Confession

This is my confession…

by my words I believe…that being a good steward of money is an important act of worship

by my actions I believe…that I deserve whatever I desire whenever I desire it and coupons are for chumps.

by my words I believe…that God answers prayer.

by my actions I believe…that God doesn’t have time for my prayers. I need to cover my bases just in case.

by my words I believe…that Jesus is the only way to salvation and belief in Him is all that can save you.

by my actions I believe…that making people feel comfortable and like me here on earth is more important that their salvation for eternity.

by my words I believe…that only God can hold judgment on others and myself.

by my actions (and inmost thoughts) I believe…that every facebook status, passing comment or action is evidence I can use to make swift and sound judgment on you…and myself.

by my words I believe…that God’s grace is for everyone and the gift of grace is that it’s free, unearned and full.

by my actions (and inmost thoughts) I believe…that God’s grace may be for others, but it’s certainly not for me. And I’d rather earn my grace anyway…I don’t like to feel like I own anyone. And even if I did work to earn it, God’s grace couldn’t cover all the grime I’ve managed to stain myself with.

by my words I believe…that taking care of my home and my son are important ways to show my husband I love him.

by my actions I believe…that watching the “real” lives of other people’s wives are important uses of my time.

by my words I believe…that I am part of a team in my marriage and we are both working hard to be selfless and serve one another.

by my actions I believe…that my husband is the one who really should be selfless and serving. I am more deserving of break even though he works a lot harder than I do.

by my words I believe…that my relationship with Jesus is the most important part of my life, that He is the very core of my existence.

by my actions I believe…that blog reading, facebook stalking, Internet surfing and a series of mundane chores are the most important parts of my day.

by my words I believe…that my relationships with others are to be valued and prioritized highly

by my actions I believe…that I just don’t have time for others. I’m too busy reading blogs written by people I’ve never met.

by my words I believe…that I am working hard and doing everything I can to be the best mother, wife, friend, youth pastor and servant of God that I can be. That being selfless with others will ultimately bring joy to my life.

by my actions I believe…that I am the most important person in the world and I should do whatever makes me happy. And being lazy and taking lots of breaks to check my email, check facebook, watch one of the thousand television shows on my dvr, read another blog, and spend hours and hours getting pulled in to the “click this link” time suck that is the internet is what will make me happy. By my actions I believe that doing whatever mind-numbing thing I want to do at any given moment is more important that what anyone else needs of me. By my actions I believe that I’m doing a lot and I deserve a break. By my actions I believe that doing a lot is actually doing very little and making excuses for why I can’t do the very simple basic tasks I’ve been given.

The How We Found Out Story...

The story starts a week earlier at about 6 pm upon returning from the farm. It starts with one line and not two. It starts with a sheepish confession to my husband, “I took a pregnancy test. It was negative.” “How do you feel about that?” “Kinda sad.”

Fast-forward one week. Still no tell tale morning cramps. No ribbons of pink blood in the toilet. My mind keeps returning to the instructions on the pregnancy test box. If you still have not gotten your period in one week take another test. And tests are most accurate when taken first thing in the morning. I’m not pregnant. But those pee sticks come in packs of two. And I have one left… Morning. Wait until the morning.

4:45 am. I have to pee. I have to take that test with my first pee of the day. It is waaaaaaaaaaay to early to be up. I’ll pee on the stick and go back to bed. The pee stick will still be there in 2 hours. So I do that. And, because I really don’t think I’m pregnant and I’m only taking this test for due diligence, I am miraculously able to sleep.

6:30 am. Now Ireally do have to get up. As I shuffle to the bathroom to pee again I remember what I left on the bathroom sink two hours ago. Bleary eyed and still not quite all together there I pick up the pee stick of destiny. One dark line. And one not so dark line. I look at the “pregnant” picture on the box. It has 2 lines but they both appear dark. What does one dark and one light line mean? Am I only a little pregnant? Did I leave it out too long and some how magically a second line appeared? Could I actually, really be pregnant?

“Holy Crap! Tommy!”

He bolts out of bed like a fireman who’s just heard the bell. “I don’t know what this means?! I think I’m pregnant!”

I show him the pee stick and explain my two dark line/one dark, one light line conundrum. “I think this means your pregnant,” he says, a little too uncertainly for my liking.

Needing to feel 100% certain, I tell him I’m going to CVS to get one of those idiot proof pee sticks that says “pregnant” or “not pregnant” and because I was planning on working out this morning anyway, I startwalking there.

And because it’s still not 7am I have to stand outside the CVS with a few homeless people and the other creeps like me who are waiting for the CVS to open up. And because it’s CVS and not Walgreens, I have to ask the manager to unlock the “family planning “ section where condoms and lube reside next to the pregnancy tests.

And I run home, idiot-proof pee sticks in hand. Tommy’s hopping out of the shower as I pee on the stick. Then, he clad in only a towel, we proceed to argue about whether or not we will watch the flashing clock until it settles on the one or two words that could change our lives forever (his preferred plan) or walk away for 3-5 minutes and come back for the results (my choice). And then, as I frantically try to peel him away from the pee stick and into another room, the flashing stops.

Pregnant.

And suddenly Tommy has enveloped me in his trademark bear hug and life has changed in a moment. We have just gone from two to three.

Decade...

10 years is a big theme in my life right now. My 10 year class reunion is coming up this fall and already a facebook message page is abuzz with excitement, memories and suggestions for how to mark this momentous occasion. This month marks another 10 year anniversary in my life. In January of 2001 I committed my life to Christ. Strangely, despite the fact that I journaled about everything during this period of my life, I didn't seem to feel it necessary to record the exact time and date that I made that decision. So all I know is that it was in January...sometime in the middle I think.

I remember the moment quite vividly, despite it's lack of presence in my journal. I remember the dinner with Kyle in Panera, my lamenting about just not quite being ready to call myself a follower, his do you believe questions, my yes answers and Kyle's simple, obvious statement, "well Colleen, I don't know how to tell you this, but you pretty much believe all the core Christian faith beliefs." It was almost as though he were a doctor telling me that, in spite of my insistence that something was wrong, I was, in fact, quite healthy. And my response: "yes I know I believe all that, but something is still missing." I remember going home that night, sitting on the edge of my bed in my high school bedroom, the west wall a collage of pictures of friends and happy occasions. I remember the words jumping out at me, "what must you do to be saved? Love the Lord with all your heart and soul and body and mind. And love your neighbor as yourself." I remember my sudden, light bulb, Oprah a-ha moment realization- that's it? I can do that. I remember the instant message conversation with Byron, my dear friend who had been so Christ-like to me in his sweet, accepting love, later that evening, his exclamation points cheering me on in my decision. I remember telling my Christian friends the next day, tentatively, shyly, and my surprise at their excited, happy reactions. And I remember that deep knowing that now that I'd said it out loud, made that commitment, there was no going back. I was in it for the long haul.

That verse is somewhat ominous as I reflect back on my 10 years of loving God. My relationship with Christ has, at times, felt a lot like all of my high school relationships. Me, desperately trying to earn God's love, to be shiny and bright and good enough to catch his attention, loving Him from afar. Me, making a much larger deal than necessary of small, sometimes insignificant moments, almost as a way to prove or validate the relationship. Me, knowing this wasn't right, knowing I had the whole "Christian life" wrong, but unable to know how to fix it. Me doing all the loving, not really knowing or expecting to be loved in return.

In the last two or three years I've tentatively dipped my toes in the waters of another way with God. A more authentic, peaceful, true way. I've had real, significant moments when I've let Christ's love wash over me, transform me, fill me. I've heard the voice of God, clearly and beautifully. I've given myself more grace than ever before and I've found more grace in God.

In my 10 years with God those moments are unfortunately too rare. I so easily revert back to my old ways, resigning myself to this unhealthy relationship with a version of God I've created instead of living out a life giving one with the real and true Creator. I choose the dysfunctional relationship every time, out of laziness, or comfort or fear. I've likened it to holding on the the bumper of a speeding car, falsely believing I can control that car if I just try hard enough, when, in reality,the car is dragging me along, battering and bruising me at every turn. Letting go is to scary, however. The view of the back of the car is at least familiar; I don't know where I would end up if I let go.

And so I cling, getting more and more battered and bruised with each pothole and hairpin turn. The longer I hold on, the more faith I lose. The more I believe in my own abilities to make things work and turn this car around, the less I believe in the saving grace of God. And the further I get from that grace, the less I want others to know God. Why would I want others to get involved in this abusive relationship? Save yourself. Life with God is hard and painful and reward less. I'd get out but 10 years ago I made a for life commitment.

But my way of living is not life with God. And I need to let go once and for all. I'm half-heartedly worshiping a sadistic, abusive idol when I could be embracing the true God whose name is Love and is Grace personified. My hope is that as my 20 year high school reunion approaches I can look back on the last 10 years with God differently. I want to see a decade that has been rich with the goodness of God's grace, one that is marked with an understanding of just how much God loves me, not just how much I can beat myself up trying to love Him. I want this next 10 years to be thick with the presence of the one true God in my life. I want to overflow with all that I've received from Him. It's all there. God is waiting patiently for me to really see him. But first I need to end, once and for all, this unhealthy relationship with the fake God I've mistaken for the real thing all these years.

Buzz

I need that buzz today. That spark, that energy in my innermost being that is tangible evidence of my connection to my creator. Truth be told the moments I’ve carried that energy and fire around inside of me are few and far between. The last time was during this past advent. At the beginning of Advent I made a decision to make this year the year that I stopped flying through the Advent season buying gifts and attending parties without a moment to pause and reflect on what this season is really all about. I decided, partially, I think, because my son’s baptism coincided with the first Sunday of Advent, that this year I was going to do what Advent calls me to do: anticipate. I needed to be present in this season of anticipation.

So I did something both incredibly obvious and at the same time incredibly profound. I sat down to connect with God. This time however I wanted to try something different. I googled Advent practices and came across one from a church in Michigan. The Prayer of Examen. I liked it. It was doable. It is not new or fresh to the world. It’s been around for ages. But it was new and fresh to me. And just as I was discovering this new and fresh to me practice in my inbox an email hit with another Advent practice. The Lectio Divina. Another practice that is not a wild new idea but rather centuries old. But, again, to me it was new and fresh. And this email came from a leadership development group that provided me with four lectionary readings for the week. Four passages of scripture with which to try this new practice of Lectio Divina. So there it was. As though they had been sent from God himself, my Advent practices.

And the first few days were magical. God spoke clearly and beautifully to me through these ancient practices. I walked around with a sense of, dare I say, anticipation, excited for what God was and would be doing. I listened to others better, slowed down more often, and connected with God more throughout the day.

But then, as it often happens, life got in the way. I chose to spend my free moments doing chores, or watching reruns of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Each week I would get a new email with new lectionary readings. And for the first few days it would set me back on track, until I was easily derailed again. All in all it was probably the most intention I’ve ever given the Advent season. But it wasn’t all the intention I had to give.

Now we are weeks into a new year; Christmas has been boxed up and put away. And I am feeling the deadness that comes from too many days without a real and meaningful connection to God. I’ve tried those ancient practices again, but they didn’t have the same effect. I think it may have had something to do with my motivations for returning to them. During the Advent series I used these new practices to help me connect with God. And the byproduct was a sense of purpose and inspiration. The byproduct was the buzz. Now I am returning to these practices for the buzz, not the connection. I want the cheap thrill, not the deeper connection. I feel a little like an addict desperately trying to find that high again. To take the hit that will give me the buzz I so desperately need.

And I do this all the time. I find something in my walk with God that works that connects me to Him and makes scripture come alive. Then I turn this beautiful practice in to an idol. I return to it, not to allow myself to be present and filled with the love of my creator, but to feel the energy and anticipation that comes when I am deeply anchored in God’s love and purpose. I allow myself to believe that unless I’m doing this X practice, for X minutes, my time with God doesn’t count and isn’t worth even coming to the table for. I believe that this is the only way God wants to connect with me and if it’s not working it’s my fault and I have to keep trying until I can make it work or just walk away from meeting with God all together. And then, as you can guess, I always choose the latter and let weeks go by without any significant attempt to pray or read scripture or even really think about God. And then I feel dead and meaningless and short-tempered and consumed with the mundane. Until God, with grace I am undeserving of, finds away to present a new practice, a new way of connecting. And it is beautiful and wonder-filled until I go and screw it up again…and the cycle continues.

I’ve been a Christian for 10 years. And in those 10 years I’ve learned a thing or two about myself and God. One of those things is that I need variety in my walk with God. I need to change it up, to be present in the large AND small moments, to try new things and trust that God is there waiting with open arms for me. And in my best moments I do. But far, far more often I revert back to autopilot. Continue my horrid cycle of trying something new, feeling deeply connected to my Abba, turning that something new into an idol and pushing myself away from God. It’s insanity! Will I ever learn? Will I always struggle and work within this cycle. I have prayed countless times for God to break through. To create a change in me. Still waiting. Still plowing through. At least, I’m still trying.

Tossing my jersey in the fire...

Disclaimer: This post is being written frantically before Monster's nap is over. I am keeping one eye on the video monitor and one eye on what I'm writing. And I probably won't edit.

So I've been thinking a lot about the new year. And about who I want to be in the new year. More than any other year of my life, the events of this past year have changed me. I am not the same person I was in 2009. Just ask my husband. Motherhood has done that to me. Some changes have probably been good, I guess. I'm a bit of a mama bear. I'm more aware of the kind of home and world I want my son to grow up in. I have a love in my heart that I've never known.

But many, most, of the changes motherhood has brought about are not so good. I'm more impatient. I'm less aware of anything and everything that exists outside of Monster.  My sense of humor apparently got thrown out with the dirty diapers months ago and I'm still hoping that it's frantically trying to claw it's way back to me like those toys in the Toy Story movies. I am easily overwhelmed. I am, surprisingly, more selfish. I thought motherhood would make me more selfless but it seems that the constant attention to Liam and his needs has made me pretty selfish about my own needs whenever I am not attending to him. I carry a chip on my shoulder, harboring some constant level of resentment towards anyone who I think "has it better than me." I say and think really ugly things.

The change that bothers me the most right now is my self promotion to captain of the Blame Game Team. I am queen, captain, star player and water girl for the Blame Game. I am quick to blame, swift and concrete in my desire to cast all my problems on someone else. If things go wrong with Liam my gut reaction is to try to figure out who's ineptitude or inability is to blame. When I do something wrong I am scrambling to cast my blame net as wide and far as necessary. I forgot to return that movie? It's YOUR fault for asking me to do one more thing! I have enough to worry about without trying to cover your stuff too! I am sad/unhappy/overwhelmed because YOU aren't doing your job of making me feel better all the time!

I don't even know when I made this allegiance to Team Blame Game. I don't remember trying out. All of a sudden I'm deep in the thick of a heated game and I'm leaving a trail of chaos and hurt in my path. So my goal for 2011 is to quit this game. To say no to any requests to come out of retirement. To instead take up the practice of self reflection, panning through my days with an eye towards what's mine to own and accept.

During Advent I, inconsistently, practiced the prayer of examen. It's a form of prayer that takes you through the previous 24 hours, looking for what gave you gratitude, and what needs confession. This practice, when I remembered to do it, led me towards some of the most honest self-discovery. It led me to ask forgiveness from those I had hurt. It kept me out of the blame game. It is something I need to do every day.

As I look ahead to 2011 I desire to pray this prayer daily, in the hopes that it keeps me away from that tricky Blame Game. The Blame Game makes me focus all my energy on myself by giving all my attention to everyone else's flaws. The prayer of examen allows me to focus my energy on others by drawing my attention towards what's mine to own.

Things I Don't Do...

I was pretty profoundly affected by Shauna Niequist’s book “Bittersweet.” Her chapter entitled “Things I Don’t Do” especially moved me. Shauna writes about learning to give up some things in order to do the things you really care about. As I read her list I felt the liberation she must have felt in letting go. And my mind began to race with all the things I didn’t want to do…all the things I was suddenly free to choose not to do. It was exciting! Freeing! And slightly overwhelming. Some of these things were so deeply ingrained in my sense of self that it felt naked and vulnerable to walk away from them. I hold so tightly to the person I want to be, the better, shinier, more together person; letting go of some of the things I think I should do is inevitably tied into letting go of the person I keep hoping I someday will become. But I am slowly, carefully trying to let go of that person in favor of accepting the reality of who I am…and embracing that reality with all the grace and love I can muster. So here are the things I don’t do (and a few things I do).

I don’t consistently remember people’s birthdays and send them cards and perfect gifts. Sometimes, when the stars align just right, I have the foresight to anticipate the upcoming birthday in enough time to buy a card and get it out in the mail to arrive on said birthday. Most of the time, though, I realize it’s a dear friend’s birthday at about 9pm on the day of said birthday and frantically call before I’m officially deemed a crap friend. I love, love, love to send “just because” cards and gifts as the inspiration strikes and feel that this gesture comes from a much more authentic, and non- guilt driven place.

I don’t wear make up most of the time or leave my house looking 100% together. I used to before Liam was born. And maybe someday, when I know for sure that I can squeeze a shower in before 5pm, I will again. But in this season I’m ok with only the occasional cute outfit and blown out hair.

I don’t feel bad about my house, especially after I visit a house that is much better decorated than mine. The thing is, I don’t watch HGTV or decorate my house. If inspiration strikes I may find something cool to hang on that blank dining room wall, but only if I really want to- not because I just visited a home that is cuter than mine. Instead I just ask those friends with cuter houses to help me.

I don’t let a lack of time or desire to cook prevent me from entertaining or attending a party. When I want to, and the mood strikes I’ll bring a homemade dish, or make dinner for quests. Otherwise, take out or a bottle of wine is usually better than whatever I make anyway.

I don’t read things on the Internet that stress me out or make me feel like a bad mom/wife/friend/Christ follower. I don’t read things that leave me feeling anxious that I’m not doing something right or accomplishing enough with my life. This includes, but is not limited to facebook profiles and pictures, blogs, websites, and amazon.com reviews of books written by people my age that a may or may not have met at some point in my life. (For the record, this is a really, really hard one and I may or may not need some hardcore accountability on this one J)

I don’t hang out with people who make me feel like life is a race and I’m not keeping up.

I don’t confuse caring about other people’s feelings with taking responsibility for their feelings. Because I don’t take responsibility for other people’s feelings. Nor do I take responsibility for the things they refuse to speak up about on their own. I have the right and ability to speak up for myself when I am hurt, angry, sad, happy, frustrated or overwhelmed. Everyone else in my life also has that right. I don’t take responsibility for their feelings when they choose not to exercise that right.

I don’t spend a lot of time beating myself up for my imperfections. This is one of the hardest to let go of, and what I think I will be most tempted by. Sometimes I will forget that I don’t do this, but I will remind myself to stand in grace and move on.

I don’t feel guilty about the things I don’t do.

And now….what the heck to I do??

I love God and I work to make my life a song that makes him smile, laugh, delight and brag. I strive to keep Christ at my center and core and to continue to grow and stretch and change as he leads. I work towards remembering that life with God is cyclical and not linear, so at times I will appear to circle back while moving forward. I pray and read and think and write as acts of worship and means of growth.

I prioritize my relationship with my husband. I work to love him better, know him more intimately, serve him more selflessly, and believe the very best about him. I save energy, desire, laughter, and humor for him. And every once in a while, at 4:45 pm, I change out of the yoga pants and nursing tank I’ve been wearing all day and into something cute and stylish that I could actually leave the house in just so that he can come home to the version of me I would like the rest of the world to see…every once in a while.

I give my freshest, most focused energy into raising my son. I build forts and read books and spend as much of his awake time as possible engaging him and kissing him and making him laugh. And I fervently pray that he will grow to be a man of character with a heart that is sensitive to the holy spirit and the work of God, that he will be kind and loving and happy, that he will have a peace and contentment that comes from knowing he is loved first and foremost.

I take very seriously my role as wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, teacher and mentor. I give time and energy to nurture these relationships and love those who I have been blessed to have in my life. I create communities where I can and strive to bring a sense of God’s love and presence into my interactions with people throughout the day.

I try in large ways and small to leave this world better than the way I found it. I move the conversation surrounding racial reconciliation forward; I love justice and fight for it in as many ways that I can; I use my resources in ways that promote equality and fair, ethical practices; I try to educate myself and stay aware of what’s happening in the world. I recycle.

I stand in grace every day. Grace for others, and for myself. I hold these things I do and don’t do loosely, allowing myself grace again and again when I don’t quite meet the standards I set for myself. I hold expectations for others loosely as well, allowing grace again and again when those in my life are human.

Necklaces and Mom Friends

I have a necklace that I wear pretty much every day. Not being a necklace person, it says a lot that I wear this one so frequently. It was given to me by my sister, the kind of for no reason gift that she is so prefect at giving. A gold pendant engraved with the letter “L” hangs from a simple gold chain. It is simple, quiet and sweet. I added a tiny red ladybug charm from another necklace that I used to wear all the time. The L on the pendant stands for my son's first name. And the ladybug charm came from my “Colleen” necklace. One of my friends, a jewelry designer, created this necklace as part of her “C” collection. Each season she puts out a new collection of jewelry all named after girls, beginning with the same letter of the alphabet. The simple, very tiny ladybug charm on a simple gold chain was the Colleen necklace, named after me because I reminded Becca of a cute little ladybug. If the L pendant represents Monster, than that ladybug represents me.

I wear these two charms together on my new favorite necklace. But what people see first is the L pendant. It’s about 5 times the size of the ladybug, often covering it up when the ladybug falls behind the pendant. Then, if they are looking closely enough they’ll notice the ladybug. This necklace feels an awful lot like my identity right now. I have a five and a half month old. What people see first in me is motherhood. They see Monster, they see me as Monster’s mom. Then they notice the ladybug, the Colleen parts of me that existed long before Monster was even a thought in the back of my mind.

There is something about motherhood, like my “L” pendant, that is so totally eclipsing of everything else. And I can’t decide if I am going to embrace it or fight it. I love my son. I love him with more than emotion I can really adequately explain, more weight than I can truly feel, more energy than I thought I had. And we are connected in ways that are inexplicable to me. He seems to be able to sense me, moving ever so slightly on the video moniter when I walk in the door. When I’m nursing him his stomach grumbles, and I honestly can’t be sure if it’s his stomach or mine that is making the noise. “I” has become “we” in my vocabulary. “We’re doing well, thanks!” “We’re having a rough day.” And while there is beauty and wonder in this connectedness there is also a sense of loss. Am I losing myself? Am I losing the parts that make me Colleen in order to make room for all that makes me Liam’s mom?

I’ve made a few new friends since Monster came into my life. These are my mom friends. Mom friends are great. I’m pretty picky about my mom friends. For example, the transition into motherhood may have been sunshine and roses for you and you have nothing bad or hard or difficult to confess about those early weeks (months, years) of motherhood. If that’s the case, awesome for you, but we probably can’t be mom friends. I need people who are honest about the hard stuff, the negative stuff, the part that wasn’t sunshine and roses. So my mom friends are the ones who don’t make it seem effortless and easy. They’re willing to complain about the hard phases and don’t act like their little one was born from the perfection mold. Cause mine certainly wasn’t. Anyway, you become close to your mom friends rather quickly; similar life situations have a way of doing that. And most of these women would probably never be in my life if it weren’t for the fact that our kids are the same age. Kate is one of those people. She has lived 2 doors down from me for the almost three years we have lived in this house. And yet it wasn’t until Monster was born two weeks before her son that we even talked to one another. Now we text almost everyday, take our kids on walks together, and even leave the boys home with their dads while we go out for a drink. My husband was telling me that Kate used to be a sick field hockey player. Jordan, her husband, told Tommy, my husband, that when she was on the field she was always the best one out there. I didn’t know this about Kate. I don’t know much about her life pre- motherhood at all actually. I know about her son’s sleep schedule, his day-to-day activities, how Kate spends her time with him. But I don’t know much about who Kate was before she was somebody's mom. It makes me wonder what she doesn’t know about me, about who I was before I was Monster’s mom.

Right now the demands of being Monster’s mom far outweigh the time and space left to be me. It is this season of infancy that requires me to be Monster’s mom first. But what will be left of me, of Colleen, when my strongest identifier is not longer that of Monster’s mom? How do I embrace the fullness of motherhood and still fight its eclipsing nature? For me, these questions don’t stem from an issue of time and space to do the things I love. I have a job that I go to 20 hours a week and a husband who’s more than willing to allow me some “me time.” It’s more about the mental and emotional factors. How do I mentally and emotionally separate myself from my son? How do I mentally and emotionally let go of what his needs are, if only for a few hours, in order to take care of my own? Do I? Should I?

These are just some questions I’m wrestling with…