ENCOURAGED IN HEART

I’m not talking about the plastic banana-shaped “soap dishes” that have been known to grace the boys bathroom sink during sports seasons…oh no, I’m talking about something entirely different.

Still stinky.

Still a cup.

(For the ladies that have only girls…the above reference pertains to the only accessory that your daughter will never need…a sports cup!)

Continuing…

As I passed the playroom this morning, I saw it. A subtle dread interrupted my morning java buzz and I thought the tenderest motherly thought I could muster.  Someone will pay for it.

I collected the Lord-only-knows-how-long-IT’s-been-lounging-and-what-form-of-science-experiment-will-be-growing-in-it sippy cup.

Yes, IT is a sippy cup.

But not just any sippy cup.  IT is an abandoned sippy cup.  Sippy cups rock.  Abandoned sippy cups stink.  A dramatic encounter with one three summers ago, when I gave up looking for the many-days-lost-abandoned-milk-havin’-sippy cup, that I eventually found, opened…and rocked my world, forever.

But I digress.  Back to “it” this morning that once in hand the internal debate began.

I don’t want to even go there…maybe I’ll just chuck it and save myself the wanna-vomit-gag and potential need for an additional tetanus shot.

Well, the practical cheapskate over rode the drama queen.  Just open it already, maybe IT housed juice vs. milk and then it’s very salvageable.

Bravely, I turned the royal blue sippy top to find….it was an abandoned JUICE sippy cup! HALLELUJAH!  My morning coffee will remain where it is housed as will this sippy cup (after a run through the dishwasher!).

Which randomly so, brought back such a tender analogy that prompted me to type this post…

In my emotional healing, which I’m calling a sippy cup…God gave me the courage to open my heart and see what’s inside.  It was an old-abandoned-milk cup.  It was stinky.  For twenty years, the grief over my mother’s untimely death, which I digested as abandonment because she was, well, not around, and the choices I made from that grief…STUNK.

Sister, I’m telling you what…it took time and water (tears), and I wanted to throw the cup out, but God didn’t.  He cleaned the stinky, abandoned milk cup.  And WOW am I ever so GLAD He’d didn’t chuck me out.

Today, as I turn the cup top (open my heart), know what’s inside?

Very manageable juice drops. 

The stinky cup syndrome…I allowed it to hold me back and in honor of God’s tender revelation to me this morning… And in honor of the grace extended to me…no short Fink paid for “IT” today.

I’m asking you today…will you open the sippy cup?  Sure, maybe you’ll find some stinky questionables, or just maybe…you’ll find a few manageable juice drops.  Either way…open the cup, face it and allow God to clean IT out!

I barely know where to start after an amazing past five days.

The guys and I traveled north to spend Thanksgiving with most of my family. Sister numero dos and her fam live in Florida so they sadly weren’t there.  I also got to spend a leisurely and girlie day with my oldest and very first friend, Kerry, on Friday.  Then on Saturday we attended a wedding reception that housed the wild old crew from my old neighborhood…the entire five days were a BLAST!

Heading north used to bring a lot of emotional baggage.  I never realized how much until I started this weight loss journey (which I thought was just about physical weight – but it wasn’t – it was really about asking God to help me deal with my emotions) almost eight years ago.

The high voltage emotions were not because I don’t love my side of the family, but rather because I do.  We all love each but there’s just something about when we’re all together that can at times get, well…emotional.  It’s not overtly emotional, but all those subtleties of bling-er comments, etc.  And, for a recovering emotional eater…it’s like knowingly walking into a landmine expecting not to blow up. That combined with some magical thinking I can turn into an emotional WILD WOMAN!

Why can’t we all just get along? Was my heart’s cry…and I believe now my family’s heart’s cry also.

The build up to the visit, the actual visit, the recovery from the visit – I’m not even talking packing and laundry – I’m just talking emotions right now!

If you have a family, maybe you know what I mean?

As the baby of the family, I’d internalize it and let all the whoop-la get me down.  God showed me the victim statements I’ve made – aka: my part of the equation is the only part I can own and change.  A huge part of my change is the realization that I’m no longer a victim.

In fact, I’m more than a conqueror…through Him.

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.  Romans 8:37 (NIV)

Victim statements have a “should”, “always”, or “never” attached to them.  God’s trained me that when I self talk with those three particular words – to stop, evaluate and redefine the statement.

“We’re a family and families should get along…”

“Pop always has cookies, candy and treats everywhere, it’s like walking into Willy Wonka’s place.”

“The sisters never say nice things to one another.”

Some things remain true.  Willy Wonka’s place (my Pop’s pad) still had Grandma’s etched glass candy dish filled with  Peppermint Patties, the kitchen cookie jar was a-flowing with chocolate chip cookies, freshly made brownies and a box of donuts…but so was a bowl full of fruit and fresh veggies…cause Pop knows we love em’!

My sisters do say nice things to one another, not all the time, but they do at least sometimes!

We do all get along, sometimes we don’t.

I focused more on the negatives than the plentiful positives.

So I’m using the food for the analogy here, but what I’m really saying is the critical spirit that I entered with propagated my own grief and ravaged emotions and left me with a skewed perspective of reality.  Emotional healing and maturity says look at things for what they are, accept it and get on with life!

I know I’m healing because I didn’t just stuff my emotions and the chow – no, I ate cousin Meredith’s delicious pumpkin pie and didn’t think of a second helping and not because it wasn’t a yum-ster of a slice -  I was far more interested in hanging and connecting with my family.

Identifying the progress, not perfection is what true recovery is all about!

I know I’m not the only one with family dynamics.  I may be just the only lunatic who blogs about it.  

I hope you leave today encouraged with this one thought…one person that makes one choice, led by a One-der-ful God is an equation for love.  Love multiplies and never divides!  I love my family for who they are, no longer what I wished them to be…and that in and of itself is a miracle from God!  I know I want to be loved for who I am today, not for what I wished I was or will be!