You Are the Good in Good Friday

Welcome back to the Dove Chronicles! I've not written in a long time as family, illness, and life have made things very busy. I gave much thought to something I wrote this morning reflecting on my favorite time of year - Holy Week: Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter (with that odd, waiting-for-hope Saturday in between). I decided to resurrect my old faith blog during Resurrection weekend. Appropriate, yes? 

Before I share that piece of writing, let's revisit the meaning of Good Friday. 

I love Good Friday for so many reasons. 

1. Everyone I know asks, "why is it called Good Friday?" My kids ask this, friends who don't know the Lord ask this, and I love answering it because I gain a bit more insight each year. It is now just over five years of me being a Christian, but I don't pretend to have all the answers, but I will share what I have come to understand. I tell people that this Friday is "good" because God's definition of "good" is so very different than ours. For example, I have been diagnosed with a horrible chronic illness that causes a great amount of suffering - for and my family. However, I do think this is being used for my "good" by the God who can turn ashes into beauty and joy out of suffering. Whether I let Him use it for my good is up to me. I also tell people that it is called "Good" Friday because though it seemed like an awful day for Jesus, to put it mildly, think about it: Jesus knew this was coming. And the Apostle Paul says, we must fix

our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.

 Hebrews 12:2

With joy, Jesus endured the cross. The joy was not the beating, lashing, or mocking. We were that joy. We are that joy. The shame He despised was not "good." But the result of this sacrifice is certainly "good" for us. Because of Jesus, we can walk in freedom and be connected to God in a way that was impossible before. That certainly is good news! 

So that's the Good about Good Friday. 

While we think hanging on a cross in a violent death is definitely not "good," Jesus decided we were worth it. 

He decided you were worth it. Not because of what you did or didn't do, but because you are His. With all your flaws and warts, with all your rebelliousness and doubt, He decided YOU were worth dying for. 

I'd say that is very good news. 

Awaken! And Redirect!

Hello, friends!
If you haven't already known, there is a lot going on with me concerning a chronic illness. I started a GoFundMe campaign that exceeded my wildest expectations. May God continue to use it as He sees fit. It will help cover my medical expenses from being treated for chronic lyme disease.

http://www.gofundme.com/fightingforlisa
(I keep typing GodFundMe which I think is pretty awesome)

But the big announcement I wanted to make was for you to head on over to a place where I will be writing updates on my treatments, advocating for more awareness on chronic lyme disease, and sharing my faith perspective in the middle of great suffering.

My latest post, in fact, is one seeped in the idea of suffering for God's glory (a la Paul in the New Testament) and how faith can be tested but also strengthened during such times.

I invite you to hop over -

http://lymeandacoconut.wordpress.com

It's okay to travel blogging platforms. The beams won't cross (sorry, Ghostbusters reference out of no where).

Hope to see you there!

Lighting up the Room

Imagine a dark and abandoned room. A room that was once so cherished and special that then went dim as the electric bill was left paid and the heating bill unnoticed so the space became still and cold.

I admit it; I neglected you. But I have reasons, honestly. And I know it's okay that I let this place be still and dark because I had a lot of living to do, a lot of maturing, a lot of understanding. I do not have "it" all together now; no, on the contrary - life is at its messiest. But I feel a calling to return to this place and light a candle or two for those of you still with me and to welcome anyone who might wander in.

Welcome. I'll light the fire for you so this place warms up. And it will warm up, that I'm sure of. Because this place is all about God. And while we sometimes think God leaves the bills unpaid or lets the food go bad in the fridge; while we may blame Him for our difficult circumstances, when it's all said and done -

God is good.

I've been through the diagnosis of several chronic illnesses, several mental health emergencies within my family, marriage strife, children crises, spiritual challenges, you name it, all since I last wrote here. I always wrote about how interested I was in the nature of suffering as a Christian...well, I'm getting to find out firsthand now. Ha - careful what you ponder!

What do I do with all this pain? Do I let it rule my body, my emotions, and thus let my flesh rule my life?

Or do I surrender to God on a daily basis, knowing His hands are holding me with love and careful precision, molding me with every experience that comes my way? Do I believe He wants the best for me?

Well, yes and no. He wants the best for Him. I will go into that in a different blog entry. Good stuff there.

But suffice it to say, suffering has been the meat and potatoes on my plate for the past year and I live in daily physical pain that sometimes truly  makes me question God's goodness.

But when I quiet the racket going on in my brain (as a baby cries hysterically in the library where I am typing this), I know on a deep, gut level that God has me. He's got this. All of it. And only He can handle it. And aren't I lucky to have Him in my life, to know Him, to serve Him all of my days!

Yes, I struggle with anger and bitterness, plain old morning grouchiness and irrational yelling at the kids...biting off Husband's poor head at times...hiding in my bed under my pillows and just sobbing sometimes... yes, I still struggle...

but I keep looking at the Light - God's Light that He provides. In the song, "Wasteland," by NeedtoBreathe, there is this fantastic line:

"In this wasteland
where I'm living
there is a crack in the door filled with light
and it's all that I need to get by"

Sometimes all you really need is a crack of light. You're looking and looking for your daily bread and there's the light. And you hold onto it for all it's worth.

And Jesus is sure worth it all!

p.s. for those of you who followed me over to my other blog I had mentioned in the last post many moons ago...well that blog, too, had to darken for me to live life for a while and little gremlins took over and I can't even access it any longer so it's up for grabs, sadly, to any spammer who wants it. Very sad about that, but not much I can do. So here I stay! I might create a new blog depending on the direction I'd like to go, but no worries about packing up yet. Peace, be still.

Dear Weary Mom: The Dichotomy of these Love Letters

Dear Weary Mom,

I'm weary of not feeling confident as a stepmother.

I think I may be far too paranoid and feeling far too childish. Far less equipped and far less ready.

Surely God must have meant for some other woman to come into these kids' lives, to fall in love with this man.

Because all I can see lately is failure on grand levels.

Surely God meant for me to stay in my hermit-like 1-bedroom apartment and live a solitary existence so I would not mess up any children with my insecurities and immaturity.

...Wow. Do you hear how awful that sounds?

First of all, that isn't a very kind thing to say about myself, is it.

Secondly, I am basically telling God, Maker of Heaven and Earth, that He messed up.

He got the wrong girl.

As if God could ever get anything wrong.

When self-esteem is floundering, take the "self" out of it and feel how you soar.

God esteems me.

When I am weary and burden-laden, when my identity gets thrown in the laundry with dirty and grimy clothes by the enemy of all of us, God whips me out, shakes the dirt off, claims me clean, and I start fresh. 

Like mountain-spring-fresh. Grassy-meadow-fresh. 

Hung-out-on-the-line-to-catch-the-spring-breeze-fresh.

And if I just let God be my launderer, maybe I won't get so weary or lost. Maybe I will realize the Truth, as I do on my good days when I know God has called me here to these children, to this husband, for such a time as this.

I love the story of Esther and I especially love the unlikely heroism of it all. 

I love how God chooses who we would consider the least qualified to do extraordinary things.

Do you feel weary?

God chose you to do the work you are doing BECAUSE of your weariness. No, not as a cruel joke, but because you show that you need God.

These Weary Mom letters are a blessing to each of us. They are not complaining sessions between mothers, they are love letters to God shared between women who do the hardest work.

They are letters of reminders, proclamations, clarifications.

You think God got the wrong girl?

Think again.

God intimately knows each person He calls and He calls each of us to something.

And He's just loving these love letters floating all around the internet, around the neighborhoods, over your telephones.

It's a dichotomy: be weary no more 

yet also continue to feel weary -

because both are a sign that we believe in God bigger than we believe in your own ability to carry it all.

**linking up today at Hope for the Weary Mom blog - I recommend the book of the same name, as well! Let's band together in our weariness and point to the God who gets us through it all!**

Another Vlog: Here

Another day to upload another video blog from the night before Easter.

Twas the night before Easter
and all through the home
Not a creature was stirring
except my computer's drone.
And I sang into the mic
hoping I'd make sense
and you've blessed me now
with your beautiful presence.
So do get comfortable
I hope you will stay
for God is quite real
and for you this I pray.

May your Saturday bless you with joy and time to look around and know that God is here.

What the Rain Really Brings

"Bring the Rain" by Mercyme

I can count a million times

People asking me how I

Can praise You with all that I've gone through

The question just amazes me

Can circumstances possibly

Change who I forever am in You

Maybe since my life was changed

Long before these rainy days

It's never really ever crossed my mind

To turn my back on you, oh Lord

My only shelter from the storm

But instead I draw closer through these times

So I pray

Bring me joy, bring me peace

Bring the chance to be free

Bring me anything that brings You glory

And I know there'll be days

When this life brings me pain

But if that's what it takes to praise You

Jesus, bring the rain

I am Yours regardless of

The dark clouds that may loom above

Because You are much greater than my pain

You who made a way for me

By suffering Your destiny

So tell me what's a little rain

So I pray

Holy, holy, holy

Is the Lord God Almighty

*********************************

It's rainy season right now. Actually, there's a torrential downpour going on and I want to shake my first and gnash my teeth and ask, "why?"

But when I truly quiet myself, soothe the frightened and upset child within, when I listen for my Father's voice

I hear this:

"I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us."

~ Romans 8:18

And when I want to yell at God and ask Him why my present is so painful and full of strife after such a painful childhood and 20-something-years, when I want to demand that God answer me why now after such a trial before...I hear this:

"Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him." 

~ James 1:12

And while I know God doesn't necessarily cause the rain and and the tornado and the lifestorms

God certainly knows when it is in our best interest to experience such rain because it will grow us into better creations.

It's hard to ask God to bring the rain.

Who wants such trials?

But struggle forces us to strain under the pressure of the fact that we don't control all of this and struggle gives us eyesight to see Who does.

A lack of ground gives us the very ground we most need to stand on.

And so that is what I am holding onto this night when I ought to be in bed but I'm plagued by anxieties and thoughts of what-do-we-do-now's. When I worry about my family and our future. When I worry about everything. When I feel the downpour, rain hitting my face like pellets.

I know I am growing. I know my family grows under the weight of this rain because I know that God has us all in His hand.

And so Lord, I pray to you and I praise you. I praise you in this storm and while I do not understand your why's, I understand that your Son died for me and that ugly storm redeems all of my own storms. I praise you for the goodness and blessings you provide for us daily. I praise you for the graces that rain down upon us as well and I thank you for these opportunities - every storm which turns, one day, into the redemption stories we tell - I thank you for these opportunities to proclaim your faithfulness.

And I know there'll be days 

where this life brings me pain

but if that's what it takes to praise you

then, Jesus, bring the rain...

The Paradox of the Season

Husband's birthday is today - on Good Friday.

It's been interesting, this paradox. Celebrating the man I love's birthday on the day I remember Christ dying.

Last night, at the end of the Maundy Thursday service, they ceremoniously stripped the altar as Pastor sang, in the same haunting melody as Ash Wednesday's Psalm 51, Psalm 22. And the ladies in prim and beautiful dresses, white gloves on their hands especially for this, took the candles, the cup and plate we had just used for the Lord's Supper, the altar cloths - they took everything off as the sanctuary lights turned off.  A firm lump rose in my throat and tears rolled down.

It has now begun, I felt deep in my bones. We enter the space of suffering and sadness and the why's and how-did-this-happen's. We hear Jesus' words, "Remember me" and as Good Friday fades to evening we think about him beseeching his Father, "My God, why have You forsaken me?"

Yesterday as I stood around the enormous cross which stands on a neighbor's land here in town, hand-in-hand with other believers wanting to usher God into the moment, wanting to thank God for the gift of His Son, wanting to pray for the church and everyone on this earth, I looked up as the sun shone on the stained wood, the two nails holding the pieces together - large nails - and I realized I had never been this close to such a cross. I could feel its pulse. I could feel its story of the Cross long ago.

The Pastor who led the prayer mentioned something that threw me for a headspin. He said that no one has ever or will ever suffer as much as Jesus did on that cross. Things certainly fell into perspective.

I love Good Friday because it gives me time to truly reflect on all Christ has done for me.

If I had it my way I'd have the entire day to just sit in the sun and read God's Word and journal and sing.

As it turns out, God had different plans for me this Good Friday.

I tried to make Husband's Good Friday Birthday an enjoyable one. I managed to handle the squabbles between 9 yr old Miss G and 6 yr old Mr. A. - they are getting at each other's throats more and more. I did not yell at all; I chose grace over anger.

Husband came home to presents and streamers. We had a good time.

Then the kids went off in different directions and I sat down to blog.

And in that time, while Husband takes a much-deserved nap, Miss G and Mr. A have come in three times declaring war and tattling on each other.

I have handled it all, so far, without yelling.

Then Miss G, who is ripening in opinions and attitude, announces that she can't help but hit her brother; she just gets so mad that she can't control it.

Oh, we've been through this before, child. I've been teaching you an emotional vocabulary since I met you at age four and a half. I gave you that Dora squeezie ball back then to hold when anger filled you to the brim and then we transitioned to a feelings poster and now, here we are in present day, with me asking you about your day and you releasing emotion after emotion.

So how did we get to today - how, apparently, it is okay for you to wallop your brother because you can't control it and oh, I just don't understand it and you just can't explain it, and you spin around in a huff and scream at me.

My heart pierces and I feel a sharp ache. I'm losing my little girl.

I calmly tell her that she has every ability to control her anger. She knows this. But she will not believe it. She sees her sister making excuses and falling into the victim time and time again and I worry for all of them, all of these kids who have seen such trauma and such suffering and I wonder if I can ever lead them to Jesus which makes me think

maybe Jesus needs to lead them to Jesus. 

I tell Miss G that I love her and I know she knows, though it's hard, she can choose not to hit or fight.

And I leave her room because I can see it is getting to be information-overload and I close the door behind her, feeling her seething anger, hearing the bursts of tears beginning.

And I can't do much but pray.

I want this Good Friday to be good.

I want our family to love each other and for us to get along.

Can't they see that?

Don't they know what this day means? What Christ did for them?

There is grace for them, I hear in my head. And I call you to show them such grace.

Oh God, it is so hard. I want to yell instead of love. I want to cry instead of pray.

But it is in my control, isn't it. Praying instead of crying. Loving instead of yelling. Just like she can choose not to hit I can choose not to sink into despair.

Hold me up, Lord. I've been pondering how we can hold you up on the cross; I think, secretly, I've been wondering if there could have been anything we could have done to save you from such suffering.

But I remember you are God-Man and you chose this, you knew this would happen. It is written...

You have not asked me to save you, Lord. Do I really think that? Is that why Good Friday pierces me so much this year? How mistaken I am.

You have called me to serve others. You've called me to serve these children. And I try, Lord, I try.

So what if it is about the paradox? A birthday on Christ's death day. Teaching her not to yell when I want to scream in despair. Running to you and proclaiming my need of you the day when you were nailed to the worst death imaginable.

This season is all paradox, upside-down. Then again, so is the Kingdom of God.

We are called to love the least of us; taught that you loved us when we were yet sinners; picked up time and time again if we just call out to you.

The paradox of this season is not lost on me.

The hard which can hurt can be the biggest blessing.

But the blessing might not come right away.

Miss G won't walk out of her room and tell me, "I get it now. Thank you so much for explaining it. I understand and I love you so much for leading me to the Lord."

Mr. A won't open his door with a big smile and say, "whining and tattling is so beyond me."

Miss A, the eldest, won't walk upstairs and hug me with tears, thanking me for loving her despite her hating me.

The hard which can hurt and then turn blessing-like might come years later - or even wait until eternity in Heaven.

What I know, Lord, is that you watch us all. You promise each of us eternal life in return for giving our life to you. And for all that you've done - in life and in death - how you conquered death - how you gave us hope in the darkest hours - after all that you've done, I'm going to take your paradox and hold it in my hand, drink from it like a pool of living water, and keep on moving through this life.

Once again, I seem to be living this stuff out so much more than in years past. It gets harder, but I know, because of you, Lord, I grow stronger.

When You Need it To Be Well

It is Well With My Soul

written by Horatio G. Spafford, 1873

music by Phillip P. Bliss, 1876

When peace like a river attendeth my way

When sorrows like sea billows roll;

Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,

It is well, it is well, with my soul.

It is well, with my soul,

It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,

Let this blest assurance control,

That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,

And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!

My sin, not in part but the whole,

Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,

Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:

If Jordan above me shall roll,

No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life

Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.

But, Lord, 'tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait,

The sky, not the grave, is our goal;

Oh, trump of the angel! Oh, voice of the Lord!

Blessed hope, blessed rest of my soul!

And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,

The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;

The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,

Even so, it is well with my soul. 

*   *   *   *   *

The Lord has spoken to me through a new song. For the longest time, the verse and various versions in song of "Be Still and Know I Am God" followed me around like a parent's gentle, yet insistent, nudge. I pondered the verse, sang the songs, even wrote my own song to the verse...it consumed me. 

Now God has put the hymn, "It Is Well with My Soul," on my heart and I am turning my attention to it and what God wants it to mean to me - and possibly to you. 

The story behind the song is miraculous in itself. The maker of this video on youtube does a beautiful job of explaining it. 

When I read the story in my comforting, soft-leather-bound book, "Then Sings My Soul" by Robert J. Morgan, this evening, my eyes filled with tears. What tragedy befell that man and look what he wrote. 

"Saved alone," his wife cabled to him after his four daughters had perished in a shipwreck. "What shall I do?"

There are so many things Horatio Spafford could have done. Can you imagine? He could have torn his hair out and grieved so deeply that he gave up on life completely. He had lost his only son at the age of 4 and now, years later, he had lost his 4 daughters. All of his children, gone. His wife, a rare survivor of the shipwreck, on the other side of the Atlantic asking him, "what shall I do?"

"Horatio Spafford immediately booked passage to join his wife. En route, on a cold December night, the captain called him aside and said, 'I believe we are now passing over the place where the Ville da Havre went down.' Spafford went to his cabin but found it hard to sleep. He said to himself, 'It is well; the will of God be done.' He later wrote his famous hymn based on those words."

 ~ from "Then Sings My Soul" by Robert J. Morgan.

And then, as the video on youtube tells us, Haratio Spafford and his wife went on to spread the Gospel in Jerusalem to Jews and Muslims. This was in the late 1800s. Amazing. 

The way I feel tonight - it is so not  well in my soul. 

I thought about what that phrase means and I narrowed it down to this: 

It is well with my soul = I am content trusting God completely with my past, present, and future. 

It is well with my soul means that I cannot try to control my circumstances or people in my life. 

It is well with my soul means that I cannot impose my own will on other people. 

It is well with my soul means ...

that I must be still and know He is God. 

Oh, God, how circular this all is! It's like a dance of verses and song and whispers from You during these dark, sad nights...

It is so often not well with my soul, but then again...I'm one of the people who needs to sing those words the most - and believe them. 

My soul can only become well through trusting by faith. 

So although what I see is pain right now

"So we fix our eyes not on what is seen,"

I must believe that God is working behind the scenes on what is unseen

"but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary and what is unseen is eternal."

~ 2 Corinthians 4:18

because God promises me an eternal future and I know, I know deep deep down...

when I fix my eyes on Him

all is well. 

And sometimes that is all you need. 

Finding Grace While Living Lent

My church had a fabulous congregational-wide journey called "Unbinding the Heart," which is part of the "Unbinding the Gospel" series found over at gracenet.info . It is a journey that consists of small groups gathering, praying together, and talking about how their church as well as each individual can have a deeper relationship with God.

I joined this journey, but it definitely did not become the destination I thought I was journeying toward.

Pastor told me this would be "right up my alley." He told me back at Christmas that we were doing this Lent study that was very "me-ish" and I'd love it. All through the Christmas season I awaited Lent like it was Christmas Day. Odd thought, isn't it.

When it came time to start the 40-day journey of "Unbinding the Heart," I found myself in a very stressful time of year. Or of life. I'm not sure because I feel like we've been racing through life at crisis-intervention-speed for the past two years. All I know is that things felt like they were colliding once I started meeting on Saturdays for one hour in my small group.

Mind you, I was excited. I yearned to get to know people more personally at my church. I yearned to make some friends in this tiny town of mine. We moved here two and a half years ago, but I still feel very new and out of place. And besides, I was excited to delve into the book that accompanied this journey because it had homework.

I was excited to have faith homework. Yes, if I had my way, I'd go back to school - divinity school if I could really dream - and I'd study the Bible day and night and talk theology and faith and God-passion 24/7. However, God has placed me in this family, in this town, in this job, in this place of life.

"Lord, you alone are my portion and my cup; you make my lot secure." ~ Psalm 16:5

So while I couldn't go to divinity school or even to the local cafe to read and write all day long, I could attend a small group one hour per week and do this prayer journal daily and read a chapter a week. I thought I could. I knew I could. This was "up my alley."

"Me-ish."

I had no idea how much grace had to be given. Before given, it had to be realized. Then accepted. How much grace our Lord has!

We often don't realize the amount of grace God gives until after we learn the hard lesson. 

So weeks went by and I did go the small group meetings on each Saturday (I missed one due to family business), but for the life of me I couldn't do the very things that made this so exciting and fun and "up my alley" and "me-ish."

I couldn't do what made me me.

I couldn't find time to read the chapters. I couldn't find time to take notes. I didn't read each daily prayer exercise.

Who was this person I had become? Why was I not enjoying this group? What was holding me back? I would join the five or six other people on Saturdays and they'd each be going through their own struggle and we'd all pray about it and talk about it.

How could I tell them that my problem was this journey? That I wasn't journeying on this journey with them?

It finally came out at the second to last group. I had it pent up in me for so long: this anger at myself, this disappointment that I was not getting everything I could out of this group. Why was I not getting this?

Those words, well-intentioned yet haunting, kept ringing in my ears: "but this is so 'you.'"

This 40-day journey during Lent, one of my favorite times of the year...Lent...when I want to delve into Christ's journey to the cross...when I want to meditate on what sacrifice and love and commitment mean...when I want to feel so much closer to God as I watched His Son carry that ugly beautiful punishment on His back - all for us - I wanted to be getting so much more out of it all.

I wanted to live for the King. I wanted to live every day breathing every breath, speaking every word, singing every song for the Lord.

On that day I burst into tears with my small group and finally confessed to my not-doing-it-right and my anger at this not being me-ish at...

the group said the very thing Pastor told me many times in emails responding to my cries for help:

"There is grace for you."

They spoke of grace and how we don't need to do it all right or do it the same way. It's okay, they said. It's okay.

And I thought about what I had been doing the past 40 days.

We had a huge crisis with one of our children and had to attend to that, more intensely than usual, for about a week. I was going through my usual but always-forgotten-about-Season Affective Disorder. Husband and I were having marital issues and trying to lean more on God for understanding. I was lonely for friendship. I was insanely busy helping Miss G with her 3rd grade homework (along with Husband) and I think she actually had 3 huge projects going on at the same time and is still at the point of needing one-on-one help with homework. The youngest, Mr. A, began acting out in Kindergarten (my shy, sweet little boy?) and I needn't go into the eldest's problems. Additionally, a close family member had significant surgery which threw me out of whack and into much fear. My own physical ailments continued to plague me.

And through it all? I still prayed. I tried my best to attend Lenten services on Wednesday nights. I prayed more. I sang. I went to Praise Team rehearsals and also practiced for our big concert in April. I went to work meetings and to therapy sessions and worked my tail off talking with insurance people and mental health professionals trying to help a family member in need. And I prayed more. I kept praying.

I never stopped praying and I didn't exactly change my mode of praying, either. I realize now that it's a wonder that with all that chaos and busyness that I didn't lessen in prayer. That I didn't get "too busy" for God. Because that can happen all too easily.

But I didn't forget God. I talked with Him every single day. I even cried out to Him about my frustration with this Unbinding journey I didn't think I was joining.

I almost quit and threw in the towel. Husband confronted me and told me I had over-committed myself. The family needed me. The family missed me. I felt torn and angry and confused. But I took it to God.

Show me where I have filled my spirit up with anything other than You, Lord.

I asked God to reveal to me what I needed to keep and what I needed to let go.

The answer was surprising.

I stuck with Unbinding. I took out my Wednesday night Lenten worship. I continued to help with homework and facilitate emails with teachers and therapists, but I let go a little. Okay, I let go a lot. I recalled my first Holy Week and Easter as a Christian and how I rejoiced in all the revelations and amen-azing moments I had:

2011 Easter-related blog entries:
In Preparation
The Waiting Game
Darkness Comes
Forsaken
He Has Risen Indeed
Not Like a Birthday

How prolific I was that year! How many books I read on Lent and Easter, how many devotionals I did!

But this year? I couldn't even do my homework.

But there is grace. There is grace in not doing homework and grace in not meeting up with the prayer partner for hours over coffee and hushed tones. There is grace for not filling out every blank space in the book.

I still prayed. I still followed God and read the Word and knelt in the presence of the Lord. I wasn't blogging or journaling or doing writing of any kind. I wasn't sharing exciting revelations with others. I wasn't reading and finishing books on Lent. I didn't even get to consistently follow my favorite blogs like I normally would.

Instead, I served my family and tried to care for myself as well as for them. My family - these three kids and my husband - this is the ministry God has called me to have, these four people He has called me to serve right here, right now.

And so that first Wednesday Lenten worship I did not attend, we had "church" had home and didn't even plan it. Miss G and I were making a Spring-themed wreath and we ended up, somehow, talking about Heaven and Hell. It had been a while since my curious 9-year-old stepdaughter asked any God-questions, but here she sat with tears streaming down her cheeks confessing things to me that squeezed her heart so much she dared to whisper that she didn't think God would let her into Heaven.

And so the Holy Spirit filled me (as well as my own mothering nature) and I spoke Truth to that young girl so passionately that you would have thought I was doing the evangelizing the "Unbinding the Heart" book talked about. I told my girl that once she believed in Jesus and loved and followed Him that she was a new creation - her old self was gone, her past sins wiped clean, and she became a new creation. I spoke of God's perfect love and how God can see directly into the very center of her heart so He knows her truest feelings. I spoke the Truth that she needed to hear that night. If I hadn't sacrificed going to service that night, I would have missed ministering to my growing-up-girl in an intensely necessary way.

I was living Lent. Not reading or writing about it. I was living Lent. Look at the ELCA web site and what they say Lent is: basically,  prayer, sacrifice (fasting or adding something), and service.

I think about what Lent has looked like this year and I see that I have not done as much meditating as in years prior, but I have lived it. I have prayed and I have made sacrifices for my family and I have served them in ways deeper than any time before.

God was having me live Lent this year instead of blogging, reading, and talking about it.

This is not to say that I got the "living Lent" aspect all "right" and perfect. I still made mistakes just like I made mistakes with the Unbinding the Heart journey. But we are human and, in Christ, there is grace.

So as I continue to pray and seek love, forgiveness, grace, I continue to watch Jesus as he stumbles under the weight of that horrible, terrible cross, as He endures more pain than I can ever imagine, as He absorbs all of our failed church activities and missed appointments, our snapping at our kids and yelling at our spouses. I watch Jesus die for you and for me and I think - I must think - about what that truly means.

Living Lent has brought me to new realizations this year.

Maybe I have grown in faith this season, without even realizing.

Can't Speak Will Walk

I am weary and burdened and I go to Him. There is not much I can say that will or can begin to explain these days to you.

Instead, I continue to walk these days toward Lent, continue to walk alongside Jesus just as He walks alongside me.

Imagine: asking Jesus to walk with you when His own disciples, His best friends, would not stay awake to keep vigil.

I walk.

I do not speak.

I just walk
and remember.

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."

************************************

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.

Two Kinds of Agains: 5 Minute Fridays

Five Minute Friday

Trying to get back into the swing of things, I come this morning to the page with the Friday-intent on writing without editing for five minutes about the topic Lisa-Jo Baker decides upon.
Today it is AGAIN. 

GO
***************************
Again, my side hurts, Again, it hurts to even stand up and walk. Again, I wonder how long, O Lord, will I feel this health-forsaken. It's been one year now since the big problems began and I would have to hunch over and limp in pain. How my right side would feel like it was exploding from within. Months and ER trips later, sobbing phone calls to midnight on-call nurses later, I would have tests done, and again doctors would scratch their heads and again they'd say it's my anxiety and again I'd cry at their blindness and ineptitude and then I see the specialist after all those tests come up fine and he says to go on this weird, strict diet and so I do and again I feel the pain but this time lose weight I didn't mean to let go of and again I can't fit into my clothes...never thought I'd be saying that in terms of clothes being too big...and again I hurt and again I turn to Husband and cry at night because I am sick of being so sick and isn't everyone else so sick of me being so sick, too?

We can say a lot of agains if we let ourselves. I can get stuck in the again cycle and be prone, as you can see, to complaining and sinking further into discontent.

I don't mean this is what Paul meant by thinking of things pure and holy and good.

So...

Again, my Jesus saves me. Again, He is the Healer and Comforter and it is His touch that can bring me peace. Again, day after day. Christ comes to shush my complaining-agains and remind me of the promises of His agains.

Again, He would suffer for me. Again, He would save me. Again, He would die for me. Again, He would take upon the world's sin for me.

It is an amazing thing to behold, just how different two kinds of Agains can be.

So...again I go to work with this pain and this weariness....again I might have woken up in pain and cranky...

but I am changing my again of angst to the again of gain. I am gaining God's promises and choosing that over malady.

And I just might have to do that each and every morning, again and again...as His mercies are new...again and again.

********************************

What You Find When You Peel Back the Tree

Copyright (c) <a href='http://www.123rf.com'>123RF Stock Photos</a>

The past two Christmases I've written excitably about the season, feeling inspired and touched by the meaning, the reality of it all.

The past two Christmases are the first two that I've truly known Christ.

This Christmas? There are more unexplained tears and more family-tension. More little problems and more big crises. There is more nagging and more needing-to-go-for-a-walk to get away from it all.

My blog has been quiet, waiting patiently for my return and I begin to think: who is the author - is it me? What is this blog? Who reads it?

The normal writer-doubts fill my head and tell me that I'm not good enough, that I don't write well enough. I hear the lie that I should just return to angst-ridden poetry instead of faith-filled personal writing because that, at least, got me ....

say it. Say it.

Attention. Accolades.

Shiny ornaments on my tree of success.

Oh, but I think about what I've learned in the past 2 years about God's upside-down Kingdom and I re-read what I just wrote.

The angst-ridden poetry may have gotten published widely and a few awards here and there...but the truly fulfilling writing did not come until I started this blog, until I started writing for my church newsletter, writing more intimately in my prayer journal and my regular journal, when I began my gratitude journal.

When I began the dialogue with God I became the writer I wanted to be.

Maybe not the writer that would get me accolades and awards. But the writer I know I was meant to be.

The angsty poetry had its place back then. But I am a new creation and I cannot nor should I discount the transformation within done by God.

So who is the author of this blog?

My dear friend, Michele, says on her blog that "Life's Author is God."

And I want that desperately. I want to surrender so much - all of myself - to God so that He is truly the Author of my everything.

I want God to be the author of this blog and I the mere vehicle.

I look at the metaphorical tree I have set up in front of me. I notice the ornaments are those of ingratitude, complaint, grief, sadness, depression.

I fight all those things on a daily basis, but this season has been especially hard. I read so much inspiration on my favorite blogs and I then play the comparison game. Why can't I do that? Write that? Feel that? Be that?

I don't want to feel this much grief for my mother, six years gone. Why am I feeling it so much more now?

I don't want to get this crabby on a daily morning basis.

I come home after my 40 minute drive and I am ready to go, having put the Armor of God from Ephesians 6 on, prayed in the car, told God I was ready to face the evening. And then to walk through the door to some crisis. It feels like it's every day. It just might be every day.

And in all of it - (I took a weekend break a few weeks back and learned this -) I know to give thanks.

Practice Eucharisteo. Practice giving thanks during the hard times.

So maybe this Christmas, for me, won't have the jolliness past ones have had. It isn't seeped in my mother's apple cider. It doesn't sing with Barbra Streisand's unique rendition of "Jingle Bells." We haven't done a family picture this year and I haven't sent out Christmas cards (how strange) because we've just been trying to survive.

Maybe this Christmas is more about what I learned that weekend I went away to be with God. Maybe it is about giving the hard thanks.

Maybe this Christmas I will peel the leafy evergreen branches back and reveal the bare tree underneath. It isn't about presents for me this year. It's about His Presence.

Not the decorated evergreen tree

but the bare tree that became a cross where Jesus gave His life for me

picture from http://www.dayspring.com/tree_to_cross_3_christmas_ornament/

and through tears (maybe explained, maybe unexplained) and heart-pains I give the hard thanks. I turn my head up and, amidst the frightening teenage choices and the whiny kindergartener and the starting-to-get-moody-tween and the marriage bumps and doctors' shrugs, I give thanks.

I give thanks to You, Lord. I give thanks because You deserve it and so much more. I give thanks because I am thankful that I know how to give thanks. For that is truly what saves me every time, in my deepest and loneliest and scariest times: counting Your gifts. I lived so much of my life feeling lost, Lord. This Christmas, I thank you for leading me, stone by stone, footprint by footprint, year by year, to You. I am choked up when I think about how You have saved me. How You sent Jesus down as a baby born in a dirty, filthy feed trough instead of a regal chamber.  I am amazed at how You, this baby grown into God-Man, have pursued me - me! - all of my life, and still do! How you ask me to sit at Your feet. This girl who looked in the mirror and hated herself. Who saw dirt and filth. You ask me to see what You see, Lord. You are the Savior I always knew I wanted but never could understand until now. And not only do I want you, but I need You, Lord. Jesus, I need You.

It feels odd to be writing so nakedly about myself now - here - at Christmastime when I feel I ought to be writing about Jesus and His birth and the Gospels. I wrote my first year of blogging here about Joseph being a great example of a stepparent and I shared different music videos contemplating the amazing situation Mary found herself in. And an interesting blog entry from December, 2011, about the yoke Jesus asks us to take on and about Christmas expectations.

Is this December, almost-Christmas, blog entry appropriate reading for this season?

I can't answer that right now. Somehow, though, I know God works through my heart and into my fingertips. Somehow, He can write me out of this confusion.

From a bare cross, God folds out my branches until, in Him, I am a beautiful tree, ever-green with glory as I shine with all He will do through me.

I hope to write again before Christmas. I can't promise, but I will try. Until then, may you keep your eyes on Jesus this season.

And does any peeling need to happen in your life? Certainly an interesting notion...

Now, if you'd like, sit back and listen to a beautiful song I just discovered:
"Becoming" by Christine Dente

Blessings be yours...