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Posts Tagged ‘Music Man’

My high school band director used to call me SOC, meaning stream of consciousness. These days I prefer something I saw on Pinterest: “I’m not random, you just don’t think as fast as me.” 🙂 Here’s a series of random thoughts over the last few days.

Last session, the Not-So-Casual Observer and I talked about my fear of/issues with laziness. After a crazy week with far too little rest, the Music Man insisted that I take a nap this afternoon. I was prematurely awakened by a crying child but kept willing myself to get up and not waste the day. Then I dozed. I thought I heard MM coming up the stairs, and I realized that I was trying to appear awake even though I had indeed been sleeping, not wanting to be unprepared.

Sooo…apparently I need to work on that issue. My Facebook status update said something like, “Hate it when something your therapist has been trying to tell you just smacks you in the face in the middle of your Sunday afternoon.”

 

In other news, we take communion almost every Sunday at my church. At our old church we only took once a month, and I’m surprised that how much it’s come to mean to me to be able to do it weekly. Yesterday, my communion cracker stuck in my throat. And I thought about this thing, how the Gospel is just so darn hard to swallow sometimes. I mean, is it just me?

 

I think the Music Man’s job is getting to me. I realized this morning that he’s home to see the children a maximum of 12 hours per week. That’s madness in my book. That means in the four months marching band season lasts, he’ll see the children for a total of about eight days. So in a third of the year, he’ll spend less than 7% of it with the brood. I am not dealing with this well. At all.

Aaannnd, there’s your random update. I’m getting dressed to go to the gym in an effort to mange some of the stress. Well, and to be “off duty” for two hours because it’s the last time I’ll have until Wednesday night. Details.

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In James 5, we’re told to confess our sins to one another and pray for each other so we may be healed. Here’s my confession.

Last night I went to the ancient worship service at my new church. It’s an acoustic, antiphonal service by candlelight. The first hour was lovely. After that, all 100 ish people were called around the table for an Upper Room feast of grape juice, bread, meat, cheese, olives, fruit for communion.

I stood in the back of that group and realized that there was no one I knew well enough to stand by. The Music Man stayed home with the kids because my Radiant One is teething and clingy and miserable, and he wanted me to enjoy the service and not worry about my little love. It was hard to see everyone go off in groups and pairs to chat, celebrate the eucharist, and love on each other. I sat in the back and watched.

If I’m being honest, I went this year as a yardstick. I don’t want to forget what this feels like, being an alien. I felt like the Lord spoke that next year at this service, I’ll be well attached, and I’ll be the one looking for new people who aren’t connected. Let it be so. And since I’m being honest already, I went into the service with a heart that’s bleeding because of the things going on in my life. That said, I wanted to worship because it’s the only thing that makes hard times better. God is still God, there is always a reason to worship Him.

But as I was leaving, I thought my heart was going to break right there in front of everyone. I actually pressed my palm to my chest to keep everything inside of my from shattering and tumbling out, to keep my own blood from pouring out right there in the lobby. It’s messy, this feelings business.

And so there’s the 300 word introduction to my confession. Here’s the good stuff. I came home and had a glass of wine. Then another. And half of another to finish the bottle of moscato. So I opened the shiraz and had another glass. Four full glasses of wine in under an hour. For the second time in my life, I drank enough to get pretty tipsy, and I liked it.

Now, for “normal” people, that might not be a problem. But when you’re in some pretty deep water, in intense counseling, working on FEELING (boo, hiss), and have alcoholism in the nearest branches of your family tree, drinking to get drunk and actually enjoying it is not ok. I confess that it’s not ok.

None of the therapizing, please. I know things are hard, and I was coping, and God is not a teetotaler, and what have you. I screwed up. I own it, and I don’t want to do it again.

After all, “confession is not saying ‘I did it and I was wrong,’ it’s saying, ‘God said it and He is right!'”

“And do not get drunk with wine, for that is dissipation, but be filled with the Spirit.” –Eph 5:18, NASB

Updated to add: This was my devotional from Max Lucado today. Apples of gold in settings of silver…

“Before the nail was pounded, a drink was offered. Mark says the wine was mixed with myrrh. Matthew described it as wine mixed with gall. Both myrrh and gall contain sedative properties that numb the senses. But Jesus refused them. He refused to be stupefied by the drugs, opting instead to feel the full force of his suffering.

Why? Why did he endure all these feelings? Because he knew you would feel them too.

He knew you would be weary, disturbed, and angry. He knew you’d be sleepy, grief-stricken, and hungry. He knew you’d face pain. If not the pain of the body, the pain of the soul … pain too sharp for any drug. He knew you’d face thirst. If not a thirst for water, at least a thirst for truth, and the truth we glean from the image of a thirsty Christ is—he understands.

And because he understands, we can come to him.

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Wow, it has been a packed week! Three birthdays to prepare for (my Joyful One is turning THREE tomorrow!), the baby isn’t letting me sleep (nearly delusional from deprivation), and the usual busyness of life seems to be overtaking me. And y’all know about counseling, which is already kicking my butt. Things are just a bit tough all around. Not bad, just complicated.

Anyhow, on Thursday God woke me up at 3:21 am. I prayed, I sang worship songs to myself, I watched my baby’s sweet face and murmured mama love to her for three hours. Somewhere in that time, God spoke that we were about to leave our church, the ONLY church I’ve belonged to as a believer. He showed me a picture of deep roots, gnarled together, knit tight. Community.

My first thought? “Um, no.” Seriously, I thought I was losing it because I’ve been just so sleep deprived. Not wanting to miss what God might choose to speak to me, I asked the Music Man to be listening for anything the Lord may want to tell him during the day.

He came home and said, “I feel like I’m supposed to ask you if we’re changing churches.” Gulp. Well, ok then. We were in agreement, but felt we needed to wait for one more confirmation because it is such a hey-uge decision. It came first thing Sunday morning.

We discussed a list of possible churches, and the top of the list is another Vineyard church, just 30 miles closer (each way) to our home. On paper, this close Vineyard looks perfect. There’s just one leeetle issue, and that’s that the “new” possible church is the church the Not-So-Casual-Observer belongs to. So she and I will have to have a chat to discuss what that would look like.

After church, I went into a meeting with the women’s ministry team and was absolutely blown away by what I heard. Ransomed Grace just came out and asked if I had anything to say to the team. I told them what God was saying to the Music Man and I, and time stopped as I awaited her answer.

She said, “Well, the reason I’m not upset (I was crying by this point) is that God’s already told me that it’s time for your family to live in community. And I think you’re supposed to stay in the Vineyard. Community. Vineyard.”

Did I mention that the church we’re most considering is called the Vineyard Community Church? I see God’s fingerprints all over this situation. I’m giving up my leadership position, my teaching, essentially all my service, but I have perfect peace.

I’m so sad, but feel like this mourning is a good thing. I’m feeling something, and that’s better than I was doing when I started counseling four months ago.

We went to talk with our pastor today, because we feel strongly that we should not leave our current church without his blessing. I want to be sent out, for there to be no question that we’re following God’s call. I want my old pastor and my new pastor to be able to have a chat about where we fit into church life. I feel like I finally understand why the Bible says “A good name is better to be chosen than great riches.” I care so much about maintaining my good name, and want to be bridge builders within these two churches.

After talking with Johnny, the plan is to do a week on and a week off at a new place, then talk with him about how we feel after we’ve gotten the lay of the land. This is sacred ground here, and I want this to go exactly the way God wants it to.

We’re so excited, even though this comes at great expense. Please pray that God would help us know that we’re home the minute we walk in the door, and that our kids would transition seamlessly.

It’s time for a new adventure!

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