Kronk has a shoulder angel and a shoulder demon and carries on a few bits of dialogue with them in the movie. At one point, he ends up dismissing them: “Eh, you guys are confusing me, so, uh, begone or whatever it is I have to say.” “That’ll do,” they say, and disappear.

Kronk, You, and What’s On Your Shoulder

What I’m not going to say here is that if you just listened to the voice of God all the time, you wouldn’t have any problems. First, that’s far too simplistic, kind of obvious, and also depends on what you mean by problems.

Some fine people who seemed to have it together as far as listening to God’s voice continued to encounter what I’d define as problems. Lion’s den, anyone?

What I am going to say is that you do deal with voices. Loud ones, quiet ones, all kinds of ‘em, all the time. Yours, your past’s, your culture’s, and everyone else’s. Blah, blah, blah. Know how I talk about how we talk too much? I think we do that, sometimes, just to cover us the voices blabbing away in our brains. We don’t know how to turn them off, so we talk louder to cover them up. That helps, a bit. But there’s a better way.

Get to the One Thing Already

So – big surprise – the one thing holding you back, my friend, is that you’re listening to, and then acting upon, the wrong voices. But here’s where it gets tricky, because it’s not quite as simple as a shoulder angel and a shoulder demon.

Would that it were. And maybe, deep down, it is, but the problem is that on the surface level – the level on which we hear the voices – things get muddled. Sometimes the shoulder demon dresses up like the shoulder angel. Sometimes the shoulder angel sounds, well, stupid. Sometimes it’s a regular carnival and everybody’s in costume.

Vibes. Get the Good Ones.

The reason we listen to the voices – any of them – is that they appeal to some part of us. But it’s subtle. It’s manipulative. It’s not always easy to identify, and oh-so-easy to justify. Here’s a simple way to differentiate:

The good voices move you forward from positive motivation.
The bad voices move you backward, in circles, or not at all from negative motivation.

And right now, let’s just go ahead and identify the absolute Queen of all negative motivation, at least as far as women are concerned.

Guilt, the Reigning Potentate of Bad Voices

Guilt is the Queen because she seems so right, so accurate. She’ll talk to whatever matters to you. She’ll phrase it in such spiritual terms, such self-sacrificial words, that saying no to her will seem like the worst sin ever.

But let me be the one to clarify something for us all right here, right now.

God does not motivate us through guilt. God motivates us through specific conviction (something is wrong in what you’re doing, and this is it) and then equally specific encouragement (here is forgiveness, here is how to change). God pulls us onward, forward, by showing us what could be better in specific terms, not what might get worse in vague fear-shaped visions.

Queen Guilt, on the other hand: Vague. Subtle. Manipulative. General. Incessant. Overbearing. Fearful. Anxious. Keeps you running in circles. Keeps you from moving forward. Keeps you from letting go. Offers you no forgiveness. Offers you no hope. Commands you to change but offers you no way to do it.

Annie, 1: Queen Guilt, 0. Ha.

A couple of nights ago I had a list of things that I needed to get done for work.

Now, listen so you know where I’m coming from: I grew up with a stay-at-home Mom. I always thought what I’d be is a stay-at-home Mom. And I am. I’m also, however, a freelance writer. I get to work from home. I do this because, to my surprise, I discovered that I go stir-crazy if I’m not doing something in addition to being a Mommy. That’s just me.

On this evening, I had a backlog and we were in between Internet services at home (don’t even get me started), which meant that I needed to escape to wifi-land for a few hours. Which meant that I needed to leave my Baby and my babies. At home. On the weekend. Without me.

I didn’t have a nice dinner made. I did have a backlog of laundry, a house dirty from our crazy weekend, and a husband who can handle all that stuff, all the kids, and all my paranoias just fine, thank you very much.

But guess what I still felt as I pulled out of the driveway? Yep. Guuuuuilty. No matter that I was going to work, not to have a manicure. Didn’t matter. Queen Guilt was on the scene and just chatting me up like her BFF.

And I let it go on, all the way to the parking lot, before I finally realized I wasn’t talking to myself. I was being talked to. I was being told what to feel, couched in a whole bunch of vaguely spiritual “good wife-good mom” terms that just punched my buttons.

But that’s when I realized this: if God had wanted me to stay at home that night, this is NOT how He would be telling me.

At that point, I punched a few buttons myself, ejected Queen Guilt from the sidecar, went in and got my work done and got back home. End of story, until the next time…

What’s Your Next Time?

We’ve all got hot buttons. You know you do, and chances are those might be areas in which God is calling you to change. But don’t confuse the voice of God for the voice of guilt. Guilt will keep you spinning in the same cobwebs. God will set you free.

Remember: it’s not a question of which voice is loudest. It’s a question of which one you listen to, which one you hear, which one gets your attention. And that part is up to you.

Here’s a recap:

Bad voices will appeal to your insecurity, pride, ego, flesh, fear, stress, mistakes, past, comfort, ease, desire for security, need to be right, need to be needed, need to fit in, need to be liked, fear of man, religious sensibilities.
Good voices will appeal to your morals, dreams, courage, humility, understanding, true confidence, sense of adventure, sense of risk, sense of purpose, deeper vision, long-term goals, sacrificial love, wisdom.

Bad voices will be urgent: do it now, do it now, do it now or else.
Good voices will be direct, specific, and consistent: this is the way, walk in it.

Who are you listening to?

atypical? untypical? nontypical? antitypical?

I’m thinking about my kids (I do that a lot when they’re napping…). I’m not thinking that they are atypical but that, most likely, they will become so. They really have no choice. I’ve kind of accepted that our kids aren’t going to get anything like a normal suburban American childhood. I don’t think that’s something either Joe or I can give them without altering ourselves beyond recognition.
And if genetics work the way I think they do, our kids would be bored by most of what is normal, typical.

At least I hope so, because that way I won’t feel so bad about guaranteeing that they get the “weird” label applied straight out of the box.

I can’t give you normal… but here’s a cookie.

We can’t give them normal, but I want to give them good, rich, full, secure, interesting. Maybe it’s an atypical life, but it’s better, at least for us.
How many “normal” ways and means and things I simply detest or do not understand. I do understand where William Morris was coming from when he said, “Apart from my desire to produce beautiful things, the leading passion of my life has been and is hatred of modern civilization.”

I can’t say I feel strongly enough to say I hate modern civilization… but I really, really, really don’t like it. Ummmm. Or at least most of it. Or parts of it. Or just the underlying attitude that’s present these days.

We are, whether we want to be or not, a sort of foreign family within the boundaries of our own native country. (How many other families feel that way? Maybe a lot. I’m thinking of this post in particular.)

Much of this is due to our upbringing. Joe and I were both home educated, so there’s something that’s immediately going to make you different in one way or another. Much of it is due to our own adult Christianity. If you really believe in the Bible, you’re just going to not fit in with the rest of the culture. Good luck trying.

i’m haunted, but it’s not so bad once you get used to it.

And the rest, well, I guess the rest is just written in us, on us. And I like who we are. But I still struggle with loyalty and guilt and a trained sense (or is it innate?) of needing to fit in. The pressure to conform haunts us, I admit it. Or at least me…

For Joe, maybe because of his gender but more because of his personality, I think, it’s not needing to fit in so much as the need to be affirmed and praised. But people don’t tend to affirm and praise those beyond (or to the side of) the status quo, those living at the fringe… at least not till after their death. Consider what Nietzsche said: “So long as men praise you, you can only be sure that you are not yet on your own true path but someone else’s.” (Um, excuse me, did you really stop and consider that, or did you just skim it and keep reading, hoping there would be a funny part somewhere? Be honest.)

There is always a pressure, implied or obvious, to conform.

Joe is okay with being different (actually, he kind of thrives on it) but he still wants affirmation. It’s hard to get, when you’re not typical. He pays the price of foregoing the praise when he chooses to do things that people may not understand. [Hi, honey, I'm talking about you again. Make it up to you later...]

I am just basically not comfortable being different. I tend to check the rightness of my choices by comparing to what others choose. I know that’s one reason that reading is so important to me: it gives me a way to check in, to compare with people who have also made choices that are different, choices that help justify my own.

Books give me a way to step outside the cultural bounds and evaluate choices from a totally different view. Sometimes I find myself sighing with relief. Sometimes I find myself cringing at how I’ve chosen to fit in, how I’ve compromised myself in order to feel a little more at ease among my peers. When I compare those peers, and thus myself, to the great heroes and struggles and choices and stories, I see how cheaply I sold out. Shame on me.

to thine own self

In order to be true to myself, at times I have to look beyond my immediate surroundings and relationships for acceptance and affirmation. Sometimes God is the only one who can hear me, understand me, and answer that call from my heart. Many, many times Joe has been there to accept and encourage and affirm.

The funny thing is, nobody is standing there demanding that I explain myself. But beyond the sacred circle of our marriage, I feel this need to explain, to defend, to justify, to convince.

I’m not sure why. I’m trying to get over it…

{irritating questions intended to spur discussion}
1. Do you feel like you fit in? Do you feel like your family fits in?
2. Do you have a group, a community, a place where you belong, and feel known and accepted for who you are?
3. What does it mean for you to be true to yourself? What makes you different? What is a compromise that you make sometimes to feel like you fit in? Do you regret it?
4. Do you like me? Do you really, really like me??????

Answer here or answer at your own blog and pop the link into the comments.

This article is a repost from Meredith of Penelope Loves Lists. If you’re interested in guest posting for Sister Wisdom, see the guidelines here.

love is doing something when you don’t feel like it

My marriage to J is my second, and I know now that happy marriage isn’t luck, or sex, or even just promises of forever. It’s daily maintenance. Not “work”, because I don’t think marriage should feel like work, but maintenance. It’s paying attention and clearing a path for your partner through every day life.

It’s you caring more about him than you care about yourself. That’s not always easy when you’re as busy as we are, right?

Being married to a man like my husband, who loves so completely through actions ( every morning I was sick, he cleaned the whole house before leaving for work, so that my mind could be “at ease”. I know.) has taught me the extreme value of doing for each other, rather than just saying “I love you” every day.

I find that my love speaks loudest when I do something for him when I most don’t feel like it. After a long day, when I’ve completed more than I thought I ever could. That’s the time I try to do one extra thing for J. Because that’s when it means the most.

Are you loving through actions today? Are you showing your family that, though your To Do list is miles long, they have a place right at the top of it?

–

[Annie here]

Let’s just recap those last 2 questions, in Modern Homemaking REdefined terms:

1. Are you loving through actions by what you choose to focus on, what you choose to let go, what you choose to make important, what you choose to overlook?

2. Are you making your husband and children a priority, even when the home needs making? After all, whom is the home for? What is the value of a home without the people in it.

CHALLENGE: What can you drop from your standard “homemaking” to-do stuff in order to free up a little more time to rest, to read, to be with the ones you love, to listen to your children, to take a walk with your husband, to call a friend? Drop it today. I dare you! Then let us know about it.

Today’s 2 Cents Courtesy of:

Penelope is a type of person. My name, however, is Meredith. I’m a working, married, 30-something mom of three, trying desperately (and, I admit, a bit compulsively) to hold together all the crazy aspects of my life. For me, the only way to do that is with lists and with all manner of organizational tools.

We found the first open daffodils. We smelled them. We tried not to touch them.

Later we found lots more, so we picked a few and put them in a vase for Mommy. I love being Mommy.


I launched a Safe Herbs for Babies series and more in Parenting 101 series. I’m getting better at being focused. Yay, me! This is the part where I stop typing so I can pat myself on the back. Okay. Done now. Back to typing.

So the daffodils were great, and the sticking-to-the-editorial-calendar is great, but the real GREATNESS, the best, the genuinely awesome, the absolute HIGHLIGHT of our entire week (month) was when that gold Honda minivan pulled into the driveway. There was my sister and her three, and after the initial hugging and screaming and dancing and general mayhem died down, we had several lovely days of more hugging and screaming and dancing and general mayhem.

The girls went to the salon on Sunday afternoon. Aunt Katie worked her magic.

Ava’s hair got shorter.

Mara’s hair got shorter.

Mine got redder and Mileah’s got blonder.

We have just one thing to say: AUNT KATIE IS AWESOME.

We went to the park. Joe met us on his lunch hour.

We climbed and played and slid and twirled and swung (swang? swinged?).

The kids played inside and outside as much as possible, and my sister and I talked as much as possible. Then she packed up the minivan and headed back to Tennessee, and we waved from the front porch and walked into our eerily quiet house.

Now I’m depressed.

I will battle my depression with the one sure-fire cure I know. It always works for me.

Books! Reading! Yay! Just don’t go reading a depressing book if you’re trying to use books to battle depression. We’ll keep it on the light side this week.

Blogs

• FIMBY’s very honest, conversation-sparking post about feeling isolated. I guess this doesn’t exactly count as “light reading” but it’s definitely worth a visit. I think it touches on something more common than we realize, this feeling of being “on the outside.”
• The Ultimate Hack for Writing Productivity at Write to Done, a guest post by Bamboo Forest of Pun Intended. Great points. It’s the details that kill us. And the procrastination. And the distractions. And lack of focus… “We can be real. We can be writers.†We can do this. We can set a timer, commit ourselves to working non-stop until it sounds and feel proud at what we’ve accomplished.”

Books

• Grow Your Own Drugs: Easy Recipes for Natural Remedies and Beauty Fixes by James Wong. If you are interested in herbs, natural beauty and body products, and/or natural health, you should read this book. It’s great for beginners, as there is a glossary and lots of clear explanations of special terms, ingredients, supplies, etc. I love the collection of recipes and I’m going to be trying several in the next few weeks, so more on that as it materializes. Beautiful photos, too.
• A Stew or a Story , M.F.K. Fisher, editor. My favorite Fisher is still the big yellow collection. I can just lose myself in there for hours, though I always come out eventually because I have to go cook something. This shorter collection is nice, too, and it has several essays I hadn’t read. Fisher is my source of cooking inspiration when I’m just kind of tired of the kitchen.

And Otherwise

• Gigi, God’s Little Princess. I recently received and reviewed this children’s dvd from Thomas Nelson Publishers. Bottom line: cute, good message straight from the Bible, very girl-girly, my daughter was enraptured, but I wouldn’t want to watch it 20 times. But then, what children’s dvd would I want to watch 20 times?

What’s your recommended reading for the week?

it’s dark outside, but all ten of us are indoors, getting dinner ready, dodging children at play, checking email, drinking coffee, talking, laughing, being quiet, being together.

I sit down to nurse my youngest; next to me, my sister is burping baby Carson, the newest member at only 7 weeks old. The other four kids are scattered around the house. Baby Einstein is on but nobody’s watching. The kitchen smells good, like gooey butter cookies and sausage balls.

My Mom would love this.

Family gatherings were her forte. She lived for these moments, loved them, loved us all being home, loved the slightly controlled chaos that followed, loved her grandchildren.

She knew my sister’s two oldest and my firstborn; I was pregnant with my second when Mom died in the summer of 2007. Before the cancer made her too sick to leave the house, she bought a blue baby blanket, confident that I was having a boy.

I did have a boy. I love that he has a blanket that my Mom bought him, even though he didn’t know her, has no memories of her.

It doesn’t matter to him where the blanket came from.
But it matters to me.

I want to feel like Mom is still part of this family somehow. Tomorrow my Dad and stepMom will arrive, and we will welcome them. We have fun together. We talk. We laugh.

But we have a different family dynamic.

There are more pieces to this family unit than there were before. It’s not easy to bring everyone together. We don’t all have the same stories.

We are a different family now, but the past is the same.

This year we celebrated our own Christmases apart from each other, and we’re all together now over New Year’s to have our family celebration.

It’s different, and it’s hard to let go of the way things used to be.

I finally realized, consciously enough to say it aloud to my husband, that Christmas morning is kind of a letdown. There’s no helping it, really, and it’s not because anything is wrong with what we do or how we celebrate.

It’s just that the reality we are in can’t compare with the memories we carry.

Memories glow. My memories are of Christmases as a child, a teen, or a young adult: all times when responsibility was minimal. My stress level was zero. Life was simple, even when I didn’t realize it, even when I imagined drama and tension just to make things interesting.

I get that, now. I get that those memories are a precious thing in and of themselves, but they’re not to be the guide post to the future. They can’t be my standard for what Christmas is supposed to be, how it’s supposed to feel.

I have to let go.

This about more than the fact that I lost my Mom and I miss her.

This is the story of every adult who looks back on a good childhood and then gets hit in the face with a reality that doesn’t always match up to the memories. Memories are great, but memories are deceptive. We have a small window into our own past, and it’s the window of childhood. It’s one-sided. It can teach us, but it cannot teach us everything.

We have to accept something different than our memories: our present.

It is different, new, imperfect. It is real. It is tangible. It is here and now and worthwhile. It doesn’t have the distance of time to soften the edges and blur the dirty, whiny, boring, messy parts.

As I rock Zeke, I think about what I want my own children to experience as adults. If I’m not around, I hope they’ll miss me and remember me. But I also hope they’ll accept the life they have without me, that they won’t waste time trying to recreate a life that has already been lived.

It’s New Year’s Eve, and we’re looking forward.

Every day, just before the time my husband is going to get home from work, something strange happens in my home. The kids have just had a long nap and a snack, but they get inexplicably whiny. The house looks dirty all of a sudden. The pile of laundry on the bed increases fourfold. The plans I had for dinner seem inadequate, and my feet hurt, my back hurts, my head hurts, and what-I-wouldn’t-give for a little peace and quiet…

Welcome home, honey.

I’m embarrassed at the times Joe’s walked in the door to that atmosphere. It seems like on those days, when I’ve “just had it” and all I need is a little relief, he’s just had it at work too. Wierd. I’m drained; he’s drained. All I want is to sit down; all he needs is a little rest. My day was constantly busy, but seems unproductive now; his, too. The kids are clamoring for our attention, and when Joe and I meet eyes it’s with a mutual question of “How soon can bedtime come?”

Whose Fault Is It, Anyway?

I blame it on the undone items, usually. If I hadn’t had so much to do, if I’d gotten a bit more done, if the kids had napped longer, if the phone had rung less… then the house would be clean, laundry put away, dinner on the table, make-up on my face, kids neat and happy, and I’d feel better because it wouldn’t be there waiting for me. When it isn’t that way, I feel tired just looking around and then I feel resentful. Why should I still have to work once Joe gets home and is off work? Why does my job never end? Why doesn’t he notice what needs to be done?

Hmmm. Wondering where those kids pick up that whiny attitude?

Two things are necessary to kill the whine. And it’s necessary to kill the whine in order to eliminate that witching hour and make the Welcome Home, Honey, a genuine welcome.

1: Kill the expectations.

2: Have a party.

The Secret of Happiness

Here’s a secret that every woman, mom, wife should learn from day one. Want to be happy? Quit expecting to be served. Drop it. Set your sights, from the moment of waking up onward, to doing your job fully and without expecting anyone else (such as, ahem, your husband) to pitch in and do it for you. You are the CEO of your own life and life’s work, whatever that includes. Take charge of all of it, not just the parts you enjoy. See it to the finish, not just to the moment Hubs walks in the door and you decide to throw the rest in his lap.

The secret of a happy family is a happy mom.

Once you let go of that ball-and-chain (the expectations are the huge, heavy ball; your emotions are the chain), you’re free to do your job AND to enjoy it at the same time. This is when the party starts. You may not have it all done by the end of the day, but that’s not really the happiness issue. You are. If you’re tired of whining, dragging, and nagging through dinnertime, bathtime, and bedtime, turn up the music. Get your kids with you and dance your way through making dinner and folding clothes. Sing at the top of your lungs. See how many neighbors you can shake out of twilight tiredness. Get out in the front yard, play freeze tag, throw water balloons, make daisy chains.

You’ll still be tired at the end of the night. You may have to finish folding those clothes at 10pm instead of 7. But the kids will be asleep with dreams of how fun their Mommy is, your husband will be humming a tune, and you’ll be matching socks and smiling a little secret smile.

Photo courtesy of charles chan * on Flickr.