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

When God Fills the Empty Spaces {Messy Monday}

I have a strict "whatever" policy about matching socks. Maybe I'll match them. Maybe I won't. Whatever.

As I rummaged through the single sock laundry basket the other day, I snatched up the No Nonsense pair I'd folded earlier, and thought of Angie. The giver of the socks. And appropriately enough "no nonsense" is a phrase she clothes her personality in quite often.

She showed up at my door with two packages of white, sturdy, No Nonsense brand socks. 

"You want these?"

Someone had given them to her, but they weren't a style she liked. Too long.

My response? "Free socks? Uh.. YEAH!"

And just like that, I was the proud owner of about a dozen pairs of brand-spanking-new socks.

That was years ago and I still wear them. Sometimes I get to feeling domestic and even darn them. These things are quality.

I didn't get it. Free socks? Who would turn down free socks?

I don't know. Who would turn down free salvation?

Socks take up serious real estate in our drawers. Honestly, I've turned down tons of free stuff because it just takes up space. Things that would be nice to have, but that I don't really need. 

I guess even free stuff can be too expensive when we're talking about the space of our lives.

I see it with the Gospel all the time. America is one of the hardest mission fields simply because we have so much stuff to drown out our need for Jesus. Even the kids that sit in our church once a week struggle with this. The church says I need Jesus. But my mom and dad seem to be doing just fine without Him. Who is right?

I'm not talking just about unchurched families either. I'm including myself in this one. 

There is a daily struggle with pride, with the desire to get things done. And what kills me is that even though I get burned over and over again, I still play with the fires of spiritual multitasking.

Jesus offers me this: Time. Time to sit with Him. Time to remember my redemption in Him. Time to ponder who He is. And what is the one thing I always feel like I'm lacking? Time. The Giver of time is giving me the thing I need- Time. And I'm too busy to just stop and take it.

I could blame motherhood, or even church. But the truth is the blame rests in this distracted and hungry heart.

This heart that realizes its void and reaches for what is convenient, instead of what is right. Like my toddler recognizing the empty space in the 3/4 full milk jug and filling it with tortillas, refried beans, and a Nutri-grain bar wrapper, I shove things into the empty spaces that have no business being there.

So when my neighbors obviously need Jesus, but instead consume alcohol and possessions and all manners of worldly trinkets, maybe I shouldn't be so perplexed. Maybe I should try on some compassion.

Because I have been there too. And while I am free from death and sin, that devil will try anything to direct my heart to everything except God.

There is hope. Hope for me. Hope for them. Hope for you. Hope for all of us. Compassion and hope are the truths that clothe believers, because believers need them too. 

More important that getting the socks matched, or the supper made, is showing my kids and neighbors that this empty jar can only really be filled by God alone.

But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God 

and not to us. 

2 Corinthians 4:7

Afflicted, perplexed, persecuted. All of the above. But God has power that surpasses them all. And that is what we carry, Christ's death and resurrection. Filled to the brim with His grace because we so desperately need it. May He take up more and more space in us, until people cannot look into our lives without seeing an emptiness filled by God Himself.  

Why I Quit "Helping" God {God is God}

The dog greeted me warmly at the door. I left her loose while I was gone because there was no food out and how much trouble could she get into? I carried the tired toddler into the kitchen and was greeted warmly once more.

By a completely annihilated box of Honey Nut Cheerios. What would possess an animal to jump onto a kitchen table and destroy a box and bag, only to consume a few handfuls of cereal? Yet there lay the accusing debris. As a mother of four with a dirty house, you could imagine my delight.

I set down the kid and reached for the broom. In moments, tiny fingers laid hold of the handle and her words formed, "Mm how. Mm how."

To a foreigner that would mean nothing. To my mother ears it rang clearly, "I help. I help."

I released the broom into her eager hands and watched as she toddled around the kitchen, spreading the cardboard, plastic, crumbs and other junk pell-mell over the linoleum. As a mother of four with a dirty house, you could imagine my delight.

This is precisely why I've quit helping God. I'm as effective as a 1 year old with a broom.

Pray, proclaim, fight, obey, serve, love, forgive, follow. All those things I remember being instructed by God through His word.

"Help me out." Not so much.

Teach, baptize, tell, give, bring, watch, repent.  Those words too come to mind.

"Do me a favor." Not that one.

I'd like to think the absence of those phrases would eliminate the notion from our brains, but I can say from experience that isn't the case. It's tempting to feel some degree of awesomeness in performing a task on behalf of God. Like God must really delight in me, check out this daughter of His I am helping. Check out this hurting brother I am feeding. Feed and clothe the least of these- I'm doing this for you, God.

But the truth is, God doesn't need my help. He's not a frazzled parent, relinquishing His broom to a bossy toddler.

God is in charge. And that's the case always.

So, what's the big difference? What's the big deal if I feel like I'm doing an act to help God or if I'm doing it to help my neighbor? It's precisely this- who is in control?

If I am assuming the Lord is in need of my service, I have some claim to its outcome. Just a little glory, not much, if it all turns out great. I'll give Him most- just hoard a little of the glory to myself, if that's ok.

On the other hand, if it all comes crashing down around me I ask, "God, what did I do wrong?"

I don't want to crawl up onto His lap. I want to crawl up on His throne. I want to grab the reins, and the reign. Just for a moment. Just until He can handle this without me.

Maybe that's not how you think. Maybe you don't feel pressure to make someone believe. Maybe you are content to teach your children the way of the Lord without fretting over whether or not you are going to screw it up and send them to hell in a hand-basket.

Maybe you don't lose sleep over unbelieving family and friends. Or over the starving multitudes. Or the children sold into slavery. Maybe you are content to teach and follow and serve, and know your role.

I have a hard time with that. Overwhelmed with the problems of the world, I forget Whose shoulders can carry it all. I forget that when I visit the poor, teach the children, listen to the lonely, I am not doing God a favor. I am following Jesus where He leads. Nothing more. And I'm sinning all the while. I'm being an imperfect disciple in the hands of the perfect and almighty God, who doesn't need my help, but chooses to use me in His plan.

God delights in me because He created me. He delights in me because He redeemed me and made me His own. And my readiness or reluctance to serve in His name will not diminish or augment His love for me. He loves me because He is love.

Now, are there consequences to withholding my service? Of course. Serious ones even. The Bible is clear on that as well. But not because God needed me and now His plan is going to fall apart because I'm selfish. If that was the case, He would accomplish nothing because I am more often than not a selfish individual. Any glimmers of selflessness come as a result of His work in me.

So I've given up "helping" God. At least for now. I'm sure I'll fall back into the pattern again somewhere down the road and He'll have to remind me that He can handle this whole life thing all on His own and I'm His beloved child, chosen and set apart to work alongside Him, but never in place of Him. I was never meant to carry that load, and that's because He loves us too much to give me His job.

Follow. It's a simple enough command, though difficult in execution. Fight, baptize, proclaim, feed, repent, etc. are all acts that on their own are too complicated for me to accomplish without His power. There's no need to add "Be God" onto the list. So today I start with the simplest of words, Believe, which is a gift in itself, and all the rest will fall into place.

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Linking up today with the always fabulous, Simply Beth for Three Word Wednesday.

When Life Looks A Lot More Like Gilligan's Island

Just sit right back and you'll read a tale, a tale of a fateful trip...

Don't ask me how, but my children discovered Gilligan's Island this past weekend. And with me or my husband manning the remote (so as to avoid the raunchy TV Land commercials) we sat as a family and watched as a whole new generation was awed by the magical and inescapable island of their dreams.

It's a dangerous thing- watching your childhood favorites again. They rarely, if ever, live up to the memories. Still, Gilligan's Island was entertaining, if not marvelous. It taught me a few things too:

1. Life would have been a lot simpler if those huts had been built of sound-proof bamboo. Then people wouldn't have been eavesdropping and freaking out all the time. Seriously, Howells, you think the Professor and Skipper are going to off Gilligan to save their own skin and avoid war with an island tribe?

2. The show isn't realistic. Not in the slightest. I mean really, a head-hunting tribe with only 3 members (none of which are women- how will the culture be preserved with no babies)? A dentist's drill powered by the pedaling patient? Gilligan and the Skipper sleeping and waking in those same clothes every single day and they don't fade? I know it wasn't supposed to be realistic, but when I was younger it never really occurred to me just how outlandish it all was. It didn't seem ridiculous at all.

3. Perspective matters. The show scared the kids. A guy running up and down on the island in a bed sheet. A giant stuffed spider whose legs don't even touch the ground (because their was a dude in that costume, I believe). Gilligan avoiding mortal combat with an island native. It was tense in the room as the kids seriously fretted, how will everything work out?  

Then again, I was stranded on my own island this past weekend. Hearing part of the story, the part I didn't want to hear. Making assumptions based on incomplete evidence. Creating wildly unrealistic plot lines in my own brain of what I was sure would be my own demise.

I left the port of assumption, navigated the turbulent seas of obsession, and crashed on the shores of despair.

I emailed the person who I assumed thought I was incompetent, untrustworthy, and stubborn. Seeking closure in an email is like throwing darts blindfolded. You might hit the target, but chances are more likely you'll just cause a bystander pain. Pretty sure I did that. Unintentionally, but still. I scrutinized every word of his reply. Agonized over every turn of phrase. And left the exchange more confident than ever that this person thought I was unfit.

But the scary thing is this- I didn't mean to do any of this. I avoided it at all costs. I tried to be rational when I heard the news. I sought wise counsel. I prayed. I read the Bible. I worked out. I drank red wine. I slept. I did every physical and spiritual therapy I could think of. Nothing worked.

It hit me that God was working a change in my life and in the life of His church. A change in which I played a major part. A change that made the devil nervous.

You can bet that when God gets plans in motion, the devil isn't far behind. He wants nothing more to derail the train powered by the Lord and moving in His direction.

I worked an hour on Bible study homework. Felt good doing it. Less than a minute after, my blood pressure soared at the mere thought of this person. I realized I needed reinforcements. I did what I rarely do- I texted a friend for prayer. Personal prayer. I can ask a person to pray for a friend, a family member. It's much harder to ask them to pray for me and a hang up in my own brain. But I knew I was in the middle of a full-on attack and I needed someone else behind me.

Guess what, it worked. She offered a listening ear (or a reading eye, as the case would have it). She offered to pray for me and the other person. Then she offered the exact perspective I needed: the devil sees the work God is doing in the other person, and is fighting to get him back. The devil was sending out his forces and working on the both of us, and with that perspective I was instantly placed on the side of my "enemy."

Instead of his army on one side and mine on the other, waiting to charge onto the battlefield, there we stood- he and I back to back, swords in hand, fighting off the powers of darkness that sought to obliterate any chance of glorifying God.

I was at peace.

I talked to my former "offender" on Sunday at church, and guess what, I do really like him. His enthusiasm was exciting to see and, while I know we are going to have some obstacles and differences of opinion, we are on the same side.

It was the S.S. Truth that rescued me that day. Captained by Jesus Christ and manned by one of his dear servants.

We all get stranded on our own imaginary islands. Ridiculous plot lines and incomplete information threaten to be our undoing. What truth do you need to hear today? What relationships are buckling under these conditions. The devil is looking to devour us. It is my prayer that he's kept hungry and God is glorified in your life and mine.

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Thanks for reading my little testimony here. I ask you to keep this situation in your prayers. Strides have been made, but I know that the further we get, the harder satan will work. Pray for understanding, clear communication, grace and mercy in all this- and I will pray for you too!

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!