I'm not a very transparent person. Unless I'm talking to an extremely close friend, whenever something's bothering me and someone calls me out on it, I assure them I'm fine. Really. Everything's fine.
If they persist, I insist I'm simply tired. Or mildly stressed. I don't offer up my hurts and grievances because I know they will pass and I will be better.
But part of what we want to do here is to be transparent. To let the honesty of our own journeys speak to you wherever you are on the path.
So . . . I'm going to put this out there. I'm setting aside the regularly scheduled "What Has God Done for You?" post in favor of this rather candid tell-all. When I thought about what blessings I would list that God has worked in my life this week, I couldn't think of one.
Instead, I thought about how this week has been incredibly stressful. How I've been hurt, accused, confused, and misunderstood.
I thought about my calling, my 4 week deadline, my nowhere-near-even-begun manuscript, and my lack of energy.
And I thought about how lost I've been lately.
Coming up with something to share with you guys that God's been doing in my life this week seemed impossible. I could write about fiery trials . . . but that's not very encouraging, or blessing-ish. I could write about how angry and disappointed I feel in others and myself, but well, that's not terribly uplifting either. Instead, I'm writing to say that somewhere in the midst of this week and this craziness, God has been there, pouring out Grace for me to endure.
So forgive the unorthodox post. Forgive the melancholy. I know there are indeed blessings here. And I suppose if I weren't so frequently mired in self-pity, I could actually see them.
--Mandy
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Friday, April 30, 2010
Take it to the Lord in Prayer
Hey guys!
Hope everyone is doing well and enjoying the beautiful Spring-ness lately.
What's on your heart this week?
Let us know!
--Mandy
Hope everyone is doing well and enjoying the beautiful Spring-ness lately.
What's on your heart this week?
Let us know!
--Mandy
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Check this out...
Cheryl has a devotional posted on Christian Devotions today.
Everyone go check it out:
www.christiandevotions.us
--Mandy
Everyone go check it out:
www.christiandevotions.us
--Mandy
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
What Has God Done for You?
Feeling pretty sick tonight . . .So my list of things I'm thankful for will probably reflect that.
Antibiotics.
Understanding bosses.
People who care enough about me to listen to me whine.
What about you?
Monday, April 19, 2010
God Speaks,We Listen
My son has selective hearing.
Strangely enough, if I say, “It’s bedtime. Let’s put away the toys,” he suddenly can’t hear a thing. A typical bedtime routine plays out like this. Either my husband or I (sometimes both of us when Ethan is in rare form) nicely announces bedtime. My son continues to play. One of us tells Ethan a second time to put his toys away and head to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Again nothing.
My voice raises, my temperature goes up, and the next bedtime announcement is accompanied by a well-placed threat of time-out or lost play privileges the next day. Suddenly, Ethan’s hearing perks up, and he heads to the bathroom.
Why am I telling you about my son’s “inability” to hear? Because, as much as I hate to admit it, Ethan's a lot like me.
God speaks to me through His Word, and if I don't like the message, I keep going my own way until my disobedience gets me into trouble.
I have a feeling I may not be alone in dealing with selective hearing when it comes to listening to the Father.
God’s Word informs our lives, teaches us about Him and His ways, and functions as our weapon against the enemy’s attack. The Word is powerful, and through it, we learn the attributes the Father would have us possess. For this reason, the Psalmist wrote, "How can a young man keep his way pure? By keeping it according to Your word. Your word I have treasured in my heart, That I may not sin against You” (Psalm 119:9, 11).
With God’s Word, we grow into spiritual maturity. Hebrews 4:12 tells us, "For the word of God is living and active and sharper than any two-edged sword, and piercing as far as the division of soul and spirit, of both joints and marrow, and is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart."
His word is the spiritual food that gives us strength. "This is my comfort in my affliction, that Your word has revived me," the Psalmist wrote (Psalm 119:50). And Peter tells us to "as newborn babes, desire the sincere milk of the word that [we] may grow thereby" (I Peter 2:2).
So if all of this is true, why do I struggle at times to "hear" God and do what He tells me to do? Probably because, like Ethan, I convince myself that my agenda is more important than God's. The reality is, though, that as much as my husband and I expect Ethan to listen to and obey us, even when he doesn't agree with what we're requiring him to do, God expects believers to listen as He speaks through His word.
Not knowing (and then obeying) the Word of God makes us weak at best. But when we seek to obey God in everything, we’ll develop an intimate relationship with Him, an intimacy that makes it possible for us to live the abundant life God has called us to in Christ.
--Cheryl
Strangely enough, if I say, “It’s bedtime. Let’s put away the toys,” he suddenly can’t hear a thing. A typical bedtime routine plays out like this. Either my husband or I (sometimes both of us when Ethan is in rare form) nicely announces bedtime. My son continues to play. One of us tells Ethan a second time to put his toys away and head to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Again nothing.
My voice raises, my temperature goes up, and the next bedtime announcement is accompanied by a well-placed threat of time-out or lost play privileges the next day. Suddenly, Ethan’s hearing perks up, and he heads to the bathroom.
Why am I telling you about my son’s “inability” to hear? Because, as much as I hate to admit it, Ethan's a lot like me.
God speaks to me through His Word, and if I don't like the message, I keep going my own way until my disobedience gets me into trouble.
I have a feeling I may not be alone in dealing with selective hearing when it comes to listening to the Father.
God’s Word informs our lives, teaches us about Him and His ways, and functions as our weapon against the enemy’s attack. The Word is powerful, and through it, we learn the attributes the Father would have us possess. For this reason, the Psalmist wrote, "How can a young man keep his way pure? By keeping it according to Your word. Your word I have treasured in my heart, That I may not sin against You” (Psalm 119:9, 11).
With God’s Word, we grow into spiritual maturity. Hebrews 4:12 tells us, "For the word of God is living and active and sharper than any two-edged sword, and piercing as far as the division of soul and spirit, of both joints and marrow, and is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart."
His word is the spiritual food that gives us strength. "This is my comfort in my affliction, that Your word has revived me," the Psalmist wrote (Psalm 119:50). And Peter tells us to "as newborn babes, desire the sincere milk of the word that [we] may grow thereby" (I Peter 2:2).
So if all of this is true, why do I struggle at times to "hear" God and do what He tells me to do? Probably because, like Ethan, I convince myself that my agenda is more important than God's. The reality is, though, that as much as my husband and I expect Ethan to listen to and obey us, even when he doesn't agree with what we're requiring him to do, God expects believers to listen as He speaks through His word.
Not knowing (and then obeying) the Word of God makes us weak at best. But when we seek to obey God in everything, we’ll develop an intimate relationship with Him, an intimacy that makes it possible for us to live the abundant life God has called us to in Christ.
--Cheryl
Monday, April 12, 2010
Getting a different kind of call
Since I think I’m ten times more clever than I actually am, I thought I’d continue the spirit of our series by posting about getting another type of call—the one from my editor.
Every writer dreams about the moment they get the phone call offering to buy the manuscript. If you’re like me, (on days when I allowed myself to optimistically dream) I practiced what I would say when the moment came. How unflappable and cool I would be. I’d think about it to the point of polishing my acceptance speech, ready to dazzle the editor with my calm and lack of I-just-sold-my-first-book hysteria.
Which is exactly how it played out in real life.
With a few, minor exceptions.
I was at work. The phone rang. I recognized the area code as being the same as the publishing house’s. I calmly answered the phone. Accepted their offer. And resumed work without so much as one ruffled feather.
Right. The first part’s true, up to the point where I realized it was New York calling. Then, I immediately started crying. A lot. So much so that my coworker was looking at me like I’d just gotten word my dog had died.
I managed to garble through my tears that I thought (didn’t know for sure, because I still hadn’t answered the phone) my editor was calling. I then explained that editors rarely call unless they are offering to buy. I’m not entirely sure, but I think she might have started crying then too.
At some point, I started thinking I was hyperventilating. My work buddy was trying to get me to answer the phone, but I was too busy making “I can’t breathe” motions.
I finally caught my breath.
The editor had left a message.
Editor on my voicemail: “Hey Mandy, this is xxxxx at xxxxx, just wanted to call and tell you I have some good news. Call me back.”
I hung up. And cried some more.
At this point, I’d managed to draw quite a bit of attention, and my coworkers started coming up to make sure I wasn’t having some kind of psychotic episode (although why they’d imagine that of me, I’m not sure). Once they realized what was going on, everyone yelled at me to call her back. My boss ran to the bathroom and then shoved a bunch of tissues at me so I could “dry up and call!”
I did. And I had several witnesses who had front row seats to how incredibly dumb I can be on the phone. And I do mean incredibly dumb. I basically had to tell the editor I was freaking out too badly to have a coherent conversation with her. To my editor’s credit, this request didn’t seem to surprise her. She was very gracious and understanding. Or perhaps she could already tell from our previous correspondence that I’m—at times—an idiot.
Afterwards, I was so excited, flustered, in shock, etc., I had to leave for the day.
So, it’s safe to say, nothing I’d planned for “the call,” went the way I’d rehearsed. The moment that defined my writing career (because I’m fairly sure nothing will ever be as exciting as that first call) is encapsulated by tears, laughing, and near hyperventilation . . . all common signs of a nervous breakdown.
But that’s okay. I don’t want my journey to be ordinary, or even calm and collected. I want it to be interesting, inspiring, and uplifting. And maybe just a little tear-jerking.
--Mandy
Every writer dreams about the moment they get the phone call offering to buy the manuscript. If you’re like me, (on days when I allowed myself to optimistically dream) I practiced what I would say when the moment came. How unflappable and cool I would be. I’d think about it to the point of polishing my acceptance speech, ready to dazzle the editor with my calm and lack of I-just-sold-my-first-book hysteria.
Which is exactly how it played out in real life.
With a few, minor exceptions.
I was at work. The phone rang. I recognized the area code as being the same as the publishing house’s. I calmly answered the phone. Accepted their offer. And resumed work without so much as one ruffled feather.
Right. The first part’s true, up to the point where I realized it was New York calling. Then, I immediately started crying. A lot. So much so that my coworker was looking at me like I’d just gotten word my dog had died.
I managed to garble through my tears that I thought (didn’t know for sure, because I still hadn’t answered the phone) my editor was calling. I then explained that editors rarely call unless they are offering to buy. I’m not entirely sure, but I think she might have started crying then too.
At some point, I started thinking I was hyperventilating. My work buddy was trying to get me to answer the phone, but I was too busy making “I can’t breathe” motions.
I finally caught my breath.
The editor had left a message.
Editor on my voicemail: “Hey Mandy, this is xxxxx at xxxxx, just wanted to call and tell you I have some good news. Call me back.”
I hung up. And cried some more.
At this point, I’d managed to draw quite a bit of attention, and my coworkers started coming up to make sure I wasn’t having some kind of psychotic episode (although why they’d imagine that of me, I’m not sure). Once they realized what was going on, everyone yelled at me to call her back. My boss ran to the bathroom and then shoved a bunch of tissues at me so I could “dry up and call!”
I did. And I had several witnesses who had front row seats to how incredibly dumb I can be on the phone. And I do mean incredibly dumb. I basically had to tell the editor I was freaking out too badly to have a coherent conversation with her. To my editor’s credit, this request didn’t seem to surprise her. She was very gracious and understanding. Or perhaps she could already tell from our previous correspondence that I’m—at times—an idiot.
Afterwards, I was so excited, flustered, in shock, etc., I had to leave for the day.
So, it’s safe to say, nothing I’d planned for “the call,” went the way I’d rehearsed. The moment that defined my writing career (because I’m fairly sure nothing will ever be as exciting as that first call) is encapsulated by tears, laughing, and near hyperventilation . . . all common signs of a nervous breakdown.
But that’s okay. I don’t want my journey to be ordinary, or even calm and collected. I want it to be interesting, inspiring, and uplifting. And maybe just a little tear-jerking.
--Mandy
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