Not So Excited: When I Didn't Walk the Talk

Tonight I take my latest essay for my church newsletter and share it with you, my blog readers. If you are one and the same, I apologize for the preview, but I wanted to get this message out. I need to hear it - again - tonight - and perhaps every night for a while as I go through some very dark nights of the soul. 

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Not So Excited: When I Didn't Walk the Talk (for my church newsletter, May 2013)

I was growing desperate for this month’s Visionotes essay topic and when I listened to Pastor's sermon tonight, I knew what to do. I knew when he finished speaking that I wanted to write about the amazing love Jesus had, first, for us.  

“Amazing love…how can it be…that You, my King, should die for me…” (Amazing Love, lyrics by Billy James Foote)

Oh, the moment was palpably exciting. I sat in the sanctuary dreaming of an essay that perfectly painted the marvelous love of Jesus Christ, with words so poetic and touching that the pained and hardened hearts would be set free and realize the Gospel truth of Jesus’ unfathomable love for us. Yes, I got goose-bumps imagining how magnificent this would all be.

And then I came home.

And I failed. Epically.

I lost my cool, spoke sharp daggers at loved ones in a moment of mounting stress.

It was as if all the truth I had just absorbed at church leaked out of me like a sieve and all that remained was a puddled mess of tears.

So did the truth leave me or was God giving me an opportunity to live out this truth?

Tonight, beloved family pressed all my buttons, my nerves felt raw and exposed, the moment slammed me to a shattered halt and all I did was epically fail at loving.

I was so ashamed of my behavior that I hid in my bedroom, not unlike my cat after she pukes on the living room carpet. You just know when you've done wrong.

But upon reflection (and suitable apologies to loved ones) I wonder if – through my failure – the truth of Jesus’ love didn't shine all the more. Because look:

I am now writing about a very real instance of a very real failing and a very real God loving me in a way that only God can.

“What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?” - Romans 8:31

And so we come full circle to me excitedly telling you about Jesus’ marvelous love. Only… I just got off my knees from being in the dirt instead of a place of happily writing at my kitchen table, pen dancing merrily across paper with precise poetry and literary greatness.

Instead, I broke.

Brokenness intrigues and baffles me. I long to read and write about it, for us all to take off our well-positioned masks and reveal just how in need of a Savior we really are.

Brokenness excites me.

But not my brokenness.

Know the feeling?

The topic of the world’s broken pieces fascinates me, but put me in my bedroom hiding from my guilt and shame, and I’m not so eager.

But these essays are meant to be a sharing of the footsteps I follow and the prints I leave behind. And if I can’t fall down, believe I am still worthy of this Love, and get back up with repentance and gratitude, how can I tell you to do such a thing?

I can’t tie this essay up in a pretty bow. Speaking as a writer, there will be no “concluding paragraph” because there is nothing “concluding” about my human failure, frailty, and need.

So I said I wanted to write an essay that softened the pained and hard-hearted.

God has made this piece of paper my mirror.

gettyimages.com

How the Title of My Story Is Not Mine

(written Friday, February 8, 2013)

I've always liked naming things

When I was a writer-child and delving deep into 7-year-old-plot lines about magic mirrors and orphan girls banding together to esce evil, I deeply cared about my characters' names as well as the places they lived.

The title of my stories were the most important, of course. The title could tell you the entire story, itself.

Or so I thought. I relied on my titles to express what I was going through at such a tender age.

Well, now I am a few months shy of my 35th birthday and I have a different story to tell. But, much like my child-writer-self, I depend on that title, that name, to define what my story is.

When all along...it is His story...not mine. And He names it. Not me.

Three or so years ago, I remember getting a pain in the vicinity of my abdomen.

Two years ago I noticed a very specific pain in my right lower abdomen. I remember having to stand, hunched over. It came and went and I knew why they call pain "waves."

Then, in January of 2012, I began having issues that sent me to my doctor, then to urgent care, and then, in February, to the first of what would become a few emergency room visits in one year.

Throughout 2012, I baffled everyone. I'd attend an appointment or sit on the ER bed in tears over the amount of pain I was in. Nurses drew blood, doctors peered down at results; all told me I was normal.

But I knew something wasn't right.

I went to see an "expert" and he, with the help of his assistant, prescribed an unusual diet and an even more unusual regime in which I did not feel comfortable.

I was nervous about their orders, but when I tried to ask questions, they batted them away like irritating flies and the "expert" actually walked out on me, saying, "You'll do fine, fine..."

I was not doing fine and no one would listen to me. No professional doctor, anyway.

Home life was becoming increasingly stressful in 2012 in ways I cannot nor should I go into. But my stress did play a part in my worsening symptoms.

Also playing a part were the nurses telling me it was all in my head, that I was just too anxious, that I had too much stress.

I felt unacknowledged, unheard, invalidated.

During this time, my daily life was a push against the fleshly instincts of wanting to exert control on my life - or the lives around me. If I couldn't control my own life, I'd clamp around others' My temper flared. I spit red anger at kids for the smallest things. And I fell into a pit of despair around the Fall of 2012 going into early January of '13.

I was exhausted. I had had numerous procedures, one too painful to want to remember, and still no answer.

But I knew that whatever I was walking around with that God was beside me. I could feel His Presence, but I wasn't sure what He was telling me.

Until today in the car after an appointment that I thought would give me the title to my story.

A few days ago I found out that, unbeknownst to me, my mother had Endometriosis in her early 40s as well as fibroid cysts and, ultimately, had to have a hysterectomy.

I went to my doctor with this new genetic possibility...and, besides, it fit my pain so well. It had all the descriptions, it had all the correct verbs and adjectives. I found my character in the book of Endometriosis.

And when my general practitioner gave me an exam and said she thought she felt something...that could be Endo...I grasped onto that name, that diagnosis, that title, and ran as though my life depended on it.

I wanted to shout it from the roof - or at least out my car windows: I have Endometriosis! I have a name for it! I can tell you what it is and what they are going to do and when I will get better!

And there is a certain understandable element to clutching onto a diagnosis after years of unnameable pain.

Yet...I feel ashamed now looking at how I proclaimed and gun-jumped regarding the maybe-diagnosis.

Today I felt foolish as I visited the doctor who said I very well might have Endo, but that all my pain was most likely not caused by this illness.

I felt like the wind was knocked out of me.

I felt like my cover was torn off of my story.

And then, after the angry tears and words in the car, I felt the Lord's hand on my shoulder and the Lord's heart speak directly to mine:

Do you think that you can't give Me glory by getting through exactly this? Do you think that you need a specific sign above your heard that advertises your ailments? Those on-lookers at Golgotha had no clue why My Son truly cried out in pain. Jesus had "King of the Jews" as the sign above him and even that was man's folly. You don't need a sign, child. You don't need to prove to anyone that you hurt. All my children hurt in some way; that is just the way, isn't it. You are not so different. How you can be Kingdom-different...and bring Me glory... is to praise Me even when your body hurts, even when you are angry and sad and confused. Bring all of that to Me. Do not rest your idolizing on doctors or family. They can't validate you the way I can. They can't name you. 

Child, I can name you. I did name you:

Chosen. Beloved. Heir. Holy and faithful. Forgiven. Loved. 

Do you need more names? Because I have them all - in Scripture. 

Child, open that Bible to get your title. Don't expect a doctor to give it to you. Don't hope for something that many people dread. I named you before you were even born.

I was astonished. Had I actually been...hoping?

And am I actually writing all this...now? To you, the public?

Yes, I am. I do not hide behind my computer screen very well. I know I sometimes have flawed boundaries, but I also know that with that flaw comes the deep need to live with a healthy dose of transparency so that I can admit when thoughts have shaped wrong and life has gone askew.

And...yes...life has gone askew.

I thought that if I had a diagnosis of some illness, then I could battle through it by relying on God's strength within me, go through my "valley of the shadow," for sure, but then come out the other side with more bolstering faith than I'd know what to do with.

Many of my favorite authors and radio hosts have that kind of story. They've endured horrific things: abuse, illness, atrocity. And yet here they are now, with books or programs or ministries - all serving God in such honorable ways.

So did I think I had to do it that way?

I really did.

I sigh a big sigh right now. It is sad and shameful to know that I thought that way.

That I really believed I had to let the world name me in order to serve God.

The suffering I endured for much of my life has been nameless and general. Some doctors tried to link my severe depression in my teens and 20s to more specific things like bipolar or borderline personality disorder.

But, truly, my entire life was in dis-order. I didn't know whether I was coming or going until I fell onto the floor in 2010 and saw the Lord before me and that Great Whoosh came upon me and I changed, I grew, I stretched, and I made the best decision of my life.

Jesus never promised us easy. He promised His Presence during the hard (John 16:33) so why did I think that my story would be like others'?

My confession, my prayer, with head bowed is this:

Lord, I confess to you my sin of comparison. You created me to be unique and special unto You and I must believe that I am. I must believe what Your Word says of me and because of those promises I come to You seeking forgiveness for wanting the doctors to give me a title to my story, a name to my pain. I was trying to be the Author and not letting you work through me. I think and write all the time about the concept of "letting go." I write and read and think about the concept of gratitude all the time - and yet all this writing, reading, and thinking has not brought me to a true understanding of ...

"Be still and know that I am God." 
~ Psalm 46:10a

Such a simple-sounding and oft-used verse, but I studied it in some detail and You revealed it to me and I thank you. Help me to cease striving. Help me to stop trying to be my own Author and to live the life You have written for me. I know You are not done yet and so I remain Your servant, a child who loves You and wants to glorify You in the love and strength and faith that I carry with me every day. Help my honest outpourings in this blog illuminate some truth for some person. Let someone understand better what took me much pain to learn - and which I am still learning. 

I thank you for my body that can walk and talk and move and pump blood and work as well as it does. I know there are so many who do not have that. I pray for all who suffer - in mind, body, and spirit. I pray that they would seek You and know You to be the God of all Comforts and find rest and peace in that truth. 

Continue to grow me, Lord. Continue to draw me closer to You and to write my story. 

I think the best title, the best name I can think of is:

Yours. 

I belong to the Lord. 

I am Yours.

In Your Holy Name I pray,
Amen.

And so I stumble upon this verse and chuckle:

"What do people get for all the toil and anxious striving with which they labor under the sun? All their days their work is grief and pain; even at night their minds do not rest. This too is meaningless."

~ Ecclesiastes 2:22-23

For hasn't all my anxiety and worry been toil and meaningless? I bathed in grief and pain and yes, even at night, this mind did not rest.

And then I think of the God of All Comforts verse in 2 Cortinthians 1:3-5 (ESV):

" Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort,  who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too."

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February 12, 2013

Friends, since the days since I drafted this blog entry out, much more has been revealed, particularly about the rest of 2 Corinthians 1 which adds so much to my story. 

While it is a difficult journey to allow God to name me and to not be lured in by false names, I am dedicated as I walk this road. 

I thank you for reading my words, bare and naked, and hope that you give mercy and forgiveness for this one's naivety. 

Thank you for such grace. 

May you be blessed as you walk with the Lord this week and always.

The Most Radical Lullaby

Ann wrote today about radical faith. It's a theme she's been writing on and I've been riveted, as usual, by her insights.

I wanted to write a blog entry about what radical faith looks like to me and I had a million thoughts:

- I don't have time to sit and write a blog entry; I have to pick Eldest Girl up in 20 minutes.
- I don't know what I should say; I haven't felt very radical lately.
- My side still hurts and I don't want to get up.
- I am not qualified to talk on the subject.
- I'm weak and a faith-wuss.

Do you see the downward spiral? Once I heard the snaky hiss of that last thought, I stomped up and grabbed the laptop, logged in, and began writing here.

Sometimes, I have radical faith.

Sometimes, I don't have radical faith and I let my fears rule.

But I will count the ways I am radical in my faith, past and present and future, and I will list them as things I am grateful for - because living eucharisteo is the most radical thing I've ever tried to do.

I Am Radical in My Faith Because

I realize I don't have to do big, expensive things for God to love me and be pleased with me.

I realize that, in His upside-down Kingdom, the little turns to big and the nothing turns to something.

I know what God has called me to do - serve this family of mine - and I do it. It is a daily struggle and a daily joy and I am still learning how to live out grace, forgiveness, mercy, and love.

I am taking on my own kind of dare that is rather private and so I cannot share here...but it is between God and me and it is radical!

I invest my life into these stepchildren of mine - these children I did not birth by womb, but birthed by heart.

I sponsor two children and co-sponsor a third and am so blessed by each of them. I realize that it is the love that counts, not so much the money.

I have realized that if I pray, God, will you give me wisdom? then God might show me that I am wrong in my present thinking and I have to be okay with that.

I know walking a life alongside Christ is hard (In this world you will have trouble), but I feel secure and strong enough in my love for God to know that it will be all right in the end (but do not fear; I have overcome the world ~ John 16:33).

I have began memorizing Scripture with the Romans Project (see sidebar badge) and it is scary because I fear failure...but I'm doing it anyway. That is radical.

I am leading a DVD study on Ann's "One Thousand Gifts" and trying so hard to learn it out and walk it out and live it out. Such a radical notion, this give-thanks-in-everything. The Bible is so radical!

I am loving when I do not feel loved. I am serving when I feel jipped and unappreciated. I am forgiving when I don't feel forgiven. I am not choosing some battles I normally would choose.

I am slowing down. That is radical.

I am sitting here listening to Husband play with Son. And play is not common around here. Calm is not common around here. And my heart wants to burst out in tearful gratitude for this bit of time I carved out to remind myself that I can write about how hard things are over and over...

but God will constantly remind me of how He has us all in His palm.

Do you not know, Lisa, that if you take your hand out from beneath all of them, that My hand will not be there even moreso? (this the Lord said to me one day last year as I cried and clutched)

I am breathing. Heavenly Father, glory to You! - I am breathing!

This I haven't been able to do in months.

I breathe. I breathe the name that can only be breathed: {YHWH}.

On Ann's blog, she quotes Rabbi Lawrence Kushner as saying:

“The letters of the name of God in Hebrew… are infrequently pronounced Yahweh. But in truth they are inutterable….

This word {YHWH} is the sound of breathing.

The holiest name in the world, the Name of Creator, is the sound of your own breathing. That these letters are unpronounceable is no accident. Just as it is no accident that they are also the root letters of the Hebrew verb ‘to be’… God’s name is name of Being itself.”

I can finally be still enough to listen and breath His name..I breathe it like a song.

{YHWH}

...the most radical lullabies I've ever known. 

The Realization of the Noisy Fridge

Seeped into a necessary God-sabbatical this weekend, I sit here in the quiet of a noisy refrigerator. That has been the only thing that has disturbed the past 24 hours' quiet and contemplation. I have never known 24 hours to go by with quiet, peace, reflection only disturbed by a buzzing refrigerator.

And because I rather like the lack of static right now, I am doing what I've wanted to do for years:

take a break. 

I took a break in the real world this weekend and now I'm taking a break from the online world this next week. I will not blog, facebook or twitter from tomorrow (Sunday) until the following Sunday. Due to work and other necessary obligations, I will be checking email.

I do this out of obedience to God's call to be present for my family and my own desire to have more presence for my family. 

Often, having more presence in the real world means having less presence on-line.

That is something I've been railing against, not wanting to accept in my heart, for a long time. 

But too much has happened in the past 24 hours to have me continue railing against that truth, against God's calling me to rest and find joy in the home. 

So while the writer/sharer-part of me yearns to blog pages and pages about everything God has placed on my heart this weekend and all the incredible blessings and nervous nail-biting that have resulted in deciding to take and live Ann's dare...

I'm going to leave it at that and say:

Blessings upon your next week. May you listen to the whispering in your own spirit and heed it. May you hold your loved ones close. May new wounds heal and old ones fade. 

I would love to leave you with this blog entry from my dear blogger-friend, Michele-Lyn over at A Life Surrendered.com. It talks about margins and the need for space, the need to breathe. 

Until next Sunday, the 9th...

Sighing a long, deep Amen...

* Picture most definitely and proudly taken from Ann Voskamp's blog, A Holy Experience and in prayerful hope that it is suitable to share with you, for it does relate so very much.  

When the Flesh Recoils and You Reach to the Eternal

I am fortunate that, in my adult life, I did not get hurt by many people.

I'm not talking about car-sliding-off-into-ditch-hurt. I'm talking of old relationships-gone-bad hurt. 

Things said without voice, arrows slung at the heart and piercing a past I thought I could hold onto forever. 

I don't often lose loved ones without them passing on by death.

But tonight showed me that I am going to have say goodbye to a significant relationship, one that was with me since toddler-hood and was a very deep tie to my beloved mother. 

Due to pain on both sides, our relationship has been strained and though I have tried to reach out in various ways, the reaching-back has become less and less to the point of his arm actually recoiling. 

I never thought the recoil could hurt so much. It's so...intentional. 

There's nothing intentional about the losses I've had that has hurt me to the quick:

my Gramma when I was 15, her dying of a random heart attack on an airplane while taking a nap. 

my dear mother who died of lung cancer 

Those two people have been the biggest losses of my life. They loved me here on earth and they departed this earth loving me. 

This person loved me then and now the love has stopped. Been recoiled. 

Or...even if the love has not been erased, the deciding to not engage at all with me hurts the most. 

And I am hurt. I am angry. .I feel like a branch that somehow kept me close to my mother has now been cut off. I cried and I flailed. 

And then I watched some home movies with my husband because I needed to hear (and remember) my mother's husky, Chicagoan voice. I needed to see her sun-scorched hair and crooked tooth. That beautiful smile, nonetheless. 

 I needed to remember that I am still her daughter, even if the relationship with the other person has withered away. 

Certain kinds of love don't leave. 

It reminds me of God's love for us. And I wouldn't have thought about that at all prior to two years ago when I became a Christian. I can't fathom going through this kind of grief without knowing that I am unconditionally loved by a God who can love me more than anyone else on this earth 

My therapist said this to me last Monday: God loves you more than your mother did. 

That puts it into real terms for me because I knew how much Mom loved me. I felt that love so acutely that I can still taste and smell it, it was that palpable. 

But God loves me more. 

So instead of being angry, vengeful, hurt over the recoiling of love that hurt me down to the quick, I am choosing to focus on God who is the God of All Comforts. 

He comforts those who grieve. He comforts those who are depressed. He comforts widows and orphans. 

"He has sent me to comfort the brokenhearted

and to proclaim that captives will be released

and prisoners will be freed.

He has sent me to tell those who mourn

that the time of the Lord's favor has come,

and with it, the day of God's anger against their enemies.

To all who mourn in Israel,

he will give a crown of beauty for ashes,

a joyous blessing instead of mourning,

festive praise instead of despair.

In their righteousness, they will be like great oaks

that the Lord has planted for his own glory."

~Isaiah 60:1-7 (NLT)

And my hope resides in Him, now and forevermore.

photo from http://www.flickr.com/people/a_gods_child/

The Story Table: When All You Can Do is Lay There

[note: this took many days to write, so bare with me as it is now three or four days after this event]

I'm sprawled out on the operating table right now.

I have been split completely open by mess.

Things I have neglected kept building and building; my self-care had gone shamefully mismanaged and neglected. Things were not going well.

I am not saying things are perfect now, as I lie on the table. I mean, I see that God's hands are ready to mold me. Take me apart, squish me together again, reshape me, do all kinds of things.

I see that God is doing work in me.

And it's scary.

There have been nights - recent nights - where I have sobbed on the laundry room floor and cried out at God, not necessarily to Him - and said, "I don't want this call! I don't want to do what you want me to do."

I've gone to the brink of suffering and almost lost my footing and let myself be swallowed.

And today I was completely split open.

Thanks to a few trusted counselors and a friend, I'm gaining some perspective bit by bit. I'm realizing how I need to care for myself. I need to put my oxygen mask on before I can care for anybody.

And let me tell you - I've let my oxygen mask hang there like a tree ornament for years now.

Oh nevermind you, I'd say to myself. It's selfish to think of yourself.

(As God whispers His command: "love others as yourself")

Nevermind you, I've repeated for twenty-plus years. You aren't worth it.

But no more. I am not letting the enemy's lies dictate my worth. I will not rely on anyone but the Lord to tell me who I am.

So I have taken an R&R evening. I have had to force my mind not to dwell on whether she did all her homework or if that electric bill sitting on the counter is going to tip us into the red. I have had to walk away from a sink full of dishes.

This is not piously said.

I say this in shame because I had to force myself to say:

I am breaking. I need help. I need saving. If I don't change something now, I will be lost forever.

Lord, save me. Stop this. I am Yours.

So although the image of me on an operating table sounds completely helpless and vulnerable, I have complete confidence in the Almighty to make me into who He wants me to be.

Why am I sharing this with the blogosphere? And who, really, reads my blog, anyway?

Reading my dear internet-sister-in-Christ, Michele-Lyn's blog entry, "What is alifesurrendered.com?" I read many of my own mission statements.

I can't keep quiet. What happens inside this heart is important. Not because I am more important than anyone else, but because I know God is doing important things in me.

I am becoming stronger not by my own efforts, but because I lean on Christ to strengthen me (Philippians 4:13).

My life will be a testimony. It already is.

God will use my story to help others. He uses all of our stories if we let Him.

Our story is His story.

That is what I desire - for my story to reveal His story.

Great Physician, here I am on Your table. I want to be molded, changed. I know I am made new by my faith  (2 Corinthians 5:17) and I also know that I will continue to struggle (John 16:33) so I ask you that you humble me enough to listen to You always. I ask that you humble me so that I may carry out the immense calling that you have for me - to serve my family and model Your love. As much as my heart beats for Daniela in her village, for Compassion International, Food for the Hungry, WorldVision, Operation Baby Rescue, and so many wonderful organizations that help the needy...my mission field is my home. The needy children are my own stepchildren who God has placed in my life. And God placed me in their lives. It goes both ways.

And Lord, I'm sorry that I was getting so overwhelmed and upset and I wiggled and strained against Your guidance. Sometimes it is so hard, Lord. Sometimes, I admit, I don't want this call.

I admit it. I am human.

I heard on Susie Larson's "Live the Promise" show (yesterday? I forget) concerning God's calling, that, if your heart resists a bit when you hear God calling you to do something, then that usually means you know that is what you ought to do.

Why? Because it's probably hard. And we have a hard time with the hard stuff. 

Lord, I wrote a few days ago - bring it on.

And oh, you did.

You did so much that I found myself split open. I know you didn't cause this immense suffering these past weeks or months, but I know now that it needed to happen. I needed to be split open to see the light - Your light.

I needed to remember where I come from, Who I come from, where I must serve, and who I must serve.

I needed to remember who I am.

I am not anything or anyone defined by my childhood friends or current friends; I am not defined by roles placed on me by family. I am Yours, first.

I seek You, Lord. I seek to love others as I...

I am learning to love myself.

That is hard to type. I still hear echoes of ugly in my head.

But You ask me to love others as I love myself.

So...in order to love others perhaps I must dare to love myself.

Perhaps I must dare to let myself be split open and lay on that operating table and release my life into Your will.

And it says - your will is that I love myself.

And others.

And You.

Lord, help me love.

Help the ugly voices turn truthful.

Help the lies dissipate into steam on the mirror which quickly fades.

This I pray.

This I put out there in the blogosphere for Your glory and in hopes that someone might come along and read my story, Your story, and decide...

to love him/herself.

And to love others.

And to love You, Lord.

I chuckle as I look down at the necklace I wear every day. The abbreviated Bible verse has not felt personal until right now.

"Seek...to reflect Him"  2 Corinthians 

So Lord, I seek You and I lay upon the story table where You mold and move me. 

That's where the big stuff happens. That's where redemption is found. 

When Good is Maybe

I came home and wrote a hasty facebook update that said:

My hands are shaking from the amount of money the car guy told me we'll have to pay for my jeep to be fixed. I listened to faith radio all day today and they were pleading for child sponsorship. I ached to reach out to a 3rd child once more...decided to focus on the 2 I do sponsor and pour myself into that. But then the car. How do I reconcile all this lack and need with prosperity and having? And when my prosperity and having breaks down....and my hands shake due to fear of the not-enough....how do I reconcile all that?

 

I then heard the television on and turned my head to see the girls out in the backyard. Electricity on and nobody there to use it. Hot flashed to my face. Hands shook harder. I walked outside and asked them if they were out for good. The younger said yes. I told them what the problem was. And I faced my own problem.

You see, I wanted to cry out - not to them, but at them - I wanted to cry at them in fear and tell them how we had just lost a huge amount of money (in my mind) to my car being fixed and that we really can't afford to be throwing money out the window by leaving televisions and radios on when we are not using them. 

 And yet I also wanted to let them know that I believed and trusted God to provide. 

 And there was my problem: did I? Was I?

What came out was a paradox I am ashamed of which I said in haste and still-boiling irrational anger: 

"We just lost a lot of money in fixing my car and..... God will provide, we know...but what we do have we can't be throwing out the window by leaving the XBOX on while you are not even down there."

Older girl sighed sulky and younger looked down and mumbled, sorry. 

And as they walked back inside I had to look down in shame and mumble sorry because I had not said what I wanted to say, not modeled what I wanted to model. 

And Husband came in and I cried sad and shamed and leaned into his strength because I was too afraid to lean into His strength, too ashamed to even look up at my Father who I feared was so disappointed in me. 

 I let the world tell me my worth yet again. 

Husband listened and rubbed my temples, saying that maybe it is good for me to be wrestling with my trust in God. 

Because, he said, we have cars to worry about

and we have electricity that we can worry about wasting

and we have the ability to bring our car into a place right away should it break down

and we have a bank account of X amount of dollars to worry about it decreasing by Y amount. 

And I cried long and releasing as he continued to rub my temples lovingly. 

Speaking not in sharp, harsh tones, but in soft, gentle reminders to the girl lost in a current of doubt. 

I told him about the children I had heard about each time I got in my car and turned on the radio. How they lived in sub-sustaining conditions. They had no car, no electricity, no pet to worry about buying litter for. 

 How do I reconcile that? I asked him, tears rolling down cheeks easy. 

"Maybe it's good," Husband said...

And so I will sit here as Husband makes dinner and older girl asks to snack on ramen noodles and Husband answers, "but I'm making dinner right now" and he assures her that it won't be long and girl complains that she's hungry and I think about her lean frame and healthy weight and I think about too-thin, too-hungry children all around the world. 

How do we keep from playing the comparison game where we then feel guilty and burdened and then how do we accept the command to love the poor that Jesus has given us? 

  "Can I have a pickle? A teeny one?"

"Dinner will be ready as soon as I can make it."

"But Dad, I'm a growing teenager."

"And..."

"But..."

"And..."

"But..."

So I do not know how to end this post because there really is no end to the world's need, is there.

And I can imagine God thinking, "there is no end to my children's complaining, is there?"

And yet He loves us. And he continues to provide. 

We'll give thanks to You
With gratitude
For lessons learned in how to trust in You
That we are blessed beyond what we could ever dream
In abundance or in need
And if You never grant us peace
But Jesus, would You please . . .

~ "Gratitude" by Nichole Nordeman

 

 

Enough is Not Enough: A Prayer and Praise Realization

Life has been hard lately. Just when I thought we had enough, God gave us more. Who am I to judge what "enough" is?

"No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it."

~1 Corinthians 10:13 NIV

I think if I had it my way "enough" would be a very low standard as I am wont to be lazy.


Not so with our God.

But many times over the course of these past weeks, have I, for the first time, looked at the cross above our bed and uttered these words: "When are You going to stop this?"

I actually said that. I might have also said something like, "when will this end?"

Perhaps even a choked-out, "Why do You keep doing this to us?"

I see now that I was getting more desperate and more disillusioned by the moment.

The enemy loves to camp on disillusionment.

image from http://archive.brothersmcleod.co.uk/posts/show/23

I slept two hours last night into this morning. A lot of bad stuff went down. I prayed and cried for hours, knowing that, at 4:00 in the morning, I could not go back to sleep because I had to get up in two hours for work and I knew if I did go to sleep after my exhaustive crying and praying, it would be harder to wake myself back up.

So I took a shower and prayed. I turned on the radio softly and prayed. I pet my cat and prayed. Then I decided to just leave and get to work hideously early and pray.

I looked carefully at my Christian library and chose a few key books I thought might aid me in making it through the day should I have time to sit and read for a few moments.

One of those books was "Mercy in the Wilderness" by Susie Larson

image from susielarson.com

I can't begin to describe how intensely this book has ministered to me. Susie's story is take-your-breath-away-inspirational in that real-world kind of way, the kind of way that makes you want to reach out and hug her (I think I may email her anyway!) and thank her profusely.

When I read that, during years of constant trauma and one difficulty after another, she felt God tell her that this would get a lot harder before it got easier -- I knew I was hearing that, too, in my own battles.

God told me yesterday that my fire is coming.

This third I will bring into the fire; I will refine them like silver and test them like gold. They will call on my name and I will answer them; I will say, 'They are my people,' and they will say, 'The LORD is our God.'"

~ Zechariah 13:9

And as Beth Moore says, "There is no fire that can't refine you" (paraphrased from "Breaking Free").

I kept telling myself not to be afraid. We all go through valleys and as long as we know our Companion is there, we don't have to feel alone and abandoned.

In the wee hours of the morning, amidst desperate prayers, I looked up at the familiar "Footprints" poem on my wall.

"Carry me, Lord," I whispered. "I can't walk one step today without You."

As I sighed out that prayer, I rose and took my shower and left for work.

The day was a good one. I was with a favorite client at work and we shared smiles and laughter.

But coming home, that same groaning, ache in my stomach resurfaced. That fear that had come to be normal when thinking about returning to our downhome chaos and tension. Something destructive happening nearly every day.

I listened to my favorite worship music (lately it's been Nichole Nordeman, Nicole Serrano, and Christy Nockels)

and prayed more.

I wasn't praying for just myself, mind you. I prayed for my husband, my children, our family as a whole. I prayed for us to cling to God and for the enemy to not find a foothold to step on.

This morning God orchestrated Life 102.5  playlist as He often does for His listeners and as I emerged from the shower, "Praise You in this Storm" was on and while that song is often on, I knew it was a call for me to do just that.

I knew that God wanted me to know that things were going to get harder...

but He had not given me a spirit of fear

for God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.

~ 2 Timothy 1:7 (ESV)

No, He did not give me a spirit of fear...and I tried to let that fear wash away with every song I listened to on the way home.

My 40-ish minute drive home is a blessing on many days. I drive through rural countryside and the sun (when it is out) is a gift upon the land which my eyes feast on, sometimes even with tears.

Then Nichole Nordeman's song, "No More Chains" came on.An excerpt:

"How did I get locked up inside?
What's this that renders me paralyzed?
I lost myself in small pieces
It happened over time

I traded love for a heavy chain
Another link every other day
I pulled it up and down a mountain
It made me want to say?

No more chains
No more chains
Big and small, watch them fall away
No more chains
Big and small, watch them fall away"

And I said
Oh, Lord, take this bondage away. I long to be free from fear, anxieties, tension.

I pulled into the garage. I had no idea what I'd walk into. Would the younger two be screaming? Would Husband be so tense he could not even function? Would the teenager choose yet another deviant action?

I walked inside and Husband was lying on the couch, obviously exhausted. He said he had gotten 3 hours of sleep. I nodded. Two was my story.

We talked a bit. I shared some ideas about how we could help this family.

But we've tried so many things. How could we know this was not just the "next thing?"

I don't know, I answered. But how is doing what we are doing now going?

So I hope we can make more steps toward love and freedom in coming days, weeks, months, years.

The evening actually went very well. The teen had 2 friends over, the little ones were well-behaved and sweet. As the evening wore on, I sat on the couch and continued to read "Mercy in the Wilderness."

I came across this passage:

"When God opens the skies and provides a brief moment of relief from our circumstances, is this a cruel joke to tease and reminds us how tough things really are? No! I submit that it's a precious gift from a patient Father who wishes we were not so earth-bound." (p117)

I sat there dumbfounded. The younger two played outside, Husband was downstairs setting something up on the computer and the eldest was in her room playing a computer game.

Peace reigned in our home that night.

The evening was a miracle and I had let it go by unacknowledged.

I felt slapped upside the head. I immediately put my book down and raised my head, folded my hands. And I began the most humbling dialogue with God.

Forgive me, I said. How dare I pray every minute of the day on behalf of this family when we are in turmoil...and yet when those prayers get answered....when peace finally floods its way into our home, even for a few hours....I say nothing.

Do I really only go to God when it's hard? What about this "Praise You in This Storm" stuff?

"And I'll praise You in this storm and I will lift my hands
For You are who You are no matter where I am..."

Was I praising Him no matter where I was? Absolutely not!

Forgive me, Lord, I begged.  

How dare I! I let shameful tears fall. And I felt my Father lift my head and say

It is never too late to praise Me. 

 

So I did. I did with all my heart and I did with glorious tears. 

Husband came upstairs to find me in the middle of my befuddled realization and I hurry-told him all that I had realized. What a gift God had given us! And I was just going through the evening as though 

as luck would have it

we had a good night. 

And later that night God had yet another miracle to unveil. 

Earlier, during my car-prayertime, I had decided on the most important (to me) prayer of all. I prayed:

Lord, let Husband see You through me. 

And that night, Husband told me the following:

Seeing your spirituality tonight inspired me and because of that I feel closer to God than I have in a while.

My eyes just about bugged out.

How can we ever judge that "this is enough?" 

How can enough to us be enough to God?

Only God knows what is "enough" and He already promised not to pour upon us more than we can handle.  

It is a bit dangerous and radical when you pray to God what you really desire. 

Because, as I've written before, when you pray for patience...He will undoubtedly place people or situations in your life that will test your patience and thus mold you into a more patient person.

So when I pray for peace in this family I know what I may be getting myself into.

But our God is a Sovereign God and I trust in His wisdom and foreknowledge. 

That night was a big one - of humble realization, humility, celebration, praise. 

I know that not every day will be sunshiny and rosy. 

There will be storms. 

But I swear I will praise You, God, even in those storms because I know that You know there is a clear, blue sky just waiting for Your word. 

  

The Ugly Turned Beautiful Life

"God's Word was meant for 

the ugly life."  

~ Beth Moore from the study, "Breaking Free."

Can I just admit it? I live the ugly life. I live the sinful life: getting angry, prideful, jealous, bitter, depressed, and doubtful. I walk with emotionally tattered clothes and emotionally battered face. I am in need of God. I am in need of a Savior. I am in need of breaking free from the bondage that tells me

I'm a 

bad person

selfish person

that I

don't matter

shouldn't be here

don't deserve any good thing

I must break free from the bondage that the enemy holds over me. He does not want me to know

that I am

made in God's image (Gen 1:26-27)

blessed by God (Gen 12:3, Eph 1:3)

strong, courageous, successful (Josh 1:7-9)

a daughter of the King (Ps 45:9)

precious and valuable (Deut 12:30,31; Ps 106:34-39)

the focus of God's love song (Zeph 3:17)

(I've got a list, shall I go on?)

It's time. 

It's time I let God set me free. 

I may live the ugly life, but God knows I deserve more and He wants to give me more.  

I know I live the ugly life, but I also know that God is for me. His love is for me, for you, for all of us.

He is knocking on the door and I must answer. 

“I believe; help my unbelief!”  (Mark 9:24 ESV)

And may I suggest a song for your breaking-free journey?
Matthew West's, The Healing Has Begun
(just click on the title and it will bring you to the amazing song)