Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Marriage Ref
Have you seen this show? I just saw it recently - hysterical. Three couples come on with a dispute and a panel of three celebrities, some of whom are not married or are divorced, determine which spouse is right and at the end the audience decides on the most right spouse and that person gets a billboard in their city that says they were right. I would totally go on this show.
Let me say this, the disputes are never over anything big (the one I saw, one of the women was spending too much decorating her doll house), and the celebrity panel very frequently sides with the woman even in situations where there is no way the woman should win the argument. This is why I would be a perfect contestant. Odds are, I would win given the predisposition toward women, and Bray and I aren't fighting over anything big.
But we have gotten frustrated lately. Over little stuff. I didn't like his schedule one week or he didn't like that I was too opinionated on how the kids ate something at dinner. These petty disputes are just annoying, we're not dealing with adultery or addiction, so these aren't issues that could end a marriage - or could they?
I can only speak for myself, and maybe speak a little bit for women in general, but I think we sometimes let little things go too far. These aren't "bet the farm" disputes, so we (either spouse) decides it's not worth it to get into a wrangle over it - we'll just be a little short in conversation or we'll ignore it or we'll forget to kiss the other one goodbye that morning. No big deal.
But it adds up. One. Thing. After. Another. And it wears away at the fabric of a marriage. Until the fabric frays and eventually tears. Lysa TerKeurst, in a book called Capture His Heart, calls it the dangers of a leaky faucet. I studied this book in a summer bible study and it revolutionized how I thought about my marriage and how I treated my marriage and Bray. For a while. But work got busy, I had triplets, and the drip drip drip began again without paying the attention I had previously to that leaky faucet. When Bray and I went to hear Gary Chapman speak this summer (author of Five Love Languages) he said, "Marriages either get better or worse. They never stay the same." Boy, that statement hit me. I'd allowed myself to believe that as long as I wasn't doing anything proactively to hurt the marriage, it was okay that I wasn't doing much proactively to help it. But it's one or the other, your marriage today will be better or worse than it was yesterday. And the next day. And next month. And next year. You have to make the decision which way it will go.
In Capture His Heart, Lysa starts the book by saying that even the best husband makes a poor god. She talks about how she would leave her driveway crying wondering, why does it have to be so difficult, why is everything such an issue, what's wrong? She became so consumed trying to figure out how how to make everything right and figure out how to get the love she needed that her husband became her god. And this is what she ultimately resolved: "My spirit should not vacillate between joy and sorrow based on how Art and I are getting along. Instead, my soul should always rest in the safety of Jesus' unconditional love and acceptance."
If you have some drip, drip, drips in your marriage, then let me present to you the same challenge that I've given to myself: (a) don't let our husbands become our god so that our emotional well being is entirely dependent on how the marriage is going that day (for good or bad), (b) make an effort every day to affirmatively improve upon our marriages, because it will get worse if it doesn't get better, and (c) take the time to fix leaky faucet issues before they systematically erode the beautiful relationship that God has given us until death do we part.
Let me say this, the disputes are never over anything big (the one I saw, one of the women was spending too much decorating her doll house), and the celebrity panel very frequently sides with the woman even in situations where there is no way the woman should win the argument. This is why I would be a perfect contestant. Odds are, I would win given the predisposition toward women, and Bray and I aren't fighting over anything big.
But we have gotten frustrated lately. Over little stuff. I didn't like his schedule one week or he didn't like that I was too opinionated on how the kids ate something at dinner. These petty disputes are just annoying, we're not dealing with adultery or addiction, so these aren't issues that could end a marriage - or could they?
I can only speak for myself, and maybe speak a little bit for women in general, but I think we sometimes let little things go too far. These aren't "bet the farm" disputes, so we (either spouse) decides it's not worth it to get into a wrangle over it - we'll just be a little short in conversation or we'll ignore it or we'll forget to kiss the other one goodbye that morning. No big deal.
But it adds up. One. Thing. After. Another. And it wears away at the fabric of a marriage. Until the fabric frays and eventually tears. Lysa TerKeurst, in a book called Capture His Heart, calls it the dangers of a leaky faucet. I studied this book in a summer bible study and it revolutionized how I thought about my marriage and how I treated my marriage and Bray. For a while. But work got busy, I had triplets, and the drip drip drip began again without paying the attention I had previously to that leaky faucet. When Bray and I went to hear Gary Chapman speak this summer (author of Five Love Languages) he said, "Marriages either get better or worse. They never stay the same." Boy, that statement hit me. I'd allowed myself to believe that as long as I wasn't doing anything proactively to hurt the marriage, it was okay that I wasn't doing much proactively to help it. But it's one or the other, your marriage today will be better or worse than it was yesterday. And the next day. And next month. And next year. You have to make the decision which way it will go.
In Capture His Heart, Lysa starts the book by saying that even the best husband makes a poor god. She talks about how she would leave her driveway crying wondering, why does it have to be so difficult, why is everything such an issue, what's wrong? She became so consumed trying to figure out how how to make everything right and figure out how to get the love she needed that her husband became her god. And this is what she ultimately resolved: "My spirit should not vacillate between joy and sorrow based on how Art and I are getting along. Instead, my soul should always rest in the safety of Jesus' unconditional love and acceptance."
If you have some drip, drip, drips in your marriage, then let me present to you the same challenge that I've given to myself: (a) don't let our husbands become our god so that our emotional well being is entirely dependent on how the marriage is going that day (for good or bad), (b) make an effort every day to affirmatively improve upon our marriages, because it will get worse if it doesn't get better, and (c) take the time to fix leaky faucet issues before they systematically erode the beautiful relationship that God has given us until death do we part.
Monday, August 29, 2011
First Day (of many) of School
Drama, drama, drama. You would think the kids were going to kindergarten with all the drama of the first day of school this morning. Lord have mercy! The boys, who do not exactly speak with verbal clarity yet, when asked by Bray if they wanted to go to school this morning responded with the clearest "no" you have ever heard - and pronounced with feeling. (The little lady on the other hand, said yes, she's always been the least dependent.)
So we started MDO this morning - a Monday/Tuesday, 9 am to 2 pm, program at the church where Bray and I were married (if you recall, it was quite the effort getting them in to this particular program). We visited their classroom and teachers on Friday morning and there was a fair amount of crying and groaning about that 45 minute adventure even though both Miss Maria and I stayed with them. Over the weekend, we decorated their giraffes with pictures and stickers and colors to hang on their classroom wall (they are the "Giraffe" class so we were told to make decorating our weekend family art adventure). We got their nap mats ready, their clothes laid out, and their lunch boxes labeled. Quite the endeavor.
None of these painstaking efforts were appreciated by the boys though. They made it clear that they love mommy and daddy and any attempt to stick them with a teacher away from home would be met with serious resistance. They cried all morning. They cried getting loaded in the car (hence these lovely first day of school pictures you see). They cried getting ready. They wanted to be spoon fed ONLY by mommy at breakfast. What drama. Both Bray and I were snappish because there's only so much howling a family can endure before you get a little edgy. FYI, snappish parents make for even MORE hysterical children.
Nonetheless, the first morning of school is now history. Hallelujah. Now, let's hope I can survive the second day.
So we started MDO this morning - a Monday/Tuesday, 9 am to 2 pm, program at the church where Bray and I were married (if you recall, it was quite the effort getting them in to this particular program). We visited their classroom and teachers on Friday morning and there was a fair amount of crying and groaning about that 45 minute adventure even though both Miss Maria and I stayed with them. Over the weekend, we decorated their giraffes with pictures and stickers and colors to hang on their classroom wall (they are the "Giraffe" class so we were told to make decorating our weekend family art adventure). We got their nap mats ready, their clothes laid out, and their lunch boxes labeled. Quite the endeavor.
None of these painstaking efforts were appreciated by the boys though. They made it clear that they love mommy and daddy and any attempt to stick them with a teacher away from home would be met with serious resistance. They cried all morning. They cried getting loaded in the car (hence these lovely first day of school pictures you see). They cried getting ready. They wanted to be spoon fed ONLY by mommy at breakfast. What drama. Both Bray and I were snappish because there's only so much howling a family can endure before you get a little edgy. FYI, snappish parents make for even MORE hysterical children.
Nonetheless, the first morning of school is now history. Hallelujah. Now, let's hope I can survive the second day.
Our Meet the Teacher Friday
Our Attempt At Family Photos On The First Day
Lillie Dancing Upon Arrival in the Classroom
The Boys Playing Puzzles with the Teachers (T Minus Meltdown)
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
The Animals Take Over The Zoo
Honestly, how many posts can a woman write about the tactics of a disobedient toddler? Well, you're about to find out because here is YET another one (in case you missed it, here was the last one, and I'm sure there will be more to come....).
Let me begin by saying that this weekend was not all mayhem. The kids, after a pretty rough few weeks, were so loving. Lots of hugs and kisses and cuddles and reading in my lap. On the whole, I thoroughly enjoyed this weekend with them which is more than I can say about a few of the past ones (I know, I'm terrible, but seriously, you would not enjoy 48 straight hours with 3 speedy noncompliant 22 month olds either!). But lest I forget that they are only at the beginning of the independent/test-your-boundaries phase, they threw a few new tactics in my direction. Here's my top 5 list of the hijinks that ensued as the animals began to take over the zoo:
No. 5: Screaming is now used as a periodic tool to either express anger or need for attention. The eldest, while I personally think he screams less than the other two, does do it with a force and pitch to be reckoned with. So now the baby has added the eldest to his repertoire of sounds, i.e., "How does the duck go?" with a "Quack Quack" in response; "How does the horse go?" with a very operatic soprano version of "Neighhhhhh" in response; and "How does your brother go?" with a "AAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH" in response. The eldest does not seem amused.
No. 4: I wear more make up now than I did in the '80s because the little lady, in addition to her punching people (most frequently, me) in the eye, has taken to scratching the living daylights out of my face. No matter how short I cut her nails, whenever she's in a snit about something, she grabs my face in her little fingers with a fierceness reserved for middle ages battles. The process of extricating your every aging skin from her stranglehold often results in scratch marks across your face. Quite the picture of femininity.
No. 3: Our furniture in the living room is pushed up against the gas fireplace to keep the kids from playing in pipes filled with toxic gases. This apparently is not a deterrent but an invitation. They just SCALE the furniture, couch or chair, and stand up on the little stone ledge of the fireplace behind the furniture laughing and clapping and sinking down behind the furniture should you hazard to try to extract them from the aforesaid danger.
No. 2: I purchased a book called Hands Are Not For Hitting this weekend because of the recent rash of hitting (see No. 4). We all curled up in my lap and began to read the book (which is now a house favorite). The story basically says, hands are not for hitting, hands are for hugging and helping and waving, etc. It repeats this "hands are not for hitting but hands are for..." message about 3 times throughout the book. Every time I speak the words, "hands are not for hitting," the eldest promptly begins to beat the tar out of the book. Great. That was effective.
No. 1: The Baby, or Dennis the Menace as my husband likes to call him (or the evil genius as I infrequently employ), climbs up on the dining room chair, then climbs on top of the dining room table and takes a stick and begins beating my crystal vase. I say, "no climbing on the table or you go to time out," and pull him down. To which he responds with gales of laughter and a prompt climb back on the table. I say, "okay, you're going to time out," where he goes for 2 minutes. As I pull him out he goes running as fast as his chubby little legs will carry him and climbs back on the table looking at me and laughing. I say, "no, no, this is dangerous, you have to go back to time out now." I pull him out and......well, you get the idea, apparently, punishment spurs him on. Fun for all.
Let me begin by saying that this weekend was not all mayhem. The kids, after a pretty rough few weeks, were so loving. Lots of hugs and kisses and cuddles and reading in my lap. On the whole, I thoroughly enjoyed this weekend with them which is more than I can say about a few of the past ones (I know, I'm terrible, but seriously, you would not enjoy 48 straight hours with 3 speedy noncompliant 22 month olds either!). But lest I forget that they are only at the beginning of the independent/test-your-boundaries phase, they threw a few new tactics in my direction. Here's my top 5 list of the hijinks that ensued as the animals began to take over the zoo:
No. 5: Screaming is now used as a periodic tool to either express anger or need for attention. The eldest, while I personally think he screams less than the other two, does do it with a force and pitch to be reckoned with. So now the baby has added the eldest to his repertoire of sounds, i.e., "How does the duck go?" with a "Quack Quack" in response; "How does the horse go?" with a very operatic soprano version of "Neighhhhhh" in response; and "How does your brother go?" with a "AAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH" in response. The eldest does not seem amused.
No. 4: I wear more make up now than I did in the '80s because the little lady, in addition to her punching people (most frequently, me) in the eye, has taken to scratching the living daylights out of my face. No matter how short I cut her nails, whenever she's in a snit about something, she grabs my face in her little fingers with a fierceness reserved for middle ages battles. The process of extricating your every aging skin from her stranglehold often results in scratch marks across your face. Quite the picture of femininity.
No. 3: Our furniture in the living room is pushed up against the gas fireplace to keep the kids from playing in pipes filled with toxic gases. This apparently is not a deterrent but an invitation. They just SCALE the furniture, couch or chair, and stand up on the little stone ledge of the fireplace behind the furniture laughing and clapping and sinking down behind the furniture should you hazard to try to extract them from the aforesaid danger.
No. 2: I purchased a book called Hands Are Not For Hitting this weekend because of the recent rash of hitting (see No. 4). We all curled up in my lap and began to read the book (which is now a house favorite). The story basically says, hands are not for hitting, hands are for hugging and helping and waving, etc. It repeats this "hands are not for hitting but hands are for..." message about 3 times throughout the book. Every time I speak the words, "hands are not for hitting," the eldest promptly begins to beat the tar out of the book. Great. That was effective.
No. 1: The Baby, or Dennis the Menace as my husband likes to call him (or the evil genius as I infrequently employ), climbs up on the dining room chair, then climbs on top of the dining room table and takes a stick and begins beating my crystal vase. I say, "no climbing on the table or you go to time out," and pull him down. To which he responds with gales of laughter and a prompt climb back on the table. I say, "okay, you're going to time out," where he goes for 2 minutes. As I pull him out he goes running as fast as his chubby little legs will carry him and climbs back on the table looking at me and laughing. I say, "no, no, this is dangerous, you have to go back to time out now." I pull him out and......well, you get the idea, apparently, punishment spurs him on. Fun for all.
Monday, August 22, 2011
20 Years - Then and Now
As I've mentioned once before, I don't really write about my life in high school. It was a challenging time, poor teen dealing with newly divorced parents, and I am now a different person who doesn't spend a lot of time pondering the days of yesteryear.
However........after changing my mind a dozen times, I walked into my 20 year high school reunion Saturday night. That different me, the one living in northwest Houston in May 1991, came flooding back. It wasn't a bad me or a good me, but the insecurities sure reared their ugly head. My husband watched me flip-flop about whether to attend the reunion right up to the time when we parked at the hotel. And since he was no fan of high school, he thought my decision to attend was a little wacky.
We walked in and saw a couple of folks I knew. As the crowd grew, I visited with a few more people from the days of old. I saw a boy I'd had a crush on, a girl who I'd studied with, and a few people who I've kept distantly up to speed with via Facebook. What made the entire outing completely worth it was seeing one of my best friends from high school who became my college roommate and who I had not seen since my wedding! But otherwise, as I told my mom who babysat for us, it was painless to attend but I would have been perfectly fine skipping it too. Apparently, I still look the same (that's probably not a compliment if you grew up in the 80s), but the outside is not at all reflective of me now (except for my improved fashion sense)..........
So what did I come away with? A sense of gratitude. A sense of overflowing appreciation for the Lord's rich bounty poured out over my life. If you look at statistics, girl with divorced parents at 12 with lower socio-economic status, absentee father, body image issues, etc., then the charts don't project my current life. The me of today wouldn't turn up on the statistician's graphs of likely results. But I don't worship a God of statistics and averages. I serve a God of miracles. Big miracles. So I loved being re-confronted with the 1991 version of myself. It was a blessed reminder of the goodness of God. I have a good life. With a faithful husband, healthy children, supportive parents and friends, a fulfilling job, and the once-elusive stability. Those two hours at the reunion were fine, nothing in and of itself for me to write about, but the reunion's spotlight over the past 20 transformative years was worth every penny I paid. I've got a long way yet to go in this journey I am on, but I know now more than ever that any success or happiness I have found is because of of a great God, full of grace and surprises.
Ephesians 3 - Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory...
2 Samuel 7 - “Who am I, Sovereign LORD, and what is my family, that you have brought me this far? And as if this were not enough in your sight, Sovereign LORD, you have also spoken about the future of the house of your servant—and this decree, Sovereign LORD, is for a mere human! “What more can David say to you? For you know your servant, Sovereign LORD. For the sake of your word and according to your will, you have done this great thing and made it known to your servant. “How great you are, Sovereign LORD! There is no one like you, and there is no God but you, as we have heard with our own ears...“And now, LORD God, keep forever the promise you have made concerning your servant and his house. Do as you promised, so that your name will be great forever. Then people will say, ‘The LORD Almighty is God over Israel!’ And the house of your servant David will be established in your sight. “LORD Almighty, God of Israel, you have revealed this to your servant, saying, ‘I will build a house for you.’ So your servant has found courage to pray this prayer to you. Sovereign LORD, you are God! Your covenant is trustworthy, and you have promised these good things to your servant. Now be pleased to bless the house of your servant, that it may continue forever in your sight; for you, Sovereign LORD, have spoken, and with your blessing the house of your servant will be blessed forever.”
However........after changing my mind a dozen times, I walked into my 20 year high school reunion Saturday night. That different me, the one living in northwest Houston in May 1991, came flooding back. It wasn't a bad me or a good me, but the insecurities sure reared their ugly head. My husband watched me flip-flop about whether to attend the reunion right up to the time when we parked at the hotel. And since he was no fan of high school, he thought my decision to attend was a little wacky.
We walked in and saw a couple of folks I knew. As the crowd grew, I visited with a few more people from the days of old. I saw a boy I'd had a crush on, a girl who I'd studied with, and a few people who I've kept distantly up to speed with via Facebook. What made the entire outing completely worth it was seeing one of my best friends from high school who became my college roommate and who I had not seen since my wedding! But otherwise, as I told my mom who babysat for us, it was painless to attend but I would have been perfectly fine skipping it too. Apparently, I still look the same (that's probably not a compliment if you grew up in the 80s), but the outside is not at all reflective of me now (except for my improved fashion sense)..........
So what did I come away with? A sense of gratitude. A sense of overflowing appreciation for the Lord's rich bounty poured out over my life. If you look at statistics, girl with divorced parents at 12 with lower socio-economic status, absentee father, body image issues, etc., then the charts don't project my current life. The me of today wouldn't turn up on the statistician's graphs of likely results. But I don't worship a God of statistics and averages. I serve a God of miracles. Big miracles. So I loved being re-confronted with the 1991 version of myself. It was a blessed reminder of the goodness of God. I have a good life. With a faithful husband, healthy children, supportive parents and friends, a fulfilling job, and the once-elusive stability. Those two hours at the reunion were fine, nothing in and of itself for me to write about, but the reunion's spotlight over the past 20 transformative years was worth every penny I paid. I've got a long way yet to go in this journey I am on, but I know now more than ever that any success or happiness I have found is because of of a great God, full of grace and surprises.
Ephesians 3 - Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory...
2 Samuel 7 - “Who am I, Sovereign LORD, and what is my family, that you have brought me this far? And as if this were not enough in your sight, Sovereign LORD, you have also spoken about the future of the house of your servant—and this decree, Sovereign LORD, is for a mere human! “What more can David say to you? For you know your servant, Sovereign LORD. For the sake of your word and according to your will, you have done this great thing and made it known to your servant. “How great you are, Sovereign LORD! There is no one like you, and there is no God but you, as we have heard with our own ears...“And now, LORD God, keep forever the promise you have made concerning your servant and his house. Do as you promised, so that your name will be great forever. Then people will say, ‘The LORD Almighty is God over Israel!’ And the house of your servant David will be established in your sight. “LORD Almighty, God of Israel, you have revealed this to your servant, saying, ‘I will build a house for you.’ So your servant has found courage to pray this prayer to you. Sovereign LORD, you are God! Your covenant is trustworthy, and you have promised these good things to your servant. Now be pleased to bless the house of your servant, that it may continue forever in your sight; for you, Sovereign LORD, have spoken, and with your blessing the house of your servant will be blessed forever.”
Friday, August 19, 2011
Wanderlust
Wanderlust is defined officially as a strong longing for or impulse toward wandering. But this simple definition doesn't fully capture the emotion of wanderlust, a sensation with which I am acquainted. I wish there were a more captivating word than longing. Merriam Webster's thesaurus says that longing is synonymous with an appetite, a yearning, a thirstiness. These are physical words which describe what truly can be a physical sensation.
Wanderlust, as a notion, has its pros and cons. It might lead you to hike Mt. Everest or visit the ancient pyramids or raft down the Colorado rapids. But it also can lead you to leave. To pick up and go. To abdicate responsibilities. To exit without completing what you have started.
I don't experience wanderlust with the frequency I did as a single adult but it still hits me periodically. It's most frequently incited by music. A song I remember from my single days when I could pack up and move to a different city or travel to a faraway place all by myself without checking in with anyone or feeling guilty. If there was money in the bank, off I could fly to Alaska or Cape Cod or the Colorado mountains - and I did. I traveled carefully, but alone. I was raised moving. Before settling in Houston, I had lived in Southern California, Northern California, Texas, Kansas, Arkansas, and Tennessee. I never went to a school more than 2 years in a row until high school. I think my father had wanderlust. But he and I both saw that the grandiosity of his ideas rarely translated to the practicality of day-to-day living here on earth.
I was listening to one of my favorite musicians in concert on t.v. last night while Bray was out of town and the kids were in bed. And I could feel the wanderlust stirring. A vivid recollection of the days of old, with less responsibility and busyness, and it incited some longing, some yearning, some thirstiness. Have you experienced this? A wanderlust to pack a bag and linger over a glass of wine overlooking Grand Canal in Venice or sip a cup of coffee while watching the sun rise over Machu Picchu?
Here's the trick. Don't try to bury it. Acknowledge it. It's particularly human to long for an escape when things are hard work at home and work. It's human to idealize a time gone by even though when you were in the midst of that period you may have actually been longing for a relationship or kids or stability. Then do something about it. Plan a short getaway. Revisit an old haunt with a friend over an evening out. I think what leads to folks eventually leaving their kids or their spouse or their job or their life is that they spent years trying to bury legitimate feelings instead of finding an outlet for them. And as for that trip to Machu Picchu, it may not be in the cards this year, but start saving for your 40th birthday party trip or your 10 year wedding anniversary.
There's this great old hymn we used to sing in church called Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing, and one of the verses says:
This must have been written by a wanderlust. He knew that the best cure for a wandering heart is a seal from God and a measure of grace.
Wanderlust, as a notion, has its pros and cons. It might lead you to hike Mt. Everest or visit the ancient pyramids or raft down the Colorado rapids. But it also can lead you to leave. To pick up and go. To abdicate responsibilities. To exit without completing what you have started.
I don't experience wanderlust with the frequency I did as a single adult but it still hits me periodically. It's most frequently incited by music. A song I remember from my single days when I could pack up and move to a different city or travel to a faraway place all by myself without checking in with anyone or feeling guilty. If there was money in the bank, off I could fly to Alaska or Cape Cod or the Colorado mountains - and I did. I traveled carefully, but alone. I was raised moving. Before settling in Houston, I had lived in Southern California, Northern California, Texas, Kansas, Arkansas, and Tennessee. I never went to a school more than 2 years in a row until high school. I think my father had wanderlust. But he and I both saw that the grandiosity of his ideas rarely translated to the practicality of day-to-day living here on earth.
I was listening to one of my favorite musicians in concert on t.v. last night while Bray was out of town and the kids were in bed. And I could feel the wanderlust stirring. A vivid recollection of the days of old, with less responsibility and busyness, and it incited some longing, some yearning, some thirstiness. Have you experienced this? A wanderlust to pack a bag and linger over a glass of wine overlooking Grand Canal in Venice or sip a cup of coffee while watching the sun rise over Machu Picchu?
Here's the trick. Don't try to bury it. Acknowledge it. It's particularly human to long for an escape when things are hard work at home and work. It's human to idealize a time gone by even though when you were in the midst of that period you may have actually been longing for a relationship or kids or stability. Then do something about it. Plan a short getaway. Revisit an old haunt with a friend over an evening out. I think what leads to folks eventually leaving their kids or their spouse or their job or their life is that they spent years trying to bury legitimate feelings instead of finding an outlet for them. And as for that trip to Machu Picchu, it may not be in the cards this year, but start saving for your 40th birthday party trip or your 10 year wedding anniversary.
There's this great old hymn we used to sing in church called Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing, and one of the verses says:
O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.
This must have been written by a wanderlust. He knew that the best cure for a wandering heart is a seal from God and a measure of grace.
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