Top 10 Things I Wish I Could Give Up for Lent

Top 10 Things I Wish I Could Give Up for Lent

What I gave up for Lent has not been a rousing success. Here's what I wish I'd given up instead.

This year I decided to give up snacks for Lent. With my efforts failing more often than not, I’ve come up with a long list of what I wish I’d given up instead.

10. House cleaning. This one I would willingly doing for Lent and beyond.

9.  Being an unpublished fiction writer. I’m working diligently on this one. But parts of accomplishing it are beyond my control.

8.  A sentimental attachment to stuff. My closets would be much happier if this had been my choice. Plus, it would make #10 more feasible.

7.  An illogical desire for a swimming pool. It’s a luxury I can do without and an unwanted, extra task since the Man of Steel’s take on it is, “Go ahead and do it…as long as you’re the one who cleans it.”

6.  Messy closets and dresser drawers. See #8.

5.  Impatience. Except I want to give this one up immediately, as in right now, rather than spend 40 days grinding away at it.

4.  Self-righteousness. Mom used to call it a tendency to pat myself on my back. But there’s more to it than that. Like a tendency to elevate myself at the expense of others. A tendency I wish was easier to shake.

3.  Guilt. The unfounded, irrational kind that sucks away energy that could be better spent on lifting others up rather than mentally beating yourself down.

2.  Worry. The ever-present companion of all parents. Even after their kids are grown, gone, and on their own. The slightest sniff of distress in their lives and the worry meister rears its ugly head.

1.  A divided heart. Each time we or friends and loved ones leave, whether from town to town or from this world to the next, my heart breaks. A piece of it is left behind where we once lived or travels on with those leaving me behind. Forty days of Lent spent contemplating what Jesus gave up for the world are not enough to repair the brokenness, nor should they be. Instead these 40 days call me to contemplate the glory yet to come. The eternal day when all who hope in Christ will be reunited and every divided heart will be made whole.

What do you wish you’d given up for Lent? Leave a comment.

Fantastic Friday: What Have I Gotten Myself Into?

Fantastic Friday: What Have I Gotten Myself Into?

John Jolene GainThis post from 5 years ago caught my eye while searching the Gravel Road’s archives. Why? Because this April our family is celebrating the birth of a grandchild, I’m attending a conference in Virginia right now, and I’m looking forward to a book release on April 27. Events as momentous as the events of April 2010 which included…well, you’ll find out as you read this week’s Fantastic Friday post.

Yeah, that’s me in the back row with the oh-no-what-have-I-gotten-myself-into expression. The other two are my brother and a cousin. There’s another cousin kneeling in front, but I can’t get her to show up. (Sorry Nell!)

When the good people at Discovery House Publishers emailed on April 13 to say they accepted my proposal for Different Dream Parenting: Raising a Child with Special Needs, my response was similar to the one in the picture. It was the day after we returned from our son’s wedding so my energy level and brain functions were nil at the time.

Needless to say, it took awhile for the news to sink in. Once the old brain cells revived, my first response should have been of the whoop-and-holler-of-joy variety. But no. It was more of the what-have-I-gotten-myself-into and why-did-I-think-I-could-write-a-book-on-this-subject variety.

After a few calming breaths and some positive self-talk, the panic subsided, at least until I printed off the chapter summary that was part of the original proposal. After reading the plan written last December, panic returned, along with self-doubt. I felt as poorly trained and utterly inadequate for the task at hand as I had each August of my twenty-five year teaching career.

But over the next several days, God calmed me down, patted my head, and held my hand. Every Bible passage I read was about how God prepares his people for his work. Every book I opened contained valuable resources. Visions of experts and parents I’ve met in the past few years – many since Different Dream was released – came to mind.

“Write them down,” a voice whispered inside my head. “Make a plan.”

I started a list of people, books, websites, and organizations. In minutes, the list was two pages long. Their expertise matched many of the subjects to be addressed in my book, though a few holes remained. In the next few days, previously unknown experts appeared on my radar screen. The timing was uncanny.

The voice in my head was clear and insistent. “You’re not in this alone. I’ve spent my life preparing you to do this. You take the logical next step and leave the rest to me.”

Living by faith. Writing by faith. That’s what I’ve gotten myself into.

Let the adventure begin.

That Perfect Scar

That Perfect Scar

That Perfect Scar

Guest blogger Stephanie Ballard stays busy caring for her son with heart-related special needs. But as February, also known as Heart Month, drew to a close, she found enough time to pick up a pen and write a poem. It’s a poem to her son, who had heart surgery as a tiny baby, and lives with a perfect scar on his torso. If you’re the parent of a child who had early surgery, you will want to have a tissue ready before you go any further.

The Perfect Scar

Sometimes I have those moments
When I think…life’s just not fair
Then I think of all you’ve been through
And I see the scar you bear.
A faded line right down your chest
Made with such careful precision
We wanted you to have a chance
Could there be any other decision?
And so I trace that “perfect” scar
Made with the utmost care
And I realize there is purpose
Behind this scar you wear.

What have you taught us?
You’ve taught us how to face a storm
(Some things are just out of our hands)
Life has no handy guidebook
(Things don’t always go as you’ve planned)
People come into our lives
(Sometimes it is just for a season)
But God brings them into our lives
(And I know that He must have a reason)
Normal, uneventful days
(The kind that we always hoped for)
These are the days I say, “Wow, God!”
We just never know what lies in store.
If I can place a feeding tube,
Without even getting distraught
Perhaps, maybe, I might be
Much stronger than I thought.
It’s okay to be afraid
And it’s all right to cry
It’s okay to feel lost sometimes
It’s even okay to ask…why?
You face life with courage
(Knowing God set you apart)
Every little thing you do
You do with all of your heart.
No crystal ball exists for us
(To see us through each strife)
We only have one wish for you…
An ordinary life.

You’ve taught us to love one another
(Helping each other to cope)
You’ve taught us compassion for others
You’ve taught us to never lose hope.

You already have quite a story
Which you can someday share
And I can see it’s beauty
Behind that scar you wear.

~Stephanie Ballard

Does Your Child Have a Perfect Scar?

Are you the parent of a child with a perfect scar? Have your years parenting your child revealed a purpose for what your child has gone through? Leave a comment in the box about what you’ve learned…or perhaps are still learning from your child’s perfect scar.

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Stephanie Ballard is the mother of two sons, her youngest son, Braeden, was born with Kabuki Syndrome and congenital heart defects. Her oldest son, Colin is in the military. She enjoys writing poetry and life lessons about her journey in life.

Author Jolene Philo

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Fantasic Friday: Impatient People Like Me

Fantasic Friday: Impatient People Like Me

Gap in the CloudsFriday on this Gravel Road means it’s time to dig through the archives for a past post worth another read. This one hails from February of 2013. Reading it was a bit discouraging, as it showed my impatience hasn’t increased much in the past 2 years. Anyone else suffer from this affliction? Leave a comment R-I-G-H-T N-O-W so we can start a support group pronto!

This past Wednesday was not a good day.

First, I was supposed to meet a friend for coffee in the morning and because I’d written the time down wrong, got there a half hour late. Being an impatient person, I hate to keep others waiting.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

After working on a blog post for over almost two hours, it refused to come together the way I wanted. Impatient people like me don’t have time to waste spend almost two hours on a single blog post.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

The google chat audio feature was malfunctioning on my computer, so I missed an online meeting in the afternoon. Impatient people have no patience with technical glitches.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

A publisher rejected a piece I wrote for a devo Bible being compiled by a friend. Not only that, the publisher wanted extensive citations (including book page numbers) for a half-dozen quotes for other pieces I’d written. Impatient people don’t enjoy skimming long books to find page numbers.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

Hiram spent all afternoon trying to file our income tax with Turbo Tax. He’s usually pretty patient, but after several hours of online chats with Turbo Tax experts and two phone calls, he was a little cranky. Impatient people like me think we’re the only ones with a right to be cranky.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

The cold Hiram’s been fighting for two weeks came back with a vengeance that night. He ran a temperature again and coughed all night. Which didn’t sit well with a woman who needs plenty of sleep in order to be patient.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

The worst of it was this. I woke up Thursday morning and realized impatient people like me spend all their time looking at gray skies. We are so focused on the gloom, we don’t even see the gap in the clouds and the sun streaming through.

Impatient people like me forget they have
friends to visit,
blogs to write,
a computer that functions flawlessly 99.9% of the time,
writing projects to complete,
income tax refunds to file,
and a husband whose job provides sick leave and excellent health insurance.

Yes, that’s the worst of it.

Dear Father, forgive me for not slowing down to look for the gap in the clouds. Forgive me for focusing on the gloomy clouds and missing the joy of the Son. Please teach me to be patient…as quickly as possible. Amen.

Choosing to Draw Near When Crushed by Special Needs

Choosing to Draw Near When Crushed by Special Needs

Choosing to Draw Near When Crushed by Special Needs

The past few months have been difficult for guest blogger Rebekah Benimoff. She’s here to explain what kept her from giving up when hope for her son with special needs was nearly gone.

Choosing to Draw Near When Crushed by Special Needs

Tonight was spent searching.

Searching back over ramblings from this medically-intense journey, rereading lessons learned along the way. Stories from past seasons jog memories, and rather than linger, I kick against the goads. Another diagnosis has been added, and I am already stretched thin. I know that each new diagnosis must be grieved, worked through. But I’d rather be where I was, in a place of schedules and simpler uncertainties. I’ve come so far, still I have much to learn and live out.

Again I am caught in a crossfire of medical chaos. Unanticipated? Not really. Unaccepted? For sure.

Drawing Near to God Who Sustains Breath When Crushed by Special Needs

No parent wants to watch a child suffer. A mother’s heart is pierced by her child’s pain. Pieces of me cleaved and torn again, old fears resurfacing along the way. For years I’ve spent my days carefully guarding a sometimes fragile life–a multitude of moments seeking to accept that it is God who sustains breath while I am stretched to find balance in the roles of caregiver, teacher, nurturer. A new label has me asking Have I done this well? Not perfectly, for my flaws are gaping still, but well?

Some days, yes. Other days I am a mess and must simply trust in God to fill in the gaps in my mothering.

Drawing Near to the God of New Beginnings and Special Needs

Years ago, I wrote of new beginnings:

I am finding that faithfulness is a choice. It does not happen by chance. I have been stretched; this choosing has not “come naturally”. It has taken a great deal of effort to concentrate on keeping the commitment, especially when I have little energy left. Sometimes I have to grit my teeth and push myself to step into Him. I am finding that as I shake off the slumber, even when I am dead tired, my soul is alive in Him. I am learning to make a conscious effort step away from the things that He is calling me out of, and instead make the choice to advance into Him. To go deeper still.

I am struggling to return to the habit of exercise. In past seasons I’ve found release and much relief in movement. Yet now I am tired, worn- physically as well as emotionally. Again I find I must fight off lethargy, shake out of the bleariness of soul and body. I do not want to get up.

Drawing Near to the God of Simplicity and Special Needs

I want to recover. I want to find respite in old comforts, take my mind off the fears and the stresses, and simply enjoy shopping or indulging in a delicious delicacy. I’ve been fighting this battle for so long, and I just want a little luxuriating along the way. In my heart of hearts I know ribbons and treats are passing pleasures which offer only temporary contentment. Still, I find myself climbing up to the altar while looking for a ram caught in the thicket; I want a way out. I want simplicity to return to this jagged life–I want wellness and wholeness and relief from the struggles that consume my schedule and my energy.

As my lack of control comes to light, fear rises.
I am propelled forward, each step permeated by a numb distress.
I press on, uncertain of the outcome.
Prayerful in one moment, resisting in another.
Longing to be cradled, yet too worn to climb into a tangible embrace.

Drawing Near to the God Who Is With Me and My Son with Special Needs

I know God is with me, yet struggle to hear the soothing Voice–a whisper threading through sadness and yet another loss. Unknowns are daunting, new treatments bring uncertainty. Again I have a choice: Will I struggle through alone, or allow Love to draw near?

Years ago, I reconciled to this: It is very important be obedient so that I can be drawn deeper into Him. So I get up and propel myself into my prayer closet… On the floor, kneeling before the space heater, draped in a Snuggie, the Lord and I meet.

Now, in this season, I have another opportunity to surrender and draw near. I am so tired. I don’t know how to get to the place where I am no longer afraid to lose my son.

Again it is time to fight for wellness, to propel myself into the only true, safe place–God’s heart, holding me in the midst of pain, sorrow, even grief and fear. I grasp the truth that He is the gift in the suffering. I cannot know the future, nor can I control the present. Yet I do know the only One who is Comforter and provider for me- and my precious son as well.

How Do You Draw Near When Crushed by Special Needs?

Have you ever felt like Rebekah? Do you feel like her today? Right now? How can you draw near to God in this dark time? What do you need to make it happen? Leave a comment if you wish.

Do you like what you see at DifferentDream.com? You can receive more great content by subscribing to the quarterly Different Dream newsletter and signing up for the daily RSS feed delivered to your email inbox. You can sign up for the first in the pop up box and the second at the bottom of this page.

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Rebekah Benimoff is the wife of a husband with PTSD and the mother of two young men, both of whom grew up with medical and special needs. She blogs at In the Chaos…. and In the Calm (justmemama.blogspot.com).

Author Jolene Philo

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