On home and belonging

Tonight we are back in Montana after over a week spent on our first pilgrimage back to California.

I wondered how it would feel, to return to our former southern California city of residence, and then leave again, for the second time. Where would our heartstrings feel more closely tied? What about the kids and their longings for "home?" And which end of the trip feels more like our home? It was impossible to predict.

Of course there are so many things I miss about California. Like this below. Obviously. And our entire family and precious friends. And many, many things I do not miss. And there were things and people I missed in Montana. And some things I did not miss.

I've been noticing how many people who know us say things to me like, "Wow, so how's Montana? Kevin must be LOVING it there!" Or, "Kevin must really be IN HIS ELEMENT." Statements like that. Because they know my husband is an outdoorsy guy, and I guess the presumption is that he will feel more comfortable outdoors in MT than in CA. I guess. On the maybe-one-day-a-month he gets to do something outdoorsy, since there are still jobs and trash day and bills to pay in Montana.

And the implication also is that I am probably not loving it as much, I'm not "in my element." They say things like, "But how are you doing there?" with a grave tone like Montana gave me an illness. Because I guess the way the obvious things about me fit with the obvious things about Montana is questionable.

So while we've been in California, my husband and I have been chatting about these funny presuppositions. I asked him if he felt he belonged more in one place than the other. I wondered what exactly "my element" is. Where exactly do I feel most at home? Where do we belong?

I was a little surprised that he felt like I did: strangely hazy about all of it. Neither of us felt overwhelmingly connected to either culture, either home, either terrain. He hasn't felt an enhanced sense of belonging living in Montana just because he likes the outdoors. Probably like I didn't feel an intense sense of belonging living in California because I happen to like Anthropologie and pedicures and 70 degree winters. I also like places with no Anthropologie, no need for pedicures, and 20 degree winters. We started to understand that the things that are obvious about us and about different environments have very little to do with whether we feel we belong there.

Our preferences have very little to do with what feels like home.

And at the end of the day, we were reminded that nothing really feels like home. Not really. Because we were made for more.

We were designed for so much more than pedicures and camping and lattes and church on Sunday and Christmas cards and the right winter boots. As long as we look for home, comfort, and belonging on this earth, we won't find it. We fit in none of the places.

We don't belong anywhere but with Jesus and His people in a second Eden, in a perfect paradise. And the Bible says He has a home for every believer there in heaven. An address, finally, where we will be "in our element". We can't feel at home in CA or MT or any other combination of letters. We can't even feel comfortable in our own skin, as we are. But one day, we'll know belonging. And Jesus will heal us from the inside out. 

And then we'll know what it feels like to come home. 

Happy New Year, friends, from our temporary home to yours.

{p.s. for more thoughts along these lines, I remembered I wrote this post a while back with which my heart still resonates...}

The shaking and shaking

I was home from college the weekend of the earthquake. It was my boyfriend's (now husband's) birthday, and I drove the two hours home to celebrate with him. We spent the day and evening together, and he brought me home around midnight. About four hours later, the shaking started.

I had learned in Physics that there are two common types of earthquakes, ones made of "S" waves, and ones made of "P" waves. S waves rolled and undulated, slowly building and then fading away like a wave of water rolls through your feet at the beach. Born and raised in Southern California, I'd felt countless quakes such as these during my childhood. They were unsettling, not terrifying. But that January, it was not an S type earthquake. It was the less common P type, made up of shocking, violent, side to side jolts that start suddenly, mercilessly.

It was the middle of the night. And though the violent jolting lasted several minutes, I believe it was God's grace that I didn't wake until I heard my dad trying to work a path through my furniture to reach me. All of it had overturned against my bed. The next thing I remember is being left alone in the car; someone escorted me to the passenger side and placed the dog on my lap, both of us shivering in the January night. Everything was dim and glowing orange from the streetlights. The rubber tires of my car were excellent communicators of the way the earth continued to shiver with me without relenting.

It seemed an eternity until dawn. I went back inside to find my dad slowly pacing the house with a video camera, somberly documenting. I remember his monotone sound as he digested the damage, gravely pacing through each room, listing and describing and digesting. Everything was wrong and out of place.

The china hutch that had been bolted to the wall for this exact reason - in case of an earthquake - was ripped out and flung across the room. A large piece of a wall hung lifeless and separate from the rest. And the kitchen left us speechless. I could see over the half wall and sink area that every single cabinet door was thrown open and every single shelf was empty. I stared, so confused at the blank wood. It was empty like when you first move in to a place, except when I rounded the corner, I saw a sea of broken glass instead of a floor. And the sea had a strange and horrible stench because the fridge had been thrown open as well, and every bottle and dish inside had exploded onto the floor too. The scent of vinegar dominated and soured our senses to match our hearts.

Our house was given a "red tag," noting the highest degree of damage and warning us to enter thenceforth at our own risk. That was the last night we slept there. So much more was ruined and exploded and reduced to rubble. And not just the material things. But my family members and I were all safe. Disasters have a way of boiling down what matters most. And we all plainly saw that what mattered still remained.   

That was almost 20 years ago. But I've felt some violent quaking lately, and not in the earth. I keep hearing this verse:

And His voice shook the earth then, but now He has promised, saying, “Yet once more I will shake not only the earth but also the heaven.” This expression, “Yet once more,” denotes the removing of those things which can be shaken, as of created things, so that those things which cannot be shaken may remain.
Hebrews 12:26-28

What that means to me right now is that sometimes God issues some shaking for a two-fold reason: so that the shakable can end up in a rubble heap, and so we get a long hard look at that which is unshakable.

Typically, we go about our business living the Christian life, praying and whatnot. We may feel convicted now and again, perhaps on Sundays. But on occasion, there are seasons when God allows a shaking in our hearts, followed by more shaking. And then more. He says, "It's time, my child," and He sets new expectations, reveals new garbage that all the while He's graciously tolerated. It's exposing and somehow lovingly unrelenting.

The shaking season is rough. I more clearly understand now the term "refiner's fire" that I learned in church at a young age. And clearly, I'm in that season. He's set out to clean house a little in my heart, and in my marriage, and in my parenting, and in my family. And maybe tomorrow somewhere else. In the last month alone, He's revealed so many new things to me that need attention and spiritual work. Do you know those times? It's like my heart's in-box is stacked with folders of things to pray over and surrender and process. One more time:

And His voice shook the earth then, but now He has promised, saying, “Yet once more I will shake not only the earth but also the heaven.” This expression, “Yet once more,” denotes the removing of those things which can be shaken, as of created things, so that those things which cannot be shaken may remain.
Hebrews 12:26-28

God lets the shakable things fall away just so you and I can see what remains: that which is unshakable. It is hearty food for my soul to be reminded lately of what is unshakable.

First of all, God's love for me is unshakable. It is deeper than I could ever know.

His good plans for me are unshakable. He plans to give me a hope and a future.

His provision, His ability and willingness to meet ALL of my needs are unshakable. The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.

His loyalty and companionship are unshakable. He will never, ever leave me.

His desire to be in an intimate relationship with me is unshakable. I can't do anything to make Him stop wanting me.

And His promise of heaven is unshakable. One day, I'll be with Him in perfect peace.

So when I look at that list, a list which could go on and on, I'm okay with the shaking. I see a purpose in it, even when it hurts. God knows what He's doing, my friends. If you're in a season of being shaken, I'd encourage you to stop being afraid, stop trying to just make it stop. Look at what you might let go of, a habit, an attitude, a right, a desire, even a relationship if necessary. If it's something shakable, let it fall.

The unshakable stuff is what you really want anyway.

For when you feel like you just can't.

Today I had a bunch of moments when I said inside, "I just can't." The moments seemed to pile up towards the end of day, primarily, when my head was growing fuzzy, my emotions frazzled, and my body weary from the day.

I was cooking, and thinking about something, and hearing my son's voice saying something barely audible over the loud sizzling in my pan. "What?" I said to him, glancing over my shoulder. He held up a large, hard-backed book and its torn off cover in two separate hands, and repeated something I still couldn't make out.

I just can't, I thought. I've heard so many of his words, fixed so many of his problems today. I just can't give my attention to a single additional one right now.

The phone rang and I mistakenly answered it. It was a recording saying my cell phone payment was due. I added to the mistake by trying to enter the payment right then while cooking, while parenting, while juggling the thousand thoughts in my head.

At a pause, I asked my girl to get ready for bed, and then realized I'd stripped her sheets off earlier in the day and forgot it was left unmade.

I just can't, I thought. I don't have it in me to remake her bed right now.

She was thankfully reading quietly, but happened upon a funny part of the book. She begged me to come read it, to share in her delight, and oh, the funny part wasn't that long, she said.

No, I so didn't want to. I just can't, said my head.

And I was irritated because I saw she left her purse on the floor, which attracted our dog. He was halfway through the pack of gum when I caught him, my phone on the counter still talking at me through the speaker. But when I took the gum away, he grabbed the Chapstick.

It's not even food! I thought. I just can't deal with this dumb dog right now. I'm in the middle of cooking dinner, trying to keep up with the automated payment thing on the phone, and....

I tried to quickly pry the Chapstick from his mouth, but he only clamped down harder on it, my thumb in his grip now as well. It hurt so bad I cried.

My kids suddenly got very obedient, startled by my tears.

I just can't. I just can't.... said the voice in my head.


But I did.

By God's grace alone, I did.

A peace settled on the night, somehow. Miraculously. I wrapped my thumb with a cold pack and cooked with my other hand. My call got disconnected from being neglected, but I was sort of relieved. I fed the kids. I made her bed with clean sheets. Then I read the funny pages of the book and chimed along with her. I even patiently asked her to clean off her Chapstick container with soap.

And when I tucked my son in, I took notice of the book lying on his floor with a missing cover. I gently asked what happened. The spine broke, and it was even a Star Wars one, he said. I apologized for being rude to him earlier. He apologized for saying he brushed his teeth when he really didn't.

We prayed together, asking Jesus for forgiveness because we are all broken, all sinners. We all just can't sometimes.

But He can and He does and He wills for us to lean on Him.

Oh, how I need Him every hour, and particularly the late ones in the day.

I'm not quite sure what that word is, that thing that pulls me from "I just can't" to "I can," but I think it's grace.

And the truth is that the phrase I just can't is a lie our enemy speaks to our hearts; he is the one who wants to convince us that there is no hope for us, no strength left, no possible way. Oh, it's an insidious lie, and somehow sparkles just like the truth at times.

"Have mercy on us and help us, if you can.” {said the man with a sick son}

“What do you mean, ‘If I can’?” Jesus asked.

“Anything is possible if a person believes.”

Mark 9:22-23 

Jesus can. How much do you believe it?

He offers grace to cover my sin.

He lifts me up and gives me strength when I can't.

He shows me that grace is what I need to receive and what I need to give, as generously as possible on both accounts.

I believe. I just forget sometimes. And His grace covers that too.

Praying you have a sense of His grace-covering today and that you believe He can when you feel you just can't.

Leaving my nets

Christmas season always brings a mixed bag of emotions for me. But  feeling overwhelmed by the added responsibilities tends to eclipse the joy I really desire. So this week, I've been fighting. Analyzing what is stopping me from finding joy. Moving the pieces of the Christmas season puzzle around in my brain in case I can fit them together differently this year.

In the past, I've thought it was simply a calendar issue: if we can just say "no" to enough extras, we'll have time for joy. Though that's true to an extent, I suspected there was more going on.

Perhaps these symptoms of feeling overwhelmed, busy, demotivated, and burdened - let's call them the December Blues - are because I'm following the wrong thing. I'm asking myself who or what I'm following. Am I feeling guided by traditions (because "that's what we've always done"), my own new ideas, the culture's priorities, the sales, Pinterest, other bloggers? Or am I following Jesus and what He is guiding me toward right now, this December?

What does it even mean to follow hard after Him this season?

Today I thought a lot about the day when Jesus called a few fishermen, in the middle of their work, and said, "Follow me."

Mark records their response this way: "And immediately, they left their nets and followed Him." (Mark 1:18)

Some of the fishermen had been mending their nets, two brothers, James and John who worked for the family business. They too got up and "left their father in the boat." (Mark 1:20)

Let's not look at this scenario in a vacuum. We know a little about the way God works. He doesn't drop out of the sky into our lives and say "Follow me." He prepares the soil. He makes us uncomfortable, gives us vision and desire for more in our lives, He draws us deep down, usually way before He actually shows up. Put that knowledge into this scene with the first few disciples. Oblige me a little reading between the lines.

It's possible they wanted out. They were burnt. Each time they cast that net, something told them they were meant for more. The joy was gone. Their craving for change was at an all time high. Something had to give way. And along came Jesus on the beach. Their hearts nearly burst when he waved them over.  

"And immediately, they left their nets and followed Him."

Aggh! Can you imagine how purpose and fulfillment came flooding into their lives again? Being in the center of His will, walking with Him, was exactly where they were meant to be. They could have said, "But the nets need mending....can I follow you later? I'm in the middle of something really important." They could have followed their ideas of what was important, or thought their timing was superior. They could have sought the favor of the men around them instead of the favor of God. But they dropped it all. It was a big risk.

Walking away wasn't without a great cost. Do you think their father was cheering them on from the boat, or shouting that they were crazy? Or irresponsible? Or worse? Do you think they wrestled with doubt after receiving scorn from the community? They certainly lost their jobs. Following Jesus is never without some cost.

This account in Mark reminds me that being a disciple is inconvenient. It can confuse and hurt the people closest to you. And it requires total devotion. To live in joy and deep fulfillment, sometimes we have to walk away from something. We have to leave our nets and follow Him.

So back to Christmas. I haven't asked Jesus, yet, where all my "nets" are that I need to walk away from to follow Him this season. But one, certainly, is the way we have handled gift giving in the past. This year, my husband and I are walking away from some of our past traditions in that regard. We got uncomfortable. We lost joy. We had a vision for more. So we left some nets. And it's not completely smooth in our extended family. We seem a little crazy.

What I want is to follow Jesus into each day this December. Still asking for His agenda for my days. Choosing joy and a positive attitude instead of a tired one. Is it just me, or is it strange to feel like truly following Him EVEN AT CHRISTMASTIME is a fight?  So many things distract us from what really matters. Even good "spiritual" things. If I am yelling at my kids because we're late for volunteering at a church function, or rushing them through the day so we can have time for advent later, how much will that good thing really mean? It is a fine line between intentionality and just doing things because they are good ideas. And good ideas aren't necessarily God's ideas for me, for this moment, this year. I don't even really know what they are unless I ask Him.

As inconvenient or costly as it may be, I want to leave my nets when and where He calls me. That may mean I walk away from good ideas. Lower my expectations. Ruffle some feathers.

But I'll be with Jesus. Immanuel. God, who came down to be with us. The center of it all.

Being with Him is really all I want.

linking up with Amanda today here.

When promises seem to fade

My ears perk up when I hear the same thing taught twice in a short period of time. Like God's trying to get my attention, and I missed it the first time around.

Well that just happened. I was astonished, as I drove, listening to Alistair Begg on a Christian radio station. He's the pastor with a strong Scottish accent. Have you heard him before? He was mid-message when I tuned in; now that I think about it, I don't even know what the "point" of the message was. I only heard one part.

The part on Matthew 1:1. Because our whole entire service at church yesterday was on Matthew 1:1. Astonished. I sat in the car thinking, "What are the odds..." and "Wait, if God is trying to reteach me something that I missed yesterday, what on earth could it be?" Alistair reflected on a thought that seemed obvious to me, that the verse was a seemingly dry way to kick off the New Testament. Here's God, about to tell the greatest story ever told, and He starts with this:

The book of the genealogy of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham.
Matt 1:1

I sort of agree, to be honest. Next, Matthew spends the next 17 versus listing all the key players in Jesus' family line. Matthew is not exactly trying to hook us into a compelling plot line. It's a portion of scripture most people probably skip. You know, to get to the good stuff. I've done it. We are accustomed to the convention of an "introduction" when we read, aren't we? If I'm honest, I've treated certain seemingly introductory portions of scripture as just that, introductions to skim over, to warm us up perhaps.

I guess I wanted to do that yesterday morning during church. Tune out because it seemed like we were dwelling on the warm up. I didn't quite get the message, why we had to spend all of service on Matthew 1:1.

God is saying OBVS right now, since He had to reteach it to me this morning through the radio.

(As I type, I'm reminded of this verse I memorized last year...)

All scripture is God-breathed, and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness, so that the man of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work.
2 Tim 3: 16-17

Here's what God wanted to show me. Without going into all the detail on why that one verse is so important - all the prophecy it would have called to mind in the heart of the first century reader, all the implications the phrases "son of David" and "son of Abraham" have - just know this. Alistair Begg proved Matthew 1:1 is to tell us one thing:

God keeps His promises. 

God made covenants (fancy word for promises) with Abraham and David, and Matthew is saying, "Watch this. 'Member those covenants? Let me show you how God keeps His promises. And then throughout the book, He demonstrates how those promises were fulfilled in Jesus.

I think I tuned out Sunday because in order to understand this verse, it meant absorbing very heady material, sort of like a history and theology class all at once. And so I missed the personal message in it.

But what you don't know is the reason God had to reteach me this morning. There's a reason when I heard Alistair Begg summarize Matthew 1:1 that I instantly teared up.

When he said Matthew 1:1 was all about promises and fulfillment, it sunk in. I can't give you many details. But I can say I've been temped lately to question whether I've heard right on certain things I feel God has promised me. I've been tempted to lose the vision He's given me for certain things very dear to my heart. I've questioned whether He actually did promise me anything, and if He did make me promises, how on earth He was going to keep them.

Over the several hundred years it took God to fulfill His promises in the person of Jesus, I have a feeling a few people felt the same doubt as I do. At times, I find it very hard to understand this verse:

The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead he is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.
2 Pet 3:9 

I want to say, "Um, yes you are, Lord. You are kinda slow. Actually. 'Cause I don't have several hundred years to wait. In fact, I don't know if I can hold on to believing you for another week."

There are so many things involved here. Do I simply believe in God? Or do I BELIEVE God? And why does it feel like there is an expiration date on that belief in certain areas sometimes? (I mean, who does He think we are?!)

Well, He thinks I'm human. And forgetful. And distracted. So He patiently teaches me twice in a 24 hour period the same exact thing.

I am a promise-making, promise-keeping God.

Can a woman forget her nursing child?
that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb?
Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you.
Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands;
Isaiah 49:15-16

Amen, friends?

His love makes my heart skip a beat.

Have a great week.

Grace on a Thursday: How to ruin a blog

I don't know if you caught it today, but for a few hours, my blog was totally messed up.

I'm not exactly sure how I messed it up. (And I'm honestly not exactly sure how I got it back, which shows you just how much I know about what I'm doing, technically.) But one false "click" and I lost my whole Top of the Page blog design. All the buttons, the header, the photos, the entire sidebar.....it was all gone. I emailed my blog designer and she said she no longer had the graphics since it was a while ago.

I stared at my screen, fumbling for a solution for thirty minutes. My face was hot, my heart rate was up. I muttered to myself, "I ruined it," over and over. 

Eventually, I had to give up my attempts and take the kids somewhere. I drove around, enjoyed a free Icee from 7-11 (since today is 7/11), and tried to follow my husband's encouragement to calm down. I resisted the temptation to pull up my blog on my phone and continue to stare at what I could not fix.

When I came home, I resolved to try some new ideas to recover my design. Within 5 minutes, my computer completely froze, raising my frustration all over again. But just before I let myself react, somehow then I understood. Ever have those moments when the lightbulb goes on and you realize the problem may not be about what you thought it was about?

Finally. God had grace to trade for my anxiety, and I felt the Holy Spirit telling me to get away with Him for a bit. He had something to say (and how many roadblocks would He have to construct before I stopped to listen?) I plopped myself on the couch and put my face into the seat cushion. So full of grace, He said,

Don't misunderstand what you're doing, here. Your influence, your service to me is holy. Did you really think that changing what your blog looks like could ruin it?

I felt led to open my Bible to what comes next in my daily reading: Philippians 3.

"We put no confidence in human effort, though I could have confidence in my own effort if anyone could. Indeed, if others have reason for confidence in their own efforts, I have even more!

(then Paul lists his credentials for being a "good" Jewish boy.)

I once thought these things were valuable, but now I consider them worthless because of what Christ has done. Yes, everything else is worthless when compared with the infinite value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have discarded everything else, counting it all as garbage, so that I could gain Christ and become one with him." (NLT)

Paul is talking about "discarding" any reason to boast or appear successful in the world's eyes for the sake of having a singular definition, a singular source of confidence: Jesus.  
 My credentials for having a "good" blog are as follows.
I have a cute, custom blog design.
I have a decent following.
I have some good ideas, recipes, crafts, photos.
I have sponsors.
I use turquoise and cute fonts.
I use social media to promote it.
I...
I...
I...

It's all garbage, compared to knowing and sharing Jesus.

How silly of me to believe for a second that I could ruin my blog by changing what it looks like. The only way I can ruin my blog is to leave Jesus out of it. He is what I have to really offer. (I realize not all of you have the exact same calling I feel I have in blogging, and not all of you have faith-centered blogs. That's perfectly okay. I'm just speaking for myself and what I feel called to/convicted about.)

In my quiet time with Him, after He messed up my design and froze my computer, God reminded me:

People are literally truth-starved. Is your confidence in what your blog looks like? In what the world says is of value? Or is your confidence in sharing Me? Is your confidence in My work here, since you've offered this to Me?

I'm not saying that from now on, I'll make my blog unattractive and stop sharing recipes. What I'm saying is that I need to remember the point. And (sigh) I need to embrace GRACE when I get caught up in anxiety over less important stuff like I did today.

I'm asking myself...

Is my confidence as a blogger in Him and His work alone?

Do I boast about Jesus more than I boast about more frivolous things here?

Do all my other sources of pride look like garbage compared to how much pride I have in knowing Him?

Am I maintaining that the primary motive of my blog is to share Jesus and His story?

I hope so.
 
Because if not, I will ruin my blog.
 
For reals.   
 

Grace on a Thursday: My run in with fancy

Like every Wednesday, today was my morning to volunteer in the kids' classrooms. But before my duties started at 8:15, I ran to get a coffee at Starbucks. I'm not usually a coffee drinker. But it was early, and I wanted a little something to sip while I braved the masses of children for the two hours to follow.

I guess because it was so early, I found myself alongside the working bunch, those who probably stop there every day before the morning commute. Everyone seemed to know each other's names, and were asking one another and the baristas about what the prior weekend held.

Something was distracting me, though. A really strong, but lovely, smell. Not the coffee, I realized. It was the perfume of the woman standing in front of me. It filled the room. It made me take notice of her.

She was really beautiful. Dressed in very chic but work appropriate attire, her curled blonde hair was perfect and motionless, and her high heels looked special. She wore a feminine, fitted white blazer, nipped in at the waist, and matching skirt, all trimmed in black. Her flawless makeup alone looked like a thirty minute project. She was quite a fancy sight, and I noticed she looked about my same age.

I was suddenly aware that what I'd chosen to wear today, what I'd thought earlier that morning looked somewhat cute, instead looked faded and shabby. Both the top and skirt I was wearing were bought second-hand, and if you looked closely, were pilling. My Target sandals were about to see their third summer and the polish was chipped off one of my toes. All I'd managed to get on my face was a little concealer to hide my dark circles and some blush, since I have that post-winter pale look going.

She and I crossed arms reaching for sugar, cream and cinnamon. She doctored her coffee just like I did mine. And as I headed back out to my car, lots of thoughts began to rush through my head.

I first remembered what it was like to have an income before I had kids. And the free time! How freely I shopped and spent time on my appearance. I thought about how much I've given up to have children, and then to stay home with them full-time.

I wanted to be a little judgey, actually, of her. I wanted to hate her perfume and feel better about myself through the streaks of envy I felt by saying in my mind that my job as a mother was better. But I know it's not. The fact is that she could be perfectly in the center of God's will for her life. I have no idea what God may be doing in and through her.

But I do know what God has called me to do. Today, it was to back all this artwork with construction paper.

Ten years ago tomorrow, on my first-born's birthday, becoming a mother was my calling. Working and earning a living and wearing heels on a Wednesday morning were my things to lay down. You don't really realize it because the sacrifice is a slow fade. But now that I'm ten years in, now that I stand next to mid-thirties-fancy-working-lady side by side, I can see that it's a lot. The sacrifice is a lot. In fact, it's huge.

I thought about how both the fancy lady and I had Starbucks cups on our work spaces that morning. Just imagine how different our views were between sips.

It's huge because it's meant laying down my life for others. Particularly, two others. My two littles. It hasn't been that difficult to lay it down. I'd make the same choice over and over, if given the chance. But I'll never be able to grasp how huge it has been for them. Their lives will be evidence of how huge that laying down has been. And their stories have barely begun to be written.

So I guess what I'm saying is that laying down my life to stay home and raise my children can be summed up as a big leap of faith. A leap I have to make every day. I'm having faith that all the work, the laying down, the intentionality, the love, the tears....that all of it gets rolled up in God's economy and formed into something really beautiful: well-raised children.

And because I am a hot mess on some days, a selfish, fleshy, annoyed mess, grace is what I'm counting on to be in the mix. My daily prayer is that all my offering gets rolled up with grace. Lots of Jesus-filled grace.

Grace blesses my sacrifice, fades the mess, and brightens Jesus in my kids' lives.

I'll take that over fancy any day. 

I needed a Sabbath.

I have gone back and forth, over the years, on the issue of keeping a "Sabbath." I'm referring to the commandment (one of the 10, incidentally) that says to keep the seventh day of the week holy, or literally "set apart" for the Lord. The Bible also clarifies that God's people are to do no work on the Sabbath, that it is to be a day of rest.

What it means to keep a Sabbath day has been interpreted in a zillion different ways. I know some families who take this very literally. They not only try to avoid any work on Sunday, but they also try to stay away from activities that require others to work, such as going out to a restaurant. Others I've talked to feel that they take that rest time spread out over the week, like chunks of sabbath time, but not all at once on a set day. I'd say most of my Christian friends and family members, however, don't actually observe what they would identify as a Sabbath rest at all.



I've gone back and forth, like I said, over the years. I do try to take the Bible literally and obey it's commands as much as possible. And I do believe God absolutely knows what is best for us. If He has commanded that we should work for six days and then keep the seventh as a day of rest in a given week, who am I to change that around?

Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days you shall labor, and do all your work, but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the Lord your God. On it you shall not do any work, you, or your son, or your daughter, your male servant, or your female servant, or your livestock, or the sojourner who is within your gates. For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested on the seventh day. Therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy.
Exodus 20:8-11

For me, I just question why on earth I resist His specified weekly structure.

Wait, I know why.
Because my pride interferes with my obedience.

Because I think I know what's best for me.
Because I think getting stuff done will better serve my family and me so I stay in a constant state of asking myself, "What needs to be done next?"

And this past Friday, I saw a busy weekend looming. Saturday was going to be filled with commitments all strung together one after the next. After the kids went to bed, I couldn't do anything else. I declared out loud, "I need a Sabbath." I needed it all to stop.

Problem was that my sink was full of dishes. My laundry basket was full of clean, unfolded clothes. My fridge was end-of-the-week empty. Normally, every other week, there is no way I'd walk away from all that to rest for a full day. No way. But Saturday night, I knew I had no choice. It was as if I had already run a marathon without a drop of water. Not one more thing could be done until I drank deep some Sabbath rest.



Sunday, we went to church. We worshipped, we learned. We went home.
I pushed down my impulse to work.
We made sandwiches at home and then gathered some things into the car. 
I pushed down my anxiety from not working. Over and over, actually.
I brought two magazines that had been gathering dust on my desk. I actually read them while my husband did a few light jobs for my parents. Then we got some exercise with the kids. It was great. It felt good.
We were all so happy.

I don't know if it was related, but my kids played so amazingly well together all day. Playing, laughing, and being silly. I don't recall any bickering or whining at all. Did they perhaps need a sabbath too? (Lord, how have I robbed them of rest through my own disobedience!?) 

When we returned home, all the piles loomed. And then I remembered that according to the Jewish calendar, the end of the day is considered sundown. Their tradition was that the new day starts in the evening, and carries until the next sundown. It made so much sense to me, in terms of taking a Sabbath, for me, for my life. I had stopped working Saturday night (out of sheer exhaustion, this week anyway), took all of Sunday to rest, and then was energized and refreshed to get to work Sunday night, preparing for the week. It was like God gave me a green light and a full heart to dive back in to the holy jobs He's given me. And I had the means to do them well, with a happy heart and a full tank.

So often, I approach my jobs, particularly in my home, with a heavy heart, as if they burden me. I wonder if it's because I've neglected God's order for my week and disobeyed His command to rest. Perhaps this running-on-empty feeling is more of a choice than I've realized.

And Jesus said to them, “The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath."
Mark 2:27

I take time daily to spend with Him, to fill up spiritually. But is that enough? Are my body and mind receiving enough quiet and refreshment in those moments to carry me through seven whole days? I don't think so. Something has been missing. And I suspect it's a Sabbath.

What about you? What are your thoughts on this?

Speaking my language

This past week, during our Spring Break, I was reminded that God doesn’t exclusively love us despite ourselves. He doesn’t only care for us because of His patience and mercy in light of our otherwise helpless souls. He is not always looking down on us in pity and compassion. It is not all about grace.

I sometimes forget this, especially around Easter, when I try to be focused on my need for a Savior. But I truly believe God wants me to remember that He is not only my Savior.

He is also my dad. He is also my husband. He is also my best friend.

And a perfect version of a dad, husband, and a best friend LOVES you because they can't not. They love you because their hearts are powerfully compelled to.   

Sometimes God just wants to say, "I love you!" because He just really does love me.

He is crazy about me. Like the way I feel about my husband or my kids or my best friends times a zillion.

I think after Easter, He looked at me, smiled, and said, “She just doesn’t get it. Not quite. She isn’t remembering that I just plain love her. I want to make her heart swell. I just have to get it through to her, through the thick fog of distractions and counterfeits. I need to shout my love right now. And she hears me best when I speak her language."

He knows how to speak my language. The language of my heart that I’m not even sure anyone else knows but Him. It’s a very complex language, with a history and a story. It's intimate, personal, and completely unique to me.

And so you may not resonate with this part, because it's not your language. I know that. But mine is made up of things like this, things that the Lord brought before my eyes, blessed me with, and made my heart swell this week in a way I recognize is only Him.

Peacocks.

Getting to teach biology lessons to my kids in nature.

Watching my daughter's character emerge in restful moments; the way she is a helper, a sensitive encourager, and a peacemaker. 

Thunder and board games with my family.

Getting to sleep in. (Yes, that is so my language.)

A little boy who wakes up in the morning and won't get out of bed until he gets snuggles with mama. His skinny arms thrown round my neck and dripping tears on my cheek because our vacation is almost over.

Light-hearted times with my man, laughing, relaxing, and loving each other.

Not having anywhere to go. An agenda wiped clean by the rain.

He so knows what I need. He so gets me. And I get the message. My heart is full.

What's your language? Is your heart tuned to hear Him speak love to you lately?  

Deleted post and some Monday thoughts

Welp, I had a really lovely post scheduled for yesterday. But when it went up, for some reason it was completely blank. I went into "edit" and nothing was there. My whole post got deleted somehow and I was/am so bummed out about that. It was an important one to me, and so when I get over the disappointment of it vanishing, I may rewrite it.

As for now, I just wanted to share what's on my mind this morning.

I'm thankful that our God is one of action. You will never hear Him say these words to you:

My hands are tied. I can't help.

I'm too busy to concern myself with that.

I just don't know what to do. Try someone else.

I really wish I had an answer for you.

Can we reschedule our time together?

Today, I'm basking in the fact that HE IS ON THE READY at all times of day to listen to me, to help me, to comfort me. It's amazing.

And then, what's even more amazing is that whether I bring Him my heart or not, He is at work all around me, all the time. Moving. Acting. Powerfully writing my story of faith, page by page. Most of the time, I just can't see it.

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for,

the conviction of things not seen.

Hebrews 11:1

But He is at work. Because He loves me. I have faith in this.

I don't always have patience for the timing of His plans, but I have faith that He has some, and that they are good.

But do not overlook this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day. The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you...

2 Peter 3:8,9 

I don't want to overlook this one fact. The Lord is not slow; He is at work in His perfect timing. We can take heart in this knowledge, friends!

Last night, as I went to bed, I read a bit from My Utmost for His Highest by Oswald Chambers (entry for Feb. 27th). This spoke to me.

Think of the depths of human nature, of human life, think of the depths of the "wells" in you. Have you been impoverishing the ministry of Jesus so that He can not do anything? Suppose there is a well of fathomless trouble inside your heart, and Jesus comes and says, "Let not your heart be troubled"; and you shrug your shoulders and say, "But Lord, the well is deep; You cannot draw up quietness and comfort out of it." No, He will bring them down from above...

We impoverish His ministry the moment we forget He is Almighty; the impoverishment is in us, not in Him. We will come to Jesus as Comforter or as Sympathizer, but we will not come to Him as Almighty. The reason some of us are such poor specimens of Christianity is because we have no Almighty Christ. We have Christian attributes and experiences, but there is no abandonment to Jesus Christ. When we get into difficult cirumstances, we impoverish His ministry by saying, "Of course He cannot do anything," and we struggle down to the deeps and try to get the water for ourselves. Beware of the satisfaction of sinking back and saying, " It can't be done"; you know it can be done if you look to Jesus. The well of your incompleteness is deep, but make the effort and look away to Him.

Am I walking through my struggles today in faith that I have an Almighty God on my side?

I'm trying.

I don't want to simply believe in God. I want to believe Him. He is love, and He is at work in a mighty way in my life. Today I'm thankful for that.

Grace on a Thursday: Opening gifts

It's funny that Grace on a Thursday is falling on January 5th. Because it's my birthday. I'm 37 today.

I did have a passing desire to be like her and do something super generous for the world. 37 random acts of kindness in celebration. Seems like everyone's blogged about it. Everyone was all fired up a few months ago to do copycat birthday celebrations in one way or another. It's sincerely a great and inspired idea. And honestly, I totally DON'T want to do it.

Maybe because Christmas just ended, but I feel like I've just done 37 things for others. But times 10. I'm tired of doing and cooking and decorating and making every single thing intentional. I just want to get a pedicure and an ice tea on my birthday.

A piece of me feels sort of lame and selfish about that, but God is speaking to my heart. He's graciously reminding me that He wants us to take sometimes. After all, how can He fill me up if I don't take time to receive anything from Him?

What if my husband and children and friends all selected and wrapped beautiful gifts for me today and I left them unopened on the counter. Let's say all birthday long, I busied around, taking care of everyone else while they stood there staring. Then the next day, I kept on doing the same. I could not stop giving long enough to receive. I ministered at church, helped with homework, prayed for someone, fed the dog, watched her kids, called grandma, washed their clothes, made them dinner, read a story, sang a song, and picked up the mess. Just what if I never opened their gifts? What if I didn't see myself as valuable enough to stop, in order to let them give to me?

I do not want to be that woman who neglects to open the gifts God has for me.

I do not want to be someone who neglects her own soul care and calls it "giving."

(And yes, I just implied that getting an ice tea and a pedicure could constitute "soul care". It most certainly can, if those things are simply a vehicle to taking time out in order to remember who I am, and whose I am. Of course, if getting a tea and a pedicure are just part of the busying around, it doesn't count at all.)

I do really try to let God refresh me and bless me. I try to open His gifts. And not reluctantly, but with enthusiasm. With a hopeful expectation too, knowing that He is an awesome gift giver, desiring to meet my deepest needs.

I will say that being able to stop and receive blessings and refreshment from the Lord is a tricky business. It takes some vulnerability, and I know women who can't seem to do it. Either they feel unworthy, or they don't understand the importance of letting Him refresh our souls from time to time. In both cases, a better grasp of grace is needed. Grace is simply favor God has for us that we don't deserve. It has nothing to do with worthiness. It's just free love. It is room to be regular you, all performing switched off.

Grace is as important as air for us to function rightly. God doesn't need burnt out martyrs; He needs strong, healthy followers. Putting aside God's huge storehouse of blessings and refreshment and joy and love for us in the name of serving is just not His desire.

I know Jesus came not to be served, but to serve. It's the foundation of everything I believe. But sometimes we forget how much time He spent alone. Talking with His father, or his best pals. Relaxed. Getting filled back up.

Heck, back in those dirt-road days, had there been a Happy Nail in sight, He may have even gotten a pedicure. I'm just sayin'.

Grace on a Thursday: the usefulness of grace

I think we're in it now.

Christmas crunch time. And given that I'm walking a fine line between peace and melt-down, I thought I'd write about how useful grace is, and how much others around us need it in abundance right now. Today, I had lots of chances to watch it unfold. It was a good day in that I was able to stay above the fray, but still, I saw the need for my attitude to stay in check, and that required me using grace.

I know the prerequisite for being a dispenser of grace is receiving grace in my own life first, allowing His unmerited favor to wash my heart clean so I can then pass the overflow on to others. The same is true for many things: you cannot give what you do not have. And I cannot give my loved ones grace when I have neglected the conscious receiving of it for myself. When I am not walking in grace, I am reactive, impatient, judgemental, and critical. (And hold on. It is not a coincidence that when I neglect to receive grace over my own life, this is also how I treat myself.)

But good news. Here are some ways I saw grace functioning today amidst the hustle and bustle.

Scenario 1: Three times, I have tried to contact a certain company for replacement of a gift I ordered online that came in damaged. When I finally got a person on the phone, he tried to tell me my package would arrive December 26th. I didn't overreact. I stayed kind and calm. We worked together until he managed to have it arrive in time for Christmas for me. Grace reminded me that we are all just doing our best.

Scenario 2: I called my husband at work to offer some advice on an important problem that I didn't realize he'd already worked out. He was busy, and instead of finding my call helpful, to him it was burdensome. He was dismissive and cut me short. I was hurt, but I didn't overreact. I knew I may not know the whole story of his day. After a while, he sent me an apologetic text message and later explained that his day at work was a bad one. Normally, our initial conflict would have led to an argument, or at least a confrontation. But grace reminded me to leave a person room to be human...I'm not the only one under extra pressure this season.

Scenario 3: Shauna and I did a Christmas project with the kids. It didn't go as planned. I don't often fail at crafts (because I don't try ridiculously hard ones and/or I don't give up when I should), so I was pushing down my frustration. This time, it was myself who needed grace. When I chose to give myself room to fail, the frustration just fell off. It was easier having a friend in the same boat, a friend who is really great at giving herself room. But grace reminded me that it can redefine success. A couple adjustments made the craft still totally worth it.

Maybe you have some similar scenarios happening in your life. The best advice I can give for enduring this crazy season successfully is to stay grafted to the Lord, allowing His favor and forgiveness to fill you up each morning. It's always available, yet I don't always remember. I don't always take time to connect with God and take on His lens through which He sees every scenario, and through which He sees others. And possibly, the most important person I need to see through his gracious lens is myself.

Because if I don't, if I can't allow grace in, meaning acknowledging that His death was enough to pay for my garbage, my sin and my shame, then what exactly am I celebrating this December?

It seems heavy, but right now, the truth is resting on me like a brick: apart from grace, Christmas means nothing.

So this Thursday, I am embracing Christmas, inviting Jesus and His lens to redefine my life.
He knows I am doing my best, even though I often fail.
He gives me plenty of room to be human, and understands exactly what it's like.
And He's redefined what it means to succeed.

When I run out of wrapping paper, burn the bread, and arrive a half-hour late to Christmas dinner because my kids announce they have no clean underwear, I'll try to walk in grace and remember that's exactly why I'm celebrating.

Love to you all and Merry Christmas!

Wish I had river

Today, I thought about an old post that meant a lot to me and still does. I looked it up, and was surprised to see I posted it on this exact day last year. What a perfect time to share it again.

It's chilly outside, the world is spinning, the responsibilities on my plate are overwhelming, and lots of people in my life are a hot mess. I myself am narrowly escaping that definition for the time being, yet I know that could change any minute too. I need to reread this, and thought maybe you'd enjoy a second glance too. Or a first one.



Joni Mitchell's River is another of my all time favorite Christmas songs.

I know, I know. I may have some opposition here. It's not really a Christmas song at all. It's more of a winter song. Not even a nod towards Jesus and the story of Christmas. But just bear with me; it's spiritual, under the surface. And actually quite moving to me.

If you haven't already gathered, or happen to be reading this blog for the first time in your life, I am a melancholy girl through and through. I find beauty in not only the beautiful things in life, but the bittersweet and sad as well. To me, there is something poignantly lovely about the human experience from its splendor to its grief. God created all our emotions, not just the happy ones, and for His good purposes. That's why a good cry can feel so good. And hitting our limits forces us to look outside ourselves for a Savior. It is in the plea, when we're at our end, that we can find that which is truly life-giving. Personally, my moments of deepest grief, deepest pain, have resulted in the most beautiful seasons in my heart. I've met God more intimately in those moments than in all the other pleasant ones combined. What isn't completely lovely about that?

Back to River.

It's comin' on Christmas.
They're cutting down trees.
They're putting up reindeer,
Singing songs of joy and peace.
Oh, I wish I had a river that I could skate away on.

You know this song? Isn't it depressing? Before I listened closely, I thought, but why? Why is she so down on Christmas? The song rambles through a few verses of winter-themed commentary, but we don't get an answer to the question of "why" until about halfway in:

I wish I had a river that I could skate away on,
'Cause I made my baby cry...

I'm so hard to handle.
I'm selfish and I'm sad 
Now I've gone and lost the best baby
That I ever had.
Oh I wish I had a river that I could skate away on.

There it is. Brokenness. Loss. Remorse. Hurt. The Plea.

And this plea - whether Joni Mitchell's herself, or merely an invented character - is not so different from ours. Hard to handle? Check. Selfish? Check. Sometimes sad? Check. Doing my share of damage to my loved ones? Check and sigh. Sometimes I plain hate the sound of my own voice by the end of the day. 

But the woman in River makes an unfortunate, though very human choice. Her plea causes her to decide to retreat. Now, I've had these days. Sometimes weeks. I stop offering my true self. A relationship gets messy and hurtful and maybe I don't deserve more. Maybe the damage is irreparable. Maybe I'm alone. I start to believe there's only one choice.

Just. Skate. Away.

How many of us are way down that river in our hearts? How many of us have tried that route of managing our brokenness? Just skate away. All of us. Every one.

And you KNOW now why this is a Christmas song at its core. This messy, unpredictable, hurtful life spinning around us is exactly why Jesus came.

In His immense love for us, He became Immanuel, God with us. Not because we deserved it, but precisely because we didn't. When we were way the heck down the river, He came to save us. He came to be with us when we were sure we were alone.

In my life, I can tell you from experience, He continually works at melting all my rivers and quieting all my pleas. He gently reminds me that my plea, my yearning for healing and that abundant life, needs to turn me towards Him, not toward an icy path of resignation and retreat.

In River, again one of my favorite Christmas songs, Jesus whispers, I'm here. I've got this. So you can untie the skates.