Grand moments for me are too few and potentially fleeting. Many times it is the little things that are most awesome.
My 20 oz. water thermos (with a fun pop-up top) travels where I travel. For over 6 years it has ridden with me to and from Chicago to visits with the grands. We are pretty much one; inseparable except for when once and only once I left it, and Grand #1 made sure I knew it. It is "DeDe's thermos," and they know it. This last trip, Grand #2 asked, and I let him, drink from it (ew, but then again, in a way, it is endearing). As he sips, his older brother, ever-cautious Grand #1, observes. Maybe he feels an association or deja-vu moment that compels him to remember and confess a deep, dark secret. He shares the grand secret: "DeDe, when I was little I used to pop-up the top and sneak sips from your Thermos" (ew, but then again, in a way, it is mega-endearing because when I am long gone, he might fondly recall those sneaks and his confession).
And writing this blog resurrects a confession made just a few years ago. But first a brief back-to-the-future explanation. I was raised with basic moral values (don't lie; don't steal) in an isolated and turbulent, non-Christian home. In 1975, at the age of 20, I escaped it all and became a fully devoted follower of Jesus Christ. At least I believed I did.
Unlike children raised in church, feeling God's wrath via spiritual leaders and through their parents (mine were busy wrangling 5 other siblings), I felt like a naturally good person. I saw through rose-colored glasses. I was invisible; in a brain fog (induced by an undiagnosed milk intolerance). I wonder if any other Christian on this planet can identify with my childhood experience. But on one specific spectrum, possibly they can? To one degree or another, for mental health's sake, most everyone does it: Denial. I was the DeDenial Queen.
My "saved" new life included attending church weekly. I read the Bible, prayed, tried to do right, and taught children's Sunday school for years (even though those pre-schoolers probably taught the Bible to me, instead). Life was good.
It wasn't until years later (I am a slow learner), after a mega-series of "suck-it-up-and-do-what's-right" calamities (Becoming Job; close calls, closest lives spared; back-to-back blows; times 10 years; pride stripped; hitting rock-bottom desperate, already dealt with in other blogs), that I finally faced my subtle and unacceptable humanity. In other words, the ugly thoughts and reactions that surface when life doesn't go my way or as planned (entitlement behaviors that I had previously ignored or polished over). Until that providential marker on the timeline of my life, denial saw only the good. The big reveal exposed my filthy rags. I was unclean and felt shame about sneaky misjudgments and prejudices. Sins that I should have confessed, but instead justified. I should have felt remorse way back when I was saved, but never did.
Too few years ago, I felt compelled to confess to the grand secret (prior to this, a secret even to myself): "Jesus, I am a sinner." I privately whispered the dirty specifics and was prepared to face, rather than run away from, the consequences. I healthfully embraced remorse and shame, but only temporarily (a masochist I am definitely not), because my Savior had already literally and mercifully taken 49 lashes for me.
That "aha" moment or confession will not be forgotten. Today, to a degree, I have experienced the shame that sinless Jesus took upon himself when He hung naked on the cross, for my sins. And, too, I finally identify with the most miraculous: His resurrection. The resurrected King is resurrecting me... from shame, to perfect love (which includes natural consequences), to resurrection, to manicured freedom.
Professionally-manicured fingernails are the best! (envy is involved in that statement). They are much better than unskilled, self-manicures. My former righteousness actually resembled a strong-willed toddler's crude eye-hand coordination skills at self-polishing. Quite the disaster. In a way, I self-polished my righteousness, and the eyes of my understanding were still darkened.
And writing this blog resurrects a confession made just a few years ago. But first a brief back-to-the-future explanation. I was raised with basic moral values (don't lie; don't steal) in an isolated and turbulent, non-Christian home. In 1975, at the age of 20, I escaped it all and became a fully devoted follower of Jesus Christ. At least I believed I did.
Unlike children raised in church, feeling God's wrath via spiritual leaders and through their parents (mine were busy wrangling 5 other siblings), I felt like a naturally good person. I saw through rose-colored glasses. I was invisible; in a brain fog (induced by an undiagnosed milk intolerance). I wonder if any other Christian on this planet can identify with my childhood experience. But on one specific spectrum, possibly they can? To one degree or another, for mental health's sake, most everyone does it: Denial. I was the DeDenial Queen.
My "saved" new life included attending church weekly. I read the Bible, prayed, tried to do right, and taught children's Sunday school for years (even though those pre-schoolers probably taught the Bible to me, instead). Life was good.
It wasn't until years later (I am a slow learner), after a mega-series of "suck-it-up-and-do-what's-right" calamities (Becoming Job; close calls, closest lives spared; back-to-back blows; times 10 years; pride stripped; hitting rock-bottom desperate, already dealt with in other blogs), that I finally faced my subtle and unacceptable humanity. In other words, the ugly thoughts and reactions that surface when life doesn't go my way or as planned (entitlement behaviors that I had previously ignored or polished over). Until that providential marker on the timeline of my life, denial saw only the good. The big reveal exposed my filthy rags. I was unclean and felt shame about sneaky misjudgments and prejudices. Sins that I should have confessed, but instead justified. I should have felt remorse way back when I was saved, but never did.
Too few years ago, I felt compelled to confess to the grand secret (prior to this, a secret even to myself): "Jesus, I am a sinner." I privately whispered the dirty specifics and was prepared to face, rather than run away from, the consequences. I healthfully embraced remorse and shame, but only temporarily (a masochist I am definitely not), because my Savior had already literally and mercifully taken 49 lashes for me.
That "aha" moment or confession will not be forgotten. Today, to a degree, I have experienced the shame that sinless Jesus took upon himself when He hung naked on the cross, for my sins. And, too, I finally identify with the most miraculous: His resurrection. The resurrected King is resurrecting me... from shame, to perfect love (which includes natural consequences), to resurrection, to manicured freedom.
Professionally-manicured fingernails are the best! (envy is involved in that statement). They are much better than unskilled, self-manicures. My former righteousness actually resembled a strong-willed toddler's crude eye-hand coordination skills at self-polishing. Quite the disaster. In a way, I self-polished my righteousness, and the eyes of my understanding were still darkened.
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In him we have redemption through his blood,
the forgiveness of sins,
in accordance with the riches of God's grace that he lavished on us
with all wisdom and understanding!
(emphasis added)
(Ephesians 1:7-8)
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Today, I love God even more, because I have experienced His grace and faithfulness. Freedom for me is combined with the skilled Technician's shaping of... my life. I once was blind, but now I see. Instead of simply embracing a new life, there is the potential of a 3-D new life (stuttered 3-DeDe) which is still in the discovery phase; in-process; from glory-to-glory. His careful, shaping, fashioning, regular manicures are resurrecting me; to each day "go" (Mark 16:7).
And now, as always, back to the Grands. Do my Grands have cooties? They probably do, and mouth crumbs, too! but who cares? I confess that I adore them!
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