Chasing Joy

"I am guiding you on the way of wisdom and I am leading you on the right path." Proverbs 4:11

Kingdom Come/things i learned this first month of 2016

writing has been so very hard this month of new beginnings.  thoughts mingle with beautiful sentences inside my head, but when pen hits paper or fingers touch keys they fly away like ornery fireflies, refusing to be captured.  snippets here and there, but nothing of length and so what better way to persevere than to gather the threads up and bring them to emily’s month end gathering.  it seemed hopeful to me to do so, and doing something hopeful feels a little like winning don’t you think?

caroling, cancer and first and second things.

someone we love was too weak from her cancer fight to make it to Christmas eve services.  when i heard the news the first thought that entered my ordinary small brain was this; “we should go caroling to her.”  always so quick to deem my inner thoughts silly i left them there, but the Spirit had His way with another and the message made its way among the congregation.  after worshiping in our church building, we took it outside and drove over in the dark to her front door to bring ‘tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy.’  singing to one so very weak and frail assaulted all of my senses and through tears i lifted my head up to heaven and cried out; “what is in fact the point of this?  she will still have cancer in the morning.”

a few days later i’m stirring chicken soup on her stove listening to her family share how much the caroling ministered to their very souls.  he says he will remember our singing for the rest of his days….days that will soon be spent learning how to live life without his dear beloved wife.

january 1st she  went home

and the One who welcomed her into His arms whispered to my soul; “curing cancer is a secondary thing.  ministering to the spirit of My beloved?  that is a first thing work.  singing at her door those tidings of comfort and joy brought My Kingdom Come.  child, keep learning to trust Me.”

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the parable of the merciful servant

he’s next to me in the car telling it all.  “my friend wanted something i had.  i said no.  my friend was mad.  my friend choked me and my neck got stuck in my zipper. ”

he keeps saying; “my friend, my friend.”

i know this ‘friend’ without my son ‘naming names.’  i am familiar with his ways.  my son’s choice of words gives me pause, i know he means what he says but i don’t understand.

two days later i’m standing on the playground watching  boys playing at football.  my son waits for this friend of his to be open and throws the ball to him.  i know it is intentional.  he’s shared many a time how he just wants this boy to have success.  to make a play, score a touchdown, have something to celebrate because he’s so often in trouble.  he misses the ball and my son calls out encouragement and building up words.  to the boy who choked him.

and the One who bled for these boys whispered to my soul “Kingdom come.”

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who do you think you are?

there has been this inner struggle that i’ve not been able to put a name to.  the One who knows my frame knows it, and knows just how to open my blind eyes and help me to see.  i saw that emily freemon was hosting a webinair on how to write a book proposal and i was drawn to it which didn’t make any sense at all.  i’m not writing a book or a book proposal.  i signed up anyway.  when she spoke the words naming a writer’s real fear; “who do you think you are?” the tears flowed freely.

one piece of the current struggle-not just in writing, but in being fully myself in the presence of others -has been exactly this.  a subtle accusation whispered and payed attention to.  what now, now that i see it?

well, the prayer went like this:

Lord, i still can’t do it, i still can’t write.
it doesn’t flow,
i still feel stuck.
kingdom come.

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a study in hope

Theologians talk about a prevenient grace that precedes grace itself and allows us to accept it.  I think there must also be a prevenient courage that allows us to be brave-that is, to acknowledge that there is more beauty than our eyes can bear, that precious things have been put into our hands and to do nothing to honor them is to do great harm. And therefore, this courage allows us, as the old men said, to make ourselves useful.  It allows us to be generous, which is another way of saying exactly the same thing.

Marilynne Robinson | Gilead: A Novel

There is a way in which the jesusy folk tend to write (I do it, too), and that way feels so disconnected from my real life that I could scream. I don’t feel disconnected with my Jesus, no, but I do feel disconnected with the pull inside me to sound this way or that – or with the pull of what others are doing so successfully to point to the kingdom of God. Maybe some perspectives are done; they’re processed, cooked up, and plated well. My perspective is still raw. I’ve barely cleaned these veggies.

Amber Haines | An Uncooked Story

People will tell you to put down your books and join the real world, for heaven’s sake. They will remind you that you live in a university dorm or an apartment reached by only a sliver of light or a temporary rental and do not even think of wasting time or money on land you do not own, but you would do well to smile and say nothing. Go on. Read. Read your books and dream your dreams. You are storing up treasures in heaven.

But after I tucked them in bed and in between her sobs and up the stairs and down, ushering children into jammies, I prayed a new kind of prayer. Prayer was no longer discipline, I was desperate. Tired and needy and confused. And weak. Really weak. There were no books to tell me what to expect from my child, with her particular history — her cocktail of losses and grief, who was wedged into our particular family. Even the best parenting strategies were not sufficient. I needed Him.

We were the kind of weak which many Christians spend their entire lives training themselves to not be.

Sara Haggerty | I Think I’ll Choose Weak, Today

 


thank you dear reader, for your gift of time spent here.  let’s continue on in hope, shall we?

may the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

romans 15:13

 

Christmas-where you belong

the boys are out watching the new Star Wars movie, my girl and i are staying in to watch the Book Thief. i have my doubts, the book being a favorite i expect the movie to disappoint.  but we’ll give it a go and see.  across town a friend is battling hard against cancer and another dear one is waiting on a new prescription to ease his suffering, praying for sleep to come for the first time in months.  wives are waiting on husbands to fly home, children are spending their first Christmas split between families.

it’s a mixture of the reality of joy in a Savior come down and sorrow in a world waiting redemption.  as i prepared a card for my friend with the cancer, the words the Lord has been ministering to my heart are all i had to offer.  it’ what i offer you here.  it’s where a weary and burdened soul finds rest.

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oh tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy, oh tidings of comfort and joy

May you and yours know both the comfort and joy that Christ Himself gives this season and into the new year, whatever it holds, as we wait for home.

for when you are waiting for health

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A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices…..

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The drive has been long in the night.  She pulls in tired and weary, she glances back at the slow and peaceful breathing of her sleeping ones.  resting her head on the steering wheel she breathes deep.   “Oh Lord, please make something out of this mess, somehow redeem these years, restore these hearts.”  she rests her eyes but is unable to rest her thoughts.

they tumble out of the car, the kids running free after being cooped up for the hours of driving it took to get there.  the family pile out the door with smiles painted on and arms out wide.  the expectations linger thick in the air as she braces herself at the trunk, breathing deep and praying for strength to endure.  one last breath and she gathers up the presents and bags and faces the music.  everyone else has already made their way inside, she enters, sets things down and joins the others around the dinner table.  the conversation stays where it always does, all the elephants packed neatly on the shelf and smiles all around.  “fine, fine fine”  echoes like the seagulls on finding nemo.  she smiles to herself at the picture as everyone shares all the ways they are ‘fine.’ 

she tries to play along, it’s only a short visit after all.  but when she looks in the eyes of the sulking teen and the toddler pulling for the hundredth time on his mama’s sleeve, she sees deep into the un-fineness of it all and something breaks.  the tears start slowly, and she tries to hold them in and look away.  it’s awkward and uncomfortable, first one set of eyes catch hers, than another.  the dam breaks and before she can excuse herself discretely, the room grows silent as all eyes rest on her.  broken under the weight of all the brokenness sitting around this table, she lets the grief flow.

she receives a pat on the shoulder with; “now dear it can’t be so bad” and someone breaks the tension with a request for potatoes.  the room fills up again with conversations about great aunt myrtle’s oysters and that time it snowed so hard no one could come for Christmas.

she looks up and glances over again at the teen and toddler.  the toddler happily plays with his cranberry sauce, the teen moves her food around.  she stares around this table of brokenness.  she wonders about hope.  

This is what the sovereign LORD, the Holy One of Israel, says:

“In repentance and rest is your salvation,
in quietness and trust is your strength,
but you would have none of it.”

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the above words are a work of fiction, my attempt to paint a picture.  the realities are stories too close, too painful to share.  the levels of dis-function and unhealthy patterns of relating that we have been walking alongside this month seem to have reached epic proportions. it is magnified on all sides i think because these holiday seasons are the times when time with extended families increases.  i have been battling against despair,  against loosing hope.  as far as the eyes can see health is not appearing.  repentance continues to be rejected and all the striving and excuses and “fine, fine, fine” remains the norm.  my heart grieves.

Yet the LORD longs to be gracious to you;
He rises to show you compassion.
For the LORD is a God of justice.
Blessed are all who wait for him!

The reality is that the Only One who can bear the weight of my hope is Jesus Himself.  The Holy One of Israel who longs to be gracious, who rises to show compassion, who is a God of justice; it’s His light which shines in the darkness.  it’s just the darkness has not understood it.  a hope that thrills is this:  yonder lays a new and glorious morn.

For today in the town of David, a Saviour has been born to you, He is Christ the Lord.

He is a Wonder of a Counselor, a Mighty God, the owner and ruler of Peace.  we are all weakness, yes, us who want to love well, who want to bring the light of LIFE that is real living, but God….our God who is able to do immeasurably more than we can even fathom, He is the strength of our heart and our portion forever.

in the waiting, i remember ^^.

in remembering, hope appears.

when hope appears, peace descends and along with it a release of the outcomes into the capable hands of a Father who is good.

with release, i can show up again….from a place of health.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in HIm,
so that you may overflow with hope
by the power of the Holy Spirit.


to draw further in:  Isaiah 30, quoted above vs. 15 and 17, John 1, Isaiah 9, Psalm 73:26,  Romans 15:13, O Holy Night.

for when you are waiting for relief

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are you the one who was to come, or should we expect someone else?

a year ago i prayed with an intensity that can only be explained as a movement of the Spirit.  i prayed for a “hope that wouldn’t mock, but pull you up even just a little out of the pit you are currently in.  oh, it is so despairing, dear Lord, please grant Your Beloved some relief.”

i shared this prayer of hope with the ones it was for and all day long i carried around faith of a child; expectant and excited to see how their Ever Present One would succor their weary hearts that day.

turns out it was one of their most hopeless days ever.

blessed is he who is not offended in Me

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the logical fallacies that seem so, well, logical, fall like rain and gather in pools in my mind.  doubt becomes a dog at my heals that refuses to leave.  i’m walking with the limp of one whose boot is engulfed in mud.  this is how prayer feels now, heavy and weighted down.

But we know our Father. We know His character.  Somehow, somewhere, the wrong must be put right; how we do not know, only we know that, because He is what He is, anything else is inconceivable.

For the word sent to the man whose soul was among lions and who was soon to be done to death, unsuccoured, though the Lord of Daniel was so near, is fathomless:  “And blessed is he whosoever shall not be offended in Me.”

-Amy Carmichael Rose from Brier, emphasis mine

one of the errors in reasoning is that the more i fumble in prayer/doubt the quicker i’m tempted to quit.  ‘your prayers cause more harm than help’ the dog growls, they reveal to you a God who is cruel.

the argument is rendered invalid because i know that God is not cruel.  Mysterious, yes.  Wild and Big and completely Other, yes.  i do know His character.

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There is only one place where we can receive, not an answer to our question, but peace–that place is Calvary.  An hour at the foot of the Cross steadies the soul as nothing else can.  “O Christ beloved, Thy Calvary stills all our questions.”  Love that loves like that can be trusted about this.
-Amy Carmichael

tho in my limp i lack courage to share my prayers with these dear ones still suffering; i’m still praying.  praying for moments of laughter, the kind that takes their breath away and does the work that only laughter can do for a soul.  prayers hoping in Stephen’s God to ease their suffering with a tangible glimpse of His nearness.  and when the words get stuck in my throat, i lift up these:

O Lord, we bring Thee him for whom we pray,
Be Thou his strength, his courage, and his stay,
And should his faith flag as he runs the race,
Show him again the vision of Thy face.

Be Thou his vision, Lord of Calvary,
Hold him to follow, hold him fast by Thee,
O Thou who art more near to us than air,
Let him not miss Thee, ever, everywhere.

LORD, Thou hast suffered, Thou dost know
The thrust of pain, the piercing dart,
How wearily the wind can blow
Upon the tired heart.

He whom Thou lovest, Lord, is ill.
O come, Thou mighty Vanquisher
Of wind and wave, say, Peace, be still,
Eternal Comforter.

-Amy Carmichael

but even if You do not, oh Eternal Comforter,  You Who sang of John’s greatness; doubting, imprisoned John longing for relief–  steady us at the foot of Your love poured out, remember us with an overshadowing of Your still small voice;

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   I am your Abba, and you belong to Me.

to draw further in:  Matthew 11, Daniel 3:16-18, Amy Carmichael’s book Rose from Brier

those pictures of the green leaves and pink flowers growing out of the largest thorns i have ever seen were taken at the San Diego zoo.  i think we stopped and marveled at this fascinating plant just as long as we did the pandas.

*logical fallacy= a flaw in the structure of a deductive argument which renders the argument invalid/an error in reasoning that renders an argument invalid.  when your kids enter high school they use phrases that you are supposed to know, having gone to high school once yourself.  i had to look it up too.

for when you are waiting to be seen

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“so what do you do?”

there are people who are able to put a nice boxed up title around what it is that they do.  i am not one of them.  and feeling a bit lost in my identity just plain goes with the territory, boxed up title or not.  i know that my identity is in Christ and not in what i do, yet what i do is deeply connected to who i am.

here in this tiny little corner of the big wide web i write.  there are other small things i do in my brick and mortar life, but my answer to the person who most recently asked this question were these two words;

“i write.”

“oh!  what do you write?”  she responded, genuinely interested in me and my mysterious life.

“uh….i don’t really know.”

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i’ve questioned the time i spend blogging, we aren’t a family with large resources and it would not hurt for me to get a j.o.b.  one will be heading off to college in the near future and the other two following close behind.  who am i to think spending time on this writing is adding value to anyone?  the voice of my college creative writing professor rings loud and clear-he said i had no talent.  it was ok, i was in school to be an engineer anyway.

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 There is a lost art of studying the works of others to find your own style. All of the “masters” were first apprentices. The apprentice sat beside the “masters”, listening to their process, paintbrush in hand, mixing paint, creating strokes that told a story, and stirred their creative spirit.

Jeanne Oliver Studying Under the Master’s Art course*

my painting daughter has a large oil painting that was due last friday.  the professor gave everyone an extension for monday.  she painted all. weekend. long.  yet only half of the stone church sits below the glowing sunset above it.  she brought in what was done and her professor’s words stand in contrast to mine; “hannah, you are one of my most talented students.  many painters spend a year on a painting like this, you can turn it in whenever it is finished.”

the point is, dear hannah, to keep painting.   keep studying the masters and their process. grow and shift things around when needed.  but by all means, don’t quit.

we don’t live in an apprentice culture anymore, but the concept has value to me when i let it.   my perception of an apprentice is one who works long and hard hours without pay, status, or tangible outcomes.  they are behind the scenes, unseen.  they do the work because of a hope for what is not yet, but will be.

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unseen.  hope for what is not yet, but will be.  apprenticing.  the slow process of growing into a truer version of myself.  this is what the writing life is for me.  it’s still unseen and in process.  it takes an immense amount of courage and patience to do the apprenticeship work, to believe that the One who knit me together has value to add to this world through words i compose.  small work is challenging in it’s hidden-ness no matter what form that work takes i think.  but there is One who entered the world He created through the smallest way possible-who arrived as an ordinary baby, in a tiny little corner of the big wide world.

He is the God who both sees and knows what it is to be unseen.

the point is, dear me, to keep writing.  let it take years if it needs to.  but by all means, don’t quit.


*Jeanne Oliver’s Creative Network is free to join, and the costs of the courses offered vary.  even though my art does not involve paint, i’ve taken a couple of her courses and had the privilege of meeting her when my daughter took one of her classes.  she is inspiring, delightful, and such a gift to the art world.  i highly recommend visiting her site no matter what kind of artist you may be.)

i’ve found paying attention to other artists and their process to be extremely valuable.  most recently i joined hope*writers, a community of fellow writers hosted by author’s that i trust:

A community of people who write about hope, who value encouragement and practical advice about writing as craft, business, and calling.

The community is called hope*writers. We believe we do our best work when we have good support. We want to help you skip the learning curve we’ve had to struggle through.

-the hope*writer’s team

 

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the Lord will fight for you, you need only be still.

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discouragement threatens to take over like ice holding life captive.  and i know what is true.  i know Jesus wins.  i know His light will break through darkness.  i know His presence is real and true even though it isn’t felt.  He keeps track of the stars, He holds the ocean in His hands.

still, reciting the truth to myself doesn’t seem to melt my heart growing cold.

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i join other’s more faithful and rest my hands on a man who is suffering.  and the words they fall short, they stumble under the tears and longings unmet for oh, just a glimpse of You Lord.  Stephen, while being stoned, got to see heaven open before him, oh Lord, just a glimpse of you would bring such encouragement and strength to endure.  please?

and grief sidles up next to the discouragement and they draw a wider circle around my heart.  grief over my own lack of faith in the goodness of a God who gives and takes away, blessed be the name of the Lord.  i’m pleading with the Lord with more doubt than faith, it seems these days there is more doubt than faith and i long to be a better lover to the Shepherd of my soul.

little baby,
i am a poor boy too,
i have no gift to bring,
that’s fit to give a king

the ice wraps around and knowing that my Sovereign God is faithful and true, oh so worthy of my trust, doesn’t melt the discouragement grief and doubt away.  i know i’m struggling to trust Him.  I know He is worthy of my trust.  i preach the gospel to myself, i remember and remember and remember.  but i can’t seem to create the trust i lack.  i am a poor girl too, i’ve no gift to bring, fit for my King of Kings.

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we’re driving along this beautiful winding road.  the kids in the back seats delighting in the curves and hills, my capable and loving husband at the wheel taking his family from place to place, navigating the weather and traffic and enjoying the ride.  He slows down for pictures and speeds up for tummy-tickling joy.  i sit in the passenger seat missing it.  i’m the drowning swimmer needing a slap in the face so as not to drown the lifeguard seeking to rescue her.  i know this.  i know there is no reason for the fear that has joined in with discouragement, doubt and grief.  but the knowing doesn’t melt the ice.  and i long to share in the joy of the others and for peace to descend out of the chaos and take a firmer hold of my heart.  i pray and pray and pray.

and wait.

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take heart, your redemption is near

dear ones listen, friends pray.  hymns penetrate.  tears fall freely while the worship band sings.

we are a flock unworthy, lambs frightened and silly and dumb.  we are the sheep of His pasture.  we are the sheep the babe came to save. we are desperate and needing redemption from a God who comes down.

the preacher reminds us of the cloud of witnesses, those who’ve walked in such darkness, who’ve seen a great light and bear witness to the glory of knowing Christ.

and the suffering one reads aloud…

though you have not seen Him, you love Him; and even though you do not see Him now, you believe in Him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, for you are receiving the goal of your faith, the salvation of your souls.  Praise be to our God and Father, in His great mercy, He has given us new birth into a living hope through His own resurrection from the dead.   set your hope fully on the grace to be given you when Jesus Christ is revealed.

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there is no hope in my ability to respond to the stuff of life with faith hope and trust.  my hope is reduced fully to the grace given when Jesus Christ, the One willing and able to keep me from falling, the One who fights for me, the One who never leaves or forsakes even when i think He has, my hope is reduced fully to the grace given to me when this Jesus is revealed before me and i see Him as He is.

Abba, i belong to you. *

peace descends and the ice begins to melt.


to draw further in:  Acts 7, Revelation 6:9-11, 1 Peter 1:3-13; 2:9-10, Isaiah 30-33; 40-42; O Come O Come Emmanuel, Christmas Canon

*Brennan Manning.

 

returning to worship

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Thanksgiving vs. Christmas

this year, for the first time in ever, Christmas has infiltrated my Thanksgiving fortress.

all the kids have Thanksgiving week off and we have a road trip planned.  This road trip has nothing to do with Thanksgiving, or Christmas for that matter, it’s just that it coincided time off for everyone and resources available to travel.  we’ve been planning and anticipating for ages, focusing in on the states and sights and mapping our course.  to say we are all excited is quite the under-statement and it’s just now sinking in that we are also in the midst of the holiday season.

because of being gone for these last two Sunday’s in November, i had to begin the Advent study i’m leading early to fit all the lessons in.  and a few of the sights we’ve picked for our trip will be all decked out for Christmas.

in the middle of the night, with study and trip prep swirling around inside my head, something occurred to me.  as i pondered the advent lessons and anticipated the Christmasy sights headed our way, i was reminded of my stubborn battle cry of; “no things Christmas until after Thanksgiving….by golly we will be thankful thankful thankful!!” and i became doubly aware that this resistance has little to do with Christ, and everything to do with culture. in my fight against culture, i’ve inadvertently bought into the lie of what Christmas is actually about.

i know what Christmas is about.  we decorate with nativity sets and have a Bible under our tree instead of presents.  We bring Christ into it in every way possible.

do you see the subtle lie woven into what i just said?  We bring Christ into it? is not the whole of Christmas Christ bringing Himself to us?  (que the music; and the soul felt it’s worth)

as i’ve begun early to meditate on Christ’s coming, as i’ve prepped for our trip and a Thanksgiving week different than it’s ever been, i’ve realized that in my fight to keep Christ in Christmas and Thankfulness in Thanksgiving, i’ve unknowingly declared that the world has triumphed and the battle is mine to wage.  this year, the Spirit who speaks to the churches has been infiltrating my heart in a whole new way-as He does year by year, month by month, day by day, hour by hour.  it’s a re-setting of worship, and it looks a little like pondering the Christ-child early;  a little like being awe-struck and immensely thankful for the babe in a manger, a Lamb come to save His people from their sins.  a little like breaking through my stubborn resolve and allowing the fluidness of the Spirit to be my guide instead.

….regardless of what the calendar says.


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on paris and suffering

these days haven’t been completely consumed with prepping for our trip and the stuff of life.  i’ve seen the news headlines and read the reports.  we as a family also watch and pray for the persecuted and my heart has held a vigil for those in N. Korea for years.  we’ve people near and dear suffering just down the road and our prayers for healing continue to be prayed without seeing any visible results.

i’ve no profound words today to offer that would do anything for all the questions.  but there are those who do and i wanted to point to them:

Seth Haines book Coming Clean just released last month.  it’s a book about pain and faith and offers such nourishment and companionship to anyone else who has experienced suffering and the questions that come. (which, unless i’m missing something, would include all of humanity.)

Emily Freemon offers us a Prayer for those who are grieving.  

and a couple of years on the tail end of a fire that was on the tail end of a different fire there was a flood-and i penned some words about it-taking comfort from this song by Christa Wells that she is now offering for free: This Thing is Not Going to Break You 


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both the art of these fine artists and the Spirit’s movement in my heart lift my eyes away from the calendar and the newscasts pointing them instead towards the One who was and is and is to come.

thus, worship is restored.


to draw further in:  Revelation 4 and 5, Romans 8, Matthew 1, Luke 1-2

 

 

misunderstood shoes

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I’m standing on the street corner with my two boys when a voice calls out from a car window;

“What kind of mother are you? Get some shoes on that kid, sheesh! Have you no love or care?”

Yes, it is cold out and yes my older boy doesn’t have shoes on.  It takes about 45 minutes of therapy for him to wear socks….and then shoes. There was this helicopter you see…..but there is no time to explain, he just calls out his disdain and speeds away.

….he knows nothing of the countless hours of pouring out my very self as mother to 3 children, one of which has sensory processing disorder. What kind of mother am I?….

in celebration of National Family Caregivers Month, i’m sharing a bit of my story over at Anita’s caregiver connections blog Blessed (but stressed).  Join me over there as i discuss the loneliness and pain of being misunderstood.

 

fumbling pray-er

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the crisp air fills my lungs as my feet hit the pavement.  the paths are new to me since i’m running and walking while waiting to pick up my oldest from her school the next town over.  i’ve gotten lost a time or two as my mind focuses on the inner language happening in my soul rather than the names of the streets i’m on.

it is not consistent, this exercise thing, but it is important to me.   instead of quitting because of the lack of consistency, i just keep watching for the opportunities and take them when they come.

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and so it goes with everything else.   a teen who wants to talk deep and so the dishes wait and i sit. a book with words that nourish and so i take a chapter when a free ten minutes appear.  creativity springs forth and so i respond, creating a mess in an already messy space.  writing in the cracks.  exercise on car-pool days.  there is nothing controllable or predictable here, somewhat because of the season of life i’m in, but mostly because of who i am.

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the God i love has been distant, quiet, and so my footing feels shaky.  doubts attack  and the unpredictability in the day to day threatens to wear me out.  i have a son who needs routine and predictability and to know what is happening tomorrow and what exactly is a macadamia nut that is in this different granola bar you decided to get this time??   and i have a family who need to be fed by a mom who is present,  and a body that needs exercise and a soul that needs books and creativity and words written on a page.  through the distance, there is still the constant; “help me here Lord,” along with the deep “thank yous”  of the day to day sort, but the predictable solid  ‘quiet times’ disappeared so very long ago.

i fumble through the opportunities snatched to be still and quiet with my Savior, aware of the dullness i feel, i puzzle at the way He is present in all the above situations; giving me words to say, words to type, patience to respond.  how can He be so present and seemingly so far away all at the same time?  i don’t know. i don’t understand this struggle.

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i am a fumbling exercis-er, fumbling writ-er, fumbling pray-er.  just like on those paths one town over, i feel lost.  but instead of quitting i remind myself that the One who sits on the Throne has invited me to call Him Father, has promised that He never leaves nor forsakes.

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and He knows the way home.


 

to draw further in:  Revelation 4 with Rev 7:9-14 and Romans 8.

 

October’s lessons

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October, with all her glory in the leaves a changing and writing for 31 days straight has taught me a few things.

  1.  the leaves will change and beauty will appear whether i’m ready for it or not.  i can not press pause until i’ve time to take a walk or take a picture.  so i need to press pause on something else and take that walk or that picture.
  2. i am not able to publish everyday and run.  i didn’t get out for a run or walk the entire month.  the topic i chose didn’t lend itself to simple words or brief posts.  writing everyday was exactly what i needed, i’ve known that for some time and the challenge to post gave me the motivation to make it happen.  but in dedicating time for writing i let exercise slip away.  i’m entering into November with eyes looking for what it looks like to do both.
  3. i’ve more loyalty to everyone else around me than i have to myself.  i pushed myself every day to publish because i said i would, even if it meant neglecting my home, family, or self.  i already knew this-remember this summer how i wouldn’t quit on my daughter, but if she hadn’t been in the equation, i would’ve quit on myself.  entering the 40’s a few years ago i realized how much more effective it was to work with myself instead of against myself.  since i know this loyalty thing to be true, i’m praying over how i can work within it to both write and exercise-two things that are specifically for me.
  4. reading good authors can usher in fear and super strong temptation to quit writing.  reading good authors also ushers in inspiration and strong courage to write.  it is a real battle for me. sometimes i have to abstain from reading until after i’ve written.  other times i need to read so that i have courage to write.  i can’t predict one from the other, except that i’ve grown in my ability to sense the stirring of either fear or courage and respond accordingly.

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linking up with Crystal Stine for write31days and Emily Freeman for things we learned in october.

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