Dethroning Your Fear {Three Word Wednesday}

It is often said that people and animals respond to a threat in one of two ways.

Fight or Flight.

Then there's fear.

Fight or Flight- that's all survival there. Survival instinct. It is something that works beyond fear. In spite of it.

Fear works a lot like stress. Its result- paralysis.

Months back, I chose a word for this year. I prayed, sought, studied. "Fearless" commanded all other words silence, and refused to relinquish its hold on my psyche. So I chose it, and was soon warned that choosing that word could mean God would mess with me in that area. The prophecy was true and I can tell you that I have suffered more at the hand of fear this year than I can ever remember before.

That being said, I can hardly remember what I ate for breakfast, so my memory is not the most reliable gauge of my overall emotional health.

Still, the tunnel seems to be coming to an end- the light approaching ever brighter.

I can move and breathe again.

Too long have I been locked in an upper room for fear of... whatever. Name it.

I put on a good show. Muddle through in spite of the crippling thoughts that threaten to undo me. There is a lot to fear in this world, and all sorts of them have been seeking the throne in my heart reserved for God.

Not gonna lie, they have budged themselves on there more than once.

I'm not using the "respect" definition of fear. I'm talking idolatrous fear.
Because having no other gods isn't always about loving something more than God. Oftentimes, it's about ascribing more power to things other than God. Like all those things we fear.

And don't think for a second that you have to wait until you are completely immobilized by fear before it is a problem. No phobia diagnosis necessary. The moment it robs you of peace in the Lord, the moment it plants the seed of doubt, that's when it is a problem.

If we think too quickly about it all, we may try to find some way to justify our fear. I'm a mom, I'm supposed to worry. (Lie.) We are tempted to give fear credit for the fact that we are mobilized to take the reins and act in our communities. Or read our Bibles. Like those fears are driving us to our knees before the Lord.

Only fear does not do that. Ever. Survival- that's different. Love. Mercy. Grace. Those gifts from God are alone what send us searching for His peace.

Fear locks us away. It is a cunning bully that gradually shoves us in with the crowd that believed in Jesus, but were too scared to confess it because of what others might do. It leaves us helpless, frozen on an ocean in a squall.

It deafens us to Jesus' words:

"It is I; do not be afraid." (John 6:20)

It robs us of the gifts that are rightfully ours as heirs to the kingdom of God:

"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives so I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid." (John 14:27)

And God knows that. It is recorded in history as one of the first emotions felt by our first mother and father after the Fall. He knew way back when, before Creation, that we would need a Savior. And that we would need a Helper. And He delivered. Just like God always does.

God may give us more than our feeble selves can handle, but His promise of salvation and a Helper are guarantees that offer real hope. Because there is nothing He cannot handle. Nothing.

Drop-kick our fear and deliver us every day, Lord.

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Linking up today with simply wonderful Simply Beth for Three Word Wednesday!

At All Times {Three Word Wednesday}

Do you find it odd that at the most scary part of a 24 hour period, that is the time when we are supposed to find rest?

The world has been getting to me lately. Quite honestly, it has kept me up at night. God's fearless wild woman trembles in the face of imaginary bullies. The ones that would rob her children of their innocence, and her heart of its peace.

And when the preschooler comes in our bedroom in the black of night and says she's scared of the dark, I say "me too." Because moms and dads have nightmares too.

Because in the light we could see for miles. In the darkness, only a few feet.

Because I often feel like I'm driving our family west at dusk. Chasing the sun. Reaching to catch it before it sinks, and I drown in darkness.

The darkness deepens. Indeed it does.

And I pray, "Lord, with me abide."

And He says, "I do."

I confess. I search frantically for headlights and reflectors to light the way. Because I don't trust God. He taunts me over the horizon. Drive further, faster. Come get me.

That's my emotions. My weak faith takes over.

That's not God.

He does not taunt. His "I do" promises I am.

His I am is eternal. Inescapable.

No high-speed chase of fleeting fancy.

He pursues. I wait.

For God alone my soul waits in silence;

from Him comes my salvation.

Psalm 62:1

Rest does not depend on our circumstances. The great illusion is that it will come when our situation changes. When we move. When our kids grow older. But the truth is there will always be a new fear or struggle to replace the old one. 

Rest can only be found in the unchanging I am. Ever present. Ever powerful. Always Mercy. Always Love. 

And He will remind us of that in the dark places. When He speak
s peace and rest into our sin-weary souls. It is no accident that our physical rest is to be found when the darkness is deepest. It is a reminder to rest in Him. In Him alone.

Praying your hearts are refreshed in Him.

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Simply serving love with Simply Beth for Three Word Wednesday. For more refreshment, visit her over there and read some amazing writers. Love you all!

Just One Day {He Will Deliver}

I can't think of a more appropriate way to begin Lent than an Ash Wednesday morning meltdown.

If you are preparing to read a hilarious account of my children's impetuous hi-jinks, think again. The meltdown was mine. And when you think meltdown, think nuclear. Think Mt. Wild Woman eruption. Think oatmeal expanding in the microwave and running down the sides of the bowl. Yuck.

That was basically it. All because of my own hang ups with the quality of my housekeeping. I guess the good part is that the only one who ended up in tears was me.

"I quit. I'm a horrible mom. I'm getting a different job."

My husband held me, rubbed my back, reassured me that I was a "good mom." But my conscience told me otherwise.

We decided to come up with a plan. My husband is giving up yelling for Lent. I told him if that was the case with me, I would have blown it already. In fact, if I had given up yelling, swearing, or crying, I would have blown all of those in record time.Thankfully, I just gave up coffee.

Wait a minute... "Do you think that's why I'm acting this way?"

"Well..." I could hear the gears turning as he contemplated the best response. "Maybe that would explain it a little."

He reminded me that the company coming wouldn't care what the house looked like. Rebecca would understand. She has five kids and is so full of grace, it just sloshes right out of her every time she moves. (You like that image, Sloshy Rebecca? :) )

"I know," I said. "That's not the point. I'm just asking for one day. I'm not asking for every day. I'm not even asking for every week. I can't get my house together for one day. Just one day!"

So today is the day after and I guess I can only say Thank God.

I wrote about Lent last year. About how its turbulence shakes us out of the inevitable settling in our souls for the comforts of this world. It's about returning to the Lord. Looking to the stone that the builders rejected.

I'll give it to you straight, yesterday was a day where dawn to dusk I had to lean on Jesus to get me through.

And that is a gift.

I was reminded of that it in my desperately needed quiet time this week too. In Genesis 12, God promises to give Abram's offspring the land at Shechem. So Abram builds an altar and worships God there.

The land hadn't been delivered to them yet. It was just at God's word that Abram found reason to worship. There was no "show me the money" attitude that we so often require today when it comes to worshiping God.

Just one day. That's all I was asking. God promises to deliver. Only He will give me days without end. One day my act will get put back together. The tears, the yelling, the poison words- those will be done. There will be no more begging for help, because my Helper will be there.

In the meantime, until that land is mine, I will believe His promise and I will worship. The altar may be a coffee-stained counter, or a laundry-covered basement, or a tear-stained pillow. But He makes beautiful things out of dust.

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Linking late with the always fabulous, Simply Beth for Three Word Wednesday <3

Dear Day Ahead of Me, {I Am His}

It is a pretty necklace. Simple. I put it on like a superhero cape- it's part of the uniform today. Sweatpants, sweatshirt, greasy hair, coffee, and this necklace. It reminds me I am His. It is my letter to the day. It says:

Dear Day Ahead of Me,

I think it's best you know right off the bat- I am His.

I have no clue what is going to happen to me today. No doubt you have plans. But bear in mind, at all times I am His.

So when I type at the computer and the baby climbs onto my lap and competes for my attention, I remember I don't belong to this computer. I don't belong to this blog. I am His.

And when fight after fight breaks out even after I have commanded, "Do not talk to your brother. Do not talk to your sister." And it seems that the only way to break free of the conflict is to banish my kids for the next decade, or threaten their lives with poisonous words, I will remember I don't belong to this anger, this emergency. I am His.

And when the dishes pile up, the checks run out, the laundry sits wet and untended in the washer for days, I will remember- I don't belong to my chores. My worth isn't tied to what I can see with my eyes. It is tied to the cross. To the tomb. To the certainty of what I do not see. Because I am His.

And when the words of a friend cut deep and, no matter how hard I try, they just won't vacate the front of mind, discontent to simmer on the back burner, I will remember that I have no control over the thoughts of others and they have no claim over me. I don't belong to human opinion. I am His.

And when I look at the haggard expression on an aging face, and feel the constant ache of arthritic hands, I will remember that I'm not getting old- These seasons are His seasoning. I'm like a well-used and beloved bread pan, carrying in my body the Bread of Life. I am His.

And when I look at the perfect lives of those who can keep their worlds from falling apart with no effort, I will remember that every step I take is an action beyond my means. Beyond my power or my will. Each is gift. I am not supposed to go this life alone and make the best of it. I am with Him because I am His.

When the friendships die and the kids buck hard and I wonder if I'm doing everything wrong, I will remember those relationships have not been formed and glued by me, but by Him. I belong to no human. I am His.

When the accolades skim my presence and land on another, I am His.

When compliments tempt me to pride, I am His.

When the hours are long and the days too short, I am His.

When apathy steals over the church so much that I want to scream, "Doesn't anybody care?!" I remember, He cares. He cares. I am His.

When the threat of an unforeseen future shoves me into an abyss of worry, doubt, anger. I belong to the only One who holds the future. He holds me too. I am His.

When the deadlines rush upon me, and I know my work isn't up to snuff. I am His.

When the loving wife in me is body slammed by the insecure maniac being pulled in too many directions. I am His.

When a "what-do-you-think" invites clueless and arrogant words on my part. Or when words escape me and I'm about like talking to the paint on the wall. I am His.

When stuff breaks. I am His.

When I break. I am His.

When the world is just too messed up. I am His.

When the prayers are clumsy and forced. When my quiet time is no more quiet than the usual din. When I am just too tired to be "holy," I am His. I am still His.

You might say I'm possessed. Nothing is closer to the truth. I carry Him with me- His death and His life. He chose me for that. I'll meet people today looking for somewhere to belong. Someone to belong to. So they'll trial and error their way through, belonging to the feel good. Belonging to the good enough. That's not the case with me. I know where I belong. With Him. I know to Whom I belong. I am His.

So go ahead. You can start now. I'm prepared, if not ready. He'll use it all- every breath for His will. I'm not afraid. I go with the Lord. Patience, strength, mercy, forgiveness will all be needed and provided. No worries. I belong to the Maker of them all.

Let's roll.

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Linking up with the giver of my necklace: Simply Beth! 

Just Hold On

I foresee some obstacles to getting writing done today. Namely, my three year old came downstairs screaming today for want of her pink blanket that we can't find- just an indicator of how I anticipate the day unfolding. Thankfully, I wrote a piece for the church newsletter that I happened to like, so here you go!

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There’s a basic routine that happens in our house on school days. Like other homes, it involves dressing, eating, brushing, etc. A “hallelujah!” gets thrown in every once in a while when a kid remembers to make their bed without my saying so. Some days go smoothly, others not so much.

On one particularly frigid day this past month, the kids were eager to get out the door and on their way to school. Being that the air outside was drastically colder than the air inside, we wanted to make sure everyone was absolutely ready to sprint out the door the moment it opened, so as to abbreviate the draft time.

The Oldest couldn’t wait. She kept reaching for the handle, tempted to push it open and go when little The Littlest just needed one more moment to situate herself.

“Hold on,” my husband kept telling her. “Hold on,” he’d tell our son. Finally a string of “holdon-holdon-holdon-holdon-holdon” burst forth, followed by the question, “Honey, do you know what ‘hold on’ means?”

“Yes.” She sounded doubtful.

“What does it mean?”

“It means… stop?”

“It means wait.”

It struck me hard, the relationship between holding on and waiting. So often, waiting in our life feels like floundering alone in an ocean of what-if’s.  People pass us by, smiling and waving on their speedboats, leaving us bobbing up and down in the wake of the plan that is obviously whisking them away into their awesome destinies.

Meanwhile, we wait. Alone. But God doesn’t tell us to doggy-paddle through life. He doesn’t tell us to keep to the surface until our destiny gets there. He tells us to hold on. And He reminds us that we are never truly alone.

Many of us recognize Jeremiah 29:11- “  But read the verse before that, “For thus says the Lord: When seventy years are completed for Babylon, I will visit you, and I will fulfill to you my promise and bring you back to this place.”

We want to get to the plans, and skip the wait. It’s just how we roll. But God’s people had to wait 70 years in captivity. What were they supposed to do? Twiddle their thumbs? Kill the next 69 years and start preparing for some awesomeness about a year before He answered? Uh, no. They were supposed to hold on. To Him. Because it is in the holding on that God works thoroughly in the hearts of His people. In the holding on, we realize He’s the one doing the holding, and He’s not letting go.

You wouldn’t want to go into heart surgery with a surgeon who tells you they’ll be in and out of there as quickly as possible. You want the one dealing with your life to be thorough, to get the job done right no matter how long it takes.

Guess what, God gets that. He’s going to get it done and He’s going to get it right. You can trust Him on that. He’s got plans for you, plans to do you good. Just hold on.

Just You Wait {Three Word Wednesday}

There is a blessing that comes with surrounding yourself with men and women older than yourself. You get the benefit of their wisdom, if you choose to take it.

And I can tell you, hands down, the phrase I have heard the most often from my beloved friends. It's a phrase I've even started using with my own younger friends.

"Just. You.Wait."

It's true. Kids are throwing fits, wiping snot on every article of clothing in my possession, crying about no-thing. And then I am reminded to treasure this time...

Because it's all downhill from here.

My daughter asked me when she could get to start shaving the other day. She's almost 8.

"Not for a few more years, Hon."

A bit more conversation about the wonders of growing older, and then I said the phrase that I wish I could just stuff right back into my mouth.

"You're almost 8. That's scary." Hello?! Why did you say that out loud?!

"Why is it scary?" Aw, isn't she so sweet? Because, Honey. Because your mom is freaking out. Because in just a few years you're going to be embarrassed by me. You're going to defy me. You won't like me at all. And I will have lost all control.

But I manage to keep those words in my head. Instead, I backpedal, "Oh, I didn't mean scary, Honey. I meant... exciting. It's exciting to grow up." She shoots me a quizzical look. Then she must just chock that one up to "Mom's weird" because she drops the subject.

How's about this? How's about I don't get so scared about growing up and growing old.

How's about "Just you wait," turns into this awesome thing.

Like when the Bible talks about heaven and the new earth. Like when God told Eve about her Offspring that was going to make all this right again. Like when God told Noah a flood was coming. Like when God told Abraham he was going to father a great nation. Like when God told Moses He was going deliver His people in a crazy big way. Like when the prophets told Israel that a Messiah was coming and that captivity would be nothing but an impotent memory.

Like when Jesus foretold His death, but then "just you wait" because He was going to do something that's never been done- something that would mean eternal life for the world.

I'm redefining this "just you wait" business. Or maybe I'm just undefining it. It seems that God holds the patent on that phrase and I like it waaaayyyy better than when others use it. His "just you wait" may involve floods, strife, captivity, and death; but it also involves love, life, light, and satisfaction.

And that's the "just you wait" I can live with. It's the kind I can share. Because honestly, there are enough things to freak me out in this world, and God tells me (very specifically, very deliberately) not to worry about it.

How's about (I'm just really liking the sound of "how's about" in my head. If it bothers you, feel free to cut off that pesky  's) we make a pact together. Instead of speaking fear of the future to those around us, let's give our word that we will only speak words of life*. We won't sugar-coat and speak fluff, but we'll speak the truth in love. Offer wisdom and insight, while reaffirming that we have a mighty God who holds the future in such a way that we can't even imagine the things He has planned.

"What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love him." 1 Corinthians 2:9

Have we got a deal?
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*For those of you wondering exactly what this "speak life" stuff looks like, think back to when you took your kids to the doctor. Sometimes they had to get shots and that was the thing they feared above all else. And you'd say, "It'll only hurt for a moment." There's truth and hope in that. That's kinda what us moms of young children need to hear about the t(w)eenage years. Thank you.

Today I am totally linking up with Simply Beth, and Woman to Woman!

Just Call Me "Repurposed" (Messy Monday)

I did some Christmas shopping the other day. Right, it's not Halloween yet. And please don't think I'm on the ball. I'm just a survivalist. Last Christmas nearly killed me from stress, so I've tried to get a few things done before my brain fills up with extras and explodes in cranky words and unrealistic expectations.

 

So, I went shopping last week! And in an effort to do good while we shop, a dear friend and I traveled a little ways to Earthings, a cute Fair Trade Shop tucked snugly in Storm Lake, Iowa. We spent an hour and a half in that store. And it's no Wal-Mart. No huge warehouse, no burning calories pushing a 100 pound cart half a mile to get to the dairy section. A shop. Oh, right, and I had a toddler with me.

 

I bought a few things, some of which are Christmas gifts, so their pictures are omitted. (Sorry, Readers. Haha, Family.) But being a Fair Trade store, every piece had a story. Three of which have described me so often.

 

And maybe you too?

 

1. The "angels with attitude." For if you feel like you're nothing special.

 

Crafted by orphaned students in Northern Zululand, Africa as part of an "extra-mural activity." The proceeds from each angel go to support the students directly.

Now pop cans are valuable in Iowa. So valuable you have to pay a 5 cent deposit just to get one because the state would like them back when you are done, thank you. But really, they're nothing special. You find them everywhere. Most look exactly like thousands or millions of others.

 

And I get that. Feeling like one of a million. Instead of one in a million. Like nothing special- just like all the other mom bloggers, pastors' wives, moms.

 

But this angel. It was crafted with care. And so are you.

 

We are all made of the same material. Dust crafted, shaped, formed into unique gifts. Gifts that serve a purpose. Gifts that bring hope, nourishment, love to those around us. Nothing special? You are handmade, one of a kind. Priceless.

 

For you formed my inward parts;
    you knitted me together in my mother's womb.
 I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works;
    my soul knows it very well.

 My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
    intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written, every one of them,
    the days that were formed for me,
    when as yet there was none of them.

Psalm 139:13-16

 

 

2. The Haitian Oil Drum Art. (Not pictured.) For if you feel like you've outlived your usefulness.

 

Craftsmen in Haiti acquire used oil drums and use their hand tools to craft the coolest art you have ever seen. Too bad I can't show it to you. Yet. Wait til January;)

 

So clear at times, our purpose is a driving force in our ability to face the day, love the people.

 

Then it changes. Life. Kids grow. Jobs change. We move. Or we just stay put, and things change around us. That friend doesn't need us. Someone else steps into our position.

 

Purposes change. They don't die. You live and breathe on purpose, for purpose. Maybe your purpose comes with more hanging out and being there for others, than heavy lifting like it used to be, but it is beautiful what God does in you. Beautiful and so soooo cool. And He chose you to do it.

 

3. (Perhaps my favorite.) Mr. Ellie Poo*. For when you feel like a steaming pile.

 

You're either going to think this is really gross, or really cool. But seeing as I'm unsure as to how anyone would receive a gift of stationary made from elephant dung, I declined buying it for Christmas presents, and here is a little picture of my new notepad:

 

 

It's one enormous story of redemption, this one. Just how absolutely like our salvation!

 

A worthless pile of poop, a stinking testimony to indiscretions that ultimately lead to death (the elephants ate the farmland, so the farmers shot and killed them).

 

And yet, someone saw the value of that poop. They cleaned it up. Boiled it, pressed it, and ultimately repurposed it. (And made it quite cute, might I add.)

 

Did it take some imagination and hard work? You bet. But they put in the time and energy, because that meant life. It put a stop to the carnage.

 

Not too hard to see that connection. I look at my notepad, and I treasure it. Partly because it cost so much (I use every millimeter front and back).

 

Partly because it is a reminder to me that there is nothing so horrid that God cannot use it for His purposes.

 

I cannot sin so greatly that I am deemed useless to my Maker. Boiled, pressed, repurposed for His purpose. So He can write His story and His glory all over me. All over every precious millimeter of my soul that cost Him so much. So He could stop the death. The carnage. And bring life.

 

So when people see my life, I can tell them honestly that I was such a piece of poop, and the only way I am here and in this condition of joy is because of the love, imagination, care, hard work, persistence, artistry, and determination of my God to bring life. Because He saw beyond the crap. He saw more. And I am so thankful that He continues to see more, because that crap is a daily battle.

 

What a gift, right? Makes you want to go buy some elephant dung paper? :) I certainly hope so! It's so rad!

 

Praying God opens your eyes to the little reminders of His unending love and faithfulness today.

 

What items in your life remind you of God's faithfulness?

How can you tackle the lies of being just like everyone else,

or uselessness,

or beyond love today?

 

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*Want to know the full scoop on how Mr. Ellie Poo came to be? (Heehee.) Click here.

Messy Monday: Tired, Touched

It's always encouraging to see examples of good parenting in the Bible. Like those dear mothers and fathers who followed Jesus around, bringing Him their kiddos, so that He would touch them.

His touches, unnecessary graces. Grace gifts that awaken senses when nothing makes sense.

The Five Love Languages of Children was wandering wild in my mind too awake late Saturday night. When my joints were achy and I forgot to take my medicine (again), and all those wonderings cropped up in my forest of future, trees I have yet to climb and yet I still can't see past them.

The medicines I will not take- refuse to. Praise God I am in the position to make those decisions.

The tears of frustration wondering when will it be again like it was then?

When I didn't have to worry about the food I ate. Or the workouts I did. Or how I spent my time and money. Or whether or not my wrists would buckle under the weight of the chunkiest gift of squishy-love I'd ever received. I just needed a God-sized hug for my heart-sized fatigue. So. tired.

I pondered those good parents- the ones who brought their children face to face with Jesus. Close enough to touch, and not just on Sundays.

And he took them in his arms and blessed them, laying his hands on them. Mark 8:16

It's a love language, physical touch. Jesus knew- He invented it.

It's why a handshake indicates its master's demeanor. It's what makes hugs warm and welcomed, or just... awkward.

And He didn't have to do it. In fact, Jesus didn't really have to touch anyone. People were healed just by touching His cloak (Matthew 9:20, 14:36; Mark 5:27-31, 6:56; Luke 8:44-47). He could raise the dead with just a word (Luke 7:14).

And His eyes say it all. "Who looks on the earth and it trembles..." Psalm 104:32

Still, He touched them. Because He loved them. The children. The leper (Matthew 8:1). The servant of the high priest in the garden. "And he touched his ear and healed him." Luke 22:51 No words of healing, no faith lecture, no snazzy point-and-shoot move with an ear tacked on like a tracking dart. Something tells me that touch said all that ear ever needed to hear.

 

I needed to hear it too. To look forward to the day when the faith meets the physical. When the cross I bear will be traded for a crown I wear, a crown He will place there. Not because He has to, because He wants to. When the only language will be love, and the embrace everlasting. When the pauper will become the princess by the providence of the King, and the only buckling will be the knees of the saved under the weight of the glory and joy and adoration of the Most High, the  Lord who saves us.

One day we will all be touched by Jesus, really touched. Healed. I can't wait. Until then, those unnecessary graces come other tangible forms. Today I pray He gives me the eyes to see, ears to hear, and love to spread the grace around. 

Messy Monday: Waiting in the Weeds

"When?" And I see the answer in his eyes.

 

They narrow as if to say, "Don't ask."

 

I know he can't answer my question, but it's like a reflex. You hear something good is going to happen and you think when?

 

How long must I wait?

 

It's been the story of my life for as long as I can remember...

 

Christmas. Birthdays. Vacation. Summer. School. Graduation. Wedding. Birth days.

 

Landscaping.

 

We live in a parsonage with the most understanding and at-the-ready congregation anyone could ever pray for, so I am absolutely positive this situation would play out very similarly even if we owned our own home.

 

The weeds have taken over the front yard rocks and it looks like a bit of a mess. Still, I shouldn't bother with the weeding because it will all be dug up sooner or later to prepare for new landscaping. Overcome by habit, I say,

 

When?

 

And just as it was when we lived in a house we owned, some things have to happen before we can get around to other things. First things first.

 

So we wait.

 

And on the day of my "when," I look down at the toddler monkey jumping and hollering at my feet, gesturing the sign for "eat" wildly as I cut up her grapes, and I sympathetically tell her to "chill."

 

It's coming. Just wait.

 

I hear ya loud and clear, Lord.

 

Waiting is fine. Worrying, not so much.

 

"Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?... Therefore do not be anxious, saying, "What shall we eat?" or "what shall we drink?" or "What shall we wear?" For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you." Matthew 6:25; 31-33

 

When we spend much time looking toward the not-yet's instead of the right-here's, waiting slips into worry and blessings are missed.

 

Seek the kingdom of God first.

 

Your heavenly Father knows your needs.

 

And He is meeting them right here. Right now.

 

Open our eyes to your mercies new every morning, Father.

 

When wait for the Lord. We will never be disappointed.

 

 

A prayer for this blogger and all her readers today:

 

"Lead me in your truth and teach me,

for you are the God of my salvation;

for you I wait all the day long."

Psalm 25:5

The Samaritan Woman and The Next Big Thing

We run into a funny obstacle when we read our favorite familiar Bible stories: we know how they end.

During Bible study the other night, the Bible Study Beauties and I spent some time with the woman of Samaria at the well. As that camped about in my mind the next morning I realized a very simple, but startling truth. She didn't know she was going to meet Jesus that day.

Think about it. The woman didn't wake up, go about her chores, hoist her water jar thinking, "Off to meet the Savior of the world." In fact, I would contend that she was more likely preoccupied with meeting up with haters than True Love.

I reread the account of the woman that Jesus just had to meet (John 4:4). We are so much alike, Sister.

I may have a husband, but that doesn't mean I don't go about my daily tasks with my mind on anything but the Savior. It doesn't mean that sometimes I take care of my kids and console my wearied heart with the empty dreams of what I will do in the next season of my life; the things I will accomplish when my kids are all in school and I am no longer tied to diapers and sippy cups. As though this season is merely a hiatus in an otherwise planned and significant life.

The Samaritan woman and I have been bogged down by the burdens of the day to day, but taken the moments to think about the next big thing.

"I know that Messiah is coming (he who is called Christ). When he comes, he will tell us all things." (John 4:26)

And then comes the part that blows my mind:

Jesus said to her, "I who speak to you am he."

This foreign woman living in sin deeper than any disgusting well received the gospel from the Gospel, her downcast eyes lifted and opened to a reality that her ancestors longed to see. And she got to speak to Him. See Him. Hear Him.

His words are the same for us day-to-day sinners with our nose to the grindstone and our eyes on the tasks at hand. The ones who in the brief pauses of the tiresome day look forward to the next big thing, not realizing just how big this thing is right here. Right now.

And I like to see that God's sense of humor allows Him to reveal Himself in even the most commercial of arenas. The Samsung Galaxy Translation: The next big thing is already here...

I admit, I'm an iPhone user and a proud one at that. But Samsung really hit the nail on the head with that phrase. (I'd have preferred that they not made us iPhone users all look obsolete, but that's for another post.) It's like they tapped into one of the most basic methods Satan uses to lure us away from the grace and beauty around us- his lie that what we are, where we are, is not as good as what and where we should be.

Jesus meets us at the wells of our lives and hands us the dirty laundry, the full dishwasher, the crying baby, all gifts.We are so busy accomplishing and looking forward to what's next that we miss His presence, reminding us that He is the only big thing, and He is here. Already here.

So let's vow together to look at where we are and see Him here. In His Word. His sacraments. In our service to the least of these. I don't think Jesus would have stressed so often the responsibility of caring for children if it wasn't such a big deal. We see big things people do, famous people recognized for their big works even towards furthering the kingdom, and forget that the biggest ways Christ demonstrated His love for the world were done in the small things. Born in a manger. A carpenter's son in a small town. A small band of common men for followers. A criminal's death on a cross. Even his miracles were accomplished for those who were, or believed themselves to be, the least worthy.

And then there is the perk to rereading those old favorites. We know how they end. With a risen and ascended Savior. So if we are to spend our time looking for the next big big thing, let it be living in anticipation of His blessed and joyous return.

We Are All of Us Jobs

I ran yesterday. A short run along a country road. Uphill and down. Uphill again. On the way home relentless wind against my steps at least 10 miles per hour. Had I wings there is no doubt the forces against me would have lifted me sky high.

I stagger in to a disorienting blend of Our God's Alive in my earphones and Fox News on the television.

Me running head-on into wind.

Wind running head-on into people and structures and vehicles.

At the same time.

We left in the evening for my daughter's end of the year school program, The Principal and the Pea.

The grace was not lost on me...

 

 

Last night I finished the book of Job to the din of reporters and meteorologists.

 

 

Because when the world offers death tolls and figures, we need some godly poetry to remind us that God's love is a big-picture kind of art, an act of true heart.

 

 

Because when the chaos of a moment takes the life out of a person, we need some godly wisdom to clue us into a perspective that works always for good. Always for eternal and right-here-and-now good.

 

 

Because... When we want to know answers God simply wants us to know Him. -Ann Voskamp

 

 

He gave me some words hard to swallow in my first chapter of reading for the night. Chewing words and truths like gravel in my mouth. I sat long enough to grind it in, "Whether for correction or for his land or for love, he causes it to happen." Job 37:13.

 

He causes it to happen.

 

Job is so appropriate. The Word, the only Wind that can take the destruction of an EF-5 tornado and draw forth blessing.

 

Ever since I lost my babies I have loved Job. What before had been tedious whining I now read as legitimate offenses against a decent and godly life. Did I not make those same claims of the Lord in the face of death?

 

What did I do to deserve this?

Why didn't You stop it?

Where are You?

 

Don't you care?

 

In my heart I cried the words of Job,

                  Behold I go forward, but he is not there, and backward, but I do not perceive him. (23:8)

 

and Mary,

                  Lord, if you had been there... (John 11:32)

 

and I took the company of believers beyond belief.

 

Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?”

John 11:40

 

The fortunes of Job were restored. The dead were raised.

 

I too was raised, as gradually as Job's children were born and as completely as Lazarus' heart beat.

 

But I'll always have that connection. I'll hear those words the Lord spoke out of the whirlwind that blow me back into my place,

 

Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?

 

 God's words, the "know your role" reminder for the prideful Job. You tell him, Lord!

 

But more than that. Our God, who takes and brings life in a single breath, is making more than a point. He is answering Job's, my, most heartfelt questions.

 

Job 38-

"Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding."

Where am I? I am where I have always been. I am here. I am.

 

"Who determined its measurements- surely you know! Or who stretched the line upon it?

On what were its bases sunk, or who laid its cornerstone, when the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy?"

Do I not care? I took great care in creating all my creation, and I delight in caring for it. I always have. I have never stopped caring. Never.

 

Line by line, chapter by chapter, poetry and wisdom weave a portrait of a God who is not summed up in a formula of our own design. We are unbelievably blessed to have a God whose ways are far beyond ours, but whose heart is known in His word, whose love is known in His Son.

 

Whose Spirit works within us and through us to point the "why's" of a grieving nation to the Whom of the Savior.

Destiny and Motherhood: Why I Choose to Keep a Messy House

Sometimes I really relate to the donkey the disciples fetched for the Lord Jesus.

Because I become completely untied, and it is not until I ask why that I hear their response: Because the Lord has need of it. (Luke 19:31)

I just absolutely love my coffee mornings. A few friends come over and we drink our beverages and chat about what's happening in our lives and town and world. We solve some problems. Sometimes.

Just yesterday I led those dear friends around the parsonage that may or may not be getting a facelift. I explained the vision, salting my speech with excitement over what could be.

And peppering it with apologies. Not one room of my house is clean. Not one. Passable maybe, but not clean.

Did my friends demand excuses and apologies? Absolutely not. Did they offer judgment and condemnation for the clutter? No way. If they had, would it have depleted the worth of my personal stock? Nope.

But the apologizing- it just gets exhausting. My mind and heart and soul are squished into a sorry little box as if that is all there is by which to measure my worth, and I become enslaved.

Enslaved to a house. I piece of real estate.

I become a victim.

Yesterday I changed that. You know what, I'm not a victim. And for any mothers or fathers out there who are enslaved to the image of being "put together," neither are you.

As for me, I am poor and needy, but the Lord takes thought for me. You are my help and my deliverer; do not delay, O my God! Psalm 40:17

The Lord of the universe thinks and takes action to benefit us poor, needy souls. We are victors!

 

But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. 1 Cor 15:57

 

You know what else? This unshowered, sweatpant wearing, tired mom has a destiny. Really- even me. And if I have a destiny, you can bet every single person out there has one too.

 

No doubt the cleanliness of my house may play a role in the fulfillment of God's destiny for me, but as a means- not an end. I will choose to see it that way. I will look to the end goal.

 

So if you happen to stumble into my house mind your step, and know that instead of devoting my blood, sweat and tears to wiping up every muddy shoeprint, fishing out every bobby pin from the carpet, and putting every doll in its age appropriate bin (assuming I could find said bin), I have chosen instead to tend to the following responsibilities:

 

* Kissing scraped knees

* Making waffles

* Sorting clothes along with the kids

* Reading

* Running in the sunshine

* Playing soccer with the kids

* Going to the park

* Thawing meat for supper

* Changing diapers

* Tying shoes

* Brushing hair

* Wiping tears

* Brushing teeth

* Coloring

* Wrestling on the floor

* Dating my husband

* Dating my children

* Doing puzzles

* Writing

* Teaching

* Visiting

* Volunteering

* Praying, praying, praying

* Encouraging

* Loving

* Laughing

* Spending time, not wasting it.

 

* Various and Sundry other tasks that demand an inordinate amount of time and energy, and are supremely more important.

 

Because, as a good friend assured me: One day the kids will be gone, the house will be clean and quiet, and you'll miss the mess.

 

Happy Early Mother's Day.

 

Luke 10: ³⁸ Now as they went on their way, Jesus entered a village. And a woman named Martha welcomed him into her house. ³⁹ And she had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet and listened to his teaching. ⁴⁰ But Martha was distracted with much serving. And she went up to him and said, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her then to help me.” ⁴¹ But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, ⁴² but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her.”

Dear Daughter

Giggles erupted from the back seat of the truck, sending laughter spewing into the air and floating down all over me.

Three absolutely adorable boys chatted behind me as we made our way to the last soccer game of the season, and I smiled. Only one of the boys was my son, the other two being brothers and Grady's teammates. The picture of polite Iowa boys, and just as cute as the dickens.

I can't help it, I'm a mom. Their family has three boys and one girl. We have three girls and one boy. And those boys are all around our girls' ages. I know it's silly, but moms match their kids up with other kids- especially cute, sweet ones. I mentally figured out how that would look in my head.

My mind took me to a comfortable place only to be stirred by one thought, "Pray for their spouses." You've heard those amazing prayer stories- someone was in trouble and exactly at that moment another person was moved to pray for them, and everything turned out fine. Not sure that was what this was, but right then and there I prayed for my future sons.

Those prayers came more quickly than any prayer I had for my son's future wife. Not because he is still my boy, I don't think. Maybe because I know just how important and difficult it is to find a godly man, so there is an urgency in that prayer.

But tonight I sat and pondered the woman my son will marry. What she looks like now- if she is even here yet. Her family, her childhood, her adolescence. If you've never spent the time really thinking and praying about the future relationships of your children (note: I did not say "worrying"), it is a worthwhile endeavor. So, here is my prayer for you, Future Daughter-in-law, future friends of my kids that I will no doubt play "mom" to, and you little girls under my roof.

Dear Daughter,

May I first say you are beautiful. Seriously. Stunning and gorgeous and so incredibly valuable. I pray you know that. You are amazing.

Young woman whom my son will choose, I pray for you so hard. I want to pray for your family, your upbringing, your time with the Lord, your health- but I've learned enough from this world that what really matters is your heart. So that is what captivates me in prayer- the condition of your heart. All the heartbreak the world would give you only tills the heart in which the seed of faith is planted. And so I pray that your heart is ready and fertile, and that your faith is growing up into maturity. Not so that you can be ready in my eyes to marry my son. But because I love you.

I pray for your spirit.  But the fruit of the Spirit is

love- that you would know it truly as the Lord lavishes, & accept it fully when my boy offers it,

 joy- that you would know what it is to be thankful and so find joy in every circumstance,

 peace- that you would know where to turn when trials abound and so find peace in God alone,

patience- that you would develop humor to be patient with people like me, who love imperfectly,

kindness- that you would witness the kindness of Christ in those around you,

goodness- that you would possess the courage to live out the goodness found only in God,

faithfulness- that you would know God's faithfulness and display it in your life no matter what, 

gentleness- that you would know the Christ-like love that forgives and opens hearts to healing,

self-control- that you would wait on the Lord;

against such things there is no law. (Gal. 5:22-23)

I pray for you, Daughter, whether we have met or not because, Sweet Child, you belong to the Lord. And believe me, He loves you so very much.