Enchanted Rock

The kids asked me how I wanted to celebrate Mother's Day, and I told them I wanted to go to Enchanted Rock.  They were thrilled with my selection, and we took off early so that we could hit the trail before there were too many people.  (Sometimes during the peak season- which is now- Enchanted Rock actually closes due to too many visitors.  It's a cool place, but it's also very popular.)

When we pulled into the parking lot, Carsten, my born hiker, said, "This place is sooo AWESOME!"  Everyone agreed.  Nathan and Megan are the only ones who have been before, and the others were very impressed by their first sight of the massive rock.

I packed Austin into the backpack.  He's usually pretty good about tagging along that way.  Steffen, on the other hand, has been a bit of challenge on our hikes.  This time, we had a BIG talk ahead of time.  I impressed the whole "celebrating Mother's Day" thing on him, and then told him we were going to walk all the way to the top with no stopping and no whining.  I wasn't particularly confident about my powers of persuasion, despite the fact that I promised him a snack at the top, so I brought along the front pack, just in case I ended up having to carry both the little guys.

All the kids started off with a will.  There were already a good number of people making their way up.  The great thing about Enchanted Rock is that it's almost impossible to get lost.  You can look up and see exactly where you're going (though it's farther away than it looks) and it's up to you how you get yourself up there.

  

Carsten figured the best way up was, well, up.

Either my conversation with Steffen had its desired effect or he's just gotten older and more willing to hike (crossing my fingers), but whatever it was, he did great!  He kept saying, "I'm doing great.  All the way to the top with no stopping!  I'm fine!  I'm good!"  He was like a hiker and cheerleader all in one.  And even though he took a nose dive into a puddle and had to hike wet, he made it all the way to the top all by himself!  That's a pretty great accomplishment for a three year old.

I handed out the promised snacks at the top, and let Austin out for a bit of running around time.  Every time he tried to take a step though, the steep grade had him wheeling his little arms around for balance.  He decided to stay put and just snack.

Steffen showed off the secret to his great hiking success- Lego Crocs.

And all of the kids enjoyed the stunning scenery.

We walked down in a zig-zag so that I could keep my balance with the backpack, and we passed so many people going up that I was indeed glad that we had gotten there early.

We drove back to San Antonio for lunch at Green before heading back home, where everyone sort of crashed, all worn out from our exciting and happy Mother's Day.

Oh, and thank you, Nathan, for lending your phone for all the picture taking.

In My Image

Steffen was having one of those mornings.  He has a lot of those mornings.  See, Steffen likes to be in control.  He has definite ideas about how the world should be, and when things don't go his way- well, let's just say he doesn't give in without a fight.

It was Sunday and I decided that since we were going to be at church all afternoon setting up for evening activities, it made more sense to go to the late service.  Now, changing the schedule when you have kids is always a tricky undertaking.  "But, Mom, when are we leaving?"  "We're going to be late!"  "Why are we parking over here?"  "How come we have to go to Sunday school first?"  "What if you forget to pick us up?" "Mom, when are we leaving?"  It's not something I do frequently.  The questions just drive me crazy.

So, on this morning, I was already on shaky ground with Steffen.  Then, when we got to church, I forgot to let him climb out my door of the van.  He does this at home because our driveway is steep, but now, he thinks he has to do it everywhere.  This resulted in several minutes of threats and negotiations.  I finally scooped him up and carried both him and his brother into church.

Here, we encountered our next obstacle:  the nursery name tags.  The printer prints one long line of tags for each child in the family.  There's always a debate over whose turn it is to hand out the name tags.  Carsten has given up on this one, and all he asks is to be able to take his own tag off.  Steffen, though, refuses to settle for this compromise.  HE is in charge of the tags and HE gets to hand out EVERY ONE of them.  The meltdown was inevitable.

I marched him into the bathroom and got down on his level.  "Steffen, Carsten gets his own tag and that's final."

Steffen stomped his foot emphatically, "But, Mom, God wants ME to hand out the tags on Sunday morning!"

I was still grinning when I left my recalcitrant little guy with the wonderful and patient nursery workers, who weekly add more jewels to their eternal crowns.

A divine appointment.  Interesting how God's will coincides so neatly with Steffen's own wishes.

But the fact is, my three year old acts a lot like me and many other people I know.  We decide what we want God to be like and what we want Him to do, and then we attempt to squeeze Him into our box.  We want to be in control.  We want things to go our way.  In short, we create God in our own image.

Awhile ago (January 20th, to be exact), our pastor preached on just this topic.  We don't have to have gold statues sitting around our house to be idol worshipers.  All we need to do is have a skewed idea of who God is- an idea that doesn't line up with Scripture- an idea that, while it allows us to fulfill our own wishes, doesn't acknowledge that the God we serve does what He wills without asking us for permission. 

Have you ever found yourself saying (or thinking) things like these:  "I like to think of God as...." or "In my mind, God..." or "I don't believe that God would..."?  When we allow ourselves to begin imagining God a certain way, a way that makes us more comfortable, we are entering dangerous territory.  God, like Aslan in Narnia, is good, but not "tame."  He is not ours to control.  We don't get to make the rules or hand out demands.  Many of the requirements God has are hard; many of our own requests go unfulfilled.  It's easy to ascribe our own thoughts, biases, and wishes to God, whether or not what Scripture says supports our thinking.

God is "my God" only in the sense that I have chosen to give Him the glory and obedience that is rightfully His.  (Psalm 29:2)  He is not "my" God that I can mold and shape to my preferences.  It's not about me.

Any God that I would create would not be wonderful, or terrible, or powerful enough to do what I need God to do.

"There is none like you, O Lord..

Who would not fear You, O King of the nations?

For this is Your rightful due...

A wooden idol is a worthless doctrine...

They are the work of skillful men.

But the Lord is the true God;

He is the living God and the everlasting King."

From Jeremiah 10  

Mayors and Other Impatient People

I mentioned in my last post a story involving the mayor of the city of Bulverde.  I had to give this story a little more attention, because, first, everybody loves a ridiculous local news story, and second, it is such a good illustration of what we've become as a society.

You can follow the link above to get the full story, but here's a brief recap:  The mayor wrote a letter in the local paper complaining about cyclists on the road.  Apparently, he, in his big Dodge Ram, got stuck behind some riders.  When they moved to the side to let him pass, he revved his engine.  They followed him to his destination, tapped on his window and they shouted back and forth for a little while.  The aggravated mayor then wrote the letter, telling cyclists that they are "endangering" motorists.

Although I want to focus on the character issues involved in this little altercation, I just can't help commenting on the ludicrous nature of his complaint.  I'm thinking that if there's a tangle between a motorist surrounded by 2 tons of steel and a cyclist surrounded by...air...and a styrofoam helmet, the motorist won't be much endangered.  I'm just saying.

Now, with that off my chest, on to the real heart of the matter.

We can't wait for anything anymore.  "I've been in line for six minutes; what is taking that cashier so long?" "I texted her two minutes (seconds) ago.  She must have lost her phone."  "Stupid red light!"

Certainly in another time and place, people were not obsessed with losing a minute here and there.  There was a time, believe it or not, when messages took months to deliver, and humans existed without watches.  Time was estimated by the sun and exact calculations were impossible.  I wonder if the inventor of the first minute by minute time-keeping device knew he was changing the very core of human behavior.

Plus, the technology we have today creates a "now" addiction.  We should get everything instantly, and it ought to be tailored for our unique preferences.  And, the more that's reinforced, the more self-centered we become.  Because that is, after all, what it's all about, right?  Self-centeredness.  Nothing and no one should ever come between us and our goal.  The mayor was going somewhere!  How dare those cyclists in their "expensive riding attire" out "joyriding" get in his way!

The interesting thing about this story is that the riders were able to follow him to his destination.  Now, adrenaline may have made them a little more speedy than usual, but still, if they caught up to him in the parking lot, the mayor couldn't have been going far.  Think about it: all that anger over just a few seconds.  That can't be good for his health, and similar reactions most definitely aren't good for ours.

It's not a big deal.  That's what we need to say a lot more often.  Most of what makes us hopping mad is really no big deal in the grand scheme of things.  A little patience and a little humility would do all of us some good.  After all, sometimes we're the ones holding up the line.

And, whatever you do, if you lose your temper, try not to publish it in the newspaper.    

Freshman Tri!

I finished my very first freshman tri!  It was so much fun, and I look forward to doing lots more (and getting a lot faster.)

I did the Windcrest Freshman Tri, designed for beginners, but not limited to first-timers.  I was most nervous about the swim.  It was only 200 meters, but I had done exactly 6 lap swim sessions in the two weeks leading up to the race.  (And that was the only lap swimming I had done in my life.)

Then, of course, there's the transition:  Getting out of the pool, clipped into a bike, off of the bike and into running shoes.  Whew!  It was lot to think about, especially when my body was really more interested in making sure I was breathing than sending extra blood to my brain.

And the pool was cold!  72 degrees.  For the first 15 meters, I had serious freezer brain- like the kind you get from Sonic slushes.  But it wore off and then my only problem was all the other people in the pool.  I knew there would likely be people walking the run, but walking the swim??  And the narrow lanes made passing difficult, especially since a couple people were doing breaststroke- that sort of takes the whole lane, particularly when you have people going in both directions.

I survived the swim, trudged over to my bike, got my shoes on my wet feet, put on my helmet and managed to get clipped in without incident.  (That was my other concern- missing the clip-in and sprawling on the pavement.  It would have been funny, but highly embarrassing.)  I enjoy riding, and I had to keep reminding myself that this was a RACE, not a Saturday morning spin through Windcrest.  I caught myself paying WAY too much attention to the scenery.  Ten miles later, I fumbled my way back through transition and pulled on my running shoes.

I missed my music.  For some reason, I have a hard time keeping up a good pace if I don't have music.  Listening to the breeze and the birds singing is nice and all, but it doesn't make me run very fast.  I guess I'll have to practice more "quiet" running.

Crossing the finish line was a major rush, but here I did make a rookie mistake:  I glanced at the time as I crossed and thought that was my time.  "Man, I am SLOW!"  But I finished and that's what counted.  Turns out, that was the time since the beginning of the race, so it included the 25 minutes I spent standing in line waiting to swim.  Live and learn.

I was still pretty slow:  200 m swim- 5:49; 10 mile bike- 37:39; 2 mile run- 19:31.  I definitely need to spend more time riding.  (But not, apparently, in the city of Bulverde.  Check out this story.   A side note to the mayor of Bulverde:  Share the road.  Cyclists vote too.)

I'm especially grateful to my friend Amanda for inspiring me to do this.  She has seven kids too, and she came in first in her age group!  (And, thanks, Anthony, for the pictures!)

Here's to finishing!  And to next time!

Ideal

Magazines, books, Bible studies, billboards, commercials:  They all create pictures of the "ideal" in our minds- the ideal schedule, the ideal body, the ideal home, the ideal relationship, the ideal spiritual walk.

While we all know deep-down that the ideal is unattainable, its image still moves us and shapes our lives.  Some of us strive to get as close to the ideal as we can, destroying our peace and calm in the process.  Some figure we're so far from it that it's really not even worth trying-we become paralyzed by the tyranny of the ideal.   And all of us have probably spent some time swinging in between the two extremes.

The fact is that, no matter how close to the ideal we come, something can always come along and wreck it.  Becoming a single parent shattered, for me, my striving for a "perfect" family situation.  But, really, all it did was illustrate a very important point: perfection in this life is an illusion.  Nothing will ever be perfect: not the house, not the people we love, not the church, and definitely not the government.  The house will get messy.  The kids will get sick.  People at church will sin.  We will be thoughtless.

So now that we've established that, we really should just give up.  Bring out the chips and flip on the TV.  Perfection is unattainable, so let's all be comfortable.

No, I'm happy to report that all hope is not lost.  Life, although it is not about perfection, is most definitely about forward movement.  Just because things can't be perfect doesn't mean they can't be better.  And the same goes for us:  Just because we can't be perfect doesn't mean we can't be better.  It's easy to use the ideal as an excuse.  "I could never eat a perfect diet.  Pass me that third piece of cake."  "I'll never be one of those Bible scholars.  Let's watch a movie."  "I could never run a marathon.  I'm going to take a nap."

We'll never mature, our lives will never improve, unless we take the first step.  Put down the cake and pick up an apple.  Open that Bible.  Go for a walk.  Life is all about moving forward.  We need to do hard things so that we can grow.  

Peter tells us that God's divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness.  (2 Peter 1:3)  Think about it: EVERYTHING.  How does that work itself out practically in the little areas of our lives?  Are we living like people who have "exceedingly great and precious promises," who are "partakers of the divine nature?"  (v.4)

God has put us in the race of life, and we should run it well.  Though Paul admitted that he was not "already perfected," he forged ahead: "forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward to those things which are ahead, I press toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus."  (Phil. 3:13-14)

So, take the first step.  Be better, not perfect.  Keep moving.

Phone

Things that do NOT happen while I'm on the phone:

• Schoolwork
• Chores
• Brotherly (or sisterly) love
• Reading, puzzles, constructive activities

Things that DO happen while I'm on the phone:

• Spilled almonds (the 3 pound bag)
• Spilled soymilk (usually on the carpet)
• Fist fights 
• Scraped knees
• Bumped heads
• Disappearing bags of chocolate chips
• Secret playing of video games
• "Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, MOMMY!!!!"

Yes, there is a reason I rarely answer the phone.  The phone is an instrument of disaster and destruction around here.  Even if all the kids are contentedly playing or working on school, everything explodes the second I pick up that phone.  "Quick- she's distracted.  Do everything you aren't supposed to do!"  Even the pets get in on the plot.  

And on that note, just a quick update:  As of next week, I'll be cutting off my Vonage line and going to just my cell phone.  You'll need to have that number if you need to get a hold of me.  Most of you have it, and if you're not sure, just email me:  aimee(at)hillcountryvillage(dot)com.  (Hint:  If you've been texting me and I never reply, you don't have my cell number.  And texting, by the way, is a far better way to reach me than an actual call.  Less distraction, less destruction.)

He Cares

Just before we moved, I heard Michael Walsh on Hugh Hewitt's show.  Mr. Walsh, an author, apparently had a 22 year old daughter who died unexpectedly at the end of 2011.  He had many interesting and insightful things to say about death and grieving, and I thought I'd share some of what he said here.

(Disclaimer:  I was listening to the radio, not reading a transcript, so I might possibly misrepresent Mr. Walsh's words or meaning, though I'll certainly try not to.  I couldn't find anything that he had written on the subject.  Although that makes sense in light of the fact that he mentioned that he had been fairly private about it up to this point, it also means that I have to rely on my memory of what he said.)

First, he started by talking about the fact that death is a part of life.  This is, of course, obvious, but when death claims someone we love, it's hard to view it as a natural part of the cycle of living on this earth.  Instead, we feel wronged- robbed of something that was dear.

Then, he reflected on how much we want to believe that everything happens for a purpose.  Telling ourselves this can seem helpful during small crises- lost job, temporary illness, interrupted plans- but when it comes to something as final and crushing as death, trying to make sense of it is really beyond our ability.  Mr. Walsh insisted that everything doesn't happen for a purpose.  Some things just happen because that's just the way the world is.  I heartily agree with him on that point.  Trying to figure out why something awful happened can become a fruitless and unending endeavor.  The world is fallen.  It will be set right one day, but for now, it is what it is.  Death, sadness, and suffering happen.

The thing Mr. Walsh said, though, that made me think most deeply was this:  God doesn't care like we care. He said God is so big and has such a cosmic, eternal perspective, that He views our problems as petty and very small.  Here, I believe, my view is different than his, though not perhaps as different as it would have been before my present trial.

I have come to see that God's perspective is vastly different than our own.  And it certainly is true that because He exists in eternity, He sees things in an entirely alternate light.  We see ourselves and our lives as occupying the very center of the universe.  God knows better.  In the eternal scheme of God's grand plan, man is but a breath.

But that doesn't mean that He doesn't care about our struggles and emotions.  He allowed Himself, in the form of His Son, to put on humanness.  He experienced what we experience.  He was a "man of sorrows and acquainted with grief."  (Isaiah 53:3)  When He lost His friend Lazarus and saw everyone crying, He wept.  He could have said, knowing the glorious miracle He was planning, "Quit crying.  It's all going to work out in the end."  But He didn't.  He knew humans exist in the present, and He cried for their pain.

It's a glorious thing to have a high priest who can sympathize with our weakness.  (Hebrews 4:15)  That doesn't mean He does what we want Him to.  That doesn't mean He makes sure we're always happy.  But He does care.  God is not too big to care about our petty problems, He is so big that He both works in eternity and tenderly weeps for our grief.