What's in a Name?

A few years ago I read a devotional book called "The Prayer of Jabez" by Bruce Wilkinson. I have long since given away my copy of the book, but the prayer has remained with me. I actually have it taped Rocky-style to my bathroom mirror for encouragement. The Scripture reads:

Now Jabez was more honorable than his brothers, and his mother called his name Jabez,saying, “Because I bore him in pain.” And Jabez called on the God of Israel saying, “Oh, that You would bless me indeed, and enlarge my territory, that Your hand would be with me, and that You would keep me from evil, that I may not cause pain!” So God granted him what he requested. 1 Chronicles 4:9-10

As I studied this Scripture, I was struck by the connection between Jabez's name and the cry of his heart. Jabez means pain. Consider that for a moment, his very name means pain. For whatever reason, his birth was surrounded by pain. It could have been the physical pain his mother endured or it could have had another meaning. Perhaps his father died before his birth and his mother was speaking of that loss. We don't know, and the Bible doesn't say. But we can see in his prayer, the only mention of this man in Scripture, that his name deeply affected him.

In verse 10, Jabez asks God to keep him from causing pain. That vocabulary is not a coincidence. Jabez knows the meaning of his name. He knows he was birthed in pain and he has carried that legacy through his entire life. As he cries out to God, he asks the Lord to help him rise above his name. He wants to be more than he has been told he can be.

Haven't all of us been there? We've been labeled, categorized, told what we're capable of or what we can be. The world wants to name us, to force an expectation (or lack of one) upon us, to tell us that the circumstances of our birth...our background, our income, our education, our job or any one of a thousand other external realities...will forever dictate who we are, and who we can be.

But that isn't how God sees us. God has a new name for us, a name that He Himself will give us. "To him who overcomes, I will give some of the hidden manna. I will also give him a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to him who receives it." Revelation 2:17

Jabez cried out to God and asked Him to change the identity the world had given him. His heart cried, "My name means pain, all my life that's who I've been known as, someone who caused pain. I don't want that. I don't want to live according to this name. I want something different."

We don't have to remain in the box the world says we belong in. We don't have to bend under the weight of the pressures the world lays on us. We are not limited, defined or relegated to the names the world gives us. Man, woman, stay at home mom, single father, abused child, convict, addict, victim, rich, poor...none of that matters. God Himself knows who we really are. He knows who we can become with the strength of His love and power operating in our lives.

If we cry out with a heart like Jabez, a heart that seeks something more, God will hear us and just as He did for Jabez, He will grant us our request.

Mom Fashion

First, let me say I have never been a super trendy kind of girl. I have some vague idea of style and current fashion, but I don't pay much attention to it. Never have. Even back in those high stress fashion times of high school, I was never exactly fashion conscious. Oh I had my pegged Guess jeans, big hair, blue mascara and Swatch watch (did you figure out this was the 80's yet?), but that was the extent of my fashion obsession.

And once I hit college, it was pretty much the same thing...I mean the lack of trend stalking craziness, not the big hair and blue mascara, I got over that phase. Now that I'm older and (somewhat) wiser, I'm still a little off the fashion radar. I'm a fan of snazzy shoes, cute purses and jewelery, but I'm usually trying to match those accessories with jeans and a black shirt. Not exactly runway material, but it works for me.

So, given my relatively easy going fashion ways, you'd think it would be pretty hard to offend my sense of fashion rightness. Well, I'm here to tell you that it can be done. Just last week I had a fashion emergency that would have made Tyra Banks run for the hills in her stiletto heels. And there was nothing I could do about it.

See, I have recently become involved with a new organization. I'm in leadership with this organization and as such I am obligated to wear their official shirt when representing the group. Which was no big deal...until I put the thing on. Holy Crocs, Batman! It's soccer mom style gone bad. I love this group and I love being a part of it, but when I threw on the over-sized, shapeless, bedouin tent-like official polo shirt with the required khaki pants, I nearly kicked myself off the runway. I kid you not, I looked like a tacky cruise director...or the annoyingly perky girl who sells gym memberships. It was bad. I may not know fashion forward, but I sure can identify fashion backward when its staring at me in the mirror.

I tried to salvage my dignity with some funky silver earrings, cute sandals (even though it was raining), and a big bracelet, but there was no hope for this uber-mom outfit. It was so scary that when I walked into the living room even my darling husband laughed and promptly took a picture of me.

And yet, because I love this group and the ministry it does, I grabbed my purse and walked out the door with my head held high (and eyes frantically scanning the street for people who know me). But I spent most of the day plotting the sparkly eyeshadow and bright nail polish colors I would wear the next time I had to put on this outfit...which by the way is tomorrow.

Computers and Swimsuits

Yep, I'm in trouble...again. I sure have some loyal, and slightly frightening, readers. And they know where I live. (See Shelly, I'm typing, I'm typing!) So let's skip the mea culpa and get right to my latest adventure.

This past month my adorable pink laptop started acting up. I love my pink laptop. I love everything about it, so I felt a deep sense of betrayal when it started to freeze, shut down and send me nasty error messages. I was good to this laptop...unlike it's predecessor where I actually divotted the keyboard with my fingernail driven typing style. Personally, I think it was a wimpy keyboard, but that's beside the point. I treated Pinkie the laptop well and this is how she repaid me.

So when Major Dad came home for a weekend visit, I mentioned that my computer was acting up. Now this phrase is the computer geek equivalent of waving a red flag in front of a perpetually irritated bull, so he scooped Pinkie up faster than my kids grab candy and got to work. Not five minutes later Pinkie sputtered her last breath and gave him the blue screen of death.

And because I am a kind and supportive wife I immediately said, "What did you do?"

So the next day we packed up the kidlets and went computer shopping. Sigh. I detest, despise and dread computer shopping. It's right up there with swimsuit shopping. Both make me feel like a clumsy hippo in a ballet class. No fun at all. Major Dad however, as a professional computer dude, loves it. Best Buy is like Disneyland for him. So as I'm dragging my feet across the parking lot and asking questions like "Is Pinkie really, REALLY dead or just mostly dead?", Major Dad is skipping happily toward the big blue Best Buy building (in a manly, Marine Corps way of course).

And Major Dad drags me straight to the Mac section and starts showing off all the cool Apples goodies with an annoying twinkle in his eye. Meanwhile I'm fussing and grumbling and generally being a big baby about it. I didn't like the Mac Books because of the keyboard set up (the keys are too far way for my little elf hands) and the sharp edges on the casings. Yes, that was my reason. When I tried to explain that to Major Dad he blinked in stunned disbelief a few times and then told me I could get any computer I wanted...even if it was a PC (though I'm pretty sure he nearly choked on the words).

Well, no luck that day. So we went home and had a long talk that night about what I want and need a computer to do (not die would be a good start) and we went back the All Things Electronic haven the following day.

So now, my friends, I am mostly happy to say that I am typing on my brand new....iMac. Not a laptop, but it has an awesome monitor and a cool new track pad. And hubby says if I divot this keyboard it will be easy to replace. Of course getting a desktop computer meant rearranging three rooms in the basement, moving a desk and emptying, relocating and refilling four bookcases in order to get it in the right place. And guess who did the heavy lifting? It wasn't intentional revenge, but it did make me feel better.

You Know It's Going to be One of Those Days When....

You misspell your own name. Twice.

I feel like I could just leave the post like that and move on with my life, but you, my dear and faithful readers probably deserve more of an explanation than that. Otherwise you might really start to worry about me.

So I sat down today at my trusty pink laptop (yes, it is pink) and prepared to dutifully write a post filled with encouragement and inspiring faith-filled...uh...words. Right, lots of awesomely strung together words. I typed all my super-secret info into my Blogger log-in page, my mind whirling with the many possibilities of the aforementioned awesome words, when I was suddenly confronted with Blogger's "Nope, wrong answer" message.

It's actually a much more professional message, something along the lines of "We're sorry, your username and/or password are incorrect so you will not be allowed to enter this highly sensitive world of tossing random opinions into the universe under the cover of anonymity until you remember who you are and/or locate the coffee stained napkin you scrawled your password on." You know, something like that.

So with a grumble and a sigh I looked at my username, which happens to be my email address, and realized that I spelled my name wrong. My own name. Fabulous. So after a furious click-clacking of the backspace button, I re-entered my info and was was promptly denied. Again.

"We're sorry, you're still wrong. Clearly the burden of remembering one more username and password is too much for you. May we suggest that you legally change your name to log-in and begin tattooing passwords on your arms so you no longer have to rely on a memory that is slowly being eroded away, even though we're pretty sure you still remember most of the lyrics to The Facts of Life theme song. Feel free to try again, but we're pretty sure you're going to embarrass yourself again."

Anyway, after that little pep talk, I looked again at what I had typed and realized I had misspelled my name. Again. My real name. Sigh.

This time I typed like a little old lady drives...with my head hunkered down over the keyboard, watching each finger type the keys.

And voila, success. And now all of you get to laugh at my expense. Although in fairness to me and my melting brain, it was my last name. Which I got from my husband, I mean I've only had for like 11 years. It's not like I forgot how to spell my first name or anything.

PS...Is The Facts of Life theme song stuck in your head now? Sorry.

The Potter's Work

I recently finished a devotional series that talked about Jeremiah 18. This passage of Scripture tells the story of Jeremiah visiting a potter's house and receiving a word from the Lord while he watched the potter work clay on his wheel.

"So I went down to the potter’s house, and I saw him working at the wheel. But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him." Jer. 18:3-4

I've read this passage many times and in the past I often focused on a relatively positive theme that we are the clay in the Lord's hands and He is shaping us according to His will. But this time, as I read this passage I was struck by verse 4. But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him. The potter was attempting to fashion the clay into something, but the clay resisted and the potter had to abandon his original purpose for the clay and make it into something else.

How eye opening that should be for each for us. God has a purpose for us, He has a design in mind for us and He is constantly shaping and molding us into that design. But if we resist His crafting hands, if we refuse to submit to His shaping, if we remain hard and stubborn, attempting in our own way to force the potter to shape us into what we think we should be, He may have to abandon His plan for us and allow us to be something less than we could have been.

We all instantly get the message when we hear something like, "can the clay tell the potter what to create?" And we think we get it. But how often do we resist the refining and shaping hands of God in our lives? How often do we question His techniques when the shaping becomes uncomfortable, even painful? Perhaps, we never come out and question His right to be the potter, but we certainly question His techniques.

But we are only the clay. We can't see beyond the spinning wheel we're sitting on. We may think the potter's hands are too hard, too demanding, asking too much of us. But the hands that shape and mold us, are the same hands that keep us from falling. God has a design for us, He has a purpose for His clay and if we submit to His shaping, then we will one day become something glorious for Him.

Life Changing Moments

So during these past two months of radio silence, in addition to painting my nails a wide variety of occasionally questionable colors, I also got to introduce my young and impressionable children to the greatest of all great films...the Mt. Everest of movies, the epitome of entertainment, the dark chocolate of the dessert world...that's right folks, my kids have now seen Star Wars. And not just the original Star Wars, but the entire series (with the exception of a few parentally edited moments in Episode III). Can I get a woot, woot from my fellow Star Wars fans? After you finish chiding me for allowing my daughter to go 8 whole years without seeing the wonder that is Star Wars, of course.

See, we had a rainy week and Major Dad was gone and I was desperate for a distraction. When it suddenly dawned on me...aha! Star Wars. And sure enough, these kids must be genetically related to me because they were both hooked after the first scrolling words drifted across the screen. So we spent an entire weekend sitting in a darkened living room, living on popcorn (with movie theatre butter of course) indulging in a Star Wars marathon. So much fun! But here's the best part...

Picture this...Ella and Jack sitting spellbound watching The Empire Strikes Back, a bowl of popcorn between them, light sabers flashing as Luke bravely battles the evil Darth Vader when suddenly Vader says in that haunting James Earl Jones voice, "I am your father."

"Ahhhhhhhhhhh!" That was Ella squealing at the top of her lungs. "No way! Mommy, Mommy, MOMMMMMMMMMMYYYYY! Did you hear that?"

I of course was laughing like a fool. That was my favorite part of the movie, just watching Ella's reaction to the big news. And it cracked me up, it was like watching someone's entire world view change. Like that one bit of iconic information, that one massive movie twist totally changed her perspective on life.

Now, I started typing and then deleted several sentences on the deep meaning behind these life changing moments, about their rarity, about the way we receive them, or not, and what we choose to do with them, about how easy it is to let them slip away or how we can relegate them to a youthful memory and forget the brief moment of passion and clarity we suddenly felt. But I think I'll just leave it there.

And I could go on and on about the philosophical subtext of Star Wars, but I won't. I will add that my second favorite part of our Star Wars marathon was when my kids decided that of all the characters, I'm Yoda. Hummm, happy am I.

As Honest As It Gets

So once again I have apparently abdicated my heavy blogging responsibilities. And once again I have been stalked, harassed, badgered, cajoled and teased for not posting. And yes, once again I'm very, very sorry. Bad blogger (smacking my hand). So what's my excuse? Don't have one. I honestly couldn't think of anything to say. Which is weird, I know, since there are people who actually pay me to write stuff. Go figure.

See, Major Dad was gone for a month on a training exercise, and it rained...alot...so the kids and I were stuck inside and I just felt overwhelmed in general. So my pet blogging project got shuffled repeatedly to the bottom of my to do list. And honestly the bottom of my to do list is the equivalent of chore Siberia. But, because I currently fear for my blogger safety (I'm looking at you, Shelly!) and because my darling hubby won't stop teasing me about being a slacker...here I am, ready once again to bring laughter and wisdom and adorable anecdotes to the blogosphere.

Sooooo...um, let's see. Well, there was this time, uh....hmmm...oh, I found this great site, wait no I didn't. Nope, I got nothing. You know what I've been doing these past 2 months? Painting my nails and making chocolate desserts. That's right, life in the fast lane, people.