I have been writing, folks. Writing and thinking and praying and reading and writing some more. I have about fifteen half-written blogs. So much to be said; so many threads to be pulled. My little tribe has done an immense amount of growing, painfully and tenaciously, during the past few months. I have no words to encapsulate all that has happened in our hearts and our prayers. And we are still very much in the thick of it. Maybe someday, I will be able to slap a theme on it and talk about "lessons learned" all packaged and peaceful and stuff.
But not today.
And even as I type I feel the need to immediately post a disclaimer on such vulnerability. Because we are healthy. We are so in love with one another and fiercely devoted to the God who is redeeming our very story. We have family and friends who walk beside us and point us towards hope and promise. All the big and important things are in place, safe and secure, thank you Jesus.
But, sometimes, being a grown up and making grown up decisions can be enough to put us over the edge. Couple that with a tendency for control and the blurriness of the unknown and watch me go cray. The past six months have kind of been a pot that boileth over. Great things and hard things. Big Decisions made and some big ones to make.
We put our home up for sale in June as my parents graciously offered to let us live with them for a while. It seemed like perfect timing with Greg working full-time and being in graduate school. We were excited about respite from finances, and I was excited to hang out with my mom all day. Anne of Green Gables marathons like whoa.
But. We knew that we needed to trust that God was in the process. Whatever the outcome. And it's a good thing we did. Because the week after we listed, word leaked that developers had bought a plot of land at the end of our street to build a $450 million power plant. Blessedness. We had two showings in 60 days. We prayed and talked and struggled with our decision, but we knew that until this power plant business blew over, we couldn't even pay people to buy our home.
So, we are staying. We are trusting that God ordered this process just so and that we are still needed here, in our little yellow home.
And with that commitment to stay came a slew of other decisions. Financial decisions, like our commitment to my pulling an income through in home daycare (side note: little people are just my favorite. If I have to work it will always, always be with them.) Family decisions...like do we want a big family or is that something that I say when I have too much wine? Because hey: big families are fun. I grew up in one. I'm just not sure that I'm meant to parent one. Unless I take up day drinking. Kidding?
So anyways, I have experienced some tension between desire and reality. I have prayed and cried and fought and struggled along this journey over the past year or so. Because, If I had my perfect life, I would wear a Snuggie and eat cheesecake and just write the day away. I just love words. WORDS FOR LIFE. But we gots bills to pay. And a hubby in school chasing so hard and so well after his dreams. And little loves that need my full attention throughout their first days. I know that God has called me to anchor the SS Hamann for this season. And I'm doing it. By God's amazing grace, I'm doing it.
But it doesn't always mean that it's peaceful and effortless or at the expense of something else. Sometimes, I feel caught up in a strange borderland where I am jealous of my working friends and jealous of my stay at home mom friends and jealous that my kids get to eat Cheez-its all day. And sometime, I secretly fear that these months might turn into years and my anchor will become barnacled and rusty.
Last week I received an unexpected note of encouragement from someone I don't know all too well. She had been praying for me (so humbling) and had a word to share with me. And you guys. I just cry trying to type this. She said (paraphrased) You are where you are supposed to be. Nothing is in vain. God wants you to know your time will come. Your prayers are heard. Your heart is known. Your gifts will shine for Jesus. I cannot even explain what reading this word did to my heart. But I think it burst and healed at the same time.
And this:
The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still. Exodus 14:14
Balm to my heart. My time will come. I need to be still and trusting in this season. It is not in vain. There is more to be learned from this. There is more that needs to be loved through this. I love my little tribe and I know that a time will come, all too soon, where no one needs a band-aid for their stuffed elephant and where my incredible husband gets to be home more and the kitchen floor will stay clean for more than an hour. I'm not going to waste these precious and significant moments by coveting my future. We are hunkering down, y'all. In it to win it and such.
I know I need to be at the proverbial here before I can get to the proverbial there.
And I know, without a doubt, that I will look back on this particular season of my life and eat up every little moment that God allowed me to have.
Thursday, August 28, 2014
Friday, May 9, 2014
But Not Us.
Last night I chucked my phone across the basement. I wasn't being vindictive or manipulative. I had just had enough. Greg and I had been sitting within two feet of each other for half an hour without talking. He was checking his laptop for the latest NFL draft news. I was checking out Facebook and Instagram on my phone.
And we weren't talking. But we had every excuse in the book.
It was nine o'clock and the girls had just gone to bed.
It had been an exhausting week.
He had just finished his last class for the semester.
I had just finished a marathon of a day with the girls.
And
Work has been really tough for him lately.
Life has been really busy for us lately.
So last night WE JUST NEEDED SOME TIME TO CHECK OUT.
At least that's what we told ourselves.
But at some point in our little inhabiting-the-same-space-but-not-interacting-ness, I looked over at my husband of ten years and I became a little angry and a lot sad. I wasn't angry with him as much as I was with myself. My phone suddenly felt like a hot potato and his laptop, I swear, was growing horns. I was ready to go all Xena warrior princess on our mobile devices.
I said, quietly to myself so Greg wouldn't think I was crazy (a little too late in our marriage for this), "But not us."
Yes, we are tired. We are overdrawn and don't know which way is up. And, yes, something has to give. But not us. It's not going to be us. We are not going to be what gives in this equation.
The easy thing to do is to check out. To run towards something that looks like relief from everyday reality. We can get lost in our laptops, in Sports Center, in Facebook and Etsy and whatever else calls out to us. Also, chocolate. For me. Flaming Hot Cheetos for him.
But what we don't realize, in those few short minutes at the end of each night that we have to be husband and wife, is that those tiny moments are all that we may have to be married that day. Things need to be said. Prayers need to be prayed. These lives need to be joined together again. So that we can face tomorrow as one.
I'm a huge fan of sitting down with a cozy blanket and a book in the evening. I also love me some Richard Castle and Kate Beckett. But when time together is at a premium; and we are tired, anxious, and feeling fragile...
That's when our TV needs to go.
That's when our phones need to go.
That's when our laptops need to go.
That's when our calendars need to be cleared a little.
That's when we put a stake in the ground and say, "But not us."
Because we are not the thing that needs to go. We stay. We need to stay and face each other so that we can walk beside one another. We need to check out of anything distracting and check-in to the Life that God has called us to lead. As one. As a family. As a team.
Go team.
So. I chucked my phone across the basement last night. Greg looked up at me in surprise, saying, "Hey. What's up?" And we talked. And I cried a little bit. Per usual. And we hugged. We made the most of the fifteen minutes we had left before I started falling asleep on the couch. It wasn't anything magical. But it felt as if, just for a little while, we held space for one another and declared, "Not us. Not tonight." And that, in itself, felt like a small victory.
Thank you Jesus.
And we weren't talking. But we had every excuse in the book.
It was nine o'clock and the girls had just gone to bed.
It had been an exhausting week.
He had just finished his last class for the semester.
I had just finished a marathon of a day with the girls.
And
Work has been really tough for him lately.
Life has been really busy for us lately.
So last night WE JUST NEEDED SOME TIME TO CHECK OUT.
At least that's what we told ourselves.
But at some point in our little inhabiting-the-same-space-but-not-interacting-ness, I looked over at my husband of ten years and I became a little angry and a lot sad. I wasn't angry with him as much as I was with myself. My phone suddenly felt like a hot potato and his laptop, I swear, was growing horns. I was ready to go all Xena warrior princess on our mobile devices.
I said, quietly to myself so Greg wouldn't think I was crazy (a little too late in our marriage for this), "But not us."
Yes, we are tired. We are overdrawn and don't know which way is up. And, yes, something has to give. But not us. It's not going to be us. We are not going to be what gives in this equation.
The easy thing to do is to check out. To run towards something that looks like relief from everyday reality. We can get lost in our laptops, in Sports Center, in Facebook and Etsy and whatever else calls out to us. Also, chocolate. For me. Flaming Hot Cheetos for him.
But what we don't realize, in those few short minutes at the end of each night that we have to be husband and wife, is that those tiny moments are all that we may have to be married that day. Things need to be said. Prayers need to be prayed. These lives need to be joined together again. So that we can face tomorrow as one.
I'm a huge fan of sitting down with a cozy blanket and a book in the evening. I also love me some Richard Castle and Kate Beckett. But when time together is at a premium; and we are tired, anxious, and feeling fragile...
That's when our TV needs to go.
That's when our phones need to go.
That's when our laptops need to go.
That's when our calendars need to be cleared a little.
That's when we put a stake in the ground and say, "But not us."
Because we are not the thing that needs to go. We stay. We need to stay and face each other so that we can walk beside one another. We need to check out of anything distracting and check-in to the Life that God has called us to lead. As one. As a family. As a team.
Go team.
So. I chucked my phone across the basement last night. Greg looked up at me in surprise, saying, "Hey. What's up?" And we talked. And I cried a little bit. Per usual. And we hugged. We made the most of the fifteen minutes we had left before I started falling asleep on the couch. It wasn't anything magical. But it felt as if, just for a little while, we held space for one another and declared, "Not us. Not tonight." And that, in itself, felt like a small victory.
Thank you Jesus.
Love as distinct from “being in love” is not merely a feeling. It is a deep unity, maintained by the will and deliberately strengthened by habit…
~ C. S. Lewis ~
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Put away your sword.
Many of you know that my family is walking through the unknown right now. Let's be honest, anyone within five feet of me (including the poor unsuspecting person behind me in the check out aisle) runs the risk of hearing about it. And while we always are walking through the unknown to some degree, this particular season has been really really hard for me.
So here is where I get weird.
I have these notebooks, you see. Lots of notebooks.
And when I am feeling overwhelmed by the helplessness of not knowing which direction God may lead us; I write. I write scenarios. I write budgets. I write out pages and pages of outlines for how life could possibly pan out with Plan A, Plan B, and Plans XYZ. I research different career opportunities and what kind of education they might require. I try to calculate how big or little a pot of gold we might have at the end of all these rainbows.
This is one of my quirks. I've always been a dreamer and a planner. And usually it's okay. My use of lined paper to dream typically breaths a freshness and an excitement to my every day life. Usually. But lately, with so many things unknown, my doodles and flourishes are turning into frantic chicken scratches that become less and less legible and more and more unreasonable as they progress.
Because I'm just looking for a way. For a Rescue. It is killing me to not have control right now, and I am fighting back with my notebooks and my internet research and obsessive over-thinking. And it's turned my anxiety barometer up to unreasonable decibels. It's all I hear. All I can see. All I think about. Which is why I wrote I'm Showing Up. The tension between my self and my Spirit has never been more palpable to me, and I knew that I needed to try, with His help, to be present in my everyday life.
But praise the Lord, He is not done with me yet. There is always more.
So just this week, as God and the Bible and all things holy would have it, I have been studying the arrest and trial of Jesus with my Bible Study Fellowship (holler!) group.
And our boy Peter. I'm really identifying with him these days. He sinks in the water. He cuts a dudes ear off. He denies his best friend. Who IS THE SAVIOR OF EVERYTHING. Peter has knee-jerk-self-preservation reactions to the chaos in his life. He cannot, for the life of him, subject himself to the pain or walk through the fear to get to the other side of redemption.
Peter wanted to fight the process. He wanted to fight the not knowing. He wanted to fight what had to be done in order for the story to be redeemed. He could only see pain and persecution and imprisonment in front of him. He could not see through to the other side.
But Jesus knows this about Peter. Earlier that evening, Jesus had spoken these very words over His beloved friend:
Put your sword away! Shall I not drink the cup the Father has given me? John 18:11
Because Jesus. He knew. Jesus knew that the sword would only get in the way of what had to be done. And Jesus drank that cup, walking through the fear to the Other Side of Redemption. Through death and into life. Bringing the abundant and forever life to all who believe that Jesus is who he says he is. And that Jesus can do what he says he can do.
But do I?
Do I believe that Jesus is who he says he is?
Do I believe Jesus can do what he says he can do?
Then why the swords? Why the notebooks? Why do I wield my pen like some sort of magic eight ball that will choose the story that is easiest and that looks the prettiest? It really comes down to asking those simple questions of myself. Do I believe Jesus? Do I trust Him to walk us through this? Do I believe in the Upper Story...what is happening in the kingdom of heaven that my eyes cannot see?
My answer is yes. My answer is yes.
Our pain and our trials can be redemptive if we choose to feed our faith instead of our fear. If we choose to walk through the unknown and keep our eyes on Jesus instead of swinging blindly with our swords and writing frantically in our notebooks we will get to where He's called us to. He will show us a way. And He will use it and us to bring glory and honor to Himself. Because that is what it is all about, amen?
Peter. Put away your sword.
Rachel. Put away your notebook.
So I am. No more notebooks. For now. I am trusting that Jesus is who he says he is. I am checking in to my everyday life and investing all my energy into living in the unknown. And wow. It is totally unknown. But I want to draw strength as I wait up on the Lord. I don't want my anxious thoughts, my best laid plans, or my need for control to dry up the joy that the Lord has set before me.
I'm done feeding my fear.
He is risen indeed.
But praise the Lord, He is not done with me yet. There is always more.
So just this week, as God and the Bible and all things holy would have it, I have been studying the arrest and trial of Jesus with my Bible Study Fellowship (holler!) group.
And our boy Peter. I'm really identifying with him these days. He sinks in the water. He cuts a dudes ear off. He denies his best friend. Who IS THE SAVIOR OF EVERYTHING. Peter has knee-jerk-self-preservation reactions to the chaos in his life. He cannot, for the life of him, subject himself to the pain or walk through the fear to get to the other side of redemption.
Peter wanted to fight the process. He wanted to fight the not knowing. He wanted to fight what had to be done in order for the story to be redeemed. He could only see pain and persecution and imprisonment in front of him. He could not see through to the other side.
But Jesus knows this about Peter. Earlier that evening, Jesus had spoken these very words over His beloved friend:
Put your sword away! Shall I not drink the cup the Father has given me? John 18:11
Because Jesus. He knew. Jesus knew that the sword would only get in the way of what had to be done. And Jesus drank that cup, walking through the fear to the Other Side of Redemption. Through death and into life. Bringing the abundant and forever life to all who believe that Jesus is who he says he is. And that Jesus can do what he says he can do.
But do I?
Do I believe that Jesus is who he says he is?
Do I believe Jesus can do what he says he can do?
Then why the swords? Why the notebooks? Why do I wield my pen like some sort of magic eight ball that will choose the story that is easiest and that looks the prettiest? It really comes down to asking those simple questions of myself. Do I believe Jesus? Do I trust Him to walk us through this? Do I believe in the Upper Story...what is happening in the kingdom of heaven that my eyes cannot see?
My answer is yes. My answer is yes.
Our pain and our trials can be redemptive if we choose to feed our faith instead of our fear. If we choose to walk through the unknown and keep our eyes on Jesus instead of swinging blindly with our swords and writing frantically in our notebooks we will get to where He's called us to. He will show us a way. And He will use it and us to bring glory and honor to Himself. Because that is what it is all about, amen?
Peter. Put away your sword.
Rachel. Put away your notebook.
So I am. No more notebooks. For now. I am trusting that Jesus is who he says he is. I am checking in to my everyday life and investing all my energy into living in the unknown. And wow. It is totally unknown. But I want to draw strength as I wait up on the Lord. I don't want my anxious thoughts, my best laid plans, or my need for control to dry up the joy that the Lord has set before me.
I'm done feeding my fear.
He is risen indeed.
Thursday, April 10, 2014
I'm showing up
I have not written in a really long time. And wow. I'm really feeling it. I have a lot to process. So many thoughts. I HAVE ALL THE THOUGHTS. However. I repeatedly find myself in a face-off with my laptop every time I sit to write. She stares at me, taunting me with her blank screens and that darn-it-all blinking cursor. Write something. Write something. I am silently praying and willing all the thoughts to run down my arm and move my fingers to type something concrete. Something meaningful. Something beautiful. But even as I try to make these words come to life I am aware that writing is not going to magically just happen to me.
Because writing. It's a discipline. Because working out. It's a discipline. Because the study and application of the Very Words of God is a discipline. Because loving Greg and loving my girls is a discipline.
Because really. All I want to do is eat chocolate chip cookies and sleep all day.
Historically discipline and I have had a love/hate relationship. Meaning I will spend three hundred dollars on Paleo foods and buy the latest cookbooks and read all the blogs and then two weeks in Greg will find me in a closet with a loaf of french bread and a stick of butter growling at him to leave me and my friends in peace. Or I will have a vision for chore charts with matching stickers for the girls and after three days their charts are collecting dust under their dirty (and unmade) beds.
When it comes to discipline, I am all bark and no bite.
Woof.
Well. Just recently I hit a breaking point. My body felt broken and tired. My mind was so worn from my discipline plans starting and ending. Starting again and ending again. But the worst. The worst was my spirit. My spirit felt weary and defeated. I was tired of myself. Tired of hot and cold. Tired of dieting or pigging out. Tired of my plans. Tired of feeling like parable of the seed that falls on fertile soil only to pop up for a few days before withering away. I was withering away.
And that is where God always meets me. At the end of myself. Without fail.
My Jesus. He met me. He softly spoke over my heart: I will teach you a better way still.
I slowly began to realize, through prayer and Scripture and countless conversations with pillar people in my life that maybe, just maybe, there is a better way still. Maybe it's not about discipline.
Maybe it's just about showing up.
Showing up to the gym even if all I can do is walk for ten minutes. Showing up to friendships where I've been a little checked out even if it's over e-mail or text. Showing up before God, even if it isn't a life altering Jesus encounter every time. Showing up for my girls even if it's just reminding myself, over and over, to be present and to look them fully in their little faces when they speak with me.
I want to show up to my life. BECAUSE I JUST GET ONE. I want to be as alive as I possibly can be in every moment I can be given. I feel so done with crazy diets, blanket statements and making impossible-to-keep standards for myself. I want to learn to be broken but to be present. To choose progress over perfection. To check out of the ideal and into my imperfect reality.
Showing up. Even if I feel a mess. Showing up broken and vulnerable instead of scheming how put together I will be if I follow steps A, B, C. Showing up and not making it about winning or losing but just about being. Showing up with a patient heart that leans towards understanding that is not my own.
Slowing my step. Deepening my breath. Eyes wide open. Ready to do this.
Because, if I'm being honest with myself, I know that is the only way to get to where I want to go. Slow and steady wins this here race, and I am all in. Even if it means crawling at times, this train is moving forward. Inch by inch. Showing up along the way.
So. I'm back. I'm showing up on my little corner of the interwebs (as Greg likes to call it) and I am saving this space to not be polished or witty or perfect or even make sense. I'm going to continue to show up, because I know that God wants me to use words for Him. And as I fumble and struggle and mentally flip the bird at my computer screen I know that He is present and He is satisfied.
Because writing. It's a discipline. Because working out. It's a discipline. Because the study and application of the Very Words of God is a discipline. Because loving Greg and loving my girls is a discipline.
Because really. All I want to do is eat chocolate chip cookies and sleep all day.
Historically discipline and I have had a love/hate relationship. Meaning I will spend three hundred dollars on Paleo foods and buy the latest cookbooks and read all the blogs and then two weeks in Greg will find me in a closet with a loaf of french bread and a stick of butter growling at him to leave me and my friends in peace. Or I will have a vision for chore charts with matching stickers for the girls and after three days their charts are collecting dust under their dirty (and unmade) beds.
When it comes to discipline, I am all bark and no bite.
Woof.
Well. Just recently I hit a breaking point. My body felt broken and tired. My mind was so worn from my discipline plans starting and ending. Starting again and ending again. But the worst. The worst was my spirit. My spirit felt weary and defeated. I was tired of myself. Tired of hot and cold. Tired of dieting or pigging out. Tired of my plans. Tired of feeling like parable of the seed that falls on fertile soil only to pop up for a few days before withering away. I was withering away.
And that is where God always meets me. At the end of myself. Without fail.
My Jesus. He met me. He softly spoke over my heart: I will teach you a better way still.
I slowly began to realize, through prayer and Scripture and countless conversations with pillar people in my life that maybe, just maybe, there is a better way still. Maybe it's not about discipline.
Maybe it's just about showing up.
Showing up to the gym even if all I can do is walk for ten minutes. Showing up to friendships where I've been a little checked out even if it's over e-mail or text. Showing up before God, even if it isn't a life altering Jesus encounter every time. Showing up for my girls even if it's just reminding myself, over and over, to be present and to look them fully in their little faces when they speak with me.
I want to show up to my life. BECAUSE I JUST GET ONE. I want to be as alive as I possibly can be in every moment I can be given. I feel so done with crazy diets, blanket statements and making impossible-to-keep standards for myself. I want to learn to be broken but to be present. To choose progress over perfection. To check out of the ideal and into my imperfect reality.
Showing up. Even if I feel a mess. Showing up broken and vulnerable instead of scheming how put together I will be if I follow steps A, B, C. Showing up and not making it about winning or losing but just about being. Showing up with a patient heart that leans towards understanding that is not my own.
Slowing my step. Deepening my breath. Eyes wide open. Ready to do this.
Because, if I'm being honest with myself, I know that is the only way to get to where I want to go. Slow and steady wins this here race, and I am all in. Even if it means crawling at times, this train is moving forward. Inch by inch. Showing up along the way.
So. I'm back. I'm showing up on my little corner of the interwebs (as Greg likes to call it) and I am saving this space to not be polished or witty or perfect or even make sense. I'm going to continue to show up, because I know that God wants me to use words for Him. And as I fumble and struggle and mentally flip the bird at my computer screen I know that He is present and He is satisfied.
Friday, December 20, 2013
I loved you in lines.
To my husband, my person:
Tomorrow we will look deeply into each others eyes across the console of our gold minivan, and wonder aloud, "What the hell just happened?" As we scrape goldfish out of carseats and frantically finish our Christmas shopping, as we sit in the parking lot of the church where we exchanged vows ten years ago because neither of us checked to see if the church would actually be open for us to have a new super meaningful exchange of vows, we will ponder.
What.
the
hell.
Ten years is a third grader. Ten years is a decade. Ten years is twice the amount of our oldest child's life. Ten years, if we are blessed, is one-ninth of our ENTIRE existence in this world. Ten years filled with life, death, belly laughter and seasons of darkness. Ten years of prayers spoken and unspoken, needs being met and ideals being readjusted. When we entered this covenant together ten years might as well have been thirty. Cause those couples be OLD.
So much of the marriage that we longed after and prayed hard for has come to us. Praise be to God. And so much of that has been through forgiving hard and admitting weaknesses and letting things go that we had death grips on.
Like super death grips.
At the beginning of marriage I clung tightly to the idea that love was linear. That marriage was to be lived out in a straight line. I thought we would approach an issue, plow through with the help of Jesus, tidy the whole mess up and then climb on top of it to get to whatever our next conquest might be. Money issues? Let's just go ahead and resolve those for life. Then we can tackle spiritual leadership issues. Parenting issues. Let's just stack these lessons on top of each other and climb to the top of Marital Bliss mountain.
I know. I was 23. As if that weren't excuse enough, try to remember I also got most of my love wisdom from I Kissed Dating Goodbye. Before you start laughing, remember that you are not allowed. You read it too.
And while some of that climbing to the mountaintop idea rang true for us; mostly it didn't. We still had our stuff. Our things. Our patterns. I remember getting so ridiculously frustrated at some of the same conversations and arguments that would cycle in and out of our marriage. I didn't understand why they would surface...didn't we figure this out already? What does it say about us, about our marriage, if we were doubling back to these worn out conversations? Why are we here again? Didn't we resolve this issue circa 2006?
Because you see, my darling, I loved you in lines.
I was so busy discovering the moral of each one our tiny stories that I failed to see how our love, our marriage looks more like the scribbly mess that Abby made on the top of our coffee table last week. Our love looks like loops and circles and scratches and claw marks that are real. And our story is deeply etched into grooves and circles with no end in sight. Our love is so not a straight line.
Besides. Lines are so boring and predictable.
Besides. Lines are so boring and predictable.
And, I've been thinking lately that maybe this is what life is all about. Maybe this is what God is all about. Maybe it's about revisiting places and conversations and insecurities and hang-ups with one another and an Almighty God so that He can teach us something new each round. Maybe life doesn't look like sparkly gift wrapped "life lessons" but more like a thick fog where we just have to put one step ahead of each other and hold hands and trust God as He beckons.
Yes, sometimes we go back to some of our shiz. But every time we loop back around, we have more years under our belt, more patience in our hearts, and a couple more lines around our eyes. And perhaps we will continue this crazy circular motion forever because you are you. And I am me. But perhaps, just perhaps, one of these days we will walk down our all too familiar roads and realize that our issues no longer live there.
And if that day comes we will be ever more thankful to God for it because of all the time we had spent, all the tears shed, and all the shaping that had taken place there. So who cares if it takes seventy nine versions of the same conversation? As long as we are fighting for growth and fighting for holiness and fighting for one another we are making progress. Amen?
And if that day comes we will be ever more thankful to God for it because of all the time we had spent, all the tears shed, and all the shaping that had taken place there. So who cares if it takes seventy nine versions of the same conversation? As long as we are fighting for growth and fighting for holiness and fighting for one another we are making progress. Amen?
So here is my promise to you: These next ten years I will allow God to bring us back, around, and through whatever He chooses to. I will not dig in my heels and shake my fists and use my words to second guess what God is doing. What you are doing. What I am doing. I will celebrate every step he brings us to, even when I feel like we've been there before.
I will release my breath, grab your hand and walk forward. Or backwards. Wherever. As we said to one another on a snowy day ten years ago tomorrow:
"Where you go, I will go. Your people will be my people (indeed as our little people are playing Headbandz in the room next to me) and your God will be my God."
We are blessed because we belong to one another. And we belong to the One who calls us by name. So glad my name is Hamann.
143 my love. 143.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
My Address.
I turned 33 today. I'm not quite sure what 33 is supposed to feel like, but I definitely thought (way back when 33 sounded just like 60 to me) that I would have my act together by now. That we would be financially secure. That I would have made peace with my body. That marriage would feel effortless because we've done it for so long. That my voice wouldn't ever raise an octave with my obedient, polite, and well manicured children. I thought, by 33, that God and I would be so intimate that we would speak a secret language, and that my life would be so fruitful that I'd need to open up a produce stand.
Even writing that sounds dumb.
Because I feel more of a mess than ever.
It's a good thing.
I don't want to be my 23 year old version of 33. I like this messy and broken version better. And I'm pretty sure God does too. I finally feel the confidence to be honest and truthful about where I stand in life, in love, and in Spirit. God has allowed me, with painful undoing, to learn how to know myself and tell the truth to others.
It's hard. It is awkward to look at a friend that I've had for years and talk, for the first time, about money issues. It is difficult to be honest about my struggle with my weight and how I laugh about it often in public, but cry about it behind close doors. It's not easy to talk about a disagreement Greg and I are having. Usually because I'm wrong and he's right. But still. None of it is easy.
But you know what? That is where God meets me. In the not easy. He meets when I share a part of my story that feels so ugly, and then I look up to see a dear friends eyes tearing up with love and mercy and nothing even close to silent judgment. That is when. When I step out in fear, trembling, and honesty.
Those moments of honesty with God and others allow me to feel known and understood and LOVED in my state of grossness. And that makes me want to chase after a better version of myself, the one that God has designed and purposed for me. But. I cannot be on my way to her unless I know my address. I cannot get Directions until I am aware of where exactly my heart resides.
Which requires honesty.
I'm more convinced than ever, at the ripe old age of 33, that the Christian life is not about the appearance of good. It is not about pretense or pomp or reciting blanket christian phrases to convince others what I have is real. It is not about memorizing the Romans road and yelling it over my neighbors just to hear the sound of my own voice. No. It's just not.
Oh, my sweet Jesus. I believe the Christian life is about looking my neighbor in the eye, and saying, "I don't have it all together. That's actually why I need Him." It's about declaring how broken and messy and complicated I am, and how the only peace and rest I find is under the shadow of His wings. It is about gathering strength in my quiet moments with Him so that there is honesty and peace in my words with others.
My prayer is that others notice Jesus in my mess. Not in the absence of conflict or trials or even self-inflicted troubles. But I want those in my life to see how I confess my imperfections, and I'm honest about my sins, and I cling to Jesus to make me whole again. I don't want to hear, "You are a good person. You make good choices. Also, you are really skinny." But maybe that last part would be nice. Still. I hope someday someone approaches me and says, "You are a hot mess. How do you still hold on?" And then I can raise a fist in the sky, and triumphantly say, "He is not done with me yet!"
So that is my address. I am living in this scary place with dirty laundry and unmentionables just hanging out to dry. My struggles are real. But so is my God. And He is right there with me, rejoicing over my mess of a life with song and quieting me with His love. I can be honest in my inadequacies, because that's where He becomes more, and I become less.
And that, my friends, is how it is supposed to be.
So hey to you 33. I am nowhere closer to the American dream than I was at 23. And Greg and I fight. Also I wear yoga pants most of the time but I probably shouldn't. But I know that I will look back at this time in my life and know that God did work on me because I lived at this address. And my prayer is that my home will just keep moving closer and closer to His Kingdom as He makes sense of this beautiful mess.
Even writing that sounds dumb.
Because I feel more of a mess than ever.
It's a good thing.
I don't want to be my 23 year old version of 33. I like this messy and broken version better. And I'm pretty sure God does too. I finally feel the confidence to be honest and truthful about where I stand in life, in love, and in Spirit. God has allowed me, with painful undoing, to learn how to know myself and tell the truth to others.
It's hard. It is awkward to look at a friend that I've had for years and talk, for the first time, about money issues. It is difficult to be honest about my struggle with my weight and how I laugh about it often in public, but cry about it behind close doors. It's not easy to talk about a disagreement Greg and I are having. Usually because I'm wrong and he's right. But still. None of it is easy.
But you know what? That is where God meets me. In the not easy. He meets when I share a part of my story that feels so ugly, and then I look up to see a dear friends eyes tearing up with love and mercy and nothing even close to silent judgment. That is when. When I step out in fear, trembling, and honesty.
Those moments of honesty with God and others allow me to feel known and understood and LOVED in my state of grossness. And that makes me want to chase after a better version of myself, the one that God has designed and purposed for me. But. I cannot be on my way to her unless I know my address. I cannot get Directions until I am aware of where exactly my heart resides.
Which requires honesty.
I'm more convinced than ever, at the ripe old age of 33, that the Christian life is not about the appearance of good. It is not about pretense or pomp or reciting blanket christian phrases to convince others what I have is real. It is not about memorizing the Romans road and yelling it over my neighbors just to hear the sound of my own voice. No. It's just not.
Oh, my sweet Jesus. I believe the Christian life is about looking my neighbor in the eye, and saying, "I don't have it all together. That's actually why I need Him." It's about declaring how broken and messy and complicated I am, and how the only peace and rest I find is under the shadow of His wings. It is about gathering strength in my quiet moments with Him so that there is honesty and peace in my words with others.
My prayer is that others notice Jesus in my mess. Not in the absence of conflict or trials or even self-inflicted troubles. But I want those in my life to see how I confess my imperfections, and I'm honest about my sins, and I cling to Jesus to make me whole again. I don't want to hear, "You are a good person. You make good choices. Also, you are really skinny." But maybe that last part would be nice. Still. I hope someday someone approaches me and says, "You are a hot mess. How do you still hold on?" And then I can raise a fist in the sky, and triumphantly say, "He is not done with me yet!"
So that is my address. I am living in this scary place with dirty laundry and unmentionables just hanging out to dry. My struggles are real. But so is my God. And He is right there with me, rejoicing over my mess of a life with song and quieting me with His love. I can be honest in my inadequacies, because that's where He becomes more, and I become less.
And that, my friends, is how it is supposed to be.
So hey to you 33. I am nowhere closer to the American dream than I was at 23. And Greg and I fight. Also I wear yoga pants most of the time but I probably shouldn't. But I know that I will look back at this time in my life and know that God did work on me because I lived at this address. And my prayer is that my home will just keep moving closer and closer to His Kingdom as He makes sense of this beautiful mess.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Harvest.
October is by far my favorite month of the year. I love everything about it. Hey. I'll even take the allergies and sinus infections that accompany bonfires, apple cider donuts, and hours breathing in the crisp beauty that is fall in the midwest. I can literally feel my heart filling and my spirit being strengthened with every leaf gathered and pumpkin carved.
And then November comes. November always feels a little ominous to me. The skies are gray, cold, and they carry a message that winter is on the horizon. Said message is usually accompanied by some new strand of strep throat or the stomach flu or itis of one form or another. We gradually stay inside more and more, and by the end of the month we are bracing for a full-blown Midwest winter.
But don't you worry November. You're not a lost cause. Your redemption is found in pumpkin pies and mashed potatoes. And in quiet, dark evenings. And Christmas shopping and down blankets and good books and gigantic mugs of coffee. November is a slow, quiet month in our little Hamann world. I so deeply treasure white space on our calendar, so I'm always happy to walk across the chaos of Halloween into the lazy pace of November. I have no shame in wearing my pajamas all day and organizing my spice rack just because I can.
But. I get a little carried away with the whole white space deal at times. I find myself on the computer, pinning things that I will never craft or bake or be able to afford. I sleep in more, missing my chance to meet with God and to get rid of this baby weight that is almost six years old. I become more discontent with my home. Because we are inside more and we have more down time, I begin to nitpick things in my house that I hadn't had time to notice before. Our carpet is stained. We need a fresh coat of paint. Everywhere. The closets aren't organized enough. And so it goes.
I know that is not how God has asked me to spend my gift of time. Time is the only currency that I have right now. Therefore, time is my main act of worship. It is so easy to exchange the blessing of time for things that do not add. An extra half hour of sleep will not fill my heart like He does. An hour spent on Pinterest will not make me thankful for the things He has blessed me with. Watching a whole season of Fringe in a weekend will probably not produce holy fruit in my life.
I know that God has gifted me with white space on my calendar so that I can turn inward. So that I can use these moments of peace to sit with Him and gather up strength and wisdom for whatever lies next. To use my November as a threshing ground, reaping the harvest of what He has accomplished in my life. And to account for all that is in my storehouse and sing His praises because of it. I could stop there, with posting what I am thankful for everyday on Facebook. And that would be a good thing.
However, if I am fully living for the God that gave me everything in my storehouse, I will give. I will give without reserve. Being thankful is the first step. But. Being active in our thanksgiving is what really counts. To call a friend and pray over her life. To make a meal for a family that is struggling and drop it off just because. To encourage and notice even the tiniest bit of growth in my daughters character. To compliment my husband when he leads our family. And to learn to thank God together for it.
Oh November. You are preparing my heart for the coming of the King. Teaching me to be bowed in gratitude and humility as I enter the holy space of December. Aligning my heart in response to All He Has Done. Trusting that What He Has Yet To Do is better still.
So. While I still will enjoy reading a book from cover to cover in one sitting, I now understand that I am responsible to God for this white space. I'm so confident that He can merge the meaningful with the restful and create some deeper storyline than I could ever write of. So let's be excited when the cold winds of November blow us all indoors and under layers of down comforters. We can invest our time in allowing God to harvest His work in our lives. We will emerge in the spring, better versions of ourselves and triumphant in His accomplishments.
Faithfulness springs up from the ground, and righteousness looks down from the sky. Yes,the LORD will give what is good, and our land will yield its increase. Righteousness will go before him and make his footsteps a way.
Psalms 85:11-13
And then November comes. November always feels a little ominous to me. The skies are gray, cold, and they carry a message that winter is on the horizon. Said message is usually accompanied by some new strand of strep throat or the stomach flu or itis of one form or another. We gradually stay inside more and more, and by the end of the month we are bracing for a full-blown Midwest winter.
But don't you worry November. You're not a lost cause. Your redemption is found in pumpkin pies and mashed potatoes. And in quiet, dark evenings. And Christmas shopping and down blankets and good books and gigantic mugs of coffee. November is a slow, quiet month in our little Hamann world. I so deeply treasure white space on our calendar, so I'm always happy to walk across the chaos of Halloween into the lazy pace of November. I have no shame in wearing my pajamas all day and organizing my spice rack just because I can.
But. I get a little carried away with the whole white space deal at times. I find myself on the computer, pinning things that I will never craft or bake or be able to afford. I sleep in more, missing my chance to meet with God and to get rid of this baby weight that is almost six years old. I become more discontent with my home. Because we are inside more and we have more down time, I begin to nitpick things in my house that I hadn't had time to notice before. Our carpet is stained. We need a fresh coat of paint. Everywhere. The closets aren't organized enough. And so it goes.
I know that is not how God has asked me to spend my gift of time. Time is the only currency that I have right now. Therefore, time is my main act of worship. It is so easy to exchange the blessing of time for things that do not add. An extra half hour of sleep will not fill my heart like He does. An hour spent on Pinterest will not make me thankful for the things He has blessed me with. Watching a whole season of Fringe in a weekend will probably not produce holy fruit in my life.
I know that God has gifted me with white space on my calendar so that I can turn inward. So that I can use these moments of peace to sit with Him and gather up strength and wisdom for whatever lies next. To use my November as a threshing ground, reaping the harvest of what He has accomplished in my life. And to account for all that is in my storehouse and sing His praises because of it. I could stop there, with posting what I am thankful for everyday on Facebook. And that would be a good thing.
However, if I am fully living for the God that gave me everything in my storehouse, I will give. I will give without reserve. Being thankful is the first step. But. Being active in our thanksgiving is what really counts. To call a friend and pray over her life. To make a meal for a family that is struggling and drop it off just because. To encourage and notice even the tiniest bit of growth in my daughters character. To compliment my husband when he leads our family. And to learn to thank God together for it.
Oh November. You are preparing my heart for the coming of the King. Teaching me to be bowed in gratitude and humility as I enter the holy space of December. Aligning my heart in response to All He Has Done. Trusting that What He Has Yet To Do is better still.
So. While I still will enjoy reading a book from cover to cover in one sitting, I now understand that I am responsible to God for this white space. I'm so confident that He can merge the meaningful with the restful and create some deeper storyline than I could ever write of. So let's be excited when the cold winds of November blow us all indoors and under layers of down comforters. We can invest our time in allowing God to harvest His work in our lives. We will emerge in the spring, better versions of ourselves and triumphant in His accomplishments.
Faithfulness springs up from the ground, and righteousness looks down from the sky. Yes,the LORD will give what is good, and our land will yield its increase. Righteousness will go before him and make his footsteps a way.
Psalms 85:11-13
Friday, October 25, 2013
My right now thing.
God made it clear to me last year that my place, for the next season of life, was to create a home that my little family could thrive in. To come alongside my husband and encourage him in anyway possible (read: sex, food, and taking the garbage out myself). To be available to my girls as they are learning what life is all about (read: my little ponies, time outs and dance parties in the kitchen). I felt a holy charge to make a space where our four little family members felt encouraged, challenged, supported and understood.
This might seem like an obvious charge. For me it wasn't. Because I am a person of chaos.
Don't get me wrong, folks. I LOVE staying at home with my babies and having them crawl into bed with me in the morning and snuggling their faces off. But I also love being involved in ministry, spearheading events, throwing parties, coffee dates and girls nights all day err day. I love having my hands in 473893 proverbial pies.
I am also embarrassed to admit how much time I invest in daydreaming of my life after the girls are in school. AKA Rachel 4.0. She is super skinny and super nice and wears high heels and blazers. Also, she sleeps until 8:30. I can't wait to meet her.
Anyways, I was a chaotic mess of holy servitude, firmly basing my life on the principle that I had to live out of ALL my giftings at ALL times. I feared that if I stepped completely inside the home I would never see the light of day again. And that a part of me would die. The professional part. The creative part. The relational part. So I tried to do it all.
And I was exhausted. I chased after dream jobs. I researched graduate programs. I led worship, I mentored high school women. All good things. All noble things. But not right now things. One particular morning of exasperation I found myself on my face before God. In a proud and painfully honest moment, I confessed: I feel like I have more to give than just being a stay at home mom.
And then He was like: cool. Then you should be a stay at home mom.
Because this is your right now thing.
God didn't want me to just be at home. He wanted me to make a home. He didn't want me just to survive motherhood and count down the hours until nap time or until Greg walked in the door. He wanted me to thrive as I leaned in HARD on His new mercies every morning. He didn't want me to view my husband as a chamber maid or a babysitter. He wanted me to take care of this little yellow house and everyone in it so that Greg would have the freedom to pursuit God's direction and design for his own life.
Most of all, He wanted peace. Peace during my right now thing. I know that God designed me to dream and to have vision and create. But, right now, He has called me to look all of my loves in the face and say, "I got this. I got you. Go and be whatever God wants you to be." I'm holding down this fort for my homies.
And you guys. I am finding myself hidden in making a home. There is so much pleasure and joy in the peace and quiet. In the gift of time. The gift of yoga pants. The gift of allowing Jesus to order our day as we lift it up to Him. The gift of playing Chutes and Ladder with Madeline until the cows come home. The gift of trying new recipes and seeing my husbands face light up when he smells one of his favorite dishes cooking. Well. Sometimes. Okay. Like once a month, but still.
And although I have my chaotic flareups (all apologies to anyone who had to listen to my rant about running an organic home daycare a few weeks ago) I very much feel like the anchor in our little family right now. In the past that could have felt like suffocating pressure to me. Like weight holding me down at sea with scary sharks all around me. And I hate sharks. But now I can see the holy picture that God has intended. I am holding down this sacred vessel, filled with my people. Anchoring them down when the storms of life rock them, leaning in on my God for strength and peace.
This is my right now thing.
There is going to come a time when I don't have a toddler throwing her diaper in my bed shrieking "I go pee on the floor mommy!" as a wake up call. Our world will change, again, next year when Maddie steps on the bus to spend the majority of her time at school. Wah! I know that my right now thing won't last forever. This season of peace will give way to beautiful chaos and God will meet me in that as well.
But right now, this is where He has me. And right now, this is where I find Him.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Responding to Love
I have to admit it. I am a blog-link clicker. Be warned. If there is an article or blog that is posted on facebook, chances are I've read it. Partially because I'm a writer. Mostly because I'm a reader. I love hearing others articulate and communicate thoughts in new and fresh ways.
Part of my problem, however, is that I can get caught up in the hype. Most of the time, I'm not sure where I stand until I read an opinion expressed elsewhere. Especially if it is well written. Then I'm like, "Oh yeah! The answer to a revival in the American Church is totally Wednesday morning prayer meetings!" And then I'll read another blog. "Wait a second. Changed my mind. The way to a spiritual revival is definitely marching around with swords!"
Clearly the answer to anything holy is simply: Jesus. But at times, I get so caught up in what is being blogged or written or pod-casted that I forget. I forget I need to take my cray cray self to the feet of Jesus. Sometimes it feels as if I'm watching a ping pong match, my head spinning on it's axis as I try to follow the ball. As I try to decide who I want to win. All the while, I'm ignoring the airplane flying overhead with the banner that reads: "Look Up. I am here."
Because all my make believe ping pong matches are outside. With airplanes.
Look up, beloved one. I am here. Yes. When I do focus and sit deeply in Love, all those opinions and trending issues on Facebook fade. The confusion and fogginess that I feel when I am immersed in social media lifts, and as I look at my Jesus, a blanket of peace and rest settles on my shoulders. Things make sense in the presence of God, people. Or they don't, but it's okay. Because all that matters is that I am with the One that created, crafted, and purposed me out from the beginning of time. Good hands to be in.
Jesus asks all of us to come. And then, as we walk with Him, He commands us to go. I know that when He asks me to go, sometimes it means to write what He has laid upon my heart. That is part of my story. His command to go, for others, may be in penning a song of praise. Creating a sculpture. Painting. Crunching numbers for non-profits. Holding the hand of a widow or orphan. The bottom line is that wherever we go, we are responding to Love. We are reflecting that love. That is a posture that should not be taken lightly or sanctimoniously.
It would be easy to sound off on Miley Cyrus and Syria and Proposition 48390483 and that crazy Weiner guy who clearly lives up to his namesake. (sorry. had to.) However, as I abide in Him and step out of that never-ending ping pong match, it becomes clear to me that it is not up to me to sound off on anything. It is not my calling to respond to the world. And who needs another white privileged girl telling the rest of the Church that they are white and privileged? No. No.
What good things do I have to say outside of Him?
For it is my calling to respond to the Love that is inside of me. The end. As God grows me, and I as I seriously cling-to-Him-for-breath-and-life-and-sanity, He will make the going part known to me. And sometimes He'll send me with words. Sometimes with pondering. Lots of times with silence. All the times with stuff to work on.
So. I'm writing this for my own purposes of declaration. Not to rake anyone over the coals for writing popular opinion pieces or for posting favorite recipes. That is between those writers and their God. But I am setting aside this white space on the internet. This little corner of blogdom is for my heart to respond to the One who has made it. This space is to work out my faith in fear and trembling and a little self-deprecating humor.
If this was a house, I would put oil over the doorways or spray it with holy water and invite all my friends over to pray or something. But since Greg wouldn't appreciate canola oil all over the keyboard of his laptop, I will just declare this:
God. Do your thing.
Part of my problem, however, is that I can get caught up in the hype. Most of the time, I'm not sure where I stand until I read an opinion expressed elsewhere. Especially if it is well written. Then I'm like, "Oh yeah! The answer to a revival in the American Church is totally Wednesday morning prayer meetings!" And then I'll read another blog. "Wait a second. Changed my mind. The way to a spiritual revival is definitely marching around with swords!"
Clearly the answer to anything holy is simply: Jesus. But at times, I get so caught up in what is being blogged or written or pod-casted that I forget. I forget I need to take my cray cray self to the feet of Jesus. Sometimes it feels as if I'm watching a ping pong match, my head spinning on it's axis as I try to follow the ball. As I try to decide who I want to win. All the while, I'm ignoring the airplane flying overhead with the banner that reads: "Look Up. I am here."
Because all my make believe ping pong matches are outside. With airplanes.
Look up, beloved one. I am here. Yes. When I do focus and sit deeply in Love, all those opinions and trending issues on Facebook fade. The confusion and fogginess that I feel when I am immersed in social media lifts, and as I look at my Jesus, a blanket of peace and rest settles on my shoulders. Things make sense in the presence of God, people. Or they don't, but it's okay. Because all that matters is that I am with the One that created, crafted, and purposed me out from the beginning of time. Good hands to be in.
Jesus asks all of us to come. And then, as we walk with Him, He commands us to go. I know that when He asks me to go, sometimes it means to write what He has laid upon my heart. That is part of my story. His command to go, for others, may be in penning a song of praise. Creating a sculpture. Painting. Crunching numbers for non-profits. Holding the hand of a widow or orphan. The bottom line is that wherever we go, we are responding to Love. We are reflecting that love. That is a posture that should not be taken lightly or sanctimoniously.
It would be easy to sound off on Miley Cyrus and Syria and Proposition 48390483 and that crazy Weiner guy who clearly lives up to his namesake. (sorry. had to.) However, as I abide in Him and step out of that never-ending ping pong match, it becomes clear to me that it is not up to me to sound off on anything. It is not my calling to respond to the world. And who needs another white privileged girl telling the rest of the Church that they are white and privileged? No. No.
What good things do I have to say outside of Him?
For it is my calling to respond to the Love that is inside of me. The end. As God grows me, and I as I seriously cling-to-Him-for-breath-and-life-and-sanity, He will make the going part known to me. And sometimes He'll send me with words. Sometimes with pondering. Lots of times with silence. All the times with stuff to work on.
So. I'm writing this for my own purposes of declaration. Not to rake anyone over the coals for writing popular opinion pieces or for posting favorite recipes. That is between those writers and their God. But I am setting aside this white space on the internet. This little corner of blogdom is for my heart to respond to the One who has made it. This space is to work out my faith in fear and trembling and a little self-deprecating humor.
If this was a house, I would put oil over the doorways or spray it with holy water and invite all my friends over to pray or something. But since Greg wouldn't appreciate canola oil all over the keyboard of his laptop, I will just declare this:
God. Do your thing.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
A love letter to my kindergartener.
Dearest Darling Madeline,
I cannot believe that, in a few short days, you will be taking a deep breath and walking your My Little Pony backpack into kindergarten. I just cannot. I cannot imagine you looking around the room for who you will eat lunch with. Raising your hand to go potty. Laughing and giggling when Miss Meghan sings a silly song.
It's hard for me, as your mom, to imagine another grown up influencing you and teaching you. What if she teaches you something different from what mommy and daddy have taught you? What if your little kindergarten buddies teach you how to swear in sign language? What if you accidentally pee your pants and kids laugh at you?
And also, if I'm being completely honest, I feel like you are the first representative from our weird little family to go public. What if your dad and I haven't adequately prepared you for your introduction to society? Like, is there a song or dance or some kind of secret handshake that all the other kids will know and you won't? Should we have worked on your Spanish or something this summer? I don't know, kid. I just don't know.
Please know that every part of my mommy being wants to go all Rapunzel on you and stick you in this house for the next thirteen years. I really do. Because you are my babycakes, my darling, and this home is all you've ever known. I want to wrap my life around your heart so that you don't get hurt, discouraged, or hardened to the beautiful things in life.
But when I lift these concerns to God, I am reminded. You, darling girl, are not mine. Your dad and I have said all along that you belong to the One who made you and has called you by name. And He will be going before you in that classroom, shining forth from your heart, and blessing others through your sparkly blue eyes, your sharing hands, and the kind words you speak so effortlessly. I know that Jesus will become more and more at home in your heart when you are brave for Him in that classroom.
If we kept you home, the world would be missing out.
If we kept you home, we, as your mom and dad, would be missing out on the chance to see what God can do outside of us. We would be missing out on the opportunity to talk about hard things and hold you when you cry because you weren't invited to that one girls birthday party and remind you gently that God works everything out for your good and His purpose.
So, this will be hard for you, and it will be hard for me. But it will be good for you, and it will be good for me. Just remember that, when you walk into that classroom on the first day, the God who holds us together will be in your heart. And mine. And He will love you and teach you in your kindergarten classroom, and He will love me and teach me in our little yellow house. And when you come home, we can love each other and teach each other about Love and life and glue sticks and story times.
Just tell your teacher not to scream if she sees a strange blonde lady peering through the window with binoculars. It's just your mom.
I love you darling.
Momma
I cannot believe that, in a few short days, you will be taking a deep breath and walking your My Little Pony backpack into kindergarten. I just cannot. I cannot imagine you looking around the room for who you will eat lunch with. Raising your hand to go potty. Laughing and giggling when Miss Meghan sings a silly song.
It's hard for me, as your mom, to imagine another grown up influencing you and teaching you. What if she teaches you something different from what mommy and daddy have taught you? What if your little kindergarten buddies teach you how to swear in sign language? What if you accidentally pee your pants and kids laugh at you?
And also, if I'm being completely honest, I feel like you are the first representative from our weird little family to go public. What if your dad and I haven't adequately prepared you for your introduction to society? Like, is there a song or dance or some kind of secret handshake that all the other kids will know and you won't? Should we have worked on your Spanish or something this summer? I don't know, kid. I just don't know.
Please know that every part of my mommy being wants to go all Rapunzel on you and stick you in this house for the next thirteen years. I really do. Because you are my babycakes, my darling, and this home is all you've ever known. I want to wrap my life around your heart so that you don't get hurt, discouraged, or hardened to the beautiful things in life.
But when I lift these concerns to God, I am reminded. You, darling girl, are not mine. Your dad and I have said all along that you belong to the One who made you and has called you by name. And He will be going before you in that classroom, shining forth from your heart, and blessing others through your sparkly blue eyes, your sharing hands, and the kind words you speak so effortlessly. I know that Jesus will become more and more at home in your heart when you are brave for Him in that classroom.
If we kept you home, the world would be missing out.
If we kept you home, we, as your mom and dad, would be missing out on the chance to see what God can do outside of us. We would be missing out on the opportunity to talk about hard things and hold you when you cry because you weren't invited to that one girls birthday party and remind you gently that God works everything out for your good and His purpose.
So, this will be hard for you, and it will be hard for me. But it will be good for you, and it will be good for me. Just remember that, when you walk into that classroom on the first day, the God who holds us together will be in your heart. And mine. And He will love you and teach you in your kindergarten classroom, and He will love me and teach me in our little yellow house. And when you come home, we can love each other and teach each other about Love and life and glue sticks and story times.
Just tell your teacher not to scream if she sees a strange blonde lady peering through the window with binoculars. It's just your mom.
I love you darling.
Momma
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Because I'm taking my summer back.
There's something so fantastic about summer. I love the absence of routine, and the endless options of outdoor events. Everyone seems to have a spring in their Sperry's, and I totally get it. Summer brings us all back to our good old school days....when that last bell rang and we flew out of those front double doors, anticipating what the next twelve weeks of freedom held.
I fully embraced the beginning of summer. Like, with both arms and my legs. I was ready for a change of pace. I was also ready to karate kick our schedule in the face. Sometime around May I started loathing all of our commitments. Things like the fact that I had to take my daughter to school and that my kids had to brush their teeth. I was annoyed that my children couldn't just run around in diapers and eat Cheetos all day. The nerve.
So, when the beaches opened and the outdoor movie theaters lit up again, I was the first in line. Road trips? Four down, four to go. I've made approximately 5934893 jello, potato and broccoli salads to accompany us to BBQ's. My two year old makes a beeline at the farmers market to the tent that has the lollipops. She knows the guys name. My five year old wakes up asking, "Can I just get in the car in my pajamas this time?" Our summer has been a blur of sand in our suits, freeze pops, and belly laughter with those whom our hearts love.
Summer is magic. For our family, the magic is in not keeping a schedule. My girls roll out of bed, usually breathe on me and stare at me until I wake up (startled. every. time), and we snuggle, eat cereal out of the box while we watch Littlest Pet Shop and then try and decide what we'd like to conquer that day. Greg takes the girls to the beach after dinner at least twice a week, and sometime during the day, every day, we all end up on the couch, reading together. It is lovely.
But somewhere between the fireworks and my tenth serving of beef brisket, I began to feel homesick. At first I thought it was my sunburn talking. But I also noticed the fine layer of dust collecting on my Bible. Then my scale chimed in. And by chimed in I mean almost broke. And when I looked at our calendar, I realized it had been WEEKS since we had worshiped with our church family. I realized that I hadn't had my weekly check-ins with women who were so life-giving to me. I felt tired, anxious, and untethered.
And it karate kicked me in the face: Oh my word. I want a schedule again. All this Yolo stuff is for the birds. I MISS MY GOOGLE CALENDAR APP.
Some people can thrive when the confines of a schedule are lifted. My husband is one of them. I, however, am just not that great at saying no to myself. I am really, really good at saying yes. Yes to fun. Yes to elephant ears. Yes to Facebook. Yes to cheesy television series on Netflix (Has anyone else ever been sucked into the vortex that is Hart of Dixie? No?) There really isn't such a thing as moderation for me. My emotions be damned...they are my trump card. So whatever I feel like doing is what gets done. In the name of lazy summer-ness, I have lost sight of intentional living.
You don't even want to know what my laundry room looks like right now.
I've slowly come to realize that the things I value, the Things that God has placed on my heart, will not just happen to me. I cannot just sit in my Snuggie with my eyeballs glued to the saga that is Dr. Zoe Hart's life and expect God to transform me. These are gifts and revelations that will take work, will take discipline, will take me saying no to myself more and yes to hard and holy things. Even things I love, like writing, require that I sit my sunburned bottom in a chair and do work, son.
So. I'm taking my summer back. I kind of feel like the throne room of heaven is a good place to start. You know. I'm cracking open my Bible, laying my precious summer minutes and hours at the feet of Jesus and going from there. I'm going to say no to every other fun thing so that I can do more right and holy things. Greg and I are committed to praying together every night, even if we have toothpicks in our eyelids and our retainers in. So far we are 3 for 7, but that's a start.
When I am abiding in His steadfast love for me, I feel like I can take on the world. And I can. Cause it's not me. And it's not about me. Halleluyer. I can get up at 4:45 to exercise. I can sneak my oldest out of her "rest time" so that we can bake cookies, play My Little Ponies, and color until the cows come home. I can check in with dear friends to know that they are loved and valued. All things. Through Him. His strength. Amen.
While my love affair with summer is so not over, I am approaching the rest of my summer with both feet on the ground. I'm not going to stop building sandcastles with my girls at our beach. I will still be first in line for the double feature at our drive-in theater. I will still sit outside with my love, a glass of Moscato in hand with our bonfire flames reaching the summer sky. But I will also be giving my days over to Jesus more, and allowing Him to make them even more magical than I could ever imagine.
Because that sounds like a perfect summer to me.
I fully embraced the beginning of summer. Like, with both arms and my legs. I was ready for a change of pace. I was also ready to karate kick our schedule in the face. Sometime around May I started loathing all of our commitments. Things like the fact that I had to take my daughter to school and that my kids had to brush their teeth. I was annoyed that my children couldn't just run around in diapers and eat Cheetos all day. The nerve.
So, when the beaches opened and the outdoor movie theaters lit up again, I was the first in line. Road trips? Four down, four to go. I've made approximately 5934893 jello, potato and broccoli salads to accompany us to BBQ's. My two year old makes a beeline at the farmers market to the tent that has the lollipops. She knows the guys name. My five year old wakes up asking, "Can I just get in the car in my pajamas this time?" Our summer has been a blur of sand in our suits, freeze pops, and belly laughter with those whom our hearts love.
Summer is magic. For our family, the magic is in not keeping a schedule. My girls roll out of bed, usually breathe on me and stare at me until I wake up (startled. every. time), and we snuggle, eat cereal out of the box while we watch Littlest Pet Shop and then try and decide what we'd like to conquer that day. Greg takes the girls to the beach after dinner at least twice a week, and sometime during the day, every day, we all end up on the couch, reading together. It is lovely.
But somewhere between the fireworks and my tenth serving of beef brisket, I began to feel homesick. At first I thought it was my sunburn talking. But I also noticed the fine layer of dust collecting on my Bible. Then my scale chimed in. And by chimed in I mean almost broke. And when I looked at our calendar, I realized it had been WEEKS since we had worshiped with our church family. I realized that I hadn't had my weekly check-ins with women who were so life-giving to me. I felt tired, anxious, and untethered.
And it karate kicked me in the face: Oh my word. I want a schedule again. All this Yolo stuff is for the birds. I MISS MY GOOGLE CALENDAR APP.
Some people can thrive when the confines of a schedule are lifted. My husband is one of them. I, however, am just not that great at saying no to myself. I am really, really good at saying yes. Yes to fun. Yes to elephant ears. Yes to Facebook. Yes to cheesy television series on Netflix (Has anyone else ever been sucked into the vortex that is Hart of Dixie? No?) There really isn't such a thing as moderation for me. My emotions be damned...they are my trump card. So whatever I feel like doing is what gets done. In the name of lazy summer-ness, I have lost sight of intentional living.
You don't even want to know what my laundry room looks like right now.
I've slowly come to realize that the things I value, the Things that God has placed on my heart, will not just happen to me. I cannot just sit in my Snuggie with my eyeballs glued to the saga that is Dr. Zoe Hart's life and expect God to transform me. These are gifts and revelations that will take work, will take discipline, will take me saying no to myself more and yes to hard and holy things. Even things I love, like writing, require that I sit my sunburned bottom in a chair and do work, son.
So. I'm taking my summer back. I kind of feel like the throne room of heaven is a good place to start. You know. I'm cracking open my Bible, laying my precious summer minutes and hours at the feet of Jesus and going from there. I'm going to say no to every other fun thing so that I can do more right and holy things. Greg and I are committed to praying together every night, even if we have toothpicks in our eyelids and our retainers in. So far we are 3 for 7, but that's a start.
When I am abiding in His steadfast love for me, I feel like I can take on the world. And I can. Cause it's not me. And it's not about me. Halleluyer. I can get up at 4:45 to exercise. I can sneak my oldest out of her "rest time" so that we can bake cookies, play My Little Ponies, and color until the cows come home. I can check in with dear friends to know that they are loved and valued. All things. Through Him. His strength. Amen.
While my love affair with summer is so not over, I am approaching the rest of my summer with both feet on the ground. I'm not going to stop building sandcastles with my girls at our beach. I will still be first in line for the double feature at our drive-in theater. I will still sit outside with my love, a glass of Moscato in hand with our bonfire flames reaching the summer sky. But I will also be giving my days over to Jesus more, and allowing Him to make them even more magical than I could ever imagine.
Because that sounds like a perfect summer to me.
Saturday, June 1, 2013
I don't know about you, but I'm feeling 32.
Which makes me a decade older than Taylor Swift, but who is counting? Bless it all, I am.
Some pretty remarkable things have happened for me since 22. College graduation. A job. Marriage. Then the baby carriages. So many breath-taking things in such a short time span. And too many mistakes, fumbles and learning curves to count.
One of the ways I responded to all these beautiful milestones was trying to be a grown up. Or my version of a grown up. Grown ups did the right thing. Always. Grown ups were strong and didn't ask for help. Grown ups made meatballs from scratch, even when babies were crying and sleep was a distant memory. They dusted their baseboards at ten pm when company was coming the next morning. They wore sweatpants and took showers every third day.
And the kicker: grown ups didn't chase dreams. They just didn't. They needed to be fully invested in the reality of jobs, children, and keeping up on laundry. There was no time for dreaming, unless it involved the American dream of picket fences and 3.2 kids.
There were parts of me that I kept stuffing down into my shoes every time they surfaced. My creative person. My spontaneous person. My funny person. They would well up, at times, and yell, "remember me?" I'd be like, "no habla ingles," and promptly drown out their sound with my vacuuming. They were all too much for me in my twenties. I was too overwhelmed with keeping it all together to let them come out and play.
But God. My whole life story can be summarized in this magical phrase. I am a wiener, but God. I try to be perfect, but God. Thank God for the but God's. Jesus, in His originality, began to transform my ideas of what being a grown up looked like. It was not running after the ideal grown up that I had frantically painted in my head.
It was allowing who He has made me to be to settle in. All of me.
When God purposed my little life out, He didn't include the long legs I have wished for. He didn't make me as tall as I'd like. He threw in a mind that races like a hamster in a wheel, a disposition that makes me slightly awkward in large group settings, and hair that will just not stay straight. For the love.
And while I know the list of all the things I have not, He has opened my 32 year old heart to notice the things I am. Work with what the good Lord gave you, and so forth. I am realizing, more and more, that being a grown up is the greatest balancing act of all. It's the act of reconciling all the parts of myself to one another and fitting them together in a way that says: I don't care. I love it. I love this. I love me. Thank you God.
It feels like, finally, I've gathered all the little versions of myself and have told them to get in my belly. I'm no longer putting my pre-teen awkward self in a time out. I'm calling the part of me that needs more sleep up out of the basement and back into my bed. I need eight hours folks. I just do. The attention seeking part of me is okay too. I've learned how to work with her. Wow. So many parts and persons in this shell of a body. We'll need a special handshake or something.
I needed to walk through my twenties to get to this grand place of 32. I feel settled into myself, finally at peace with who God has crafted me to be. I also know that it's not over. I know that decade from now, I will feel even more resolved to live my one and only precious life with this stretch marked body, this quirky mind, and the genuine spirit God has given me.
So, to all of my twenty something friends who are dreading the big 3-0: Run towards the light that is your thirties. You are getting older. There is absolutely nothing on God's green/polluted earth you can do about it. But, along with those fine wrinkles forming at the corners of your horrified eyes comes an understanding of yourself and your God that only time can bring. Hug it.
Some pretty remarkable things have happened for me since 22. College graduation. A job. Marriage. Then the baby carriages. So many breath-taking things in such a short time span. And too many mistakes, fumbles and learning curves to count.
One of the ways I responded to all these beautiful milestones was trying to be a grown up. Or my version of a grown up. Grown ups did the right thing. Always. Grown ups were strong and didn't ask for help. Grown ups made meatballs from scratch, even when babies were crying and sleep was a distant memory. They dusted their baseboards at ten pm when company was coming the next morning. They wore sweatpants and took showers every third day.
And the kicker: grown ups didn't chase dreams. They just didn't. They needed to be fully invested in the reality of jobs, children, and keeping up on laundry. There was no time for dreaming, unless it involved the American dream of picket fences and 3.2 kids.
There were parts of me that I kept stuffing down into my shoes every time they surfaced. My creative person. My spontaneous person. My funny person. They would well up, at times, and yell, "remember me?" I'd be like, "no habla ingles," and promptly drown out their sound with my vacuuming. They were all too much for me in my twenties. I was too overwhelmed with keeping it all together to let them come out and play.
But God. My whole life story can be summarized in this magical phrase. I am a wiener, but God. I try to be perfect, but God. Thank God for the but God's. Jesus, in His originality, began to transform my ideas of what being a grown up looked like. It was not running after the ideal grown up that I had frantically painted in my head.
It was allowing who He has made me to be to settle in. All of me.
When God purposed my little life out, He didn't include the long legs I have wished for. He didn't make me as tall as I'd like. He threw in a mind that races like a hamster in a wheel, a disposition that makes me slightly awkward in large group settings, and hair that will just not stay straight. For the love.
And while I know the list of all the things I have not, He has opened my 32 year old heart to notice the things I am. Work with what the good Lord gave you, and so forth. I am realizing, more and more, that being a grown up is the greatest balancing act of all. It's the act of reconciling all the parts of myself to one another and fitting them together in a way that says: I don't care. I love it. I love this. I love me. Thank you God.
It feels like, finally, I've gathered all the little versions of myself and have told them to get in my belly. I'm no longer putting my pre-teen awkward self in a time out. I'm calling the part of me that needs more sleep up out of the basement and back into my bed. I need eight hours folks. I just do. The attention seeking part of me is okay too. I've learned how to work with her. Wow. So many parts and persons in this shell of a body. We'll need a special handshake or something.
I needed to walk through my twenties to get to this grand place of 32. I feel settled into myself, finally at peace with who God has crafted me to be. I also know that it's not over. I know that decade from now, I will feel even more resolved to live my one and only precious life with this stretch marked body, this quirky mind, and the genuine spirit God has given me.
So, to all of my twenty something friends who are dreading the big 3-0: Run towards the light that is your thirties. You are getting older. There is absolutely nothing on God's green/polluted earth you can do about it. But, along with those fine wrinkles forming at the corners of your horrified eyes comes an understanding of yourself and your God that only time can bring. Hug it.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Arrival.
Ten years into marriage and I am still buying the whole love language thing. Time after time our marital tension boils down to one simple indiscretion: I am not loving him the way God designed him to be loved. And he is not sitting down on the couch and processing/analyzing/discussing every nuance of our life with me.
My poor husband. Especially on road trips. I look at him, after the car is packed and the girls are strapped in and stuffed with goldfish, and say: You are MINE. Then I promptly pull out my mental list of all the things I'd like to discuss with him.
By the second hour, Greg is usually like, "Are you tired? You look tired. You should totally take a nap."
Gah. I don't know what it is about me, but I don't understand myself until all streams of consciousness have left my brain via my mouth. I need my words and thoughts free, so I can run after them with a net and keep the ones that make sense. It's kind of like elementary school, where the teacher would scramble a sentence on the chalkboard and we would take turns writing it out correctly.
I need the time and space to think aloud until I arrive. It's how I roll.
I understand, that for most men, pointless talking is like a form of Chinese torture. Men are designed to have conversations that are efficient. You know. With conclusions, game-plans, and bullet points. Greg, bless his heart, is forever trying to meet me where I'm at in my thought process. Most of the time, however, he gets off the hook. He is a lucky man.
Because I have my sisters. Oh, those saintly psychos that I am blessed enough to call friends. With these women I have room to ponder, reflect, and whine until I make sense. There is time for the arrival. They understand that getting there is just as important as the conclusion. They are able to speak truth into the process, and patiently hold my hand so I don't trip on myself.
Which is why I value coffee and dinner dates just as much (ok, a lot more) as the play date. I love doing life with my friends who have young kids, but conversation at it's best is choppy and unfinished. There's always a nose or bottom to wipe. That's the reality of most of our lives right now. And it's beautiful.
But there is something to be said about stepping outside of our fruit-snack realities and into deep and messy conversations with one another. It is so worth it. It is worth the shots of double espresso or the cheese fries or whatever it takes to stay awake enough to have meaningful and intentional time together. I meet one of my dearest sisters at six in the morning and we pound french toast like you wouldn't believe. It's the only time that works for us. Therefore we make it work.
But there is something to be said about stepping outside of our fruit-snack realities and into deep and messy conversations with one another. It is so worth it. It is worth the shots of double espresso or the cheese fries or whatever it takes to stay awake enough to have meaningful and intentional time together. I meet one of my dearest sisters at six in the morning and we pound french toast like you wouldn't believe. It's the only time that works for us. Therefore we make it work.
I feel like this is one of the good and perfect gifts that God has given us. Untangling life through conversation and prayer with a sister. It could also be so the men in our lives don't go insane from non-stop dialogue. Greg loves when I share insight garnered from a heart to heart with a friend. Probably because it saved him four hours of his life. But still.
Long live the girlfriend.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Outsourced.
I'm a little hesitant to even try and camp on such huge grounds with my tiny vocabulary, but the wrestling in my heart won't give my fingers peace until I try. So darn it all, here I go.
Outsourcing. Tiny pet peeve of mine. When I call a customer service number and end up speaking with a very nice (albeit hard to understand) person in Pakistan; I usually end up getting off the phone because:
A. I feel rude after asking them to repeat themselves and I don't want to hurt feelings
B. My kids are punching each other in the eyeballs with crayons
C. I just want to talk to the source. Just please. Put me on the phone with whoever
created this cell-phone, this credit card, or this dishwasher.
You guys. The abiding life in Christ Jesus is being outsourced. We are exchanging His words for blogs (oh the irony), sermons, podcasts and relevant Christian magazines. We are devouring books on Christian living, fist pounding at the Toby Mac concerts, and aligning ourselves with politicians who believe as we do. We chase after whatever is trending. I hear this year it's riding Schwinn bicycles and composting. So there's that.
We are creating a sub-culture where the middle man becomes more important than the Man. We flock to our spiritual heroes in times of crisis, despair, and political brouhaha. We beg them: tell us your thoughts! How should we feel about Boston? Where should we align ourselves on marriage equality? We chase down our Pastors and Christian radio-talk hosts to help us crawl out of spiritual valleys, relational mire, and financial bogs. We scream for steps, diagrams, and plans.
Someone just give us a freaking plan.
One of my dear friends likened it to a sugar addiction. We need our fix. Our spirits have become accustomed to tidbits of holiness, packaged and presented in other peoples words and revelations. We want to Cliff's notes version on Christianity, thank you very much. Trudging through the Word of God on our own and sitting in a dark closet waiting for Him to speak is just far too laborious.
If someone could just chew up my food and spit it into my mouth, that'd be cool too.
For, if we substitute these good things for the Best Thing, then no wonder the world is confused by us. If, when people come to us, asking about our Jesus and Who He is, and we bring them to church, point them towards a Francis Chan book, or tell them to listen to K-Love...aren't we just like those difficult to understand Pakistani phone calls? Are we always ready to give an answer for the hope that is within us, or are we ready for Shane Claiborne to do it for us?
People are asking US for a reason.
Are we daily searching the Word of God, hiding it in our heart? Do we even realize that is is living and active? That it will cut some of the holy tension and confusion we feel while wandering this planet? That, even the stories we swear that we could recite from memory or Mrs. Andersons 2nd grade Sunday school class can still breath God's promises to us in new ways? And prayer. Oh, the power of hitting our knees, crying out to the Source of everything. Lifting up our voices on the behalf of the week, needy, and lonely ones. Waiting in silence, allowing God the space to do as He may.
Like newborn babies, crave pure spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow up in your salvation, now that you have tasted that the Lord is good. 1 peter 2:2-3
We need to grow up into our salvation. We have tasted that the Lord is good. Now it's time. Time to hit it hard. He has given us his Holy Words, you guys. No middle man needed. Let's take full advantage of our royal priesthood status, and enter the holiest space of all...a life in community with God. A life lived to know Him and make Him known.
Please understand. This is coming from an area of personal conviction. I love reading others stories and how God has inspired them. But those stories are not my own. And the Author of my story is waiting, patiently and long-sufferingly (it's a word now) for me to live out my own. I am ever learning.
Outsourcing. Tiny pet peeve of mine. When I call a customer service number and end up speaking with a very nice (albeit hard to understand) person in Pakistan; I usually end up getting off the phone because:
A. I feel rude after asking them to repeat themselves and I don't want to hurt feelings
B. My kids are punching each other in the eyeballs with crayons
C. I just want to talk to the source. Just please. Put me on the phone with whoever
created this cell-phone, this credit card, or this dishwasher.
You guys. The abiding life in Christ Jesus is being outsourced. We are exchanging His words for blogs (oh the irony), sermons, podcasts and relevant Christian magazines. We are devouring books on Christian living, fist pounding at the Toby Mac concerts, and aligning ourselves with politicians who believe as we do. We chase after whatever is trending. I hear this year it's riding Schwinn bicycles and composting. So there's that.
We are creating a sub-culture where the middle man becomes more important than the Man. We flock to our spiritual heroes in times of crisis, despair, and political brouhaha. We beg them: tell us your thoughts! How should we feel about Boston? Where should we align ourselves on marriage equality? We chase down our Pastors and Christian radio-talk hosts to help us crawl out of spiritual valleys, relational mire, and financial bogs. We scream for steps, diagrams, and plans.
Someone just give us a freaking plan.
One of my dear friends likened it to a sugar addiction. We need our fix. Our spirits have become accustomed to tidbits of holiness, packaged and presented in other peoples words and revelations. We want to Cliff's notes version on Christianity, thank you very much. Trudging through the Word of God on our own and sitting in a dark closet waiting for Him to speak is just far too laborious.
If someone could just chew up my food and spit it into my mouth, that'd be cool too.
For, if we substitute these good things for the Best Thing, then no wonder the world is confused by us. If, when people come to us, asking about our Jesus and Who He is, and we bring them to church, point them towards a Francis Chan book, or tell them to listen to K-Love...aren't we just like those difficult to understand Pakistani phone calls? Are we always ready to give an answer for the hope that is within us, or are we ready for Shane Claiborne to do it for us?
People are asking US for a reason.
Are we daily searching the Word of God, hiding it in our heart? Do we even realize that is is living and active? That it will cut some of the holy tension and confusion we feel while wandering this planet? That, even the stories we swear that we could recite from memory or Mrs. Andersons 2nd grade Sunday school class can still breath God's promises to us in new ways? And prayer. Oh, the power of hitting our knees, crying out to the Source of everything. Lifting up our voices on the behalf of the week, needy, and lonely ones. Waiting in silence, allowing God the space to do as He may.
Like newborn babies, crave pure spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow up in your salvation, now that you have tasted that the Lord is good. 1 peter 2:2-3
We need to grow up into our salvation. We have tasted that the Lord is good. Now it's time. Time to hit it hard. He has given us his Holy Words, you guys. No middle man needed. Let's take full advantage of our royal priesthood status, and enter the holiest space of all...a life in community with God. A life lived to know Him and make Him known.
Please understand. This is coming from an area of personal conviction. I love reading others stories and how God has inspired them. But those stories are not my own. And the Author of my story is waiting, patiently and long-sufferingly (it's a word now) for me to live out my own. I am ever learning.
Friday, March 29, 2013
Remind me.
I thank you, Lord Jesus.
For when you descended to the depths of Sheol you brought
my junk with you
You brought with you the part of me that wants to promote
myself through my parenting
You took with you the way I count beans with my husband
You went down with my trappings of appearance
You lugged my endless battle of idealism
You sank under my wasted time on social media
You descended with my tendency to find flaws in everything and everyone
You descended with my tendency to find flaws in everything and everyone
You carried my pride. My doubt. My jealous heart
The weight of my filth crushed you, like an anchor
Dropping you into the deepest grave of all.
Dropping you into the deepest grave of all.
The effortless way that I give into myself over and over
again
Pushed you down further, deeper, and held you there
And you left it there
You did battle for me
Because you went, I will never have to
Please.
Remind me, that when you rose, I rose
I stepped out of that grave with you. Unblemished
Clothed in white, no longer sitting in my own filth
Clean because you did my laundry
Remind me, it's already done
Let my little life exhaust itself in gratitude
My hands become calloused in thankfulness
Not because I need to prove myself to you
But because it is finished.
But because it is finished.
Thank you Jesus.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)