A Time For "No"

I don't like hearing the word, "no."

Recently, my son has heard it quite frequently, and he loves to walk around the house chastising random objects and his baby sister, "no-no... no-no... no-no..." I have no idea what his tennis shoes did to warrant his stern rebukes, but they are frequently corrected.

Because I don't like hearing the word "no," I rarely say it to my favorite person: myself.

Sugar-coat it any way you want to, the most important person in my life is myself. How do I know? Because it hurts when I have to get up for a 4 a.m. feeding, when I have to wash smelly yard-work shirts, and when I am cleaning up a dripping sippy cup for the one hundredth time... If I truly loved my family more than myself, these moments wouldn't hurt. Do I love my family? Of course. I would suffer any terror to keep them safe and happy. But I love myself more.

My guess is you love yourself the most, too.

Why else would God have to say, "Love me, love others"? If it was natural for us to love others, if it was normal for us to love God, He wouldn't have needed to spell it out so clearly.

Last week I did something unusual.

I fasted.

For an entire day, I told myself "no."

It's amazing how delicious soggy cheerios start to look...

And somewhere in the middle of that day of "no," I realized something.

I don't do this often, if ever. I don't tell myself "no."

I eat what I want, watch what I want, do with my day what I want. I never just tell myself "no" for the sake of saying "no." I never say "no" for the sake of training myself that there are more important things than gratifying my desires.

I'm not on this earth for me. I've been specifically designed, chosen, created to bring glory to someone else. My body, my personality, my time... it's not for me.

Paul wrote: "But I discipline my body and keep it under control." (I Cor. 9:27) The Greek in this passage could be literally translated, "I pummel my body and make it a slave."

Pummel. Strike repeatedly. Batter. Pound. Beat. Over and over.

When was the last time you did this?

Before you get all defensive and horrified, Paul wasn't advocating self-abuse. So, don't, in your zeal to obey, go searching for a whip or boxing gloves. Don't write me off because I sound like some sadist. Paul isn't talking about bodily beating. But he is talking about bodily self-control. As he urges us to live with purpose, he compares our lives to athletes: "Every athlete exercises self-control in all things."

All things.

Somewhere in the middle of my "day of "no,"" I found peace... God fills up the spaces that we shovel stuff out of. Crying out to God to be enough? That's precious. Craving satiation from Him, rather than from my delicious peanut-butter banana snack? He satisfies that craving.

"O God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you;

my soul thirsts for you;

my flesh faints for you,

as in a dry and weary land where there is no water."

{Psalm 63:1}

So, when was the last time you told yourself "no"?

Not because you had to. Not because it was necessary. Not because people would think you were weird if you didn't. When was the last time you said "no" because you are in training?

I'm in a period of intentional "no." Most of my "no" centers around food right now. That's just the battle front which is getting the most attention. But I'm also trying to sacrifice sleep (so I can have a longer time with my Savior in the morning). Sleeplessness is sweet when I'm telling Christ that He is all I need. I don't need eight hours, uninterrupted to be sweet and kind to others. I need Christ.

There are a myriad of ways to fast, to tell yourself "no." Can I leave you with a few? And can I be a gentle push towards your own day (or week, or month!) of "no"? Please consider... I promise, God loves it when we say "no" to ourselves.

Something I Never Wanted To Tell You, or... Praying To Be Decimated

I was supposed to write this post years ago. I knew that. I knew that I should sit down, own up, and give this giant words on paper.

But I didn't.

I tried to cover it up, push it away, and battle silently (but only when I felt like it). No one else was supposed to know. I got grumpy, angry, and defensive when people touched it.

Getting married made me terrified. How do you keep something like this from the person who knows you the best? You can't. But you can minimize it, hide it, try to make it prettier. Like smearing make-up on a warty frog.

That doesn't work well...

So, I told my husband.

He knew.

But my minimizing, hiding, and subterfuge had done their job. He didn't know the size of the battle. Then again, I don't think I knew the size of the battle. I don't think I wanted to know.

I'm an addict.

I'm addicted, totally, completely, agonizingly... to food.

I love food. I love making food, creating recipes, eating food... Anything that tastes good? I'm there. I love sizzling butter, gooey chocolate, and flaky pastries. I like tender meat, creamy cheese, and crisp potato chips. I love Oreos and PopTarts. No one should love Oreos and PopTarts. They're like sugar paste wrapped in more sugar, coated in dyes and crunchy, unknown substances. BUT THEY TASTE SO GOOD.

Here's the thing about being a food addict. You can't quit it cold turkey. You can't go through withdrawal. You have to eat.

I've tried diets, food journals, exercise (although, I really hate that one. I want to love it. But I actually hate it.).

But it didn't matter.

And I'm glad it didn't.

Because the diets, the calories, the fats, the grains, the delicious, overly-processed sugar... that wasn't the problem.

The problem was that I didn't care that I was sinning. Years of callousness had built-up around this sin. I had focused on eating as a means to serve myself. I was either stuffing myself full because I wanted the taste and texture of the food, or starving myself (never for very long) because I wanted to be skinny. I worshipped food. (Sometimes I still do...)

So I began to pray a very scary prayer. I prayed that God would break me. Decimate me. Help me to mourn over my wickedness.

You can brush it off. You can tell me that it's not really "wicked," per se... But it is. I was viewing myself, my wants, my pleasure as more important that serving God and loving others. I had an idol. I didn't bow down to it, lighting incense and worshiping three times a day, no, but I was pulling up my chair, opening my mouth, and eating it. Is that really any better?

So, I prayed that God would break my callousness wide open. I prayed that He would make me mourn over my sin. That my soul would weep over the people who went unloved, uncared for, because of my idol.

And I had to pray that prayer over and over and over again.

Sometimes, the Holy Spirit bursts through a wall of hardness like water breaking through a dam. Sometimes, He leaks through one little drip at a time. And there's something precious, something sweet about crying out over and over and over again for more of God. He treasures that. Consistent pulling away from sin towards a loving God makes the sin more heinous and the God more precious.

That's why I'm writing this.

Because sin becomes stronger when it's hidden. In the sunlight, it dies.

So, here I am. Transparent.

I am a glutton, fighting for freedom, while resting in the arms of my Savior.

And as I acknowledge my total weakness, my complete depravity, my helplessness, it's not for me. It's not for sympathy, encouragement, or support (although those are all so very nice!). It's because I am held in the arms of a man who died so that I could be free. All that ugliness, all that selfishness, coated as I am in the slimy sin of my own creation, He still loves me. And He died so I could be washed, be free from this disgusting habit.

And I am free!

No, I don't have victory in this area, yes, I am still battling, but Christ has set me free. It's time for this weak, tired glutton to enjoy the radiant peace and beauty of being Christ's sister, God's daughter.

And thanks be to God, He is daily making this more apparent.

Woefully Behind... Photo Journal {March 31st-April 19th}

Well... As mentioned earlier, consistency is not my strong point.

We had a rash of illnesses, craziness, and (admittedly) laziness.

My babies have been growing in cuteness and I've been loving documenting, but I haven't been as consistent as I should have been. So, here are some snippets from the past month.

Our home in spring.

My little chickie-love. There's something wonderful about
babies this tiny... It's like playing dress-up every time they get
ready.

My happy girlie. She's learning slowly, but surely, that she can be content,
even when she doesn't have the complete attention of everyone around her.

Grant has recently found it amusing to eat like a puppy dog. This child is
fearless when it comes to animals... Maybe he's channeling his inner puppy?

Grant has a special bag of toys that we call his "bed bag."
These are toys that are played with on the bed while Bets
is being fed. The cocoa container full of q-tips is the current fave.

Everything is a hat!

Silly faces! Bets and Grant had their first shared bath!

Bubbles and baby. He thought he was in bath heaven.

Scott added on to our patio! We found slate scraps, salvaged bricks, and a couple $.99
pavers to add a couple feet. Grant, Bets and I watched and did laundry.

Holding hands. 

They are each other's favorite toys. :)

A torrential rain storm allowed us to see if Grant loves mud as much as other boys.

The consensus was that he does...

Bets is a terrifying sleeper: deathly pale skin, eyes half open, mouth agape.
I think that she's dead at least three times a day.

Playing in the babies' room with our chalk table.

My artist!

Although he looks intent, his real fascination was with
eating chalk.

Trying to color with soggy chalk is surprisingly difficult...

Pretty girlie.

She likes cuddles in bed with Grant and Mama... The more people looking,
(and in Grant's case) squashing, and pulling on her--the better. :)

It's not too often I get a smiling picture that isn't blurry. My little whirling dervish.

Ah! Kissing monster!

Last year, we thought that these bushes were weeds,
and that nothing grew in that front bed.

Turns out, the previous owners just planted spring flowers.
They were all dead by early May when we looked at the house.

Off to help Daddy set up a fence. He was so eager to help!

Phew! Got several pictures posted... now all that's left is to document Easter. Maybe I'll have those up by the Fourth of July?