Practice Makes Perfect {almost}

Days blend into one another and time passes quickly. Season after season and year after year. The boys I birthed grow in inches and independence, one already a man. I wonder if it is all enough. Enough attention. Enough teaching. Enough love. Yet, every day is a new opportunity. And in our brokenness is grace. Sometimes grace isn't my first response though, and sometimes I am not given grace in return. As easily as I can dissect the things that seem damaged, I can also see love displayed in the small kindnesses. I pray that grace-filled love is fostered and will grow as my family grows older. Tonight, I pray that I would have a servant's heart for my family, even when it feels like I am alone in this, even when all of my daily responsibilities leave me weary.  

And, I pray, like I have since I rededicated my life to the Lord when I was 21, this scripture prayer: That I would be a good wife; responsive. That my husband who, indifferent as he is to any words about God, will be captivated by my life of holy beauty. (paraphrased from 1 Peter 3:1-2). Because one day (which will arrive before I know it), my nest will be empty. And I want those days to matter, too. 

And day after day, it does matter. I pause to marvel that there is nothing that God can't redeem. All of the little things that seem insignificant, those are the things in which love resides. The deeds done without asking. Mushy text messages. Impromptu laughter. The quiet moments with his preteen head on my shoulder. It all matters. This daily practice of loving my family with Jesus' love spurs me on to love others as well. And if that is all I ever do in my life {practice loving the people God places in my path} then I will be perfectly content.

Storms...

It has been an interesting season. I'm really not sure how I would classify it, but I see growth and change. So, maybe this is finally the hope-filled spring that I've been long awaiting. 

Those of you who follow me know that this new year brought a longing to be quiet and still. Such things are not innate to me; they are challenging. Interestingly enough, I was sick from the end of December through Mid-January. I literally worked and only took care of the things that had to be done. Otherwise, I was resting. I would spend my weekends at home, drinking hot tea, and gearing up for the coming week. This was completely atypical for me. Usually my weekends had very little down time. Guess what? I am feeling better, but I am still enjoying quiet time at home. I see the benefits of this time. Time to not be hurried. Time for reflection. Time for quiet. Time for renewal. Time for Sabbath rest. 

Today's reflection: 

I heard the rain off and on during the middle of the night. I awoke to cloudy skies. Once again I thought of the clouds that had been part of a long, harsh winter in my own life. But, moreover, I thought about the purpose of the clouds that come in our lives. If we say that God is sovereign, then nothing that we go through is unknown to Him. I believe part of our suffering comes simply because we live in a broken world, but I also believe other trials are a testing of our faith (James 1). It is easy, isn't it, when skies shine bright and blue to have unwavering faith? What does faith look like when a storm approaches though? How does it change when a torrential downpour hits suddenly? 

I ran across this quote today: "Until we can come face to face with the deepest, darkest fact of life without damaging our view of God’s character, we do not yet know Him." ~ Oswald Chambers

Looking back at the most recent series of storms in my life, I would have to honestly say I wish I had a better faith response. But, there is also the learning part, right? We journey through to the other side of the storms, seeing God at work in their midst, and knowing that the next time we hopefully remember. Each time we will know Him more. And I want to know Him more. 

In closing, I am leaving you with something I wrote in September 2010. It seemed appropriate. 

He Who Paints the Skies

Hot air, heavy with moisture, weighted lungs respond without thinking.

Breathe, but don't think.

Gray scale landscape shaded to match the outlook. But what of the Matchless One?

What of He who paints the skies and gives heavy air chance to cry?

What of heaven that responds with peals of thunder and illuminating flashes and Creator's glory?

Eyes to see beyond the here and now, beyond the pain, beyond one soul.

Thunder-boom and shake up, begin anew. Cleanse, drop by drop.

Look up and see skies that sing (even as they cry); Clouds that dance (even as the bright sun burns deep).

Hues that seem too perfect for our brokenness swirl above and He makes the sun to set low, bow before Him.

And breathe in, knowing there is more, knowing there is love from He who paints the skies. 

So Overrated

My dear sister, who is walking through a hard valley, sent me a text today. She said that sometimes she is just at a loss for words. I found myself nodding knowingly as my heart resonated with hers. Sometimes there aren't words. I responded that sometimes words are overrated. Aren't they? Especially when they are empty. Especially when they are flippant, or simply careless.

Words. Words that string together like pearls on a strand to form sentences that convey our thoughts. I think of the trivial niceties exchanged by people on a daily basis. I wonder about the impact of our words. I wonder how often fake polite voices unconvincingly mask indifference.

And sometimes people just need someone to listen to them. Really listen. Sometimes there aren't answers. But, it is hard to be quiet, isn't it? Silence feels awkward; it is uncomfortable. In as much as I want to learn to be still before God, I also desire to learn the discipline of silence when appropriate. Conversely, there are times when I need to speak, but don't. And there is a timidity, a fear that I will say the wrong words, offend, or be misunderstood.

Yes, words are truly overrated. In this season of Epiphany, I pray that God would reveal himself to me afresh. I pray that I would think and listen more before I speak. When I do speak, may my words be edifying and in love. Always in love.

And these words that appear one by one across the screen are rough and unedited tonight, but they are from my heart.

May these words of my mouth and this meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer. ~ Psalm 19:14

Moving Beyond Safe

"Community is the place where the person you least want to live with always lives. Often we surround ourselves with the people we most want to live with, thus forming a club or clique, not a community. Anyone can form a club; it takes grace, shared vision, and hard work to form a community." ~ Henri Nouwen

It's almost absurd how many people have quoted Nouwen in their books or articles, but here I am, quoting him on my blog because, 1) It's a succinct quote, and 2) It's true.

This weekend I have been thinking heavily on the subjects of relationships and community. Before I get too far into my thoughts, I want to disclose that I haven't been to a church in over two months. I hadn't intended for this to happen. I was sick during some of this time, but that really wasn't the paramount reason. Then, what was?

I am not sure I have a complete answer, but in some sense it became the safe choice. I think choosing a safe choice is a typical response after someone has been hurt. You see, I have experienced more heartache and wounds from people in churches than most. I know that God placed me in those congregations for a specific purpose, so I walked the hard road in obedience. However, the cumulative effects of these prolonged interactions have profoundly impacted me. What was blatantly missing in these situations was grace and a willingness to live in community with one another.

Community isn't exclusive or elitist. Community is an acknowledgement that we are broken people living out life together. And in the center is Jesus, and grace, and forgiveness, and the loving of the ones that are difficult. Scripture says that we are not to give up meeting together, that we are to be united, that we belong to one another, that we are to encourage one another (and on and on...).

I am blessed to have brothers and sisters that are committed to walking with me. They have lived community with me; they are family. They love me when I am the one who is not easy to love. But, this family of mine is scattered over miles and different communities now. And I am the one who needs to get up, brush myself off from the previous falls, and trust that God has somewhere new for me too. I'm not choosing safe anymore, I'm choosing good {Narnia reference intended :)}

So, kind friends, I humbly ask that you pray with me as I discern where God is leading me.

Heartfelt thanks,
J

Home...

I adore the house in which I live. It is old and quirky. It is small, but affordable. There isn't a master suite. In fact, it has only one bathroom. But, it has enough room for the four of us. And life is full with work and responsibilities. I pause to remember how it is all temporary. This time here is a blink of an eye compared to eternity, yet it sometimes feels so far away. Sometimes my focus is overtaken by the seemingly urgent things of this life.

I told a co-worker this week that I thought I was dying (at least that is what it sounded like). The truth is we are all dying, but to what? Dying to self? There's a line from an old hymn that says. "You have only one life, so soon it will pass. Only what's done for Christ will last." And I want to serve Him in everything; I want to remember my home. I want to focus on things eternal and ponder them all in my heart.

Just after Christmas, I went to the outside storage looking for some frames for Gavin's artwork. In a box I found a plastic bag with old letters and newspaper clippings. One of the letters was written by my great grandmother who died when I was very young. It was a letter to her children. Her husband had already passed, and she wanted to tell them about her final wishes. My eyes spilled liquid as I read about this dear woman's anticipation of her "homecoming" and her plea for her adult children to love and care for each other. And I want it to count. I want to live each day like I am ready for it to be my last. Because, we aren't guaranteed tomorrow.  

And tonight I am thankful for this life, this chance to live for Him right where He has placed me. I also think of those who have gone home already and then this feeling comes unexpected. For a minute I try to recognize what I am feeling. Is it simply nostalgia? No, it's more of a homesickness.



"Our Father refreshes us on the journey with some pleasant inns, but will not encourage us to mistake them for home." ~ C. S. Lewis

Hearing the Heartbeat...

Five days into the New Year...Funny how it's easy to go back to what is known, what is easy and comfortable. And, I suppose, that is where stagnation and complacency are born. But rarely do we see it for what it is, do we? The truth is, we are so complacent, so happily luke-warm, that it doesn't seem askew. Or, perhaps more alarming, we are so busy that we know things are askew, but act as though we are victims to the life we have carved out by our own choices.

Something I read keeps coming back to me: If it matters, you make the time. If it doesn't, you make excuses. As I thought about it more, I was so convicted by this. How many times have I bought the lies of my own excuses? The harsh realization is, if it was something I truly wanted, if it was something I truly deemed worthwhile, if it mattered to me, then I would do it.

So, as I move forward and take ownership of my choices, I am still thinking about what it means to "be still" before God. And, just as old habits are hard to break, this discipline of stillness seems hard. More than hard, it feels awkward. But, I know there is a reason for it. I know I need to persevere through it. Interestingly enough, I have had to spend the last week or so resting. My sleep is interrupted by coughing and the fatigue is so severe it takes a concerted effort just to get through the day. I try to focus my jumbled thoughts and listen. Breath in. Breath out. Still. Listen. Breath in. Breath out Still. Listen. Heartbeat.

There is a newness to the silence. I am learning that I do not have to try to fill the silence with awkward dialogue. That isn't the point really, but what is? I am sensing that the point is to be still and listen until the heartbeat I hear, the heartbeat I recognize, is His. No excuses.