How I became me

She Magazine: June 2009

Once upon a time, there was me. And I felt forgotten by God. Overlooked. Neglected. Abandoned by Him. And I didn’t think warm, fuzzy things about Him. As a little girl I experienced some deep hurt and some super negative church experiences at the hands of some harsh and cold church people. I was a little person with no use for God, and you don’t undo that very easily…

And so it was as a thirteen year-old that I first heard that God loved me at Centrifuge youth camp at North Greenville College. I went for the boys. I went because of my friends. I went for a week away from home, but I left having made a new Acquaintance (and snagged a new boyfriend from Dothan, Alabama).

But the ten years after that were rocky for me and Him. In fact, I am the picture in the Illustrated Bible for Matthew 13:5-6. In my case, the Seed fell on the rocky places; "it sprang up quickly because the soil was shallow. But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root." My claim to Christ was not rooted in faith. There was a lot of heart stuff going on (emotions) and a lot of head stuff going on (I began to attend discipleship classes), but there was no root. So when life as a teen and a college student got wild, so did I. I had enough of Jesus to keep me out of hell, but that was absolutely it...

And so knowing that Jesus loved me was cute and all, like the song, but that in and of itself meant very little in the day-to-day living of my life. The knowledge of it was kinda like applying a band-aid to an amputation; it didn't do much to heal the gash that was in my soul. I did believe that He loved me, but I wondered why He had not loved me before I was thirteen. My adolescent understanding deduced that He started loving me because I bought what He was selling. First, you drink the Kool-Aid then you get the goods: His affection, His protection, His forgiveness, etc... I bought it, but it didn't all jive with me. I remember sitting in a youth retreat in Garden City, and we were anonymously turning in questions to our youth pastor to discuss as a group. My question was - Why do bad things happen to good people? I was deeply disturbed by who I thought God might be. In my brain He was punitive and selfish and partial and powerful, and to me that was a pretty scary combination. His love was manifest when He withheld punishment that I deserved, which is true but it isn't the only manifestation of His love. I had a super-limited understanding of God's character and that tripped me up for years.

There was an absolute disconnect between what I wrestled with in my spirit and in my heart about God and how I lived. In fact, I honestly remember praying for forgiveness in advance of going out to drink way too much (by the way I do now understand that isn't how forgiveness works). I showed my fanny for a good eight years before college graduation saved me from myself by removing me from the environment that promoted my destructive behaviors.

Chris - who was not a believer at the time - suggested that we (as a new couple) start attending church regularly because that's what respectable people did; it was a great way to meet people, and it was the right way to start a work week. God took full advantage of having us for an hour a week and began to till the soil of our hearts for future planting; give that Fella an inch and He'll take a mile every time.

We added Sunday School to our repertoire when we moved to Flotown, and God just kept drawing us in ever so slightly and slowly - almost imperceptibly. And we were willing to be drawn. In large part because God had surrounded us by people who were like us but who loved Him. They were willing to say, "I need Jesus because I totally screw it up on my own!" and we could identify with that. Chris made a new Acquaintance, and we became inchworms for Christ - inching closer and closer to Him, in very small increments, mind you.

I quit teaching after Carson was born and attended my first women's Bible study, after all what in the world was I going to do all day? I was born to be a student; I love to be a student. It's why I became a teacher (because no one would pay me to be a forever student, and teaching was as close as I could get. I still got to be in the classroom, smell books, and use newly sharpened pencils). So, I took seriously my role as a Bible student. If the teacher challenged us to pray in the middle of the night in a headstand (which she did not), that's what I did. I totally think God was humored by my desire to obey and please.

It was in those Beth Moore Bible studies that she gave me permission to be honest with God; she began to press on my gash and whispered to my soul that He was big enough to handle it. And the truth bubbled to the surface. I was angry with God. I was a twenty-eight year-old mom who was angry. With. God. So I put on my big girl panties, and gritted my teeth, and pointed my finger in the air, and began asking the hard questions – Where were you when I was a little girl? Why didn’t I enjoy your protection? How can I trust you? What kind of God overlooks a precious little girl?

And it was there - in that place of brokenness - that the fullness of our relationship began.

And it was as if He said in perfect tenderness, "Thank you for asking; I've been wanting to talk to you about this for a long time."

This conversation occurred in the midst of a study entitled Believing God, and part of the homework was to create a timeline of my life. By answering a host of probing questions, I was to revisit every stage of my life and document how God had been present all along. I fully expected to find no evidence of Him in my early years, but one of the dearest things He has ever done for me was allow me to literally see His fingerprints all over my childhood - mostly in the amazing people He strategically placed around me. He gave me favor with some of the kindest people I have ever encountered, and He loved me through them since I was not in a healthy church situation nor was I in the company of compassionate believers that much at all. The older couple who kept me while my mom worked (sometimes until 9:30 at night); I was their favorite. The family who owned the rental house my mom and I lived in was so good to us. My third grade teacher; I was her pet. Two older ladies who cared for me in Marion. My Nana and Poppa (my new grandparents). He used their arms to hug me; their hearts to love me; their voices to affirm me. He gave me two parents who thought I hung the moon; in retrospect I am allowed to see that there was no shortage of love and there was no absence of God.

With regards to the pain of those years; He assured me that He was as angry and as saddened as I was. He reminded me of His justice. He had not chosen that pain for me, but He had allowed it for this very day - that I might share His faithfulness in the face of life's ugliness. Through my study of His Word, He promised to heal me, to make me healthy, and to use it all for my good and His purposes. If I would allow Him to...

I have.

I was blown away to discover that I had been wrong about Him all along. This life-changing experience piqued my interest to know Him, to know His character, to know His heart. I got real with Him and stopped trying to pray the right things because that's what I thought He wanted to hear; as if He didn't know what a liar I was. It's hard to get really real, even with your own self, but He is safe. He is gentle, compassionate, slow to anger, ever present, abounding in love, all knowing, attentive and involved, patient, perfectly good, perfectly faithful. He has never not kept His Word, and there is no darkness in Him. The Bible is full of His promises of love and hope and peace and joy and comfort, and He has never dropped the ball on a single one.

About the time all of this wildness was going on inside me, a most bizarre thing happened. I never saw it coming. I was really starting to love Jesus and enjoyed learning more and more and more. One Sunday morning the Sunday School teacher called Chris, who was the SS director for our class, and announced that he was sick and was unable to teach in forty-five minutes. That meant that Chris would have to step up; I volunteered to do it because I had been a teacher by vocation. I could barely swallow past the lump in my throat, and I thought I really might throw up. I was the terribly quiet one in class each week who got really nervous about even making a comment (I know that is too far-out there to even believe). I taught that day - with great trepidation and stammering- and burst into flames right before the class (not literally although that's a pretty cool image). I discovered my life purpose in that cinder block room. I am most alive in this world when I am speaking or teaching or writing about His goodness and His faithfulness. I love it like nothing else.

I can tell you that He has healed my marriage of past sin and past hurts. He has taken every hurt in my life and used it for good. He has allowed me to pray some of the biggest prayers my tiny brain could conceive of and then answered them a gajillion times bigger than I dared dream. He has blessed me with people in my life who push me to be more like Him. He has permitted me to see Him change people's lives, and He has blessed me with a passion that my skin can barely contain! I just may burst...

And that is not to say that I don't get discouraged, distracted, angry, impatient, disinterested, self-absorbed, apathetic, etc, etc, etc... I am still flawed, weak Cookie who screws it up regularly. Now I'm just well connected. To. Him.

Tidbits

• I have a new favorite verse, and I'm claiming it as my life verse forever and ever and ever: Psalm 66:16- "Come and listen all you who fear God; let me tell you what HE has done for me."


• I'm going to Kenya for Thanksgiving!


• I am just recognizing that I have a god-complex where my children are concerned. In error, I believe that I am completely responsible for their happiness, their safety, and their health (spiritual, mental, emotional, and physical). That's dangerous bidness right there, 'cause that faulty belief system will leave me carrying a mountain of guilt for any unpleasantness in their lives. That's gonna be a hard one to give up, though, 'cause I feel like I should bear the weight of that responsibility. Repeat after me if you are feelin' me at all on this one, "We do not need to be the gods of our children's lives. He is perfectly able to do that Himself. We want them to know that He loves them more than we ever can. He's got this thing. I do not!"


• I don't really dig having the body chemistry that attracts every biting insect known to man. I am a sight these days! Kenya Fear #74: MALARIA! Though I will be taking malaria meds before, during, and after we go.


• How in the tarnation have I forgotten how much I love 10, 000 Maniacs, Otis Redding, James Taylor, Annie Lennox, Tracy Chapman, Rod Stewart, and George Strait? Shame on me!


• I always carry a Ziploc bag of Sweet'N Low in my purse.


• I recently learned a brilliant piece of information. Absolutely astonishing! If you sprinkle baby powder on your arms and legs after playing on the beach, the sand will easily brush off. COMPLETELY! This is one of those tidbits that just makes me happy, and I've already tried it at the beach. It's the stuff!


• I get spastically excited about buying school supplies - definintely brings out the nerd in me!

Heavy Mettle

I am staring in the face of a hair appointment tomorrow - and I may have to bring the girls with me (YIKES!) Made me remember that I never posted my Mother's Day article for SHE.

I knew better. I KNEW BETTER. But I did it anyway.

Chris was out of town, and I was feeling ambitious. I committed the unthinkable. I committed myself to an afternoon of appointments and errands with my six and three year-old daughters. I knew better. I realize that to some of you that’s no biggie, but to me it was a ghastly adventure.

I ran over people at Carson’s school to snatch her up and dash to a hair appointment across town at 2:30. Thanks to my turn on two wheels into carline, we were actually a few minutes early for our first appointment. Both girls sat angelically to have their locks shorn, and that, my friends, was the high point of the afternoon. After a potty visit and some quick check writing, we barreled to another section of town for a 3:00 visit with our dentist – where Carson and I were having our teeth cleaned and checked.

In my own utopia I had imagined that Carson would go into her own exam room, and we would be cleaned and examined simultaneously. Of course, Campbell would perch still and silent and watch with grave interest as I was the patient. Okay, so that didn’t happen. Carson was called before I was, so she finished just as I was getting started. She joined her sister in the room with me, and to say that there were way too many Cawthon girls in one exam room would be a gross understatement. I lay back, stretched my mouth open as wide as I could, my dental hygienist (if you are reading, I plead for your forgiveness! I learned my lesson, I promise!) began inserting her instruments into my mouth, and the melee began. I started to sweat and pray for a speedy cleaning. Campbell began beating on the foot of the dental chair, causing my head at the opposite end to bounce a little. Carson began to totally unpack my purse while wearing the requisite attitude that accompanies my obnoxiously large sunglasses. Then they began to fight, push, and argue over my personal belongings. My dear hygienist tried to ignore the fray, and I tried my hardest to teleport to another continent. No such luck, so I halted the cleaning, sat up, and informed both of my precious ones that certain punishment awaited them in their very near future. They were at least tolerable for the remainder of the visit.

So I slunk out of the office wearing mortification like a weighty backpack and loaded my offspring. Acknowledging that I was at least partly to blame for attempting such an asinine afternoon, I refused to sink even lower in my own estimation by picking up fast food for dinner. We proceeded to the grocery store. Okay, I’m not completely an idiot; I issued the standard lecture in the car before we disembarked. I reminded them of their looming consequences – which proved to be a tactical error – and off we went. Somewhere half way through our shopping, they threw all caution to the wind and embraced the certainty of their punishment. We were a sight! Without an ounce of brain power or dignity left, I grabbed only the bare essentials for our dinner and breakfast. All else would have to wait. I pulled into a checkout line and exhaled, knowing the end was near. If I can just get home I’ll be okay, I thought. At about which time, Campbell, who is seated in the spacious part of the cart, leans over and puts her hand on the cart in front of us and bellows quite loudly, “MOVE IT, LADY!” Oh no she didn’t.

Oh yes she did.

The lady turns around and replies, “I would if I could.”

“CAMPBELL CAWTHON, YOU APOLOGIZE TO HER RIGHT THIS MINUTE!” I declared with my head shaking in fury and shame; it threatened to make a few complete revolutions as my ire intensified.

“Oh, she’s fine. I have grandchildren their ages, and you just need to enjoy this time while they’re young.” Sometimes, easier said than done, sweet friend (if you are reading, I plead for your forgiveness! You are an angel, and I so appreciated your gracious response and your sense of humor!).

Somehow I made it through the next couple of hours and finally settled them into bed. Spent in every way, I flopped onto the couch and sat numb in the silence. What was that? I finally asked myself.

That, in all honesty, is how some days go for me as a mother.

At the end of some days, I feel like I did a pretty good job. At the end of others, I think I was just adequate, and then at the end of a few, I cry.

It’s hard.

When we trade in that high-dollar purse for a big, bulky though highly functional diaper bag, we need room to carry a lot more than diapers and wipes and bottles and pacies. We need room to shoulder the universal guilt of being a mom. We feel guilty if we work and are away from our children most of the day. We feel guilty if we stay at home and find it difficult, tedious, and sometimes even unfulfilling. We might also need to haul our exhaustion, our caffeine addiction, the extra weight we’ve gained from running ragged, our tears (happy and not-so-much), our embarrassment, our impossible expectations for ourselves, and sadly sometimes even our own judgment of each other. What a load!

But that’s not all. We also need room for all of the awkwardly spelled love notes and the brightly colored pictures. We need a separate compartment for the tears we dry, the boo-boos we kiss, and the snapshots we cherish of them sleeping, smiling, or performing when they don’t know we’re watching. We need to tuck their wet dog smell in a side pocket to help us remember spring afternoons spent running in the sun; we want to capture their tight squeezes around the neck in a zippered pouch, and there needs to be a special canister in the side that can be filled with their laughter.

I absolutely love being a mommy, and I wouldn’t trade a solitary second of my time spent with my girls. But it also often feels like a Herculean task. I find balance between the difficult and delightful in the reality that motherhood is meant to change me as much as it is meant to change my children. I find beauty in that.

The Spiritual Benefits of Tom and Jerry

The past few summers have provided the same quandary each year. When my routine changes, my spiritual discipline is quite disrupted. Well, this week I decided to return to one of my favorite books of the Bible - Psalms. So, while my girls' brains turn to mush on a regular diet of Tom and Jerry and Penelope Pitstop in the mornings, I am trying to ingest something more nourishing. I am taking a day or two or three and chewing on one psalm and journaling questions, thoughts, other related verses, etc... I'm less than a week in, but I have been quickly reminded how much I love His Word! Makes me ask the question that so many of us come back to time and time again - Why do I choose junk over sustenance, distraction over transformation, and sloth over growth?

So, I may come on over every now and then and share some of my thoughts, questions, etc..., and I would love for you to join the conversation. Nothing structured here. No expectations. I'm not committing to anything here :-) (most of you know all of this noncommittal mumbo-jumbo is for my own benefit; otherwise I'll freak out like a wet cat).

Psalm 1

Heavenly Father,

May I truly and genuinely and really delight in your law and meditate on it day and night. I want to be a tree planted by streams of water who bears fruit in its season and whose leaf does not wither. I want whatever I do to prosper because I am so immersed in Your will that You can bless every thought, action, word, and deed as it brings you immense glory. May I not forfeit knowing You and serving You and pleasing You by walking in the counsel of the wicked, or standing in the way of sinners, or sitting in the seat of mockers. Your Word is powerful and You are glorious! Please allow all distractions to fall away that I might live with a singular focus - YOU! Please watch over my way and strengthen me as a warrior princess for YOU!

KENYA!

Chris recently returned from a ten-day trip to Kenya, and we have fallen in love!