Tag: faith

Press Pause

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My first married Christmas was miserable. Being young and naïve, Alex and I thought we could please everybody, so we woke up in Rock Hill to celebrate with my mom, drove to Lexington for lunch at his mom’s, and then trekked to his dad’s for dinner and gifts. By the end of the day, we were less Clark Griswold and more Ebenezer Scrooge. Truthfully, we were living our own version of Four Christmases without the benefit of Vince Vaughn’s jokes to lighten the mood.

The problem with the whole thing wasn’t that I was exhausted by the end of the day. I mean, that was pre-kids, when I didn’t need a daily nap and three cups of coffee. The problem was Alex and I couldn’t enjoy being at one house because we were anxiously planning our departure and worrying about getting to the next house on time.

As we’ve gotten older, Alex and I have gotten much better at making plans that allow us to enjoy each celebration without the pressure of getting to the next family, but it recently occurred to me, we might not be passing that know-how down to our boys.

Jackson is my mini-me, meaning he is all about a schedule. What can I say– I live my life by a bell. But when we were in Atlanta over Spring Break, I realized this characteristic wasn’t necessarily one I wanted to pass on.

Before we left for Atlanta, Jackson made an itinerary with our daily destinations, which was fun because it got us all excited about the trip. When we got to Atlanta, though, I noticed his schedule was starting to steal his joy. At the Georgia Aquarium, he kept asking about the upcoming Braves game; when we were at the Braves game, he kept checking my phone to see if we’d have time to go to the zoo after the game or if we’d need to save that for the next day; and when we were at the World of Coke, he kept looking at my weather app to be sure our trip to the zoo wouldn’t be rained out.

After about the third time he asked for my phone, I turned to him and said, “Can you calm down about later and just enjoy where we are?”

I immediately felt guilty saying that because I understood exactly where he was coming from. He finds comfort in the security of knowing what’s next, and that’s totally normal. I feel the same way a lot of times myself. But even though I understood his thinking, I didn’t want him to miss out on where we were by worrying too much about what was to come.

I read a quote a few year’s ago on a friend’s blog that said, “Be where your feet are,” and it’s stuck with me. Unfortunately, that idea is easier said than done, especially in a culture of FOMO. It’s easy to get caught up thinking about what we’re missing or what’s coming later, but what if what we’re missing out on isn’t an event happening elsewhere? What if what we’re missing out on is the experience happening right in front of us because we’re too busy planning ahead to notice it? Maybe that’s what we should fear.

When my brain starts getting ahead of itself and I lose sight of the here and now, I try to remember this verse from The Message version of Ecclesiastes 5:18-20: “God deals out joy in the present, the now.” I don’t know about you, but I like some joy in my life, making this verse a good reminder to stay focused on today.

Living life isn’t like watching a movie. We lose out on the magic of the moment when we try to fast forward. And since we don’t have the luxury of being able to rewind our lives, we can’t go back to relive a missed experience. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. So, let’s all take a minute this weekend to press pause, to find joy in the present, and to soak in the now, knowing tomorrow will take care of itself (Matthew 6:34).

Opposites Attract

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Growing up in Rock Hill, my friends and I spent a good deal of time right up the road at Carowinds, an amusement park on the South Carolina-North Carolina border. I had friends who had season passes to Carowinds. I had friends who worked at Carowinds. And I even had a friend or two who got banned from Carowinds.

Carowinds is known for its exciting rides, as well as its special events, but there was one other reason my friends and I thought it was so great . . . the recording studio. For a small fee, we could finally cut the demo that was going to bring us fame and fortune. And we knew just which song to record . . . a cover of Paula Abdul’s Opposites Attract.

Sadly, we never made it to the top of the charts with our version of the song, but it did make a lasting impression on me, mainly because I know it to be true.

Alex and I are definitely opposites. I like Clemson, he likes Carolina. I’m an early bird, he’s a night owl. I majored in English, he majored in finance. I don’t like for my food to touch, he mixes everything together (although I’m starting to think he does that just to freak me out). The list goes on and on.

But our biggest difference comes in our ability to talk to people, or in my case, my inability to do so.

Alex is an extrovert. He’s a greeter, a hand shaker, and a hugger. He’s comfortable in his own skin, and he gets energy from talking with others. This is what makes him a phenomenal salesman. The man could sell ice to an Eskimo.

I, on the other hand, struggled to sell Girl Scout cookies when I was little. I mean, y’all, that’s bad. Those things pretty much sell themselves. But I’m an introvert, and the thought of talking to strangers, and sometimes even people I knows, scares me and exhausts me all at once.

When we go to a social event, Alex jumps right in, while I like to hang back, hugging the wall and trying my best to be inconspicuous until I feel comfortable.

A few months ago, we were sitting in Sunday school waiting for the lesson to start, when Mr. John, the true backbone of SUMC, rolled in with the coffee cart. The guys at the door quietly welcomed him in and moved some chairs out of his way. Then, all of a sudden, Alex yelled, “Hey, Mr. John!” across the room, waving to him like he was landing an airplane.

I scrunched down in my chair, thinking, “Calm down. You’re so loud. Stop drawing attention to us.” I just knew everybody was staring at us, thinking we were weirdos.

Once everything was set out, Alex got up to fix his coffee. That’s when God sat right down beside me in Alex’s empty chair, gave me the side eye, and said, “You know, Katherine, instead of thinking about how Alex’s greeting made you feel, maybe you should think about how it made Mr. John feel.”

Nothing like being put in your place by the big man himself.

I didn’t have to think very hard about how Mr. John felt, it was written all over his face. He felt noticed, he felt appreciated, and he felt loved. Isn’t that how we all want to feel?

I learned an important lesson that day: I can’t control what people think about me, but I can control how I make other people feel.

Jesus went out of his way to make people feel welcomed. He talked to lepers, to sinners, to the lost, and to the least. And he really didn’t care what other people thought about it.

I would love to say I no longer care what people think about me either, but that’s simply not true. I’m a work in progress. Sometimes my fear still overtakes me. I revert to my shy side, and I don’t reach out the way I know I should. But I’m trying to be better. To step out of my safety zone and truly treat other people the way I want to be treated–welcomed and included.

To be more like Jesus, sometimes we have to do the opposite of what feels comfortable. For me, that’s making the first move and speaking to strangers, even though it makes me nervous. For you, it may be taking cookies to the new family down the street or talking to the homeless person at the grocery store or calling a friend to apologize.

It’s not easy to be vulnerable, to do something that runs counter to our normal, even when we know it’s the right thing to do. But let’s agree to put ourselves out there . . . we may feel weird, but we may also make somebody feel loved. And ultimately, that’s what we are all called to do.

Can You Hear Me Now?

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Growing up, I was a really shy student who never liked asking questions. I was self-conscious about my voice, and I didn’t want everybody to look at me. Now that I’m a teacher, I’m not quite as self-conscious about my voice, so I’ll ask questions when I’m confused. I figure I’m probably not the only one with the question, and even if I am, that’s okay, at least I’m participating. Teachers really like that.

So, when I was confused in Sunday school a few weeks ago, I assertively raised my hand and said, “This may be a dumb question, but what exactly is sanctification?”

One of my friends looked at me and said, “That’s a dumb question.” Or, at least that’s what I thought he said. So, being the sweet girl I am, I promptly quipped, “Shut up!” (We really are a loving group, I promise!)

The problem was, he wasn’t trying to bash me. What he actually said was, “There’s no such thing as a dumb question.” Dang! Poor guy was trying to make me feel better, and I ended up biting his head off simply because I misheard him.

Hearing has been a problem for me my whole life. When I was in elementary school, we were all sent to the school nurse, who administered a hearing test. I remember it vividly. The nurse explained we would put on a set of headphones and listen for a high or low tone. Depending on which ear we heard it in, we would raise the corresponding hand. If you’re a child of the ’80s, you probably know exactly what I’m talking about.

When it was my turn, I put on those huge headphones that were so big and heavy, they made my little eight-year-old neck wobble, and I waited for the beep. I waited and I waited and I waited. After about a minute, the nurse took off the headphones and gently began to repeat the directions to me. When she finished, I looked at her and replied, “Yes, ma’am, I understand what I’m supposed to do, but I haven’t heard a beep yet.” Houston, we have a problem. As it turned out, I did have some hearing loss and had to make a few trips to the local speech and hearing clinic.

As you can imagine, hearing loss is a bit problematic for an English teacher who likes discussions. I often have to ask kids to repeat themselves, especially now that I teach in a room without a ceiling to trap the sound (Yes, you read that correctly, and yes, it is as odd as it sounds). I find myself saying, “You’re not wrong, I just can’t hear you,” at least once a day.

I especially have trouble hearing low pitches, which makes it more difficult for me to hear and understand guys than girls. Pretty ironic, since I seem to hear all the guys in my house way better than they hear me.

But the voice I have the most trouble hearing is God’s.

It’s not that I don’t know what to do to hear His voice. I know I should pray about things. I know I should read the Bible. I know I should find time to be quiet. It’s just that sometimes I have a hard time discerning what God’s telling me. Sometimes I can’t figure out if I’m hearing God’s true voice, or if I’m hearing what I want Him to say. I find myself thinking, “Is this really what God wants me to do, or is this me pretending my desires are His instructions?”

I truly believe this whole problem could be solved if God would just hook me up with the burning bush I keep asking for.

In the meantime, I have found one practice that helps me hear God’s voice. Research has shown that immersion is one of the best ways to learn and understand a language, so over the past few years, that has been my strategy for learning God’s language. By reading devotions, studying the Bible, listening to sermons, singing songs, and talking with trusted friends, I have tried to give myself more opportunities to hear His voice and feel His nudges.

One of the best examples of this strategy working happened last summer. In July, I wrote a blog post for Columbia Moms Blog about my doubts and fears about expanding our family. I was leaving the AP Summer Institute in Charlotte the morning it posted, and as I was walking to my car to head back to Columbia, I got a text from a close friend who had read the post. As a new mom of three herself, she encouraged me that I could handle it and suggested I listen to Zach Williams’ song Fear Is a Liar. I read the text as I was getting in the car, and when I cranked it up, that exact song was just coming on the radio. I was so stunned, I couldn’t even back out of my parking space. It was a moment when I knew God was talking to me, telling me not to be afraid, assuring me that He was with me. Most of the time, I think God probably sounds a lot like James Earl Jones, but that morning, He sounded a little bit sweet Southern girl, a little bit Christian rocker.

When I was little, one of my favorite shows was The Dukes of Hazzard, which is where I learned the phrase, “Got your ears on?” It’s CB radio speak to make sure the person you want to talk to is listening. These days, I say it to the boys when I really want them to pay close attention. It’s funny because they’ll say, “Yes, ma’am,” and then hesitantly touch their ears just to be sure they’re still there.

None of us will probably ever have a burning bush, but that doesn’t mean we can’t hear God’s voice. God can use words, music, and people to transmit His messages to us. We just have to tune in to the right frequency and have our ears on, ready to listen.

Is there something you do to hear God’s still, small voice? Do you have a practice that helps you discern His message? I’d love to hear it!

Distracted by a Donkey

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Every year on Christmas Eve, our church has a live nativity as a part of the Christmas Eve service. We start in the sanctuary, and as the Christmas story is read, various characters join the scene. This year, Alex, Brooks, and I had the honor of being Mary, Joseph, and Baby Jesus, while Jackson and Reeves were excited to be shepherds.

The best part of the night is always after the service when the nativity moves to the front lawn of the church, and we bring out the live animals: sheep, cows, and a camel. This year’s scene even included a baby donkey. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a baby donkey, but let me tell you, they are super cute.

Yet, as I watched everyone “ooh” and “ahh” over this baby donkey, I started to get annoyed . . . and maybe a little jealous. I mean, there I was, holding the Christ child—played by the cutest baby ever, if I do say so myself—and nobody was paying us any attention. All eyes were on that dumb donkey.

I turned to Alex and complained, “Man, Al, they’re looking at the wrong baby!”

And then it hit me. How often do I look at the wrong baby? How often am I the one who loses focus? How often do I take my eyes off of Jesus?

Let’s be real—it’s easy to get distracted in today’s world. I get preoccupied by social media, episodes of my favorite TV shows, and good books, just to name a few. This week alone, I’ve been so wrapped up in helping the boys make their valentines, I’ve completely neglected my Bible study.

Even when I try to focus on Jesus, my mind often wanders. I start to pray, and the next thing I know, I’m making my grocery list. Or, I start reading a devotion on my phone, and before long, I’m Googling why Cardi B. was so mad after the Grammy’s, she shut down her Instagram account.

I have good intentions, but I end up going down the rabbit hole, and pretty soon, Jesus is the last thing on my mind. And that’s when things start to get rough.

The boys love the story of Peter walking on water. Reeves thinks of him as a superhero with special powers, kinda like Aquaman, I guess. While there is special power going on in the story, it’s not coming from Peter.

In the story in the book of Matthew, Peter, a little skeptical of Jesus’ appearance on the lake, asks to walk on the water toward him. Things are going great for Peter . . . until he takes his eyes off of Jesus. When he looks at the wind, he becomes afraid and starts to sink. Immediately, Jesus reaches out his hand and saves Peter.

I can feel the same thing happening to me when I pay more attention to everything swirling around me instead of focusing on Jesus. I start to feel overwhelmed, like I’m drowning in my to-do list, my commitments, my fears. But when I take time to just sit and be still, to listen to a favorite hymn, to read and study the Bible, I get a sense of calm, a feeling of peace. He saves me from drowning in all that “stuff” when I turn my eyes to Him.

My distractions change from day to day, but, thankfully, God doesn’t change. He’s always there, constant and consistent, waiting for me to regain my focus.

The live nativity was a fun experience for my whole family, one I hope the boys will always remember. But for me, it was more than that. For me, the memory reminds me to stay focused on the right baby all year long.

Floating on Faith

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Did you know a search on Amazon for “parenting books” will yield over 60,000 results? These books will come from a wide variety of experts, like Dr. Spock, John Rosemond, and the American Academy of Pediatrics, and they will have a wide variety of titles, everything from Parenting with Love and Logic to Duct Tape Parenting. (I have to admit, I’m dying to read that one!)

The majority of these books seem like they offer good advice and would be good places to turn with parenting questions. But you know where I’m not looking for parenting advice?

The Old Testament.

Think about it. There’s the story of a mom who convinces her son to take advantage of his dad’s failing eyesight and steal his brother’s birthright. Then there’s the story of a dad who favors one son so much, his brothers end up hating him and selling him into slavery. If you ask me, these people aren’t making the cover of Parents magazine anytime soon.

But the one that really gets me is the story about the mom who puts her baby in a basket and floats him down a river. Not only was this river notorious for crocodiles, but I’m pretty sure that basket didn’t come with a 5-point safety harness.

When I hear the story of baby Moses, I’m often overcome with the same incredulousness Reese Witherspoon has in Sweet Home Alabama when she looks at her friend and says, “Look at you, you have a baby . . . in a bar.” She knows what she is seeing is totally inappropriate. And I feel the same way toward Moses’ mom–“Look at you, you put a baby . . . in a basket.” It’s like, “Ma’am, what made you think that was a good idea?”

But after almost 2,555 days of this mom gig, I’m starting to understand where Jochebed was coming from.

There’s no doubt in my mind that Moses’ mom loved him with all of her heart. She wanted what was best for him, and she was ready to do everything in her power to protect him, even if it meant hiding him in reeds along the bank of the Nile.

I can’t imagine the fear she must have felt, knowing her son’s life was at stake, but I do understand the stress of trying to do the right thing when the outcome isn’t exactly clear.

As parents, we often live in the land of uncertainty. My friends and I seem to be in a period of parenting where we’re faced with some big questions every day. Questions like Which school should we choose? Does she need a tutor? Should he see a psychologist? These are big, important questions, none of which can be taken lightly.

One decision Alex and I are struggling with right now is whether or not to hold Reeves back. To be honest, this is a question I’ve debated ever since he was born on August 22, so close to the September cut-off date. There are so many things to think about . . . I worry holding him back could negatively affect his self-confidence. I worry that because of his size, he’ll stand out like Gulliver in the land of the Lilliputians. I worry we’ll hold him back unnecessarily, and then he’ll get bored academically. Sometimes, I go way off the deep end and worry this one decision could make or break his entire school career.

It’s so easy to overthink each situation and get caught up in the “what-ifs.” But imagine if Jochebed had done that. If she had spent too much time going back and forth, debating the pros and cons of her options, Pharaoh’s men would have been at her door, and Moses’ fate would have been sealed. Ultimately, she had to make a choice and have faith in her plan. At some point, we, too, have to make the best decisions we can with the information we’ve been given and then let them float on down the river.

Most days, I feel like for every good parenting decision I make, I probably make two bad ones, but thankfully, there’s good news. God works in every decision we make, the good ones and the bad. Even when I make a mistake, God can take my mess and turn it into a miracle. After all, being sold into slavery was what allowed Joseph to end up in the position to save his family from starvation.

Parenting is hard work, no doubt about it. As I continue to make decisions for the boys, my prayer is that my faith will overcome my fear, and like Jochebed, I’ll take comfort in knowing God is steering my boat.