Lent: Day 25, 26, & 27…

March 19, 2015 — Leave a comment

Day 25: intentions

I had good intentions of getting a lot done today, including adding something to Lent. It didn’t happen…any of it.

“For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” Romans 7:15

Day 26: insanity

Today I unintentionally added insanity to Lent:

My little raccoon dumped a bag of chili cheese Fritos on the master bathroom floor mat. It looked like the Pyramid of Giza piled atop white Egyptian sand.

He stole his sister’s deodorant and hacked it into little pieces all over the upstairs bathroom. Moisture-blocking deodorant, when ground into a fluffy bath mat, is very hard to clean.

He locked himself in the bathroom while I was making an important business call. We don’t have a key.

He threw multiple toys over the banister…after I had just taken them upstairs to the toy room.

He removed and hid all the printer ink cartridges…as I was trying to print copies of music for Sunday.

He ninja-swiped open dirty diapers as I tried to change him. I am so done with poop.

All of this was before 10:00 am.

I didn’t have time to add something inspirational today…(hello, reality…thanks for showing up uninvited.)

“Be gracious to me, O God, for man (boy) tramples on me; all day long an attacker (a toddler) oppresses me”

Psalm 56:1

Day 27: coffee creamer

So, obviously the last couple of days have been ridiculous, but let’s be honest. This is life for most people: crazy. When asked how things are going, we all say it: “Busy.” “Crazy” “insane.” This is the norm for most of us, especially if we’ve got lots of responsibilities, whether it be tasks at work, or children at home, or a combination of the two.

Again, I got nothing done today. I seemed to rush and rush, strive and toil, with little to nothing to show for it. When I left to go pick up the kids from school, the house was still a mess, laundry still needed to be done, and I still hadn’t finished preparing for the bible study I was supposed to lead tonight. We drove straight from school to church to meet up with Daddy for dinner. During the bible study, the older kids were going to hang out in his office while he worked and Judah was going to the nursery.

When everything was finished for the night, I texted to see if they had already headed home. I was surprised to hear that yes, they were already home because Gideon had thrown up. My first thought was “oh, no! Not more sickness!” Then, I heard the rest of the story.

Apparently, Gideon has a routine when he hangs out in Daddy’s office. He goes to the staff coffee station and sneaks the little individual cups of coffee creamer. Tonight, it seems as thought our 5-year-old with the early signs of addictive behavior, couldn’t stop himself from indulging. He consumed enough cream to make himself sick…well, that and the starburst flavored slushy he got with dinner. (It makes my stomach curdle just thinking about it.)

When he ‘fessed up to the deviant looting of coffee condiments, he said it was such creamy goodness that he couldn’t stop himself. This from the child who at age two snuck a stick of butter from the fridge, pulled a chair up to the TV, and ate the butter like a Snickers. (We are really going to have to keep an eye on this one.) He obviously doesn’t know his own limits, or what’s good for him.

In the world of sweet things and buttery goodness, it’s very possible to add too much of a good thing. Not so with Lent, or with God. My crazy has needed an abundance of grace and He has more than enough to not only meet my level of need, but to surpass it. His mercy will never run out, and of His goodness I will never grow weary. It’s impossible to have too much of Him. When I allow myself to actually taste His goodness, even in the midst of crazy, all I want is more. I can’t stop myself from indulging.

When I find myself growing weary and sick of life, unable to think of something spiritual to write about (as I did the past three days), it’s not because I’ve somehow had enough Jesus, or that He’s gone AWAL. The reality is that I’ve not been opening my senses to taste the little morsels of goodness that He has individually packaged for me throughout the day. I haven’t tasted. I haven’t thanked.

Unfortunately for Gideon, God used the little 5-year old’s intolerance for copious creamer consumption to get my attention. I thank Jesus for His grace. He has loved me through the past half-week, despite my weakness and inconsistency. He has loved me, even when I’m not feeling it. He has remained faithful.

Over Lent, I’ve been adding and adding, and the days that I thought I wasn’t adding at all, grace was being added unto me. I just didn’t recognize it.

“But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”

2 Corinthians 12:9

blog post…check

October 13, 2014 — 4 Comments

The rain dances off the shingled roof while shouts of laughter and giggles of delight bounce back and forth. I sit in the coziness of my kitchen with my smoked berry and incense candle setting the mood. What a calm Columbus Day home from school. With the showers and dark clouds comes the dawning of Fall. (Or at least I hope cooler weather is on the horizon.)

Autumn is my favorite season, with all it’s tastes and scents. Whether it’s walking into the grocery store and smelling the cinnamon pine cones, or sitting in a Starbucks with a spiced pumpkin latte, once October hits, the aroma and palette of fall is hard to escape.

This morning I thought, I really should write a blog post today. We are coming off a full and long weekend and though I should write, all I want to do today is sit with my coffee in front of the panes of glass and watch my children soak up the drops of joy falling from the sky…that, or take a nap. I had to run a quick trip to the store earlier this morning for some basics as I was praying, “What do I even write about today? I got nothin’, Lord.” Then I realized I completely drove past HEB, as if headed to school on a non-holiday Monday. I was already sitting at the next stop light.

I’m a little embarrassed to admit I’ve done this before. I’ve been deep in thought, distracted by squabbling kids in the back seat, or simply so exhausted that I miss my turn, pass my exit, or even drive past my own house, especially if it is a non-routine stop. I hope some of you can identify with this…

As I sat at the red left-turn-only light, waiting to make my u-turn back to the store, I prayed again, “What do I even write about today? I’m too tired to think, too tired to process, too tired to listen.”

Yep, there it is. A clear word from the Lord. Here we go:

How many times have I been too tired, too fatigued, too apathetic to listen to God? (More times than I can count or realize, I suppose.) Our pace of American life lulls us into such monotony of routine that we drive right past the urgings of God. When His Spirit speaks something that is outside the set boundaries of our schedules or beyond the lists of to-dos, we can sleep-walk ourselves past doors of opportunity.

Wake UP! God is telling us, “WAKE UP!” I have let my new-found awareness and ear (albeit still being fine-tuned) go…to…sleep. Are you awake??

I know what it is to be so exhausted that eyelids succumb to the laws of gravity, even in the midst of conversation. I get it. I know it. I am in that very state right now. But I am called to WAKE UP! I either need to make the necessary changes to not be so dang tired or I have to get over the sleepiness and force myself to be aware in the midst of fatigue. Perhaps the solution requires a little of both.

There are values in our culture that oppose rest, that break the 4th commandment. It’s admirable to work overtime. We boast of our busyness. Think about that for a minute. Our sins are all equal in the sight of God. Every sin, whether “big” or “small” (as deemed by our society) leads to death. So are we willing to take murder with the same degree of self-righteous excuse as we do working on the Sabbath? What if we murdered for the sake of an extra days worth of salary? What if we murdered for the sake of ministry? Yeah, I went there… How unsettling if we boasted of our killing? If we boasted for killing innocent people for the “sake of the Gospel?”

Our disregard for the Sabbath, using the excuse of “ministry” as justification, is no less a sin than the genocide of populations during the crusades.

Jesus healed on the Sabbath, yes. But Jesus also withdrew from the crowds and rested. We have to rest. We have to take rest seriously. We have to regard the commandment to honor the Sabbath with the same conviction as we do the other 9 on the list. What good is a half-eyed “christian” zombie who is too tired to hear the Spirit? It sure doesn’t make the truth of “Jesus in me” very convincing to others, when I am too tired to listen to Him and to bear His fruits of joy, peace, and patience. Why would anyone want what I have? It looks and feels miserable.

Jesus, forgive me for not taking rest seriously. Forgive me for not taking care of the body you have given me. Forgive me for letting my lack of rest inhibit me from following You. Forgive me for selfishly pursuing works instead of pursuing You. Forgive me for misrepresenting the new life and joy you offer in the presence of others who have yet to taste it.

Jesus, thank you for covering me in grace and giving me new life regardless of my performance. I am made new, daily.

Adequate rest is only half of my issue. When I am fatigued (and it’s bound to happen regardless of good Sabbath habits, because I’m only human), I am still called to wake up. In the garden of Gethsemane, Jesus asked his disciples to stay alert and pray…and they couldn’t keep their eyelids peeled. Twice He pleaded for their attention and twice they fell victim to slumber. “And he came to the disciples and found them sleeping. And he said to Peter, “So, could you not watch with me one hour? Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak” (Matthew 26:40-41). The Spirit is right there, willing to reveal to me all manner of amazing gifts and revelations, but my flesh has been entirely weak.

Jesus pleads for our attention. He desires our alertness to His words, to His Spirit. If we are walking through life on auto-pilot, we miss His very voice and all that He has to offer us. He sings songs over us. He speaks truth to us. He reminds us of our beauty, our inheritance, our value, and our worth. These are reminders I need daily. I’m so ashamed that I don’t pay attention to these messages that I desperately need. I can’t believe that I own lies of value and worth that are contrary to what He says about me, yet His sweet words are ever-present for me. The Spirit’s fragrance and taste is all around me, just like Fall and it’s hard to escape. Yet, I have found a way to bypass it all.

Jesus, forgive me for falling asleep to Your voice. Forgive me for coasting through the day to day, unaware of the destinations to which I’ve been blind and the reminders of your truth.

I receive the clean slate you give me and honed-in ears to start afresh.

2 Timothy 2:13 says, “if we are faithless, he remains faithful— for he cannot deny himself.” For that, I am truly thankful. My list may not be totally completed at today’s end, but at least I heard Him say, “I will be faithful to you.”

Today I am tired, but not alone. My list of to-dos fills an entire 8 1/2 x 11 page of lined notebook paper. About half-way down the list is: write blog post. Listening to God doesn’t mean I’m irresponsible with my daily duties. When I listen to Him, He walks alongside me and makes the stuff happen, infusing each task with His fragrance of joy and lightness of heart. It’s the cinnamon and cardamon added to the everyday cup of joe. The ordinary becomes enraptured with His presence. With Him living in me, I can be tired, joyful, productive, and attentive all at the same time.

I have tried in the few hours of sitting in front of the screen to listen to God, even through my fatigue, even through trying to complete my writing task, and even with the other 15 things on my list looming in the back of my mind. This morning, I went on a journey to write a blog post. But I listened and stopped along the way, guided to pitstops and destinations that were not in my plan. Here’s what happened:

– I watched the rain fall.

– I closed my eyes and opened my ears to the sounds of my children’s laughter.

– I laughed over the top of the laptop as I witnessed four kids battle one dog to a bath–in the rain.

– I embraced muddy feet.

– I happily scratched off the list…

~~give the dog a bath~~

– I stopped typing to take pictures of siblings hugging in the open grass midst a thunderstorm. – I savored my creamer-enhanced coffee as I sat waiting for the electricity to come back on.

-I stopped typing again to tickle a half-naked, wet, and muddy toddler boy.

-I pondered my rest and lack thereof…then prayed for forgiveness.

-I meditated on grace.

-I paused to fill a bathtub with soapy warm foam for cold little bodies.

-I tossed soggy clothes into the washing machine, counting the blessings of modern technology.

– I marked off…

do a load of laundry

– I wrapped little boys in fluffy dry towels and kissed their tender noses.

– I happily elongated the chase of a naked bathroom escapee, and marveled at his laughter, picking up random toys on the floor along the way.

– I grabbed the pencil…

~~bathe kids~~

~~pick up clutter~~

-I returned to the keyboard and gave thanks for fresh ears and propped-open eyes.

– I heated hotdogs for lunch and threw some ingredients into the crockpot.

– I drew a line through:

~~start dinner~~

– I snuggled my baby close, singing a lullaby, then laid him sleepy-eyed into his crib for an afternoon respite.

– I sat for a final session at the computer and listened. I recounted all that Jesus had for my tired soul in one short morning…

~~write blog-post~~

Total eclipse of the heart…

October 8, 2014 — 1 Comment

“I’m learning a lot about God from my kids.” I think every Jesus-following parent says it at least once. It is true. Jesus said, “Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18: 3-4).

This morning when darkness still loomed over the house, I rose to my oldest daughter already awake. She had set her alarm for 5 AM so as to not miss the much anticipated lunar eclipse. It was supposed to be first visible at 5:25 AM, but in an effort to not miss any of it, she was awake nearly a half hour early. The rest of the family wasn’t that interested in the phenomenon, so she planned her rising all on her own. She could hardly sleep last night, so it was not a surprise to me that she was already awake when my alarm went off at 6. The time she chose to wake up did not startle me. What did shock me was the place she chose to watch.

I assumed that she would venture out on the front driveway or walkway and peer into the moon-lit sky. I figured she’d take it in for a minute, get tired, and head back to bed. But, no, my child knew better than me…

She pulled a chair and pillow from the living room over to the front door. She made herself comfortable and sat, marveling at the moon through the glass insets. Any reasonable adult would say that chair was an annoyance and was placed in a dangerous spot, in the line of doorway traffic. But it was the perfect venue to focus on something almost magical, something that my mature brain can’t wrap my mind around. The sun, which we can’t see at night-time is yet right behind us–behind her in that chair. Its strong rays of sunlight reflecting over our heads on the surface of the moon millions of miles away. The earth, on which we stand, on which she sat in that chair, mysteriously floating in the space in between. The orbits of the moon and the earth in such synchronization and alinement that before her very eyes, the shadow of earth, orb on which she sat in that chair, appeared before her over the face of the moon–it’s light slowly burning red. What an amazing event that is so much grander and substantial than a walkway ridden with chair.

As we went on with our day and I returned home from morning errands, I saw the chair unmoved from the wee hours of dawn. The sunlight, now cascading through the windows bore such sweet light on that seat, on that place of tiny miracle.

My daughter has taught me something today. I have learned, and have been told over and over again, that I need to sit and marvel at God. Others may be annoyed with me. Others may think I am in the way. My resolve to sit and take in Jesus as I see Him throughout the day may irritate those who think it odd and silly. Some might deep down feel the sting of resentment that I have gone to such measures to encounter God. But I long to be like the carefree and uninhibited children. I no longer want to be an adult with to-do lists, logical answers, and cynicism. Jesus, teach me, like you taught the disciples, to humble myself, turn, and become like the child.

I have for far too long walked with the shadow of reason and logic hiding my heart from the everyday glory of Jesus. How can I follow His Spirit, if I shield my eyes from seeing Him? How can I soak in His words and ponder His parables if I block my ears from hearing Him? How can I sense His presence and act on His urgings if I cover-up my feelings with puffed up arrogance and pride? I, and most “Christians”, have been walking around in a “total eclipse of the heart” religion. We have covered ourselves with our performance and success, rather than being “hidden in Christ” (Col. 3:3), reflecting His glory, not our own.

Last night, my eleven-year-old delighted in asking questions of astronomy and selenology, of the heavens and their movement, just in anticipation for what she hoped to see. She didn’t presume to have all the answers. Her eyes doubled in fascination with the size and wonder of it all, even before witnessing. Are we adults even asking questions anymore? Do we think we have it all figured out? The mysteries of Jesus are beyond any human mind. His wisdom and knowledge deep. We will never exhaust all that He has for us. How boring and mundane to be the one who has forgotten this simple truth! What a dull and joyless, responsibility-driven, task-filled adult life! We need not live this way. He wants us to have life to the fullest, to marvel at His love and His Spirit, to wait in eager anticipation for just a glimpse of Him.

The chair will remain in it’s new home today. I want to be reminded to seek out all of the wonder and joy Jesus has for me. Even amidst my daily work, I will pass by and catch a glimpse of the Spirit’s reminder to me. He loves me so well to know that I need reminders and nudges. He understands my failing heart and fleeting zeal because undoubtedly, I will trip over it at some point. Thank you, Jesus, for telling me again.

Chirp…

September 27, 2014 — Leave a comment

The faint chirping of birds…

If I concentrate, I can dimly dice the conversation.

The tweets cascading down from the oaks in front of me are met with distant song to my left. What are they saying?

There is a pattern to their song. Verse, chorus, verse again…a back and forth chant and response. The pitch of the two are different, one distinctly higher than the other, but the quick staccato rhythm the same. Are they talking about food, the weather, the nest?

I have been listening to birdsongs of a different flair all week. It’s been deep meaningful discussion on matters of faith, “outreach”, and Jesus. I sit here in the woods, on retreat, processing all the hymns and anthems I have just taken in, hoping to digest even half of the wisdom I encountered.

At the very core of my melodic meal, Jesus has been singing a song over me. He has been feeding His goodness and mercy straight to my hungry belly. He has been wooing me with His love. His Spirit has been reminding me of all that He said and all that He has done. His sweet tunes have been everything from savory, slow, and melodic to salty, fast, and turbulent. In every lyric is a nutrient for my heart.

The rain comes.

Pat, pat, pat, pat….

piddle, piddle,

Pat….

Fading are the birds, all but one. In the sound of the softly falling wet, I hear but one little chirp.

Chirp.

She is constant, her beat like the ticking of a grandfather clock. The rain falls gently.

The air fills with the fragrance of peaceful showers.

Chirp.

Chirp. Piddle. Piddle.

In this solitude, Jesus has a message for me. He has been pouring music of His truth and His gifts over me for months now, but here, in this peaceful place, with rain tenderly tapping 16ths on the leaves on the snare drum of His orchestration, and the bird steady on the count…

Piddle piddle piddle piddle piddle piddle piddle piddle.

Chirp.

It is here that I start to piece together the message of His month long score.

The Spirit is at work around me and in me. I feel Him moving as I sense the bugs squirming under the leaves. A small section of dry scrap on the ground jumps as a wooded lizard runs for cover. I see the Spirit wiggling under the surface of our lives. Some jump at His dance. Some respond. Some run for cover. He is mixing and stirring our pots. He’s up to something.

Chirp.

An acorn falls in front of me from the heights above.

clack…

and bounces on the wooden deck…

click, click.

More percussion in this song. I am learning to listen. To learn I must practice.

Chirp.

That unrelenting chirp that never misses a beat, it is constant and exact. Such is the message for my heart–a constant and exact word for only my soul, speaking personally to the depths of my spiritual being. Yet, I see in the songs I have shared with others this week, the songs I have listened others sing, that the message is being broadcast worldwide. The movement is wild and far-traveling. While He speaks straight to my soul, He is speaking directly to the souls of others. He is amazing. He is big.

Chirp.

Clack. Click, click.

What is this message? What is this great orchestral composition leading me to? I don’t know…yet. But I am simply enjoying the concert.

Clack. Click, click.

Chirp.

Pat, pat, pat, pat….

piddle, piddle,

Pat….

The message is to listen…to learn His voice. To practice the art of listening to Him.

The rain from the roof has gathered in the gutters and soon a faint trickle of drops turns into a spout of bubbling brook.

Drip.

Drop.

Pour.

He is here, even now, and I know this because I listen.

I fear no evil, for He is with me. His soft showers of grace turn into rivers of gratitude in my heart. Somehow this listening transforms me. My spirit lifts, and I believe it is because I am hearing His Spirit with all my senses. This is the message He has for me. This is one of the many gifts He has given me, to have at my disposal His Holy Spirit, the Helper, the Comforter, the One who reminds me of the Father’s love and of Jesus’ words. If I don’t hear, how will I know?

I am learning to be a sheep that listens, that is known, and does not wonder. “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me” (John 10:27). He is speaking to me in daily current parables.

“This is why I speak to them in parables, because seeing they do not see, and hearing they do not hear, nor do they understand. Indeed, in their case the prophecy of Isaiah is fulfilled that says:

“‘“You will indeed hear but never understand,
and you will indeed see but never perceive.”
For this people’s heart has grown dull,
and with their ears they can barely hear,
and their eyes they have closed,
lest they should see with their eyes
and hear with their ears
and understand with their heart
and turn, and I would heal them.’
But blessed are your eyes, for they see, and your ears, for they hear. For truly, I say to you, many prophets and righteous people longed to see what you see, and did not see it, and to hear what you hear, and did not hear it” (Matthew 13:13-17).

In His mercy, my dull heart is being illuminated. My ears are being tuned. My eyes are being opened. His mercies are new every morning.

Chirp.

I hear His mercies falling anew:

Pat, pat, pat, pat….

piddle, piddle,

Pat….

Drip, drop…

pour.

He has healing and I turn to hear it and receive it.

His Spirit is here, with me, with you. Listen. Keep your eyes peeled. Don’t over think it. Simply sit and listen and start with what you hear. My friend, I want you to know the joy that comes from knowing.

chirp.

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. 🙂

ANGIE GOEKE

taste and see

Lent: Day 25, 26, & 27…

blog post…check

Total eclipse of the heart…

Chirp…

what’s the big idea??

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