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My One Resolution for 2015

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Well, I’m back after a much needed and thoroughly enjoyed Christmas break.  I hope you’re back, too!  I have to admit I did worry that you would run off philandering with another girl who blogged her way through Christmas, but every once in awhile I do need to shut up, so maybe it was a much needed break for all of us.

Since we last talked a new year rolled around!  I thought by 2015 we would be enjoying those flying cars they kept promising back in the 80s.  But, here I am, still driving my minivan with the peeling paint.  Maybe before they figure out flying cars they should spend a little time developing car paint that doesn’t peel off.  And by “they,” I mean those elusive, mysterious people in the world who figure things out.  I talk about them a lot.

Every time I begin a new year, I try to get motivated to do things differently.  To be a better housekeeper.  To get organized.  To save a bunch of money.  To learn how to cook exotic things.  To listen more.  To be a better mother.  To be a kinder person.  To be a more agreeable wife.

And, every year by day two I feel like a miserable failure.  This year I even picked a fight with Chad on New Year’s Day.  Yes, you heard that right.  I ruined my resolution to be a more agreeable wife in the very first hours of this brand new shiny year.

And, honestly, I haven’t recovered yet.

resolution

I have found myself dreading this first week of returning to real life, heading back into the routines that weigh me down, feeling discouraged and defeated before my feet even really hit the ground in this new year.  I actually spent this afternoon going through all the things that I need to do this week that I don’t want to do. Meanwhile, my house is a mess.  I have a terrible attitude.  I am the epitome of everything my normal resolutions try to ward against.

Even Downton Abbey coming back tonight isn’t enough to make me feel better.  I mean, it’s serious, y’all.

So, instead of filing this year’s resolutions under the category of every failed journal, every incomplete project, every abandoned exercise plan that I have racked up through the years, I have decided, on this fourth day of the new year, to try something different.

In 2015, I have a goal:  I will NOT follow my heart.

Yes, you read that right.  This year I will choose to ignore the lies that my heart dangles in front of me like a juicy carrot on a stick.  When my heart says to zig, I will zag.  When my heart says you don’t feel like it, I will get up and do it anyway.  When my heart says you’re never going to be good enough, I will declare that good is not my goal, but holiness is.  When my heart taunts me with all of the world-approved, ungodly ways to be a wife and a mother and a blogger and a pastor’s wife, I will reject those ways and reach for goodness, gentleness, love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, faithfulness, and self-control.  When my heart says you deserve respect I will fall on my face in humility before God.  When my heart says you should be offended I will turn the other cheek.

And, during all of this mess of dealing with my wicked and deceitful heart, I will fail.  A lot.  People who know me will wonder what happened to this goal.  Another failure.  And, my heart will say, See?  What’s the point?  

It seems like I already know how this mission will turn out.  I will be misled by my heart, I will fall for its lies, I will grab for what I shouldn’t and I will fall on my face.  I won’t be perfect.  I won’t even be pretty good.  But, this year, I won’t trust my heart or rely on it.   I will follow Christ.  And, when I stumble, when my heart convinces me to go the wrong way, I will remember that every single time I turn around, I walk straight into the arms of God.

And, that is really my one resolution this year: to rest in His arms, trusting in His strength when I am weak and puny and much too heart-led.

So, that’s where I begin 2015.  Not feeling like a super star.  Not proud of myself.  Not convinced that I am God’s gift to the internet or to my husband or to my kids.  Just in the arms of God.  Looking at my own heart with a critical eye.  And, resolving to hear more from God and less from that deceiver that the world tells me should guide me through life.

The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it? Jeremiah 17:9

Are you making resolutions this year?  Anyone else fall on your face on the very first day?  I’m so thankful for a patient Savior and for understanding humans.  2015 is going to be a great year.

When Grief Crushes the Spirit

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pieces

Today has been a day of mourning for people all over this big and diverse world of ours.  It has been a day of whys and hows, of what-nows and which-way-from-heres.  Today, precious people in my town and in yours woke up next to a husband or wife and will lie down tonight alone, empty, shocked, and wondering where God is.  Today, mothers buried children.  Sons sat by dying mothers’ bedsides.  Today, the grief was overwhelming, in doctors’ offices and hospital rooms and cold white hallways and living rooms.

Today, death and dying and loneliness hurt deeply.

But, God draws near to the broken-hearted and crushed in spirit.  And, He is just as trustworthy today as He was yesterday.  Things changed in a matter of minutes.  Things changed forever.  But, one thing is sure:  He never changes.  He is in control, He is working, and He is good.  He is so, so good, even when we face despair and desolation on all sides.

He is hope.  He is love.  And He is comfort.

Mourners, He will gather your broken pieces.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.  Matthew 5:4

Loose Tooth Lessons

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Today Adelade and I got to go on a fun adventure.  Chad had an all-day meeting right near the Capitol in Austin, and she and I tagged along to spend some time touring the downtown area.  It was a rare opportunity for Adelade and I to get to spend some time together without the two younger kids, and we were so excited.

Early on in the trip I noticed that she was acting a little strange.  Her mouth was clamped shut.  She had slightly flushed cheeks.  She was unusually quiet and seemed worried about something.  I wondered if she wasn’t feeling well, but I didn’t say anything because I don’t like to encourage hypochondria in already dramatically-inclined children.  So, I chatted on as if she were acting normal, and prayed that she wasn’t getting sick.

We stopped to eat at her favorite restaurant, and I went on and on about how wonderful it was, eating in her favorite place where we never get to eat, and she kept nodding and smiling, obviously wanting me to feel like she was appreciating the greatness of this moment.  When her food arrived we started eating, and after about five bites, she suddenly sat up straight, clanged her fork down on the table, and blurted out, “I have a loose tooth!  It’s really loose!  I can’t even eat it’s so loose!”  And she finally smiled, for real, and I laughed because I realized that this was what her several hours of weirdness had really been about.

She had spent valuable little-kid-free time fretting over her loose tooth, knowing she should ask her daddy to pull it, but really just too afraid to ask because she hates getting teeth pulled.  But, never one to miss a tooth-pulling opportunity, Chad took her to some unknown area of the restaurant (my apologies, fellow diners) and he pulled her tooth.

She came back to the table all smiles.  She still didn’t eat her food, but her entire countenance changed once she had finally let her dad deal with her issue.

lady liberty

As we got back in the car and continued our trek to Austin, I thought about how often I go on and on worrying about something before I finally take it to God and let Him handle it.  I wonder how many otherwise amazingly awesome days I’ve wasted fretting over what God could take care of in five minutes.

Yep, Adelade comes by it honest.

She left her tooth under her pillow in the hotel room, but the Tooth Fairy couldn’t find us in Austin (ahem, the Tooth Fairy gets a little forgetful), so we’ll try again now that we’re back in our usual spot.

I had such a fun time with my growing-up girl.  She just keeps gaining inches.  She just keeps losing teeth.  She just keeps teaching me lessons.

No Matter What is Around the Corner

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I was only a few blocks from my house.  Adelade and I were painting daisies and roses with a sweet friend from our church, happily engrossed in the tiny lines and intricate details of the veins of green leaves and the brights of pretty petals.  When we heard the first sirens, we silently noted while we worked that something must have happened in our small town.  Sirens are rare here.

When they came right by our friend’s house, we looked up with curiosity.  Then more sirens started.  More vehicles came rushing by in a speeding parade.  I began to get a little nervous, since I had left three-fourths of my heart at my house that lay in that direction.  Chad and Emerald and Sawyer were happily camped out in the living room when I last saw them.

My friend suggested we  step outside to see where the emergency vehicles ended up.  We walked to her yard, straining to see where the commotion was.  I could tell they were near our house, but I couldn’t see exactly where they had stopped.  Adelade was in a full-blown panic by this point, certain that they were at our house, and I could see neighbors coming out of doors, heading in the direction of our front yard.

faith

I left Adelade with my friend and began walking toward the flashing lights.  After about a block I could see that the police cars and ambulance and fire trucks were actually descending on my yard.  I broke into a run, praying out loud, God, please.  God, please.  I know that He heard the pleading of my spirit, even though no other words would come.

Every terrifying scenario you could imagine flashed through my mind in the thirty seconds it took me to get to the house.  I wondered which lifeless body I would be greeted by as I rounded the corner.

I finally made the last shaky turn around the side of the house, and there stood my three precious ones, excitedly taking in the commotion with the rest of the neighborhood.  Other people that I know and love were standing under the big tree that shades our front yard, but I didn’t see a single one of them.  I was whispering thank yous to the God who sees.

And I was trying to breathe again.

The problem was at our neighbor’s house.  A small electrical fire in the attic.  The fire-fighters took care of things and left in a quiet manner, no sirens, no fanfare.  Just parking the truck back at the station and heading home to eat dinner with their families.  Heroes on call.

I walked back to my friend’s house, where my shaking hand picked up a paint brush and continued working.  But, my mind was stuck in the sprint to my house, the desperate prayers, and the what-ifs.  What if I had rounded the corner to be met by a dead baby on a stretcher?  Would my trust in my Savior hold fast?  Would my firm belief that He is good and fully in control stay planted in my soul, where it feels like the roots are dug deep?

I pray so.

Pain and death and longing and desperation are all marks of life on this planet.  He is glorified in all.  More desperate prayers arise in my spirit:  Prepare me for the troubles of this life.  Give me a hope that endures.  Help me to focus on eternal things. And, show me how to trust You above all.

Whether I’m Near or Far

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city

I flew across the country and walked into a big old hotel to attend a conference where I didn’t know a soul.  I came into large rooms filled with people, no one to look for, no one to wave me over to their table.  Just me, and a whole bunch of strangers, and God.  Always God.

I’m not going to lie:  I had some anxious moments.  I had to give myself some pep talks.  I had to pray.

And, in the end, when I walked away from that place in the early morning hours to catch a flight home again, I knew that God had sustained and blessed.  God’s providence, in the form of beautiful new friendships, shared struggles, stories that brought tears, and laughing at the strangest things when everyone is just a little too tired.

In short, it was wonderful.

My children and I survived the separation, and I think we all learned to trust God just  a little bit more.  I wonder if He ever tires of proving to me that He is always near.

I’m so glad I went.  And, I’m even more glad to be back home again. He is good no matter where I go.

Broken Wings and Other Scary Things

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I’m leaving on a rare, unheard-of trip tomorrow without my family.  It’s basically a traumatic experience for all involved. Especially me.  Tonight I tucked the kids into bed, and I prayed with them about the next few days, that God would watch over our family while we’re apart, and help the kids to enjoy their time with their daddy and their granny.  Just as I said, “Amen,” Sawyer grinned and said, jokingly, “Don’t die on your trip, Mama.”

Adelade immediately bristled at the mention of death, when she knows that I’m getting on an airplane.  I laughed and said, “Well, I’m going to try not to, Sawyer.”

He grinned some more.  “Well, you never know,” he continued, “a wing could break off of the plane and then it could crash.”  I smiled at the little toot.  “It’s actually much safer to fly in a plane than ride in a car,” I informed him.

I kissed them both and left the room when I really wanted to lie there with them all night, holding onto my babies and wallowing in the fact that tomorrow night I’ll be absent during their bedtime routine.

But, they need sleep.  And, I need to pack.

plane

It’s only a few days of life.  But, when I live here, writing endlessly about the significance of every single moment, I must admit that the thought of missing out on their lives for even a short time leaves me feeling lonely.

And then there’s the whole possibility of a fiery plane crash.  Many thanks to Sawyer for that visual.

I know that little man, and the way his mind works.  He joked about my dying because he’s scared.  I gave him extra hugs and kisses, and I took in that precious grin of his, and I did what Christian people must do every single day of their lives.  I gave him and his sisters and my sweet husband and the great unknown of every single day over to the God who loves us.

I’m not actually afraid of a plane crash happening tomorrow.  But, I have my fears.  Boy, do I have ’em.  And, each time a new one crops up, I do what I learned to do in the sixth grade.  I lay them at the foot of the cross of my Savior, and I trust that whether my worst fears ever come true or not, He will be there.  He will see me through.  And, He will see my freckle-faced darlings through, too.

So, tomorrow, I step out of my oh-so-comfortable routine, and I step one trembling foot onto the path that God seems to be putting before me.  And, He will go with me.  One step at a time.

Real Strength for Puny People (and That’s All of Us)

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The summer before I started the seventh grade, my house was all abuzz with preparations for a family reunion. My mother had been cooking all day, and my dad and brother were burning down an old structure that sat on my parents’ property out in the country where we lived.

I remember that I was watching TV while everyone else worked.  I’m not really sure how I got away with that.  I was sitting there contemplating going to the kitchen to find a snack when my brother ran into the house and said three words that carried no meaning for me in that moment:  Dad got burned.

I ran into the kitchen and followed my mother toward the back door in search of my dad.  But, we didn’t get outside before he came walking through the door, holding up two badly burned hands with charred flesh hanging from them.  His shirt was gone, or at least partially gone, burned right off of his body.  His beard was melted.  His face and shoulders were burned.  And, as he walked in with his hands in a position that said calm down, everyone, he spoke: It’s not as bad as it looks.

I was horrified.  Terrified.  As my mother gathered her things so we could rush to the hospital, I leaned on the washing machine in the laundry room where I had seen his burns for the first time, in a half-kneeling posture, and prayed.  I prayed out loud, begging God in my own childish way, Please, God, make everything alright.  Please, God, make everything alright.

Many months later, everything was alright again.  To look at my dad now you would never even know he went through the months of wound care, skin grafts, and excruciating pain that came along with that one little moment, gasoline on a fire.

But, I sometimes think about my reaction that day.  About how little seventh grade me immediately turned to God for help and comfort in the middle of a chaotic and frightening experience.  And, I wonder, now that I’m an adult who has certainly grown in my knowledge of God, His power, His goodness, why don’t I turn to Him in the first second of worry?  In the first moment of panic?  At the first sign of trouble?  Why do I try to deal with things myself, try to fix things, try to take charge?

I want to be more like the pre-teen version of me, immediately going to my knees in surrender to the only power that saves.  The only One who can truly make everything alright.  I think if I will just be childish enough to do that, just weak enough, just vulnerable enough, then I will find the strength of God girding me up every time.  The key is not being too proud, not being too stubborn.

And not trying to save the world with my puny-ness.

I remember the first time my dad played the piano after his accident.  He’s been a gifted pianist since he was a small child, and they had some concerns about how the scarring on his hands might affect his playing.  He played for just a few minutes the first time, and I could tell it hurt.  But, as I stood there, looking at his taped and bandaged back while he played as beautifully as ever, I knew that God had answered my prayer.

And, the truth is, I knew even then that if my dad had died from his injuries, my prayer would still have been answered.  Because God does make things alright.  Always.  And, we can pray to Him with confidence in the first seconds of the terror, because we can trust His plan and His goodness, even if we can’t always see the alright-ness on this side of Heaven.

So, when the fear and the pain and the worry starts, I want to be the voice that cries out to God first, relying on His strength and power instead of pretending like I have any at all.  I want to hold onto the picture in my mind of me at eleven years old, leaning on the washing machine for a desperate prayer.  Because that girl knew where her strength came from.

hills

The Art of Being Ungrateful

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I could sing you a song of ungratefulness.  I know so many verses, so many long and loud laments, so many quiet whispers in the darkest parts of my heart.  I could sing this song on the best of days, even while swimming through an enormous pool of God’s goodness.

white sands

Today was such a day.  Things went haywire in the way that ordinary things do on any given day in a life with three children and old cars and weird things that happen when you’re making plans for life to go just right.  And, I had a moment, in the middle of a superstore someplace, when I clearly watched God send me help that I didn’t even know I needed.  I was wowed.  I shed a tear in the toy aisle.  I couldn’t even believe how faithful, how good, how incredible, how involved, how precious God is.  I felt His presence, and I worshiped Him for His great love and provision.

Imagine how shocked I was, just a few hours later, to find myself singing another verse of the old song of ungratefulness.  Just because we had homework to tackle.  And, I actually ran over the cat’s toe.  I mean, who does that?  And, everyone in my home could see the shift–I sang the old familiar song with barked orders and loud sighs and general self-pity.  And, in the middle of the third refrain I was suddenly jolted by the image of the friend God had sent to my rescue earlier today.

And, I was so ashamed.

Because it is so easy to forget what God has done.

I have always identified with the “stiff-necked” Israelites wandering through the desert.  Because I have no doubt whatsoever that I could watch God part the Red Sea in the morning and be grumbling about something by nightfall.  That is how the song of ungratefulness works. Sometimes it almost seems like songs of praise melt right into verses about cats’ toes and homework.  It seems ridiculous when we read about the Hebrews being rescued by God again and again and again, but still they complained and grumbled and refused to trust God.

Yet, here I was, this very day, singing that lame old song that the Israelites knew so well, even after God had shown Himself so clearly just hours before.  I want to be like Moses instead, beaming so brightly after an encounter with God that no ungratefulness can creep in and turn my praise to grumbling.

After I recognized my stiff-necked ways this afternoon, I changed my tone with my children.  I changed the tune in my heart.  At bedtime I told them the incredible story of God’s provision in my day.  And, I sent them to bed with songs of praise instead of an ungrateful dirge.  And, now I sing my song to you.

He is good.  May I remember these notes as the sun rises tomorrow.

When You Feel Defeated

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Sometimes when I consider how very weak I am, I get discouraged.  I think about how far I have to go, how little willpower I possess, how easily I fall or get hung up or lose my balance.  I look at where I want to go, and it seems like the finish line is worlds away, and while I should be running I seem to be limping along.  Meanwhile, other people are trotting right past me.  They seem to be having an easy time of it.  While I, weak, weary, wheezing under the weight of my own weakness, am barely getting by.

Today was one of those days.  I was thinking of things I said that I wish I hadn’t.  I was remembering ways that I acted in sight of my nine year old that were certainly not gracious or godly.  I was wondering if I will ever see some sign that I am growing to become more like Christ, since I seem to be continually showing the world that I am nothing like Him at all.

I dwelled on those thoughts all morning long.  Then we went to visit a church member and friend who is currently living in a rehab facility, trying to regain his strength after a major surgery.  A matter of days ago he was unable to get out of bed at all, but today he is moving around with the help of a walker and exercising with weights and machines.  I asked if he feels like he’s getting stronger.  He said he is still really weak.  But, he told us that when he looks back three days ago and considers how weak he was then, he can see that he is making progress.

He seemed to be in good spirits, and I could tell he felt determined to reach the point where his therapists will decide he is ready to go home to his sweet wife.  He certainly wasn’t running up and down the hallways, but he was up and moving during the day.  He might easily have been discouraged if he were looking at how far he has to go before he will reach his goal, but instead he was choosing to look at how far he has come.

Maybe this is a key to living the Christian life with a sense of joy and victory instead of dread and defeat.  Maybe instead of dwelling on how far from perfect we are, we should take a look at how far we’ve come in the past year.  Maybe we should focus on how much our attitude has improved, or how God has revealed an area of sin to us that we are working to eliminate from our lives.  Maybe we should consider how much God’s grace has helped to dig us out of various pits that we once lived in, how His mercy has set us on a solid foundation, and how His Spirit living in us has begun to build something amazing, despite our shortcomings and our failures.

Maybe instead of focusing on how far we feel from arriving as Christians, we should dwell on how far He has brought us from what we once were.

After all, planting ourselves in doubt and pessimism is really saying to God that we don’t believe that He can take even the most hardened sinner and transform her into the image of Christ.  When we feel tempted to wallow in our fear that we will never change, we must stop and remember all of the miracles that God has worked inside us so far.  Sure, we still mess up a lot and let our selfishness and pride and meanness get in the way of our progress, but we cannot deny that God is at work in us.  It’s so obvious when we look at where we were just a short time ago.

Do you see it?  Don’t miss what God has done.

He is working.  In my life, in yours, and in a rehab hospital in West Texas.  I pray that we will remember where we want to go without ever forgetting where we’ve been.  In the looking back, we can so clearly see what God can do.  He never stops working on us.  And, we must never stop believing that He can keep us moving in the right direction all the way up until it’s time to go home.

We may wobble and sway, but our weakness is like a spotlight on His strength.   We mess up, but He doesn’t.  We fall, He catches us. We agonize, He is peace.  We cry because we are so weak, He wipes away every tear with His strong hand.  There is no way to make Him less.  But, when we look back on all He has done, we can show the world how much more He is than they even know.  See where you’ve been.

See what He’s done.

In the Grip of Fear, In the Hand of God

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Tonight this world is spinning along its usual path in a universe so gigantic that we can’t even really conceive of its magnificence.  Earth is just one small dot on a grid of millions of heavenly bodies of different kinds.  Yet, here we are, special creation, made in the image of God, bent under the weight of incredible sin, grieving over wars that are raging as I write, powerless to control what cannot be controlled.  Worried.  Terrified.  Wondering how it all turns out okay in the end.

And, where is God?

We wonder what He is doing.  We question whether He is good.  The bad news just keeps coming.  And it seems like there’s a hole in our faith bucket.  We read the stories that seem to point to the end of the world as we know it, and we tremble inside.  We wish that we could see what God’s ultimate plan is.  We wish that we could understand what is really happening when it looks like everything is chaos and craziness.

But, we don’t have to know every aspect of God’s plans or His will or His interesting way of accomplishing things.  We don’t even have to like what we see Him doing.  We don’t have to approve of His methods or be happy about every twist and turn that He has built into our road ahead.

But, even when we are heartbroken, when we are discouraged to the point of despair, when we are crippled by the fear of what is to come, when we are angry at God, when we feel abandoned, when we feel anxiety coming over us in waves, when we don’t even know who we are anymore, the Truth is still true.

Our feelings about the Truth don’t change it.  They don’t weaken its power.  They don’t deny us access to it.  The Truth is always completely real, even when we are feeling around in the pitch black of our own fear just trying to lay hold of one tiny corner of it.  It is there.

The Truth is that everything is going to be okay.

If we are in Christ and He is in us, if God has us held tight in His hand, nothing can snatch us out of it, not even our fear. So, in the light of Truth we can imagine our worst fears, things we are too afraid to even give words to, images and terrors that reside in our minds that seek us out as we lie in bed at night.  Fears borne in irrational thinking or fears based on what we have already experienced–it doesn’t matter.  We can imagine that our very worst fear comes true, and we can face it because we have the hope of Jesus Christ.

A friend revealed that she had a crippling fear that someone would break into her house and murder her family.  The Truth came back to her in the echos of Scripture she had memorized as a child:  The Lord is good and His word endures forever. . .Trust in the Lord with all your heart and don’t lean on your own understanding. . .Fear not, for I am with you. . .I sought the Lord and He answered me and delivered me from my fears. . .If we are faithless, He remains faithful.  She agonized over this fear for quite some time before she finally embraced the Truth that even if her very worst fear came true, everything would still be okay.

Because God is in the business of making things right.  He is good and trustworthy, and His Truth remains, even when we are having a hard time remembering it.

Maybe you have already faced your worst fears.  Maybe you are angry with God.  Maybe you are so heartsick that you don’t believe you will ever recover.  And maybe you won’t, in this life.  But, God is working.  Please believe it.  His Truth stands, despite our circumstances.  We can trust Him.  And, at the end of it all, which is really only the beginning, everything really will be okay, if we know Him.  Rest in His hand, my sweet, tired friends.  He is good.

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