I'm reading the book Captivating by John and Stasi Eldridge. I'm only about 1/4 of the way through it, so I could very well have this figured out by the time I finish it, but here's what I've learned:
I've learned that I'm uncomfortable admitting that I want people to see me as captivating. For some reason I didn't think it was okay to want people to look at me and say "wow, she's amazing!" I want the attention, but only secretly. And I've learned that it's okay to want to be wanted. And to need to be needed. It doesn't make me vain, or selfish, or self-absorbed. Aparently it's part of what it means to be a girl.
I'm always fascinated by the whole "God made me in his image" thing. I love to read through the Psalms and see this anger, joy, sorrow, love, and even jealousy that God has given us. And I love to see how he has them too. I love the thought that as the creator, God formed us in him image and we are constantly a people creating our own art. We are like God in so many ways.
What I never thought to look at has been pointed out to me in Captivating when it talks about how God is a God who wants to be saught after. He wants us to seek him, to know him, and to delight in him. It's okay for me to feel like this because it's more than likely that part of God directly in me. God made me like him, which is why (even though I constantly fight it) I want to be saught after. And it's why I want to be delighted in and celebrated. It's why I want to be known and understood.
And I fight it so much. I am so uncomfortable with being celebrated, even though somewhere inside I want to be delightful. I fight tooth and nail the fact that I want somebody to love me and need me, but somewhere I know I want to be (and will be) the perfect wife to someone.
Why am I fighting who I am as a woman made in God's image?
Why is it so hard to give in to this part of my nature God has programmed in?
How do I hold onto humility and selflessness while asking the question "am I captivating?"
Where is that happy medium between secretly wanting to be desired, and overtly making sure people think I'm desireable?
God's will and Satan's tricks look so similar sometimes.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Saturday, November 04, 2006
How I Like to Remember It.
Friday night, we'd all go to bed. All of our friends had their Christmas trees up and brightly lit, but our living room widow had just our window clings and some colored light bulbs. There was snow on the ground, and Santa was due any day now but the Herron family had no tree. "It's not time yet," my dad would say whenever we'd ask. "We won't find the perfect tree if we go before it's time."
Then, there would come that Saturday morning. We'd get up and eat breakfast and my dad would announce, "last night, I looked out the window, and the stars were lined up just right. Our Christmas tree is ready for us." And we'd bundle up in our long-johns and snowpants, hats, coats and gloves and pile into the car. Dad would take his saw, mom would help us buckle up in our chubby bundle of winter clothes, and we'd drive to the Christmas tree farm.
It was well over a 30 minute drive, but we'd get there and march out to the tractor that would pull us deep into the endless rows of trees. "Douglas Fir!" the driver would call out as most of the families on the wagon would pile off for the giant soft needles of their soon-to-be Christmas trees. Our family did not move. We knew to wait for the call, "Spruce!" There it was! This was our stop! Now to find the tree that was waiting for our family.
We'd run through the rows and rows of trees, looking for our tree. Too tall. Too fat. That one has a hole in the side. That's a two-trunker. We'd split up--mom would take half and dad would take the other half. We'd mark a tree here or there and bring the whole family together to look at it.
Then, like some sort of miracle, all of us would find it at the same time. Mom would circle around it. Niki, Kali, Drew and I would yell "we found it! We found it!" Dad would hold his hand up to make sure it was the right height. We'd check the shape. Lay down on the ground and check the trunk. The branches looked as if they could hold our assortment of hand-made and store-bought ornaments. "This one's the one," my mom would announce, and my dad would nod in agreement and get down on the ground with his saw.
Gleefully, my siblings and I would call out, "tiiiimmmbeerrrrrr!" as the tree would fall to the ground. Dad would grab the trunk and we'd all pile at the top and carry it to the aisle to wait for the tractor.
Getting the tree tied up was always fun. We'd look around at the other trees and I'd be so proud that we found the perfect one, and all the other families had to settle for second best. Into the trunk the tree would go, and we'd all pile back into the car for the long drive home.
We always had perfect Christmases, and we always had the perfect tree. Sometimes it would reveal itself the night before Christmas, other times it would come as early as the first week of December. But we always found it. Every single time. My dad would wait for the stars to line up juuuuust right, and when that perfect moment came, we were up and running.
Patience is a virtue. But when the waiting is over, run as fast as you can for the prize. It will always be the most perfect then that it ever will be.
Then, there would come that Saturday morning. We'd get up and eat breakfast and my dad would announce, "last night, I looked out the window, and the stars were lined up just right. Our Christmas tree is ready for us." And we'd bundle up in our long-johns and snowpants, hats, coats and gloves and pile into the car. Dad would take his saw, mom would help us buckle up in our chubby bundle of winter clothes, and we'd drive to the Christmas tree farm.
It was well over a 30 minute drive, but we'd get there and march out to the tractor that would pull us deep into the endless rows of trees. "Douglas Fir!" the driver would call out as most of the families on the wagon would pile off for the giant soft needles of their soon-to-be Christmas trees. Our family did not move. We knew to wait for the call, "Spruce!" There it was! This was our stop! Now to find the tree that was waiting for our family.
We'd run through the rows and rows of trees, looking for our tree. Too tall. Too fat. That one has a hole in the side. That's a two-trunker. We'd split up--mom would take half and dad would take the other half. We'd mark a tree here or there and bring the whole family together to look at it.
Then, like some sort of miracle, all of us would find it at the same time. Mom would circle around it. Niki, Kali, Drew and I would yell "we found it! We found it!" Dad would hold his hand up to make sure it was the right height. We'd check the shape. Lay down on the ground and check the trunk. The branches looked as if they could hold our assortment of hand-made and store-bought ornaments. "This one's the one," my mom would announce, and my dad would nod in agreement and get down on the ground with his saw.
Gleefully, my siblings and I would call out, "tiiiimmmbeerrrrrr!" as the tree would fall to the ground. Dad would grab the trunk and we'd all pile at the top and carry it to the aisle to wait for the tractor.
Getting the tree tied up was always fun. We'd look around at the other trees and I'd be so proud that we found the perfect one, and all the other families had to settle for second best. Into the trunk the tree would go, and we'd all pile back into the car for the long drive home.
We always had perfect Christmases, and we always had the perfect tree. Sometimes it would reveal itself the night before Christmas, other times it would come as early as the first week of December. But we always found it. Every single time. My dad would wait for the stars to line up juuuuust right, and when that perfect moment came, we were up and running.
Patience is a virtue. But when the waiting is over, run as fast as you can for the prize. It will always be the most perfect then that it ever will be.
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