bountiful within the blah…

May 13, 2015 — Leave a comment

This morning I turned to this verse: “I will sing to the LORD, because he has dealt bountifully with me” (Psalm 13:6).

I live in a world full of stuff. Advertisements tell me I need every last bit of it, too. I rarely feel as though I’ve been dealt with ‘bountifully’.

But, here are the facts: I have been dealt with bountifully, even if it’s hard for me to comprehend.

As I type, I’m watching my Judah play on an exercise mat. He’s munching on his goldfish, trying to grind the crumbs into the plastic with his bare feet. He’s got a saggy diaper…again. He’s calling our puppy over to eat the crumbs, making a “kissing” sound with his lips.

Life is bountiful with crumbs, mischief, and soggy diapers. I just told our congregation on Mother’s Day morning, as a part of a Mom’s Panel, that it is a struggle as a stay-at-home mom to have a sense of meaningful identity, value, and worth. The difficulty comes in moments like this…when the floor is covered by yellow cracker shrapnel…when I am attempting to focus on something greater than the fact that my son is now sharing his cup of water with the dog. When these are the endless details of my day I feel as though my days are useless. I can’t even finish forming a thought before the next mess is made or the next disaster needs to be averted. Feelings of bountifulness seem to only revolve around frustration…not blessing. I’m not even considering bountiful blessings.

Have you ever been poked repeatedly? In the same spot? It can become numbing, not only to that particular area of the skin, but to all the senses. This is how detainees are tortured! Loud intrusive sound, constant touch and pricking…if it’s used to break even the strongest of secret spies, than imagine what it can do to an already tired mom! This is what happens to people who stay at home with young children. Our emotional senses and mental processes are poked repeatedly throughout the day, that a coma is induced. Introspection and spiritual growth seem as confounding and impossible as waking the dead. Good judgment and resolve go out the window.

I think much of my anxiety about sounding dull or stupid among small groups of adults was birthed out of this motherhood zombie state. I can feel as though I have nothing worthwhile to share with other adults because I am not reading insightful articles or engaging in philosophical conversation throughout the day…I don’t even have the news on, just SuperWhy. It greatly effects my view of self. Hot topics and relevant adult conversation fly over my head. (And rarely, do a group of adults find the value in being able to sing every PBS kids show theme song.) I can lose my identity in the mundane repetition of diaper changing and household duties. I rarely do anything by myself, including going to the bathroom! And I do my best thinking when I am alone. It can feel as though we, as care-takers, fade into the background, void of individual talents or unique perspective.

I daily need to re-identify myself with Jesus–who He is, and therefore, who He says I am. It’s a struggle, especially, when all my faculties of thought and insight seem to have left the building 11 years ago. However, it’s necessary for me to realize my value and worth. I am a priceless treasure to God, with a unique perspective of His love and grace, because I am not relying on the success of my own talents throughout the day. I have to remember He has good things for me, even in the goldfish crumbs.

As I look at my two-year old and focus on the goodness of God, I see less crumbs and more cute: His white-blond hair as it flips behind his ears. His sparkling blue eyes. His huge smile as the puppy eats goldfish from his hands. He isn’t focusing on the magnitude of his soggy diaper situation. He’s focusing on all that is good. What an example of thankfulness and joy, of magnifying the good, not the bad.

He has just brought me a single goldfish. “Aaahhh,” he says to me. “Mama- Aahhh.” I can choose to focus on the meek and meager size of the snack, perhaps spend time questioning wether or not it’s been licked by the pet. OR, I can choose to partake and savor the cracker, because it is a gift. It seems small and insufficient. It will take concentration from a weak and spent heart and mind. This is the true task of the day. The blessing is there, though…it’s in the palm of my hand.

Jesus, help me see you in every part of my day. Help me to find the sufficient in the scant. The satisfactory in the sparse. The bountiful in the bare. Amen.

Watch me fail…

November 19, 2014 — 2 Comments

Yesterday was game day: my daughter’s debut on the middle school basketball team. As most sports enthusiasts know, girls’ 5th-grade basketball is where it’s at. The NBA has nothin’ on the drama of a 20-minute scrimmage of tweens. The NCAA can’t compare to the fast pace surprises and amazing display of developing talent. It truly was a memorable evening.

The three mini-games played last night were purposeful. Most of the young women participating were only just beginning to learn the rules of the sport. So, the shortened matches were a chance to learn by doing. (Sort of a toss the baby in the swimming pool approach) Dribbling a ball down the court in practice alongside your teammate only requires one set of skills. However, maintaining control of the ball while a ponytail covered in spirit ribbons whips you in the face is another. Practicing lay-ups and working on jump shots provides some building blocks of the basics. But, remembering which basket to aim at in the midst of screaming pre-teens and enthusiastic parents, now that’s an essential lesson all of its own.

A friend and I were laughing as we watched. Some of the athleticism in unintentional plays was awkwardly unreal. In the split-second of receiving the ball, the ability to chunk it towards the side wall as if it were a football (or a soggy sock) takes amazing muscle reflexes. The agility required to scramble on the floor over jump ball after jump ball is not qualitative. We both agreed that we probably couldn’t imitate was we saw, even if we tried. And if we were to attempt such feats, there’s no way we’d last a full 20-minutes.

Thankfully, my daughter has wisdom beyond her years. She was telling us before dinner the night before about this upcoming match. With great excitement she said, “Ya’ll have to come!…Come watch me fail! We are horrible! There’s no way we will win, but you have to come! It will be great!” Oh, my sweet, sweet, girl. I love that she held excitement in the sport, not in the hope of winning. I love that she didn’t merely want to play the game, but moreover wanted us to enjoy simply watching her play it.

“Come watch me fail…”

Wow. She has more self-confidence and security than most adults, including myself. I don’t know if I’d invite any of y’all to be spectators at an event in which I was assuredly going to bounce my own ball into my own face. She could have pouted. She could have turned red in embarrassment. She could have cried from the uncomfortableness of her awkwardness. Her hope, however, was not placed in points or winning. Her aim was to learn and enjoy the game.

Many of us are in situations or circumstances that likely require us to learn. I’d argue that none of us is beyond spiritual growth, for sure. 2 Corinthians 3:18 says, “And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit.” But how do we approach the opportunities to grow set before us? How do we approach our transformation? Do we listen to the Spirit to even discover chances to mature?

One tendency is to approach the court in fear. There was another sweet girl on our team who avoided the ball at all cost. I don’t think this was intentional, because she was happy to be there, she was glad to be a part of the team, and she had some occasional hustle. However, at one moment in the game, as she stood next to a fellow teammate, the ball was passed in her general direction. As it barreled towards her, she dodged to the side, in an instinctual response to avoid fast-flying objects. The girl next to her reached as best she could to cover for this young lady’s evasiveness, but to no avail, the ball hit her elbow and bounced off. Like a pinball machine the orange ball of danger was directly boomeranged back into the poor timid girl’s arms. She caught the ball squarely in front of the chest, as coach had taught. But, as if it were an intense orb of fire, she immediately flung it in the air…into the arms of the opposing team. Without hesitation, she turned her face to the coach and mouthed with distraught wrinkled brow, “I’m sorry!”

Our fear in situations can cause us to rely on instincts that are better reserved for real-life-danger. Is it really necessary that I react to my children as if they were an attacker mugging me in the parking lot? Is it really necessary that when confronted with conflict I hide in a back room as if an axe murderer was hunting me down in my house? These reactions, while they seem completely rationale in the moment, only deprive us gaining wisdom and strength through trials. Rather than soaking in and absorbing wisdom, we repel it like water on a duck.

We can also deflect the scary ball of responsibility onto others, but the lesson is for us. It always ricochets back. They have their own issues to deal with and their own path of maturity. Only we can deal with our ‘stuff’. Do we receive the hard things as opportunities of growth? Do we instinctually fling them into the air? Even if our acknowledgment isn’t as quick as the young girl’s, we will eventually feel regret that the opportunity to grow was lost.

Another tendency is to over-analyze the situation and our position. There were some young athletes who really took to heart their defensive positions, that even after the ball had moved cross-court and was now in their team’s possession, they were still defending their territory. They got so lost in their assigned job, that they missed the larger lesson and flow of the game. There was no acknowledgment or rejoicing that their own team had the ball!

Man, I do this every stinkin’ day. I get lost so easily in my tasks or seemingly designated position (usually self-appointed) that I miss the larger picture and the goal that Jesus is working me towards. I can over-think what I should be doing and how I should be doing it, that I miss valuable play-time. I forget that the purpose and plans to which God has called me are also ordained and controlled by him. I can become very self-focused on what I feel is a valuable priority, that unknowingly I am left standing alone, in a very defensive position, with only my check-list in hand. Meanwhile, the Spirit is yelling and pointing at me to get down court and help. Your team has the ball!

Lastly, the tendency I observed in my daughter is the one that I hope to learn from. This is the tendency to joyfully engage. She was puzzled most of the time. She kept up with the team and when the ball came to her, she dribbled a few times and then passed it off to someone who had a little more experience. Over the course of the three-game evening, I saw great improvement in her understanding and her skills. She never perfected her skills, nor did she ever fully understand what was swirling on around her. She did, however, slowly transform from nervous and timid, hands glued to her sides, to quick feet with spurts of trying to steal the ball from the opponent. I watched as she fervently sought out the coach and his instructions throughout play. And, thankfully, she has a great coach, who is teaching the girls through encouragement and support. He could have gotten worked up about the lack of points on the board, the number of turn-overs, or the amount of double-dribbles. Instead, he guided each player only in a way that resulted in joyful participation.

We left having lost, won, and tied at least once. My daughter, though she expected to walk away a “failure”, left with new knowledge, confidence, and deeper joy. I am thankful that she engaged the challenge of flying balls and twisted feet. I pray that I learn from her to have the same joy and courage when it comes to potential failure. I pray that I have the guts to invite others to come alongside me and witness my weakness and inability. I pray that just like her I find my value in something other than winning, gaining points, or being impressive. Instead, I hope to score steadfastness and maturity. James 1:2-3 says, “Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness.” Every time a hurling challenge flies my direction, I can respond with thankfulness, knowing that the opportunity for joy and a strengthening of faith awaits…I just need to have open hands, elbows out, palms forward to receive it.

After the game, we went to a sandwich shop for dinner as requested by our star-player. My jersey-wearing-girl ferociously downed her meal. She said, “Man, playing basketball is a good workout! I could eat two of these.” When we also engage with the circumstances laid in front of us–when we don’t run or hide from the difficult and sometimes intimidating things to which God has called us–we get a good workout and a healthy appetite as well. Our bodies and souls, while fatigued, become stronger and more steadfast. Our desire for Jesus and His word intensifies. We look less to unhealthy escapes or quick-fix wisdom because it just doesn’t sound good anymore. We’d rather be fueled through these hard times by the healthy life-giving and recharging Word of God and His encouraging Spirit.

Thank you, God, for 5th-grade girls’ basketball. Thank you for the awkwardness, the confusion, and the spirit to confront fear with the best of friends. Thank you for my daughters invitation to watch her fail and for the safety she must feel in our relationship to take that risk. Thank you for coaches that speak words of encouragement and refuse to let us quit. Thank you, God, for the sovereignty of Your plan and Your testing through any circumstance. Thank you for opportunities to grow and to enjoy having a position on Your team. Thank you for gratitude and the joy that quickly follows.

Sing to the Lord with thanksgiving;
make melody to our God on the lyre!
He covers the heavens with clouds;
he prepares rain for the earth;
he makes grass grow on the hills.

Psalm 147:7-8

He prepares all things for our growth. What wisdom and beauty He is. To Him be all glory and thanksgiving!

what’s the big idea??

September 9, 2014 — Leave a comment

I’ve been particularly absent from the blog lately. I could say I’ve been busy with the book and general life stuff, which I have, but actually it’s been a matter of pride. My blogging is usually a time of solitude with Jesus, and there is no good excuse for short-changing time with Him and time to process life through His Word. See, things have been rough. Some of my children have not been adapting very well to our new school routine and my embarrassment at the fact has kept me from publicly writing about it. My shame has inhibited me from processing it through Jesus, which doesn’t alleviate the humiliation, but only perpetuates it. So, here I am, a little apprehensive about fingering the keyboard and revealing a deep heart issue. I genuinely don’t know what truth or big idea Jesus will conclude this post with but I know I will need to hear it. Thanks for joining me in this humbling process.

The worst day was a Monday a few weeks ago. We had already been in school for half a week (which went wonderfully, by the way) but it was the starting day for public school. One of my children (I’m not going to mention names…because it gets ugly) was throwing a massive fit about having to go to school. Everything was wrong. Clothes were wrong, socks were wrong, shoes were wrong, breakfast was wrong. I tried to help, but the anthem was, “You won’t even help me…You won’t even listen to me.” I broke. My temper flared and I was undone. After the socks and shoes I had graciously put on, and I had patiently tied, had been kicked off for the second time, my self-restraint was gone. Once everyone else was ready and it was time to go, the shoeless child was forced into the car, disheveled hair and all. After kicking and screaming the entire drive, when we arrived at school, the walk into the building was dramatic, laboring, and exhausting. When we made it to the office, I struggled to pry one child off while keeping another from escaping and running back into the parking lot. I was mortified. The walk down the hallway to the classrooms was coupled with mini-body slams against the wall in an effort to stop any progress towards the room. I smiled the whole time, as if to say, “No one else look, all is fine here! heh…heh…” Finally a school staff member removed the child suction-cupped to my leg and I made a run for it.

On the way home, I called Paul, tears rolling down my face. I was sad for my child, hurt by the words of my child, ashamed of my behavior, and embarrassed that my child was reflecting poorly of my parenting. I was questioning every decision I’ve ever made on behalf of my children. I was a mess. But even then, I did not appear nearly as melodramatic as after the next event. A cop stepped out in front of my car and waved me over. Ugh…a school zone. “Seriously, what’s the big idea? What is up with this day?” With 12 minutes left in the designated time slot for the reduced speed, I was caught going the full speed…and on the phone. I chunked my cell to the opposite side of the car and veered over. I got a ticket from a very unfriendly sheriff. This day was not getting any better.

I cried myself the rest of the way home. Poor Judah sat in his carseat, wondering what in the world was going on. After gaining composure, I thought, I can redeem this day. I will bake cookies. I will let my children know that I am sorry for the morning by having warm chocolate chip goodness for them when they arrive in the afternoon. So I set to finding a recipe and checking the pantry for all the supplies as Judah took his nap. I had everything except the baking powder. So I googled substitutions online and found something that might work. I was now racing against the clock to be done by the time Judah woke and we had to head back into the car for pick up. I mixed and pre-heated and dropped rounded spoonfuls. When I came back to check my act of goodwill, the oven-light revealed yet another failing of the day.

There was no part of this day that I had any control over…ahhh…and I think I just stumbled on the clear message of the day.

Control. I’ve got none of it.

So what do I do with my lack of control? The lack of control over my temper that morning? The lack of control over my children’s behavior? My lack of control over what other’s are thinking about me? My lack of control to pay attention to the flashing school zone lights? My lack of control when expressing my frustration and emotions over the phone? My lack of control over the chemical properties of baking soda and the reaction it has (or doesn’t have) when combined with lemon juice? Apparently, my instinct is to turn to shame and embarrassment, which all stems from pride. I assume I have the ability to be in control. Or maybe even, I assume that I have the right to be in control of these things. If I didn’t assume that control was mine to be had, than why would I feel a sense of failure that I was unable to achieve it?

Nothing is mine to control. Control is not mine to achieve. So when the wheels are spinning off and heads seems to be devilishly rotating while spewing green words of hurt at me, I don’t have to turn to shame. It’s life. I can’t control any of this, especially the redeeming part. I can’t muster up the best plan to redeem my day and somehow make it all better. Jesus is doing something in these moments. He’s still good and He is working all things out for my good and for the good of those around me. So, when I am having to let another adult rip my child off my body, its a necessary step in the process to overcome their separation anxiety. It’s good for them to not cling to me, and this season, while hard, is developing them into the young adults I long for them to be. That police officer probably got kudos for the number of tickets he wrote that day, I don’t know. But, somehow I have to believe that it was good for him, and probably good for me to become more aware of my oversight of school zones. The cookies…well, Jesus did redeem the cookies. My attempt to redeem the day resulted in imperfection, but He turned that into something worthwhile. They were flat, but chewy and good. My taste-tester, Judah, approved. And when I handed each of my kids a baggie of sweetness as they entered the car at pick-up, they were all smiles.

Jesus redeems more than just my failures. He redeems the little things in the little moments of my little day. The only purpose in Him having my cookies turn out okay was to love me. How often do we believe that He cares that much? How often do we experience His goodness on a day that seems like a waste?

Life After Rehab was not guaranteed to be easy. It was not promised to me that after rehabbing, we would receive an awarded ability to control. No, if anything we were promised to face challenges and learning experiences that would leave our lack of self-control laid bare and our depravity raw. I need Jesus. Even when I make cookies. I need Him and His presence to satisfy me and to assure me. This is rehab 101: God is bigger than me and I am powerless on my own. I thought I had learned that lesson last year, but it’s daily implications still impact me.

We have continued to struggle in the mornings. I have continued to try and control. Jesus is softening me, breaking me down so that my inability to control is fully revealed to me, and if needed for my sanctification, revealed to everyone around me. (I really hope I don’t require that.) Growth is labor-intensive. Figuring out how to walk a rehabilitated life while thrown into the mix requires the same intensity and intentionality as figuring out how to do it in a season of removal and distance. It requires a dependency on the Holy Spirit to listen and look at life in a different way. We are learning. If only I had spent the time processing this lesson earlier, I’d probably saved some shame, disappointment, and feelings of failure. But there is grace in this too.

I am thankful of His reminders. “You’re not in control.” “It doesn’t matter what they say, I know your heart.” “Stop trying to assume what others are thinking about you, and think on what I am teaching you.” “Slow down.” “Take deep breaths and rest in me.” “Enjoy me and my presence, and have a cookie to tangibly taste how good my plan of redemption is.” “Don’t forget to talk to me.”

You know, those cookies…those paper-thin cookies were my moment of communion with Him. Through that sugary manna-like treat, He reminded me of His presence, His goodness, His redemption. He gave me something physical to put in my mouth so I could remember the sweetness of His faithfulness. I think I’m on to my next big idea…chocolate chip communion wafers. 🙂

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