and end and a beginning

It's been a long, crazy Monday, and frankly, I'm exhausted and ready to crash. But I feel the Spirit tugging, urging me to share my heart. Maybe there is someone who just needs to hear this piece of my story tonight.

I haven't written in so many months, it's impossible to record every struggle, every victory, every defeat, and every encounter with the living God that have colored my days. But it's been a tough season. I have struggled with a season of depression for the past several months, and there have been some very low moments. Through it, even as I withdrew and grumbled and doubted and wondered, God was there. Steady. Gentle. Constant. And speaking. He has spoken so much truth over my life in this dark season, so much about contentment, humility, strength. About the importance of His word. Of communion. Of hiding myself in Him. So many lessons that I can't wait to pour onto these pages. This is one of those lessons.

The past couple of weeks have been better. So much better. God is, as he always does, leading me out of the wilderness again. I've opened up to some dear friends about my struggles, and found His love reaching back to me with human arms (and wondered why I ever feel the need to retreat when I really need to press in). As I have begun to share these deep places in my soul, a long, quiet battle has come to the forefront. 

I've kept this one a very closely guarded secret. Because there is nothing Godly about a growing addiction to pain pills. It's embarrassing to confess that something that started out as solely a necessity had grown into something a little bit different. It feels like one of those "dirty" sins that a real woman of God would never experience. And it has been easy to justify keeping this secret. I listen to a special report on the news about pain pill addiction in America, and I can honestly say that my "problem" is nothing like what I hear. 

But it has become a problem. These headaches of mine get out of control very quickly, and I end up in bed for two days, or worse, in the hospital. I have three small people completely dependent on me. I have play dates and Bible studies and school events and family dinners. I have a husband who has seen more last-minute date-night cancellations and "not tonight, dear"s than any man should have to see. There is always something that makes taking one little half of one little pill the lesser of two evils. But my body, which has experienced pain in one way or another most every day of my adult life, has become dependent on these little white pills. I find myself running out of them a few days earlier each month. I avoid eye contact with the pharmacist because, dude, I know. I take very little each day, but, I take a little each day. 

So that's where I've been. I hope you don't judge. I hope there is someone who can identify themselves here, in some way, clinging to something that isn't good for them because they are afraid to let go and see what God will do. And if you just can't see yourself here, that's ok. Because ultimately, this is not a story of brokenness. This is a story of redemption.

Two days ago, I went to church for an ordinary service. Now, I love our church, and I think we have some of the most gifted Bible teachers in the world. I am constantly challenged and changed by the teaching I sit under. But on this Sunday, I had a most unexpected encounter with God. An amazing guest speaker was preaching, a man from South Africa with a delightful accent and an incredible gift for exhortation. He taught out of Mark 2, where Jesus heals the paralytic man. He explained to us that when Jesus saw the man, he looked directly into his soul and knew that this man's sickness was the result of sin. Instead of merely healing the man's body, he offered him living water - his forgiveness. And then he healed the man's body, because, why not? 

I've read this passage of scripture dozens of times before, and never has this idea grabbed so hold of my heart. When you get to that low, dark, ugly, sorrowful place - wherever it is that you finally cry out in confession - He responds with forgiveness. Immediately. And then - oh my friends, that you would get this part - then, He forgets it. I've always had this idea that God sort of pretends to "forget" my sin but really, He is keeping it in his back pocket to bring back out the next time I stumble. After all, I hear those accusations so often in my mind. But hear is the Truth of his word - "For I will forgive their wickedness and remember their sins no more (Heb 8:12)." Do you know that really means? It really mean that he will forgive our wickedness and remember our sins no more! He does not remember it!

This means, whenever I hear this voice:

Why am I not surprised that you failed again? You've done this a million times.

Don't even bother trying. You'll never live up to my expectations.

I don't want to hear it again.

That is the voice of the Accuser. The enemy of our souls. The one who wants nothing more than to steal the joy of our salvation and destroy our intimacy with God.

This is the voice of the Lover of My Soul, the One who sees my sin, washes it clean, and remembers it no more: 

My child, I am compassionate and merciful.

I am slow to get angry and filled with unfailing love.

I will not constantly accuse you, nor remain angry forever.

I will not punish you for all your sins.

I will not deal harshly with you, as you deserve.

My unfailing love toward you is as great as the height of the heavens above the earth.

I have removed your sins as far as the east is from the west.

I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

                                                                                                                    (Psalm 103:8-12, Jer 31:3)

In the next few days I will share more about how God is redeeming this part of my story. About the people He has brought alongside to love on me and encourage me as I navigate this season. And all about how I stepped out in obedient, faith to ask for healing one more time - and how I finally heard His "Yes." I can't wait to share some of what God has been teaching me through my fight with depression and anxiety, and the ways I am learning to walk in step with his Spirit even when my feet feel like lead. For now, just remember that He will never love you any more or any less than He does at this moment.

Thanks to @chriswienand for opening the Word for me. Listen to his incredible teaching here: http://www.ajesuschurch.org/teaching-current/?sermon_id=960

connecticut

Forgive me in advance if this post is less polished, more rambling than usual. Like all of you, I am struggling to process the events of the past week. I have hesitated to write anything about it. I've read some wonderfully encouraging, wise words from others in response to the tragedy, and I have no new wisdom to share. But I need to put my heart onto paper this morning. Maybe you will recognize yourself here.

I have been wrecked by the shooting in Connecticut. I'm a mama, and I was once a teacher. I catch sight of my son's sweet dimples in the rearview mirror and burst into tears. I've pictured the face of every first grader who came through my own classroom and those of my colleagues. I remember how much I hated lockdown drills. They filled me with such a sense of dread. I would hover under the chalkboard with my precious group of little people and count the minutes until the "all clear," so thankful to know that it was all just pretend. My mind can't help but picture what came next for the students and faculty of Sandy Hook, as they began to realize the reality of what was happening there. It's too horrifying to imagine, but I do.

Like all of you, I've wrestled with the why. Why does evil sometimes get to win? I understand that we live in a fallen world, that the kingdom of darkness is in constant battle with the Kingdom of Heaven. I know that Satan is real and that he is bent on the destruction of every good thing in life - family, love, peace, innocence. All of which were shattered last Friday. And of course, I don't know why. We will never really know why on this side of heaven. And I am so blissfully far removed from this tragedy. I can't begin to imagine the "whys" that must scream through the minds of those parents and teachers and children left behind.

Like many of you, I've struggled to reconcile my overwhelming sense of thankfulness with an overwhelming sense of guilt. I am indescribably thankful to have my three healthy, whole children in my arms each night. I am newly aware of the gift of each giggle, each funny thing they say, each creative game they come up with, and each precious "I love you, Mama." And yet I feel so guilty that I still have them, and those parents do not. I get to tuck my children into bed each night and wake up to their sweet, stinky breath in my face, and it simply isn't fair that so many parents have to walk past their child's empty bed and wonder if they will ever feel joy again.

I feel guilty because my life is going on as usual. I'm Christmas shopping, wrapping presents, baking cookies, doing laundry, running errands. And my children drive me crazy, as usual. My kids still bicker, pick on each other, throw fits, whine, and grumble. They're still too loud when I have a headache. They disobey when my back in turned. Eli pulls his five-year-old attitude and Luke uses that whiny baby voice that makes me cringe and Maddie screams in the car and I still feel the urge to lock them in their rooms and drive all the way to Mexico. I want to sit with them, cuddle them, speak sweet words of love and affirmation to them and never let them go. And they need that. But they also still require training up and discipline, and it feels wrong somehow to put my child in time-out or give someone a spanking when there are mommies and daddies who would give anything to be able to hear their children throw a tantrum again.

As I've been in my Advent study this week, I've read familiar scripture with fresh eyes. In the light of this unspeakable tragedy, in the light of a world that generally seems to be out of control with ugliness and evil, the ideas of hope, joy, peace, and love seem idealistic and fake. But each verse that I've worked through has brought me new understanding of what I've always known: In this life, the only true, lasting, unfailing source of hope, joy, peace, and love is Jesus. Our hope is in the resurrection, where Jesus conquered death once and for all. Our joy overflows out of the thankfulness of being forgiven and loved by the God of the universe. Our peace is in knowing that He is the King, and that one day He will bring every single thing on earth back to order. Our love is Jesus, the One who humbled himself to a lowly human birth and a horrifying, senseless death because He just wanted to reach us so much. This is the truth. And it is why we can say with confidence that, even as we walk through the shadow of the valley of death, we will fear no evil.

But still, it hurts.

prayer

The question was posed: "Why do you pray?"

It cut to my heart. I snapped to attention.

Why do I pray? What's the motivation behind my conversations with God? When I approach the throne of grace, what do I hope to find there?

I have struggled with prayer lately. I'm in a season of life where every prayer seems to go unanswered. I ask and seek and knock and beseech and beg and cry out and... nothing. Circumstances don't change. Doors stay closed. Hearts stay hard. Bodies go unhealed. Opportunities stay hidden. Bounty is withheld.

Sometimes, I doubt that prayer "works" at all. Do you?

Rumor has it that prayer changes things, that it moves the hand of God. But when so many prayers are answered with a "no" or "not yet," I begin to feel like I'm talking to a brick wall. I get disappointed and frustrated and wonder why my prayers are so ineffective. I follow hard after Jesus. I study His word. I listen for the Holy Spirit. I walk in obedience.

And I think to myself, "I deserve for this prayer to be answered, now."

So when the question was posed - "Why do you pray?" - I had to search my heart. If praying doesn't get me what I want, what's the point?

Then, this truth: Prayer is a place where we get to be in the presence of God.

I wonder... is that really why I pray? Is my heart oriented in such a way that when I come to God, all I really want is to be in His presence? I say that I just love to sit at the feet of my Savior. But... I am actually satisfied just with Him?

Could it be enough for me to be bathed in the presence of the living King - with no agenda, no demands, no requests, no urgency? Simply to come into his presence, and rest, and be full and content whether or not my mountains move. Could that really be enough for me?

I want it to be. I need it to be. I need to change the way I think about prayer, to lay aside my desperate expectations for new jobs and better health and sweeter kids and and and and. I want to learn to be satisfied with the gift of his presence, and nothing more.

It's okay to want answers from God. It's okay to ask for what we need and desire. In scripture we're instructed again and again to bring our burdens to Him in prayer. It's okay to keep coming back when a prayer seems unanswered. But we need to be careful when we think, "God never answers my prayers."

Because the truth is - he always answers. I forget, when I can't see the exact answer I want, that he always gives me what I need. His provision comes in so many ways. An encouraging word from a friend. A scripture. A song. A check. The comfort of his Spirit. 

Even when all we seem to get is another trial, he still blesses us with fruit: "We rejoice in our sufferings, for we know that suffering produces perseverance, perseverance, character; and character, hope (Rom 5:3-4)." 

When our prayer life is in step with His word - expectant and honest, making time to listen as well as speak, full of praise and gratitude - we will never, ever come away empty-handed. 

How I need this perspective, that in Jesus is the solution to every problem, the hope for every sorrow, and the fulfillment of every promise. Not in what he chooses to do for me. Just in Him. His presence alone was more than enough for Mary. How I long for that to be true of me.

perfection

I couldn't sleep, anxieties tugging at my mind. I logged into Pinterest and got lost in a world of virtual perfection. Beachy home decor, photo shoot-ready outfits, a different messy bun and braid combo for each day of the week. I finally crashed into bed feeling inspired - tomorrow I would look amazing and work my abs like a pro.

The baby woke to eat at 4:30. The middle one poked me awake at 7 - poke, poke, poke, on my forehead. I dragged myself to the bathroom while one eye refused to open. I made an effort - blew out my hair and put on eyeshadow - but no abs. No scripture. No quick-and-delicious breakfast frittatas and power kale smoothies. No perfection.

Tonight I sit folding loads of laundry and unloading some burdens onto Jesus. I lay out my faults for Him - procrastination, laziness, envy, insecurity, undisicpline. Things that I once thought were signs of immaturity, that I was sure I'd grow out of once I hit 30 - and that I have to now admit are just parts of who I am. I lay my heart bare for Him, and wait. Listen. Gently, lovingly, He disciplines. Reminds me of a simple truth.

that when I compare, whether I come out ahead or behind, it is a foolish exercise in pride. It destroys what He is trying to accomplish, which is to transform me into the woman He designed me to be. With my own strengths, talents, and gifts. And whatever I am good at - wherever my skills and talents align with my passion - that is where God wants to use me. 

(I know, you'd think I would have understood this by now. But I'm a little slow sometimes.)

Case in point: I am not a great singer, to say the least. But I love to sing so much, and I always wanted to be an amazing singer. So now I have these friends who are amazing singers, and I feel jealous of their talent. 

But God speaks the truth to me: "I didn't call you to minister through song. If I wanted you to sing for people, I would have gifted you with a voice people would want to hear."

Harsh. But, I love to sing. Like, passionately.

"Awesome. Sing passionately for your kids. Sing songs about me all day long so they will hide my word in their hearts."

Well, that's lovely and all, but where are the accolades for that?

"I'm supposed to get the accolades, remember?"

Ouch. He disciplines. He loves us too much not to.

Then God lays out for me what I can do. Where my gifts intersect with my passions. I'm funny, and I love to make people laugh. I write well, and I love to write. I'm gifted for hospitality, and I love to have people in my home. I'm a good listener. I make a mean pulled pork. I do great animal noises. I'm reaching, but you get the picture. Figure out how God has gifted you, even in the little ways, and ask Him how He wants to use them.

So I ask, and He instructs me in the ways I should go. How to use my gifts to encourage and bless and minister to the people He places in my life. And how to seek help where I fall short - glean wisdom from His word and from others who are strong where I am weak. I may not be naturally as patient with my children as another mom, but I can watch and learn from someone who is. Not with a jealous heart, but with a humble and honest one.

And if I can't design the perfect bedroom or apply eyeliner or bake the ultimate chocolate chip cookie? Well, that's what Pinterest is for. :)

when your rudder is broken

"If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him."                                                             James 1:5

Over the past few months, I've been feeling really empty. Physically tired and always out of energy, mentally drained of creative thoughts and ideas. Overwhelmed, undermotivated, and generally burned out. And spiritually, I feel dry and distant and just plain weary. I'm worn down from carrying too many burdens. I'm tired of striving and failing in the same ways again and again. I'm battling a spirit of depression and a mind full of doubts about God's goodness, faithfulness, and providence.

And I'm ashamed of it all.

I hate the disorder in my life, in my home, and in my spirit. I hate that my three-year-old still won't poop in the toilet. I can't stand my squishy, roly-poly body and the fact that I just keep feeding it junk and parking it on the couch. I'm embarrassed by how unfinished and messy and disorganized my home is. I'm disgusted by so many dysfunctional habits and patterns that have persisted in my life for years. And when I look at everyone around me, all I see is successes - moms who are running fast and cooking amazing meals and looking adorable and writing beautiful blogs and speaking calmly to their children and crafting their crafty little butts off. In this Facebook and Pinterest world, everyone is doing incredible things at all hours of the day.

I can't even find the energy and focus to print some pictures off at Costco.

I was never one to hide how I feel, or to ask for help when I needed it. But lately, I've just wanted to keep all the ugly stuff hidden away. I don't want to be vulnerable and raw and honest even with God, much less another person. I feel alone and isolated, craving the fellowship and encouragement of Godly friends, but when I reach for the phone, the enemy whispers, "Nobody wants to hear it. Nobody really cares. Nobody has time for you." So I stay hidden. I slap on some bandaids - a little makeup, a cup of coffee, two or three or seven cookies - and present the best possible version of myself to the world. And then crash into bed at night with the same feelings of sadness and hopelessness and failure.

I hear God calling to me, every day, every hour. "Come to me," he says. "I'm not ashamed of you." But I resist his call, knowing that if I ask him to search me and know me, I am not going to like what he finds.


And so I dragged myself off to church this morning in this same frame of mind. Desperate for an encounter with the Holy Spirit and dreading it at the same time. Then our pastor spoke about Paul and Timothy, and how much we need to seek wisdom, and how our pride and arrogance keep us from seeking it from others. I realized how prideful I've been in not asking for help and advice from other moms who have been where I am now. We are not meant to walk through life alone, even alone with God. We are designed to live in community, learning and gleaning from the experiences of others. Asking for help and wisdom in all of these spaces in my life - parenting and marriage and health and home - does not diminish or belittle me. It turns my inward gaze outward, and it makes me better.

As we stood for worship, I cried tears of relief as I let go of some of my heaviest burdens and rested at the feet of my Savior. Knowing that it's okay to show the world how rudderless my ship has become. There are people who will love me, and come alongside to help me set it straight.

the disappointed heart

Sobbing, I slumped to the floor of the bathroom. Another trial, another roadblock, another disappointment. I wanted to badly to quit, run away, and try to leave our problems behind.

The attacks of the enemy are relentless lately, hitting us again and again with frustration. God has been at work and Satan has taken notice. We learn to sow joy in the midst of trials; he plants seeds of bitterness and resentment. We practice obedience without foresight; he reminds us of past failures and shows us the easier path of self-interest. We purpose to show our children the love of Jesus; Satan uses the irritations of parenting to drive a wedge between us and our little ones.

Life is not easy right now. My husband's work is a constant source of struggle and frustration. His business has suffered in this economy and we struggle to make ends meet. That tension and burden trickles down into every other part of our lives - how we relate to each other, how we handle the challenges of parenting, how we walk with God. We had many expectations when Ben finally finished school, and it hurts to be disappointed by how things are going so far.

Disappointment is a tough one, isn't it? It's a hard, hard emotion to deal with. There's something intensely vulnerable about feeling let down by something, which is why many people choose to not get their hopes up at all. Investing in something and not seeing it come to fruition makes us feel like we've somehow failed, and it causes us to question God's goodness. I know I have. I can't count how many times I've cried out to Him in a furious despair. "Why won't you change this?!" We watch loved ones struggle and suffer through circumstances far worse than ours and pray earnestly for His hand to turn in their favor. He has the power to change anything, to move any mountain, to intervene in any circumstance. So when he chooses not to - when the answer is no or not yet - we can't help but feel disappointed. In the answer, and maybe even in Him.

From what I've found, the Bible doesn't speak directly to the emotion of disappointment. But it speaks volumes on the two issues at the heart of disappointment - humility and hope. A lot of people don't want to feel disappointment, so they try to go numb instead. But that numbness is masking a prideful heart. God instructs us to put on humility like a garment - Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, and humility (Col. 3:12). God wants me strip off my pride and be vulnerable and honest, with him and with other people. When I humble myself, I can admit my own faults, and gain a clearer perspective on my situation. When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with humility comes wisdom (Ps. 11:2). And maybe he wants to use my raw, unfiltered hurt and sorrow to encourage someone else to come running to his throne with honesty.

If the playground gets rained out, I can turn my kids' sadness around in five seconds with a cookie. There is usually no such easy fix for grown-up disappointment. The circumstance that disappointed you probably isn't going to change tomorrow. It might not change in a week, or a month, or a year. It might not change on this side of Heaven. I think of a dear friend whose youngest child has had a profoundly debilitating health condition since birth. She walks so faithfully through it all, but I know she has felt the sorrow of disappointed dreams for her little boy. God has not taken away the reason for her disappointment. But he has given her the antidote: Hope. Hope is the only cure for the disappointed heart. And the only true hope is in Christ. We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure (Hebrews 6:19). If we know Jesus, we know that the trials of this life are temporary. We know that honest joy in the midst of darkness is possible. We know that he loves us intimately. We know that he uses every heartache and broken dream to bring together his perfect plan and purpose for our lives.

Hope is the reason that I don't run away from home. No matter how deep the hurt of a disappointed dream, God will replace my sadness with the hope of the cross. In Christ alone, my hope is found.

where the rubber meets the road

I had a great conversation with a friend recently. Out of the blue, it was equal parts encouraging and convicting. It was a divine appointment, the kind of chat that so clearly drove home what the Holy Spirit had been speaking that it could only have come directly from Him. I was sharing with this friend how much I've struggled with my children lately, in the midst of this chaotic season. This friend, who is several years further down the parenting road than I, encouraged me that, with Jesus, I could do it. She then exhorted me, with Jesus, to do it. In a word, get it together, mama.

You see, I have kind of hated parenting lately. I love my boys, but they have been tiny terrors. I know where it's coming from - nothing in our world is normal right now. Their routine is completely upended. They spend hours strapped in their car seats and fed a steady diet of DVDs and fast food. Most importantly, the thing they need and want most in the world, the positive, loving attention of mommy and daddy, has all but disappeared. So they act out, pick fights, talk back, whine, and generally push every button and boundary until Mommy snaps.

And oh, do I ever snap. I never considered myself to have much of a temper until now. But lately, when I finally crash into bed at night, I cringe as I replay the angry words, harsh condemnations, and barked orders that peppered our conversations during the day. My little ones push, and I react. They push, I react. I feel helpless to do anything else, that I have no time or energy to spend getting to the real heart of the problem and coming up with real solutions. My toolbox is limited to yelling, threatening, bribing, and begging, none of which are effective as more than temporary band-aids.

More importantly, those tools, those strategies are doing nothing to teach my children about Jesus.

After the conversation with my friend, I drove home (alone, for a change) and told the Lord about my problem.

"I can't do any better, Lord. I just have nothing left to give right now."

My grace is sufficient for you.


"Sure, under normal circumstances. But this is ridiculous. How can I be expected to model anything to them right now?"

Let's see... Daniel... Job... Joseph... Esther... Boaz...Moses... Paul...  ...  Do I need to keep going?


Humph. "Okay, okay. So my circumstances aren't that bad. But... I'm showing them why Mommy needs Jesus, too. Like, ALL the time. That's good, right?"

That is good. That's a start.

"But?"

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.


"Huh. I haven't really nailed those lately."


Not so much.


"I can't stop yelling at them. I can't stop saying things that I wish I could take back five minutes later."


 A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word promotes evil. 


The heart of the righteous weighs its answers, but the mouth of the wicked gushes evil. 


Pleasant words promote instruction. 


"I get it. I'm sorry. I'll start doing better soon, I promise."

Start doing it now. Show them who I am, today.


"Now?"

Now.


And so I am. Trying. Present tense. Because it is not okay to just throw up my hands and quit. It's not okay to put a pin in this Godly parenting business and decide I'll pick it back up when life returns to normal. This is when my children need most to see Jesus in me. This is when I need to show them not just why Mommy needs Jesus, but what Jesus does in Mommy. It's good for them to see me screw up. It's great for them to see forgiveness in action. It's even better, I would argue, for them to see repentance. Transformation. Obedience and faithfulness, in my words and my actions, when it's really, really hard. That's where they learn who He is and what He does with hopeless, helpless people.

Gentle words. Kind hands. Loving attitude. Go team.