Moses didn’t go to Dairy Queen…

Just before Easter, I found out that CrossBooks, the self-publishing arm of Lifeway, is closing it’s doors at the end of the month.  It was a shocker, seeing as I had just arranged with them to have a book-signing at the Southern Baptist Convention later this summer.  Now, that opportunity is cancelled and the printing of my book will be put on hold while all the ins-and-outs are transferred over to another publishing company.

I didn’t see this little bump coming.  In fact, just the week before, I was so encouraged by multiple chance-meetings, conversations, and opportunities, that I felt as though I was reaching the summit of a new peak.  Little did I know, that I was merely rounding the foothills of a great chain of mountains that lie ahead.

What do we do in these moments–when all seems to be rapidly advancing forward, only to abruptly stop at a standstill?  If we are on the highway, we might have a few choice words for the situation.  If we are distracted, maybe texting while driving, we might find ourselves up the rear bumper of those in front of us.  If we are alert and aware that the highway is an unpredictable environment, then we allow time to avoid collision and can bluetooth Siri for an alternate route.

This past week, I was excited about getting to the final destination.  I was looking at the horizon, dreaming of the Dairy Queen that lay just beyond…


…and I was aggressively driving to get there.  I wasn’t noticing the Bluebonnets or the Indian Paintbrush.  I wasn’t aware of the other drivers or the chance of construction on the future 5-mile stretch.  So when traffic came to a halt, I reacted with a few choice words and a little bit of panic.

Have you ever thought about the highway journeys found in Scripture?  Consider Moses:  From birth, he was removed from the solid arms of his mother and put into a wobbly river-born basket.  He grew up in a palace, rapidly advancing in the Egyptian hierarchy.  He was unaware, however, that the fast-paced, golden overpass he was traveling was about to run out of asphalt.  He ended up in the desert, running as a former adopted child to a king, reeling from the reveal of his true biological make-up and the guilt of his actions.  He was not who he thought he was.  He was taken in by tent-living nomads who tended to sheep.  It would appear Moses was on a completely different route, living a new life, perhaps even happy to seek a new dream.  Then he found himself literally on a mountain.  It was there that a burning bush smart-phone redirected him back to Egypt, back to the palace, but with a completely new role.

How awkward that first reuniting with his adoptive brother, Pharaoh, must have been.   How awkward getting to know his biological brother, Aaron, as they took on a seemingly impossible adventure together.  None of it was the path that Moses envisioned for himself.  He was in an unpredictable environment.  None of it was comfortable or ideal.  His 10-year plan, likely drafted within advanced Egyptian architecture, probably didn’t include a Midian wife, a shepherd’s/farmer’s-tan, and a plague-ridden squabble of “LET GO!” with his older childhood brother.

I am amazed when I think about the lifespan of Moses…all that he went through, all the different roles he filled, and all the things he must have seen.  Even more awe-inspiring to me is how God used a man who lorded over His own people to later free His people.  Just like Saul, God used a man who was an enemy to become the greatest advocate.

My road has been bumpy…and not just with publishers and book stuff.  I’ve been the worst of enemies with those who God is calling me to advocate for–my husband, my children, …my self.  The lies that I believe about my identity tell me that I belong to a worldly dynasty, entitled to riches and authority.  I have lorded over my own people.  I have not been kind.  We all do this, right?  We all believe the lies of entitlement.  We all abuse those closest and dearest.

But we are not destined to this…

There is hope.

God has a plan to remove us off the interstate leading to creamy soft-serve, where we are likely weak to over-indulge and cut in line.  He sits us in a desert and gives us sheep to watch.  He leads us to green pastures.  He calls us by new names and reminds us of our true identity.


He sends us to a mountain.

He asks us to recall where we’ve been and redirects us to a path that is a divine mashup of all we have ever been with all that we are to become.  He takes the stuff that shames us and pushes us forward with wisdom gained and connections built.  Rather than a fancy headdress and a royal polished crook and flail, He adorns us with humble sandals and a shepherd’s knotty staff in hand.

I don’t know where I am headed, or at what pace I am supposed to walk.  However, I have been reminded of who I am.  I have been retaught of where I have been and where I currently pause.  I stand, waiting in the cleft of a mountain, for the still small voice or the burning bush…whatever He has for me.  And when He says whatever He has to say to me, I pray I move with confident hustle, even though awkwardness and discomfort are inevitable.  I ask that He continue to remind me that every place I’ve been and have yet to  go is preparing and shaping me for one purpose and one goal…to bring news of freedom to those who are enslaved.  He is grooming me with all that I need to reach those to whom He has called me.

Moses didn’t go to Dairy Queen…right away.  He was first diverted off the path, given all that was necessary to get him there for more than just ice-cream…for the milk and honey sweetness of freedom for God’s people.

“Lead me in your truth and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation; for you I wait all the day long.”   

Psalm 25:5 


Real conversation when Paul got home yesterday afternoon:

Me:  I feel like I was the worst mother ever today….

Paul: What ma…(interrupted)

Gideon: AGH!!! (as a plastic swimming fish goes flying down the stairs)

Me: (sigh)

Paul: (laughter)

Me:  Okay, maybe they haven’t been the best kids today either.

At the risk of sounding crazy, at three separate times yesterday, I found myself lying on the floor.  Not playing with anyone.  Not cleaning anything up.  Just enjoying the silence way down there.  It’s like the whole world stands still and peaceful in that little world that exits in the last 5 inches of space before hitting the floor.  (And we even ended school at 9:30 in the morning!)

The day started with our end of the week little tests to make sure my kids are actually listening to me and learning something.  Like I said, by 9:30, we were done.  I promised the kids earlier in the week that if we ended early on Friday we could go visit their friends during recess at school.  Talk about motivation!  So we spent an hour out there in the hot sun at the elementary school playing it up.

My goal for the rest of the day was to clean the house. So, because I had already worked on cleaning the kitchen a little before we left, we ate lunch AWAY from home.  When we finally got home, it was time to get back at it.  But as soon as we walked in the door, a drink slipped through a pair of little hands and it was all over the floor.  Good thing that floor was going to get cleaned anyways as soon as we finished eating.  

The kids were given the task to play or watch a movie and let mommy clean.  This worked for awhile until someone (they shall remain nameless to protect their identity) got a splinter.  When splinters breed with this particular child a new beast is born.  Oh, man…D-R-A-M-A.  That kind of thing tests my patience like none other.  Especially, when I am trying to fix the problem, namely get the splinter out of the finger, and am slammed with a reaction that would suggest I am taking a chainsaw to it.  Momma did not do so well.  I eventually had to just get up and leave, letting the screaming beast figure it out on its own.  I did not speak with love or care or concern at the end of that conversation.  Not a good moment for Mom.

Amazingly enough, walking away actually made the splinter hurt less…go figure.

It was after this, that I had found myself on the floor for the first time…upstairs in my bedroom.  I had just finished picking up all the school folders and books and papers that had been collecting there by my desk all week.  I had picked up the laundry that the raccoon got into and I could actually see the floor again.  

Oh, sweet floor.  You don’t talk back to me.  You never run away from me when I am talking.  You are there…even under the crap I leave on you.  Ahhhh…before I knew it, there I was face down on my floor.  I think I could have even fallen asleep for a little, if it weren’t for the little pieces of paper I could see all the way across the floor on my new tan carpet horizon.  The impulse to vacuum overtook me and stole my moment of floor peace.

After vacuuming I hightailed it downstairs to mop.  I swept first and finally got that done after quite a few interruptions by Gideon and the raccoon.  I sent the girls upstairs to work on their rooms, and Gideon outside with the raccoon in his new swing.  (Don’t worry, he was buckled in and the blinds were open.  I could see them the whole time.)  In the five minutes that lasted, I got about a quarter of the floor done.  Judah was crying.  Time for a nap.  

I got him out of the swing and upstairs to his bed to try and take a nap.  I intercepted the girls going down the stairs to put in a movie (yes, again) because they were tired of cleaning, (if they only knew).  After singing him his song, laying him down, putting in his pacifier, tapping his nose and giving him his love-ie, he smiled at me and I walked out.  Sweet boy. 🙂

And then he cried.  

And cried.

And so started the routine: in and out of his room to “replug” him with the pacifier over and over again.  His sweet smile accompanying every nap-time rendezvous.  In between our little visits, I scrubbed toilets and wiped down counters and carried monster trucks out of my room and back into Gideon’s room.  Then, the girls decided to take a break from the movie and play outside with Gideon.  It was a good thing, because honestly, I forgot that he was still out there.

To take advantage of the moment I laid on the floor again…this time in the hallway outside of the raccoon’s room.  It wasn’t for long.  I was on my back silently pleading… Oh, please…go to sleep, little man.  You have to be tired.  You have to be…(I think I fell asleep, maybe…) 

But not Judah.  He was not having it.  In again, song again, pacifier again, love-ie again, nose-tap again, smile again.  Exit.  Cry.


I finally rescued him from my motherly torture.  I guess he is 7 months old, a real big man on campus. I guess he knows what he needs and he doesn’t need an authority figure to help him see when rest is essential to his temperament.  Sigh. Whatever.

Then the kids came back in.  “Oh, good! Judah’s awake!”, I heard.  (If they only knew.)  They started picking up their rooms again.  One needed my permission to hang stuff on the wall, the other needed my overall help and encouragement to throw away practically everything in her room.  Everything is special and important and has a future use.  If the world comes to an end, I want her on my team.  We will have plenty of McDonald’s toys (and wrappers) to throw at the zombies.

Finally, it felt like everyone had a task and didn’t need my help and I could sit for a minute with a glass of water.  Then, I remembered the three-fourths of the floor downstairs that still needed to be mopped.  And, yes, it was necessary.  This was the sticky area that had previously been polished with a rag and Sonic Ocean Water Slush.  I flipped on some music and got to mopping.  The raccoon was up in his crib, out of actual physical harm, but I could hear him fuss, and little Helen trying her best to sweet-talk him.  I could hear Ava at work in her room.  And Gideon…poor Gideon.  I forgot about him again.  I can’t remember where he was or what he was doing.  Not a stellar Mom day.

But, the floor was finally mopped.  It looked so good.  It was clean and smooth and cold.  Yes, floor-moment number 3.  On my face again.  That little piece of floor heaven looked so good, I even moved the kitchen table out of the way so I could really stretch out.  Oh.  To feel the length of my entire spine release from the pressure of just standing, it was amazing.  The cool floor against my face…and it smelled good…really good and clean.  Just thinking about it as I write makes me want to close my eyes.  It was so peaceful, in those 5 inches above the floor.  So calm.  So clean.  So cool.

“MO———–M!”  “Judah in his bed is not working for me anymore!”  

I picked him up and as I was headed back downstairs, in walked Paul.  I sat on the bench, which was out of it’s normal place.  Oh yeah, now I remember what Gideon had been up to!  I had completely forgot about the fort that Gideon had asked me to build him earlier when I was upstairs with the girls in their rooms.  That’s where he was!   OH…  That’s where he was…waiting for me.   Not a good Mommy day, at all.  All the furniture was rearranged and his entire set of sheets, bedspread, blankets, and pillows were waiting in the center to be constructed into a much anticipated fort.

Thankfully, Paul was already on it, tucking and stretching and building a much needed and well-deserved fort for Gideon.  Gideon ran upstairs to get a few things.  Ava came down the stairs ready to play.  Helen came down, saw the fort, and said, “Y’al’ve been building a fort while I have been cleaning my room?!  That’s not fair…”, and started to play.  (If she only knew.) Paul sat on the couch across from me and just said, “You gonna make it, Goeke?”

And this is where my, “I feel like I haven’t been a good mother today,” comment happened… and the fish flying down the stairs in a loud crash.

I think I wasn’t a good Mom yesterday.  I don’t think I am a good Mom any day.  I often lose my patience.  I often lose my temper.  I often breed my own little devilish beasts that take over my attitude and dealings with others.  

But thank goodness for those heavenly floor-moments.  And while the actual laying on the floor moments are good respite for a day like today, they don’t compare to the floor moments at the feet of Jesus.  When I lay at His feet,  when I sit in meditation enjoying sometimes a mere 5 inches of space between the world around me and the acknowledgment that Jesus loves me, I am surrendering all over to Him.  I don’t get distracted by the paper from the 3-hole punch stuck on the carpet.  I don’t worry about how many times I forgot Gideon, or how I may or may not have thrown Judah completely off a nap schedule.  I hand it all over to Him, asking Him to forgive my shortcomings, to heal the hurts that I have caused.  I can plead to Him- not to take a nap, but for all my restless moments.  I ask him to show me where and how I can love better, and even clean better.  I ask Him to make all this “family rehab” worth it.  I ask Him to give me more floor space- more time with Him to focus on Him.  And sometimes, even literally more floor space for our growing family and all their Happy Meal mementos.

And in those moments before His throne, in His house, if I am quiet and still enough, I can hear him remind me of his forgiveness, his mercy, his unfailing love.  Psalm 23:6 says it this way, “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”  Being in His presence, sometimes, face to the floor, reveals my meekness, sinfulness, and weakness.  I need a god bigger than me.  I need a god who actually cares that I find joy in laying on my floor.  I need a god who takes huge measures to show me that even though I fail time and time again, he does NOT ever fail me.  My God gave it ALL on the cross for me, even when I can’t give my own children simple splinter first-aid.  He forgives me and remembers my sin no more, even when I can’t remember where I left my own children.  Through his sacrifice on the cross He cleans me and erases all my sticky accusations of a horrible mom.  Like my clean floor, He washes me clean with his forgiveness and I am clean, cool, and peaceful.  When I acknowledge Him in all my ways, He reminds me of ALL the ways He has acknowledged me…even when I am on the floor.

“…but, God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”  Romans 5:8

I don’t do anything to deserve my floor-moments with Jesus.  My little piece of heaven that exists somewhere in between my heart and my head is there because of what He has done in my weakness.  It is the gift of Jesus in me, connecting me to the Father and His truths.  

Thank you, Jesus, for times spent in front of your feet, wiping them with tear-filled locks.  Thank you for your gentleness and kindness, loving me there, where I am, how I am.  Thank you that when I am literally sent to the floor with overwhelming tasks, I am still floored by your overwhelming goodness and grace.  And thank you, Jesus, for freshly cleaned, good-smelling floors.