Have you ever noticed how many stories start out with a description of a main character in a happy setting until something interrupts the plan? Adam and Eve hanging out with God in a garden, Joseph growing up in a big family with an adoring dad, Abram minding his own business in Ur…people going through their normal existence, BUT THEN…
Having studied architecture my first two years of university, I have always been a fan of Frank Lloyd Wright. The spaces he created still evoke emotion. His designs were purposeful without being sparse or brutal. There is a calm warmth that invades my soul whenever I see a “Wright House.”
Even before I became a follower of Christ, I knew what my biggest sin was (as if there’s a “small, bigger, biggest” chart of sins—but you know what I mean): I was the kid who was always looking around at everyone else and pointing out what I didn’t have. My friend got a new bike, I wanted a new bike! My sister got to stay up late, I wanted to stay up late! The kid in the newspaper article got a citation for calling 911 when he noticed the neighbors’ house on fire, I wanted a citation . . . ! The list was endless. Envy took up a lot of space in my life.
How well do you handle criticism and unwarranted attacks from others? I’m not a fan. I’d love to say that I am able to easily put others’ words into perspective, let go of what is not true, and ask for God’s help when there is truth in their words. I’ve taught this idea before, but when I am the one under the gun, all my great advice flies out the door and the monkeys come running in.
A few years ago we started dreaming of the possibility of renovating our 1970’s kitchen. Last fall we pulled the trigger and ordered the new cabinets. So exciting! Early in January, we started demolition (yes, we’re doing this all ourselves)–pulled down all the “bulkyheads” (as we like to call them) and tore out all the old cabinets. Goodbye 1970! We were making room for the new. So exhausting!
When our daughter was growing up, she hated birthdays. While the presents were fun, she would often cry, lamenting that her age number had changed. She mourned the loss of her clothes that she had outgrown and felt that throwing anything away was a betrayal. Even at two, when it was time to give up her pacifier, she cried and said, “I don’t think I’ll make it, Mommy.”