An invitation and my RSVP

Today I felt convicted.

I can hear fifty different challenges to do this or that in the Christian life and 49 of them won't mean a thing to me. I hear 49 of them and say an easy, "No, that's not for me, not right now." But today, I heard the one. The one invitation out of 50 that pricked at my spirit; it was something I'd heard in a sermon on the radio. As I listened, I thought, "Wait, is this for me? I think so..?"

And then twenty minutes later, as I sat in Bible Study, I heard the same thing being suggested by a person in the room. Two hits in an hour. Same challenge. Same nudge in my spirit to just say Yes.

I hesitate to even tell you what the thing is, because I don't want you to be distracted by the thing. It's far from the point of my thoughts here. But I felt convicted about not reading God's word often enough, not craving it and loving it like I want to. And so the challenge was to get up 30 minutes earlier every day and BEFORE you touch ANYTHING else - coffee, your phone, toothpaste - before any other thing, you read God's word. Period. 30 minutes, for 30 days.

And I want to do it. Well, actually, I don't want to. Who wants to do that, really? But I want a change in my heart more than I want to sleep longer. I want to lean into Jesus more than I want to be comfortable. I want to want to listen to His words more than I want anything else, but I don't. Yet.

It's altogether simple and incredibly difficult at the same time because this challenge requires one thing, the "d" word: discipline.

I cringe at the word. There is nothing on earth pleasantly associated with that word. No one likes either to be disciplined by someone else, nor do they like to discipline themselves. Our nature instead lunges at what feels good, is partial to whims, laziness, and compulsion. Oh, and sleep, when it's dark outside. And guess what? In Montana, it's dark until a ridiculously late hour of the morning. When I wake up, it's a black as midnight outside. Frankly, that bugs me.

What's even dumber is that I would never EVER buy into the idea that I could be a good parent without disciplining my kids. When I stand in the shoes of a parent, it is so crazy obvious to me that a healthy person needs discipline. But when I stand in the shoes of the child that I am in my own heart, the immaturity digging it's heels in here and there, I fold my arms and complain like a toddler who pushes her peas around on the plate.

I will lovingly, patiently, and carefully discipline my own children in every area of life (on most days, let's be real), but I am so very babyish about disciplining my own self. As I sat in Bible Study, pondering this today, I got increasingly annoyed at this contrasting truth. I am nearly 40 years old, and still haven't mastered self-discipline. Not even remotely. That bugs me too.

But I'm thankful my true Love cares about me too much to leave me where I am. He is always the one beckoning me, charming me to His side. What a privilege we have that we can be in a living, dynamic relationship with the God of the universe and the God who knows my every thought, follows my every breath.

I will put forth my best effort to jump into this new routine for one reason only: when He calls, I know He only has my best in mind. And I suspect He is not bidding me to work, but to romance. He is not drawing me to lessons and rules, but to intimacy and to refresh the desperate parts of my heart I don't even see. I am already feeling a bit romanced, actually, like the greatest guy ever just stuck a slip of paper with his phone number under my windshield wiper and it is up to me to dial.

RSVP'ing to a better life than the one I had yesterday?

Yes is my reply.

Have a great weekend, friends.

A beginning and a word for 2014

Last year, do you remember what my word for the year was? Oh. My. Gosh. Can you just please go read my post I wrote on New Years Day of 2013 so I'm not the only one freaking out about it? It was so prophetic, became so real and so powerful along the way. In fact, because of that, on our trip to CA, on New Years Day of this year, I took my family back to the exact spot where I took the picture in that post through which God showed me the word. In my heart, it was a memorial visit, an anniversary I quietly celebrated with bowed-down gratitude in my heart for all that transpired this last year.

If there was ever a year God brought to life a single word, then 2013 was it. To think that He gave me this word before any of the year had unfolded, before we knew we were going to move to Montana, before any of the crazy and difficult things 2013 would bring...to think that He knew every moment in advance and promised me Himself...it leaves me speechless. He said, "Leslie. Before 2013 begins, know in your heart of hearts that no matter what happens, we will be together."

It was as simple as that. And as those 365 days unfolded in entirely complex ways, His message remained simple. We're together in this. Every step. Wow. He knew exactly what I needed.

This year, I wondered if He would give me a word at all, or if He did, if it would lead me into an equally powerful year of Him proving day after day to be what I needed.

I prayed. And I got the sense that 'listen' was my answer. Not listen right this minute. But listen, in all the things. I got the sense that 'listen' was a diving board, a place from which to launch the whole year.

Right now, I feel pretty cluttered; I always feel like that after Christmas. The house is cluttered with new things, my head is cluttered with revitalized goals, my body is cluttered with the ridiculous number of cookies I ate during the holidays, and my heart feels a little lost, neglected. In fact, my Bible is actually, physically lost. Sort of symbolic, isn't it? Tonight I began to ask myself, "Where exactly do I start? How do I start improving my marriage this year? Where do I start teaching my kids new things about the Lord? When do I start moving forward on book writing and eating healthier? And where is my Bible??"

"That's where you start, my darling," He says. Tune in to your husband. Tune in to me for direction on time management. Tune in to the questions your children are asking about life and the world around them. Tune in; listen first.

I feel like I hear from God fairly regularly. I stop to really listen to Him speak to me maybe once or twice a month. We have a pretty good thing going, but on the other hand, I feel pretty lazy in my walk right now. Is it crazy that I want to change that and hear from Him every day? And is it crazy to imagine I could somehow supernaturally acquire the discipline and the time management to tune into Him daily, quiet and listening for His guidance on relationships and my jobs and my ministry? I don't think so, and I want it. I want to try living a year that isn't fueled by doing.

Listening is undoing. It's stopping. It's waiting.

It's self-control and submission and believing each minute that I am not in charge, nor do I know what is happening.

The more I think about it, the more I love this challenge because I suspect making a habit of listening will mean deconstructing many things about the way I work. I have no idea what needs to be rearranged in my heart; but God does, and if He sees fit to shake things up, then I know it's for my own good. I know He loves me too much to leave me the way I am.

Somehow the word 'listen' helps me clear the clutter from my path and see the road. 'Listen' is a road sign pointing me to the things the Lord knows I really want and need. He is telling me where to start.

I'm going to try to listen.

And because I have an 8-year old boy, I hear Yoda in my head: "Do....or do not. There is no try." Right. I will listen. Thanks for setting me straight, Yoda.

(See? I'm already listening.)

If you've ever faced an obstacle

If you've ever come face to face with disability, your child's, your friend's, your own...

If you've ever needed encouragement to press on through a challenge...

If you know a family who is persevering with a special needs child...

watch and share this.

It is the final, 11 minute long video cut of the trip my husband led to the Base Camp of Mt. Everest back in March. It made history, as you'll see by the news coverage at the end. It made hearts burst. And it made one boy named Eli a bit of a celebrity.

This video is visual proof that God took the small and feeble offerings of a few people, raised it all up in His hands, grew it bigger than we could have ever imagined, and created something miraculous.

Eli would love it if you shared this story with anyone you know who has a family member living with special needs.

And for all of you who prayed and gave toward the trip, huge thanks. Huge.

For the backstory, and if you have no idea what I'm talking about, you can read this post and this one and this one in order.

And hey. Show the video to your kids. Inspire BIG dreams. Tell them that even people who God made a little differently can change the world. Help Eli show them the value of every life.

OK I'll stop talking so you can watch in peace.



 

 

Trek4TEF: Eli to Everest! from The Elisha Foundation on Vimeo.

 

Best thing ever, right?

 

This video can also be found on the homepage of the Trek for TEF website, www.trek4tef.com.

 

I hope you find it a little easier to climb your own mountains today.

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...}

On not forgetting the deep darkness

Everyone talks about 'missing' Christmas. We spend a lot of words and energy trying not to miss the meaning, trying to absorb and teach and remember the reason we celebrate this season.

Lately I'm understanding why. Christmas is joyfully fluffy. It is a big dollop of whipped cream on top of the dessert-month of the calendar. We work hard to get to December, when we want to bask in the fluff.

I love it too. The carols, the smells, the lights, the traditions, the gatherings and gifts and glorious foods. Christmas is usually a time of enjoying our blessings. And I'm not about to say any of those things are bad, so stop worrying.

What happens to me, though, around now, as the actual day approaches, is that I get quieter on the inside. When I'm tempted to feel overwhelmed and kick it into overdrive to clean up my to-do lists, I start thinking about the real first Christmas and how messy it was and how I'm not finished with anything.

Look at this verse about Christmas.

But when the right time came, God sent his Son, born of a woman, subject to the law. God sent him to buy freedom for us who were slaves to the law, so that he could adopt us as his very own children. And because we are his children, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, prompting us to call out, “Abba, Father." Now you are no longer a slave but God’s own child.
Galatians 4:4-7 

I'm stuck on the first part: but when the right time came. What made it the right time? I feel like Christmas can't arrive until all the items on my list are checked off. All the decorations are just so. All the groceries are in the fridge. All the people in my house are happy and have tidy outfits on and understand the depth of what we are celebrating. When all of us are standing, holding our breath, in a clean house in clean outfits with clean hearts, that is the right time, and then Christmas can come and we can exhale.

But what made Jesus' birth the 'right time?' I think about the moments He's shown up in the biggest ways in my own life. And goodness, if it's not at the very last minute every time. I'm in a cliffhanger of a problem, everything is messy, and that's when He shows up, when I'm pleading and crying and my fingers are slipping off the end of a rope I can't hold onto any longer. Usually, that's His definition of the right time.

And so I'd guess things were so at His birth. Jesus is first and foremost a savior, not just a prophet to tell cool stories, or a friendly guy coming to give hugs, so I'd bet, at the time of His birth, mankind was as deep in darkness as it ever was. I'd bet the world was pleading and crying and desperate. The right time meant things were the most messy, the most people were starved for light. Look at this prophecy in Isaiah.

The people who walk in darkness will see a great light. For those who live in a land of deep darkness, a light will shine.
Isaiah 9:2

Deep darkness. Suddenly the desperation I see in Christmas makes the fluff blur in the background. I am reminded the snuggly, "silent night" was really a rescue mission with more controversy, conflict, and more at stake than any event in history. Christmas isn't whipped cream as much as it is lifeblood. It's knee-dropping grace. It's God with helpless us. It's a world about to let go of a rope.

It's the King of Kings coming to ransom His children by sending one, like an innocent lamb to the slaughter. It's adoption and forgiveness and everything you've ever needed.

Today, I can make my candy cane cookies and still recognize that there is deep darkness all around me. It threatens my health, my children, my marriage, my faith. We live in a broken, messy world. I never want to forget reality, being blinded by twinkle lights, because that's why we have Christmas at all. Of course even my own heart harbors darkness; we all do, and we want to bury and ignore it at Christmas. But every day of the year, I need the light of Jesus, I need to know He saw my darkness and came down and lived and gave up his life. For me.

We'll still read about the Grinch. Tomorrow we're making gingerbread men. And the weekend is chock full of activities. But I'll also tell my kids the real story. Not just the fluffy nativity version with bleating goats and a glowing baby.

I'll tell them the desperate part. Because we all need that part, even children. Until heaven, we all need freedom and adoption as God's own children. We all at times feel like we may just slip off the end of the rope and need Jesus to catch us at just the right time.

In 2014, I'm sure I'll have some of those desperate moments, when I need serious rescuing. I'm sure you will too. And no matter what time of year our 'right time' arrives, remembering the epic rescue called Christmas will make us stronger.

"It's coming on Christmas, we're cutting down trees"

 

Oh, if you've been around for a while here, you know I love that song. Good old Joni Mitchell.

And this year, I'm not lying when I sing it. Because we did cut down a tree, for the first time ever. Because it's coming on Christmas.

In Montana, you can go to the local hardware store and buy a permit for $5. But really you're buying the promise of experience, memory making, and a fresh cut, snow covered tree that may just last until St. Patty's Day.

I knew the day had the potential also for crumbling into disaster due to incompatible weather, incompatible moods, or incompatible trees. Or all of the above. Throughout the day, I was aware that the whole experience and how we'd remember it was fragile, like a an expensive, glass ornament that you slowly extend, reaching, on tip toes to gingerly place on a high branch.

 

We all started off with happy hearts and enthusiasm. I mean, I'm off the ground here. And we live in Montana now; just LOOK at this place. It's breathtaking.

As for the day, it didn't crumble. Oh it wasn't perfect; how could it be? We were four people trying to agree on a tree in the middle of nowhere in 30 degree weather. But we found one. And no one got frostbite, or injured with the hatchet or saw (there was one close call though!) and I don't even think anyone cried. So. Huge success in my books.

I liked shaking the trunks, sending the snow cascading down all around me, which gave us a better look at the tree itself. This was our pretty little pick.

Then, since all little boys want to be like their dads, these two went off in search of a baby tree for my baby big boy to cut down.

Even though he is literally caked in snow from lying in it and making himself a "snow blanket," and he is wearing his sister's scarf and his dad's fleece vest since he forgot his coat, he is one happy customer of the woodlands. He is practically a little woodland creature himself.

This tree is way, way heavier than it looks, by the way. And way taller than we thought. Hashtag 'rookies'. Thank goodness for friends who loaned us their pick up truck and giant sled on which to drag it back.

And glory! It is our favorite tree yet. I even had to use the big ladder.

Yes, one day it will be on the curbside. But the memories of the day we found our first Christmas tree in the snowy wilderness will live forever.  I hope one day you have the chance to do the same.

Perfectly Messy

 

This past week was the worst.

It was the hardest week for me since we've moved. The weather never got above zero. Negative temps meant the kids were never allowed outside at school. They were antsy and grouchy. My husband slid twice through red lights, unable to brake on the ice. The chill took my breath away and made me cough. I was sure my nose and lips would drop off, they were in such pain, even just walking from the car to the school doors at pick up. Our dog was sick and I didn't know what to do. The washing machine flooded the laundry room because the pipes froze. And everyone was stressed. Everyone was having a bad time of it. I never complained, though I don't think I even had time to, because it took all my effort to manage my own self, the warmth of the house, and that of the kids.

We couldn't get a tree because we couldn't be outside. We didn't go to the city Christmas celebration on Main Street (since it was -10). We all argued and managed and worked to keep our heads above water.

And all the while, I grappled with the fact that it is Christmas and I don't want it to look this way.

 

I want to lead beautiful advent devotionals with my kids every night. I want to bake and watch the snow fall with a smile. I want to decorate, and feel prepared with my gifts for my loved ones. And zero of these things were happening.

I didn't panic or cry about all these things that weren't happening. I just stared at them. I stared at the bathrooms that need cleaning, the heaps of laundry waiting for warmer weather, the messy relationships in my home, the Thanksgiving decor on every surface, the sick dog, and accepted it all with a small pit in my stomach. 

On Saturday, when I finally started to decorate, I pulled out the pieces of my favorite, vintage nativity set. My daughter pointed out that Joseph's head was broken off and missing. Of course it was. I rummaged through the white fabric in which I'd wrapped the set, and out his painted little head rolled. Despite the decapitated Joseph, my girl placed all the pieces in their spots under the mossy wooden crèche. She stood back to assess her work and announced it looked more like a Halloween display than a Christmas one.

Yesterday I heard this verse differently, where the angels intercept the shepherds in the middle of the night to tell them the good news: "For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.” (Luke 2:11-12) Goodness, we are so familiar with these verses that we roll right past them. But it jumped out at me yesterday; the shepherds were not only terrified, as the Bible says, but they must have looked at each other like, "Wait. What?? The savior we've been waiting for is (as other translations say) wrapped in strips of cloth and lying in a feeding trough?" It is a ridiculous message. They must have been absolutely shocked, and then confused.

Read what one commentary from www.biblehub.com says about verse 12:

"The sign was to consist, it seems, solely in the overpowering contrast between the things just said of Him and the lowly condition in which they would find Him—Him whose goings forth have been from of old, from everlasting, "ye shall find a Babe"; whom the heaven of heavens cannot contain, "wrapt in swaddling bands"; the "Saviour, Christ the Lord," lying in a manger! Thus early were these amazing contrasts, which are His chosen style..."

Amazing contrasts are His chosen style. Wow. Fanciness and neatly checked off lists and cozy comforts were never our Lord's chosen style. He came messy. Perfectly messy.

Now that is something I can do. Actually, it's already just taking place without my intervention. Isn't that humorous? Perfectly messy just naturally occurs in my life, and I get all ruffled over it. But it was our Lord's choice. It didn't just happen that there was no room in the inn. It wasn't an accident that super pregnant Mary had to be riding a donkey while starting to go into labor. All the crazy, ridiculous circumstances surrounding the birth of Jesus were His first choice.

 

I don't quite know how to get there, myself. How to make 'perfectly messy' MY first choice. How to let go of wanting a Pinterest-worthy mantle and Rockwellian chats over hot cocoa. But I think it starts with my focus. Am I looking around my house and at my lists, or am I looking at Jesus? Am I striving to create something completely different and distanced from the first real Christmas, or am I allowing the messiness of that night in Bethlehem to be a model for my celebrating? 

I am certain those smelly animals, the dirty strips of cloth, the humble teenagers, the crying baby, and the feeding trough lined with hay would have never made it into a magazine. People probably scoffed at them, in fact. A scene would have been caused. Reporters would have made a circus attraction out of them. And so many people in town for the census surely missed the wonder and the beauty that took place at the greatest event in history thus far.  

I am resolving to not miss the beauty, to embrace the messy, and to worship the Lord who loves amazing contrasts.

Looking deeper, inside, I'm even messier than my holiday season has been, which is why Christmas even happened in the first place. God came down to trade my mess for His perfect. It's the best and craziest contrast of all.

Perfectly messy is His first choice. I am His first choice. You are His first choice. Right where we are.

I'm going to focus on that.