Radical is Radical

So I'm finally reading Radical.

Wow.

Ouch.

And, wow, again.

I decided a hot bath with chapter four would be relaxing and get me closer to achieving my goal of finishing one book this season.

Why is it that being a mom suddenly means I no longer finish books?

As a side note, let me just mention I've learned that Radical isn't a book you take to the tub if you intend to relax your mind. Nor is it a book to grab if you are hoping for someone named Calgon to take you away.

Instead, you might find yourself sitting upright, vigorously scrubbing away layers of both dead and live skin cells and hair follicles as you suddenly feel the need to run 42 miles except that it is 11:30 p.m. and you are naked because you are in the tub. Also, it is 33 degrees because Texas has finally realized it is DECEMBER. So, instead, you get all that energy gained from, "This book gets it!" and you turn it into exfoliating to the fifth layer of the epidermis (yes, I wikipedia'd that).

And then you might find yourself so connected to the book you start adding your own notes to the front and back covers of the book because the words are just pouring out of your heart. You don't even have to think.

So here is what I wrote (and more...because you know I'm wordy)...

So many years of restlessness. A deep-seated desire for there to be more. I was following "the plan" for my life. And I was happy. College degreed, married, living in the suburbs, going to church, having kids, etc. But something didn't sit right. Was I going to get to heaven and go, "Well, what was all that about?" Was I going to be hanging out with James at the banquet table and say, "Man, that was a great life. I tried not to sin, I forgave others, I cried for starving babies on t.v., I taught Sunday school and, get this, Jim...I even went on some MISSION TRIPS. I lived to be pretty old but I could still take my grandkids skiing. And, then I DIED IN MY SLEEP because that is the American Dream right there. Pretty sweet, huh?"

Awkward pause because James is just so in awe of the awesomeness of my life. To help him out, I ask, "So...how did you go, Jim? What was that? You died by the sword? Like a beheading?"

My turn to deliver the awkward pause.

Then I turn to my left and there is Abednego. And I can't really make conversation with him because, HELLO, he walked into FLAMES for God.

Thankfully, Luke is across the table and I know this guy was a doctor. I just know he owned my dream house on a lake. And Andrew is next to him. I remember something about him fishing and dropping his nets or something. I'm gonna guess he got some good fishing in once he retired from following Jesus.

But, seriously, when I think about the end of my life and I ask, "What was that all about?" I don't want to have missed the point. I spent many years feeling like, somehow, something told me life as I knew it wasn't it. There had to be more. We've got one life to live. Shouldn't there be more to it than the stuff?

But it couldn't just be that I had some need to be some kind of awesome. To live on the edge just so I could stand a little taller at the judgement seat or so I could feel important and have "an identity." A "legacy."

No, it can't be about me and simply filling a need for my life to count.

Instead, it's gotta be about His glory and His purpose. If everything is made FOR Him, then I am grouped in there. He sets eternity in the hearts of men. We all have that itch to do something with our lives. We all have that deep-seated something that says, "There's something much bigger than living and then dying."

I used to have a "go with the flow" attitude toward the American Dream. To do what was expected, to get to enjoy comfort, family and security.

No more.

I want to get to heaven and be able to say, "A-HA."

"So that's what that was all about."

Yep, He's Good...All the Time

Words you should never say to someone who's hurting...

It could always be worse.

Words I tell myself all the time when I'm hurting...

It could always be worse.

Ironic, huh?

Tyler failed a vision test at his three year visit last week. His left eye passed while his right eye failed three times. I knew something was wrong when he passed in one eye and failed in the other. It couldn't have been the equipment in that case. I figured the boys would one day need glasses if they inherited my blind as a bat vision. However, I had always hoped that would come much later in life - like at least 6th grade, when I first got glasses.

T's been diagnosed with astigmatism in both eyes. He can still see, though he has some slightly blurred vision. It turns out astigmatism is hereditary and the doctor assured me it has nothing to do with how many carrots he eats or how much t.v. he watches, but guess what we'll be eating more of and doing less of the next few months anyway?

The astigmatism only causes concern if there is a significant difference in the eyes. Over time, the brain will make less connections with the weaker eye. T's doctor wants to see him again in six months to see if the difference increases. If so, he will need glasses.

And while I think Aaden Gosselin is so precious in his glasses, I shudder to think of how life would be for T in glasses. Do they make titanium lenses and frames? Because has LensCrafters seen the way my boys rough house?! And who will wipe raindrops from his glasses if I'm not with him? (Because, you know, Dallas is like Seattle's long lost rainfall sibling.) Will he be wearing two inch thick lenses by the time he's ten?

I know I have to tell myself to slow it down. We have another six months before we'll know anything.

So, we wait. And pray for improvement or no change in his vision until then.

In the meantime, I'm very blessed to be surrounded by incredible friends. When I posted the diagnosis on Facebook, I wrote, "T has astigmatism in both eyes and will have to be checked in six months to see if he'll need glasses. Almost cried when I heard that because he's only three! But, I have to have perspective. There are so many mommas worried about their kids for bigger health issues. I will just pray that his eyes get better, not worse, in the next six months!"

Several friends soon posted about their experiences with glasses at a young age (and assured me glasses can survive boyhoodness). Others encouraged me with their prayers and some even shared that their vision improved with age. Man, I really do have great friends and am grateful for the time they took to post their thoughts. It means a lot when people care about your kids.

One friend's private message struck me the most, though. I love being challenged to consider things differently and have always respected Loren's outlook on life. What he said really gave me reason to reconsider how I was looking at this diagnosis. He wrote...

"Sorry to hear about T. I once had a conversation with Steph about her thoughts on the conversation piece that goes like this, "Just found out my kid is going to need to have .... I need to have perspective though because God is good. I know there are other kids out there with worse issues like cancer or ...."

What do you do when you're the parent whose kid has the "worse" issue? Do you always compare upwards to a "worser" (I know that's not a word) issue?

Point is - God is good no matter the issue. Whether my kid needs braces, glasses, or needs chemo, God is good!"

RICH stuff, huh? So good that I spent my whole shower and time getting ready pondering what Loren shared. It pretty much rocked how I've looked at trials all my life. I thought I was doing pretty good to have a Pollyanna-esque attitude about life in general. My college best friend and I even played the "At Least" game, similar to Pollyanna's Glad Game, anytime life gave us lemons. But, I'm now realizing I was way off the mark because I always stopped short of the bigger picture.

And that is that God is good all the time.

Because, as Loren rightly pointed out, there are some people battling terminal illnesses, parents who have lost children, babies dying because their moms can't feed them...for them, it's pretty much as bad as it can get. What do they get to say to themselves to gain some comfort? For them, it really couldn't be worse.

So, do we focus on what's not so bad or do we focus on what we know is always good?

After all that thinking, I've decided I'm reserving, "It could always be worse," for a bad poker hand, a bad haircut or an invasion of crickets.

But for the larger things in life, I will no longer tell myself, "It could always be worse." Instead, I want to give God the credit He's due for being faithful and in control and GOOD no matter what comes my way.

So, glasses or not for Lil T, I'm telling myself God IS good and He is good ALL the time!

(Oh, and stocking up on carrots, too).

If Your Seasonal Allergies Haven't Yet Wrecked Your Tear Ducts

Compassion International just had a team of bloggers in India. Despite finally watching Slumdog Millionaire last night, I've never wanted to go to India so badly.

Warning, there will be tears. People just shouldn't have to live like this and I am so grateful organizations like Compassion exist. Look at the eyes of these beautiful children and read more at http://www.compassionbloggers.com/.