My Blessed Is Not Your Blessed

Girlfriends, growing up, my favorite movie was “Room For One More” starring Cary Grant.  It’s as old as the hills, but if you haven’t seen it…find it…watch it.  It’ll put your priorities in the right order.  I’ve always loved it because it was about a family who had three children of their own, and while not wealthy by any means, they fostered more children.  Thus, the title…”Room For One More.”

I always envisioned this movie family as my “one-day” family.  I would marry my Cary Grant (which I have), I would fall in love with foster children of my own (which I have), and I would have no less than a ton of biological babies to boot (but that’s where my dream changed).  Let me explain.

In my first blog post, I promised the following: “And as girlfriends share things that no one else has the privilege of knowing about each other, I plan to share my struggles with you.  Maybe in that way I’ll be an encouragement to you…”  But, Girlfriends, in order to do this, I have to let you into my current struggle or maybe we should call it my dream changer.

Just a week ago, Clay and I sat in a pre-op hospital room signing a few ordinary pre-op papers for a procedure that I was about to undergo.  We read and signed the one asking whether or not you have a power of attorney or living will…slightly alarming…but ok…no big deal.  Then we followed with the one that allows the hospital to give you a blood transfusion should something go horribly wrong…even more alarming…but should the doctor slip and hit a vein…well, yeah…pump me full.  Then we came to a rather simple looking form. 

Suddenly tears stung our eyes and Clay’s arms engulfed me as we read the following words: “I acknowledge that this procedure will terminate the ability to conceive, to bear, or to carry any future children.”  Yes.  We knew a hysterectomy meant this.  But, we didn’t expect to see it in black and white.  And I surely didn’t expect to have to fight through the blinding tears to find the small line and to carefully and painstakingly sign my name.

You see, this was not my dream.  It still isn’t.

I never envisioned large tumors attacking my uterus and then my uterus attacking itself.  I never saw two babies, although precious and perfect, as my houseful.  I never thought of anything but what I had dreamed.

And then I made a fatal error in the days that followed.  I began to compare my life to those around me…to other women I knew…to friends on Facebook…to family members…to anyone who had what I had wanted…more babies.  How do I compare to those who are currently pregnant with their little angels or how do I compare to those who have a house brimming full of little hands and feet?  How?  Why God?  What is wrong with me?

And then, as quickly as I made that stupid mistake, a new thought came to me…and I think it was initiated by my loving Heavenly Father…who truly does love me and makes absolutely no mistakes.

My Blessed is not Your Blessed.  

We, as women and girlfriends, constantly compare ourselves to those about us.  We want what our friends have.  We like a lot of what our friends like.  We try to do or have similar things to our friends.  For whatever purpose, we like to be alike.  Take monogrammed clothing, for example.  Five years ago, no one cared about monogrammed clothing.  But, go count the number of shirts, shorts, hats, etc. you have in your closet now with your beautiful initials on them.  We like to do all the cute things our friends do.  But, that’s where it should end…with monograms. 

You see, I may look at a girlfriend and wish I had the number of babies she has and a womb that can carry that many.  But, there are definitely other girlfriends out there that are looking at me and wishing they had the babies I have and the womb I had for a short time.  My Blessed is not Your Blessed.  What I have is what God blessed me with and I’m grateful.  And whatever you have is what God blessed you with and I’m very grateful for you. 

This goes for everything.  Whether it’s babies or houses or clothes or education or height or weight or whatever…Your Blessed is not My Blessed.  Your Blessed is specific to you and meant especially for you for a special purpose.  Don’t underestimate Your Blessed…there is something God intends to do with Your Blessed if you’ll let Him.  And don’t squander Your Blessed by worrying that it’s not like your girlfriend's.  Her Blessed wouldn’t fit the dream that God has just for His little girl…you.

For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord.  For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.  Isaiah 55:8-9

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a hope and a future.  Jeremiah 29:11

Always know, from one girlfriend to another, you are perfect.  You are beautiful.  You are loved.  You are Blessed, my friend.  Don’t let anyone belittle Your Blessed.  Because, you’re amazing!

Quietly Gentled,

Carrie.

Don't Cut the Tea Bags

Girlfriends, I’m not always as smart as I look.  Ok…a little snickering from the crowd is alright…but whoever is belly laughing in the back of the audience may be going a bit too far…maybe…

I know.  I know.  Sometimes I just don’t have it together…at all.  One time comes to mind.  I remember being a newlywed…keeping house for my hubby…enjoying my domestic duties.  I was slowly and meticulously cutting each tea bag and letting the tea fall into my storage container when I felt a presence over my right shoulder.  Yep…there was Clay.  As newlyweds, this was a welcome presence.  I just knew we were in for some cuddle time…when instead…he just intently watched my activity.  I explained I was cutting the bags and collecting the tea so I could scoop and measure it out later to make sweet tea.  He stood silently looking on as if he had more to say, but wasn’t sure where to begin.  I continued cutting and collecting.  Finally, he put the words together and they came out something like this, “Why in the world wouldn’t you just use the tea bags to make tea?!!”  I rolled my eyes.  Men!  They have no clue.  Of course, I had to have loose tea, silly.  I couldn’t use tea bags.  I had to measure it out.  How else would I know how much to use???!!!  Besides, this is how my mom had done it for years and years and years.  If she did it, it was right.  He snickered and moved on as if to say “whatever”.

Mom came by the house a few days later and I chuckled as I related Clay’s newlywed blunder.  I was surprised when she out and out belly laughed.  Ok…I knew it was funny, but THAT funny?  As we giggled together, she decided to let me in on what made it so terribly, terribly funny to her.  She bought LOOSE LEAF tea...which meant she didn’t cut tea bags…or collect in a container…or anything I had been doing.  It came that way.  Had she bought the little bags…she would have simply used the bags.

Huh.  Well, howdy do.  Use the tea bags.  Hold that thought.  I think I need to go apologize to my hubby.  To which his reply was, “You’re cute.”  Meaning…there’s a cute face hiding that empty space behind it.  And at that moment, I couldn’t have agreed more. 

Girlfriends, instances like that make me wonder…how many things do I do every day just because that’s how I saw it done or said or lived?  What do I totally, whole-heartedly believe in simply because of mama or someone else?  Um…a LOT!  So, is that good or bad?  In the case of the cut tea bags, bad. 

Possibly that’s why the Bible says in 2 Timothy 2:15:

Study to show thyself approved unto God, a workman that needeth not to be ashasmed, rightly dividing the word of truth.

In matters of the kitchen, it’s funny when I follow someone else down a path and figure out I traveled that road for no apparent purpose.  But, in matters of life, it could mean everything.  So, that means I have to study…the Scriptures…for myself.  I can’t listen to anyone…even those nearest and dearest.  Scriptures have only one meaning.  And I have to find that meaning.  If I don’t do this for myself, I could follow someone else’s interpretation down a road that seems right, but is totally wrong.

I have to figure out how to make tea…and life…correctly.  And I challenge you as well…don’t cut the tea bags…and study your Bible for yourself.

Quietly gentled,

Carrie.

Just Do It

Girlfriends, as I sat in the examination room of a local clinic on a Sunday afternoon, I realized two things: 1) I must be in a good deal of pain to visit a clinic on Sunday and 2) a small part of my body can cause a big girl like me to cry like a baby.  Here’s the scoop…

My toenail had shown signs of…shall we say…unpleasantness…for some time now.  And if you’ve seen my feet (size 10) or my big toenail (huge), you would know that’s a LOT of unpleasantness!  I had tried all the creams, ointments, and salves out there, but hadn’t been really religious in the application of any.  I’d give each medication a good two days before I would promptly forget all about it.  Then, when it worsened, I’d give the next med another two days of my life.  I finally just gave up and painted it.  If I couldn’t see it, it was o.k.  So…believe it or not…it got worse….much worse…until I found myself waiting on a doctor I had never met to look at my ugly, inflamed, throbbing toenail and prescribe something.  At this point, I was willing to see the med through…no matter how long it took.

Girlfriends, the doc walked in and the first words out of her mouth were, “We’re going to have to cut it off.”  Whoa.  Wait.  What???!!!  Uh --- NO!  Where’s my cream?  Where’s my ointment?  Where’s my pill?  I promise to take them all faithfully!  She said, “Yeah…no.  Maybe last week that would’ve worked.  Not today.  Come with me to the Procedure Room.”  Hold it, Lady!  I don’t want to see the inside of ANY room called the Procedure Room!  I want my mommy!!!

I summed all the courage I had left in my body and said with all the dignity I could manage, “I’ve got to pee first.”  My bladder, after two kids, isn’t such that you want me to be on “full” before we start anything painful.  She kindly showed me to the restroom where I took the moment to ponder my predicament.  Should I sneak out?  Should I man up?  Should I fake another more serious illness to get their minds off my toe?  Should I call Clay to come get me?  No, Carrie Elizabeth Turner Thomasson, you got yourself into this mess and you’re going to have to see it through!

So, I grabbed my purse and my big girl panties and exited the restroom to be shown to the Procedure Room.  Let me just say there was a little bit of wailing and gnashing of teeth going on in there.  And as I hobbled to my car, made my way home to Clay and the babies, and then learned that the only pharmacy open wouldn’t have my prescribed pain-killer until the next day, I realized something more…

If I know I should do something (like take care of my toenail) and I don’t, it’s just wrong…and I WILL have to suffer the consequences.

Kinda reminds me of James 4:17.

Therefore, to him who knows to do good and does not do it, to him it is sin.

Let me encourage you, Girlfriends.  When you know and see something good to do, just do it.  It’s less sinful and certainly less painful...just ask my toe.

Quietly gentled,

Carrie.       

I Saw The Light...Blue Lights

Girlfriends, I saw the light…the blue lights that is. 

Here’s the low-down.  Clay (hubby), Amy (sis), both babies, and I had just eaten supper at the local hamburger place.  Clay was on his work truck and left the parking lot first.  Amy and I were dealing with the sleepy, savage beasts in the carseats behind us.  We were feverishly handing pacis, teddy bears, and blankets from the front seats while we tried intermittently singing to the top our lungs, making faces over our shoulders, and finding lullaby-ish music on the radio.  (You lose all dignity when you have children.)  As I turned my attention to actually driving us home, I turned the keys and realized there was a lady sitting in the storefront windows in front of us eating her supper...and getting a good laugh off of us.  Even though I was in no mood to be entertainment for the evening and could have gone all night without her giggling at us...I mustered the last Christian bone in my crazed body and intentionally decided (this will be important later) to not blind her (although I have to admit it would have felt good) and wait until I had pointed the car away before turning on the lights.  I bet you can guess what happened next.  Yep…between gossiping with Amy and dealing with babies, I forgot to turn the lights on at all.  We left that parking lot (thankfully onto a well-lit, highly traveled avenue) and headed home.  That’s when I saw the blue lights.  I knew immediately.  My lights.  Neither that giggly lady in the storefront window nor anyone else on the road had seen them. 

This is when being gentle and quiet came oh so easily for me.  Something about those blue lights puts the fear of God in me.  And, thankfully, as if on cue, the back seat became quiet!  That’s proof that God has a sense of humor…because as soon as we were headed home…they wailed like crazies again.  Anywho…the policeman was kind enough to realize that I was a frazzled, crazed momma who had made a very stupid mistake and wished us well as he sent us on our way.  As I carefully (with my lights ON) headed home, I thought, “I’m gonna blind the mess out of whoever is in front of me next time I turn on this car!!!”

Girlfriends, that’s a lesson to me!  I intentionally made a decision to try to do the kind, courteous thing.  I deliberately tried to be a kind soul.  I was trying to do what I would want done to me.  But, as you can see, that doesn’t get you peanuts.  The rule of the road is that you have lights on before you move your vehicle at night.  That’s the rule…and there’s a reason for that.

It’s the same for life.  Just because I intentionally live in a manner that seems good or makes sense to me, it doesn’t mean I’m right.  I can be doing all the good in the world and still be dead wrong.  It’s a fact that I can’t let my heart be my guide.  Scripture is very clear on that.

Jeremiah 17:9 (ASV)

The heart is deceitful above all things, and it is exceedingly corrupt: who can know it?

So, if I can’t go by what’s in my heart, what can I do?  I can follow Scripture.  If I want to be a Christian woman, I have to know what it takes to be obedient to my Father in Heaven.  I have to make sure that I don’t add to or leave out anything He says.  If I do, I’m leaning on my wisdom…and we all know where that gets me.

Quietly Gentled,

Carrie.