Un(Facebook)worthy

A couple of weeks ago, I was trying to bring some lunch to a friend who was having a rough day.  I had the best of intentions.  However, in my zeal to do something nice, I failed to realize that:

A.) It was lunch-time, and my kids hadn't eaten.
B.) My gas-tank was empty.  Not almost on the "E" empty, but right smack on the "E" empty.
C.) I had never been to this friend's house, and the main road to get there was under construction.

Consequently, this fun little trip with the kids turned into a fun little trip to hell.  What should have been a ten minute drive turned into a forty minute drive, with me periodically stopping the car (making sure to turn the car entirely off so as not to waste the gas fumes I was driving on) to check Google Maps, which is useless to me, because on my best days, reading maps is like reading Portuguese to me, and on my worst days, Google Maps Navigation persistently leads me back to construction sites over and over and over again. My kids were hungry, which means they began screaming at the top of their lungs about five minutes into the drive, causing me to be unable to think or hear the Google Maps Navigation girl giving me the wrong directions.  So, I did what I always do when I am overwhelmed or lost or annoyed at the kids: I called my husband.  I put him on speaker phone, because my awesome phone is from 1984 (aka 2012) and the sound periodically goes out unless I put my calls on speaker phone. Well, there were three kids screaming in the car, a frantic wife sputtering about how she's about to run out of gas and is completely lost and she CAN'T DO THIS anymore, and the faint murmurings of a polite but misinformed Google Maps girl, insisting that I really should turn right and plow right through that construction site.  Jordan, of course, heard all of this since it was on speaker phone, but I didn't care.  Honestly, this is just a slice of normal life for us.  He did sound a bit preoccupied, but I had no time to take that into consideration at that particular moment of insanity.  He managed to look up Google Maps on his phone, actually read the Portuguese map, and give me a detour that got me to my friend's house in relatively one piece.  Thank you, saint and hero of a husband. 

It wasn't until he got home later that he casually mentioned that he'd had a client in the car when I'd called.  A young man from Sri Lanka, a refugee who only recently entered the country.  He'd been driving the young man to a medical appointment, and since he was driving, he'd had to put me on speaker phone, as well.  My mind spun back to the ugliest moment in the car, when the kids had been screaming so loud I couldn't hear anything Jordan was saying, and I had yelled "SHUT UP!" which always works to quiet your kids when they are already upset and hungry.  Not.

I was so embarrassed that my private, ugly moment hadn't been private at all, and Jordan's unconcerned assurance of "It's fine, he hardly understands English," did nothing to comfort me.  You didn't need to speak English to hear the chaos and poor parenting that was occurring in that moment.  Welcome to America, sir.  Land of the free and the crazy.

Needless to say, that moment did not make it onto my Facebook status that night.  Nor do I post countless other ugly but real-life moments that occur on a daily basis.  Most of us, I think, tend to post a best-scenario version of ourselves online.  Here is a sample of the type of photo I post of my daughter Nora:

So cute, right?  I just want to eat her up like the ice cream cone that's on her shirt.

Here is a sample of Nora in real life, 95% of the time:

This is Nora at her happiest: Shirtless and eating dirt and other unspeakable things straight off the ground.

If you are like me, you deem certain moments and certain photos "Facebook Worthy" and certain moments and photos Un-Facebook-Worthy.  Consequently, the Facebook persona, or the public persona we present to the world is not always the fullest, truest form of who we are (insert shock and awe). What we show the world isn't necessarily a lie - it's just not the whole story. 

And let me just say, sometimes this "filter" is good.  We probably all know a few people who could use a stronger filter on their Facebook posts.  The public doesn't need to know everything that happens in your life (It is taking every ounce of self-control I have right now not to give hilarious examples of Facebook posts on my newsfeed that have no filter. GAH.) While I appreciate authenticity (and I really appreciate authenticity), I also appreciate a healthy measure of privacy.  Certain things are sacred to your home (and to mine) and certain things are not appropriate to share.  We all have things that we would prefer to keep between ourselves and those closest to us, and I think that is healthy and good.  But, I think it's important that when we deem a moment "Un-Facebook-Worthy," that we don't associate that moment or that photo with shame. 

Take my parental failure the other day in the car with the kids.  It wasn't my best moment.  I felt awful that I'd yelled something unkind to my kids, and that I'd let a stressful moment turn me into someone that I don't want to be.  On top of that, I felt ashamed that I'd been heard by a stranger in that moment.  It would have been easy to get stuck there, in that sense of shame and guilt, believing that I'm a terrible parent.  Instead, I let the feelings of shame and guilt push me toward repentance.  I apologized to Jordan, for being a crazy wife and for being unconcerned for his needs at that time, I apologized to my kids, for speaking (yelling) unkindly to them, and most importantly, I apologized to God, and asked for His help to be the mom I was created to be.  Because that mom in the car, that wasn't me.  That wasn't the fullest, truest form of who I am any more than the Facebook version of me is.  It was just a moment, a snapshot, an unflattering selfie that will never make it onto the internet (until now).

We all have those snapshots of ourselves that we don't want anyone to see.  As spouses, as siblings and sons and daughters and especially as parents: not every moment is pretty.  Not every moment is sunshine and flowers and blowing bubbles and baking cookies for your kids who are currently holding hands, singing sweet little songs and playing quietly together outside like little cherubs.  Some moments may be like that (okay, really, if you have moments like that, I'm moving into your house and forcing you to mentor me) but not all of them.  And in the ugliest, most private moments that you don't want anyone to see: give yourself grace.  Apologize to those you hurt, dive deeper into the love of God, and trust His promise that He's not done with you yet.  He's in the process of refining that ugly selfie and turning it into a masterpiece.  You won't even recognize yourself when you see the finished product. 

Just because a moment in your life is Un-Facebook-Worthy, doesn't mean you are unworthy. 

Not the birthday blog I thought I'd write.

So, you know those kid birthday parties that are becoming more en vogue, where the invitation says sweetly at the bottom, "No gifts, please."

I hate those.

You really can't win as a guest at those parties.  You think to yourself, "Oh, they're just being nice.  I'll look like a jerk if I don't bring a present.  Everyone else will bring a present." So you bring one.  And NO ONE ELSE DOES.  You look like the lone, materialistic jerk at the party.  So you learn from your mistake, and at the next "no gifts" party, you do not bring one, only to find, to your great surprise, that everyone else did.  You are now the lone, stingy jerk at the party.

One invitation for a kid's birthday party I received took it to another level, where it said, "Handmade gifts only, please."  Um.  I know that as a stay-at-home mom, I'm supposed to have all the craftiness and DIY, pinterest-style abilities that are all the rage right now, but let me tell you something: I am missing that gene.  It got lost somewhere along with the gene that was supposed to help me appreciate Jane Austen mini-series' and Downton Abbey.  I'm still looking for it.  If you are wondering how I got through this particular birthday party, I piggy-backed on my crafty friend Nina's gift (an adorable home-made apron) and bought some little baking utensils to stick in the pockets.  I'm still sticking to my story that I hand-carved the tiny wooden spoon.

All this to say, we have always thrown the kind of parties at our house where gifts are welcome (certainly not required, but not excluded, either).  My son Asher just had his fourth birthday party, and I realize now that four seems to be the age where a child first recognizes what a birthday is and is fully able to milk it for all it is worth. ("Mom, can I play video games with you?" "No, honey" "But it's my birrrthday." "Mom, can I have two muffins, and a cookie?" "No." "But it's my biiirrrthday.")   At his party, Asher got some gifts, he got a cake, he got lots of attention.  He took it in stride.  As is often the case, his party didn't fall on his actual birthday, so there was a "birthday week" following the party during which cards and packages from family arrived in the mail.  Asher got a free birthday smoothie from Dutch Brothers.  We made him special birthday muffins on the morning of his birthday. We also made a special trip to Baskin-Robbins for his free "birthday ice cream cone."

Asher shared about 1/28 of one bite with a sibling after every ten bites of his own. This caused Nora to begin shrieking, which caused us to leave the Baskin-Robbins approximately 3 minutes after sitting down.

After a full birthday week, on the evening of Asher's actual birthday, we ran to the drug-store for a few things.  When I returned to the car where Jordan and the kids were waiting, Asher eyed my shopping bag and asked, with a gleam in his eye, "What's in there?" Jordan replied, "Facewash for Mommy, and toothbrushes for Nora and Abel." And with those words, there erupted a fit from Asher that made me realize with sudden clarity why people request that you not bring gifts to their children's birthday parties.  The fit was so extreme that I briefly pondered whether we should become Jehovah's Witnesses, eliminating the entire birthday issue.  I won't relive the tantrum's content in detail, but the general gist was that Asher was SHOCKED that I had the nerve to go to the store and return without something for him.  On his BIRTHDAY, of all days.  After much weeping and gnashing of teeth, we reminded Asher that he'd had a full week of us celebrating him, and maybe it was time to start thinking about someone else.  "No! I want to think about ME," Asher screamed.  Precious.

Maybe this sense of entitlement is normal in a four-year-old.  I vaguely remember from my human development classes in college something about how children are "naturally" self-centered until a certain age (umm...94?).  However, Asher's words served as a warning flag for me as a parent, and stirred up something in my heart that God's been speaking to me for awhile now.

Entitlement is not limited to 4-year-olds.  Rewind 5 months ago, and I was essentially throwing the same fit as Asher on my own birthday, December 21st.  My birthday is stupidly close to Christmas.  Every year I feel a twinge of self-pity when people have the NERVE to put Christ's birthday before my own. I throw my own fit, wanting everyone to think about me instead of buy toothbrushes and other lavish gifts for everyone else.  And I'm not just greedy on my birthday.  I've spent years taking the money, resources, gifts, friendships and other things God has given me for granted.  Jordan and I have family and friends who have blessed us during times of financial strain (Grad school, having three kids under the age of three, you know.) They've given us baby gear, a new washer and dryer, a car, the list goes on.  I wish I could say that this led me to also give generously to others in need, but I can't.  Instead, for many years I developed a strange, unconscious entitlement to being blessed.  I guess I thought of our family as the poor ones.  When I heard sermons about giving, or was approached by charities asking for money, I honestly didn't see how we could afford to give to something like that.  I had a mentality of receiving, not of giving.  Gross.

Like I said, over the past year God has not only uncovered my selfishness and entitlement, but has been stirring up a distaste for it.  He's changing my heart; he's reversing my spirit from that of a receiver to that of a giver, and it feels good and hurts all at the same time.  I could write a whole other post (or two, or three) about the people and things he has used to change me, but for now, let me just tell you what we did about Asher's birthday tantrum.  We saw that he was a little bloated in the receiving area, so he needed some practice giving.  We asked him to choose four toys (one for each year of his  life) from his collection to give to some kids who didn't have many (or any) toys of their own.  We reminded him about David, the sweet boy from Kenya who we've been sponsoring for just over two months (another result of God increasing our hearts to give). We showed him pictures of kids in areas of the world where toys aren't even the issue; having enough to eat is.

I expected it to be hard for Ash to give up four things.  Turns out, he thought four was kind of a lame attempt, and he upped it to ten things.  Included in the ten things were some of his nicest toys, and even one of his new birthday toys.  He gave innocently, with a generosity and a disregard for "stuff" that put me to shame.  I had to bite my tongue several times to keep from saying "Are you sure?" when he picked out things that I obviously valued more than he did.

What did we do with these ten toys?  Well, turns out my husband works for an amazing non-profit called World Relief, where he personally knows several refugee families who came into our country with only a couple of suitcases to their names.  Certainly their kids could use a few toys.  Asher took his box to Jordan's office and gave it to Robert, the sweet donations manager at World Relief.  Robert had Asher sign his very own and very first tax receipt, which was probably Asher's favorite part. 

Here's the thing: Everyone can give something.  If you make $44,000 or more a year, you are in the top 1 percent of wage earners in the world.  That's probably a wake-up call for a lot of people.  Our family doesn't make $44,000 a year, but we can still give.  Nowhere in the Bible does it say that if you don't have much, you don't have to give much (or at all).  Jesus honored a woman who gave her last two pennies as an offering to God (Mark 12:41-44).  The prophet Elijah asked a widow and her son to use the last bit of oil and flour that they had to make a meal for him (1 Kings 17).  Jesus asked a boy who only had a little bit of bread and fish for his lunch to share it with him and oh, just 5,000 others (John 6).  If you haven't read the ending of these stories, do it. Here is what I'm learning: It's awesome when we give out of our surplus.  It's awesome when we give, period.  But when we give out of our lack, when we don't have anything to give and we give anyway, that's when the miracles start happening.  That's where the pleasure and power of God is.  That's where I want to be.

Giving ten toys?  Sponsoring one child overseas?  Baby steps.  You annoying people who send birthday invitations requesting no gifts are way ahead of me, and I repent for calling you all annoying (but I'll still probably bring a gift to your party, out of sheer rebellion).  I have the sense that what God is doing in Asher and in our family is only the beginning of a journey he is taking us on.  Jesus said that where our treasure is, that's where our heart is (Matt. 6:21).  My prayer is that by the time this journey is over, there will be pieces of the Bemis's hearts all over our city, and all over the world.

 
Jesus also said that whatever we give to the poor, we give directly to Him (Matt. 25:40).  Well, Jesus, we hope you enjoy the ten toys we gave you this week.  We trust you'll put them to good use.