Fishbowl Living

Living in a fishbowl means having no privacy.  None.  Zilch.  Nada.  Every discussion dissected, every movement noticed, every heartache shared with whoever is watching at the time. 

Being under a microscope means having your emotions laid bare for all to see.  People with no business knowing your business passing judgement upon you just because they can. 

Living in a glass house means that what could have stayed hidden from view is bathed in light and everyone can see all the dirt and debris. 

Many people say that they don’t want to live in a fishbowl, to be under a microscope, to live in a glass house.

Some of them are lying.

Some of them say they want privacy, yet put intimate details of their lives on blogs.  Some of them say they want to be left alone, yet where they are going, what they are doing, and how they feel gets spread all over Facebook or Myspace or Twitter.

Some say that they want anonymity, yet they allow their lives to be filmed and displayed on national television. 

A little bit of attention is fine.  A little bit of notoriety.  A little bit of fame. 

Until it gets out of hand.  Until the dirt gets messier and the debris gets more personal.

When we live in a fishbowl  most of the time it is our own choice.  The consequences are sometimes good. 

But sometimes it comes crashing down.

I do not follow Jon & Kate Plus Eight, the reality show about the family of Jon and Kate Gosselin.  I have seen it in passing a few times.  But I know what is going on with their lives.

Because fishbowl living has caused them problems.

However, even though we know a lot about them, we don’t know everything.

We don’t know what they think about right before they drift off to sleep.  We don’t know what they’ve been praying for or if they’ve been praying at all.  We don’t know their deepest, darkest emotions.  We don’t truly know all of their thoughts.

You see, even when we are in a fishbowl or under a microscope or in a glass house, there are still things that we keep hidden; things that are stuffed deep down. 

No one sees these things.

Except God.

The Creator knows His creation.  The ups and downs are known in detail by the Master before they ever occur. 

Our thoughts are known before we think them.  Our words are heard before they are spoken. 

The Sovereign One knows why you are the way the you are.  The scars left on your psyche are not foreign to Him; He was there when the wounds were being made.

He was also there when your actions caused the wounds of another.  He knows how you have hurt those closest to you.

Our lives are not merely being lived in a fishbowl that He can peer into; He has intimate knowledge of every detail. 

Even the details that we have forgotten or repressed are fresh in His memory.

And He loves us anyway.

Passionately, deeply, amazingly.

Like a cool breeze flowing by us on a scorching, summer day.

His love can bring great peace into our lives if we have a relationship with Him through Christ.

We can sit back and relax.

We can rest easy with the knowledge that the scars we inflicted on others are forgiven by the scars inflicted upon Jesus.

We can rest comfortably in the arms of the Savior knowing that the One who knows us best loves us the most.

We can have peace because of the Prince of Peace. 

With God, with ourselves, with everyone.

Lay back upon the green pastures and look over at the still waters and be glad.

Why I Did Not Kill My Dogs

A few years ago I almost murdered two dogs. 

Actually, that may not be completely accurate.  It wasn’t like I had a gun to their heads or a knife to their throats or anything else like that.  I did, however, express my dislike of them in a vociferous manner. 

I yelled.  Loudly.  I told them that I hated them and wished that they would just die.  They didn’t deserve this type of treatment and I am not proud of what I did.  I’m just reporting what happened.

Smidgen was a dalmation mixed with some kind of hound dog.  She was white with black spots and had the kindest eyes I have ever seen.  Blessed with a sweet disposition, she would often sit next to me on the couch with her head in my lap.

Amos was supposedly a full-blooded beagle, but with his bowed legs and sizeable midsection he probably had a little bit of basset hound in him.  He was a good friend; one of the best I’ve ever had. 

I’m not quite sure what set me off that day.  We had loaded the kids along with Smidgen and Amos in the little Dodge Grand Caravan that we had then and traveled to Knoxville from our then-home in Oakdale.  On the way to my mother-in-law’s house, Kristy had to make a stop at a clothing store to look for a dress.

I sat in the van with the kids and the dogs.  That is when the incident happened.

It gets kind of hazy from  this point.  I know that one or both of the dogs did something that I did not like; I’m just not sure what.  Whatever it was, I did not handle it well.

My blood pressure shot up as my voice increased in volume.  I could feel myself sweating and my heart beating.  Then I realized that the people sitting in their cars near me might be able to see my little outburst.  I needed to calm down.

So I picked up my Bible.

What I am about to tell you normally doesn’t happen to me.  In fact this may be the only time that it has ever happened to me.  But it is the absolute truth.

My Bible fell open to the book of Proverbs chapter twelve.  I looked down right at verse number ten.  That is where I (the one who just moments before went berserk screaming at 2 helpless dogs) read these words:

“A righteous man regardeth the life of his beast: but the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel.”

That’s when I prayed the most unique prayer of my life:  “Crap, God!  I’m sorry.” 

Then I looked over at Smidgen and Amos.  I apologized profusely while patting their heads.  They wagged their tails profusely and tried to lick me.

I explained to my children that Daddy shouldn’t have yelled like that and that they should never do what they had just witnessed me do.  I don’t think they fully comprehended it because they were too young.  

Then I looked out the window, amazed at how God reveals Himself to a moron like me.

I smiled knowing that God loves me in spite of my foolishness. 

And He loves you the same way.

Me, You, and Shia

Shia LaBeuf is not a name that everyone knows, but his face is one that most have seen.  Maybe you (or your child) used to watch the Disney Channel’s Even Stevens or maybe you have see the movies Holes.  It’s possible that you saw him in Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull playing the title character’s son or being protected by Bumblebee in Transformers. 

Some of his characters have been shy and awkward.  Others have been cocky and opinionated.  Either way, he has gained fame and fortune doing something that millions of people can only dream about.

But in real life he struggles with doubts and questions that seem to give him little rest.

I read an article the other day in Parade Magazine about Shia by Dotson Rader.  It made me sad.

In it he is quoted as saying, “Sometimes I feel I’m living a meaningless life and I get frightened.” 

About feeling unworthy, he says “I have no idea where this insecurity comes from, but it’s a God-sized hole.  If I knew, I’d fill it, and I’d be on my way.” 

About why things have happened in his life, he says, “I have no answers to anything.  None.  Why am I an alcoholic? I haven’t a d— clue!  What is life about?  I don’t know.”

In many ways, I have been where he is.  So have you. 

Struggling, wondering, searching.  Never grasping what it is that you know is missing.  Others around you have the answers to questions that you are not asking. 

The sadness I feel for Shia could be described as empathy–knowing how he feels.  But it also comes from knowing that he is not looking in the right places for the answers that he is seeking. 

He is worried about living a meaningless life when the One who gave him life is eager for a relationship with him.

He calls it a “God-sized hole,” yet he is trying to fill it with anything but God. 

Relationships.  Fame.  Money.  Alcohol.  But not God.

He wonders what life is about.

It is about what it has always been about. 

God and His glory.

Extolling the worth of the One who gives worth to all other things.

Resting in the sovereignty of the Almighty.

I’ll be praying for Shia, for me, and for you.  That we will all realize that what we have been looking for is very close to each one of us. 

God and God alone.

Ramblings of Praise

When I am weak the adversary strikes with vengeance, but the hand of the Lord keeps my soul from danger.

His strength is greater than the weaknesses of man.  He ever stands as guardian of the righteous;

For the righteous do know that apart from Him they have only deeds deserving of death.

Because they trust in the righteousness of the Eternal King, He will do good to them for the sake of His name.

Let those who trust in weapons see the folly of their ways; let those who are enamored with empty words spoken by lying lips gain understanding.

The ways of the wicked are continually before the eyes of man; vile actions of the unrighteous are viewed day and night.

Counsel is given by those who lack understanding, by those who do not fear the Mighty One.

Only those who trust in the Lord will be forever satisfied; only those who are satisfied in the Lord shall be able to stand firm in days of distress.

Open our eyes, O Lord; let us not be led astray from your truth by the multitudes.

You alone are sovereign; you alone deserve all glory.  Let all creation exalt your name, let us praise your greatness forever.

Be Christlike

Two words of instruction.  Over and over and over.  Two words that followed me all throughout childhood.  Over and over and over.  Two words that are still said to me by people who are well-meaning and who love me.  Over and over and over.

I suppose that I will never be completely free from these 2 words:

Be careful.

On my way to school; be careful.  Going to basketball practice; be careful.  Heading to an event with the youth group from church; be careful.  Walking across the field to my grandmother’s house; be careful.  Using scissors or a hammer or fingernail clippers; be careful.  Doing anything at all and for no reason at all; be careful.

Frankly, I have long since grown tired of hearing those 2 words.  And I have my reasons.

For some people saying these 2 words has grown to be a habit.  They just say them at the end of every conversation.  Kind of like ”bye” or “talk to you later” or “take it easy.”  These people do not seem to realize how silly it is to tell normal, somewhat sane people to be careful.  Do they think that I plan on being careless as I use sharp objects or go swimming?  Do they think that if they do not tell me to be careful that I will come unglued and begin behaving as though I have no sense at all? 

Them:  Be Careful.

Me:  Oh my goodness!  Thanks for telling me that.  Without you here to instruct me to be careful I probably would have walked headlong off of a cliff.  But since you said “be careful,” I will be sure not to do such an ignorant thing. 

Sorry for such sarcasm.  I’m hoping you see and commiserate with my aggravation. 

Those words that entered my brain over and over served to make me afraid.  As a child, I often experienced anxiety over all of the things out there that could potentially harm me (even though very few of those things ever happened).  Being constantly reminded to “Be careful,” served as an accomplice to my worries and caused me great distress.  There was not a problem around every corner, but it felt like there would be around the next. 

Those who kept saying the 2 words I now abhor had my best interest at heart.  They cared about me; about what could happen.  They wanted me to keep my eyes open; to be aware.  But those words combined with my alreay shy and skittish personality dampened my ability to take risks regardless of the possible rewards.

I was paralyzed by being careful.

But now, I have overcome this.

There are 2 new words that are at the forefront of my mind.  Two words that help me to take risks when appropriate, yet at the same time help me keep my guard up against real threats.  I do not repeat these words over and over to myself and no one else ever says them to me, but I strive to live my life by them anyway.

Be Christlike.

Be Christlike.

Be Christlike.

Being Christlike covers being careful without taking it too far.  When I am being Christlike I am aware of the real dangers out there without worrying about the imaginary ones.  It also means that while I am aware of the real dangers, I am not controlled by them.  They do not make me afraid for I know that my Savior is leading me.

Being Christlike allows for greats risks because truly following Jesus implies that there will be plenty of risks involved.  I know that while I following the Master by living life on the edge, the great net of His grace is there to catch me when I fall.

It’s a good feeling, trust me.

People still tell me to “be careful” from time to time.  When they do I usually give them an inward cringe and whisper to myself–”Be Christlike.” 

It’s better that way.