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Category Archives: Trust

Wings

It is Monday and I’m thinking of you. You, the mother wiping crumbs off counters — the remnants of PB & J’s made for hungry mouths which will be asking for more food just as you finally walk out of a clean kitchen. You, the woman who fought the guilt of leaving your 2-year-old at daycare this morning so that you can attend yet another day of work. You, the woman in Uganda, trying to bring home her son and aching for her daughters back home in the States. You, the mother who, frustratingly, fought the urge just to suction up your daughter’s darn Squinky conveniently lying in your vacuum’s direct path. You, the mother awakened by your crying baby four exhausting times in the middle of the night.  You, the woman still waiting for children and wondering if you’ll ever be blessed with them. You, the woman who aches for your husband just to know God as the Love-God and not just a detached, Authoritarian Father-figure. You, the woman just wanting a husband. You, the woman waiting for direction. The woman fighting fear. The woman wanting to do more than just make it through another day.

 

You.

Yes, you.

I know you don’t feel it right now, but you are more than Superwoman.

 

You are more than Superwoman because the Spirit of God, the God of space, who knows no time, the God who knows our every need and every weakness, every frustration, no matter how big or small . . . that very Supernatural Love in a Person, upholds you. No, this life He’s called you to, it doesn’t always feel like soaring on the winds (although, when it does, pay attention); this life in Christ is more like step-by-step determination and reliance. But you are equipped for this very real life. You are equipped for every squinky on the floor, every child in Uganda, every time you put your child in another caretaker’s arms, every aging parent’s doctor’s appointment, every lonely night.

 

You can fly higher than SuperWoman. 

 

Because when we dig deepest into the most mundane, the most difficult of our callings, the most trying surrender of our wills, His eye catches sight of His falling sparrow. And when we fall lowest, falling deepest into the depths of real and living trust, we see just how long His everlasting Arms really are.

 

He always catches.

 

And when we’re caught, He spins and sings and laughs and in His breathtaking way, throws us high, back into the blue. We relax in His ways. We learn to trust, mid-air, and we catch the true rhythm of our wings.

 

We fly high.

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Rosiness in the Night

A little friend unintentionally shares something invisible with you. You’re fine for a few days, until one afternoon, you complain of a hurting tummy. But I can’t tell if it hurts as badly as you say, or if you just really don’t want to eat the dinner in front of you. So later, as the moon rises, I tuck you under your flowery sheets and tell you to get some rest and we’ll see how you feel in the morning. We whisper our “good-nights” and “sleep-tights” and tired “I-love-you’s” and I turn out the light.

 

Hours later, you shuffle through my bedroom door.

“Mama, my tummy hurts….”

 

I sigh, awakening from the fogginess of deep sleep. Your daddy rolls over and I mumble that I don’t know what to do for your little tummy. And then it happens. Right then and there. All over the floor next to my bed. I rush you to the bathroom and I stroke back your hair, tell you it’ll be okay as you let go of all that tummy-ickiness.

 

And you’re only four now. But someday, you’ll be older, and friends and family, and even I, will unintentionally share things with you that will hurt. I fidget in a panicky discomfort at the mere thought of it, but I know in my heart that I can’t always keep you safe. Can’t always protect you from things that will cause you heartache. And you alone will have to sift through the pain, praying through what needs to be addressed, and what needs to be let go. But I hope you will always come to me, in the dark of your night, looking for a little Mama-comfort. Together, we’ll pray through the ickiness and let Him make it all better. Together we’ll watch expectantly. And just as He returns the rosiness to your pale cheeks, we’ll watch and listen as He breathes your ashes into marvelous beauty.

So here I am. Yes, I’m still around, believe it or not. I’ve struggled coming here over the last few months (in case you hadn’t noticed -grin-) for a few reasons.

 

One being, time. Life has been busier. Motherhood, a bit more intense, even as my little ones gain more independence. Seems a little backward, no? Yeah, I’m trying to figure that one out too. 🙂

 

Two being, I feel like a different person than I was four or five months ago. I feel older. I feel less sure, while feeling a little more comfortable in these awkward shoes of mine, all at the same time. I feel I haven’t much to say worth reading, or maybe what I should say is, I feel I don’t have anything which feels safe to say. Safe, whether for your benefit, or my comfort level. I think it has been best to remain quiet here as I try to re-find my own voice.

 

Three being, God has been working on me. BIG TIME. There’s been a lot of grief. A lot of distrust. A lot of vulnerability. A lot of questions. A lot of insecurity. A lot of tears. A lot of discoveries. A lot of simply trying to figure out this real, gritty, not-always-neatly-packaged life and who, exactly, is this God in the midst?

 

And during all this time, there has been much waiting. A question from me. Silence from Him. Several weeks later, an answer. Or maybe more to question. Or maybe just more waiting. And it’s unlike me to post a “How-To” post and although, it may appear differently, this post is not a prescriptive list of how to do something correctly. Just things I’ve learned. And am continuing to learn.

 

I am coming to believe that everyone is waiting for something. Those somethings maybe be more obvious for some of us. A baby to be conceived. A spouse to finally come around life’s corner, nonchalantly whistling a favorite love song. A move. That dream job to come around.

 

But there are other things too. Things unseen that can not necessarily be measured. A relationship to mend. A spouse to know God better. An answer to some deep, heartfelt question. In some ways, maybe it’s safe to say that life is one, drawn-out wait. The things we wait for change over the course of our lives, but ultimately, we’re all waiting for resolution to our deepest longings, healing for our most-scarred places . . . for our Redeemer to come and make all new, once and for all.

 

So, I’ve learned a few things in the waiting for some of these things. No exhaustive, prescriptive list. Just a few things learned, from one lady-in-waiting to another….

While Waiting For….

(Fill in your blank)

  1. Draw close to God, even though that may be the last thing you want to do. In the waiting, I sometimes feel like God is hiding Himself from me. Like He’s deliberately trying to make something harder than it should be. And if He’s hiding Himself, maybe I should just go into hiding too. I am learning that contrary to how it feels, His silence is sometimes an invitation to come closer to Him . . . to know Him a bit more intimately. To hear Him whisper.
  2.  Pray for wisdom and flexibility to His perfect plan. Sometimes His plan is completely different from what we think it will be, or even should be! This is made obvious in the waiting itself, isn’t it? 🙂 I, for one, don’t want to miss His unexpected gifts simply because I’m still looking over the fence, waiting for that other thing I’ve been expecting.
  3. Pay attention to THIS part of the story. What is He teaching me? Here, in the waiting? There is something He is trying to make known, even in the waiting. For some reason, the waiting is part of the story and perhaps He is busy writing me as I wait for Him to write the next chapter in life’s circumstance. Or maybe, He just working on some real, darn-good relationship building. 🙂
  4. Wait expectantly.  “Listen to my voice in the morning, LORD. Each morning I bring my requests to you and wait expectantly.” Psalm 5:3 I need to be alert to unexpected answers! And I need to not wait apathetically, without faith, but with anticipation that He will move . . . one way or another. Perhaps waiting is meant to be more proactive than it seems….
  5. Trust the process. My hubby is a computer programmer. He is often braving new territory, trying to figure out new ways of doing things. This sometimes means that there are no written answers to his work’s dilemmas and he has to figure it out on his own. He has taught me that sometimes, the process is part of the answer! And sometimes, the process in learning an answer to one problem, brings multiple answers to many problems.
  6. When He says, “No” to one thing, it’s because He is saying “Yes” to something unforeseen. 
  7. Keep living. Don’t give into the temptation to put life on “hold” as I wait for _____. Life is now, not later.
  8. If you’re married, trust that the Lord is using your spouse’s input and desires, even though they may be contrary to your own. There have been many times that the Lord has used my husband’s “no” as a protection for our family. Thank God there is a logical one in our marriage! 🙂
  9. Waiting is hard. As Christians, I think we sometimes feel the need to downplay our pain/grief/frustration/struggle when we don’t understand what God is doing. I think that this surrenders the opportunity of allowing others to share in the journey with us. Not only do we need our brothers and sisters to help lift us up now, we need them to celebrate with us when the waiting is no more!

Wait patiently for the LORD. Be brave and courageous. Yes, wait patiently for the LORD. Psalm 27:14


The New Horizon

Part of me wants to discard 2011 like a dirty, ol’ rag. It was a let’s-get-down-and-get-dirty kind of year for us. The kind of year where you evaluate every aspect of your life and make some difficult decisions to, hopefully, make things better. The kind of year where your heart gets tangled in a million different emotions and leaves life feeling like one, big, tangled web that somehow swirled and weaved your last bit of girlhood naiveté into a mortal cocoon. The kind of year where friends’ homes and neighborhoods are ripped to shreds by tornadoes and you read stories about riots all over the world, and those earthquakes and tsunamis that hit  so hard and you’re left trying to explain crazy things like that to your wide-eyed, inquisitive four-year-old daughter. The kind of year where your heart brims in fullness, readying to welcome your third child, only for that baby to be taken away from you. The kind of year where your life’s lens zooms in and out as you lie on a stretcher wondering if you’re going to be able to hug your living babies in the morning as that pregnancy loss gushes from your body.

 

It has been a hard year.

 

And yet.

 

Ironically, it has been one of the best.

 

It’s been the year that my husband and I learned to (mostly) stop dancing that passive-aggressive tango we’ve done all these married years and begun to truly learn one another’s steps. It’s been the year where we’ve truly listened to one another’s dreams and desires and haven’t been afraid to share them. The year that we weren’t afraid to let go of certain things in our lives that we’d held onto for so. long. simply because they felt comfortable and safe. The year that my humanity was made crystal clear. The year where the outpouring of love and support from friends was humbly overwhelming and wonderfully healing.

It is truly stupefying how God places things in your hands which sometimes feel like squirming snakes or abrasive stones, but in opening your hands, you quickly realize that they are, in reality, loaves of bread and nourishing fish.

 

So I know that when I trust the Good Father, I can trust that a year like 2011 is a gift. Whether our 2011’s were good or bad, or just plain boring, it is a full, written chapter in each of our life’s stories and not something to wipe clean off the slate, or something to desperately try to erase from our memories. Let’s find the gifts. Let’s find all the fish and the bread of 2011 and learn to be thankful for them in our new 2012. And even better, maybe we can learn from all those seemingly snarly snakes and rough stones and help others with their own confusingly full hands.

 

Today, as my eyes linger over the ornaments and stockings and twinkling lights, just for one more day,  my heart lingers over days and moments that made up my own 2011. And I am finding that those gifts walk with me into the fresh horizon of 2012.

 

Let’s have a happy, bright and hopeful New Year, everyone.

Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle. ~Plato

All praise to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort. He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us. 2 Corinthians 1:3-4

Seeking Stillness

Listen to my voice in the morning, Lord. Each morning I bring my requests to you and wait expectantly.

Be still in the presence of the Lord, and wait patiently for him to act.

And so, dear friends, while you are waiting for these things to happen, make every effort to be found living peaceful lives that are pure and blameless in his sight.

(Taken from Psalm 5:3, 37:7a and 2 Peter 3:14)

Hope and Stay

Sometimes discontent and discouragement come barging in through all your long-closed (or so you thought), barricaded doors and they tear you down and they beat you up and your bruises affect the way you love. And you wonder how these not-so-very-nice guests ever came in at all til you realize that you secretly invited them in. And of course, they eagerly and voraciously took you up on your whispered invitation.

 

Light the candles, wipe the counters, fill up every corner of your house with vicarious worship via Pandora. Some days you have to fight the discontent, the ugly, ungrateful, peering-over-the-fence heart with every dusty weapon you can possibly pull out from your arsenal. It doesn’t have to be like this.

It can’t go on like this. It has to stop.

 

Just to be still in all He’s given. In all He’s giving. In all this right-here, around-me beauty.

#729 matches aflame

#730 flickering light, reflecting in the dirty panes

#731 mulled cider, pumpkin spice

#732 golden leaf, fluttering in the cold wind, clinging to the life it knows

#733 letting go

#734 The solid Rock on which I can stand

#735 my neediness and how He can fill it, if I just wait and seek

#736 two little girls pretend-fighting over whose mama I am

#737 clean tubs

#738 sweet, though unnecessary, thank-you notes

#739 truth-filled lyrics

#740 not getting everything I want, when I want it

#741 waiting for his leading

#742 that He knows how to live the in-between

#743 new words

#744 honesty and forgiveness

#745 a reflection, realizing what I’ve been

#746 a Helper, to restore

#747 surrounded family

#748 learning to truly love

#749 that I have One I can follow

Why I Thought I’d Failed the Counting

If you’re a regular around here, you know that my Multitude Mondays have been a little . . . ummm . . . lacking. I haven’t even been able to put my finger on why, but I just. couldn’t. do. it. I couldn’t formally count. I’ve found little things to be oh, so thankful for over this course of thanking-silence, but I just couldn’t come to this space and actually number them one by one. I thought I had failed the counting.

 

Looking back over the last few weeks, I’ve realized that it wasn’t that I’d failed. But it WAS that I was being ungrateful. While there have been AMAZING blessings in our lives over the last few months (and I’ve been extremely thankful for those), I was silently resentful toward God because of my perception that He’s been holding out on me. You see there’s something I’ve wanted for a long, long time.

 

Our own home. You’ve heard me speak of it before.  This quest to stop renting, to buy our own house, one where we could settle and make our own home . . . life . . . became my greatest want. I lived and breathed it.

 

I could think of hardly anything else. And although, yes, I can’t deny it, I’ve grown weary of our, ahem, vintage bathrooms and linoleum parquet, it hasn’t been so much the house that I’ve been so desperate for. It was the feeling of certainty. The assurance that we were free to plant good, solid, long-reaching family roots. Yes, for me, but even more so for our daughters.

 

And while I knew in my head that a house could never provide true security or certainty, inside my heart was pinned to the floor with the suffocating, relentless, false weight that we had to have this house to make us a truly rooted family.

 

We’ve been working toward it. We’ve looked at enough houses that I feel pretty bad for our realtor. 🙂 I have every zip code in the area memorized. If you showed me a picture of a house anywhere in our hometown (in our price range), I could probably quote you the listing price (Isn’t that pathetic?! I’m thinking maybe I should become a realtor?). But we just weren’t finding the one.

 

Then, Jonathan and I jointly decided to make a large family purchase and much of our savings needed to be put toward it. We decided this together. I watched him write the check.

 

But, I grieved. Because I knew, this was putting our home on hold. Just on hold, mind you. I guess a friend was right in dubbing it the “death of a vision” because for a few days, I was in tears. I had a hard time functioning.

 

But I am so thankful. That God wrestled me to the ground and one by one, released my fingers’ death grip on my self-made idol. He pulled my hip and rescued me from my false footing…. And in pleading with him to “bless me” with what I thought I wanted or needed to provide our security, He blessed me with something else . . .

 

Release from a misplaced passion.

 

A freeing demolition of my self-elevated idol.

 

Because it was an idol. When He didn’t seem to be giving me what I wanted, or thought we needed, I doubted His goodness. Even more than doubting His goodness, I doubted His good work in me. I wondered if I was doing something wrong, or if He wasn’t pleased with me or if I didn’t deserve a home.

 

Writing this even now feels so silly. So American. So often, I’ve reminisced over shacks I’ve touched in Peru. Dirt floors. Children drinking water in which I could see things floating. Women begging on street corners, holding borrowed babies, hoping to make a dollar or two. And here I’ve been in a nice home, in truly the best neighborhood I could ever imagine, and in a beautiful community — all gifts the Lord has freely given me — and I’ve wanted to throw it all away.

 

For something I could call mine.

 

Do I still want that house? You bet. But in the meantime, He’s teaching me to trust Him. To be content, right where He has me. To be used. Right. where. He. has. me. And He gently opens my eyes to the truth that I can’t be truly thankful for the “smaller” gifts He gives . . . the birds chirping in the trees, little pitter-pats down our long hallway, mocha frappuccinnos . . . if I’m also resentful that He hasn’t given me something greater. And neither can I be truly thankful for the greater gifts, if I’m flippant in my gratefulness for the smaller. He says to give thanks in everything. Yes, and now I know why. Because there is no distinction in what He’s given or what He’s not given. He gives good gifts. And what He withholds is also His goodness.

Oh, taste and see that the LORD is good!
Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him!

Psalm 34:8

I have tasted Him. In this refuge.

 

Again . . . taking up the count . . .

#614 His withholdings.

#615 Because He is a good Father and knows how to give good gifts to His children.

#616 What He gives is good.

#617 What He doesn’t give is good.

#618 That He rescues me from myself.

#619 That He loves, even me.

 

Giving thanks in all