Mind Matters

When a mild slope of depression threatened to submerge me into a state of low affect, I called out to God,  even as I didn't want to.  And he heard my prayer.

His sweet voice beckoned me back, with this simple word, "expectations".  I kept hearing it as I prayed quietly in my slippery state of sadness.  Here was God inviting me to see what he saw so clearly.  So, I bravely took a look.  What expectations?

Well, this little princess discovered, my expectations.  Boy, was I sheepish as I found a lot of them.

Apparently, moving closer to family, driving for every holiday or birthday, being in a home with trees and lush greenery, and having this here on earth, was an expectation of mine.  Even though my husband and I had eight years ago decided these dreams would not be mine, I hadn't really let them go.  Here they were drowning me.

So, when bright city lights beaconed through my home, when two am tow trucks woke me from my sleep, when family had to pay a small fortune just to spend a holiday with me, I grew bitter.  When the children asked for a tree to climb, when vacations included a beautiful setting that reminded me of my longing for a pretty home, and when my "family" became friends whose life turns had kept them from their relations, I grew sad.

But it was all in my mind.  It was all in my expectations.  Why had my expectations grown so exact and when was I going to let go of them?

Now, it turns out.  Thanksgiving week, actually.  I laid it all out on the table, with God, and my husband. As I prayed and conversed, the obvious became reality: I had to let God's reign rule in my mind.  I had to give up the thoughts I was letting rustle around in there, the expectations of having a comfortable little life near family and in the great outdoors.  I had to embrace realities that did not match my expectations, and call them good.

And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, so that you may prove what the will of God is, that which is good and acceptable and perfect. Romans 12:2


May your Advent season, the season of expectations, be filled, as mine has most recently, with the thoughts and mind of God.  May you find in it, rest for your weary souls and joy brightening your darkest nights.

Best

Discipline your son, and he will give you rest; he will give delight to your heart.
Proverbs 29:17 



Training my new dog reminds me invariably of training my own children. And I don't mean that in a bad way. I like dogs.

Let me backtrack a moment. Yes, children's eternal souls are knitted together by God and given a destiny, a future. Dogs, well, they return to their own vomit and what not. Their value is not measurable in comparison to the inestimable value of one's own child. However, there are similarities.

My dear little dog will tend to relieve herself on my nice white rug if I do not watch her closely and remind her as soon as she starts sniffing, that we definitely, ahem, allow that sort of thing to be done outside. And I must be watchful, swift, and decided or my nice white rug will be not so nice so very soon.

My dear children are the same. If I don't remind my sweet two year old son that no we do not fall on the floor crying in a heap when a cookie is refused or a favor asked or nap time mentioned, then my sweet refuge of a home will quickly spiral into a chaotic unlivable spot on earth where many will think to curse the day. And this is not the point. Of having children or days.

It must be swift and decided, I must be watchful and quick, or the whole decadent delight in experiencing the full range of terrible emotions will be my son's, and the whole range of woe-is-me experiences will be mine.

A happy home this is not.

My dog, and yes, again with the dog, is one who responds favorably to the training. After several weeks of said consistent treatment I have found her to make it outside for all things doggie nine times out of ten. And the tenth time being when the door is closed, a doggie door would be nice.

My dear son, and other children who have been trained thus far in like manner, that of consistency not doggie doors, are responding in kind.

Because they know there is no wiggle room, and because they have me ever at their heels when wiggle room is attempted, and because the consequence of wiggling (of course here wiggling would mean the refusal to nap, the inability to cheerfully agree to chores, the sneaking of a forbidden cookie) has been noted to be unpleasurable, down right painful in fact, they find themselves in a home of harmony.

Moments of digression from norms aside, for the most part, theirs is a home of smooth family relations that include giggles, sillies, sharing, and merriment of all kinds.

The poop and pee are out of doors.

The unfettered emotions have found their master.

The child has been released to enjoy life in his home. As has the parent. And the dog.

All is well with the world once again. Ahhh, the joys of a well trained child.