1.1.2017

Grace kept finding me this year, over and over again.

When

1. God moved my kids out of our apartment and gave them a just-right space with plenty of room to play. Grace for the days.

2. He walked real close as I murmured to him the secret places of my soul while attempting to make sense of the tension there. Grace for the nights.

3. He guided me to the most wonderful friendships, where he shone a light on that soul-tension. (And when light hits those deeply buried places, freedom inevitably follows.) Grace for the past.

4. He let some relational stuff be hard. Because I needed to decide for myself if people were worth the work, and I needed to see my own junk and lay it down. (People are worth it. Jesus covers my mess). Grace for the walk.

5. He saw us through to the end of a long, hard season of graduate school. Grace for the future.

6. Jesus made a way into the hard joy of parenting away from that easy, angry, impatient place where I constantly was before. Grace in answered prayers.

7. He challenged my insecurities but didn’t push me out on a ledge. He whispers truth in the middle of all the self-doubt and I think maybe he’s in the process of deflating the lies I’ve held on to. Grace for the future.

Dear Self,

God was so faithful in 2016. Bind that around your neck. Write that on the tablet of your heart. Remember.

11.28.14

Because there really is no better time or place to get a flat tire than in your garage while you are sleeping, but still, the surprise of finding it flat and then finding out that it's irreparable and, in fact, all four tires need to be replaced, feels a little bit like a sucker punch and you find yourself praying and fighting for faith.

And there are seasons of life when you must fight for faith because all of these small things, usually money things, vie for faithlessness; push you and prod you toward faithlessness; become a reason to back down from what you know, and this season seems to be that for you now. BUT (and there is always a but) take heart, oh my soul, because the lord has been (so) good to you and you can fight this battle of faith and come out a victor; these hard places will be your cement, the sand that turns into rock; the testing of your faith makes perseverance and that's what you want to be at the end of your life...a persevere-er.

When the good news in all this new-tires-depleting-tiny-savings-just-in-time-for-Christmas gig is that in everyday, in every season, God is the faithful one and he has made this promise to you about his faithfulness not being dependent on your faithfulness. And you decided (while riding on brand new tires!) to trust God to provide in this month in ways that are new and creative and may not be full of what you're used to, but may be even better.

Because this is the advent, the wait...there is HOPE and it is COMING and you just have to have eyes to see it and a heart to say yes to it all.

Hold on, self. Your rescue is near! 

11.21.14

When this kid plays flag football on that mostly losing team and is the receiver of a hand-off near the middle of the field and you watch as he makes a b-line for the sideline right where his team is sitting on the bench and as he cuts up-field at the line, you hear a teammate shout above the rest of the cheers of encouragement, "I BELIEVE IN YOU" and you crack up with giddy agreement. Yes! Me too! I believe in you too! However far this play may take you, I believe in you!

8.31.2014

When you and Ryan begin the hike around Pinecrest Lake with the only child who wants to attempt the 4 mile loop with you and Ryan talks about how he used to run around the lake during the summer to train for soccer season and the oldest listens to his dad carefully. And then when Ryan loses sight of the trail for a quick moment as you make your way down and around the face of an enormous rock and Ryan quickly finds the dirt trail again at the top of the rock instead of at the bottom so you walk 10 paces and get back on the path, the boy who wonders about everything asks his dad, "I thought you hiked this trail a lot." And his dad chuckles a little and answers, "Well, it's been a while." And the boy with all the confidence in the world says, "And the rocks have moved"? Because it's easier for this 10 year old boy to believe that rocks can be moved than it is to question the abilities of his dad who is wholly trustworthy.

When this 10 year old lives anti-doubt and you are humbled by his authentic confidence because isn't this the confidence you should have too? Isn't the God who is more trustworthy and capable than any boys' dad ever can be more likely to move the rocks than let you get lost or fall off the trail? Isn't he a trail guide who will never let something small like a mountain stand in the way of getting you to the end? Isn't he?

4.29.2014

When the people around you are grace givers, more-than-ordinary forgivers, and your heart is churning with the call to be forgiven. Because this is your life, to screw up, to forget, to be distracted and even though you want more than this for your own pride's sake, you just can't escape the brokenness. But you have these people, brave and strong people who constantly say "yes" to forgiveness, people who walk into relationships intentionally; people who willingly overlook the ugly, the junk, and chose to embody the very essence of LIFE: to be known and loved.

When the people around you are courageous. She walks with determination in her steps until the waiting is over. They forge the unknown with the most sincere trust and willingness to be refined. They pour into your family without thinking twice and consistently dive into generosity. Others laugh boldly, dream volumes, hug long, speak the language of a smile.

When you see on Facebook everything that your tried-and-true friends have to share and so you know generally what's in their days but you get an urge to look at them in the eyes and know their struggles and triumphs more deeply so you do just that, and they share their beautiful messy reality with you even though they've probably told the story a million times before. And when you sit down to eat they ask the pointed questions that are hard to answer in summary but are worth the time, and you laugh together at the memories you share, and you talk through kid-struggles and medical struggles and they answer your questions even though it feels like you should already know the answers; you should have made the effort to sit with them months ago. And when the end of the night comes, you hug like you mean it because these people have invited you into their story. They didn't have to. They chose to.

Because knowing one's story on Facebook is fine and nice, but tomorrow you forget who said what and you forget to pray even though you said you would and the details meld together and get lost in the muddled space of your brain but seeing the light in their eyes while listening to those same stories binds you and them as if you've crawled into their heart and have heard the echo of the details and emotions and the long-resonating truth. When you are in the presence of people who God is using for his mysterious, unknown, wild purpose, it's like God is there too. And God was there that night you saw each other in the faces and heard the burden resound and saw the victory obtained. And it was heart-changing.

When you've tiptoed awkwardly around and hesitatingly invited someone into your days, and they've graciously and boldly extended the same invitation to you, you leave and know better how to pray. You leave and you remember. You drive away confident of the value of relationships. You are strengthened and inspired. You are diffused into who God is and what he is doing. You are different.

Because choosing to share anything, especially life and stories and personal space, is a hard battle worth fighting but you're surrounded by people who keep on sharing with you. Grace.

4.28.2014

Because there are all these people with all these ideas and demands that spin you in circles and you get lost in whatever it is that is important to all these people and you're left unraveling.

When the tension is so unrelenting and you've tied all of your broken pieces into knots with the strain of it all, praying prayers that sound confusing to you because you have only that confusion to offer. But you have a really clean kitchen because when everything else feels so entirely out of control, you roll the table out and spend hours cleaning. cleaning and praying and praying and scrubbing because you know the deep truth of the mess you're in and it's easier to polish floors than people.

When in the middle of being lost you hear your own cries, "what am i doing? where am i? who am i?" and you don't know the answers really, but you do find this: I AM. It's not you you find. It's I AM.

When the breath of God's own name, I AM, YAHWEH, satisfies. Because who he is, is the gap of everything you're not and his very name defines your days and desires. He is I AM so you don't have to worry about what you can't be. He is The I AM, the fullness of all the things you long to hold and have and he is the deep breath and sigh when you sit in the middle of the floor and can't figure out what the next step is or even what direction you are facing. He is the I AM fire that burns without burning up. He is the I AM way out of bondage to freedom. HE IS. So you can be okay. You can because HE IS.

When this One Good I Am cares about the mess you're in and in his grace and love he walks you through it, one rescue at a time.

4.27.2014

When the boy makes that off-base comment when walking into the ice cream shop and you catch him and scold him and try to make the truth loud but he can't hear the truth right there and it's troubling what he said, so you pursue it deeper later. And he says something that makes your soul stumble backwards a few steps and you realize that his comment at the ice cream place didn't necessarily mirror the truth, but it was a mirror of your own complaining, whining attitude and that, well, that is a crummy reflection.

When these last years have been a tough season in some aspects and you've let it all go out of your mouth, the disappointment, the anxiousness to move on, and while those things are okay to process through, at some point the words have become a vomit of sorts, spewing all over everyone.

When the dissatisfaction with life takes over the boy but it wasn't his disappointment necessarily, it was him processing life through your stuff, your complaints, your grumbling because his snarky attitude was really just a manifestation of your snarky attitude. When he looks honestly into your eyes and says, "Why should I find things to be thankful for? No one else in the family is doing that." and that stings because you know better. You know the way you've been lavished with grace from God, from family, from friends, yet you are thankless. Ouch.

Because all this is grace. Grace in the realizing and knowing, grace in the forgiveness of parenting failures, grace in the changing your ways, grace in the second millionth chance at a do-over, grace in the truth uncovered. And for all that grace upon grace upon grace, you are grateful.

10.24.2013

because now you know.

because today was the day that you re-learned that exploring ignites some place in your core where curiosity and wonder meet with tension and mystery and anticipation. 

because you had forgotten about the part of you that relishes adventure.

when driving and navigating and packing lunches and filling gas tanks and leading and questioning and asking and wondering and waiting and deciding and going and doing and seeing and being and loving and caring and encouraging and scolding and holding and watching, made this day fantastic. because there are so many days, most days, most of the time, that you've lacked in desire to be all or any of these things, but you did them solely to prove the point that you could and would, win, lose or draw. 

because what came of the just do it was fantastic. scary at first, what with all your well-used habits of making excuses, but all of that was flushed away when the singing happened loud and silly, and when the three of them actually quit their fits when you threatened to turn the car around before you had even left town, and when the museum provided so much learning and you didn't have to teach any of it and the oldest was teaching you, and when they all offered to push the stroller at the zoo and they didn't cry when you said no to souvenirs, and when the oldest played and enticed the youngest out of his bad mood when you stopped for food on the way home.
soul food.

8.22.13

because so much about confidence is gleaned.

in this house it's hard fought, long sought, easily abandoned.

and when the ebb of confidence is refining and there are determinations to be made, choices to walk in, consequences to deal with and in it all there is a rock, a stumbling stone, a sure footing on the highest point where the six of you stand huddled together until one's balance starts to waiver or one threatens to jump, but there is always another to stretch out a hand and grab the slipping one and encourage the one to stand upright again, another to cheer and hold tight as we all bind ourselves to each other and to this one rock.

because so much about confidence is gleaned. 

8.11.13

When you walk past grace and don't even see it because all the stuff has made your vision foggy and has dumbed down your senses but when all the kids get foggy too and when their attitudes make you see the reality in all of you and suddenly you realize how much you need grace, not this self-sufficiency and blindness. 

And when you stand at the pantry door and listen to the boy cry his way through the discipline and you cry too because you need grace as much as he does and because grace is hard-fought. 

Because when the other boy comes in after his own discipline and declares "I'm hungry. Can I please have a second chance?" you can give bigger grace now that you've tasted it yourself and you smile, yes! have another chance! And his brother echoes, "I think I need a second chance too" and this grace is contagious and free and full. 

When our biggest needs drive us to grace. I need food! Grace? I'm thirsty! Grace? My attitude stinks! Grace? Yes and yes and yes. And all of us, full of grace, have dinner together in joy because of the sweetness of the unity that grace offers. We're all broken and we're all rescued. 

8.3.2013

when you stand there on a Sunday morning a few feet away from the table with the shiny round plates of bread crumbs and small cups of grape juice and the lights from the stage make this table the only thing you can see in the room.

when your morning was hectic and really your 2 weeks before that were hectic but as you were running out the door practicing songs, packing 5 suitcases, cleaning up the trail of mayhem left by the get-ready routine, feeding animals, double checking doors, and the child who takes care of the reptile says, "we're out of crickets", now your mind is running faster than your legs and you're trying to find time, more and more time and it's not possible to make more minutes so you get to church flustered and faltered and very aware of all your weaknesses and all of your missed opportunities to have done today better.

but now you stand there looking at the bread and the wine, all of the broken pieces of today and all the broken pieces of you are quiet because this table is all you can see and it's all that matters. because that bread, that wine, isn't a snack, a chore, a guilt-evoking ceremony. it's an invitation to find shelter, covering, rest in and through the life and the blood of the one person who slayed death and brokenness so you can live freely and confidently. on this table sits peace. on this table is life.

and when you see all the people walking toward the table, accepting the invitation given to them, you see with new eyes and teary eyes that we all come to church on Sunday mornings with baggage from the morning, the week, the year, the lifetime, and we all carry our junk in past the same doors on our way to the same table to lay it all down at the call of the one who saves us from all of it, and we have this one thing in common; we've all said yes, we've taken and eaten and thanked and that's the only thing that matters.

7.24.2013

When you go out to dinner, just you two, and re-know that there is a good place in your lives for hiring a great sitter and there is also a place for very good steak and feta cheese and perfect weather where he can wear shorts and you can wear a sweater. 

2.20.2013

when she asks from the backseat with relate-able nervousness in her voice about the turn in the highway that overlooks the river from atop a steep hillside, "do cars turn and fall down there a lot?" and you shake your head no and pause and decide to finish the conversation, "god holds us all together and he keeps us safe and helps us stay on the road" and she gets excited about that truth, "really?" and how do you speak the importance of this reality when your own mouth sometimes doesn't believe it because wasn't it just this morning that the bowl of cereal went flying and kids were slow to get ready for school and you have a headache and there is disappointment and heartache about our weaknesses and life just seemed like we could fall over the edge. but it is true that life has cliffs and sharp turns and sometimes traveling them doesn't go all that well, but in those moments god holds us together then too.

and when the cliff that looks only scary from the westbound direction looks entirely gorgeous when driving eastward with its unobstructed view and you can see the beauty of the river and the orchards that surround it and it is especially breathtaking at carpool hour with the water reflecting the most beautiful light and you almost can't even see that you're overlooking a cliff because you're so taken back by the utter beauty and the nervousness subsides because of majestic beauty.

and that's the thing; that god doesn't just take everything that scares us or makes us mad and obliterate it like we sometimes want him to do but he steps into that stuff with us and lets us see the beauty beyond the edge with enlightened perspective and he doesn't stand in heaven and look at our awfulness and helplessness and obliterate us, but he gets closer to us and sends jesus into the midst of us so that he's nearer and so we can touch the living god and so that we can know that we don't need to fear and know that we are loved and that we are saved no matter if the road holds or gives way.

2.13.2013

when you forget that you're in the middle of a battle and you lose focus and forget where you've been and what that you've been called to battle every day. because worry is the anti-trust and it seems reasonable to worry about everything and to pad all the worry with prayer and ceaseless thoughts about about how and why and when and what if and because praying all your worry has just made worry a habit and you see now that the praying wasn't praying at all but it was demanding answers now, as if you have any right to know the future. when you see your worry for what it really is, depriving yourself of the freedom of trusting, and your brokenness and sin are overwhelming but one God meets you there because He's brought you to this brokenness and wants to walk you out of your brokenness.

when listening to the three year old have a 20 minute fight against some imaginary creature in the backseat of the car with only the twig that he's been toting all day as a weapon is a reminder that every day the battle for your attention and your trust persists and you've forgotten to fight. and you're not sure how exactly to fight this one but to get out of your own head and just stop thinking about the things that you're tempted to worry about and instead of praying about it, you will trust about it, and thank about what will be even before it happens because God knows the desires of your heart and he will answer you when it's time for you to know and he won't forget.

2.1.2013

you know how you run the same 4 miles in the same garage on the same treadmill at the same time of day listening to the same music staring at the same bikes and backpacks and shoes and refrigerator and even though everything is the same every Monday and Wednesday and Friday some days those 4 miles just feel harder and longer and more painful?

remember this and give yourself more grace. give Ryan more grace too. some days, life is just harder than others and even though everything seems the same as it always is, some days just feel tenuous. it's okay. breathe.