ease him off my lap.  He is gasping and sobbing and people are watching.  I try again.   ‘Sunny, I know you can do this.  You’ve been able to put your own seatbelt on for months. C’mon, I’ll talk you through it.’  His response is another scream of protest.  And on and on it goes. 

I would love to be able to say that I stayed peaceful and patient and gently coached him through it.  That he finally sat down and calmly clicked himself in.    In reality that was not the case.  Oh, I managed not to yell and he managed to put his own seatbelt on.   That was AFTER I stared at him and through clenched teeth & in a freakishly calm voice let forth a stream of choice language.  Safely in his seatbelt, I pulled out of the mall carpark and drove home, defeated and feeling physically sick at my own loss of control. 

Hindsight is wonderful, isn’t it?  Upon reflection, choosing that moment to use as a ‘growing opportunity’ was not the wisest.  What I wanted to show him was that he was more capable than he thought.  That instead of saying, ‘I can’t,’ he could say, ‘I’ll try’.  I think it’s safe to say that lesson fell flat.   And that it's safe to say, it wasn’t my finest parenting moment. 

Sometimes as a mum, I feel like that little girl in the poem.  When I’m at my best, man, I am on to it.  Involved, enthusiastic, encouraging, responsive, communicative, loving, empathic, gentle, and fun.  But in a ‘bad’ moment, it all gets pretty ugly.  I’m yelly, shouty, snappy and reactive.  Yes, in those moments, I am horrid. 

Now before you abandon this blog, thinking it's just another ‘woe is me, I’m a terrible mother’ kind of post, hear me out.

Philippians 4 v 5  - Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near.

When I think about what I want to be as a mum, it's this.  We were in Australia.  My parents and five of my seven siblings and me.  What were Mum & Dad thinking embarking on this trip, on a limited budget, with six kids ages 9-19 and our accommodation for the majority of that time – a very basic two-bedroom apartment?  I remember seeing a video taken on that trip, by my dad or a brother.  And most of us were in a pool and my mum was sitting on the side and we were all splashing about and having fun and making a LOT of noise.  The thing that stood out to me, watching that years later, as a teenager, was the way we little kids kept yelling out, ‘Mum, mum, watch this!’  ‘Watch me, mum – look what I can do,’  all over the top of each other, vying for her attention.  & her response:  just the right amount of calm, and steady, encouraging and interested at the same time.  I remember hearing all that noise and our high-pitched shrieking voices and thinking ‘How can she be so calm and patient? All that noise, everyone yelling at me – it would drive me crazy!’  But for the most part, that was my mum. Patient, peaceful, gentle.

In contrast, I remember an evening when Sunny wasn’t even 2 yet & his sister, 3 and they were eating their dinner.  Sunny accidentally knocked his cup over and water spilled everywhere.  There was a brief pause, as both children looked at me in horror and then simultaneously erupted in tears.  And I knew it was because of all the times this kind of thing had happened and I had responded with a loud gasp & flailing arms & a dramatic, ‘Oh no!!! Now look what’s happened!’ as if the world was about to end because some water was on the floor. 

I might be wrong, but I don’t think my mum has ever had to work particularly hard on this aspect of her personality.  I genuinely think that her calm disposition is just a part of her character, her make-up.  She’s generally a laid-back person, who isn’t easily riled.   And that’s brilliant.  I’m happy for her.  Happy for me of course, because it was nice being raised by someone like that.  But that’s just not me – I’m easily flustered and highly strung. I have a temper. An ugly temper & a short fuse.  BUT.  I do not want to be the angry parent.  & I don’t want anger to be a black smudge on my kids' childhood experience, as it was on mine.  I love my kids too much to settle for this.

It would be so helpful if there was an easy answer.  But I don’t think there is.  I have developed some wonderful strategies over the 6 or so years I’ve been a parent which help me maintain my composure in times of stress.  And yet I still find myself offering heart-felt  (& broken-hearted) apologies to my children (and husband) for angry outbursts again and again.  I wish I could offer up a special prayer and instantly morph into this sweet, easy-going, mild-tempered mother. 

Mum used to have this annoying saying.  Something along the lines of being 'so filled with the Holy Spirit, that if you get bumped only the Spirit sloshes out.'  And you can put that right up there with ‘washed in the blood’ and ‘lay it at Jesus’ feet’ and all the other many weird-and-irritating Christian sayings.  .  . Except, sometimes I think I know what she meant.

 2 Corinthians 12 v 9a -  But He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” 

There is something about letting Someone Else be in charge.  & I don't in any respect  mean absolving myself of responsibility either.  But being able to admit that this is something so important to me, & yet an area in which I fall so terribly short.  & that I can't do it on my own - in those moments of heat, taking a split-second pause & crying out  'Can You help me?'    

The victories are in the small moments.