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.
Thursday, April 10, 2014
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
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