The power just came back on.
It's been off for a whole 24 minutes, yet I've been squealing like a stuck pig, thinking about my new friends in Spanish Wells, Bahamas. They dealt with their power outages like champs. Me? I'm a wimp.
Maybe it's because I know just how uncomfortable life can get when the power goes out.
Not minutes before this whole debacle, I had been singing God's praises, rheuminating on what a fantastic day today had been. I was having visions of blog posts depicting all the goodness that has come my way today. I felt like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music, running through the hills, breathing in all of the beauty surrounding me. (I'm serious - that's really how I felt, cheese and all.)
It only took 24 minutes for my mood to go from soaring to sour.
It only took one spot fire in my zipcode (I'm in Austin, Texas, where the fires are raging) to alter the direction of my day, thwarting my plans for a calm afternoon.
It might only take one gust of wind to bring that spot fire right to my door.
I became less perky, I admit, but I didn't become overwraught with fear. I had merely a healthy level of concern. As I waited to get more information on exactly where the fire was, I sat down to write a list of the things I would grab if the firefighters told us to evacuate.
I was happy to find that my list was short. As I looked around our house, I found that there really is very little here that I can't live without.
I'm glad for that, thankful that the state of my heart is such. I worked hard for a good, long season to let go of lots of attachments, actively engaging the process of repenting from any idols I bowed to, and this mini, 24-minute test reminded me of that work. Work that has born fruit.
(I don't say that in pride, nor do I say it without compassion in my heart for those who have lost their homes. I know I would grieve if that happened to us. I am grieving with my neighbors who are walking through loss right now. I'm just trying to acknowledge God's goodness to me, how He has set me free, something He highlighted by bringing the threat of devastation close enough to remind me, to cause me to search my heart anew...the gift of release He gave me through the process of repentance. When we empty our hands of that which we cling to, we really are able to live more peacefully, more open to whatever He has for us next.)
Now, when the wind blows, I won't be swayed by the deceit of fear and worry. I'll simply know which way to bend.
Linking up with the lovely ladies at Soli Deo Gloria today.
Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Sunday, September 4, 2011
I am not at church today. No, between the hurricane trip and starting a part-time job, I am totally beat. The kids are with one of their grandmothers, so Justin and I are sleeping in. (Side note: I often think sleep is as holy as anything else we could do.)
I guess I need to be completely honest: by "sleeping in" I mean waking up naturally (no kids yelling my name, no alarm blaring) at 8 a.m. (late for me); doing a mountain of dishes; starting the 8-hour long process of cooking a brisket; and then, finally, sitting down to quiet time. An hour later I think I've finally rested. A little.
Sometimes I'm compulsive like that. It normally happens when there's clutter. I can't stand clutter, and yet, I'm always surrounded by it. I don't know if I just don't have enough storage space or what, but there's never enough room for the records we need to keep, the scrapbook stuff that's piling up, the information sent home from the kids' school. It's always paper, isn't it? Do you have this problem as well?
On Friday the kids and I cleaned out their toys, clothes and shoes. We purged ourselves of a mountain of items. It felt so good. At least that part of our house is no longer overflowing. I think I'll do the pantry/adult closets next.
Why am I blogging about this? I'm not exactly sure; I'm kind of rambling. (This is how I almost always write, by the way...intuitively, letting the idea take shape as the words flow.)
I think this might have something to do with half-formed thoughts beginning to coagulate in my head. Thoughts about emptying and letting go and making room. We often hold on to too much, don't we? I want to make space for Him, for whatever He has for me. I want to clear away the clutter so that He and I can sit down at an empty table, one at which we can actually see across from eachother, reach out and hold hands.
Linking up with Michelle at Hear it on Sunday, Use it on Monday.
I guess I need to be completely honest: by "sleeping in" I mean waking up naturally (no kids yelling my name, no alarm blaring) at 8 a.m. (late for me); doing a mountain of dishes; starting the 8-hour long process of cooking a brisket; and then, finally, sitting down to quiet time. An hour later I think I've finally rested. A little.
Sometimes I'm compulsive like that. It normally happens when there's clutter. I can't stand clutter, and yet, I'm always surrounded by it. I don't know if I just don't have enough storage space or what, but there's never enough room for the records we need to keep, the scrapbook stuff that's piling up, the information sent home from the kids' school. It's always paper, isn't it? Do you have this problem as well?
On Friday the kids and I cleaned out their toys, clothes and shoes. We purged ourselves of a mountain of items. It felt so good. At least that part of our house is no longer overflowing. I think I'll do the pantry/adult closets next.
Why am I blogging about this? I'm not exactly sure; I'm kind of rambling. (This is how I almost always write, by the way...intuitively, letting the idea take shape as the words flow.)
I think this might have something to do with half-formed thoughts beginning to coagulate in my head. Thoughts about emptying and letting go and making room. We often hold on to too much, don't we? I want to make space for Him, for whatever He has for me. I want to clear away the clutter so that He and I can sit down at an empty table, one at which we can actually see across from eachother, reach out and hold hands.
Linking up with Michelle at Hear it on Sunday, Use it on Monday.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Weathering the Storm
Last week my husband, two toddlers and I traveled down to Spanish Wells Island in the Bahamas to visit my sister, her husband and their four kids (age 9 and younger). My mother went with us, so we were 11 in all. At first, it was a dream vacation. My mom graciously rented my family a beach house on the most pristine beach I've ever experienced.
For two days we enjoyed the sand and sea, watching our two little ones run screaming and laughing into the knee-deep, calm, crystal-clear ocean (Lily yelling "POOL!" at the top of her lungs). We met all of the wonderful folks on the Island, people who have welcomed my sister's family with open arms. We went to church, went deep-sea fishing, sang karaoke, and more.
Then, on Monday the 22nd we heard the news: the men were on their way back; the storm was coming.
You see, most folks on Spanish Wells operate lobster boats. The men are out to sea from August through April, filling and emptying traps. They had been gone three weeks. Their wives had heard from them on the satellite phones that morning: the guys were racing ahead of the storm and should be home in the middle of the night. This was serious; Hurricane Irene was not going to miss us.
The next few days were a flurry of activity all over the 2 mile long x 1/2 mile wide island, where nobody's a stranger. Neighbor helped neighbor as boards went up, generators were tested, food was cooked, and water was stocked. Strangers in a strange land, we joined in as best we could, thanking God we were with 'locals' who knew exactly what to do. By the time we knew the storm was headed right for us, all flights were either full or had been cancelled. We had no choice but to weather the storm.
We were planning to abandon the beach house and ride it out at my sister's place, but she doesn't have a generator. Some very generous friends of hers, Georgina and Nyles Roberts, invited all 11 of us to their place. In total, we were 17 in a four-bedroom house for over 24 hours.
The following are some excerpts from my journal, written as I rode it out. I'm sure I'll have more to say on this subject in future posts - it was a life-changing experience.
Wednesday, August 24th, 7 a.m. local time (Bahamas):
"All snuggled in bed with kids. Justin's on the beach getting quiet. The rain has started and it's starting to blow. Hurricane should be here tomorrow. I was terrified Monday, but now I feel like it will be fine. Maybe I'm delusional, but I'm actually excited to see your majesty and power displayed. I hope I get to see the waves crashing before it gets too dangerous and we have to leave the beach. I hope everyone is safe, of course...."
Thursday, August 25th, 8 a.m. local time (Bahamas):
"Psalm 135 at 6 a.m. when I finally gave up and just got up. Storm woke me up at 2, 3, 5, and (finally) 6. It scared me last night, the creaking and moaning and gusting and rattling (of the tin shutters covering the windows in the small room where the four of us slept). But now, when there's light and power and people are awake...well, now, I'm having a blast.
"I know it sounds strange, but there's a thrill that comes when standing in the middle of your majesty, quite literally. It makes me happy to experience your power, to know - in the most real sense - how truly small I am. There is freedom in limitation. I may have no control over what's happening around me, but you do, and I can trust that.
"I wonder if I would feel differently if I were more exposed, like the Haitians in the shanty-town we visited yesterday. This home is solid. It made me think of: 'and I will hide you in the shadow of your wings.' This gives a whole new dimension to that imagery. I am hidden, sheltered, surrounded by - not a flimsy set of feathers - but a solid wall of steel and iron pillars carved in the shape of a wing. Safe and secure and comforting like a mother's wing, and firm and reassuring like an underground shelter. Yes, even as the wind and water whip around us, we are hidden because we are wrapped in you.
"Surrender. That's what I'm feeling. Earlier this week I was panicky and terrified, full of worst-case-scenario day-mares. But, since yesterday, there has been a deep peace. This thing is coming. As the locals kept saying, all we can do is prepare the best we can and ride it out. May I face all such sotrms in my life with the same attitude.
"There's a frog outside our window. Its croak sounds like a duck's quack. I can 'feel' the ebb and flow of the storm by the poor creature's cries. When it's blowing hard out there, the croaks are fast and frequent, like rapid-fire gunshots. When there's a reprieve, we experience silence together, as if we're all - earth, sky, and sea - taking a deep, communal breath."
Thursday, August 25th, 9 a.m. local time (Bahamas):
"Justin went out with Michael and Nyles and Luke earlier. I think it's 9:15 right now, and we're in the eye. It is dead calm outside, in an eery way. The Boykins have gone to check on their house. Mom is sleeping. The four of us are now holed up in our room. When Justin went out, he said it was truly awesome. I can tell the locals are sad about the destruction that's happened already. They have a lot of work ahead of them."
Thursday, August 25th, 10 a.m. local time (Bahamas):
"Eye has passed. We're on the back side now. Both houses and all boats seem to be okay. Damage is mostly fallen trees. Mom is sick. Kids are hanging in there. 15 out of 17 holed up in this house are awake. Please help Lily - she's showing attitude and seems to be overwhelmed."
Thursday, August 25th, 1 p.m. local time (Bahamas):
"Just had our first meltdown. Gunnar lost it, poor child. He's hot and sweaty and over-tired. Justin is on edge. I'm starting to faint. Lily is sound asleep, praise you. I didn't expect the heat - it's oppressive. Please help Gunnar fall asleep. And please let the storm pass soon. We are weary."
Thursday, August 25th, 3:37 p.m. local time (Bahamas):
"Wheels are coming off. Kids are stir CRAZY. We're 18 1/2 hours into our sojourn to the Robers' home. I'm so thankful for their hospitality (and their generator), but we're all a little on edge, even the adults."
Friday, August 26th, 6 a.m. local time (Bahamas):
"Back at the Boykins' last night. The storm kept us up again last night. That is, until it finally passed, probably around 2 a.m. I was awakened by Lily at 3 a.m. I thought the power had been restored, but no such luck. I'm disappointed - we won't go home today."
Saturday, August 27th, 6 a.m. local time (Bahamas):
"Everyone's asleep. Thank you for this alone time with you. I got a hot shower last night thanks to some other friends of the Boykins. My attitude immediately changed after that and some alone, quiet time with my nuclear family.
"Power and water are now restored, praise you. The locals have all of the major debris picked up (it was finished by noon on Friday!). Now it's down to details and second homes/boats and such. There are still roofs to be fixed, but it looks like we won't have rain today. The way they have all come together to weather this thing has changed me forever. Is this how people are supposed to live in the Kingdom? Without complaint and with constant care for each neighbor? I am humbled by their attitudes. I will never forget them."
Linking up with the faithful ladies at Soli Deo Gloria today. Thanks for all your prayers, ladies!
For two days we enjoyed the sand and sea, watching our two little ones run screaming and laughing into the knee-deep, calm, crystal-clear ocean (Lily yelling "POOL!" at the top of her lungs). We met all of the wonderful folks on the Island, people who have welcomed my sister's family with open arms. We went to church, went deep-sea fishing, sang karaoke, and more.
Then, on Monday the 22nd we heard the news: the men were on their way back; the storm was coming.
You see, most folks on Spanish Wells operate lobster boats. The men are out to sea from August through April, filling and emptying traps. They had been gone three weeks. Their wives had heard from them on the satellite phones that morning: the guys were racing ahead of the storm and should be home in the middle of the night. This was serious; Hurricane Irene was not going to miss us.
The next few days were a flurry of activity all over the 2 mile long x 1/2 mile wide island, where nobody's a stranger. Neighbor helped neighbor as boards went up, generators were tested, food was cooked, and water was stocked. Strangers in a strange land, we joined in as best we could, thanking God we were with 'locals' who knew exactly what to do. By the time we knew the storm was headed right for us, all flights were either full or had been cancelled. We had no choice but to weather the storm.
We were planning to abandon the beach house and ride it out at my sister's place, but she doesn't have a generator. Some very generous friends of hers, Georgina and Nyles Roberts, invited all 11 of us to their place. In total, we were 17 in a four-bedroom house for over 24 hours.
The following are some excerpts from my journal, written as I rode it out. I'm sure I'll have more to say on this subject in future posts - it was a life-changing experience.
Wednesday, August 24th, 7 a.m. local time (Bahamas):
"All snuggled in bed with kids. Justin's on the beach getting quiet. The rain has started and it's starting to blow. Hurricane should be here tomorrow. I was terrified Monday, but now I feel like it will be fine. Maybe I'm delusional, but I'm actually excited to see your majesty and power displayed. I hope I get to see the waves crashing before it gets too dangerous and we have to leave the beach. I hope everyone is safe, of course...."
Thursday, August 25th, 8 a.m. local time (Bahamas):
"Psalm 135 at 6 a.m. when I finally gave up and just got up. Storm woke me up at 2, 3, 5, and (finally) 6. It scared me last night, the creaking and moaning and gusting and rattling (of the tin shutters covering the windows in the small room where the four of us slept). But now, when there's light and power and people are awake...well, now, I'm having a blast.
"I know it sounds strange, but there's a thrill that comes when standing in the middle of your majesty, quite literally. It makes me happy to experience your power, to know - in the most real sense - how truly small I am. There is freedom in limitation. I may have no control over what's happening around me, but you do, and I can trust that.
"I wonder if I would feel differently if I were more exposed, like the Haitians in the shanty-town we visited yesterday. This home is solid. It made me think of: 'and I will hide you in the shadow of your wings.' This gives a whole new dimension to that imagery. I am hidden, sheltered, surrounded by - not a flimsy set of feathers - but a solid wall of steel and iron pillars carved in the shape of a wing. Safe and secure and comforting like a mother's wing, and firm and reassuring like an underground shelter. Yes, even as the wind and water whip around us, we are hidden because we are wrapped in you.
"Surrender. That's what I'm feeling. Earlier this week I was panicky and terrified, full of worst-case-scenario day-mares. But, since yesterday, there has been a deep peace. This thing is coming. As the locals kept saying, all we can do is prepare the best we can and ride it out. May I face all such sotrms in my life with the same attitude.
"There's a frog outside our window. Its croak sounds like a duck's quack. I can 'feel' the ebb and flow of the storm by the poor creature's cries. When it's blowing hard out there, the croaks are fast and frequent, like rapid-fire gunshots. When there's a reprieve, we experience silence together, as if we're all - earth, sky, and sea - taking a deep, communal breath."
Thursday, August 25th, 9 a.m. local time (Bahamas):
"Justin went out with Michael and Nyles and Luke earlier. I think it's 9:15 right now, and we're in the eye. It is dead calm outside, in an eery way. The Boykins have gone to check on their house. Mom is sleeping. The four of us are now holed up in our room. When Justin went out, he said it was truly awesome. I can tell the locals are sad about the destruction that's happened already. They have a lot of work ahead of them."
Thursday, August 25th, 10 a.m. local time (Bahamas):
"Eye has passed. We're on the back side now. Both houses and all boats seem to be okay. Damage is mostly fallen trees. Mom is sick. Kids are hanging in there. 15 out of 17 holed up in this house are awake. Please help Lily - she's showing attitude and seems to be overwhelmed."
Thursday, August 25th, 1 p.m. local time (Bahamas):
"Just had our first meltdown. Gunnar lost it, poor child. He's hot and sweaty and over-tired. Justin is on edge. I'm starting to faint. Lily is sound asleep, praise you. I didn't expect the heat - it's oppressive. Please help Gunnar fall asleep. And please let the storm pass soon. We are weary."
Thursday, August 25th, 3:37 p.m. local time (Bahamas):
"Wheels are coming off. Kids are stir CRAZY. We're 18 1/2 hours into our sojourn to the Robers' home. I'm so thankful for their hospitality (and their generator), but we're all a little on edge, even the adults."
Friday, August 26th, 6 a.m. local time (Bahamas):
"Back at the Boykins' last night. The storm kept us up again last night. That is, until it finally passed, probably around 2 a.m. I was awakened by Lily at 3 a.m. I thought the power had been restored, but no such luck. I'm disappointed - we won't go home today."
Saturday, August 27th, 6 a.m. local time (Bahamas):
"Everyone's asleep. Thank you for this alone time with you. I got a hot shower last night thanks to some other friends of the Boykins. My attitude immediately changed after that and some alone, quiet time with my nuclear family.
"Power and water are now restored, praise you. The locals have all of the major debris picked up (it was finished by noon on Friday!). Now it's down to details and second homes/boats and such. There are still roofs to be fixed, but it looks like we won't have rain today. The way they have all come together to weather this thing has changed me forever. Is this how people are supposed to live in the Kingdom? Without complaint and with constant care for each neighbor? I am humbled by their attitudes. I will never forget them."
Linking up with the faithful ladies at Soli Deo Gloria today. Thanks for all your prayers, ladies!
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Digging Down
I was in the kitchen mindlessly juicing some oranges while eating my lunch standing up while trying to answer my three-year-old's non-stop questions while trying to respond to my almost two-year-old's babbling commentary while also doing some dishes. (For all you SAHM's out there, does this sound familiar?) In the midst of this cacophony a line from a song on Bob the Builder drifted into my consciousness: "When you build a house, you first have to --."
As I listened my mind finished the line before the words played over my TV. In my mind, the line went like this: "When you build a house, you first have to lay the foundation."
But that's not what Scratch and Scoop and Dizzy sang. Nope, they sang "dig a hole."
I paused long enough to register the difference before going back to our multi-tasking lunch hour. Now, both kids are down for a nap. I'm in bed getting ready to nap myself, but the song from today's cartoon won't let me rest yet. I need to write about it.
I think this metaphor is deeply true. I think about my marriage: the first years were often about deconstruction - uprooting old trees, tilling soil, removing rocks, aerating, turning over, and, yes, digging down. Two were becoming one. It started on our wedding day, but that was only the beginning. It's a process for old to pass away and new to be born, to grow up. And the process begins with removing the old and making space for the new.
I think about my faith walk, how over the years He has broken me down time and time again so that, when He builds me up, I am so much stronger, even in my weakness.
I think about how many lies and misconceptions - about myself, God, the world - have had to be dug up before something new, something true could be planted.
Today, in between lunch and nap, the three of us braved the heat to dig in the dirt and fill up old sand castle buckets. A simple task, one that must have been inspired by Bob's song I guess. Regardless of the inspiration, it was my son's idea. In minutes he had us all dirtier than dirt pressing into dusty, dry, cracked land, trying to pry it loose from its packed home. He said it best when he paused for a moment, wiped his brow and declared: "whew, I'm wore out; I need to rest for a minute." Yep, digging is hard work.
It's slow work.
It's work that requires concentrated effort. If you miss a rock or don't create a level bottom to your hole, the whole foundation will be off.
Perhaps this is why God so painstakingly, slowly picks away at our hard, packed, dusty places, pressing deeper into our soil as we yield only. Perhaps He takes His time with this process because He knows how crucial it is. Perhaps, in the end, all the whining about "how long will I struggle with ____?" or "why am I still walking in ____ old pattern?" should really be turned around to become: "thank you, Lord, that you will not give up, will not let this go, until I am truly, completely rid of it" or "thank you, Lord, for your persistance for without it, my foundation could never be laid."
Linking up with Jen and the ladies at Soli Deo Gloria. Enjoy!
As I listened my mind finished the line before the words played over my TV. In my mind, the line went like this: "When you build a house, you first have to lay the foundation."
But that's not what Scratch and Scoop and Dizzy sang. Nope, they sang "dig a hole."
I paused long enough to register the difference before going back to our multi-tasking lunch hour. Now, both kids are down for a nap. I'm in bed getting ready to nap myself, but the song from today's cartoon won't let me rest yet. I need to write about it.
I think this metaphor is deeply true. I think about my marriage: the first years were often about deconstruction - uprooting old trees, tilling soil, removing rocks, aerating, turning over, and, yes, digging down. Two were becoming one. It started on our wedding day, but that was only the beginning. It's a process for old to pass away and new to be born, to grow up. And the process begins with removing the old and making space for the new.
I think about my faith walk, how over the years He has broken me down time and time again so that, when He builds me up, I am so much stronger, even in my weakness.
I think about how many lies and misconceptions - about myself, God, the world - have had to be dug up before something new, something true could be planted.
Today, in between lunch and nap, the three of us braved the heat to dig in the dirt and fill up old sand castle buckets. A simple task, one that must have been inspired by Bob's song I guess. Regardless of the inspiration, it was my son's idea. In minutes he had us all dirtier than dirt pressing into dusty, dry, cracked land, trying to pry it loose from its packed home. He said it best when he paused for a moment, wiped his brow and declared: "whew, I'm wore out; I need to rest for a minute." Yep, digging is hard work.
It's slow work.
It's work that requires concentrated effort. If you miss a rock or don't create a level bottom to your hole, the whole foundation will be off.
Perhaps this is why God so painstakingly, slowly picks away at our hard, packed, dusty places, pressing deeper into our soil as we yield only. Perhaps He takes His time with this process because He knows how crucial it is. Perhaps, in the end, all the whining about "how long will I struggle with ____?" or "why am I still walking in ____ old pattern?" should really be turned around to become: "thank you, Lord, that you will not give up, will not let this go, until I am truly, completely rid of it" or "thank you, Lord, for your persistance for without it, my foundation could never be laid."
Linking up with Jen and the ladies at Soli Deo Gloria. Enjoy!
Sunday, August 7, 2011
The Space Between
Peter stands in the space between faith and fear.
The story is familiar to most of us. Jesus' disciples have gone ahead in a boat, at his instructions, and a strong wind comes up, buffeting the waves against them. They are frightened, understandably. Then they see Jesus walking on the water toward them. They don't recognize him and believe he's a ghost. Their fear escalates to terror. Peter, always the blustery, forge-ahead type, calls out, "Lord, if it is you, call me and I will come to you." (I'm paraphrasing here...the verses are Matthew 14:22-33.)
Jesus says "come" and Peter does. He had been afraid, he chooses faith, and, then, he walks on water. Until fear grabs hold of him again, and he begins to sink. Back and forth the waves rock them. Up and down they float. He is firm and then he is sinking. It only takes a moment for the circumstance to change, for fear to turn to faith and back to fear again.
I've often read this story and thought Peter was a wimp. Then, I move on to berating myself for also having so little faith (I know I'd sink right alongside him). Why does he look at the wind and waves? Keep your eyes on Jesus, I think, as if that's easy to do. I never look at Peter with admiration for getting out of the boat in the first place.
This morning in church our priest pointed out how impressed she was by Peter's willingness to leap over the edge of the boat. She said, "I can relate to Peter. Many, many times, like him, I have stood on the edge between faith and fear."
And so have I. Her words resonated within me. I'm in a faith/fear place now, in fact. God is calling me to trust Him for provision. He's asking me to step and believe, not trusting in what I see happening all around me, but instead trusting in His voice, His presence in the midst of the tumult that comes against faith every time. I pray that as I engage the process, step over the edge, and choose faith, that I will continue to choose faith even after I have slipped and fallen back into fear. That, like Peter, I will reach out and take hold of Jesus' hand and experience His faithfulness all over again.
Linking up with Michelle at Hear it on Sunday, Use it on Monday.
The story is familiar to most of us. Jesus' disciples have gone ahead in a boat, at his instructions, and a strong wind comes up, buffeting the waves against them. They are frightened, understandably. Then they see Jesus walking on the water toward them. They don't recognize him and believe he's a ghost. Their fear escalates to terror. Peter, always the blustery, forge-ahead type, calls out, "Lord, if it is you, call me and I will come to you." (I'm paraphrasing here...the verses are Matthew 14:22-33.)
Jesus says "come" and Peter does. He had been afraid, he chooses faith, and, then, he walks on water. Until fear grabs hold of him again, and he begins to sink. Back and forth the waves rock them. Up and down they float. He is firm and then he is sinking. It only takes a moment for the circumstance to change, for fear to turn to faith and back to fear again.
I've often read this story and thought Peter was a wimp. Then, I move on to berating myself for also having so little faith (I know I'd sink right alongside him). Why does he look at the wind and waves? Keep your eyes on Jesus, I think, as if that's easy to do. I never look at Peter with admiration for getting out of the boat in the first place.
This morning in church our priest pointed out how impressed she was by Peter's willingness to leap over the edge of the boat. She said, "I can relate to Peter. Many, many times, like him, I have stood on the edge between faith and fear."
And so have I. Her words resonated within me. I'm in a faith/fear place now, in fact. God is calling me to trust Him for provision. He's asking me to step and believe, not trusting in what I see happening all around me, but instead trusting in His voice, His presence in the midst of the tumult that comes against faith every time. I pray that as I engage the process, step over the edge, and choose faith, that I will continue to choose faith even after I have slipped and fallen back into fear. That, like Peter, I will reach out and take hold of Jesus' hand and experience His faithfulness all over again.
Linking up with Michelle at Hear it on Sunday, Use it on Monday.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Balance Beam
I can tell I'm off balance. In my thoughts. In my attitude. I'm having extreme responses internally that don't make any sense.
Balance.
The word keeps coming up.
Last week while sitting in my doctor's office to address the latest side effect of my roller-coaster health ride (hot flashes at age 34!), I started to whine to Jesus: "why couldn't I have made healthy living choices years ago? I've known what to do; I was just too stubborn not to do it." I started to berate myself, and He interrupted me. Cut me off. Made me stop.
A picture.
Small, puny, brittle twigs scattered on the ground. They have fallen down. A few, sturdier branches remain of what once was...a tepee-like campfire awaiting the flame. There are gaps in what is left.
I see a hand place a thicker, stronger branch into the kindling, and I know what His voice confirms. You did not yet have what you needed in order to achieve balance.
I had to wait for certain things, people to come into my life before I felt safe enough to let others go. Until those processes happened, balance was not possible.
Sitting here tonight, another picture.
Lily, my almost two-year-old, trying to walk on the balance beam in her Little Gym class. She can not move forward without balance, and she can not achieve balance without support. All of her core muscles have to come together to provide the base of support she needs to stand tall, reach out, and take a step.
Last but not least, a final picture.
Ocean waves seen from the deck of a sailboat. All is quiet; it is a sunny day.
"God's word does not say we'll have peace like a pond but peace like a river, righteousness like the waves of the sea." (July 25th, Beth Moore's Praying God's Word Day by Day)
Up, down, up, down, up, down...the peaks and troughs of the waves move in and out of view. They balance one another, these highs and lows. Both are necessary for the ocean to contain life.
Balance.
Linking up with my friends at Soli Deo Gloria tonight. Take a moment to stop by and visit some of the other wonderful bloggers that rest there each week.
Balance.
The word keeps coming up.
Last week while sitting in my doctor's office to address the latest side effect of my roller-coaster health ride (hot flashes at age 34!), I started to whine to Jesus: "why couldn't I have made healthy living choices years ago? I've known what to do; I was just too stubborn not to do it." I started to berate myself, and He interrupted me. Cut me off. Made me stop.
A picture.
Small, puny, brittle twigs scattered on the ground. They have fallen down. A few, sturdier branches remain of what once was...a tepee-like campfire awaiting the flame. There are gaps in what is left.
I see a hand place a thicker, stronger branch into the kindling, and I know what His voice confirms. You did not yet have what you needed in order to achieve balance.
I had to wait for certain things, people to come into my life before I felt safe enough to let others go. Until those processes happened, balance was not possible.
Sitting here tonight, another picture.
Lily, my almost two-year-old, trying to walk on the balance beam in her Little Gym class. She can not move forward without balance, and she can not achieve balance without support. All of her core muscles have to come together to provide the base of support she needs to stand tall, reach out, and take a step.
Last but not least, a final picture.
Ocean waves seen from the deck of a sailboat. All is quiet; it is a sunny day.
"God's word does not say we'll have peace like a pond but peace like a river, righteousness like the waves of the sea." (July 25th, Beth Moore's Praying God's Word Day by Day)
Up, down, up, down, up, down...the peaks and troughs of the waves move in and out of view. They balance one another, these highs and lows. Both are necessary for the ocean to contain life.
Balance.
Linking up with my friends at Soli Deo Gloria tonight. Take a moment to stop by and visit some of the other wonderful bloggers that rest there each week.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
First Fruits
I had given up entirely. In fact, I had planned to dig it up this weekend...my tomato plant, that is. This was my first foray into gardening. Originally, I had wanted to plant an entire bed. My husband, in his wisdom, said I should start small - tomato seeds inside one planter - to see how faithful I am with the daily necessities of growth.
To make a long story short, I was not faithful at all. Some days I would forget. Other days I simply chose not to water my tomato plant. I would choose other things: resting when my energy was particularly low; working around the house when I had energy to spare; playing with the kids the rest of the time. These were not bad choices. In fact, they were good, but they had consequences: a tired, wilting, dieing plant, for one.
(What a precious, loving man to say it that way, since he was the one who faithfully watered the plant when I did not.)
Needless to say, there was much rejoicing over our late bloomer! My three-year-old little boy and one-year-old little girl jumped up and down as I let out a loud "whoop!"
Watching my tomato plant this summer has been an eye-opening experience for me. This may sound silly, but I have been astonished at how much water this plant requires! I often think to myself: "I need to water it again? Water daily? Why can't it just take care of itself or live off what I gave it yesterday? Why does it have to be so high-maintenance?" (Obviously, I'm working through some legacy, negative self-talk....my thoughts toward the plant mirror how I treat myself - not validating my own needs much less moving toward meeting them.)
The answer to my silent questions?
Because that's how God made it to be. Because that's how God made me to be. Because the need for daily watering keeps us coming back to our Maker, daily. Whether I like it or not, I need daily replenishment, or I will wilt and wither just like my plant.
"On the last and greatest day of the festival, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them.” By this he meant the Spirit, whom those who believed in him were later to receive. Up to that time the Spirit had not been given, since Jesus had not yet been glorified." (John 7:37-39, NIV)
I need much more than I realize. My self-sufficiency causes me to wilt and wither, but His grace produces growth. Even when I am unfaithful, He is ever present, at work for my good, providing so that I may grow.
One of the ways He provided? By bringing me to the end of myself and showing me how utterly, truly, and completely dependent I am. I can no longer ignore myself - I must acknowledge my own dependency so that I can go to the Source and let His Spirit carry me. If I'm honest, many days I can't even go to the Source; I simply have to sit and wait for Him to come to me.
So, I've started feeding myself. Good food, lots and lots of water, and intangible things like rest, play, grace. There are many less 'shoulds' in my life and far more 'wants'. It's really fun. Life is so much more peaceful and not dramatic this way. There is much less stress. And, I'm much more available for my husband and my kids (all by taking care of myself more!). Our home is more balanced because I am more balanced.
I wish everyone could experience this deep, convicting shift - this place from which, God willing, I will never come back. I am dug in, root deep, reaching out for the groundwater I know He is.
To make a long story short, I was not faithful at all. Some days I would forget. Other days I simply chose not to water my tomato plant. I would choose other things: resting when my energy was particularly low; working around the house when I had energy to spare; playing with the kids the rest of the time. These were not bad choices. In fact, they were good, but they had consequences: a tired, wilting, dieing plant, for one.
Or, so I thought:. Today, my husband said, "congratulations honey, you grew a tomato!"
(What a precious, loving man to say it that way, since he was the one who faithfully watered the plant when I did not.)
Needless to say, there was much rejoicing over our late bloomer! My three-year-old little boy and one-year-old little girl jumped up and down as I let out a loud "whoop!"
Watching my tomato plant this summer has been an eye-opening experience for me. This may sound silly, but I have been astonished at how much water this plant requires! I often think to myself: "I need to water it again? Water daily? Why can't it just take care of itself or live off what I gave it yesterday? Why does it have to be so high-maintenance?" (Obviously, I'm working through some legacy, negative self-talk....my thoughts toward the plant mirror how I treat myself - not validating my own needs much less moving toward meeting them.)
The answer to my silent questions?
Because that's how God made it to be. Because that's how God made me to be. Because the need for daily watering keeps us coming back to our Maker, daily. Whether I like it or not, I need daily replenishment, or I will wilt and wither just like my plant.
"On the last and greatest day of the festival, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them.” By this he meant the Spirit, whom those who believed in him were later to receive. Up to that time the Spirit had not been given, since Jesus had not yet been glorified." (John 7:37-39, NIV)
I need much more than I realize. My self-sufficiency causes me to wilt and wither, but His grace produces growth. Even when I am unfaithful, He is ever present, at work for my good, providing so that I may grow.
One of the ways He provided? By bringing me to the end of myself and showing me how utterly, truly, and completely dependent I am. I can no longer ignore myself - I must acknowledge my own dependency so that I can go to the Source and let His Spirit carry me. If I'm honest, many days I can't even go to the Source; I simply have to sit and wait for Him to come to me.
So, I've started feeding myself. Good food, lots and lots of water, and intangible things like rest, play, grace. There are many less 'shoulds' in my life and far more 'wants'. It's really fun. Life is so much more peaceful and not dramatic this way. There is much less stress. And, I'm much more available for my husband and my kids (all by taking care of myself more!). Our home is more balanced because I am more balanced.
I wish everyone could experience this deep, convicting shift - this place from which, God willing, I will never come back. I am dug in, root deep, reaching out for the groundwater I know He is.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Assumptions
Lately, I've been thinking a lot (and I do mean a LOT) about two things: schooling and eating. As any of my friends can tell you, I've been obsessing over these topics for months now. I ask questions like:
Why do we teach our kids what we teach them (with regard to public or private school curriculum, or even homeschooling currciculum, or the university model curriculum - no form of education escapes my questioning)?
And more school questions:
What do we (my husband and I) value? In other words, what do we want to pass on to our kids? (In other words, is it important to us that they can compete in the world they live in and become successful? If so, what does 'compete' or 'successful' look like? If that's not important, what is? What do they need to know - and I am talking head knowledge here - as well as what do they need to experience? And, what's the best way to give that to them?)
Do I/we believe that it the parents' primary responsibility to educate? And what does educate mean? Do we view it traditionally - as in 'schooling' - or do we include things like 'raise up', 'instill values', 'model' in our understanding of education? Is it more important that they receive the latter than it is for them to receive head knowledge? Would the process of receiving knowledge in a more traditional setting lead to the same outcome of experiencing and growing in a less traditional way?
How do we form character in our kids that will keep them building their lives on God, with God, and for God, for the rest of their days?
Is preserving our children's innocence a goal? If so, why? And for how long? (I was taught that I needed to toughen up so that I would be able to deal with the big, bad world. That was valuable - staying innocent and kind was not. Well, kindness was okay, even expected, as long as I was tough, in control, never let anyone gain power over me. Kindness was a means to an end and a social norm, not the end goal in and of itself, and it certainly had nothing to do with my true heart towards people or the world, much less what Christ would expect of me.)
Most of the time when I ask my friends the first question - including my many friends that have graduate-level degrees in education - I get blank stares. Not because they are uninformed or uneducated, but because they've either never questioned why we teach what we teach (being able to teach is what mattered to them because they are passionate about helping kids, God bless them), or because they've gone over this argument so many times that it makes them tired to think of doing it again.
Then there's always the last reason: they're so saddened and disheartened by the state of schools today that it's overwhelming to think/talk about. Have you ever noticed how many times you overhear teachers talking about the problems with public schools?
This past weekend, while listening in on one of those types of conversations, I asked a public school elementary teacher: what would you say to someone to convince them to send their child to a public school? I feel like people always demand a justification if you want to take your kids out of the mainstream system, so I thought I would turn the argument on its head.
The response? Unfortunately, there was some defensiveness and then this: "your problem is you're lumping all schools together." First off, I didn't know I had a problem. I was honestly asking a question to become better informed about any good that happens in public schools. Since I don't have kids at school ages yet, I feel like I don't have good information. I thought this was an opportunity to go to the source. Secondly, I truly wasn't and don't lump all schools together. I can simply look back on my own experience in school to know that it really and truly all depends. Sometimes, it's the luck of the draw. So then I ask myself: do I want to gamble with my kids?
This person continued: "You have to look at the school and then the teacher." I get this response a lot. The funny thing? This response does not come close to digging deep to my core questions: is a parent better suited at teaching a child than a teacher? Does the current school environment - for whatever reason - lack the ability to give our kids the best, or even, good learning experiences? How should we teach our kids - lecture format, experiential knowledge, field-based studies, etc? We all seem to agree that babies, toddlers, and preschoolers learn best by doing. Does that change as we get older? Aren't we all, fundamentally, created to be explorers?
I'm not sure where I fall on this spectrum yet. I want to learn more so that I can make an informed decision for my kids. A lot of folks - and perhaps some of you - say: "you have to make the best decision for your kid, and that decision might change over time." If that's you, then please don't take offense at this: I don't know if I agree with that. When I say "I don't know", I really mean I don't know. I'm still developing my philosophy. Right now, I'm leaning towards the following as guiding principles:
With regard to education, I'll leave you with this. I heard a very interesting piece from Human Media over the weekend about the fact that our founding fathers believed that democracy would fail without an informed, engaged citizenry. (They also believed that to become engaged you must first be informed.) When we were founded as a nation we had no mandate for public education - that didn't come nationally until 1918.
So, my 4th of July question is this: If we assume that part of the reason we have compulsory public education in our country is to maintain democracy, then is our current public education system serving that goal? Do we have an informed, engaged citizenry? Could other forms of education meet that goal in a more effective manner?
I'm going to save the food questions for another day. I've already rambled on for too long. Suffice it to say, my brain is full of questions, and this weekend I realized a common theme:
I am in a process of examining fundamental assummptions.
This is exciting for me. Are there some assumptions you need to examine or question? Are you already doing it? I'd love to hear about it! I find that it's really awesome to see what God will show us when we don't get so set in our ways that we aren't willing to examine and reexamine - our motives, our methods, and goals.
Linking up with Jen at Soli Deo Gloria this fine Monday evening. Be sure to stop by her site!
One last thing, I promise! I am going to start a 7-part series on Wednesday called 7 Steps to a Healthier Pantry. Please be sure to come back for it and tell all your friends!
Why do we teach our kids what we teach them (with regard to public or private school curriculum, or even homeschooling currciculum, or the university model curriculum - no form of education escapes my questioning)?
And more school questions:
What do we (my husband and I) value? In other words, what do we want to pass on to our kids? (In other words, is it important to us that they can compete in the world they live in and become successful? If so, what does 'compete' or 'successful' look like? If that's not important, what is? What do they need to know - and I am talking head knowledge here - as well as what do they need to experience? And, what's the best way to give that to them?)
Do I/we believe that it the parents' primary responsibility to educate? And what does educate mean? Do we view it traditionally - as in 'schooling' - or do we include things like 'raise up', 'instill values', 'model' in our understanding of education? Is it more important that they receive the latter than it is for them to receive head knowledge? Would the process of receiving knowledge in a more traditional setting lead to the same outcome of experiencing and growing in a less traditional way?
How do we form character in our kids that will keep them building their lives on God, with God, and for God, for the rest of their days?
Is preserving our children's innocence a goal? If so, why? And for how long? (I was taught that I needed to toughen up so that I would be able to deal with the big, bad world. That was valuable - staying innocent and kind was not. Well, kindness was okay, even expected, as long as I was tough, in control, never let anyone gain power over me. Kindness was a means to an end and a social norm, not the end goal in and of itself, and it certainly had nothing to do with my true heart towards people or the world, much less what Christ would expect of me.)
Most of the time when I ask my friends the first question - including my many friends that have graduate-level degrees in education - I get blank stares. Not because they are uninformed or uneducated, but because they've either never questioned why we teach what we teach (being able to teach is what mattered to them because they are passionate about helping kids, God bless them), or because they've gone over this argument so many times that it makes them tired to think of doing it again.
Then there's always the last reason: they're so saddened and disheartened by the state of schools today that it's overwhelming to think/talk about. Have you ever noticed how many times you overhear teachers talking about the problems with public schools?
This past weekend, while listening in on one of those types of conversations, I asked a public school elementary teacher: what would you say to someone to convince them to send their child to a public school? I feel like people always demand a justification if you want to take your kids out of the mainstream system, so I thought I would turn the argument on its head.
The response? Unfortunately, there was some defensiveness and then this: "your problem is you're lumping all schools together." First off, I didn't know I had a problem. I was honestly asking a question to become better informed about any good that happens in public schools. Since I don't have kids at school ages yet, I feel like I don't have good information. I thought this was an opportunity to go to the source. Secondly, I truly wasn't and don't lump all schools together. I can simply look back on my own experience in school to know that it really and truly all depends. Sometimes, it's the luck of the draw. So then I ask myself: do I want to gamble with my kids?
This person continued: "You have to look at the school and then the teacher." I get this response a lot. The funny thing? This response does not come close to digging deep to my core questions: is a parent better suited at teaching a child than a teacher? Does the current school environment - for whatever reason - lack the ability to give our kids the best, or even, good learning experiences? How should we teach our kids - lecture format, experiential knowledge, field-based studies, etc? We all seem to agree that babies, toddlers, and preschoolers learn best by doing. Does that change as we get older? Aren't we all, fundamentally, created to be explorers?
I'm not sure where I fall on this spectrum yet. I want to learn more so that I can make an informed decision for my kids. A lot of folks - and perhaps some of you - say: "you have to make the best decision for your kid, and that decision might change over time." If that's you, then please don't take offense at this: I don't know if I agree with that. When I say "I don't know", I really mean I don't know. I'm still developing my philosophy. Right now, I'm leaning towards the following as guiding principles:
- A theology of preserving innocence. As parents, I think one of our jobs is to allow our children to be children, and to let them grow up slowly (part or our covering, protective role). Again, I'm not sure why I think this - which makes me feel shaky. I need to understand scripturally if this is sound or if I'm just longing for a utopian-like childhood for my kids that I never had. I have a feeling there is a sound, scriptural reasoning behind this - that it is actually crucial to maintain innocence (just think of how Jesus tells us we must enter the Kingdom...innocently, like a child), but I'm still working it all out.
- A theology of developing children. Again, I say I think because I'm really not sure yet...I think that it is God's plan for children to be raised - first - by nuclear families, and then by the extended family and the greater community in ever-widening circles of influence. If this is so, then I'm not sure why I would turn over influence to someone who is not within my child's natural circle of influence - a circle that will stay with him or her for a lifetime. And then there's the time component: even if I think public school - theologically - is fine, how do I find the time to be the primary influence on my child if he/she is gone from me forty+ hours/week? Again, I have no experience here yet, so I simply don't know.
With regard to education, I'll leave you with this. I heard a very interesting piece from Human Media over the weekend about the fact that our founding fathers believed that democracy would fail without an informed, engaged citizenry. (They also believed that to become engaged you must first be informed.) When we were founded as a nation we had no mandate for public education - that didn't come nationally until 1918.
So, my 4th of July question is this: If we assume that part of the reason we have compulsory public education in our country is to maintain democracy, then is our current public education system serving that goal? Do we have an informed, engaged citizenry? Could other forms of education meet that goal in a more effective manner?
I'm going to save the food questions for another day. I've already rambled on for too long. Suffice it to say, my brain is full of questions, and this weekend I realized a common theme:
I am in a process of examining fundamental assummptions.
This is exciting for me. Are there some assumptions you need to examine or question? Are you already doing it? I'd love to hear about it! I find that it's really awesome to see what God will show us when we don't get so set in our ways that we aren't willing to examine and reexamine - our motives, our methods, and goals.
Linking up with Jen at Soli Deo Gloria this fine Monday evening. Be sure to stop by her site!
One last thing, I promise! I am going to start a 7-part series on Wednesday called 7 Steps to a Healthier Pantry. Please be sure to come back for it and tell all your friends!
Monday, June 27, 2011
Scarring
My son has these spots on his ankle bones - places where his shoes have rubbed the skin raw. They scab over, get rubbed raw again, scab over again, and so on. I can't seem to find shoes that fit him just right, protective coverings that won't cause him pain. Even his Croc's and flip-flops can cause the scabs to flare up.
I'm thinking about this tonight as I ponder the state of my own heart. I just read a good friend's post about how she is committing herself to being vulnerable with God - to trusting that He will give her good gifts and, if He doesn't, that He has a good reason. As I read it I thought to myself, "just wait."
For what? you might ask.
"Just wait until you're disappointed by Him," is my response.
That's when I felt it - the scarring, the bitterness, the disappointment, the anger, sometimes even, the rage. My scabs have been breaking open and reforming for decades now, and every time they do I feel like I have a right to point my finger at God and say, "see, I told you so!"
I told you that you aren't really good.
I told you that you don't really provide.
I told you that you won't really fulfill my heart's desires.
I told you that bad things always happen to me/us.
Life is hard and you don't help. You let awful things happen. Want proof? Look at my scars.
And yet, even as I write, I know that's not true. It's not even close to true. Bad things do happen, yes, but so do many, many immeasurably good things. I can point to so many times that God has taken care of me, provided for me, given me good gifts, fulfilled my heart's desires to the point of overflowing (and when I forget, my friends can help me remember).
I know that He is good. So, what's the deal? Why the scars?
I don't really have a good answer tonight.
I can tell you that the scars are a result of real pain and real choices - choices to believe in lies and make vows with liars.
I can tell you that it takes faith to believe that the scars will heal completely when they keep reappearing, but that I'd rather walk in faith than by sight because, when I do, I see things so much better.
And I can tell you that I want better shoes - shoes that provide a firm foundation instead of a flimsy coating of self-protectiveness that only serves to agitate. I want to let go of the scars to become fully healed. If only that I might encourage my sweet friend rather than spew cynicism her way.
I leave you with one last thought...perhaps I need a time of walking barefoot before I find the right shoes. Exposure to the air seems in order - a place of vulnerability, trust, unknown-ness. Back to my friend's post and the sweet innocence that is willing to press in, trust, believe, hope.
I'm thinking about this tonight as I ponder the state of my own heart. I just read a good friend's post about how she is committing herself to being vulnerable with God - to trusting that He will give her good gifts and, if He doesn't, that He has a good reason. As I read it I thought to myself, "just wait."
For what? you might ask.
"Just wait until you're disappointed by Him," is my response.
That's when I felt it - the scarring, the bitterness, the disappointment, the anger, sometimes even, the rage. My scabs have been breaking open and reforming for decades now, and every time they do I feel like I have a right to point my finger at God and say, "see, I told you so!"
I told you that you aren't really good.
I told you that you don't really provide.
I told you that you won't really fulfill my heart's desires.
I told you that bad things always happen to me/us.
Life is hard and you don't help. You let awful things happen. Want proof? Look at my scars.
And yet, even as I write, I know that's not true. It's not even close to true. Bad things do happen, yes, but so do many, many immeasurably good things. I can point to so many times that God has taken care of me, provided for me, given me good gifts, fulfilled my heart's desires to the point of overflowing (and when I forget, my friends can help me remember).
I know that He is good. So, what's the deal? Why the scars?
I don't really have a good answer tonight.
I can tell you that the scars are a result of real pain and real choices - choices to believe in lies and make vows with liars.
I can tell you that it takes faith to believe that the scars will heal completely when they keep reappearing, but that I'd rather walk in faith than by sight because, when I do, I see things so much better.
And I can tell you that I want better shoes - shoes that provide a firm foundation instead of a flimsy coating of self-protectiveness that only serves to agitate. I want to let go of the scars to become fully healed. If only that I might encourage my sweet friend rather than spew cynicism her way.
I leave you with one last thought...perhaps I need a time of walking barefoot before I find the right shoes. Exposure to the air seems in order - a place of vulnerability, trust, unknown-ness. Back to my friend's post and the sweet innocence that is willing to press in, trust, believe, hope.
A Spacious Place
"My goal is for you to have the space to live your dreams. The physical space, the emotional space, the spiritual space - all of it."
My husband said this to me several weeks ago. It was one of those moments when you catch your breath and tears sting your eyes. He cut me to my core - you know, the place where deep longings lie in wait.
I have always wanted to be a stay-at-home-mom.
I have always wanted to be a writer.
And now, I'm both.
Last week I contracted my first paying gig as a writer. I had pitched an editor some story ideas. She turned down my ideas but came back with one of her own. I'm in the process of rewriting the article which is due in a week.
My response after receiving her email? I got quiet, but not really in a good way. I became afraid. Nervous. Preoccupied. I also immediately started writing in my head. Straight to work, producing, getting busy.
Oh, and I sent my husband a text message. How did he respond?
He called me, and these were the first words out of his mouth: "Jenny, I'm so proud of you! Do you realize how huge this is? You were hired to write! You do know this is all Jesus, right?"
Um, sure, yea, Jesus, right. To be honest, I hadn't even thought about Jesus yet. It hadn't even occurred to me to get down on my knees and thank Him. I was too busy freaking out and trying to respond to my fear by performing (an age-old, annoying, fleshy sin I know many of us struggle with).
So I stopped. I got down on my knees. I thanked Him, earnestly. I tried to shut off all the ideas flying through my head, to reach a place of healthy stillness, when His voice cut through: "go write already." I'm pretty sure He had a grin on His face as He said it.
Then, I rose and started again, this time from a spacious place.
I'm linking up with the ladies at Soli Deo Gloria.
My husband said this to me several weeks ago. It was one of those moments when you catch your breath and tears sting your eyes. He cut me to my core - you know, the place where deep longings lie in wait.
I have always wanted to be a stay-at-home-mom.
I have always wanted to be a writer.
And now, I'm both.
Last week I contracted my first paying gig as a writer. I had pitched an editor some story ideas. She turned down my ideas but came back with one of her own. I'm in the process of rewriting the article which is due in a week.
My response after receiving her email? I got quiet, but not really in a good way. I became afraid. Nervous. Preoccupied. I also immediately started writing in my head. Straight to work, producing, getting busy.
Oh, and I sent my husband a text message. How did he respond?
He called me, and these were the first words out of his mouth: "Jenny, I'm so proud of you! Do you realize how huge this is? You were hired to write! You do know this is all Jesus, right?"
Um, sure, yea, Jesus, right. To be honest, I hadn't even thought about Jesus yet. It hadn't even occurred to me to get down on my knees and thank Him. I was too busy freaking out and trying to respond to my fear by performing (an age-old, annoying, fleshy sin I know many of us struggle with).
So I stopped. I got down on my knees. I thanked Him, earnestly. I tried to shut off all the ideas flying through my head, to reach a place of healthy stillness, when His voice cut through: "go write already." I'm pretty sure He had a grin on His face as He said it.
Then, I rose and started again, this time from a spacious place.
I'm linking up with the ladies at Soli Deo Gloria.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Isolation
It's our fifteenth straight day of triple-digit heat in Austin. I can't seem to stay hydrated, and I've been fainting a lot (adrenal failure - not enough cortisol - due to dehydration and overheating).
Sunday I was in one of my oldest friend's weddings. I missed half of the reception because I had completely passed out from the heat (the wedding was outside). I spent that time sitting in a room by myself while my husband rushed around trying to get me what I needed. He was awesome; I was depressed.
Sunday night - me to my husband, on the way home from the wedding: "I'm not sure, honey; I just know that I feel sad and...isolated. Like, no one really understands what's happening, or cares that I'm sick. I know that's gross (I hate self-pity, but, there you have it....). I'm really sad. This is really hard. And I feel really alone. I'm not even sure if our extended family gets it. I mean, I sent out that detailed email about gluten and what's going on with me, and I haven't heard anything back from anyone."
Monday afternoon - on the phone with my dad:
Dad to me: "Hi Red. I got your article on gluten, and I read it. Then, this weekend, Les (my stepmom) and I researched gluten and its effects and, well, I've decided to follow a gluten-free diet."
Me to Dad: "You have!?! That's great!"
Dad, Les, Gunnar, Lily and I spent the late afternoon at Costco learning how to read labels and choose healthier options (not just gluten-free ones).
I felt so loved.
And it occurred to me: isolation is the opposite of love. Love is fundamentally a communal act. It must be given and received to be experienced. There must be at least two parties involved, even if one of the parties is unaware of how well they are loved or being loved in the moment. Isolation is the work of God's Enemy. Love is the work of God.
When I see isolation cropping up in my life - in my thoughts, my circumstances, my choices - I want to contend against it. (Side note: isolation is different from giving yourself alone time.) I want to reach out to those around me and ask for help, choose to trust, expose myself for what's really going on. I know that, when I do, He will meet me. Faithfully. Every time.
Linking up with Jen at Soli Deo Gloria today.
Sunday I was in one of my oldest friend's weddings. I missed half of the reception because I had completely passed out from the heat (the wedding was outside). I spent that time sitting in a room by myself while my husband rushed around trying to get me what I needed. He was awesome; I was depressed.
Sunday night - me to my husband, on the way home from the wedding: "I'm not sure, honey; I just know that I feel sad and...isolated. Like, no one really understands what's happening, or cares that I'm sick. I know that's gross (I hate self-pity, but, there you have it....). I'm really sad. This is really hard. And I feel really alone. I'm not even sure if our extended family gets it. I mean, I sent out that detailed email about gluten and what's going on with me, and I haven't heard anything back from anyone."
Monday afternoon - on the phone with my dad:
Dad to me: "Hi Red. I got your article on gluten, and I read it. Then, this weekend, Les (my stepmom) and I researched gluten and its effects and, well, I've decided to follow a gluten-free diet."
Me to Dad: "You have!?! That's great!"
Dad, Les, Gunnar, Lily and I spent the late afternoon at Costco learning how to read labels and choose healthier options (not just gluten-free ones).
I felt so loved.
And it occurred to me: isolation is the opposite of love. Love is fundamentally a communal act. It must be given and received to be experienced. There must be at least two parties involved, even if one of the parties is unaware of how well they are loved or being loved in the moment. Isolation is the work of God's Enemy. Love is the work of God.
When I see isolation cropping up in my life - in my thoughts, my circumstances, my choices - I want to contend against it. (Side note: isolation is different from giving yourself alone time.) I want to reach out to those around me and ask for help, choose to trust, expose myself for what's really going on. I know that, when I do, He will meet me. Faithfully. Every time.
Linking up with Jen at Soli Deo Gloria today.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Promises
For "Heard it on Sunday, Use it on Monday"...
Actually, I heard this on Saturday night. I was at a very dear friend's rehearsal dinner last night. It was a sweet experience for me. As I looked around the room I saw faces that have marked my life over the last fifteen+ years. I grew up with these friends. In fact, in many cases, I grew up because of these friends. I thanked God a lot last night.
One of my thankful moments happened when I stole away with a former mentor of mine. We haven't talked in over a year, so we had a lot of catching up to do. At one point, she mentioned a season in her life during which God had spoken specific promises to her. When it seemed as if there was no hope and everything was lost, He spoke hope into her life. As she put it, "at that time, no one else was hearing any promise, but I was and I knew it would be okay." She concluded by telling me that another mutual friend had recently asked her:
"Do you hear God speaking any promises right now?"
That is what I "heard on Sunday" - that phrase has been ringing in my ears since last night. Do you hear God speaking any promises right now?
It's been a while since I asked God for a promise from Him. I've asked Him for assurances, explanations, words, scriptures, insight, revelation, and gifts (patience, mercy, love, and more). But I haven't asked for a promise or promises. And I didn't ask last night.
Yet, when I woke up to have quiet time this morning, He was standing before me with one in hand. As if He had orchestrated that brief interaction last night to get my attention, so I wouldn't miss it when He spoke.
This morning I had a lot of questions for Him. I journaled them all. They were specific. I journaled primarily to get them out of me so that I could empty myself and try to hear His voice. I wasn't in the mindset to actually receive answers. I just wanted to be able to look where He was looking and see what He was seeing, instead of all the preoccupations running through my mind.
He and I spent time togther and it was sweet, but I closed my journal before He was finished. As I reached to put my journal away I heard Him say clearly, 1 Corinthians 1:9.
"Huh?" I asked.
"Just go check it out," He replied.
I opened my Bible:
"God will do this, for He is faithful to do what He says, and He has invited you into partnership with His Son, Jesus Christ our Lord." (New Living Translation)
He then spoke specific promises in answer to some of my specific questions. I was...humbled. And excited. And left to encourage you: are there places in your own life God might want to speak His promises into?
A promise is a powerful thing. It creates a bond between the giver and receiver: the giver commits himself and the receiver chooses to trust, to live in hope. The two parties become inextricably tied together.
God's promises to His people are all over the Bible - to individuals, to groups - and they are always fulfilled.
What would God promise you today? I encourage you to seek Him today and ask if there's something specific He wants you to hope for, to wait on, to expect.
(Be sure to stop by Nebraska Graceful today for the link up!)
Actually, I heard this on Saturday night. I was at a very dear friend's rehearsal dinner last night. It was a sweet experience for me. As I looked around the room I saw faces that have marked my life over the last fifteen+ years. I grew up with these friends. In fact, in many cases, I grew up because of these friends. I thanked God a lot last night.
One of my thankful moments happened when I stole away with a former mentor of mine. We haven't talked in over a year, so we had a lot of catching up to do. At one point, she mentioned a season in her life during which God had spoken specific promises to her. When it seemed as if there was no hope and everything was lost, He spoke hope into her life. As she put it, "at that time, no one else was hearing any promise, but I was and I knew it would be okay." She concluded by telling me that another mutual friend had recently asked her:
"Do you hear God speaking any promises right now?"
That is what I "heard on Sunday" - that phrase has been ringing in my ears since last night. Do you hear God speaking any promises right now?
It's been a while since I asked God for a promise from Him. I've asked Him for assurances, explanations, words, scriptures, insight, revelation, and gifts (patience, mercy, love, and more). But I haven't asked for a promise or promises. And I didn't ask last night.
Yet, when I woke up to have quiet time this morning, He was standing before me with one in hand. As if He had orchestrated that brief interaction last night to get my attention, so I wouldn't miss it when He spoke.
This morning I had a lot of questions for Him. I journaled them all. They were specific. I journaled primarily to get them out of me so that I could empty myself and try to hear His voice. I wasn't in the mindset to actually receive answers. I just wanted to be able to look where He was looking and see what He was seeing, instead of all the preoccupations running through my mind.
He and I spent time togther and it was sweet, but I closed my journal before He was finished. As I reached to put my journal away I heard Him say clearly, 1 Corinthians 1:9.
"Huh?" I asked.
"Just go check it out," He replied.
I opened my Bible:
"God will do this, for He is faithful to do what He says, and He has invited you into partnership with His Son, Jesus Christ our Lord." (New Living Translation)
He then spoke specific promises in answer to some of my specific questions. I was...humbled. And excited. And left to encourage you: are there places in your own life God might want to speak His promises into?
A promise is a powerful thing. It creates a bond between the giver and receiver: the giver commits himself and the receiver chooses to trust, to live in hope. The two parties become inextricably tied together.
God's promises to His people are all over the Bible - to individuals, to groups - and they are always fulfilled.
What would God promise you today? I encourage you to seek Him today and ask if there's something specific He wants you to hope for, to wait on, to expect.
(Be sure to stop by Nebraska Graceful today for the link up!)
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Soli Deo Gloria Link-Up
I wasn't going to make it here today. It's VBS week (yes, the same VBS Jen has been working so hard on), and I'm volunteering + navigating the in's and out's of putting my kids in for the first time. (For the record, it was not a good idea to be in the same family with my rather needy three-year-old son. Live and learn.)
But I came by anyway. Couldn't resist linking up - I would miss ya'll if I didn't "see" you, even if only for one week.
So here's my brief contribution to the party:
Yesterday was a very rough day for me. Details aren't important right now. Just know that I basically had to face my biggest fear - the one that makes you stop breathing if you entertain it even for one second - and push through. I didn't want to; I wanted to run far, far away. But I chose to stay in the place where I experienced fear (quite literally) and trust that God would step in and protect me. Even though He didn't seem to yesterday, I chose to believe He would show up today.
I don't say this to make it sound like I'm awesome. I most definitely am not. This was a fleshy, yucky, gross process. Nothing pretty about it. But it was also a holy process, a process set apart by God. I don't fully understand why He showed up today but let something that really scared me happen yesterday. But I do know that there is a reason, and He is in the process, whether I like how He decides to run things or not.
How do I know? Lots of ways, but here's the most obvious. This morning, during my quiet time, I heard Him tell me to go check out Psalm 34:17 (this, after pages of telling Him how mad I am at Him in my journal).
"Is anyone crying for help? God is listening,
ready to rescue you."
-- From The Message
What a precious God we serve. Even I, in my cynical, angry place leftover from yesterday, couldn't stand up against that - I melted.
I know He keeps forcing me to face this particular fear, in deeper, more terrifying ways, because He wants to set me free from it. I know that. It doesn't make it easier. It doesn't make me less angry in the moment. But it does make it better. There is a purpose. This is a holy process. We serve a good God.
Linking up with my friends at Soli Deo Gloria. Stop by - you won't be sorry!
But I came by anyway. Couldn't resist linking up - I would miss ya'll if I didn't "see" you, even if only for one week.
So here's my brief contribution to the party:
Yesterday was a very rough day for me. Details aren't important right now. Just know that I basically had to face my biggest fear - the one that makes you stop breathing if you entertain it even for one second - and push through. I didn't want to; I wanted to run far, far away. But I chose to stay in the place where I experienced fear (quite literally) and trust that God would step in and protect me. Even though He didn't seem to yesterday, I chose to believe He would show up today.
I don't say this to make it sound like I'm awesome. I most definitely am not. This was a fleshy, yucky, gross process. Nothing pretty about it. But it was also a holy process, a process set apart by God. I don't fully understand why He showed up today but let something that really scared me happen yesterday. But I do know that there is a reason, and He is in the process, whether I like how He decides to run things or not.
How do I know? Lots of ways, but here's the most obvious. This morning, during my quiet time, I heard Him tell me to go check out Psalm 34:17 (this, after pages of telling Him how mad I am at Him in my journal).
"Is anyone crying for help? God is listening,
ready to rescue you."
-- From The Message
What a precious God we serve. Even I, in my cynical, angry place leftover from yesterday, couldn't stand up against that - I melted.
I know He keeps forcing me to face this particular fear, in deeper, more terrifying ways, because He wants to set me free from it. I know that. It doesn't make it easier. It doesn't make me less angry in the moment. But it does make it better. There is a purpose. This is a holy process. We serve a good God.
Linking up with my friends at Soli Deo Gloria. Stop by - you won't be sorry!
Monday, June 6, 2011
Affirmation
"I hope you don't hear this the wrong way, but I'm really proud of you."
This is what a friend said to me last Saturday when she came over for lunch. We talked about many things during those two hours, but that's the phrase that stuck to me. I've been thinking about it ever since.
She was affirming me for changing the way I eat. For changing the way my family eats, actually. And for making other, healthier lifestyle choices (taking supplements, choosing organic, trying my hand at growing vegetables (still no tomatoes but my fingers are crossed!), removing plastic containers whenever possible, and more).
(For a great article on the whole plastic container issue, click here.)
It's hard for me to receive that affirmation. In part because I resent it. There. I said it. I hate the fact that choosing health is such a polarizing issue. That, if you add words like organic or naturopath into your daily lexicon you suddenly conjure up visions of love-bead-wearing hippies. I don't like being lumped in with a group in such a generalized way, based on preconceptions and misconceptions, especially when I don't identify with that group in many, many ways (but, of course, I do identify with that group in others...damn those generalizations!).
I also resent it because it's true - the implication behind her words...the truth that making the change took guts, took repentance actually. I resisted choosing a healthier lifestyle for many years out of sheer stubbornness, I think. And pride. I only made the choice when I had to make the choice - when my doctors were telling me that the only way to get better was to eat better. When God Himself was telling me to "eat well".
Isn't that the way it always is? In our gross, yucky, fleshiness we fail to do that which is clearly best for us. (For an ancient version of this same concept, check out Paul and Romans 7: 18-20.) And then, when we finally make the choice, it's really hard to admit that we resisted making it in the first place. To walk humbly. We'd rather pretend like we knew it all along and walk about with our peacock feathers prancing about us.
At least, tell me I'm not the only one?!?
So here I am, stuck in the middle between the past and the future, in this present of transition and affirmation. My friends who made the choice before me are proud of me. My friends who have not yet made the choice are supportive, inquisitive, respectful. No one seems to be judging me, yet I still feel judged. What is that? Why am I so fleshy?
I do not have an answer to that. I can't sum this post up in one pithy point. But I can go back to where I started and finish with this: with the amount of change I've walked through in the last ten months, I've realized one, very key thing about myself...I need affirmation.
I don't just want it. I actually need it.
I believe that to be true. That's why when my dear, sweet friend affirmed me for making the lifestyle/food/whatever-you-want-to-call-it change, her words sounded like a voice-over while the whole rest of our conversation faded into white noise in the background.
That's why I don't feel safe around doctors that only want to discuss facts but never give feedback or encouragement reflecting the hard choices I'm making to choose life, to walk in health. They may be helping me, but their help is only so effective because what I actually need is more.
That's why God talks to me. And I mean in a real, live, audible voice. He knows that I need to hear Him speaking actual words that build me up and spur me on. (He may speak to you differently. In fact, I'm sure He does - because He knows what you need.)
This revelation of need, not just want, has really helped me in the past few days. It has helped me "frame the view" as a gardener or interior designer might say. In other words, I will make different choices based on this revelation about myself. I will actively seek out people and situations where affirmation abounds.
To put it simply, I will choose to get my needs met, and I will refuse to remain in places where they're not only not getting met, but where they're actively being denied.
I don't say this out of selfishness. I say this out of balance (which is what this whole healthy-living thing is about to me anyway). I say this out of love: self-love and love for others. (Why would I want to continue demanding something from someone who is so ill-equipped to give it, setting him or her up for failure and us up for bitterness? Better to move on with grace and seek spaces of love in my life...love communicated in a way I can understand.)
And I say this out of a desire to love better. If I cauterize the places of bitterness I allowed to grow where I did not get the affirmation I needed, I can remove diseased flesh and create space for healthy humanity to replace it. I can heal and recover in such a way as to operate more fully, being able to give out more graciously, from more of an open heart, ultimately needing less in return and really loving the way He loves.
So anyway, this post may seem a bit random, but there you have it. The intersection of the practical and the metaphysical via Holy Spirit revelation. He made me this way, and I need to honor it. I want to honor it. That is my spiritual act of worship. Amen.
Linking up with Soli Deo Gloria again this week.
This is what a friend said to me last Saturday when she came over for lunch. We talked about many things during those two hours, but that's the phrase that stuck to me. I've been thinking about it ever since.
She was affirming me for changing the way I eat. For changing the way my family eats, actually. And for making other, healthier lifestyle choices (taking supplements, choosing organic, trying my hand at growing vegetables (still no tomatoes but my fingers are crossed!), removing plastic containers whenever possible, and more).
(For a great article on the whole plastic container issue, click here.)
It's hard for me to receive that affirmation. In part because I resent it. There. I said it. I hate the fact that choosing health is such a polarizing issue. That, if you add words like organic or naturopath into your daily lexicon you suddenly conjure up visions of love-bead-wearing hippies. I don't like being lumped in with a group in such a generalized way, based on preconceptions and misconceptions, especially when I don't identify with that group in many, many ways (but, of course, I do identify with that group in others...damn those generalizations!).
I also resent it because it's true - the implication behind her words...the truth that making the change took guts, took repentance actually. I resisted choosing a healthier lifestyle for many years out of sheer stubbornness, I think. And pride. I only made the choice when I had to make the choice - when my doctors were telling me that the only way to get better was to eat better. When God Himself was telling me to "eat well".
Isn't that the way it always is? In our gross, yucky, fleshiness we fail to do that which is clearly best for us. (For an ancient version of this same concept, check out Paul and Romans 7: 18-20.) And then, when we finally make the choice, it's really hard to admit that we resisted making it in the first place. To walk humbly. We'd rather pretend like we knew it all along and walk about with our peacock feathers prancing about us.
At least, tell me I'm not the only one?!?
So here I am, stuck in the middle between the past and the future, in this present of transition and affirmation. My friends who made the choice before me are proud of me. My friends who have not yet made the choice are supportive, inquisitive, respectful. No one seems to be judging me, yet I still feel judged. What is that? Why am I so fleshy?
I do not have an answer to that. I can't sum this post up in one pithy point. But I can go back to where I started and finish with this: with the amount of change I've walked through in the last ten months, I've realized one, very key thing about myself...I need affirmation.
I don't just want it. I actually need it.
I believe that to be true. That's why when my dear, sweet friend affirmed me for making the lifestyle/food/whatever-you-want-to-call-it change, her words sounded like a voice-over while the whole rest of our conversation faded into white noise in the background.
That's why I don't feel safe around doctors that only want to discuss facts but never give feedback or encouragement reflecting the hard choices I'm making to choose life, to walk in health. They may be helping me, but their help is only so effective because what I actually need is more.
That's why God talks to me. And I mean in a real, live, audible voice. He knows that I need to hear Him speaking actual words that build me up and spur me on. (He may speak to you differently. In fact, I'm sure He does - because He knows what you need.)
This revelation of need, not just want, has really helped me in the past few days. It has helped me "frame the view" as a gardener or interior designer might say. In other words, I will make different choices based on this revelation about myself. I will actively seek out people and situations where affirmation abounds.
To put it simply, I will choose to get my needs met, and I will refuse to remain in places where they're not only not getting met, but where they're actively being denied.
I don't say this out of selfishness. I say this out of balance (which is what this whole healthy-living thing is about to me anyway). I say this out of love: self-love and love for others. (Why would I want to continue demanding something from someone who is so ill-equipped to give it, setting him or her up for failure and us up for bitterness? Better to move on with grace and seek spaces of love in my life...love communicated in a way I can understand.)
And I say this out of a desire to love better. If I cauterize the places of bitterness I allowed to grow where I did not get the affirmation I needed, I can remove diseased flesh and create space for healthy humanity to replace it. I can heal and recover in such a way as to operate more fully, being able to give out more graciously, from more of an open heart, ultimately needing less in return and really loving the way He loves.
So anyway, this post may seem a bit random, but there you have it. The intersection of the practical and the metaphysical via Holy Spirit revelation. He made me this way, and I need to honor it. I want to honor it. That is my spiritual act of worship. Amen.
Linking up with Soli Deo Gloria again this week.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Dancing on the edge
"Faith is the assurance of things hoped for...." (Hebrews 11:1)
My faith is being tested. I could dwell on all the ways I'm FREAKING OUT, on all the things that are going wrong, on all the fears I have about how it's not going to work out. However, I'm fasting (in case you missed it, check out this post: http://inthebecoming.blogspot.com/2010/11/advent.html). Part of my fast is refraining from complaining; the other part is choosing to dwell on the good gifts God has given me.
So, I choose to dwell on the promise. I choose to focus on what I have to look forward to, what I am hoping for. For He has given me specific things to hope for in this season...promises I know He is working out. But...
"Hope is fragile. It has been said that hope 'dances on the edge of wishing.'" This from last Sunday's Advent sermon at St. Michael's. It struck me. I have been carrying it around inside ever since.
If hope is fragile, then what am I clinging to? God has given me hope, yes, but He has called me to something greater.
I've been carrying something else around inside of me for a little over a week now. It is this excerpt from my friend Michael Warden's blog series about addressing a need for change in your life: "Faith is not hope. Hope says, 'It’s possible.' Faith says, 'It’s inevitable. No maybe about it. It will happen.'"
"Faith is the assurance of things hoped for...." Or, in the New Living Translation: "Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see." (Hebrews 11:1) Faith is hope taken to the next level.
God has spoken to me and my family very specifically during this season. He has led us into new places and asked us to have faith that He will provide. The crux? The place He has led us to is a place we have hoped to be all our lives. Now, we are living in hope through faith.
Our priest said something else during Sunday's sermon that stuck to my insides. (I'm paraphrasing here...) "It's okay to need evidence." She was talking about how the early Christians looked back at their Jewish heritage - at things God had already done - to remind themselves that He will act. Another example from Scripture: God's rainbow (Genesis 9).
"I am giving you a sign of my covenant with you and with all living creatures for all generations to come. I have placed my rainbow in the clouds. It is the sign...." (Genesis 9: 12-13, NLT)
God knows us so well. He knows our faith will falter. He knows that sometimes we will slip back into hope alone or even simple wishing. During those times He's there to remind us, to give us a sign, to help us remember (re-member...to bring together, to make whole...in this instance, to draw me back to Him, to Truth).
By His grace and with His help, I believe that what He has spoken to me, to my family will come to pass. Not just believe but act as though it is already so. Even on the days when I'm totally, completely, hopelessly freaking out.
Amen, Christ Jesus, let it be.
My faith is being tested. I could dwell on all the ways I'm FREAKING OUT, on all the things that are going wrong, on all the fears I have about how it's not going to work out. However, I'm fasting (in case you missed it, check out this post: http://inthebecoming.blogspot.com/2010/11/advent.html). Part of my fast is refraining from complaining; the other part is choosing to dwell on the good gifts God has given me.
So, I choose to dwell on the promise. I choose to focus on what I have to look forward to, what I am hoping for. For He has given me specific things to hope for in this season...promises I know He is working out. But...
"Hope is fragile. It has been said that hope 'dances on the edge of wishing.'" This from last Sunday's Advent sermon at St. Michael's. It struck me. I have been carrying it around inside ever since.
If hope is fragile, then what am I clinging to? God has given me hope, yes, but He has called me to something greater.
I've been carrying something else around inside of me for a little over a week now. It is this excerpt from my friend Michael Warden's blog series about addressing a need for change in your life: "Faith is not hope. Hope says, 'It’s possible.' Faith says, 'It’s inevitable. No maybe about it. It will happen.'"
"Faith is the assurance of things hoped for...." Or, in the New Living Translation: "Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see." (Hebrews 11:1) Faith is hope taken to the next level.
God has spoken to me and my family very specifically during this season. He has led us into new places and asked us to have faith that He will provide. The crux? The place He has led us to is a place we have hoped to be all our lives. Now, we are living in hope through faith.
Our priest said something else during Sunday's sermon that stuck to my insides. (I'm paraphrasing here...) "It's okay to need evidence." She was talking about how the early Christians looked back at their Jewish heritage - at things God had already done - to remind themselves that He will act. Another example from Scripture: God's rainbow (Genesis 9).
"I am giving you a sign of my covenant with you and with all living creatures for all generations to come. I have placed my rainbow in the clouds. It is the sign...." (Genesis 9: 12-13, NLT)
God knows us so well. He knows our faith will falter. He knows that sometimes we will slip back into hope alone or even simple wishing. During those times He's there to remind us, to give us a sign, to help us remember (re-member...to bring together, to make whole...in this instance, to draw me back to Him, to Truth).
By His grace and with His help, I believe that what He has spoken to me, to my family will come to pass. Not just believe but act as though it is already so. Even on the days when I'm totally, completely, hopelessly freaking out.
Amen, Christ Jesus, let it be.
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