I woke up like this. I wake up like this a lot...actually, most mornings.
No. I'm not talking about those 22 year olds posting on Instagram with the perfectly messy messy-bun. The cute tank top. The filter that gives the exact amount of beautiful color to their skin - somewhere between Powder and Tan Mom. No, not that kind of woke up like this. I mean the real kind. Genuinely waking up with the same grotesque mutation hanging on my shoulders that I've covered up, rebuked, ignored and on and on for years: Guilt.
Guilt taps me on the shoulder almost every morning. She vies for first place and to be the first voice of my day. Unfortunately, because I am not a morning person, I usually at best, hear her...and at worst, listen to her.
Before you get too excited, I am not about to confess a plethora of juicy sins for which you can begin your own blog about me. I didn't drink myself into a blackout last night. I didn't gossip. I didn't yell at my family. I didn't lie. I wasn't with another man. As a matter of fact, I ministered on television last night. Mark & I did one of our FAVORITE things to do - we gave opportunity for some younger ministers to be able to sing & speak on TV with us. A huge ministry philosophy in our life is take people with you! If you're on our team, where we go, you go. So I was really happy last night. I was fulfilled. I felt good about myself. So why did guilt whisper her devilish accusations this morning? Two words: French Toast.
I ate French toast at 9PM last night...and bacon...and half an order of biscuits and gravy...after I ate three cheese sticks as an appetizer. Yep. I was feeling so good (and hungry) that I celebrated at a greasy diner in Duluth, GA. When I woke up this morning my first thought was "You are disgusting. You have no self discipline. Just look at you. 40 years old with the belly of the second trimester. Why do you even try anymore? You're going to fail...like always."
Now before you judge my dramatic reenactment of my thought patterns, just know it's true. No one talks about it. Especially not someone in my position. You see, I'm a motivator! I'm a cheerleader! I'm a visionary! I AM A LEADER!...I am also a woman. A Southern woman surrounded by butter and fried everything. Surrounded by magazines and reality TV and movies and the latest "WOW! Can you believe she's SO OLD?! She looks amazing -Celebrities who are 35 but look like they are 12 and how you can have their super secret beauty plan so you won't look like and old hag and people will actually like you!" articles shared on Facebook. Sometimes it gets to me.
And then guilt has this friend. His name is Scale. He stares at me when I'm trying to get dressed or before I step into the shower in the morning. I moved him across the bathroom far away from me because I decided that Scale was schizophrenic a long time ago. He's been so AMAZING that he's given me some of the best days of my life...but he's been so cruel that he's caused me some of the deepest shame I've ever known. I try to stay away from him...but I always go back.
So what is it with guilt? Why does it haunt even the strongest of us? It may not be your weight. Maybe it's your wrong habits, your time management, your family, your home, your relationship with God, your past - where does guilt find the door to your mind cracked open?
I have one more secret. I figured out how to shut her up: I love who I am. I am not perfect. I LOVE French toast. I know I shouldn't eat it at 9M so I'll do better. I NEVER repeat her lies out loud. I may never be a size 2 but I'm really ok with that fact. I LOVE French toast! In order to weigh 110 lbs I'd NEVER be able to eat French toast again or cheese dip or ice cream or 5 Guys or chicken parm - like NEVER EVER & I'm just not ready to give those things up permanently. I have fillings because I've had cavities. I'm 40 and probably about to get braces. I have stretch marks and spider veins and these weird bones on my ankles and wrists. I color my hair not for fun but to cover my grays. There's stuff sagging on me and the circles under my eyes are sometimes so dark I could go as Uncle Fester for Halloween. BUT I AM MADE IN THE IMAGE OF GOD...& guilt has NO right to force my eyes off the fact that I am exactly how He created me. Trust me, I'm all for being a good steward of my life and my body. Health is of the utmost importance. And God created cosmetic surgeons, y'all! But to be so obsessed with what I am not is a slap in the face of the One who has made me what I am. I work on my flaws. I don't ignore them...but they do not define me. My mistakes do not define me. My past does not define me. And French toast at 9PM does not define me.
So today I will renew my mind in the Word. I will spend time with my Creator. I'll ask the Holy Spirit to give me the plan that I need to be successful mind, body and spirit. I will rebuke the thoughts of generational curses like depression, heart disease, cancer, divorce, bankruptcy, anger, and everything else the enemy and this world tries to get me to buy into. I am a NEW CREATION through Christ. OLD THINGS are all gone - He's made all things NEW! Mark Haston gets a "new model" every day! My crows feet are from laughing, my stretch marks are from my beautiful babies, my gray hair is a sign I've lived long enough to earn them, my past mistakes are the foundation on which I've built every success I've accomplished. And my love of French toast? Well, that's just for delicious, delicious fun :)
I woke up like this - strong and able to quickly tell guilt to shut up and get out of my house. It's going to be a GREAT day! I'm off to change the world! Cheers...
I wrote this a few years ago & read it to our church as I greeted them on Mother's Day. It's not a typical blog for me - it's actually more of a word from The Lord to ladies on this special day. I hope it ministers to you today as it did so many of us when He first gave it to me... Happy Mother's Day ❤️
For the one who has heard the exciting and sometimes overwhelming news that she would soon be a mother - Jesus says, I was there.
For the one who has heard time and time again the heartbreak that she would not yet be a mother - I was there.
For the one, who in confusion and fear, chose to end the life of her unborn child - I was there.
For the one, who in great pain yet courage, placed her child into the arms of another to be raised - I was there.
For the one who accepted and loved the child who grew in her heart but in another's womb - I was there.
For the one who nurtured a child in her womb just long enough to love for a lifetime, but never cradled that gift in her arms - I was there.
For the one who has endured the grief of laying her child to rest and released their soul to heaven - I was there.
For the first breath, first word, first step, first everything - I was there.
Daughter, in your fear, your times of testing, your hope and your greatest joy - I have been, I am and I will forever be with you. Rest. You are loved.
I've been in full time ministry for 21 years this month. But truthfully, it's all I've ever known in my 39.95 years on the planet. You see, I'm 4th generation Pentecostal preacher's wife (insert plug: read my book "Sister Pastor" available on Amazon).
In my VERY short lifetime :) I have seen many join the ranks of the ministry...then walk away. It's not that they weren't all strong enough - some were never really called, but some were never told the truth before they began their journey. So here I am with my humorous perspectives and odd anecdotes to give you a true picture of one day in the ministry.
Too many people see "THE MINISTRY" as PROMOTION & POSITION: whatever floats across their TV screens on one of the Christian channels, Facebook posts, or the Twitter-verse. The ministry isn't as pretty as those well filtered Instagram pics. Now don't get me wrong: if you are truly called, there is NOTHING and I mean NOTHING that is more fulfilling or wonderful. But you have to work for it, be a good steward and choose to be o.k. in the face of the...well, puppy poo. Let me explain.
Last Fall we became the proud owners of a super cute miniature Schnauzer puppy who we named Winston Churchill Haston. He's cute but he is spoiled rotten and has a special affection to me. He loves to play, bark, look out of the window...and poop in my house.
Well, we had finally gotten him MOSTLY housebroken and then the time came to have his manhood compromised at the vet. He wore a cone of shame around his neck for the first week after his surgery and looked so very sad and pitiful.
He actually did well in his recovery except one little thing...his medicine gave him horrible...I'll just say it messed up his stomach so that we keep this poo blog as classy as possible. It was awful and he had no control. We cleaned up after him several times a day in that first week. He hated it because he is a clean little guy and he couldn't rest with that mess in his crate with him. We thought we had gotten over the worst of it until one morning as I was getting ready to go to an appointment. I hear my baby girl yell from her room where he slept the night before...it was a bad yell. I walked in to find her gagging and Winston crying in his crate. I sent them both out and the clean up began.
Now...what in all of the world does this have to do with ministry? You probably need to know that in the ministry different seasons occur: some wonderful, some not so wonderful. We had been in a not so wonderful season dealing with a situation in our church that was appalling and hurtful to the Lord and us personally. I had received a text from my dearest friend the day before that read (in part) "The fact that you and Mark are not mad at God and still love people and the ministry is astonishing." She was right. What we were dealing with was purely demonic - the most aggressive attack from hell we'd ever encountered. So as I sat down with a roll of paper towels and Clorox wipes, I began to cry from the exhaustion of everything - the mean people, the lack of sleep and the poo... and right there the Lord began to speak to me. I admit, it caught me off guard too. As I cleaned I realized that the dirtiness had gotten in every crevasse of Winston's new crate and I wanted nothing of that mess left behind. I wanted him to have a clean area to sleep and I wanted to know that I did everything I could to make that happen for him - a puppy, who could do nothing in return for me. He couldn't even thank me. He probably wouldn't even realize I was the one who cleaned it up. But I wanted to do it anyway. As I was using cotton swabs to clean those tiny cracks I heard the Lord ask me this question: "Do you really still love the ministry?" At that point I literally began to weep because I knew where He was going. He began to say things like "This is what people never see. This is what you and Mark never get credit for nor will you ever. What you are doing for this helpless puppy is what you do for people in your life and I see it. I keep record of it. I know you do it with excellence. I see you doing it in great detail so that there is no trace of the mess they made. I know you clean up messes for people who never thank you, who never acknowledge that you were the one who helped them. Are you willing to do this for the rest of your life? Are you sorry you signed up for this? Do you want out?" I don't want it to seem that Mark and I are some kind of super heroes, because we are not. The things the Lord was saying to me and asking me that day are the statements and questions that every minister will face one day...and your answers will determine your destiny.
Please know, God also brings great honor and promotion in the ministry and it's amazing! I won't lie. There's something about looking out over your promised land, even though you know you have to do the upkeep, that is exhilarating. But the questions still remain: Are you willing to do this for the rest of your life? Are you sorry you signed up for this? Do you want out? because there is a high price to pay. You can look at it one of two ways. One: Constantly having a victim mentality or unappreciated hero complex or...Two: The price of a Bentley is much higher than the price of a Honda. You get what you pay for & greatness costs more than "normal". Is it worth it to you?
I answered those questions that day. I do love the ministry. I cannot imagine doing anything else for the rest of my life. I'm not sorry we signed up. I do not want out. And here I sit, with some of that not so good season still hanging in the air, but with a fresh determination and excitement about the next season...and I believe it'll be one of those really good ones :)
So let me add one more "P" to the title of this blog - Perseverance. Yes, you are promoted into full time ministry. Yes, you receive position. And yes, it comes with the benefit of LOTS of puppy poo. But if you will persevere in those times of "clean-up", you will live your dreams. You know what? Lots and lots of those people making messes will watch and grow and before you know it, they'll be right beside you with a roll of paper towels. They may even begin to minister to those in their influence and suddenly you realize it's not just poo - it's FERTILIZER for the HARVEST of your life! Don't ever quit! Nothing with God is wasted. There's even purpose in the poo.
Winston Churchill Haston - clean and smelling so fresh and so clean, clean :) See y'all next time!
