I know, I know...that word! It makes my toes curl and my body tense. It even makes this modern American wife barf a little in my mouth. But to me I think I am learning what that word really means and what it doesn't. It does not mean subservient, shutting down your feelings or being blindly obedient as if you don't matter. I just can't make myself be the wife that puts on a fake, smile (with my teeth tightly clenched behind my trembling pursed lips) meekly saying "whatever you say, dear". God knew what he was doing when He gave me the husband I have. He would never demand anything of me or make me do anything I didn't feel good about. He really does care what this opinionated girl thinks. He sometimes even thinks me wise and insightful...I've got him fooled.
It's funny, a couple days ago I was spending time with my friend, Kim. She was trying to figure out what the deal was with the idea of submission and exactly what that looks like in her life...like I was. She asked me what I thought it meant.
For me what submission means is relinquishing my self-centered, only child, "I know best in all situations" will. Its a matter of releasing control and being totally and completely OK with things not always going my way or by my plan, agenda, likes and dislikes. OK, yeah...that was hard to say....even harder to do. It is also allowing my husband, son, friends etc. to do things on their own and not try to save them from every mistake with my advice or intervention. This is so hard to do sometimes because I can be arrogant enough to think I can actually do it all myself so it can get done "right"...whatever that means.
I tested this submission thing when Andy went to Ireland. I decided to not go with him although I really wanted to. He never asked me not to go, he was actually expecting me to go. I really just wanted him to have uninterrupted time to pray and truly seek God's will for our mission. I knew that if I went I would be so tempted to insert my will into all aspects of the process from where to serve to what town to live in. I know me well enough to know that I will always seek the most comfortable situation....for me. I really wanted God to decide and not me. I just stayed at my mom's with Quinn and prayed for his quest. That, for me, was submission to God and faith in my husband to follow God's lead. He needed to do this, not me, not this time. It was hard. I hated it....well...OK...it did feel kind of good not to have to be in control. I don't know why it should seem so hard because when I do choose "my way" and force everyone else to go along with it, I never seem to get the results I am hoping for anyway.....go figure.
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Andy logged on and said "hello" and began to type the name of the town we would be living in. Here it comes, I thought. The anticipation was killing me! Andy clicked send....and I quickly read the name of the unfamiliar town. DUNGHOLE! Seriously!?! I gave up everything and I am moving to Dunghole! Oh great, I get to live in the dunghole of Ireland....it just figures. Then I reread the message....it said Dungloe not Dunghole. Andy explained that it is pronounced (Dune-'low)....whew...that's better. It is a town of about 2000 on the northwest coast on the Atlantic ocean. It looks very sweet, not like a dunghole at all.
Decision #3 Letting Go and Facing the Obvious
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Anyone who has advice about how to pack for this new lifestyle of ours, please leave comments. We need all the input we can get from what not to forget to keep with us to tips on making everywhere seem a little like home!