Look Out World–I’m Sinning Again

I make a lot of mistakes in life. Like–a lot.
I constantly am finding some new way to get in my own way, or losing my temper, or “letting my mouth write checks that my butt can’t cash” to put it in Hudge’s terms.
I sin. Sometimes a dozen times before I’ve had my morning coffee (more if it’s a Monday).

I judge.
I hate.
I judge again.
I covet.
I lose my patience.
I run from the Word.

And that’s just on a normal day–you should see me during basketball season.

The Ten Commandments are full of some pretty heavy, pretty lofty processes and goals.
Don’t lie. Don’t take stuff that isn’t your’s. For goodness sakes, don’t kill anybody.
Don’t covet. Keep Sunday holy. Be good and respectful to your momma and your papa.

These should be pretty easy standards to match.
(They aren’t.)

But by far my biggest struggle in this life lies in the two (arguably most important) commandments:
1. You shall have no other gods before Me.
2. You shall not make idols.

Growing up in the Church from a young age, these two commandments always struck me as a bit archaic. Sure they applied back in BC whatever when the Israelites were over there worshipping gold cows and everyone was running around with Baal-Zebub (which I mean, what an awful name for a god–even a fake one).

But how many of us modern evangelics are going around praying to a piece of jewelry?
So as a child I went ahead and gave those two commandments a mental check.
Like, okay. I’m good with those. Never going to struggle with cow worship, so moving on. What’s next?
Failing to understand their importance and true meaning made me particularly vulnerable in failing to follow their calling.

But as I’ve grown and matured in my life, I’ve learned a thing or two. Okay, maybe just a thing, but still. God knew exactly what He was doing when He handed down those Commandments to His people so long ago. He made them uniquely applicable to the BC Christians, to the 17th Century Christians, and to the Starbucks drinking millennial Christians of today.

Because maybe your god or your idol isn’t as tangible as cow jewelry.
Maybe your god or idol is money, success, acceptance, adoration, your job, or shoes (guilty).
Or maybe of all things your god and your idol is a 3-year-old little girl with bright blue eyes and her handsome, bow-tie wearing dad.

PLOT TWIST.
What do we do when we create idols out of the very blessings God has given us?

I’ve never struggled in my belief. I’ve often struggled in my faith and reliance–but never in my belief.
I always said quite confidently that if anyone were to ever persecute me for my faith or to hold a gun to my head and ask me if I believe in God, I would be able to answer “yes”. Genuinely.

But then Rosebud was born. And the question became instead: What if someone were to hold a gun to HER head and ask me if I believed in God? Then what?

Wow. Hold the phone.

Thankfully I live in a time and place where my freedom to chose my faith is without persecution.
But what about Abraham? What about Isaac?
If I’m being completely honest, here, which I always try to be: if God commanded me to sacrifice my Rosebud as He did with Abraham and his beautiful baby boy, Isaac……Well–Boy oh boy would I fail that test.
Abraham believed. And God provided.
But could I take that chance? Do I have that strength? Nope. Nu-uh. No. Not even a little.

The Bible tells us to love one another. But that when compared to the love we have for God, those Earthly bonds should seem like hate.

What if eternal life didn’t include my Doc and sweet Rosebud? What then?
WHY IS THIS STUFF SO HARD?

But it’s love, right? How can the God of Love deem loving a sin? It all seems so bass-awkward.
But the thing of it is–I’m not called to love them less. But to love Him more.

God gave me Doc and Rosebud, and in them I get to experience joy and grace abounding .
But even what I feel for them pales in comparison to what God feels for them.
So I have to give up. Something I’ve never been good at.

I have to realize that all the goals and dreams and desires for good things that I have for Doc and Rosebud are absolute dirt compared to what God wants for them.
So I have to bow to His love and stop competing against it.

It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Ever.

What’s your god? Who’s your idol? And how do you deal with it?
In the (over-sung, over-played, super annoying) words of Elsa of Arrendale: LET IT GOOOOOO.

I’m going to fail at this today. And probably tomorrow, too.
But I’m really hoping God has a special place is in His heart for mommas that parked their car on Struggle Street.

Love and other drugs,
E. Hunter W.

 

My Scandalous Confession

Lately I’ve been finding myself fantasizing about living someone else’s life.
Pretty scandalous, huh?
Dreaming of being another woman, with a different husband, and a different child, living in a different house.

So okay. It’s still me. Still Doc. Still Rosebud.
…Just another life, further down the road. Our life, but different.
Our future life.

A life where Doc is in his residency–moving up from slavery to indentured servitude.
A life where I am graduated and working, instead of studying and working and trying to finish finals and a thesis.
A life where Rosebud knows how to sit still–okay, so that one’s a wash, but still.
A life where we have more than one bathroom.

In this season, I keep focusing on one day instead of today.

One day, we’ll be settled.
One day, we’ll have more in savings and be comfortable.
One day, we’ll have a bigger house.
One day, I won’t be terrified when I wake up and hear Rose laughing maniacally and wonder what destruction she created.
“Life will be so much easier, when….It will be so much better, when.”

I’ve been thinking about this whole “the grass is always greener on the other side” deal. I used to think it only applied in situations where we were jealously coveting the life someone else is living.
But now I think maybe the “other side” is over the hill from the struggle we’re wading through.
What happens when the life you’re jealously coveting is your own?
And in the end, what is more dangerous to our hearts?

‘I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in every situation.’ -Philippians 4: 11-12

You should’ve learned by now that I’m a little bit a lotta bit high strung.
I don’t relax easily. I don’t “Just Keep Calm And….Whatever.” I don’t do still and I don’t do content.

And I think that’s exactly why Paul’s words touch me so deeply.
I physically yearn for the peace that contentedness brings.
I desperately desire to calm my spirit. I yearn to “be still and know.”
But it feels impossible.
Contentedness seems to go against my very nature and every basic instinct that I have.
If life is running smoothly, and I have nothing to worry about–I will literally invent things to worry about.
I will use my over-reactive, way-too-imaginitive, constantly whirring brain to think up new ways that something, ANYTHING can go wrong.
Because I’m crazy.

Because when life is happening, and the unexpected can pop its head in at any time and ruin the perfectly timed, perfectly choreographed ORGANIZED PLAN THAT I HAVE SPENT DAYS CREATING!!!!!…..
Well. Then peace seems simply out of my reach.

But that Paul guy. That Paul.
He has “learned to be content whatever the circumstances.” In need. In plenty.
He’s learned the secret. COME ON PAUL. TELL ME THE SECRET, PAUL.
Oh wait. There’s more?

‘I can do all things through Him who gives me strength.’ Philippians 4:13

One of the most familiar verses in all the Bible. But also: the most understated.
The secret to being content is to quit trying so damn hard to get somewhere.
Because you can’t.
You can’t find peace when you don’t tap the Source. Instead you’re going off on a blind hunt.

To find my peace. To achieve my contentedness, quit seeking contentedness, and instead seek the One from which the strength to be at peace is derived.

Mind. Blown.

I used to think that “content” was the easy way out. I actually felt sorry for those people.
I thought that waking up every morning and pushing for more and getting more was the way it is supposed to work.
Because that’s what the world told me.

But then I realized: peace is hard, people. And it doesn’t come gift wrapped on your front stoop.
It’s a journey and a process, and it takes lots of hard lessons–in need and in plenty.

But it’s worth it.

Because living life dreaming of the other side makes me blind to the opportunities and the riches I have in front of me.
Even if that treasure sometimes smells funny and has applesauce in her hair. Or he forgets to put the seat down.

So go enjoy your own treasure, people. And quit worrying about how you can increase them or shine them up.
Be still, and I’ll try, too.

Love and Other Drugs,
E. Hunter W.

Are You There God, It’s Me Hunter

Sometimes I get so overwhelmed with life that I could scream. The vein popping out in the middle of my forehead, really red-faced and sweaty type of scream.
Not that it would do any good. Like, at all.
It’s not exactly a healthy way of dealing with emotions, and it would scare the bejeebies out of Doc and Rosebud.

Lately, I’ve been tried. And I fear that I’ve been found wanting.
I keep waiting to find my footing, only to slip again as soon as I’ve found it.

The setting up of our first home and all the mishaps and curves that go with that, all of the everyday up and downs of raising a kid and all of the fear and uncertainty that accompanies it, AND trying to keep up with Grey’s Anatomy. That seems like enough, but then throw in medical school and crazy hours, me going back to grad school, trying to complete my internship placement to graduate, the job search, a locked up jaw, and an 88-year-old woman completely dependent on me and well, let me just tell you, there are days I want to hide under the covers and never emerge.

Because I’m 25 years old and I never thought I’d be responsible for so many things so soon. Life is in fast-forward at 8x speed, and I’m almost positive that I hit pause the spring semester of my senior year in college.

If this blog reads like one really long list of complaints to you, well, that’s because that’s exactly what it is.
A self-pitying, stomp my foot, temper tantrum of words.
This is me, standing outside, screaming to the Heavens: “CAN THIS GET ANY WORSE?!?” And then rain, a tornado, and a house fall on my head.

This is my “why me?” post.
Are you there, God, it’s me, Hunter, and I could really use a break. And if you’re feeling particularly generous, also could you do something about those student loans? Med school, though.

ANYWHO.

On top of it all, I have this tendency to internalize everything. Why is it my business to have constant anxiety about the public deficit? Or about the drought in sub-saharan Africa? Or how does the Internet really even work?
The pressure keeps building and it feels like it’s coming from everywhere at once. I have nursing homes calling me, Medicare representatives coming out my ears, life insurance policies to switch around, a toddler that I have to feed, a husband that would wear plaid with stripes if I didn’t keep an eye on him, and my dog constantly has a really weird smell wafting off of him.

I feel like I’ll collapse under the weight. Maybe I’m not as strong as I thought I was and so I second-guess myself. Then I look around and everybody’s hurting and I don’t know why and there’s nothing I can do, and…..See. See what happens when I pick up steam.

Do you do that? Do you ever feel so lost in all the mayhem that you just want a remote control to push STOP so you can finally catch your breath?
Don’t. Don’t do that, Hunter.
Don’t ever press STOP. Don’t ever wish your struggles away.
The truth is, no. We can’t control our circumstances or the things life throws our way. We never will be able to, and the sooner we recognize that, the better off we will be.
But it is always, ALWAYS our choice on how we cope, on how we rise.

When you find yourself wondering where all the good in the world has gone, remember this: Goodness still exists even though life is hard and cruel, and even though people suffer.
Cling to this truth: God’s goodness was never meant to take away the world’s suffering, but to provide a refuge in the midst of it.
The ONLY thing that God’s goodness erases, then, is hopelessness.
Because if God is good, then there will always be Hope: even in the presence of so much struggle and injustice that we want to scream.

My tiny, human brain looks around and says “Ew. This isn’t fair. I don’t like this anymore, God. No thanks.”
We see the hurting and say God must not exist. Not in a world this bad. Or even if He does exist, He must not care. Or maybe He’s just cruel.
We can’t perceive the ways in which the suffering we’re railing against contributes to the eternal benefit of the only real Kingdom that matters.
It matters. The struggle matters.

Hope.
Hope is the basis of our faith. Not a happy life. Not everything going right. Not the absence of struggle.

And remember. A diamond is a hunk of coal that did well under pressure.
So shine on, dear people. Shine on.

Love and other drugs,
E. Hunter W.

The Day I Stomped Out My Daughter’s Fire

The past few weeks Doc has been on surgery rotation. That means early mornings, long days and late nights. It’s left a lot of time for Rosebud and I to be alone. Which is a little a lot exhausting and a lot of awesome. That includes Sunday mornings.

If you’re a church-attending mom, you know that Sunday mornings are the Super Bowl of motherhood. If you can get yourself, your husband, and your child(ren) out the door wearing clothing that covers all the important parts, hair free of breakfast crumbs, nose free of boogers, and walk into the sanctuary by the time the choir finishes singing their first song then yes, you deserve a ring, a trophy, two Reese’s cups, and a glass of wine. (Panty hose runs and wrinkles are acceptable under these conditions.)

With Doc gone, I’ve been taking on the sole responsibility for getting Rosebud and I to the Lord’s house with as few tears and as little swearing as possible. This past Sunday I was attempting to wrestle her into a pair of light pink stockings, and she was attempting to escape the torture. The conversation escalated.

“Honey, I need you to stand still for mommy.”
*Continued wrestling

“Rose, sweetie, let me get you dressed so we aren’t late for church.”
*She starts throwing elbows

“1….2…”
*Grins maniacally

(Angry voice) “ROSE. STAND STILL RIGHT NOW.”
She jumped, all the fight drained out of her body, tears the size of the hope diamond ran down her cheeks, and with a shaking voice she cut straight to my heart. “Mommy. That scare me to death. Mommy. You scare me to death. That too loud.”

If you could only know the guilt that swept over my at that very moment. I looked up, half-expecting “World’s Worst Mother” to appear tattooed across my forehead. I hugged her close to me and rocked us both. “I’m sorry baby. I’m sorry I did that. I love you so much. I shouldn’t have done that. I love you.”

She was deflated.
With five little words, I had stomped out my Rosebud’s fire. One of the things I love most about her.

Sure, she got over it. She’d forgotten about it before we even got to the car, singing ‘Old McDonald Had a Farm’ all the way to the church house.

But it stayed with me.

And I started to wonder at all the other ways I’d stomped out her fire.
When I brushed away the chubby hands attempting to tie her own shoes because we were in a hurry, maybe.
Or when I rushed through our bedtime routine trying to get to my chores so I could finally relax.
When I pulled her along when she tried to stop along the sidewalk to examine a leaf blowing in the wind because I had 15 minutes until I had to be at the office.

Doc and I constantly struggle with finding the balance between ensuring Rosebud is well-disciplined (see: not a spoiled, little brat) and trying not to break the wild spirit that we love about her. And it’s not easy (see: the hardest thing I’ve ever done). How do I mold her into a positive, contributing member of society while keeping her true (and crazy) personality in tact? How do I teach her to stand up for herself, but remind her that we’re in charge?

It’s particularly interesting for me because I see so many of my own character traits mirroring their reflection in her. How am I supposed to discipline Rosebud for losing her temper and getting frustrated when she can’t immediately grasp a new technique or task when I DO THE EXACT SAME THING. Or when she looks at us in the middle of the prayer at church and says: “I can’t be quiet, I need TO TALK.”–when well, that’s my fault, too. And I especially can’t get after the kid for sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night to read books. It’s like God said “Oh hey, Hunter, did you need further insight into all the weirdness that is you? Here ya go. Here’s you in toddler form. Good luck.”

My whole pregnancy I spent praying that my child would be as patient, laid back, and easy going as Doc. Instead, in a cruel twist of fate, she’s as wild, high maintenance, short-tempered, and as fiery and passionate (about EVERYTHING) as I am. But goodness, do we love her for it.

One thing is for sure, I will never have to worry about Rosebud standing up for her beliefs or voicing her opinions and speaking her mind. God help us all and look out world.

Here’s to all you people with a strong willed child–may you have the wisdom and the strength to temper their spirit without breaking it. And good luck on Sunday mornings. Yeesh.

Oh, and here’s to all you people with a strong will…may all your children take after their fathers.

Love and other drugs,
E. Hunter W.

 

I mean, come on….this is the sass I live with.

When Peace Like a River

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well with my soul.

He’s the reason I’m stubborn and impatient and an obnoxious Wildcat fan and an even more obnoxious Republican. And he’s the reason that every report card I ever had said that I was a good student, but “Hunter talks too much, and tries to be in charge of everything, and she has a tendency to boss.” He’s where I get my too big, too loud laugh, and my too big, too loud opinions. But he’s also the reason that I cling to the cross, keep my promises, take people casseroles, put in an honest day’s work, live by my word, and know that friendship is more about what you give than what you take.

There are a few moments in life that only an old hymn can touch. Today when I heard my Peepaw’s voice–peace like a river.

Grace manifests itself anew each day, and Hudge is coming home to call me ‘shit ass’ once more.
It must be because I promised to meet him with a bottle of Early Times–either that or he’s holding out for the primary.

Thank you all for remembering him today.
It is well.

Love and other drugs,
E. Hunter W.

Young Woman with the Growing Belly, Feeling Damned If You Do and Damned If You Don’t

I love you. I love YOU. Not just your unborn child. Your “fetus”. I love you. And my heart aches for you. To know that you are cornered by your fear and desperation, limited by your means. Forced into no real decision at all. I love you.

I see you. Whether your eyes be downcast or defiantly lifted to hold my gaze. Daring someone, anyone to question you, all while hoping to sink into the invisibility of the background. Still, I see you.

I hear you. I hear your stories of poverty, of shame, of the three hungry children already at home, of the boyfriend or husband that demands it, of the disappointed family that can never know. I’m listening. I hear you.

And I weep for the emptiness you will feel when the sterile lights are gone and you are home again.

But I don’t have the answers. I can just love you.

Someone will tell you that your life and your choices don’t matter. That only the life inside you matters.
Someone will tell you that your life and your choices are all that matter. That the life inside you isn’t life.

Someone will tell you that your child is a cherished child of God. But will anyone tell you that you are, too?

They–whoever “they” are–will all throw around concepts like pro-choice and pro-life, and pro-birth and murder.
But will they look at you? Will they see you? Standing alone while the rest of the world debates over you.
Or will you be a pawn? A political pawn to push the self-interests of the liberal or conservative base.

Young woman with the growing belly, feeling damned if you do and damned if you don’t. “Use birth control,” “Face the consequences,” “It’s your life–live it freely,” “Don’t be selfish,” “Now is the time in your life to be selfish.”

Young woman with the pounding heart as she watches the ultrasound wand, hear this.
I was you.
I was pregnant, scared, ashamed, still financially dependent on someone else; young, in professional school, ignorant, and blindsided by the future now before me.
So I see you. I hear you. I love you.
Maybe our circumstances are different–But our fears resonate the same.
Dear one, I chose life; and it made mine better.

And that is why I need to tell you this: The decision you make now will define your life. The decision to terminate or mother this child will walk with you forever. And above all there is this–no matter how far you feel from grace, it is there. No matter how alone in this world you feel–you aren’t. No matter how uncertain your future seems, it is not. No matter how far from the reach of God you seem to be, His arms are long enough.

To the conservative, evangelicals determined to focus on the justice of the unborn, I applaud you–now do something. Care for the future of this family past the first nine months. Now is the time to be the hands of Christ. When Jesus walked this Earth, He did more than preach the word of God, He acted on the word of God. Instead of demanding young women choose adoption over abortion, you choose one of the 400,000 American children in the foster care system. Instead of volunteering your time to shout criticisms, volunteer your time at a crisis center to job counsel and educate. Instead of spending your money on petitions, spend it to support a family on the edge.

To the liberal nation that demands equality and civil rights, I say good for you; but I urge you to consider the rights of the women and men yet to be born. And instead of using these scared, young women as a platform for votes, consider their emotional wellbeing past today. Consider the long-term effects that an abortion will have. Don’t use them up and cast them aside–they’ve had enough of that.

Taking away the option of abortion in the United States will do nothing to alter the mindset of the country. But I know what will. The Church being the Church as it was intended to be. The Church carrying the burden in service to the care of the window and the orphan, and of the young, single mother at the end of her rope who may not fit your agenda.

Love and other drugs,
E. Hunter W.

But for the grace of God, there go I: The day I saw a homeless 4-month old

There’s something about the almosts, the could’ves, the should’ves and the would’ves that make our lives what they are. The near-brushes that make us shudder in appreciation. I didn’t grow up especially privileged. As the child of a single mother of three, times weren’t always easy. I didn’t know that at the time. All I knew was that throughout my life I had all of what I needed and most of what I wanted, and that was enough for me. But I know the statistics. I know what could’ve happened. I’ve heard the stories of single mothers, working day and night to make ends meet that end up living in their car because they just couldn’t bridge the gap. I know what should’ve happened. There’s no reason that I escaped that life–nothing special about me. And I know what would’ve happened–if not for a strong mom and a stronger God.

Yes. There’s something about the almosts, the could’ves, the should’ves, and the would’ves,

So tonight when we saw a homeless family with three little girls aged 4, 2, and 4 months, maybe I was uniquely suited to see the situation for what it was. But for the grace of God, there go I.

If I’d been born to a different life, a different family, given fewer opportunities who knows where I might be today? Perhaps the one with the cardboard sign? If I’d fallen in love with a different man–one who didn’t give selflessly and take responsibility for his children and family who knows where I might be today? Begging for formula?

Privilege is a mighty responsibility often accompanied by blindness. Comfort causes us to forget that once upon a time, we were toeing the line and could have gone either way.

Relatability. That’s what the world needs. That’s what the Church needs. That’s what politicians need. Because when you’re the other man, it’s a bit harder to kill and condemn him or watch him go hungry.

Sometimes I think this second awareness of struggle is a burden. It forces a near constant recognition that comfort is a fleeting luxury. But how thankful I am to be able to savor and value what others cannot. How thankful I am.

Because there’s something about the almosts, the could’ves, the should’ves, and the would’ves. And they force us to realize the reality: but for the grace of God, there go I…there go you.

So tomorrow when I complain that my house is overcrowded with too many clothes and toys and covet space and possessions, break my heart, Jehovah for the family of five crowded in their van. And when I look in the mirror and critique and criticize the size of my hips, make me thankful for the food that fills them out.

‘I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in every situation.’ -Philippians 4: 11-12

Love and other drugs,
E. Hunter W.