Inspired by Insecurity

Prompted by a question from the study of Renee Swope's A Confident Heart. What is the earliest memory of doubting yourself or feeling insecure?


Growing up, my grades in Physical Education classes were mainly A’s and B’s. I would consider myself fairly athletic. The only exception was in the area of gymnastics. And yet, somehow, when I was in my preteen years, I got it into my head that taking a gymnastics class would be a good idea.  Maybe it was because I watched in amazement as my friend, Nicole, twisted, spun and flipped with ease. Maybe it was because I didn’t like getting an average grade in gym class. Whatever the reason, I was going to give this sport that was nothing but uncomfortable for me a shot.

Mom purchased me a black and white leotard with tights for the class. Although this outfit may have helped me look more the part of a gymnast, it did little to turn my lack of confidence. And it didn’t help matters much that due to my lack of experience, I was the only (or at least one of the few) older girls grouped with elementary children.

The gym we entered into was dimly lit and I was anything but comfortable with this enrichment experience. Insecurities continued to threaten my attempts to broaden my skills. Now, I’ll admit that my memory of this moment is a little fuzzy. However, the tears and distress that came when I was informed of the class’ “no tights” rule are difficult to shake from my mind. The ensemble I donned, creating the only sliver of assurance that I would be able to learn anything from this class, suddenly became bigger than the task at hand.

My mom escorted me upstairs to the locker room where I would submit to the rules. Removing the covering on my legs accentuated the high-cut of the leotard and I could hardly mask my disappointment. Tears burned my eyes as insecurities escalated the anxiety of the situation. Any thread of poise I had remaining quickly unraveled. My hopes of ever being able to execute a cartwheel, or even a simple forward roll, were shattered.

I was left in tears and darkness (with the awkward glare of my white thighs seen by my eyes alone) as I stared at a balance beam. The way my height and age towered over the tiny little females I had been grouped with consumed my thoughts. I couldn’t escape the insecurities that mounted one after the other after the other. My uncertainties eventually formed a barrier that kept me from learning the simplest gymnastics moves.

My P.E. teacher was gracious enough to give me a C for my efforts in the gymnastics unit in junior high. Despite the hours of practice to music I put in to my floor mat routine, hesitancies kept me from utilizing the song which may have improved my grade. It’s funny how the privacy of my own bedroom brought about confidence one moment that couldn’t carry over in front of the class of my peers. Gymnastics just wasn’t a sport I would ever be any good at.

As I fast forward to my adult years, God has blessed me with three little girls to bring up for Him. When I’m asked to help them execute a cartwheel I simply inform them that I just don’t know how. They are disappointed and honestly, I’m a bit let down myself. My desires of being a little girl, wanting to flip and roll like so many others, aren’t an all-too-distant memory.

Recently, I watched in amazement as my nieces twisted and twirled in beautifully executed round-offs on a gymnastics floor. My daughters were hesitant to join in on the fun of their cousin’s birthday party because they lacked the confidence. Memories transported me back to myself as a little girl paralyzed by fear and insecurity. I desire so much more for my daughters.

While I couldn’t encourage my children with any advice on technique, I was determined to embrace this teachable moment. Sucking up my pride, I displayed my lack of skill in an attempt to inspire my girls. Following suit, they participated with smiles on and gave it their best shot. While gymnastics may not be a sport this household will excel in, I hope my children have escaped a self-inflicted scar caused by insecurity.

TRUTH: “God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline.” (2 Timothy 1:7)

TRUTH: “Blessed are those who trust in the Lord and have made the Lord their hope and confidence.” (Jeremiah 17:7)

HAH Blog Hop - Fall Recipes

 It's already the third Thursday of September. This month's Hearts at Home Blog Hop is sharing our favorite fall recipes. While I don't know if this is considered a "fall" recipe, it is a new one I tried recently that had everyone happy at our dinner table. Seeing as how that is a rare moment, I thought I'd share it. The recipe comes from The Pampered Chef's 29 Minutes to Dinner. While I messed the recipe up on my first try and didn't include the slaw, my family all agreed it was a recipe to add to the menu more often.

CRUNCHY WHOLE-GRAIN CHICKEN BITES

DRESSING AND SLAW

1/2 cup reduced-fat sour cream

2 tbsp reduced-fat mayonnaise

1 pkg (1 oz) dry ranch dressing mix, divided

5 stalks celery

2 carrots

 

CHICKEN BITES

1 lb chicken tenders

remaining dry ranch dressing mix from dressing, divided

1 egg white

6 cups whole-grain chips

1/4 tsp paprika

vegetable oil

hot sauce and crumbled blue cheese (optional)

 

1.            Preheat oven to 400*F. For dressing, in small bowl, whisk together sour cream, mayonnaise and 1 tbsp of the dressing mix (reserve remaining dressing mix for chicken); set aside.

2.            For chicken, cut chicken tenders into 1 1/2 inch pieces. Whisk together 1 tbsp of the reserved dressing mix and egg white in a bowl. Crush chips in resealable plastic bag; add remaining dressing mix and paprika and shake well.

3.            Add chicken to egg white mixture; mix well to coat. Add half of the coated chicken to crumb mixture; shake to coat with crumbs and arrange in a single layer on rectangle stone**. Repeat with remaining coated chicken and crumbs.

4.            Spray chicken generously with oil. Bake 14-16 minutes or until chicken is golden brown and centers are no longer pink. Remove from oven.

5.            Meanwhile, for slaw, thinly slice celery on the bias. Peel carrots; cut into julienne strips. Combine celery and carrots with 1/4 cup of the dressing; mix well. To serve, divide chicken and slaw among serving plates; serve with remaining dressing for dipping. If desired, drizzle chicken with hot sauce and crumbled blue cheese over dressing.

Yield: 4 servings

** I don't know how this recipe would turn out without the stoneware. In the cookbook, it states that baking on the stone keeps the coating crisp while the coating keeps the tenders moist.

Don't forget to hop over to Jill's Blog to see what other bloggers are posting for their recipe ideas!

Dear Andelise (Year 4)

My Dear Andelise,

We attended a baby shower recently and I found myself surprisingly shocked at how far we have come from that season of life. You, my baby, are now four-years-old. The days of bottles and diapers are long gone. While sleepless nights appeared endless in the first years of your life, they are now seldom and with good reason. Any toddler features your body once carried are replaced with those of a lengthy, thin, energetic preschooler. I watch in amazement at how much you have grown.

It was with great excitement that you started preschool three mornings a week this year. Having escorted your sister there for her time at Our Savior Lutheran, you had no hesitancies about attending with your friends. What once was labeled your sisters’ school has now become your own. With no fear, you introduced yourself to your teachers. “I’m Ande” and “My name is Andelise Randall” were their first encounters with you as I realized you are so different from either of your sisters. You often ask to walk to and from school. While I love that you welcome a ride in the jogger so I can get a run in on the way to school, there is a strange feeling in pushing an empty stroller back home. Soon the days where we take a stroller along with us will be only a memory, too.

These moments leave me smiling and crying all at the same time. It’s not that I long for what is in the past. I am grateful every day that you and your sisters are growing and maturing the way you should be. What a blessing it is to have three healthy little girls that are little by little being prepared to go out in the world. You will make a difference for God. In so many ways, you already do.

As I write this letter, your birthday is well past. With the start of school and family gatherings, holidays and birthdays of other family members, too, it’s been difficult to find time to sit and meditate on the year that has gone by. I don’t want to allow life to steal these memories from me, though. It is important that each year I say what is on my heart. Tomorrow together on earth is not a promise.

Just the other day you stated, “When people get old, they die. I’m not old so I won’t die.” I informed you that death is unfair and has no bias when it comes to age. I assured you that “When we die, we will be with Jesus just like Papa and Grandpa are with Jesus now.”

I could see the wheels turning in your head as you got confused. It’s hard for me to remember sometimes that the only Papa you know is your Great Papa Grimaldi. I quickly clarified, “I’m not talking about Great Papa. I’m talking about my daddy and Daddy’s daddy.”

Still unable to really work out the details of this in your 4-year-old mind, the conversation continued. “Wait. Who is your dad?” I worked to explain once again the reality that nags at my heartstrings when I look at you. “You didn’t know my daddy. He died when you were in my belly.”

A smile cracked on your mouth as you began to laugh. “Wait! I was in your belly? What? Did you eat me?”

“No. I didn’t eat you. But you were in my belly.”

Your laughter continued. “What? You ate me and then pooped me out?”

“No. I didn’t eat you… but yeah… kind of.” I shook my head at your reasoning with a smile.

“Only horses poop babies out!” you exclaimed as you went on to talk about what you apparently witnessed in a movie.

I smiled at how easily conversations occur with a child so young. It won’t always be this easy to have conversations with you. There may come a day where you don’t even want to talk to me. I remember vividly when your Papa (who you never met; my daddy) brought me over to my mom (your Grams) and told me to talk to her. “One day, she will be your best friend.” He tried to make me understand. I thought he was crazy and didn’t appreciate his advice in the moment one bit. Now, I realize those who have lived longer than I have often have wisdom worth listening to.

I pray you will realize this at an early age. We never know everything. There is always someone’s advice we can benefit from. Not all advice will be worthy of our time but God gave us instructions about respecting those older than us for a reason. I pray you will learn early on that God gave you two ears so you can listen more than you speak.

You are only beginning your journey into the world with preschool this year. Yet, as I prepare for your oldest sister to enter junior high, I realize that the advice of all of those ahead of me is as true as ever. Time goes by too quickly. I won’t lie to you. I love having a couple hours to myself a few mornings each week. It is a huge relief not to have to wipe your behind anymore. And every night when I lay my head on my pillow, there is such peace in being able to expect uninterrupted sleep. But I’ll also admit that it will be hard when you no longer mispronounce words in the way only little ones can get away with. There is sadness in knowing the time will come when my kisses can’t make it all better. And all too soon, you will understand all the details of how a baby grows inside of her mother and we may even find ourselves crying about it. But, oh, how I pray and desire for you to still talk to me. I want to hear your thoughts and desires. I want to know when you mess up and I want mine to be a hand you can reach out for to pull you back up again.

I sometimes let frustration get the best of me. More often than I’d like, my anger goes unconcealed. And sadly, I’m going to screw you up. I fail at loving you perfectly because I am imperfect. But I want to do right by you. There is no greater desire in my heart than to see God’s best for you. I pray you will seek out His plan for your life and desire Him whole-heartedly. It’s not always easy but let me assure you, it is best. Family will fail you. Friends will betray you. Boys will break your heart. No matter what happens with these imperfect relationships here on this earth, please know that Jesus loves you perfectly. So much so that He gave up the perfection of Heaven to suffer on this earth… for you.

For today, you are only four. Instead of focusing on what needs to be accomplished, I will do my best to find joy in your crazy antics. When I am frustrated that I have to clean up a pile of sofa pillows once again because you wanted to build a fort or play gymnastics in the house, I will choose to recall the advice from many that these days go by all too quickly. When scraps of paper you have cut out as your masterpiece litter my floor reminding me of my lousy housekeeping skills, maybe I can embrace that soon I will long for days where our problems were just cleaning a messy house due to play. As you greet the day so early it leaves no time for quiet, I’ll try to fast forward to how it will feel when the house will be all too quiet. At this early age, you are excited to live life. You love relationships and activity. There is never a dull moment with you in our lives. You won’t allow it.

I found myself praying for God to change you the other day. I think because I see parts of myself in you and I don’t like those things about me. Quickly, I changed my prayer. I don’t want God to change you. He made you passionate. He made your personality exactly the way He wants you to be. I just asked Him to use you for Him. Every bit of passion, every concern for detail, every excitement and desire for fun… I pray I will one day be able to see how that makes a powerful difference in this world for Him. I love you, Ande Randy.  Thanks for the joy you bring to our lives.

 

P.S. I love the way you sing songs about Jesus. You make them up but that is what makes them so special. I pray you give Him your heart and your desires always.

Thought Provoking on the Holocaust

In Good Hands

This is my daughter on her first full day of school. She was over-the-top excited about attending her sister’s school with friends that she knew. While this smile tells you everything about her feelings of starting first grade, my heart was breaking. I knew this new schedule was going to take a toll on my little Llama Llama who always has such difficulty with new situations.

 

The return home from her second day of school played out more along the lines of what I had expected. A request to put away laundry produced tears. The thought of having to take a shower brought on a meltdown. She was able to get through the rest of the afternoon and evening by playing Barbies with her big sister. When it was time to put the toys away, however, all irrationality returned. It was no surprise that her eyes were closing by the end of story time and her body was relaxed long before daddy ended the prayer with "Amen".

Yesterday the girls asked to ride their scooters to the bus stop. (Actually, some requests were made for bikes. However, a momma can only do so much.) The two going off to school enjoyed some time on their scooters while my youngest (who would return to the house with me) pedaled her bicycle. (It was already a site: helping my preschooler on her bicycle while I carried scooters back to the house with the dog pulling me along on her leash. I couldn't imagine attempting to get two bikes back instead of scooters.)

When the request was made today to repeat the prior morning’s activities, I embraced being that “yes mom” everyone talks about. I even felt like I had a better handle on it this morning and didn’t look like quite a spectacle. All was going well. The girls even respected my request to keep their voices down because neighbors may still be sleeping at 7 o’clock in the morning.

I don’t know exactly what happened next but somehow Jaycie was sprawled on the sidewalk, yelling, with her scooter underneath her. My first regret came with shooshing her as she cried. Her little voice echoing “I’m sorry” rings in my ears as disappointment in my mothering pierces my heart. Was it really that important to quiet her cries in the early morning? Do I really want her to learn that she can’t cry when she is in pain?

It felt like forever to get all their school gear off of my shoulder in order to scoop her off the ground. As I knelt down to her level, I caught a glimpse of the school bus coming down the street. “I can’t go to school,” she cried. Rushing my girls across the street, the bus flew past our stop. I was thankful I had a few moments to assess the situation better. JayJay continued to cry that she couldn’t go to school as I found no blood and only a couple of little scrapes. Checking the time, my oldest ran back to the house for some Band-Aids. Was I doing the right thing by sending her off so quickly on the bus when she was obviously so upset? Her wounds were barely visible.

By the time my oldest got back with the supplies, my first grader had her backpack on and was requesting her lunch bag. All appeared well and their bus had not yet appeared. Thanking Nikelle for coming so willingly to her sister’s aid, I cleaned up scrapes and administered the Band-Aid... with plenty of time before the bus arrived. Nikelle went down the street on her scooter with Ande on her bicycle just as bus appeared. Calling Nikelle back, Andelise was frustrated at her lack of speed. Those little legs just could not pedal fast enough.

I helped Jaycie cross the street and went back to get her little sister. This is when the tears started to flow from Jaycie’s eyes. I really wish I could physically be in two places at once (or maybe that two people wouldn’t always need me at the same time in different places). I left my youngest to help my middle daughter get on the bus. Despite her pleas to stay home and her resistance to my escort, she got up the steps of the bus and instructed her to find her big sister.

I really hope the tears didn’t continue for her as they now filled my own eyes. The disappointment in my choices pierced my soul again. What kind of mother was I that I forced my little girl on the bus? Why didn’t I just give her the time to get her act together and drive her to school myself? Will there ever be a day when I quit questioning my parenting decisions?

My heart still hurts that I sent this little girl who has always struggled in social situations off for the day without me. I miss the close interaction with her and those involved in her day. Without the daily interaction with her teacher, I feel so disconnected. I don’t like it. While I know letting go is part of this process, I still wonder….

And I pray because while I have no control, I’m thankful she is not out there alone. Her Heavenly Father is watching over her with a love my own cannot even compare to. She is in good hands… ones marked with scars to show their love.

Thankfully, these scarred hands remind me that any pain and scarring I inflict on my children are covered by His grace. Amazing Grace.

"Can a mother forget her nursing child? Can she feel no love for the child she has borne? But even if that were possible, I would not forget you! See, I have written your name on the palms of my hands." - Isaiah 49:15-16