when prayer changes...

it was over the noise and chaos of dinner the other night that i heard her familiar question asked around an unfamiliar table.

words were flying all over the place so i'm surprised i heard it,

but not really surprised she asked it...

if that makes sense.

our olivia?

she's bold.

her emotions, her voice, her actions, her frustrations, and even her sleep - it's all done loudly.

all of it.

i don't know how many times i have to remind her that she doesn't have to shout in my face - my ears work just fine.

or they did...

either way, if she feels strongly about something, it's done with strong emotion.

her love for Jesus?

strong.

and she has no idea how there is anyone out there beyond our four walls who doesn't love Jesus...

so she has made it her personal mission to find out just who those people are.

and why.

she could care less if it makes you uncomfortable, she wants to know the state of your heart because a heart without Jesus just doesn't make sense to an olivia that loves Him so.

so, when i heard her turn to her newest friend over hot dogs and hamburgers and ask the inevitable question, i smiled.

because when his little face beamed back at her that yes, he did know Jesus, her shoulders relaxed and her summer-bare feet kicked and she shouted right back in his face that she did too.

and her quest to know was stilled for another day,

but i was left to wonder...

i stood behind that counter on friday.

friday is ice-cream day and my hands were sticky from a melted mess and there was one guy who walked in with ear-buds blaring and cap pulled down and he leaned against the edge and wouldn't meet my eyes.

little ones i can talk to.

the older girls? there's always something to find common ground over - hair, clothes, make-up...

but a boy on the edge of being a man?

i am at a loss.

and really, i think they may be at a loss too.

i mean, i'm tony's wife and i'm a thousand years old and what do i know about what they know and so canipleasehavemyicecreamandgetthisawkwardmomentoverwithasfastaspossible?  thank you very much.

so i did what i do and made small talk about school and kept it light and laughed at my own jokes as i put that first scoop in the cone when he took out that one ear-bud and blurted out a sentence of pain.

and i set down the spoon and let the ice cream drip while it all poured out and he stood there at the end broken.

my first thought wasn't to ask him if he knew Jesus.

why did i stand there wishing that i knew how to make his pain stop when i know very well Who can bind up his brokenness?

Jesus, He is so easy to talk about with like-minded friends - with those you suspect just might know Him too. but when the faces across the counter will barely crack a smile...

i am ashamed at my lack of courage.

because why am i there if not to share the love of Jesus? why am i there if not to be His Heart to those places that are gasping for Hope?

my prayer changed this weekend.

olivia has the bold gene...

she didn't get it from me.

but the God Who can take faith, tiny and small, and move mountains with it? He can take my fear and grow deep and bold courage from it...

i just have to say yes.

and it was on a quiet weekend evening that i read these words...

scripture describes a radical, reoriented life for those who trust

Christ - one full of living for the invisible and the future. it is a life

fully surrendered to an invisible God whose agenda for my time here

is contrary to my own, a life very different from the safe, comfortable

one i was creating.

i started craving something that had never seemed acceptable to

me until that day...a reckless faith, a faith where i knew God was

real because i needed Him, a faith where i lived surrendered, obedi-

ent, a faith where i sacrificed something...comfort or safety or practicality...

something. but my heart raced faster when i thought 

of it, and something about it resonated.

stepping out wholly dependent on God to come through, step-

ping away from what is secure and comfortable exposes the holes

in our faith. and then if God comes through, it expands our faith.

something about stepping off cliffs where God leads allows God the

opportunity to move in greater ways. when we step off and He shows

up, we see Him differently than we would if we were standing safely

looking over the edge.

jennie allen - anything

my prayer changed this weekend...

and all He needed was my yes to begin moving and growing a boldness and courage that would terrify me if it wasn't for the fact that i said that yes to that risk in the first place.

and the gene that makes olivia so bold in her asking? it's in His blood that was poured out for her. 

for me.

for you.

sometimes it just takes a little longer to surface in some than in others...

For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation

 to everyone who believes, to the Jew first and also to the Greek.

For in it the righteousness of God is revealed from faith for faith, as it is written, 

“The righteous shall live by faith.” (Romans 1:16-17, ESV)

a gift picked up, put away, put back

2187. carton of strawberries

2188. end of the day mess

2189. laundry soap for another load

3 gifts about you

2190. desire for Jesus

2191. love of baking

2192. getting to teach my little ones at home

3 gifts found in His Word

2193. He gives direction and purpose

2194. it's all full of His breath

2195. hope that changes me

a gift in a box, a bag, a book

2196. 2 pies

2197. books bundled together

2198. glimpses of grace in the gift of family come near

3 gifts unexpected

2199. a reminder for sanctuary on saturday

2200. a day turned around

2201. a kitchen done and a friend washing my floors

3 gifts from your childhood

2202. memories of puppy breath relived

2203. love of quiet sunday afternoons

2204. that chocolate chip cookie recipe

a gift sweet, sour, salty

2205. a hug from my aunt and uncle

2206. a small bowl of yogurt before bed

2207. peanut butter stuffed pretzels

3 gifts found in little people

2208. imagination

2209. arms-flung-wide hugs

2210. trust

3 gifts that made you laugh

2211. coffee with a friend

2212. tony's protective eye-wear

2213. olivia's frog dance

3 gifts found in community

2214. bob - willing to hold zeruiah

2215. gane - sittin with lyla and her schoolwork

2216. christina - the way she loves olivia

a gift in a plate, pot, package

2217. cloudy day banana bread

2218. fresh roses

2219. canadian chocolate

3 gifts hard giving thanks for

2220. little one messes - it's only for a season

2221. an unknown - He knows

2222. risk taking - isn't really a risk in His Hands

a gift worn, white, whispered

2223. mama-weariness

2224. late spring clouds

2225. lyla-secrets

3 gifts found in church

2226. children's program

2227. a re-grounding for the week

2228. receiving communion

3 gifts in today's work

2229. cleaned home

2230. completed school work

2231. midnight nursing

a gifts at 8am, 12pm, 8pm

2232. everyone fed and dressed

2233. a home ready for guests

2234. one last story before bed

3 gifts blue

2235. zeruiah's blue eyes

2236. my favorite pen found

2237. the sky at dusk

3 gifts you gave today

2238. a listening ear

2239. a hug

2240. a bedtime prayer

3 gifts orange

2241. that new book

2242. washing lyla's giraffe shirt

2243. orange slices in my water

3 gifts funny

2244. liv boxing with jake in the church foyer

2245. tony's random songs

2246. she turned 5 months old laughing...

{the grace series will continue on wednesday...}

when a year needs a name...

i've spent most of this past year in a state of expecting.  my body changing, my belly rounding, this small life inside of me growing and stretching and hearing the beat of my heart...

He promised at the beginning of this past year to do something new and He has...He has done so. much.

 but i enter into the last evening of 2012 still expecting,

still waiting,

and there are times and moments when it feels as though it will never, ever end.


i just want to see her face.


i want to hold her in my arms and pull her close.

i want my four children to surround me and i want my oldest to know that one more child doesn't make her any less special...

oh, a mama's heart.

it can hurt.

sometimes expectations can do that.


and it was about a week ago, as i was reading about my wild God, the One Who isn't safe and Who calls us out of the places we hide behind that the word for this year came near.


it starts with a small handful of verses, ones i've heard since the time i was small.

they were these:

where can i go from Your Spirit?

where can i flee from Your Presence?

if i go up to the heavens, You are there;

if i make my bed in the depths, You are there.

if i rise on the wings of the dawn,

if i settle on the far side of the sea,

even there Your Hand will guide me,

your right hand will hold me fast.

psalm 139:7-10

in the book, practicing the presence of God, the author writes this,

brother lawrence insisted that it is necessary to always be aware of 

God's presence by talking with Him through the day. to think that you must abandon 

conversation with Him in order to deal with the world is erroneous.

instead, as we nourish our souls by seeing God in His exaltation,

we will derive a great joy at being His.

this last month has found me wrestling with fears.  fears of becoming a mama to four, fears of homeschooling with a newborn while we try and find our footing as a family of six.  fears that the house will fall apart, that i will fall apart and how will everything get done?

And Jesus is here, always here, but i can so easily forget that when i take my eyes off of Him.

i live in a state of expecting as i wait to meet my baby, i place huge expectations on myself that i have no hope of fulfilling, i live with the knowing that no matter what i do, 

i. will. fail.

but it's there, in the book of Colossians that i find my footing once again:

whatever you do, work heartily for the Lord and not for men.

colossians 3:23

and then this:

our lives should be lived with expectancy. not necessarily with expectation,

because expectation tends to dictate terms. the pharisees

lived with expectation and rejected Christ when He did not fit

the rigid narrowness of their expectations. often i wonder if we, waiting for

Christ's return do it more with expectation that expectancy. expectancy is the belief

that God will do something. expectation insists He do it just. this. way. expectation

blinds us to the God who is here right now than outright disbelief does.

but imagine a life buoyed by expectancy, by the conviction that the Lord will

show Himself. how, where, when - we don't know that. we don't dictate the terms...

but by living with biblically girded expectancy, our lives stir to vibrant wakefulness.

mark  buchanan

your God is too safe

i want to see Him in this year. my expectations that have fed into my fear is that this year ahead of me will be one of chaos and craziness and crashing...and without drawing near to His presence, it more than likely could be.


but like my belly swollen and stretched, there is life in the midst of my waiting. as i search for that day when she will show her face, i have hope that the ache and the weariness and the anxiousness will end at some point.

so this year, this year ahead is the year of expectancy - of living in a space of seeing Him.  in the mundane and in the grand. of coming to know and embrace that His presence is everywhere, and that my role, whether it be one of teacher, wife, mama, friend...it's all done under His watchful eye and becomes a catalyst to know Him more.

and oh. i want to know Him more...


join me?

earth is crammed with heaven

and every common bush afire with God;

but only he who sees takes off his shoes.

the rest sit around it and

pluck blackberries.

elizabeth barrett browning

when it's been three years...

the snow fell today, quiet and soft...

i lit a candle in my kitchen window as i turned the pages of that old and worn prayer book;

found the day marked with this day

and everything that it holds.


it's been three years since he walked out that door...

three years and we didn't even know he had walked into heaven's glory.


and those words, words penned around 400 years ago...

they still hold truth in their cry to Emmanuel - God with us - and i lifted my voice up in the quiet of the falling snow...

ah, God! Behold my grief and care. Fain would i serve Thee with a glad

and cheerful countenance, but i cannot do it.

however much i fight and struggle against my sadness, 

i am too weak for this sore conflict. help me in my weakness,

o Thou Mighty God!

and give me Thy Holy Spirit to refresh and comfort me in my sorrow.

amid all my fears and griefs i yet know that i am Thine in life and death,

and that nothing can really part me from Thee;

neither things present, nor things to come,

neither trial, nor fear, nor pain.

and therefore, o Lord, i will still trust in Thy grace.

Thou wilt not send me away unheard.

sooner or later Thou wilt lift this burden from my heart, 

and put a new song in my lips;

and i will praise Thy goodness and thank and serve Thee here

and forevermore ~

amen

s. scheretz (1584-1639)

dad - for those few short years you called me daughter, thank you. i miss you. more than words can say...

when we call for Him...

it always starts with a call for Him,

a crying out for Emmanuel to come and save, to draw near...

and as i stood in the back row in a crowded sanctuary this evening, i couldn't hold back the tears.  my own cry for His presence to come close.


o come, o come Emmanuel...


and He has, but do i always see it?  do i always recognize it?


my feet pass over a rectangular mat in the early hours this morning, the timing and pain seemed such that it was time to head to the hospital.  my bag was packed, his was too, the friends tag-teaming so that my 3 would be taken care of until they could see the face of their littlest sister...
i passed over it and i forgot.

i forgot what it said...

right outside my front door is the reminder that i hold in my life the Good News and it is filled with Great Joy...for all who take it in...

i forgot because i was scared of what lay ahead.


and i think of those moments when i forget that He has already made a way to draw near to Him, to allow my life to live out His Good News and it's right there, plain as day, right in front of my nose.  change my posture, change my view and i see it...I see Him.


they send us home after a couple of hours - everything slowing down and nothing progressing. and yes, i still have a week or so before she's due, but this carrying, this stretching and growing...it has been different...harder...and i wonder when i will finally see her face.

this was the year i wanted to start traditions, to grab hold of Him in the middle of the craziness of this season...i want to not just give Him lip service, but to actually see Jesus and so we begin to enter into the practice of advent...

i need His Light in my dark...


week after week we light each candle,

day after day we turn each page,

and we see Him a bit clearer,

we know Him a bit deeper,

and Who He is becomes so much dearer...

and it's right there, on december 22...before that last advent candle is lit, the reminder that He chose us...in the middle of all our sin and all our dark, we are chosen, appointed...His.

and i can do this,

you can do this,

whatever He has asked you and i to do...we can, because we are His.


and this evening, in the back of a crowded sanctuary, the Christ Candle was lit.

the center one,

the pure white one,

and one by one, the dark space around me became aflame because of that one solitary flicker.


i held in my hand a burning wick and all i could think of was Him...


and that ancient call, the one that sings out a plea for His presence,  He answered it.

Very God, Creator of the vast universe and the minute cell...He entered into the dark...

and when we draw near, when we bow in wonder at His Holiness and mercy, our own hearts ignite within us.

and it spreads...

sets those around us on fire...

i was given the beautiful door mat and table top devotional from Dayspring for the purpose of this review...

and as my pregnant brain and clumsy fingers would have it, i've accidently pushed some button that isn't allowing me to embed links to these products...so, please click on these links below to see these and other decorations that celebrate the beauty of Jesus this season...

table top devotional:

http://www.dayspring.com/themed_collections/redeemed/redeemed_christmas/redeemed_christmas_the_heart_of_jesus_advent_tabletop_devotional/?F_All=Y

Good News door mat:

http://www.dayspring.com/themed_collections/redeemed/redeemed_christmas/redeemed_christmas_good_news_doormat/

in the quiet...

i've been told this little one could come any day...

i feel like she could come any day.


and my older three, the ones who sense that change is coming, the ones who try to snuggle as close as they can, the ones who struggle with fears of being displaced, they hover close.


and i feel quiet.

even in spaces loud and crowded, i feel quiet.

today, the doors were opened and so many children and families walked through those doors of that old school.  i awoke tired, i walked tired, i moved tired and i was worried that all that tiredness would follow me in...

i walked into a blanket of peace.

oh, i was still tired, still quiet, but the calls of merry christmas and feliz navidad and hands reaching out to rest on my belly, it was a cacophony of peace...

women with skin lovely and darker than mine, voices accented with beauty, they reach out and i see it in their eyes - the knowing.  the knowing of what it is to be a mama, to have walked tired in those long, last days, and i find myself wrapping my hands around their own and in those moments...


all those moments that have been so empty,

all those moments that silently scream with a mocking to all that this season means,

all those moments that point to empty chairs and broken hearts and shattered lives and estranged families...


He fills them.

quietly and simply.


tony, he was up at 4 and left at 6 and lyla crawled into bed with me at 6:15...

i listened to her breathe quiet and soft as elias banged around his room - a morning person - just like his daddy.


and as i left this evening, he said it to me quietly - i'm going to bring a few of them home with me tonight before the night game, and they all laughed at me as i worried over my messy home and it was in that moment that i realized -

it's okay that it's messy.

life is messy and love is messy and God Himself entered into the mess of a barn.


only two came home with him...

at first.

only two and i watched as elias, he crawled up beside these big, tough, intimidating guys - and all those walls, they come tumbling down in the face of an innocent child and as the door bell rang again and again and those shoes kept piling up at our door and bodies kept pouring in and finding room and once the living room was filled, the basement was used and soon there wasn't anymore room there either...

and i found him, with his sweet smile i've loved for over a decade and i found a spot beside him on the floor.


i know some of the stories that filled our walls this evening,

i know some of the brokenness that accompanies each one.

we are all broken to some extent.


and i sat with a home filled to bursting,

laughter and teasing happening all around us,

my children throwing themselves with abandon into the pure joy that a filled home brings...


i sat beside him with my hand on my belly and my family doesn't look the way i ever thought it would, i never imagined that i would find myself on this path that He has placed us on...


and how do i put into words what these last six months have done?  my heart that was so broken that week after christmas 3 years ago, that felt so fragile just 12 months ago, has stretched and grown and wrapped around these kids that seemed so very different from me, but really, truly aren't.


i wrote last year of christmas being shellacked and veneered with impossible expectations, and i still believe it to be true.  when Jesus is no longer the focus, we try and fill in that void with all things pretty and festive but which leave us emptier then before that tree began to twinkle.


the radio plays songs of silver bells and families gathering and if i can't be home for christmas, i'll be there in my dreams, but tonight? tonight, i was home.  and i was surrounded by a ragamuffin group of kids who are just as broken, if not more, and when our DNA is drenched through with the Blood of the Lamb, it doesn't matter the differences in our skin tone - we are family.

and we love.

and we tease.

and we laugh.

and we cry.

and we stand at the door to wave everyone away because no one wants to see a time with loved ones end...

my belly tightens with each contraction.

i don't know what day she'll come...


but He uses what has been knit and formed in the dark of impossible situations, in the dark of humanity, and He causes life to be born.


i'm seeing this a bit clearer these days, in the quiet and the noise.

or maybe, more accurately, it's Jesus i'm seeing a bit clearer in the mess of it all...

letting go...{day 29}

we had tried for those ten months because we had that nagging feeling that our family wasn't complete yet.  we made the decision to place it in God's Hands but after almost a year with no second pink line, we figured that we were mistaken and rested in that thought and were happily content with our family of five...

only, by the time i was fully content with that decision, she was and the agenda i had already begun to craft and feel comfortable with, excited about, was suddenly out of my hands and i was stunned.


He has made a habit of doing that in my life...

maybe yours too?


i think back to that last winter there, where everything was falling apart and i had no choice but to open up clenched fists and whisper yes to what He had planned.


i remember screaming into my pillow at the God Who i thought had let me down, Who surely must be mocking my wants and wishes and dreams...

i remember driving away from what i had so desperately wanted and heading towards the big and vast empty space of Unknown.


i had never been more terrified.

i had never felt Him so near.



this past week, i feel as though every emotion i possess has been ravaged - i wrote to my sister, my friend, that all i want to do is claw out of this skin that i find myself in, to somehow escape what i have seen and what i know and how, how can all of this brokenness be possible?


the hair that hangs long over a face punched purple and green - the pain in those beautiful eyes and the smile she still manages to share.  and while i ate thanksgiving dinner surrounded by warmth and beauty, she was being beaten.

the sobs i hear as i enter the restroom, a broken girl crumpled on a cold tile floor because she just found out a loved one is dying...a loved one who walked away all those years ago.

of the dark alley i found myself in, trying to open up shut gates while danger is heading right towards us - and why can't there be more light? more light for the dark places so children don't have to be scared to walk home alone?

of that young boy, bullied and mocked and made to feel less-than - of the tears he tries to brush away and hide.


and i am angry because i get to drive away. at the end of the day, i drive away to my home safe and locked with every window secure and in place.  in place.  and i know of children who sleep in rooms lacking this simple luxury - there is nothing between them and the cold air that has settled in for this season and as i fall asleep, there are young eyes plastered open because who knows what can slip in during the dark of the night?


it's all. so. dark.


and my agenda...

my silly agenda.


so often i think i know what's best, and i beg for what i think is best, and i fight for it and i pout over it and more often than not, i sadly get my own way...


until He allows it all to be shaken - for my heart to be shaken - for my life to be uprooted and replanted and for my eyes to be opened to what i need to let go of so that He can make use of what little i have to offer.


and i wrestle with feeling like i'm drowning in a sea of what-if's - fearing that i won't be able to manage it all with a newborn and homeschooling and going down to the mission everyday like before.  and how do i maintain friendships and parenting and keeping our home a haven - let alone clean?

how do i manage the big emotions that still rise up over broken relationships?  and how do my girls always seem to manage to ask the really hard questions while i make the drive from our house to the mission - questions like, why did papa die and how did papa die and do you ever think you'll see your family again, mama?

i don't know how to do it all...

and maybe that's the point.


it's that verse in the book of james that's been dancing around my head all afternoon, the one that seems to caution against agendas and that very human tendency to think that we may know best after all,

Come now, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit”—yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, “If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.”

(James 4:13-15 ESV)

and it's the simple and so very complicated act of letting it all go, opening up clenched fists and giving our plans, our pain, our questions, the reality of our very uncertain tomorrows over to the One Who knows what our next breath holds ~

if Jesus wills, tomorrow, i will get up and make breakfast and i will get through as many subjects as i can with my children.

if Jesus wills, tomorrow, i will love my husband well and pray for him as he faces the realities that this job holds.

if Jesus wills, tomorrow, i will laugh with my children and pray with them and prepare our hearts to love the ones who are so very unloved.

if Jesus wills, tomorrow, i will drive down and i will listen and i will wipe tears and i will be His Arms to whomever He brings my way.

if Jesus wills, tomorrow, i'll trust that He is holding all my future tomorrows and He'll lead me and show me how to be a mama to 4, a wife to one, a friend to my friends and a keeper of this home He's given to us...

because my haven and rest isn't found in these four walls...

my refuge is in Christ and Him alone.

and so, if Jesus wills, tomorrow, i'll keep letting it go...

letting go...{day 18}

this space sits quiet over the weekend...

a bit like me, i guess.


i've breathed through the days as i've looked at the clock, timing waves of contractions that come every 5-7 minutes for hours at a time and i whisper for her to hold on, quiet myself, will my body to keep her in for the next forty days.


and they space out as i breathe slow...

as i slow.


until this morning when everything seemed to shatter under the weight of my voice and my hurt and my anger.  when i found it hard to even keep up with my breathing, let alone my thoughts and as i chose to stay home while everyone else went to church, i found myself trying to breathe through each painful wave.


all those years ago, before tony and the wedding rings and the babies, she let me box up those tea cups from scotland that her man had purchased for her on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.

and it's here in this home that i finally unwrapped the last of them and placed them in that hutch in our kitchen.

and in moments uncertain and unsteady, you reach for what brings comfort and what i reached for in that moment was a left-over, fragile piece of my gramma.


and there is a stash of tea that i've made last for almost two years, given in one of the hardest times of my life and when i fail and life seems a bit shaky, i reach for this comfort and curl up around the wounds that settle heart-deep.

and she kicks.

steady and hard.


i place what i have left of my gramma against my hard and swelling belly and this baby? she presses back with a foot or an elbow or a knee...

i can't see either one of their precious faces, but Jesus formed both of them and me and whether here or there, we all sit in His presence.


and she pushes back...

we don't have to keep clutching, holding on to the anger, the hurt, the pain.

they are thorny bedfellows and the pain they drag with them only cause one to spill out a poisonous venom.


we can push back.


and maybe this is where i've wrestled the most - letting go of what has hurt deeply.

this small one, this baby-girl who will make her presence known at some point in a fast-approaching future, she needs to say wrapped up in my skin for a wee bit longer, but what i have clutched tightly to - the wounds that i have allowed to remain open - i need to let these go in to the Hands of The One Who Heals.

and the process - it's pain-full.

but letting go allows for new life to come,

allows for His Peace to course through and soften hard veins.

and so i sit, quiet - and breathe out prayers to the Only One Who can deliver me safely into the coming day where His mercies are new every. single. morning.

letting go...{day 12}

one of the saddest days of my life was when my mother told me "superman" did not exist. 

cause even in the depths of the ghetto you just thought he was coming...

she thought i was crying because it's like santa claus is not real. i was crying

because no one was coming with enough power to save us.

geoffrey canada, waiting for superman

it's that quote that has stuck with me all weekend long - read in the pages of a book that i thought would help me understand a bit more of what our kids down at the mission face everyday.  i thought it would help me understand a culture that seemed so foreign...


but the reality is, those words could be said in the depths of the ghetto or in the safest, most secure community on the far side of town. aren't we all looking for a superman with enough power to save us?  

what it all boils down to was found in the pages of another book that i'm reading - me with my nightstand piled high and precariously with all sorts of books - 

it is vital for a healthy church and an effective witness that we understand aright the core of God's revelation as the Holy One. i fear that many are quick to make God in their image rather than understand we are made in His...many people's vision of God owe little to scripture

and much to their psychology. at worst our imaginary conception of God 

is little more than an idol with a few proof texts to clothe it.

simon ponsonby, the pursuit of the the holy

could this process of letting go actually begin with this step - letting go of what i have imagined God to be and to dig deeper to discover Who He Is?

letting go seems to be stripping me of what i held dear - my ideals, my perceptions, even the *good things* that seemed to be so right. 

it's disconcerting, really.

and yet, i want to know Him - not the superman i imagine, or even want Him to be.  

i want to have answers for my little ones when they ask Who God is,

i want to be able to explain who we are in comparison and why it is that we so desperately need Him.

in letting go, i want to let go of everything that hinders my relationship with Him - not to appear pious or "religious" but because i want my life to glorify Him.  

no matter how many years He gives me to live, they are nothing more than a vapor in light of the expanse of eternity...

letting go is letting go of the false and grabbing on to what is holy and true - 

it's only and always about Jesus...

letting go...{day 3}

 

so we buy a home and move in officially on the very first of june and i remember how i woke up to the sound of rain on the roof while the sky was still dark that night.

it seemed like a blessing of sorts, because He knows how much i love the rain.


and then the sky seemed to dry up. didn't let go of one drop for four long months and we finally let our yard go because i couldn't keep up and he was changing jobs and this little one changing the shape of me kept me in a state of green and i'm sure whatever colour that lawn lost was somehow permanently transferred to my face.


temperatures climbing up past 100 and the lack of moisture quickly turn what was thriving and growing into something brittle and bleached and it hurt to look at.

he heard that fall is a good time to seed, just before the cold of winter comes and spring is still so far away and i stand at the kitchen window and watch as he walks around the yard scattering grass seed while the rain is coming down in sheets.

he keeps sowing while the rain keeps pouring and by the time he looks up at me and catches my eye, that hood pulled up over his head isn't really needed anymore.


our lives can look a bit like that.

or...more accurately, mine can at least.


life can seem so full of blessing until suddenly that sky above is void of any moisture, any relief from the unrelenting heat of the sun.

death sneaks in and steals someone we love...

families are broken apart and that breech lays open, aching for someone to cross over...

words are spoken that can never be taken back...

friendships drift apart and no one knows how to close that gap...

misunderstandings spark an anger that can rage for a lifetime...


and suddenly, all that is left is a shell dry and brittle with patches here and there that are worn down to dirt by feet that carelessly run over.


it can hurt to look at,

hurt to be near,

and it can seem like irreparable damage has been done and what once was green with life will always be this dark and dull and you can either rip it all up,

give up hope and accept that this is how it will always look,


or you can fill your hands with a hope barely breathing in the waiting and release it into ground parched and hardened when the heat is done scalding and the cold winds begin to blow in...


because this whole summer?  while my body has been swelling with a girl-baby that is now stretching and climbing up my ribs deep in the dark of me, i have been desperately waiting for autumn.

i  knew the rain would come back.


i knew that to walk through each hot, dry day would bring the relief of cooler weather and the beauty of jeweled leaves and cozy blankets and warm fires to sip hot cocoa by.

the last two months, He has been asking me to let go of a number of things...


my wish for family has been one of them.


that part of my heart has been dry and brittle and bleached fragile for a while.

and it seems that whenever my heart would lift up my broken to Him, the heat would come even stronger and soon, it felt that there was nothing left to do but let it all go...

let the hot winds blow and ride it all out

and keep my eyes on that sky wide and blue and void of any clouds.


and I see Him now, sowing the hope that i let go of in all those worn and dirt-filled places.


the landscape doesn't look the same,

i don't think that what will grow up in those places will look like what i expected,


but in lifting open hands to Him, and allowing Him to take what i had clenched so tightly, He is using those bruised and broken prayers to raise something beautiful up.



and the rain?

i stand with hands outstretched under clouds that are letting go and leaving me drenched...

o God, You are my God,

earnestly i seek You;

my soul thirsts for you

my body longs for you,

in a dry and weary land 

where there is no water.

i have seen You in the sanctuary

and beheld Your power

and Your glory.

because Your love is better than life,

my lips will glorify You.

psalm 63:1-3

for when it begins to change...

He is unchanging and yet He brings us through seasons that will bring about change in us.

i stood outside on our front step this evening and realized that with startling clarity even though it's been something He has been whispering in my heart for the last few weeks or so.


that word He gave at the beginning of this year to name the year and to give me a focus?  He hasn't forgotten and He won't let me forget either...

He wants to flow life through what has seem parched and dry.


but i don't know if i'm brave enough.


change with all its mysteries and uncertainties is certainly something i've never embraced, but could this be a step towards something new?  instead of clinging to the familiar and the old, can i trust Him to provide when it feels as though i'm grasping at air?


this post seems as vague and as hazy as the other side of that door standing wide open and it seems that the only way through is to drop a lot of dreams. a lot of hopes. a lot of what i had expected.

but maybe dropping it all is letting go of what has been holding it all back...


i feel like i always do, that last moment before that last push that brings that first moment of holding my baby in my arms:

i feel terrified.


but pushing through fear, through loss always seems to bring about new life.

it's always miraculous...


and there are other words of a river that flows that wind their way through all of my questions and fears and they are a promise.  His Promise.  and He always remains true to His Word...

when you pass through the waters

I will be with you; and through the rivers,

they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through the fire

you shall not be burned and the flame shall not consume you

isaiah 43:2

so i can give thanks. because He is good.

no matter the outcome.

1560. for tony

1561. his birthday

1562. holding his hand

1563. 12 years with him

1564. sock puppets

1565. gane

1566. hugs that soothe tears

1567. dog hair...everywhere

1568. rainy days

1569. a fire in the wood stove...

1570. ...the first of the season!

1571. snuggling with kids and books

1572. new friends

1573. books borrowed

1574. encouraged hearts

1575. being taken care of

1576. yard work

1577. taking care of clutter

1578. mixing up cookie dough

1579. blanket and couch and movie with him

1580. rain on the skylight

1581. elias pressed close

1582. friends who help

1583. moments alone - with tony

1584. 2 princesses and a motorcycle rider

1585. foggy mornings

1586. upturned, smiling faces

1587. tony standing near when i am so tired...

we could all be one...

at my last appointment, she told me i had 10 weeks and 4 days left.

my heart stopped a little.


this little one, this one already named will be here before i'm ready ~
.

i find myself wondering what she looks like.


and this baby, this unexpected little one,

she already opens doors.


i am learning, always learning, that being a mama does that.


some women feel that they have lost themselves when they are buried under mounds of dishes and laundry and clutter and chaos,

and yes.

yes

i find myself fading into the monotony at times.


as though the dreams i had dreamed and the hopes i had hoped have somehow gone the way of that second sock somewhere deep in the belly of the dryer.

but

He has drawn me out in this season as well.

becoming a mother, in many ways, has made me less afraid.  as though who i always was, who He created me to be, was waiting to be birthed out of my dark and has emerged in ways i never expected or dreamed.

and a mother?

she recognizes another and there is a connecting - even past language barriers and my inability to pronounce a name correctly...even past the busyness swirling around us,

every mother's heart needs to be spoken into.


every woman has the potential to be a mother.

each one.


and every woman needs a mother.


because it's not just a filled and emptied womb that gives this status,

i have seen with my eyes and heard with my ears the words and the love poured out from one woman onto the ears of children not her own.  her love has helped them grow.

why do we shy away from each other?

why do we overlook that sometimes the children He gives are ones not woven from our own DNA? that families are made larger, healthier, whole when we allow Jesus to form our sisters and brothers and mothers and daddies from the very core of Who He Is?

i think of the legacy that we all could leave.

us who are seemingly small,

seemingly insignificant,

the ones who have failed and should be given up on.

us.


He uses the weak to showcase His Glory and wouldn't a ragamuffin lot of us reflect His very face?

maybe.

maybe i'm just rambling in the quiet of the night while my cup of coffee steams and my older two still giggle and this baby girl dances in the dark.

but i can't help but wonder what He could do through hearts completely surrendered and open to Him and to each other...

i want to know what that looks like...

from their yard...

i hear them before i see them, that brother and sister with their hands intertwined and something clutched between all twenty fingers.

i hear their laughter before i see their smiles and as they come around that corner, their bright faces light up my own.

it takes me a moment to realize that what's held so tightly is for me.

we picked this for you. it's from our yard...

and suddenly my hands are full of bright pink petals and they are gone before i can say thank you.


i sit across from another mama and her sweet friend this afternoon - cups of hot coffee between all of us and i watch their faces soften as they share...

and this mama, she was up all night with her sick little boy and i hear her heart, see the tiredness in her eyes...

i was eighteen when she was born.

she was fourteen when her arms were filled with her small son and i look at both girls and i want to cup their faces and tell them how beautiful they are, how strong they are...

and how much Jesus loves them.


i want a cup of coffee to be strong enough to fix everything broken and wrong.

i want it to be strong enough to heal broken families and keep kids out of gangs and bring back runaway mothers and keep daddies out of jail.

an hour of time doesn't seem long enough...


and it never will be.


it never will be long enough until He is invited into each moment and i choose to be emptied...

i think of that little boy, the one with the five loaves and two fish who allowed his hands to be emptied of what would fill him, placed it all in the Hands of the Creator and watched Jesus feed over five thousand hungry bellies.

aren't our hearts more ravenous than our stomachs that need to be continually filled? aren't they starved for Him?


it's as I'm sitting outside while the playground is swirling in chaos around me, as my three get lost in the bedlam and my fourth nestles in close under my heart, it's there that i open up my hand and catch the full picture of the gift i've been given ~

broken and imperfect and lovely and achingly beautiful, it's a picture of each one of us.  we can choose to remain hidden away, clutched close because of what we lack and what's missing, but i am learning that those places that are gaping and wounded deep in us are the ones He tenderly offers to those who walk gaping and wounded around us.


each petal missing, each loaf of bread that seems to be lacking, that fish that seems to be too small, those sixty minutes that fly by too quickly - He uses it all.

He uses us ~ 

miracle in and of itself...


and in the middle of it all, when i find myself up in the dark of the early morning because my heart is heavy with the knowing. when what i have carried on my thirty three year old shoulders feels like it will break me and how do fifteen year old shoulders bear up under it all? when He hears and makes sense of what i can't even voice and holds each tear that falls over children that have filled my heart with love straight from His Own - i can sense it, how in the unfurling of my fingers over wounds clenched tight to protect, He intertwines the pain and beauty and cups it all together with joy...

bending low...

i grew up in a small baptist church where all the grey-haired ones became my aunties and uncles and where i would sneak a pickle or two from the fridge down in the basement near where my sunday school class was.

it's where i met flannel-graph-Jesus and met my first friends,

it's where i was baptized and spent my first year in youth group,

and it's where i acquired my love of hymns.

those old hymns - you know the ones. where my piano teacher sat up to that organ and bobbed her head up and down as she counted out the rhythm soundlessly and pounded out, o for a thousand tongues.

where blessed assurance comforted and i tried to sing all the words to great is Your faithfulness  without ever looking down at the words.


hymns have always pulled me in and comforted when my heart has felt heavy.

there are deep truths about a Deeper God buried within those lines.


and it was on tuesday of this week when i sat in the playground with a heavy heart and watched my three play with a little girl who speaks english in only the faintest of whispers; as that one little boy kept standing on top of the monkey bars because my reaction made him almost fall off laughing.

it's in that playground that i hear a cacophony of noises, ones that tend to clash as the laughter tries to drown out the sirens or the yelling of the couple down the street.

and my husband, because he loves me, because he knows me, had asked me to do something hard, something out of my comfort zone - he had asked me to share from my heart; not in the writing down of words, but in the speaking them out...with my voice and i wrestled in the moments leading up to it all.

the noise in my head, maybe the most clashing of all the noises around me...


when above it all, for the first and only time, since we've first started showing up on the steps of this old schoolhouse, the sound in the air around me was of the Holy bending near...

because from some church steeple around us, there came the ringing of bells and in the middle of the notes moving and weaving in the air around me, i heard His call...

and His promise:

praise to the Lord, the Almighty

the King of Creation

o my soul praise Him for

He is thy help and salvation

all ye who hear, now to His temple draw near

praise Him in glad adoration

praise to the Lord 

Who o'er all things so wonderfully reigneth

shelters thee under His wings

yea, so gladly sustaineth

hast thou not seen how thy desires e'er have been

granted in what He ordaineth

praise to the Lord 

Who doth prosper thy work and defend thee

surely His goodness and mercy here daily attend thee

ponder anew what the Almighty can do

if with His love He befriend thee

praise to the Lord, o let all that is in me adore Him

all that have life and breath

come now with praises before Him

let thy 'amen' sound from His people again

gladly for aye we adore Him

hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah

i haven't heard the bells sing out again, the air is silent save for the laughter and the sirens and the yelling, but He, the God Who Sees took notice, bent low to remind this heart that i'm not forgotten.

yes, o my soul, praise Him.

in everything...

it seems to come in the quiet of those late hours, those feelings that you've failed and you're too broken and all the things that you did that you wish you didn't come back to haunt and you feel broken.

wasted.

useless.


when it seems like what the future holds is too much and the resources you have are too little and how in the world are you going to make it?


he came in late and tired last night, sat down in the couch near me and rested his head on the back of that pillow.

with his eyes close, he said my name,

talk to me, kimberley.


and it comes pouring out, the pain, the fear, the shame and he listens all quiet and sure.

and he knows because he's carried his own pain, regrets, scars...

he's shouldered a lot of my own heavy as well.

he knows.


and we sit there, together, in the silence.


sometimes we need to be still so we can know He is there.

(photo credit: becky frame)

and his own burdens come out, story by story,

of the siblings whose mama walked away 3 years ago, of their daddy in prison and the oldest boy working a full time job plus taking on the responsibility of school and taking care of the younger ones...

of the children with no running water...

of the broken and shattered families who come to dinner each evening...


brokenness is everywhere.

everywhere.

and after we read through the first chapter of ezra together, he says quietly in the lamplight,

maybe everything we've been through, everything that has left a scar, has been placed there beautifully by the Hand of God so that we could be prepared for what He had been preparing for us here...


i can't get it out of my head...

that thought.

each scar, each pain-filled moment, has a purpose, a use.


a friend sat at my table this afternoon while i scooped up cookie dough onto those parchment-lined pans.  she shared from her heart as my cookies failed, again - spread out and didn't hold together.

she made a comment,

maybe my scars don't heal over completely so that He can use that pain...

can our pain be a balm for another hurting heart?


His scars, that He will carry throughout all of eternity, continually point out the life and healing He offers - should i really be surprised that my scars never, really, completely go away either?


the last few days have been filled with the reminder that the secret to joy is found in seeing Him in everything.

most especially in the pain-filled-everything.

it was in the pain-filled words of eli the priest, after the Lord came to the child named samuel and called him by name - when the message from God was anything but good...

but it's there, straight from the mouth of the man who received such horrible news,

He is the Lord; let Him do what is good in His eyes. 

1 samuel 3:18

i can come before Jesus and ask for painful situations to change, i can beg for a different outcome, i can hope for a better tomorrow, but sometimes, sometimes what He asks is for us to embrace what hurts and receive it as straight from His Hands.

He is good.

we can trust that.

and while we may not be able to understand why He allows what He allows, we can be open vessels, willing and waiting for Him to use you and me.

because He takes our broken, what should be thrown away and discarded and amazingly and for reasons i can't even comprehend, He uses it - all of it for His glory.


how can i not praise Him?

if i see God in everything, He will calm and colour everything i see! perhaps

the circumstances causing my sorrows will not be removed and my situation will remain the same,

but if Christ is brought into my grief and gloom as my Lord and Master, He will "surround me with songs of deliverance" (ps 32:7) To see Him and to be sure that His wisdom and power never fail and His love never changes, to know that even His most distressing dealings with me 

are for my deepest spiritual gain, is to be able to say in the midst of bereavement, sorrow, pain and loss, "The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord

be praised" (job 1:21).

...nothing but seeing God will completely put an end to all complaining and thoughts of 

rebellion.

~hannah whitall smith