Valentine’s Posing Pansies

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Posted on February 7, 2013 by Terri

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Dear Lindsey,

Chris and I have never been much for the typical Hallmark holidays. We love each other,

and tell each other regularly…in our own ways. It might be my making his favorite meal, or his taking the kids so I can go for a walk ALONE on a sunny afternoon. We each have love languages that are outside of Chapman’s book, but it is good, because we have discussed it and both agree our language is right for us. (Shouldn’t chocolate be another Love Language? Or fishing? Or …oops, I am off my story.)

I love that for our anniversary one year (ok, many years), he stopped at a convenience store and bought me my favorite candy on his way home late at night. Somehow it makes me feel special that he trusts me not to be a high maintenance girl, and he can count on me to not be needy when he is living life for a purpose, our purpose. I know it’s weird, but it flatters me just the same. Of course, I have never been offended by his brag-worthy gifts, either!

For his birthday, I spell “Happy Birthday” with cookies since he likes them better than cake, and I am confident that it is one gift he cannot get for himself. I guess that’s how we speak love in the Brady house.

But one Valentine’s Day a few years ago, he decided to dare to be different. Or actually, he dared to be typical, since he was usually different. He dared to get me the typical Valentine’s gift: a dozen red roses.

I am guessing he planned on walking in and creating a dramatic moment, carrying the lovely vase of abnormally gorgeous flowers in full bloom. He probably imagined his bride descending the stairs and covering him with grateful kisses, while kids oohed and aahed by our side. He knew the “typical” would be a surprise in itself, since it was different than our norm.

But I was not home. He had forgotten it was my day with the homeschool group at church.

By the time I got home, the flowers were proudly displayed on the kitchen island. Immediately putting my nose to them to take in the fragrance, I realized they were silk. Silk? Yes, fake flowers. I tried to think through his reasoning:

“Silk flowers will prevent her allergies from bothering her.”

“Silk flowers will last forever, while real flowers will die away.”

“Silk flowers look perfect, and have more vibrant colors.”

“Terri likes silk, which is why she had them at our wedding.” (In reality, we had silk wedding flowers, because we got married Mother’s Day weekend, and no flower shop would commit to live flowers…oh yeah, and they were cheaper.)

But then I got real:

“I bet he didn’t even notice they were fake. He probably stopped at the store and was on the phone. He grabbed the first thing he saw, paid with a credit card and brought them home.”

When he was done with his conference call, I went into his office and told him thanks for the Valentine’s Day flowers. He never explained the silk, and I never mentioned it. He was beaming that I was pleased.

The next day, I couldn’t hide it any longer.

“Did you know those flowers were fake?” I asked him in his office, mid morning.

Pause…

…Long pause…

“Are you kidding?” He looked up at me with those sparkly eyes, which seemed to be restraining the grin to sheepishness.

“The flowers are fake?” He asked me.

I giggled, “yes.”

I continued, in order to relieve his awkwardness and bring the humor we both love, “Let me guess: you stepped into the flower store at 90 mph and picked up the prettiest thing you saw. You couldn’t get off the phone, patiently waiting while someone was talking in your ear; you paid for the order and brought it home to the counter, never noticing that you had purchased silk flowers.”

“Guilty as charged,” he said, with a full-out grin, which burst to laughter. “I even held it carefully with one hand on the passenger seat, trying not to spill the ‘water’ on the way home!” He laughed some more.

A man who can laugh at himself is easy to love.

The flowers didn’t make me sneeze.

They were vibrant and colorful.

They made a beautiful year-round decoration, and even survived a move or two.

They reminded me that I married the man of my dreams as a playmate. The humor of the situation bonded our marriage further and was truly my favorite Valentine’s present ever.

Any Prince Charming could have given me flowers. Mine gave me a story.

May you cherish the stories with your Valentine!

– Terri Brady

If I am to be Queen, I Shall Be a Good One

Posted on January 21, 2013 by Terri

In 1831 in Great Britain, a little girl was studying English history. Reading through the royal lineage, she saw her own family tree and innocently realized that she was to be the next queen. The thought overwhelmed her and her tears drew the attention of her tutor. The little girl explained her plight and her tutor confirmed her destiny. It was recorded that day that the young Victoria said, “If I am to be queen, I shall be a good one.”

Of course, Queen Victoria reigned through much of the peaceful 1800’s so well, that the Victorian era is renown as a pleasant one. Furniture and architecture styles bear her name.

When talking with other wives, I am often asked questions like: How do I get my husband to be a spiritual leader? Or how can I motivate my husband to do more?

My answer is not an easy one – and I didn’t like it when I first came to this conclusion:

If I want to be married to a king, I must determine to be a good queen.

Last week, I read the book of Esther. Following a series of sermons on Esther that my pastor did last year, it struck me how much Esther had to do to be queen!! The year’s worth of beauty treatment and selection process alone are evidence of the Almighty hand in this suspenseful, twisting, true tale of a heroine. (I highly recommend reading that little 10-chapter book of the Bible again NOW!) But the biggest thing that struck me during the book this time was the respect with which she treated the king.

I have been guilty in the past of looking at other women married to successful men and thinking wow! It must be cool to be treated like a queen! I can’t say I ever really thought about what it would take to behave like one.

I come from the same educational background as my husband: engineering. We both had high scores on the GRE (100% in logic – I know…GEEKville), went to the same college and had companies pay tuition through our scholarships. We went to work in the automotive industry. He worked on engine components; I worked on transmission components and together, we made the car go:).

It is a blessing when a woman can use her abilities to work outside of the home, when she has her Biblical priorities in line (Proverbs 31, for example)…but I hope her husband still feels like a king.

Too often, a woman will use her God-given talents to advance her family, (Her heart is right.) but somehow end up turning her husband into a pawn instead of a king, and then wonder why her husband won’t act like a king. (Of course, I would be equally disappointed with a man treating his wife as anything less than his queen, but I digress from my point in this letter…)

Maybe there’s something to this “act-like-a-queen” stuff!

A spiritual leader will be his best when he has spiritual followers.

I am no linguisticologist (although I can make up words!), but it seems like the word, “encourage,” would break down into “in” and “courage” or, “to put courage into.” (And “discourage,” would be the opposite, or: “to take courage out.”) I don’t know about you, but I always do more when someone is pumping courage into me. What if we pumped courage into our kings? Then we would be queens!

I recently read a blog which inspired me to make my own list of ways to encourage my husband. I am sharing the first 20, but I would love if you attached comments to add more!

Look out, ladies! This past weekend, I read this list aloud to a mixed-gender crowd of a few thousand people in Louisville, KY. I was shocked by the response of the men, who shouted, “Read more! Read more!”

I guess men, like women…and kings, like queens, crave encouragement. Don’t wait to receive in order to give it.

Make your own list… And then live it.

Determine to be a good queen.

20 Ways to encourage your husband:

Enjoy a great time in the bedroom with him.
Send him an email that lists the A-Z things you love about him. (If you can’t do this, it may be part of the problem. Think harder and longer; take your time…even a letter a day.)
Know what his dreams are and make a scrapbook out of them for his review.
Ask him not what he can do for you, but what you can do for him. It is not, “Do unto others only if they do unto you,” but “Do unto others as you would like them to do unto you.”(Matthew 7:12)
If he is concerned about eating healthy, prepare meals that align with his desires and have them ready. If he would rather eat differently, treat him like an adult…an adult king.
Do “his chores” for a week, expecting nothing.
When he fails, forgive quickly.
Leave him a note in his briefcase or lunch bag, for example: “I am so glad to be YOUR queen.”
Write his goals on the bathroom mirror with dry-erase marker (if he likes your encouragement on his goals, and if he likes to keep his goals to himself – let him! After all, aren’t there some goals we girls like to keep to ourselves, too? :)).
Take care of yourself. Eat well, sleep well, and exercise, so you are the best queen. If you can’t live with yourself, it’s virtually impossible for anyone else to live with you either. Self-discipline helps so many more than yourself, but I could write another whole letter on that subject alone!!
Let him be his own boss. (Too often, I am the captain of the ship when Chris travels and it is easy to let my command-giving fall onto the king’s ears when he returns. – Not a good method of encouragement :))
INITIATE a great time in the bedroom.
Buy his favorite soda.
Have the kids make a “Yay, Daddy!” party complete with notes why they love him.
Talk nicely about him to others, in front of him and behind his back.
Be his advocate when speaking to your kids. Stand up for him, even if you need to buy time, for e.g.. : “I am sure Daddy didn’t mean it that way. He loves you. When he gets home, you can talk to him and clear it up.” How a child talks about his dad tells me A LOT about his mom.
Don’t keep score. “his hours of free time” “his money spent” “his reading time”
Greet him at the door in lingerie (First, make sure he’s not bringing business partners home with him that night!)
Protect his time. Don’t invite people over, or to ride to an event with you, or stay with you, unless he agrees. Your “followership” encourages his leadership.
Stop what you are doing when he comes in the door. (Don’t be on the phone if you are expecting him.) GREET him as though you are happy to see him! “What you have done for the least of these, you have done unto me,” said THE King. (Matt 25:35-40)

Feel free to add more in the comments below…(and kings could anonymously give us queens some ideas, too…)

I can see the crown beginning to grow on your head!

In love,

Terri Brady

Recommended Reading

Esther, of the Bible

Sexual Intimacy within Marriage by Cutrer and Glahn (Good for marriage – with or without existing physical problems.)

Intended for Pleasure by Ed and Gaye Wheat

His Needs Her Needs by Harley, Jr.

Becoming the Woman of His Dreams by Sharon Jaynes- My FAVORITE marriage book: what 300 men wish they had in a wife (and it had nothing to do with chest size! Phew!)

Striving for Good Measure

Posted on January 14, 2013 by Terri

Dear Lindsey,

“She is inconsolably crying,” was my husband’s text to me while I was at the grocery store

last Saturday. When I got home to the thermometer, it was 103. Christine (9) has had a cold for more than two weeks, so I assumed it had escalated to an ear or sinus infection. She and I headed for Urgent Care. That was when the stomach flu symptoms began, so we cancelled the trip; no Urgent Care needed. Mom diagnosis: flu.

“To bed you go,” I led her up the stairs to her room.

“But can’t I eat?” she asked so innocently.

“No, ‘Starve a fever, feed a cold,’” I softly quoted the old saying, remembering how hunger fools us into eating during stomach sickness.

“How does starving a beaver help?” she whined.

“Fever, honey. Starve a fever. You will feel better after some rest,” I chuckled at her misunderstanding as I gave her some Oscillococcum, and she drifted off to much needed sleep.

Sunday morning, although symptoms were gone, I decided to keep the flu to ourselves and stay home from church. Since she and her younger brother are inseparable, I guessed he was next…and probably in that incubating, contagious stage, so I kept him home too.

We listened to church online at 9:30am, and then JR (7) said he didn’t feel well.

Sick children are endearing. His cheeks were flush as if painted on a porcelain doll; he snuggled close as only ill children do. Like an electric blanket, the heat radiated from his body to mine. My prediction was right. Here comes #2 family member falling down with the domino flu. I was glad we weren’t at church.

“102.5” was my guess. It’s a little game I play – as if running for “mom of the year” (always! 🙂 ). I like to guess what the fever is, and then continually be shocked at how close I am when I get out the thermometer. It’s like somewhere in the birth canal, the baby flips a switch in a woman. Sudden abilities come to her:

to be able to distinguish her baby’s cry 2 miles away in a room full of other crying babies
to be able to see out of the back of her head
to suddenly think, “because I said so,” is a logical enough reason to bring an end to any argument and…
to be able to tell if a child has a fever, within one degree, only by the touch of her hand.

I got the ear thermometer poised (and smiled remembering when one of my toddlers had brought it to me from the closet and said, “Will you measure my ear?”).

97.8 was the reading.

Experience has taught me that, although easy to use, these devices have a lot of inaccuracy. I checked the other ear, my standard operating procedure.

98.3 the other ear said.

I felt again. Was I losing my touch? I really believe it’s 102.5, maybe just 102, but definitely fever. Flushed cheeks…sick sister…I couldn’t be wrong.

I reached for the old thermometer: the one which actually had to be kept under the tongue for minutes that felt like hours. It had been so long since its use, I had forgotten that it spoke! “One hundred and two point five,” said the male computerized voice from the thermometer.

I was right: 102.5.

Mom: -> 1 Ear thermometer: -> 0

“To bed you go,” I said as I carried him there.

——–

“Properly defining the problem is the first step to any solution,” Chris often says. But as in the thermometer story, the measuring device has a huge part to play in problem definition.

The world is a measuring device. It often measures success through the amount of money in one’s bank account, the vacation time allotted, the title of a job or the recognition one receives.

God’s “success” measuring device is different: He sees our love, joy, peace, patience…(Gal 5:22); He looks into our thoughts – are they pure, true, noble…? (Phil 4:8); I suppose He assesses the true treasures of our hearts. God’s measuring device needs no numbers. He simply uses the touch of His hand.

The world’s measurements are inaccurate:

“They” say we are not good enough;
“They” say there is no security without money.
“They” say I try too hard and should relax.

Although I know it is wrong, I sometimes still have a worldly flinch in a crowd when everyone is talking about what they “do” for a living. It seems as though it will be a let down when it gets to my turn. “They” are doctors, secretaries, engineers, ICU nurses, HR managers, etc, and then it gets to me: a stay-at-home mom. Yep, most of my tasks could be done by any teen for about $6/hour. No training necessary.

Yet, my heart knows that the “world’s thermometer” is inaccurate.

What “pay” can be measured by the crushed dandelions that were handed to me as a Mother’s Day Bouquet with the worm still attached?

What “title” can top the spontaneous post-it note that said, “You’re a good cooker!” or as shown in my heading above,“YOR MI FAVRIT MOM” (as if he has more than one mom).

What “vacation” could surpass a picnic in the woods behind my house where they catch the baby frogs and scoop the salamander eggs in anticipation for spring?

What “recognition” would transcend adult children replicating our efforts in Godliness, marriage and parenthood in their own home?

What “award” could top hearing “well done, my good and faithful servant”?

Sometimes the world’s measurements are wrong, and we can stick to what we know is right.

God bless,

Terri

1 Timothy 4:7-8: 7Have nothing to do with godless myths and old wives’ tales; rather, train yourself to be godly. 8For physical training is of some value, but godliness has value for all things, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come.

Funny Family Dinner

Posted on January 11, 2013 by Terri

Dear Lindsey,

“All Great Change in America begins at the dinner table,” said Ronald Reagan.

I have often heard that the ties that bind a family get tied at the table, but it takes so much effort to make a dinner with 6 people happen! Though every night would be a perfect frequency of dinners together, too often six conflicting Brady calendars don’t allow for that perfection.

We cherish the memories of dinners we can procure. One such dinner a month ago was worthy of capturing for later smiles.

Before I cite the dinner conversation, I must tell you some background about my husband, Chris. He is a best-selling author, influential and entertaining speaker, has almost 200,000 followers on Twitter, obtained 2 degrees in engineering, raced motocross as a teen and loves sports. He has been my Mr. Wonderful from the beginning, so much that my mother started calling him “MW” early in our dating. His ability to laugh at himself is one of his greatest qualities, and that alone has allowed so many of his fans to relate to him, especially our children. Knowing that Dad whom they have on a pedestal has made mistakes and still turned out ok has encouraged them to persevere. Chris’s description on the back of his book, Rascal – Making a Difference by Becoming an Original Character says, “…He has one of the world’s most unique resumes: including experience with a live bug in his ear, walking through a paned-glass window, chickening out from the high-dive in elementary school, destroying the class ant-farm in third grade, losing a spelling bee on the word “use,” jack-hammering his own foot, and more recently – sinking his snowmobile in a lake.” That background might be helpful for the following Brady dinner conversation:

Nate (12): “My teacher asked if we thought our parents were perfect. I asked him, ‘which one?’”

(We laughed.)

Nate: “By the way, I got in trouble today in class for talking, and the teacher made me put my name on the board. She said, ‘All right, anyone who was talking, go to the front and put your name on the board. So I did. But I wrote it REALLY neatly, because I knew you would like that, Mom.”

(I laughed that he thought the neatness of his name would make a difference when putting his name on the board for the offense.)

Chris: “Maybe you should have written, ‘your name on the board.’”

(The kids laughed.)

Me: “That’s why Dad spent so much time in the hallway during school.”

Chris: “Yeah, they pretty much moved my desk to the hall.”

Nate: “Maybe I should try to get that to happen to me, so I can be by myself and won’t be distracted.”

Chris: “No, It’s really distracting, because every person that walks by with a bathroom pass looks at you, points at you and laughs at you.”

Christine (9) (innocently):“Why would the teacher put you in the hall, Daddy?”

Chris: “I don’t know! I didn’t do anything wrong. I just made people laugh, that’s all. Oh, and the ant farm shaking incident. I remember that one really well.”

(We laughed.)

It was Brady story #447, “The Ant Farm Shaking Incident”…the time Chris strangely felt compelled to pick up the class’s ant farm and shake it like mad, causing the teacher to walk on top of desks to close the distance FAST to grab Chris before the ants were dead. The teacher was too late.

James Dobson once said, “Unless you are in regular, meaningful, relatable conversation with your child when he is four, you can’t expect to start any meaningful conversation when he is fourteen.”

May you be blessed with family dinners and stories so familiar they’re numbered; and when your son has to write his name (neatly) on the board, just imagine him telling that story to his own kids one day when they have their dad on a pedestal. Maybe the story will even get numbered.

God bless,

Terri

Other Letters you may like:

What Does Love Mean? (Children Tell)

Posted on December 24, 2012 by Terri

Para español, haga clic aquí y aquí

Dear Lindsey,

I got one of those cute-kid-quote emails recently. I had seen it before, but I loved reading it again, and I thought I would share some of my favorite parts as a Christmas letter to you. Of course, I always enjoy audience participation, and these kids’ thoughts inspired some of my own, which I will include at the end. I would love to hear your own personal definition, or feel free to ask your children, or let them write a comment. It is such a thought-provoking question with such illustrative answers. 🙂

A group of professional people posed this question to a group of 4 to 8 year-olds, ‘What

does love mean?’

Their answers:

‘When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn’t bend over and paint her toenails anymore, so my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too. That’s love.’ – Rebecca- age 8

‘When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.’ – Billy – age 4

‘Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other.’ – Karl – age 5

‘Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French fries without making them give you any of theirs.’ – Chrissy – age 6

‘Love is what makes you smile when you’re tired.’ – Terri – age 4

‘Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK.’ – Danny – age 7

‘Love is when you kiss all the time. Then when you get tired of kissing, you still want to be together and you talk more. My Mommy and Daddy are like that. They look gross when they kiss’ – Emily – age 8

‘Love is what’s in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen.’ – Bobby – age 7 (Wow!)

————————————————————-

Their thoughts sparked me to think of my own:

Love is… a mother who spends hours baking everybody’s favorite cookies for Christmas Day – even the cookies she doesn’t like.

Love is…a Daddy having a tea party with his daughter in the middle of the day.

Love is…a man showing his boys how to be men by living example.

Love is…my 9-yr-old daughter crying when I am crying, when she doesn’t even know there is something to cry about.

Love is…my dad eating my burnt peanut butter cookies because, “that’s just the way he likes them.”

Love is…my husband texting me every day while he is gone to tell me that he misses me.

———–

I could list forever, but I won’t bore you with my love stories…

Here is a definition of love that came in story-form, in a Christmas card from a friend:

For many years, a Midwest town held an annual Christmas pageant where children in the town acted out the story of Christ’s nativity. Wally, a special needs boy of 9, yearned to be a shepherd in the play that year, but the director gave him the role of the innkeeper, because he wouldn’t have many lines to say. Wally was bigger than the other kids, and his size would make his refusal of lodging more forceful.

The night of the play, Wally watched the pageant unfold with fascination, totally caught up in the story. When it was time for his part, he was ready to go.

“What do you want?,” Wally brusquely asked Joseph.

“We seek lodging,” replied Joseph.

“There is no room for you in this inn, replied Wally, looking properly stern.

“Please, good innkeeper, my wife is with child and needs a place to rest. Surely you must have a small corner. She is so tired.”

Wally, the innkeeper, paused so long the audience was tense with embarrassment. “No! Begone!” the prompter whispered from the wings.

“No!” Wally repeated automatically. “Begone!”

Joseph sadly placed his arm around Mary and they started to move away. The innkeeper did not return inside the inn, however. Wally stood there watching the forlorn couple, his brow creased with concern and tears streaming down his face. And suddenly the Christmas pageant became different from all the others.

“Don’t go, Joseph.” Wally called out. “Bring Mary back. You can have MY room,” Wally beamed…

———

That, my dear friend, is love.

From a recent devotional: too often we spend our lives seeking stars, and end up being disappointed to find only a stable; but when we seek deeply, inside the stable, we find the star: a King is born.

Whether you are blessed with stars or stables this Christmas, may you have room for the King.

Final definition: God is love.

God bless you as you celebrate His birth this week and always.

Merry Christmas,

Terri Brady

<< Luke 2 >> The Birth of Jesus

Climb the Ladder

Posted on December 18, 2012 by Terri

When I survey the wondrous cross

On which the Prince of Glory died

My richest gain I count but lost

And pour contempt on all my pride.

I wrote the words to that old hymn from Isaac Watts in my journal, while I fought back internal emotional pain. I WANTED to pour contempt on all my pride, but it kept haunting its possessor.

Then I decided to really try to “survey the wondrous cross” and I went into a little daydream that morning in my quiet time, which I will never forget. It was a daydream that forced surrender of my heart, once again.

In the distance, I saw not one, but three crosses on the hill. A crowd of people surrounded the base. There was noise: people’s voices, but I couldn’t understand what they were saying.

I stared at the center cross as I walked closer, praying that I would stay focused on Him,

3 crosses by Nicole Avereyn

despite the distractions of this crazy surrounding world. I wanted to “be one” with other people as He was one with God, so that people would know why He came; yet I battled conflict in my heart. I wanted to survey that wondrous cross and leave the conflict behind.

I saw guards, Roman I assume, in costume as the movies had portrayed. Some spectators on the hill were on their knees, in a deep mourning wail. Others were shouting insults toward the cross. Others were simply walking away, not able to “survey” any longer.

I looked at His face. Jesus’ eyes were still open. He looked down on all of the people – the crying, the shouting and even the leaving and I remembered His words, “Forgive them; they know not what they do.”

What wondrous love is this that He could forgive even in agony?

Agony caused by lashes of a whip tied especially for breaking skin on His bare back while authorities held His flesh taut for maximum tearing.

Agony caused by friends, even His closest, who had deserted Him. One betrayed with a kiss, others with their departure or denial.

Agony caused by a crown of thorns forced onto His head to pierce the skin, while they mocked Him as a “king”.

Agony caused by taunting hours before, “If You are so great, why don’t you tell us who hit You?” as they struck his blindfolded face.

I imagined how He must have felt as people sang, “Hosanna!” at His coming to town, so grateful for His arrival; then in contradiction, people screamed, “Crucify Him!” just days later, treating Him like the criminals on the adjacent crosses.

“How did He restrain from fighting back?” I wondered when I recalled his accusers bringing Him to Pontius Pilate, telling the lies that He had denounced taxes and that He was undermining the government. (Luke 23) He stayed focused on His message: He was the Son of God. When King Herod tried Him, Jesus never even spoke, as if wrestling with the pig wasn’t worth words. He was at peace with allowing God’s will to be done through Him. “Why can’t I do that?!” I wondered.

Crucifixion, a slow, lingering electric chair of the era was so cruel, so public, so naked. There was no way to “look good” even as the Son of God hanging on that wood. Nails pierced his hands and feet.

Three men died that day at Calvary. One on the cross next to Jesus jeered at Him, while the other, in full belief said, “Jesus, remember me when You come into Your kingdom.” That is when Jesus told the latter, “I tell you the truth: today you will be with me in paradise.”

I broke out of the dream and thought back onto myself. I could see me saying, “I’m kind of having a bad day here. My emotions are out of control; I’d really like some time on this cross where I don’t have to deal with you people.” Yet Christ had a message to relay: that heaven awaits; and it is waiting for anyone who believes – even in his last hour.

My daydreaming continued, and I found a ladder. I set it next to Jesus’ cross, and began to climb. I wanted to survey the Savior.

The sweat, mixed with blood, poured from His body. I recalled His “sweating blood” during a deep prayer just nights before, though His closest friends’ loyalty faded in sleep. I meditated on even Him, asking His heavenly Father for a change of The Plan, yet what He wanted was that God’s will be done.

The daydream paused as personal thoughts came in: That’s what I want!: God’s will be done. Yet so much conflict, how can it be?

In my daydream, my actions continued, I wanted to get closer, to talk to Jesus as He hung on that cross, looking down on the people. “Did e’er such love and sorrow meet,” came to mind from another verse of the same hymn.

From His view I could see His accusers, and mine too. “He died for them, also,” I was reminded.

I leaned toward Him to whisper, bringing my lips close to His ear and tried to form words. Thoughts flooded my mind:

“Jesus, SHE won’t return my phone call!”

“Jesus, I am so jealous that I didn’t get what I wanted.”

“Jesus, I have been WRONGED, and they are going to make me look bad.”

A smile came to my face, in self-laughter. What?! I would NEVER have been able to say that into His ear from atop the ladder! How petty! How selfish! He died for me, can I not live a moment for Him? After climbing that ladder to truly survey the wondrous cross the only thoughts that could come to mind were unsaid, choked back by tears:

“I am SO unworthy of this sacrifice.”

“I am so sorry.”

“Thank you.”

He glanced in my direction as if to answer my unspoken words, “I know. It’s why I came.”

As I snapped out of my daydream, tears flowed as I realized how petty my prayers had been that morning.

He gave His life for me; can’t I live a moment for Him?

When my pride gets in the way: I climb the ladder.

When I feel like I have been wronged: I climb that ladder.

When I am jealous, I climb the ladder.

If I am talking too much about myself, I need to climb that ladder.

If I am feeling perfect enough to start correcting others, I climb the ladder.

If I am more worried about the scrutiny of man than the scrutiny of God, I CLIMB THE LADDER.

Are my thoughts worthy of whispering in His ear from the top of the ladder?

Whisper in His ear about the parents who just lost children this week. He cares.

Pray to Him about the woman lost in the dark world of depression. He’s holding her.

Ask Him in His ear how best to be His testimony in this lost world and He would be relieved to know someone read His Words so they would outlast His agony.

I had “open heart surgery” that morning. I surrendered. His will be done.

He has the whole world in His hands, not my hands, and that is where it needs to stay.

I pray this holiday season that we may be ONE so the world will know that the Lord above sent Jesus Christ as our Savior (John 17:21): He humbled Himself to human birth – in a stable; He submitted to baptism – by another man; He washed filthy feet – of those lesser than He; He died a criminal’s death – alongside heathen, for God’s glory. May we follow His example to true humility; I am above nothing. Peace on earth comes into our hearts when we can rest in God’s will being done.

And if conflict arises, even if only inside of us, may we climb the ladder to rise above the offense, survey the cross, and take time to whisper in His ear, “Thank You.”

Pride/Ego Summary of Symptoms:

Beginning introduction: (Turkey Tastes Better Without Lily Pads.)

Talking too much about oneself (“Wanna Talk about Me!“)
Wanting to correct others (“That’s not the Right Seat!”)
Caring too much about what people think/ resisting apology (“Whose Baby is This?!”)
Being secretly jealous/ Feeling “underblessed” (“The Most Difficult Instrumentalist to Fund”)
Taking laws lightly (“Stop in the Name of the Law”)

Other symptoms (and this list is probably endless):

refusing to forgive/bitterness
ranking people as more or less valuable than one another
talking down about others (close relative to talking about oneself)
resisting new information

With love,

Terri Brady

Stop in the Name of the Law

Posted on December 13, 2012 by Terri

Dear Lindsey,

“Gasp!”

Ok, now that you got that out of the way, I can share the story that made you do it.

As we continue this series on symptoms of pride/ego, I can go back a few decades to high school again. Unfortunately, I can probably think of more recent examples, but my pride couldn’t handle sharing those 🙂 ; it’s easier to think it was only a problem of my youth.

Next symptom: Thinking I am above the law.

My high school’s shop teacher, a former Army Colonel, was my neighbor and he had a cute little poodle, “Cocoa.” For easy cash, I often took care of Cocoa when its owners were out of town. Rather than walking down the block to my house when he returned from his trip, “the Colonel” (as we students called him) chose to pay me when he saw me in the school cafeteria on the Monday after my pet-sitting.

This led to many jokes of which the Colonel was unaware:

He would approach my lunch table full of teens of both genders, hand me money and say, “Thanks for last night.” Or: “This is for the weekend.”

As he left, snickers would fill our table. Soon, they would see him coming and get silent to see what words he would use when he handed me cash: “Here he comes to pay Terri for her ‘services.’ Be quiet!”

I never mentioned the torture to him, but I cringed each time he approached.

One weekend the Colonel had asked me to pet-sit, but after accepting the job, I realized I had a commitment to go somewhere with my family for the weekend. I forgot to tell the Colonel that I was unable to keep poor little Cocoa. I didn’t remember until Monday morning when the Colonel approached my lunch table.

The table hushed in anticipation of his words.

“Thanks for the weekend,” he said as he slid a ten-dollar bill into my hand in front of my friends.

I gulped.

I must have forgotten to tell him I couldn’t take care of his dog.

My heart raced, but my ego ignored the urge. “You’re welcome,” I said and took the cash, hoping the Colonel would disappear quickly.

He never asked me to take care of Cocoa again.

During my senior year, my parents (unknowing of my story) suggested I have the Colonel write a recommendation for me for college, since an Army Colonel would be a good advocate to have. “No, thanks,” I said.

How I wish I could go back and change what I did! The Colonel knew I hadn’t taken care

of that dog. I can only imagine the damage in his house when he returned. A starving, thirsty dog probably left messes all over and destroyed anything in its path. I don’t know why the Colonel chose to see if I would be a big enough person to admit it; maybe he knew the years of guilt would be worse than the verbal confrontation. I have tried searching for him online several times in my adulthood so I could apologize- to no avail. God has forgiven me, but forgiving myself has taken longer.

I don’t know why I thought “Thou shalt not lie” (Exodus 20) didn’t apply to me, but I did.

I can remember the following week, justifying the fib in my mind:

What was I supposed to do? Everyone was listening!
I didn’t really “lie” per se; I just said, “thank you.” (note: It’s still “bearing false witness.”)
It was only $10.
It’s just a dog.

Ugh.

Thinking a law (especially a law of God) doesn’t apply to me is a symptom of pride.

When telling a negative story, I prefer to use myself as the example, so I can use others as positive examples, but obviously in this world, there are many examples of actors, business owners and presidents who have had an ego that caused them to put themselves above a law…or two.

Huge scandals begin with a small thought in a heart. One little lie, because it was only $10, leads to millions unless the ego gets under control.

“I deserve to take these supplies home from work, because no one notices anyway,” is justifying stealing.
“I can watch these movies because I am an adult now,” justifies adultery.
“I am running late because of traffic,” (when really we left our house later than we should have and happened to also run into traffic) OR “I’ll be there in 10 minutes,” (when we know it is really 20, but we don’t want the appointment to leave) is still lying.
“That rule doesn’t apply to me, because I am so important to this team,” is taking advantage of your blessings.

Thanks to an analogy from my husband, Chris, I have often imagined that one day God will play the movie of my life back to review my behavior, while I watch beside Him. My stomach churning would never allow for popcorn during that movie. I imagine that it is MY life and no one else can be seen in the film. My heart has a voice in the movie, so my thoughts, actions and words are of equal volume, but the circumstances around the words, thoughts and actions cannot be seen, only the deeds for which I am responsible. My legs weaken when I see the laws that I took so lightly, thinking I was only doing what “anyone would do.” I do not like myself in so many of the scenes of those home movies.

Thankfully, God is not done with me yet. We can repent of our sins and ask forgiveness from those whom we have hurt. (Acts 3:19) He can make us white as snow again. (Isaiah 1:18) Repentance begins with recognizing the need for repentance. Pride blocks recognition of our own sin and our need of a Savior. Pride is the eclipse that blocks the Son from being seen. May I decrease that He may increase (John 3:30), and with that decrease, I can recognize that I am above no law.

Although God’s laws have no exceptions (Hebrews 10:16), neither does His grace. (Lamentations 3:22, Hebrews 4:16, Ephesians 2:4) Believe in forgiveness through the Lord Jesus Christ, and you will be saved. (Acts 16:31) Wow! God is amazing!

Although I chose to write about ego/pride during this holiday season because of its tremendous negative impact on relationships, I guess it’s becoming obvious that the ramifications go far beyond the family Christmas dinner and into eternity. May we gain strength to live with eternal perspective, always.

God bless,
Terri Brady

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The Most Difficult Instrumentalist to Find

Posted on December 11, 2012 by Terri

Her tears flowed next to me, while she tried to drain every ounce of joy from my victory. I know it was her high school senior year, but I had won even though I was a junior. Did she think I didn’t deserve it? Didn’t she know how many hours of preparation I had paid to get to this point? It wasn’t just that “I played the saxophone,” I had BOUGHT the saxophone – or half of it anyway (My parents paid for the other half.) with money from HOURS (or YEARS!) of babysitting. I had even gone to the tryout extremely sick. My fever registered 102 before school the previous day, but if we missed school on Friday, the school rules didn’t allow participation in weekend activities; so I had ignored the fever (and avoided Mom’s touch) and headed to school anyway. I had bonded with my tryout music for six months, waiting for THIS Saturday, the tryout for District Band. I didn’t even look for the thermometer that morning; I knew the fever was still there, but first chair would be selected to go to Regional Band and then the first chair from each of the five regions would head to Pennsylvania State Band. My 2,000-student high school had not had a representative at the State Band level for the five previous years. What a hero I would be when I returned home with the coveted award, representing Carlisle High School! And that girl was trying to steal my joy with her jealous tears in the seat next to me. Our friendship was destroyed as I realized she didn’t want good things to happen to me.

The next year, as God would have it, the tables turned. While I was laughing at someone who had tripped on the way into our jazz concert, my precious horn fell and was dented. The following day, I walked uphill both ways in a snowstorm (well I did walk uphill, after my car wouldn’t make it due to ice) to the repairman in the basement of his neighborhood home. He fixed the horn the best he could, but the low B-flat wouldn’t seal properly. I had two days to adjust to this handicap before County Band seat tryouts. Of course I had nothing to worry about at County Band: I had made it to three levels higher than that the previous year. What were the chances of the judges choosing music for a tryout that would use the saxophone’s lowest note (B-flat), anyway?

They did.

The seal didn’t seal, and I, the previous year’s State Band member, squeaked during the tryout. I was given 2^nd chair – which meant the solos of the concert would go to the other guy. He had not even advanced one level past County Band the year before. I was miserable to be “under him.”

Tears did not flow – I would NOT be that other girl; but I sat “secretly” brooding next to the young man who had been given first chair.

When it came time for the solo, jealousy had a grip on the reins of my heart. I hoped he would mess up. Crash! Fail!

He did fail. He didn’t count right. (See?! I thought. I deserved that place.) The director told him where to play and he came in wrong again. I leaned over and pointed to the music, showing him where the director meant for him to be. The first-chair player jerked and turned to me. Very upset, he said, “Just play the solo. You know he’s going to give it to you as soon as I mess up!”

I suddenly realized I had stolen his joy – the same way I felt the girl had stolen mine the year before.

Jealousy is another symptom of an ego out of control, and it destroys relationships.

When the conductor of one city’s philharmonic was asked to name the most difficult instrumentalist to find for his orchestra, he didn’t answer “oboe” or “french horn” as I would have expected. He didn’t even hesitate to think when he replied, “Second fiddle.”

Sinful human nature wants to get first chair and take credit for getting there. Wasn’t it God who gave me the ability to play an instrument? Didn’t He give me the desire to practice hard and the time to do it? (Philippians 2:13) Didn’t He allow me the babysitting jobs to earn the money to buy it and then fix it? Did the orphans in Guatemala have any of these choices? Without Him would I have had ears to hear music or fingers to form the tones? On another note, isn’t He sovereign? Didn’t He allow the saxophone to break, the judges to pick that part of the song, and the squeak to emit from my horn and the other young man to be chosen?

Jealousy destroys relationships. It is ultimately a form of lack of faith in God, and like any symptom of pride, it blocks us from fellowship with the Lord. We are not loving God with “all our mind,” if we are using our minds to think of why we deserve something more than He gave us. I have heard of mothers jealous of daughters, wives jealous of husbands, siblings jealous of each other – and all of those can be within one house, being torn apart by its inhabitants.

– Jealousy says, “I know more than God.” (because I believe I would have been better suited for these gifts.)

– Jealousy says, “I care more about myself than I do about the person who was blessed with what I want.”

– Jealousy is the antithesis of the love of God and of our neighbor that we are commanded.

So how do we overcome jealousy?

1. Pray!

Satan, get thee behind me! We will not be tempted beyond what we can bear. (1 Corinthians 10:13)

2. Replace bad thoughts with good ones.

It is virtually impossible to say, “I will not think that anymore,” because human sinful nature allows the thoughts to creep back. Instead, REPLACE the thoughts with positive ones. Congratulate the person who got the position or reward; obviously you admired the position enough to want it for yourself.

3. Thank God (1 Thessalonians 5:18)

A thankful heart cannot be a jealous one. Thank God for what you DO have instead of focusing on what you don’t. Thank God for second fiddles! Without them, there would be no musical harmony. When we are thanking God for what He has done, we are not “telling God” what to do.

We are so blessed to have been given ANY part to play in His orchestra. For His glory, may we play our part well.

In love,

Terri Brady

1 Corinthians 12:20 – 27:

As it is, there are many parts, but one body. 21The eye cannot say to the hand, “I don’t need you!” And the head cannot say to the feet, “I don’t need you!” 22On the contrary, those parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, 23and the parts that we think are less honorable we treat with special honor. And the parts that are unpresentable are treated with special modesty, 24while our presentable parts need no special treatment. But God has combined the members of the body and has given greater honor to the parts that lacked it, 25so that there should be no division in the body, but that its parts should have equal concern for each other. 26If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it.

27Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it.

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Small Enough to Be Used (Whose Baby is This?!)

Posted on December 5, 2012 by Terri

The Bible says, “Humble yourself and you will be exalted.” I say, “Humble yourself, or God will do it for you!” Hee! Whether it was falling in the church parking lot last month, finding underwear on fire on my chandelier while I had visitors, or forgetting someone was coming to my house for lunch…that I cooked, these humbling experiences have all been reminders: I am not great.

Hudson Taylor, a 19^th century missionary to China and one of the most profound Christian thinkers of all time had this to say about his life: “I often think that God must have been looking for someone small enough and weak enough for Him to use, and that He found me.”

It’s sad to me how often I have wanted to look better than I really am. That is the next symptom of an ego problem in this series of letters about pride:

Trying to Look Better than Reality Reveals or…being stingy with the “sorry”.

Let me illustrate: A “Polly Pocket” is like a Barbie who has been zapped by the Honey I Shrunk the Kids gun, and her shoes were more impossible than Barbie’s to find in the grass. The Cheerios and raisins that were supposed to have lasted through all four soccer games had also been dumped into the said grass within this first game. The double-stroller was loaded with activities and snacks for my younger two (age 2 and 1 at the time) so my older two could participate in a soccer tournament.

“I’ll take the baby and meet you at field 10,” Chris said, as he pushed the stroller along the sideline toward our second son’s game. I waited for the 9 yr-old to finish in the coach’s meeting, while I pretended to do a Seek and Find game from the Highlights’ Magazines of my youth, but it seemed impossible in this grass to find matching shoes for poor Polly.

I put the 2-yr-old on one hip, and the 9-yr-old and I walked between the fields, seeing “field 10” about four field-lengths over.

Thousands of people filled every soccer field’s sideline of this event. The acreage spanned to allow for more than thirty simultaneous games, so I was grateful to only need to go a distance of four fields. I could see Chris, already a couple of fields-lengths ahead, struggling to move the stroller’s wheels through the wet grass. There was a game on my right and my left the entire walk, as spectators yelled for their kids in every direction, and I tried to squeeze between them.

Suddenly, the game on my right halted and the whistle blew. Three mothers went running onto the field. My heart sank; there must be a major injury. My mind raced, realizing I had never even seen ONE mother run onto the field, much less THREE! I watched with anticipation, wondering if someone was badly hurt, or if there would be a catfight. (You never know with us soccer moms. LOL!)

One of the mothers in the center of the field turned in the direction of the crowd, and said angrily, “WHOSE BABY IS THIS?!” as she held up a cute little 1-yr-old boy. To my horror, I realized it was MY 1-yr-old boy the stranger was now holding!!

I took a quick glance to see Chris still pushing a stroller a field away, not realizing his carrier was empty.

I forced up courage, and made my way through the sideline crowd to retrieve JR, and told the mean lady, “I know his mother.”

HAHA! Just kidding, I didn’t say that- but I bet I thought about it. How embarrassing! Not only did we lose a child, but we didn’t even know he was missing! Ugh!

I wish I had a video of HOW he got out of that stroller, because it is still a mystery to us! Thousands of people there and no one saw his escape? Wasn’t the stroller still moving? Did he fall, and then get back up and head for the field? Was he looking for me, or just chasing another soccer ball?

The questions all remain unanswered.

That feeling though…the one where I wanted to explain to everyone how faultless I was in the story…the one where my embarrassment actually slowed my legs from making the steps toward retrieving my own son…the feeling that I cared more about what those strangers thought of me than what God thought…the feeling that prevented me from saying, “Sorry!” which clearly should have been the first word out of my mouth, regardless of the fault assigned to their inconvenience…the feeling that I wanted to look better than actuality showed me to be…

That’s pride.

In my fun little “Brady classic,” it is amusing to think of the embarrassment in the situation. In reality, though, pride becomes a problem when we start worrying more about what man thinks than what God thinks. We start living a facade that we are great and never want anyone to think otherwise. We buy clothes we can’t afford, live in houses beyond our means and avoid the words, “I’m sorry,” because we’re afraid of how it “makes us look.” We analyze fault to see if we believe ours weighs more than others involved, before we determine if we really have to apologize.

For me though, in real relationships with real people, there is nothing that “makes a person look better” than when he/she apologizes and truly means it. Sincere apologies represent quiet strength. When one admits wrong it clears air and allows others the confidence to admit their wrongs as well. Stubbornness breeds stubbornness. As the song goes, “We all talk a different language when we’re talking in defense.” Admitting wrong breeds comfort for those around you, removes their defenses and allows for more pure relationships.

May we be comfortable in being “small enough and weak enough” for God to use.

In love,

Terri Brady

Humble yourself before the Lord. (Don’t make Him get out His “Honey I shrunk the Kids” gun and bring us down to size!)

1 Corinthians 1:19 For it is written: “I will destroy the wisdom of the wise; the intelligence of the intelligent I will frustrate.”

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That’s not the Right Seat!

Posted on December 3, 2012 by Terri

Dear Lindsey,

When my son was four, he sat quietly at a table and dumped the pieces to a puzzle, spreading them out to begin. He said to me, “Mom, pretty soon you are going to hear a big ‘TAH DAH!’ but first… there’s going to be a lot of work!”

I wonder if that is what God thinks when we first recognize our desire to follow Him.

As I continued my walk in my journey of pride diagnosis, I came to the next symptom:

Wanting to Correct

I don’t believe the Bible mentions the “gift of reproach” as one of the spiritual gifts, but girl, I think I lived much of my life thinking I had it! Maybe it was growing up with three brothers (who certainly had a lot to learn from me. Tongue-in-cheek.) or being blessed with talents, A’s and no cavities, but somehow along the way, I developed a critical eye: a sign of pride.

How do I tell her she needs to dress differently?

I need to write the school about that teacher.

How can a deacon of the church let his child do THAT on Sunday?

Galatians 6:2-5 says that we should bear one another’s burdens and every man bear his own burden.

If I am thinking of ways to correct someone, I am hardly carrying their burden. In fact, every minute I think about correcting someone is a minute I have not spent worshipping the Lord, or improving myself. I love the saying that if 80% of the problem is my husband’s (or friend’s or teammate’s) and 20% of the problem is my own, then I need to spend 100% of my time working on the 20% that is my own! Every minute spent on stressing “rules” to someone else is often a deterrent from allowing them the “relationship” with God.

(note: The Bible does talk about reproof (James 5:20 for example), and there is a proper time; this “pride” about which I am talking is not Biblical reproof. The recommended reading below clarifies the difference.)

Each morning before school, I try to read to my children from a devotional book. The following story comes from A Wisdom Retreat (book 1), by Stephen Davey. On Day 19, entitled The Aisle Seat, Davey best describes someone who chose to worship God instead of correcting His people:

————-

“Rebecca Pippert, in her fascinating book entitled Out of the Salt Shaker and into the World told the story of her arrival in Portland, Oregon, where she met Bill, one of the students on the campus where she served. He was a brilliant young man with messy hair and, as she recalls, he was perpetually shoeless. From outward appearances he was a little strange, but inwardly he was inquisitive and incredibly bright.

One day Bill decided to attend a middle-class church that was across the street from the campus. He walked into this church of well-dressed people in his tattered jeans, tee shirt, and, of course, barefooted. In truth, this was the first time he’d ever been inside a church sanctuary.

People looked a bit uncomfortable, but no one said anything as Bill walked down the aisle looking for a seat. The church was quite crowded that Sunday and as he came to the front pew he realized there were no seats left. So without any hesitation, he sat down on the carpet in the middle of the aisle, the same place he sat when his Christian friends invited him as they met for Bible study. He casually crossed his legs and waited for the service to begin.

The tension was palpable as people murmured, craning their necks to see the stranger in the aisle. Then one of the elderly deacons – a man who was well-respected in the church – began walking down the aisle toward the student. Rebecca’s friends who witnessed this scene told her that they whispered to each other, “Well, you can’t exactly blame him for scolding the guy…he is a disruption to the service!”

As the well-groomed deacon neared Bill, the church was deathly quiet. All eyes were glued front and center to see what would happen next. With some difficulty, the old man lowered himself to the floor and sat down next to Bill. He crossed his legs and shared his hymnal with the college-aged boy. The crowd was stunned.

That Sunday the deacon not only worshiped there on the floor, but he reminded the congregation how to worship.”

———–

C.S. Lewis says that the greatest enemy of Christianity’s growth is …Christians. What?! “The greatest enemy of Christianity’s growth is [sinful] Christians.” (OK, I added a word.) Well of course we are! I bet I stunted the growth with my very own lips at times, correcting people for things that didn’t even matter to Jesus himself. Prideful people take the light off of the Lord and put it onto themselves.

God doesn’t need me; I need God. Anytime that role is changed, my pride is in the way and those around me suffer. (Aside: PLEASE, if you have been hurt by one of these “special people with the gift of correcting,” look beyond them, and rise above to forgive. God has a bigger plan for you! Christians are not perfect (not even your spouse!), or they would not need a Savior Who is!) May we follow that deacon’s example and worship God instead of working on His people in our hearts and actions today.

In love,

Terri Brady

Psalm 19:14 May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be pleasing in Your sight, o Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer.

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Letters to Lindsey

Category Archives: Uncategorized

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Featured

If I am to be Queen, I Shall Be a Good One

Striving for Good Measure

Funny Family Dinner

What Does Love Mean? (Children Tell)

Climb the Ladder

Pride/Ego Summary of Symptoms:

Stop in the Name of the Law

The Most Difficult Instrumentalist to Find

Small Enough to Be Used (Whose Baby is This?!)

That’s not the Right Seat!

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