If you’ve ever wondered how your spinning instructor does it. . . teaches a few classes in the same day or seems to get her legs around effortlessly while you are struggling. . .

I’ll give you a hint: She may be faking it.

Faking in spin class is one thing. Faking it in life, another. Entirely.  Sometimes we all need a jolt–a “What are we really here for anyway?” shaking that brings us back to reality.

Not the day-to-day kind of reality where we suddenly remember that we should spend more time taking care of our children than updating our statuses. No, the kind of reality where we have no choice but to remember that this world is a temporary place. Our lives here are short. And, we are are crazy, crazy, crazy, crazy blessed to be Americans.

I read an awesome blog post by Ann Voskamp. It was written as a wake-up call to the North American church and it hit me especially hard this morning. I haven’t posted much over the last six months because I’m struggling. I’m struggling to find a voice to express all the mess that’s going on in my head and my heart. I’m like a big jumble of thoughts and feelings and emotions and somehow they all get suffocated by laundry, emails, kids’ activities, and figuring out how to make the almost-thawed-out chicken into something edible for dinner.

But, Ann’s post nudged me to a different level this morning. Reminding me that I am so blessed. Blessed beyond measure. That my temporary problems–ranging from worry over whether or not I said something stupid to a new person at our church or a three-year-old who can’t seem to stay in bed during his nap– are just that, they are temporary. And, beyond their fleeting nature–they are really, pretty trivial.

Tapped Out. Why Bother?

Sometimes I feel like I’m tapped out. I think to myself that I can’t possibly give anymore. I’m spent. Used up.

God has my all…it all…doesn’t he? Well, maybe, sort of…?

Compared to. . .

Then I read Ann’s stories of women in Africa who put a bag of beans in the offering plate because that’s all they have.

No, I don’t come close to giving it all… 

I’ve spent months wrestling over whether or not I should even bother to write anymore. I’m not famous.  Chances are I won’t be discovered and offered a sweet book deal and the chance to dribble on about something interesting  on the Today show.

Although I appreciate warm encouragement from a handful of gracious friends that I’ve collected through the years. . .Does it really matter? Is this a calling? A distraction? A frivolous dream? All of the above?  Are my aspirations of someday writing and making a difference noble or idolatrous?

I really have no idea. 

And, then I grapple with how lost in clutter I am. Most of the time.

It’s downright lame that when I get home from Costco after dropping a few hundred dollars on massive amounts of perishable stuff that I still can’t figure out what to feed my children. And, it’s embarrassing how much time I spend scheming as to how I can make more money to buy even more.  Stuff that is. I’m positive I have spent more minutes this summer figuring out which foundation color best matches my newly tanned face than I have considering those who would view make-up as a crazy luxury.

I have a lot of stuff. I struggle with giving it up.

Why do I love my stuff so much?

I think it helps me fake it.  If my outside appearance was as jumbled and messy as my heart is most days – you’d stay away from me.  You’d smile politely and come up with a great excuse for doing anything other than sticking around for a conversation.

Instead, I can fake perfection.  I can make my teeth look whiter, my eyelashes fuller, my nails the perfect shade and, through the help of some extremely uncomfortable undergarments, even fool you into thinking this body easily bounced back after four pregnancies.

My stuff gives me security.  If God can’t provide for my needs, perhaps I can make sure I have enough stuff to take care of it myself.  What if someday…I need it…I mean…really, really, need it?  Who will help me then?

Blasphemous and ridiculous. All at the same time. I know.

If Jesus is all…what am I doing…what should I be doing… ?  How can I really make my American life reflect the truth in that statement?  Where is the balance between my desire for a pedicure being innocent and my drive to consume being sinful?

Again, I have no idea.

I just know I want to stop faking it.  But, how do we get real?

“I know your works: you are neither cold nor hot. Would that you were either cold or hot! So, because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth.”  Revelation 3:15-16

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