#shelterinscripture

Photo of empty Target shelves from Florida Today

The last few weeks I’ve felt a spike in my anxiety.  Maybe you have felt it too.

The news stories about coronavirus have steadily moved closer to home.  In February I took my kids to the pediatrician for well-kid checkups, and a case was reported in that area.

Two weeks ago I brought my kids to the grocery store.  It was the beginning of the panic, and the shelves seemed to be emptying out before my very eyes.  I felt more and more worried about accidentally passing the illness to someone as my kids did what kids do: touch the cart, touch the shelves, run their hands along the empty freezer case.  Well, not quite empty; there were two bags of edamame no one seemed to want even in a pandemic.

That weekend was stressful as we made last minute decisions: should we meet with our friends, as a church?  What size of a group is okay, is too risky? A conference was cancelled.  We had to postpone a trip to see my grandparents.  Our church can’t meet in the high school for the next couple months.  The college students were sent home.  All of our regular face-to-face interactions have been moved to Zoom meetings. It felt like a domino effect on normal life, slowly tumbling into a reality no one recognizes or was totally prepared for.

There are plenty of things to feel anxious about right now: health risks for loved ones, job security, stay at home orders, and more.  All this on top of what you might feel anxious about on a normal day.

I received an email from the Academy of American Poets this week saying that they were encouraging people to shelter in poems as they shelter in place.  They are asking people to share the poems that are giving them courage and strength during this difficult time.  I thought this was a wonderful idea, and I wondered, what if we did the same thing with the poetry and promises of Scripture?

When we are anxious, the thoughts that worry us are like an infectious pop song stuck in our minds.  We return to the rut we have formed by repeatedly thinking these anxious thoughts and it can be hard to escape.

The only way I can get a song out of my head is by listening to a new song.

What if we replaced those anxious thoughts with Scripture, and trained ourselves to remember the promises that God has given us in His Word for such a time as this? Let’s listen to a new song together.

I’m going to #shelterinscripture this week, and I hope you will join me.  Here are some of the verses I will be meditating on as I keep my heart quiet before the Lord.

• “Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.  I will say of the LORD, “He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.” Psalm 91:1-2

• “The name of the LORD is a strong tower; the righteous man runs into it and is safe.”  Proverbs 18:11

• “When I am afraid, I put my trust in You.  In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I shall not be afraid.  What can flesh do to me?” Psalm 56:3-4

• “Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.” Isaiah 41:10

• “Have I not commanded you?  Be strong and courageous.  Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9

Which scripture will you choose to meditate on, shelter in this week?  Let me know how you are going to #shelterinscripture in the comments or on social media this week and share those verses with your friends.  Let’s encourage each other with the truth of God’s Word.  Even in isolation, God is with us and He will not forsake us.

with child: God saves

My friend Lindsey is hosting a motherhood series on her blog called "with child."  This week I wrote the guest post about motherhood, failure, and the gospel.  You can read my post at Lindsey's blog Redeeming Naptime.  Please check out Lindsey's great posts on faith and parenting while you are there.  The series will continue through next month with a different mom posting each Tuesday.  Thanks for reading!

Here is an excerpt of my post:

"...Our identity needs to be rooted in something unchanging, something that cannot be taken away. Ultimately motherhood is no more guaranteed than anything else in this world. We may not get to be mothers, we may lose our children through tragedy, and ultimately, our children will grow up and move away from us. What will we be when there are no more mouths to feed and tiny tears to dry?..."

further up and further in: novels and our spiritual journey

This week I started Middlemarch by George Eliot for the third time.  This time I'm determined to finish it.  I tried reading it in high school, and never got into it either from it not being more like Jane Austen or it being a little too advanced.  In college it was assigned for my British Novel class my junior year, but I had a stack of 11 novels to read that spring semester along with the rest of my homework and too many extra curricular activities, so a poor skimming of the first 100 pages or so was as far as I got.

It's funny to find myself enjoying a book that I had not enjoyed two times before, but this is certainly not the first time this has happened to me.

I always tried reading books that were a little too advanced for me when I was younger, for two reasons: I loved reading and was always looking for something new to read, and because I would certainly take pride in reading a book that was considered too difficult for someone my age.

Against my mother's advice I tried reading A Tale of Two Cities in 5th grade.  I had seen the Wishbone episode with the terrier starring as Charles Darnay and didn't think it could be too hard.  That book was soon set aside after reading a confusing chapter about a knitting woman and references to a revolution I hadn't studied yet.

In junior high I slaved over the pages of Emma after loving the movie with Gwyneth Paltrow.  I finished it, but the story was much richer and easier to understand when I read it over again in high school.

In high school I spent over a year reading War and Peace off and on.  As an adult I read Anna Karenina with much less effort and better comprehension.

As I considered these misadventures and failures in reading, I thought about my spiritual life.  In high school I got emotional in an apologetics class when the teacher suggested that children didn't really understand the gospel when they accepted Christ at a young age.  I spoke up and shared that my conversion experience as a four year old was very real, and I knew that I had accepted the gospel to the level I was capable of at that age.  At that time in my life, I was seriously doubting areas of my faith, but deep down I knew that the day I accepted Jesus as my Savior in our apartment in South Carolina, something had changed and altered the course of my life.

I think saying someone could not have a genuine spiritual experience when they are a small child would be like saying I could not read when I failed to finish A Tale of Two Cities in 5th grade.  I was certainly capable of reading at that time, and had been reading for a number of years already, but conceptually there were ideas I could not yet grasp fully.  As I advanced in my understanding and experience of the world, more and more books have opened up to me, but I was not less of a reader as a 6-year-old than I am now.  The day words began to have meaning instead of being mysterious symbols I could not comprehend, I became a reader and have been one ever since.

Similarly, I think our spiritual journeys often parallel the experience I had with reading.  When I accepted Jesus at four, there were many concepts and truths I didn't understand fully or even knew existed.  Grace and sanctification, joy and trust, propitiation and redemption.  Words that I could never have defined for you on that couch in South Carolina, but Jesus was starting a work in my heart even then.

As we grow in our faith there are often watershed moments.  When I first began to really understand grace, I had already been a Christian for a very long time.  It was a face-palming moment.  How could I have been so blind to a grace that has been here all along?  This concept is so integral to my faith. Why had I fought against it for so many years?

The longer we are Christians, the more time we have to understand a God so big and so great that even after we have spent thousands of years with Him in heaven we will only have dipped our toes into the unfathomable depths of His being.

There is no shame in recognizing how much you didn't understand about your faith when you first started, whether as a child or much later.  There is no shame in realizing how wrong you may have been about God even as you grew to love Him.

Sometimes I think in church we recommit ourselves to God over and over again, not just as an adjustment in the trajectory towards Him, but in face-reddening shame, feeling like we were never Christians in the first place.  Sometimes this may be true, but I think we are missing the fact that we are works in a process of sanctification.  No acceptance of the gospel equals spiritual perfection.  If that were true, we'd all need a do-over because none of us are perfect.  That's why we need Jesus.

If I had been told I didn't understand reading as a child because I couldn't yet read Tolstoy or Dickens, I probably would have quit right then.  If teachers thought they had to have their students reading Paradise Lost in kindergarten, they wouldn't try teaching children to read at all.

I think we do this with children or the childlike when teaching spiritual truths and concepts.  Children's ministries suffer when people think that children can't fully understand the gospel.  People with disabilities can be neglected altogether because they do not have the attention span to sit through a normal Sunday school presentation and tend to be disruptive.  Jesus was willing to share the good news to people of all levels.  He asked for the little children to be brought to him.  He stuck with the disciples even though they repeatedly misunderstood His teachings and calling.  In fact Jesus even said we have something to learn from the way children accept the gospel, "I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it."  Luke 18:17

God doesn't expect us to get everything right at the moment of salvation, so we can rest knowing that our spiritual experiences are genuine even if we don't have all the pieces yet.  We can go forth and share the gospel with confidence knowing that we are all works in progress, and newer, deeper spiritual experience doesn't negate the effect the gospel has already had on our lives.

It's not failure when we admit we don't understand everything.  Knowing that we don't know everything is the posture of a learner.  The only failure is in refusing to learn and grow beyond where you are currently.

If I never moved on from Dr. Seuss and Curious George to read deeper and more complicated works of literature, my life would be less rich and my understanding of the world far narrower.  I would not have ceased to be a reader, but I would have missed out on so much.

So let's run further up and further in, chasing God through our lives, seeking to understand Him better and better each day.  Some days we may feel like giving up, as I did reading novels that were out of my depth, but I promise, those moments where God reveals to you something you never understood before but struggled with your whole life, those moments are worth the journey and the struggle to get there.

when we don't want to read: moving from apathy to prayer

21 Christian men were beheaded this weekend by the Islamic State.  It’s trending on Facebook as Christian friends across America share their horror and a call to pray for our brothers and sisters that are being persecuted and killed.  21.  And that’s just the deaths that were made public.  Who knows how many Christians have died anonymously today, their churches burned down, dying in the darkness of a brothel, or beaten to death for not denying Christ.  

But I brush past it.  I look to other posts about SNL’s 40th anniversary or a baby’s birthday or anything, anything else to help me forget the distant horror and my inability to prevent these things from happening to my brothers and sisters.

I shudder at my apathy, my attempts to move on before sitting with this tragedy and praying for the ones who lose everything for the gospel.  The gospel that I have the audacity to say means everything to me as well.

So I stop, I try to think, make myself reflect.

I think about my family.  My family.  The one thing that helps me connect the dots of empathy when others suffer.  What if my husband was on that video?  What if today my daughter was stolen from me and sold into slavery?  The stabs of pain that rise instinctively in my heart make the souls of sisters who lost their husbands, brothers, fathers today appear in my mind and rest in my heart. Screams buried in pillows and unconsolable weeping on the floor.  Crying out to God for vengeance, to God for mercy.  Or no words, just Spirit groaning that we cannot, dare not utter.

When I stop and think, and reflect on the God these men died for so bravely... I understand the God in my Bible better than I did before I woke up this morning.  I understand why God will judge and avenge.  What father will not seek justice when his children are brutally murdered before him?

I understand better why the Jews cried out for God to repay their enemies after they were oppressed and killed by their adversaries.  I understand why Jesus is coming back and will separate the wheat from the chaff.  Because my soul wants vengeance, I want justice for every innocent person that dies worldwide.  For every child that dies without a choice, for every child that loses their parents, for every wife that loses her husband, for every parent that loses their children.  I want to scream, “No more!  Jesus, precious Jesus, please come back!  No more bloodshed!”

And then I think about Jesus Himself, dying brutally on the cross, no stranger to suffering.  Dying for us, dying that mercy could be extended even to the ones who killed Him.  

Mercy.  My God, the God of the 21, is not only a God of judgment.  But a God of mercy.  And He waits, in His waiting for judgment there is mercy.  I remember that there is mercy because all the murderers and the murdered are all children of God, sons of Adam and daughters of Eve. He gives one more minute, one more hour, one more day, one more year.  One more chance for the murderers, the ones who murder innocent people and the ones who murder in their heart, for the adulterers, for the liars, for the coveters, for the abusers, for the thieves, for the gossipers, for the apathetic, for the careless, for the victims.  One more chance for every one to come to Him, because He made us, He loves us, and wills that none should perish for eternity even though we die temporarily... He has mercy because our eternity is hanging in the balance, and He wants us to spend it with Him.

Most days judgment and mercy are hard to reconcile.  But today, if I stop and reflect, they are clearer than ever before.  Today I’m praying for justice, and praying for mercy.  Today I’m praying for comfort and peace for the sufferers, and that the oppressors would meet the Prince of Peace.  I’m praying that the blood that was spilled would not be forgotten, and trust that God who sees even the sparrow fall, will not let it be in vain.

Today I will not pass by, and will petition the God who sees all to have mercy and judgment in His time.

pregnancy and the presence of God

Last year when I would get home from work after a busy day running summer camp, Tim would ask me, "Did you feel the baby kicking today?"

I would shrug, feeling the panic settle in as I softly responded, "I don't know."  Then, I would pause and listen quietly, focusing my attention to my womb and wait for the tell-tale pop that reminded me she was still moving, heart beating, legs kicking, arms flailing.

When I wasn't thinking about her, I often didn't feel her move.  When we would hear her heartbeat at the doctor or go to an ultrasound, it felt like I left her in the room when we went home.  It didn't feel like she was present with me once I couldn't hear her heart or see her moving.

I think that I often feel this way about the presence of God.  Just like Lucy was present with me wherever I went for the whole pregnancy, so God has been present with me wherever I go for many years. And when I don't attend to Him, when I'm not listening quietly for Him, focusing my heart, I feel like He's not even here.  There are times, like the ultrasound or hearing the heart beat, that His voice is so clear, or I see His movement in the world.  And it is easy to feel like I left Him in those moments, that He was present then but present no longer.

"And He said, "Go out and stand on the mount before the Lord." And behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind tore the mountains and broke in pieces the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind.  And after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake.  And after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire.  And after the fire a sound of a low whisper."  1 Kings 19:9-12

I must admit, that just as I was often too busy or mind-gone-crazy to feel my own baby kicking inside me,  I often miss the whisper of God and feel like I'm alone.

It's hard to hear Him when life is loud, and everything is screaming for your attention; from media to people, there are a thousand things to distract us from God.  It's hard to hear Him when depression envelops you, when suffering is sapping your physical and emotional strength, when a good God seems far away from your bad circumstances.  It can even be hard to hear Him when life is good, when you feel happy and content, and the pleasant times distract you from a God that may have a plan to shake up your comfortable life.

So I'm trying to practice being in His presence, by listening for His voice, and watching to see what He's doing in the world.  Similar to my experience being pregnant with Lucy, if I'm not thinking about God, I'm probably missing the signs that He is present.  I'm also trying to listen to the promptings that make me uncomfortable.  Knock on that neighbor's door.  Talk to that family at church.  Email that friend I haven't spoken to for awhile.  Forgive that person that didn't even know they hurt me.  Be more organized with the time and resources He has given me.  Use the gifts that He has given me for His purposes, not bury them or use them for myself.

"We may ignore, but we can nowhere evade, the presence of God.  The world is crowded with Him.  He walks everywhere incognito.  And the incognito is not always easy to penetrate.  The real labor is to remember to attend.  In fact to come awake.  Still more to remain awake."  C.S. Lewis

Sometimes the Holy Spirit tells us to do something big, but most often I think it is the little acts of obedience, the daily dying to ourselves, that pleases God and draws us closer to Him.  Communing with the Lord through prayer and obedience makes me feel so much nearer to the God who is there, present with me, whether I feel it or not.  I want to stay awake to His presence. I want to see Him everywhere.

A couple months after summer camp was over, after hours of difficult labor, I finally held my precious baby in my arms.  The face I had been longing to see for months stared up at me with her big, beautiful blue eyes.  The little girl I longed to know was present with me in a deeper way than ever before.  I could hear her voice, touch her hands and feet, and hold her close.  Everyday I get to know her better as I hear her laugh, hug her, play with her, go for walks, read with her, nap on the couch, and watch her grow.  Each day is filled with her visible, tangible presence.

I find hope in the fact that, while it can be hard to feel the movement and hear the whispers this side of Heaven, there is a day coming where we will see His face.  Just like my pregnancy was for a time with Lucy, so the time distant from the incognito Jesus will end.  We will hug Him, sit with Him, talk with Him, and collapse before Him in adoration because He, the One we have been longing for and waiting for, will be with us forever.  We will rest and laugh in His presence and this waiting, this pregnancy, will seem like a dream in comparison to that glorious reality.

Never forget that when He seems far, when He seems absent, He has promised that He is close.  "Behold, I am with you always, even to the end of the age." Matthew 28:20

watch, wait, see

Lately, I've been reminded of how often I miss things.  I've often allowed distractions whether inside my head or outside of it to make me miss the things that are right in front of my eyes.  A hurry, rush, distract mindset keeps me from a watch, wait, and see kind of life, the kind I ultimately desire.

A few weeks ago I finished reading "Pilgrim at Tinker Creek," a book of reflections by Annie Dillard from living next to and observing a creek and the life surrounding it and in it for a year.  I read it over the course of a few months, which was not the best way to read it, but I loved it despite struggling to sometimes grasp the overarching structure, which was fully revealed at the end.

The thing I learned, the thing that changed me from reading it was a reawakened desire to see, to be present and watch for things I would otherwise miss in my daily mental distraction.

Around the time I finished the book it finally started getting warm here in Chicago.  My daughter and I go on frequent walks together through our neighborhood, soaking up the sun I missed so badly, and my baby girl meeting the sun for the first time after spending her first months of life trapped inside by late fall and a long winter.

Now I watch, I try to see things I would normally miss.  So like Annie waiting on the bridge for muskrats, I look to see things in places that are familiar, waiting to see something new.  I saw a bird with black and white markings with a red badge on its chest, a kind I had never seen before in the next door neighbor's tree.  I marveled at the nearly naked trees exploding into vibrant green after the spring rain last week.  I saw bird droppings fall from a tree.  I stopped to breathe and smell lilacs.  I watched squirrels carry their trash turned treasure from the garbage cans along the fence.  I saw a tree bloom beautiful pink blossoms one day, and returned to see the petals covering the sidewalk a couple days later.

And I watch my baby.  I watch her take in everything for the first time.  I see her look up into the trees and gaze at the branches, stark against the blue sky.  I watch her grip the tray of her stroller, sticking out her little chin, braving the spring wind, looking like a tiny sea captain of a ship she can't steer.   I see neighbors smile at her whether or not they make eye contact with me.  I hear her babbling and cooing to the trees, the flowers, the wind.  I watch her give in to sleep and wait for her to wake up and discover more of the world surrounding her.

I'm seeing the beauty, the gifts around me, and the newness of life in spite of the brokenness around me.  

It isn't all idyllic in a Chicago neighborhood.  There were emergency vehicles on our block the other night. A man passed away a few houses down. We've seen graffiti on garages, on stop signs.  There are streets full of potholes.  There are homeless men peddling at the corner.  One look at the Tribune in the morning can sour your day to there being any hope in a violent city like this.

Pascal said, "Every religion that does not confirm that God is hidden, is not true."  The brokenness is often the blinder, the shield against seeing the God who heals and creates, the God who makes all things new.

The brokenness is evident not just among humans but in the world of creatures as well.  In the second half of Tinker Creek, Dillard spends time focusing on the violence in creation.  Animals eating their own young,  the mating ritual of praying mantises, bugs and animals living parasitically off of each other, the river floods.  Even in a pastoral setting with few humans to cause trouble, there is violence, there is pain.

Prolonged study of nature, be it the created world or mankind or both together, will dazzle the observer with breathtaking sights of beauty and bitter signs of corruption.  Things are beautiful and things are broken.

"Reading about nature is fine, but if a person walks in the woods and listens carefully, he can learn more than what is in books, for they speak with the voice of God."- George Washington Carver

I want the voice of God to speak to me in sunsets and spring rain, but could it be that the voice is just as loud when I walk by the dead body of a pigeon, a fallen tree, a smelly sewer grate, a one-eyed dog?

"For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities - His eternal power and divine nature - have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse." Romans 1:20

Photo by Michal Ann Seeland

Perhaps the voice that shouts to me of the divine nature of God when I see the stars in the Northwoods is the same voice that screams inside me when another child is shot on the south side of my city, when someone dies too young, too soon.  The voice that cries "all is not right" begs me to recognize that there must be something, Somebody who is right, who is good.  That this world wasn't made for violence, and one day it will be violent no more.

Can the brokenness that hides God help us find Him once again?

Can the glimpses of beauty remind us there is something Beautiful behind it?

Will we be saved by observation that leads to sorrow that leads to repentance?

We took a walk last week and passed the house that was visited by emergency vehicles a few days earlier.  Our little neighbor was running through the grass and laying dandelions and tulip petals on the porch steps.  "I'm decorating the porch for my neighbor who died," she told us solemnly.  Beauty in brokenness.

The world around us is one grand parable of a hidden God that will make Himself known to children and those with child-like hearts. He will speak in the splendor and the suffering.  We must wait, watch, and see that we may know and understand.  Open eyes may lead to our salvation.

"Jesus asked, "Do you see anything?"  He looked up and said, "I see people; they look like trees walking around." Once more Jesus put His hands on the man's eyes.  Then his eyes were opened, his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly." Mark 8:23-25

We can't stop looking for the God who gives sight to the blind, makes the lame walk, and the deaf hear.  The God who made things perfectly is renewing that which is broken.  Whole or shattered, He is still here amongst the pieces for those who look for Him.

"And He who was seated on the throne said, "Behold, I am making all things new." Revelation 21:5

the lake: poem & song

the waves crest white with foam
not ice
the thaw has settled in

my fingertips test the lake's shallowest place
recoil
though thawed still frigid

breathe in deeply, the wind races by
skyline
cuts across bike path and sand

first time by the water, sun's warmth
her face
she smiles and laughs, eyes full with wonder

we will return, not this week but maybe next
summer
is coming and the waiting won't be long

one last look as we return to the car, not goodbye
good day
we'll see you again soon

____________________

Poem & song inspired by our daughter's first trip to the Lakeshore.

"Speak Lord, Your servant is listening."

I tune things out.  Tim alerted me to this one day a few years ago at my parents' house.  I was having a nice conversation when Tim interrupted, "Do you realize two of your sisters are trying to talk to you and one is crying in the next room?"

Embarrassed I defended myself by saying that if you grow up in a house with 13 people, you'll have to tune some things out if you want to get anything done.  There is a little truth to my defense, but it was indefensible to let my sister cry while I chatted away.

Since having a baby of my own, I've noticed that I still tune out most things, but I'm always ready to hear her voice.

When she is laying down for a nap, I quietly catch up on tasks, listening intently all the while for the first whimper that signals nap time is over.  I check regularly whether I hear a sound or not to make sure I haven't missed her cry.  But when I do hear her, it is unmistakable.  I know her voice so well; the voice of my baby. Five months of intensive one-on-one time has attuned me to her voice, even when we are in a large crowd of people.

My sensitivity to my baby's voice is a sensitivity I long to have to the voice of God.

In our daily devotional, we have been going through 1st Samuel.  At the beginning of the book, Samuel, the child of Hannah's prayers, is called by name in the middle of the night.  He mistakes it for the voice of the old prophet Eli.  Eli, groggy with sleep, tells him to go back to bed.  This happens three times before Eli "realized that the Lord was calling the boy." (1 Sam. 3:8)  Eli then instructs Samuel to go back to bed, "and if He calls you, say, 'Speak, Lord, for Your servant is listening.'" (1 Sam. 3:9)

The Lord then speaks to Samuel, telling of the downfall of the house of Eli.  Samuel shares the word of the Lord with Eli, which Eli accepts as the Lord's will.  Samuel continues serving the Lord, and the Scripture says that "the Lord was with Samuel as he grew up and He let none of his words fall to the ground." (1 Sam. 3:19)

Eli is a tragic figure in the book of Samuel. He knew the Lord, but he has raised worthless sons that have been leading the people away from God with their wickedness.  Eli is rarely, if ever, hearing the voice of God anymore. It says earlier in the passage that "in those days the word of the Lord was rare; there were not many visions." (1 Sam. 3:1)

I often identify with Samuel in this passage, wanting the simplicity of the words, "Speak Lord, for Your servant is listening," to be the theme of my life, the story of my days, the echoing cry of each minute I breathe.  I want ears that not only hear the voice of God, but listen to it, and obey it.

Though I have long identified with Samuel, I fear becoming like Eli.  I'm afraid that years of disobedience, or half-obedience may deaden my ears to the voice of the Lord, the voice calling my name in the quiet hours of the night.  I'm afraid that I won't be ready to hear His voice, afraid that I will become complacent and miss it.  Like Eli, I might miss the voice of God because I am out of practice and no longer attentive, instead of waiting to hear His voice at all times like I wait to hear my baby's voice.

I am not young Samuel anymore, hearing the voice of God for the first time.  I have heard the voice of God in my life and responded to it.  God has been with me. But mine is not a story of perfect obedience, and there are days that feel like the word of the Lord is rare.  Times that I'm in danger of becoming the house of Eli, instead of the faithful Samuel.

Why don't I always listen?  I'm afraid to listen because I'm afraid of the call to repentance, the voice calling me to smash an idol, to give more, to love more sacrificially, to stop living like my life is about me and my plans, to start losing this life to Jesus instead of scrambling to save it for myself.

What I forget though, is that every time I listen, God reminds of this first: "I love you Abby."  The words that I so desperately need to hear always precede the words I'm afraid to hear.  I am loved by God, and His kindness leads to me to repentance. (Romans 2:4)  I repent because of God's love for me, out of love for Him.

Dallas Willard writes, "Our failure to hear His voice when we want to is due to the fact that we do not in general want to hear it, that we want it only when we think we need it."  I want my desire to hear the voice of God to supersede my fear about what He might say, or what I hope to hear Him say.

The reason I can hear my baby's voice above all others is I practice listening to it.  I strain to hear it. Sometimes I even imagine I have heard it and then check and find she is still sleeping quietly in the bedroom.  I am ready at any given moment to hear her voice and drop whatever else I am doing immediately.  I know her voice from practice and I hear it out of attentiveness.

I don't want to just listen to God when I have an important decision to make and need direction.  I want to hear Him calling me to a better attitude as I wash the dishes, I want to hear Him speak of His love for my neighbors as I walk down our block, I want to hear Him when He calls me to little acts of faithfulness throughout the day.  I want to hear the call to repentance, the call of mercy bringing me back from my sin.  I want to hear the voice that says I love you not because of the things you do, but because I am love, and you are my beloved daughter.  I want to practice attentiveness to the voice of God so I'm ready whenever He calls, not just when I want to hear Him.

Relationships collapse when the lines of communication are broken.  We all want to be heard, but it's much harder to listen.  I'm ready to stop talking at God and start listening.

"A man prayed, and at first he thought that prayer was talking.  But he became more and more quiet until in the end he realized that prayer is listening." -Søren Kierkegaard.

this child in His hands

Less than a year ago I was crying out to the Lord asking Him to give us a Samuel that we could give back to Him.

A few months later I was crying in the bathroom, holding a positive pregnancy test.

Today, we are a month and half from our due date, and I'm still having a hard time grasping the fact that our daughter is moving around inside me and we will soon, Lord willing, be holding her in our arms.

I've learned so much about how God really is the One holding all things together over this past year, and how little I'm in control.

When we got pregnant, it was so easy to worry.  At the beginning you have little assurance that everything is going okay with your little lentil-sized baby.  You can't hear the heartbeat, you can't feel her kicking, and the doctor has very little to say to you other than "I hope your nausea and vomiting subsides soon."

There is so much fear that you will do something, eat something, or that something else you can't control will happen to you that will cause you to lose this baby you have waited for, this baby that you prayed for.

And I found myself right where I was in November, on my knees, asking God to do what I could not.  This time it was begging Him to sustain the life that He created inside me.

As I gave Him control over our baby's life, I realized that this wasn't something I was just going to do while I was pregnant, but something I'm going to need to do for the rest of our daughter's life, no matter how long or how short it is, for each day that God gives her. He must be the one sustaining her and giving her life.

There are so many things in this world that can cause her harm, and I won't have the power to protect her from them.  Even if I kept her cooped up in the apartment with me for the rest of my life like a Miss Haversham she could still get hurt, still get burned by a broken world.

And the more effort I expend trying to control her life, that will only give her reason to hate me and the unreasonable constraints I try to impose on her for her safety.

God does use parents as a means of provision and protection for the little ones of creation.  But He never intended that we try to become the gods of their lives by controlling them and protecting them from all harm.  We couldn't do it even if we tried.  We are helpless to give them all that they need, but God can and will be the everything for them that we could never be.

It's comforting to me to remember that the deep and overwhelming love I feel for this little one inside me is not even a fraction of the love that God has for her.  He loves her more than I ever can, and that is someone I can trust with taking care of her when I am powerless and weak.

"Now they were bringing even infants to Him that He might touch them.  And when the disciples saw it, they rebuked them.  But Jesus called them to Him, saying, 'Let the children come to Me, and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God.  Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it.'"  Luke 18:15-17

I pray that God would protect me from ever hindering His little one from coming to Him, and I hope that everyday will be a chance for me to bring our baby girl to Him that He might touch her and make her whole.

spring

my shoulders relax as the sun defrosts my body,

the stress, the cold that made me ache melts away.

my mood lifts as the temperature rises

and I feel that I'm alive again, I'm being renewed.

the sky is bluer, the air is warmer.

I can hear the birds once again, the breeze is fragrant.

the wind doesn't cut through to my bone, down to the marrow.

I welcome the rush round my face and through my hair.

the clouds are golden as the sun sets after dinner.

I don't mourn its departure, for I know tomorrow,

tomorrow it will rise before I do and wake me with its brightness,

and the day will be new, fresh, and light.

once again death is held at bay, the cold is banished.

for a time we will revel in the sun and heat

and remember that no cold will ever stay forever

and death will never win.

on passing, love, and regret.

Great Grandma Smit passed away a few months ago.

It was hard not to feel pangs of guilt, the aftermath after she took her last breath.  Grandma was always quiet.  She said very little and usually just sat watching you play and chatter away with your cousins.

As I heard the stories and the memories about Grandma, I felt not just, "I miss Grandma," but "I missed Grandma."  I missed her while she was here, I missed out on getting to know her.

Even though I didn't see Grandma that much growing up, over the course of my life there were many parties that I could have sat next to her, asked her about her childhood, what it was like having eight children, what she missed most about Grandpa, why she loved Jesus, and so on.

But I didn't.  I was young enough to care more about presents, care more about me.  And the older I got, I didn't always know where to start.  So being with Grandma meant giving her a hug and telling her it was good to see her, but that was all.

Despite the regret, there are memories.  Touches of Grandma that thread through my childhood and my sibling's childhood too.  The receiving blankets that she crocheted borders to, wrapped around all of my brothers and sisters as infants.  The washcloths she made that wiped off sticky hands and counter tops   The handmade caramels that were the most important part of the Smit Family Christmas to my brother Isaac and I.  We would stuff our dress clothes pockets with them and savor them for days.

And one day, when I was small, she knelt down on the floor with me and helped me make a puzzle that was too difficult for me to do on my own.  Grandma was a master when it came to puzzles.  I never would have finished that Little Mermaid puzzle without her help.

As I reflected over the passing of Grandma, I wondered if regret was unavoidable.  Whether we don't spend enough time with our loved ones, don't listen enough, don't say I love you enough, or the last thing we said isn't what we wanted it to be... our lives are tinged with regret.  We just aren't as perfect as we want to be, and that unavoidably affects our relationships, especially with those who are closest to us.

A fallen world means fallen relationships, and we feel the sting most bitterly at the passing of loved ones.  What hope is there, when hurt is unavoidable?

As we sat in Grandma's funeral service, I was struck with the depth of her spirit and her love as I heard stories from the pastor and family members.  When Grandma died she left a legacy of love for Jesus and her family, and that legacy lives on today.  I experience it in my family and my extended family... and it is getting passed onto to the next generation already, to our cousins' children and my brother's newborn son Ezra.

This legacy is bigger than the regret in my own heart.  Through the very act of fellowship with family, through loving them and being present with them, we pass on their legacy of love to the ones they loved so dearly.  And one day, we too shall pass away and be reunited with Christ, our loved ones, and there will be no more tears.  The regret is soothed by being with family and making right what was wrong in the past through neglect or selfishness.

Not all families though have a legacy of Christ, or some parts of your family may be more broken than others.  The amazing thing is that the love, the legacy can start with you.  Anyone of us can choose to be the ones to break cycles of dysfunction and familial pain and be that Grandma or Grandpa.... the one that generations from now your children's children will remember and say, we are where we are because Great Grandma loved Jesus.

Abraham was a man like that.  He responded to the call of God and left a history of paganism to become a spiritual father to thousands of generations who love God.

Let the love of Christ take root in your own heart and share it with those you love.  You can change your family's story by letting the legacy begin with you. 

I am learning through all of this, to work on being present with those I love.  To focus, cut down distractions and cherish the moments because young or old, none of us are guaranteed to live tomorrow, next week, or next year.  I want to share the love of Christ everyday through word and deed.

 I  am thankful for Grandma.  I will remember her love for Jesus and her family.  And I look forward to giving her a hug again one day in heaven.

praying for samuel

 "She was deeply distressed and prayed to the Lord and wept bitterly.  And she vowed a vow and said, "O Lord of hosts, if You will indeed look on the affliction of Your servant and remember me and not forget Your servant, but will give Your servant a son, then I will give him to the Lord all the days of his life."  1 Samuel 1:10-11

Yesterday in church, as I watched families walk in and the worship team sang... my eyes filled with tears.  I stood there crying and prayed silently in my heart.

"Even if You just give us one Lord, I will be satisfied.  Please give us our Samuel and I will give him back to You."

As Sarah sang about the extravagant love of Jesus, I wiped away the tears and prayed again.

"Lord, even if You do not give us any children, I will still praise You.  Blessed be Your name."

Waiting for our Samuel has been an emotional roller-coaster over the past couple years.  There are times when I'm more okay with it then others, times where it stings a little more and times where I am soothed.  Times that I remember the things God has done while we wait, and times that I feel hurt and bitter.  Times that I'm excited still for opportunities we may have while we are still childless and times that I simply wonder why?  Times that I feel like it will happen and times that I feel like it never will.

I haven't often prayed specifically for a baby because I have been afraid to.  It's hard to sort through the emotions that keep me from praying for a child but they seem to fall into two categories.

Sometimes I'm afraid to pray for a baby because I know it may not be God's timing yet and that there are more things for us to do.  I know things will change a lot and maybe I'm not ready.  Maybe there are a few more adventures that are planned for Tim and I without children.  I worry that I will pray for a baby and then will see that God gave me what I wanted but it wasn't what He wanted.

And other times I'm afraid to pray because I'm afraid of the answer being no.  It's almost like if I hold back on that prayer, there's still a chance that we will have a baby.  There's a chance that I haven't tried everything yet, and I want that answer to be yes so I'll wait.

It's all very emotionally convoluted and I realize it doesn't make much sense because it doesn't make sense to me.  I also realize that there are many couples who have waited much longer than we have.  This struggle is widespread and painful for many.   It is difficult because you are reminded of it every month you aren't pregnant.  Some months are better than others, but the disappointment remains.

I often think about the women in the Bible that were barren.  Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, Hannah, and Elizabeth.  Many of them waited many years, some of them until they were very old (Sarah & Elizabeth) to bear a child.

I love how in those stories it isn't punishment that is causing them to be barren, but for God's glory He chooses to wait sometimes.  Sometimes the answer is not yet, and sometimes it is never, but God always works things for good to those that love Him.

I didn't want to post this.  I cried about it in the car yesterday because I felt like it was what I needed to write and I didn't want to share.  I didn't want to let anyone in to my pain, I wanted to lick my wounds alone.  But I know that often it is through the sharing of our suffering that we are healed.

While we drove to my parents house and talked about praying for a baby, "Casimir Pulaski Day" played in the background through our speakers.

As I shoved the tears off my cheeks the last lines repeated in my ears.

"And He takes, and He takes, and He takes."

In my mind I heard the words to "Blessed Be Your Name" as an echo.

"You give and take away, You give and take away.  My heart will choose to say, Lord blessed be Your name."

I will pray and wait patiently for our Samuel.  Whether he comes from my womb or the womb of another, I will pray for him.  And I know that barren or fruitful, children or no children, the Lord is good, the Lord is love, and His mercies endure forever.  I will praise Him as long as I have breath.  My heart will choose to say, Lord blessed be Your name.

corner-cutting, a looking-glass, and true love

Friday morning last week I hit the snooze button.  Then I hit it again.  And then maybe once more.  I woke up a little flustered and hurried through my quiet time with God.  Checked my email.  Showered.  Dressed.  Facial routine.  Blow-dried my hair.  Ate breakfast.  And so on.

As I turned over the morning in my mind on the way to work, I got to thinking.  "How come the only thing that gets shortened or cut out of my routine in the morning when I oversleep is God?"

That made me uneasy.  How does blow-drying my hair somehow have greater importance than the One who knows how many hairs are on my head?

Where I cut corners shows where my heart lies.

I'm ashamed to say, my desire on Friday morning was to look presentable and not stink like a greasy animal.  I'm not saying that isn't a worthy goal that we all should strive for in the morning, but maybe there is something more, much more.

What if Jesus (our time with Him and just Him Himself) really was more important than anything?  I want that so badly and yet I have to keep working at it and remind myself to work at it.

When I was in high school my parents sent my brother and I on wilderness backpacking trips with a camp in the North Woods.  Their goal was to toughen us up, I think.  For nine days we didn't have deodorant, soap, or toilet paper.  We didn't have phones or watches, and the counselors only let us see enough map to get where we were going each day.

On the last evening of the trip, my group camped close to the main camp.  We were next to this old, abandoned looking cabin-shack.  It had a dirty glass window and as I passed by it with my handful of sticks for the fire I saw my reflection.  And for the first time in my life (since I was an infant I guess), I didn't recognize myself.  I hadn't seen myself for days and the faces that I really knew well were the faces of my counselors and the other girls in my group.

I think about that whenever I think deeply about the face of Jesus and what it would be like if I truly lost myself in Him.  Wouldn't it be amazing if we were in the Word and prayer so much all we could think of was the face of Jesus?  What if we forgot ourselves in our love for Him?

Love is like that.  When you fall in love with someone you lose your mind.  You stay up later than you should just to spend more time with them or one more minute on the phone.  You spend all your extra money buying them presents or saving up for cool dates.  You think about them every minute of the day... writing their name everywhere and counting down the minutes until you get to be with them again.

And it's awesome.  You wouldn't change it. You are in love.

What if Jesus really consumed us, what if we fell in love with Him?

"May the Lord direct your hearts to the love of God and to the steadfastness of Christ."  2 Thessalonians 3:5

God is love.  Deep, strong, passionate, jealous, tender, holy, perfect, forgiving, unending love.  Are we willing to say yes to it?  Are we willing to lose ourselves in His love?

Can we commit to this love even when it is difficult?  When it calls for an early morning, a stressful day, or a lifetime of sacrifice?

I guess you could ask the same question to a young couple as they say their wedding vows.  Do you think this is worth it?  Do you think it's worth the imperfections, trials, and heartaches?  And as they look their loved one in the eye, they say "I do."

I'm saying yes to Jesus and I'm choosing to say yes everyday to His love.

longing, heartache, and the north wind

Several years ago, fifteen to be exact, I was a young girl and my family had just moved from Illinois to Southern California.  Many tears were shed in the days leading up to, during, and after that move.  We left our extended family and close friends behind...and at 10 years old I didn't think that I could recover until we moved back.

I clung hard to the memories.  I kept a box of things that reminded me of my best friends from Illinois.  There were letters mailed and phone calls.  There were visits from Grandparents that were always wonderful and always too short.  There were tears shed before bed and dreams that I fought to stay in as I awoke, dreams that had magically transported me back to our old home... which were strange and unlike the real thing, but a part of it nonetheless.

I couldn't understand why God had moved us away, and struggled with that for a long time.

My family moved again, this time to Fresno, California.  Gradually, as we made friends and grew to love the beautiful state we lived in, I became more accustomed to the idea of being there... even as my heart longed to be back with family once again.

By the end of my junior year of high school, our family faced another change.  We were finally moving back to Illinois.  Our stay in California was over.  A wide ranging storm of emotions came over me at that time and felt I would drown in them.  By the time I had really grown to love where we were, it was time to go.  Those years in California, though challenging at times, were full of wonderful memories, a very sweet time in my family's history.  Many lessons learned, many experiences shared.

As I look back at that time, do I wish that none of the changes had happened?  Would it have been easier to have never moved, never have felt the heartache in the first place?  Or to never have moved back from California and stayed there the rest of our lives?

In the past I would have said yes to any of those questions.  "Spare me the pain, please" would have been my response.  But removal of pain isn't always this answer.  Think of the famous quote... "Tis better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all."

I was thinking about a variation of this to fit my experience, "It is better to have lived and missed than to never have lived at all."  Less poetic, but you get the idea.

I think we need to allow ourselves the freedom to miss things and then challenge ourselves to be content if things never return to their former glory.  It doesn't mean that the glory and joy of life have passed away, it has simply changed.  And you will miss the now when it is gone too.

Looking back now I can see God orchestrating all things for good, and I'm so thankful that He is in control.  So many good things would never have happened if I had had my own way and been able to spare myself from pain.

Living to protect ourselves from hurting is a good way to hurt ourselves.  We are going to have heartache and sadness, we are going to miss things and wish for different circumstances no matter where we are.  Why not find a way to love the here and now?

Find a way to live fully.  As Jim Elliot once said, "Wherever you are, be all there."  A simple little quote, but a challenging one indeed.

But what about when the pain is too great?  When the people that we have lost were so dear we look to heaven and like Job wish that we had never seen the light outside our mother's womb?  The deep and abiding missing of things leads me to thoughts of heaven.  To the day that God will wipe away every tear from our eyes.  There will be no more longing, no more aching of separation but peace within the arms of God.

I look forward to heaven knowing that the God who made every good thing here, and there are many good things here despite the fallen nature of our world, has created an eternity that is beautiful and perfect and good.

The God who made the roaring ocean, sunsets streaked with purple clouds, soft velvety puppy ears, chubby baby fingers, blinding lightning, fiery red autumn leaves, musical notes that make us cry, joyful laughter, breathtaking spring wind, and dew covered grass knows how to create a pleasing, magnificent existence.  How much greater will forever be than now?

I just finished reading At the Back of the North Wind by George MacDonald last night.  Early on in the book a little boy named Diamond is befriended by the North Wind.  She takes him on adventures and one day she allows him to visit her back.  At the back of the North Wind there is no suffering or pain, but beauty and glorious music.  Diamond comes back from the North Wind and is always trying to remember the song that he heard sung by the brook.  He hears things on earth that remind him of it, but nothing is quite as beautiful.  You learn that Diamond was very sick while he was at the back of the North Wind, that it was a near death/heaven experience.  He longs to go back, and has no fear of any earthly thing... to the point that people on earth find him silly and think he has a screw loose.

I love that picture and the idea that once you have had a taste of something so beautiful, you won't be afraid anymore.

C.S. Lewis said, "If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world."

Missing things can steal joy from the now we have been given, and distract us from the longing we have for our resurrection.   

I want to find ways to live in the balance, to not live in fear of heartache but to remember, to live fully, and live in expectation of the coming One. 

""Surely I am coming quickly."  Amen.  Even so, come, Lord Jesus!"  Revelation 22:20

don't worry about tomorrow

Life is often a mess of worry and stress.  I started a new job a couple months ago.  I'm still working with adults with disabilities.  Same building, new programs, different non-profit, schedule change.  Now I work after-school programs and a Saturday program.

I underestimated the amount of stress I would feel with all the changes and the added responsibility of being a supervisor.  I find each week my stress level goes higher and higher until it reaches its peak on Friday evening as I feel unprepared for my biggest program on Saturday, and it slowly comes back to normal by Saturday evening.

I allow too many worries to flood my mind... worried that my class plans stink, that the staff think I'm ill-suited for the position and disorganized, that there is going to be a behavior I can't handle, that a parent is upset with me for a phone conversation that was confusing, and so on.

Despite all this anxiety, every Saturday night, even when the week had some hiccups I look back and say, "I didn't need to worry that much."  The stress that I allowed didn't make me more productive, more secure, more confident, more anything but unhappy and sick to my stomach.

On Wednesday evening last week I randomly decided to read from Matthew 6 before I went to bed.  I usually choose something from the Psalms but felt lead to the gospel.  I read the section about the birds and the lilies... and came to the final verse.

"Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself.  Sufficient for the day is its own trouble."  Matthew 6:34

As I read that passage and felt its comforting truth seep into my soul I realized that what I deemed a random choosing of a passage was a divine moment from the Father.  There were the words of Jesus, speaking into my life what I needed at that very moment.

It is so easy to be anxious and worry.  I think I mistake it at times for planning ahead, but there is a difference.  Planning ahead shouldn't make me feel sick in the morning and weepy at night.  Anxiety is an absence of trust, and I felt convicted.  I hadn't been trusting that God was going to take care of me.  I didn't trust that He could take care of me when I inevitably made mistakes and didn't handle things the right way.  When I didn't have things planned perfectly or when I just plain failed.

Thursday morning I re-read the passage in Matthew 6.  I felt so much better, and drove to work without worry.   As the day rolled on I was amazed to see how many things I was able to accomplish, but more than that my heart was at peace and free from anxiety.

"You will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You." Isaiah 26:3

I write this with an understanding that I am terrible at it.  Even as last week improved there were times on Friday and Saturday that I was tempted to revert to my old, well-worn habits.  It is almost humorous that it is so tempting to make ourselves feel so sick with worry about things we can or can't control.

An inner focus can only lead to sadness, anxiety, depression, doubt, and other unpleasant and downright awful consequences.  I've experienced these things and I don't want to continue the cycle.

I pray that the following verse would be a reality for me everyday, no matter how great or small the obstacles may be.

"Behold, God is my salvation; I will trust, and will not be afraid; for the Lord God is my strength and my song, and He has become my salvation."  Isaiah 12:2

an excuse of absence

In case you are one of the 14 people that read this blog and wonder why I haven't posted for the last six months... there is a reason.  I have been focusing my efforts lately on fiction, poetry, and finishing some projects.  So I may be posting some of those stories soon. :-)  Thanks for reading!

every day beautiful, every day sacred

I've been listening to the soundtrack to the movie Amelie repeatedly on Spotify the last couple days. Sometimes I like to think of different songs as the soundtrack to my life, and the Amelie songs by Yann Tiersen are so wonderful. They are light, they are moving, they are happy, they are sad. They run the gamut of daily emotions and color them beautifully. They make the everyday seem extraordinary.

If you have seen the movie Amelie, the heroine makes everyone's lives around her better in beautiful, caring ways. Amelie doesn't live in extraordinary circumstances. She has a mostly normal life, works at a diner. Doesn't really get to travel or do incredible things, but that doesn't stop her from living creatively and finding adventures.

I love how Amelie's care for the people around her makes her world beautiful. The everyday goes from being normal and commonplace to lovely and meaningful.

While the movie has some questionable content, the overall theme makes me want to make life beautiful where I am too. I want to live each day purposefully for Jesus and others. I want every day to be sacred.

Last night I was feeling down about work. Tim and I listened to a sermon by Tim Keller. Keller preached on Ephesians 6:5-9. In the passage Paul is addressing the relationships of slaves to masters and masters to slaves. Keller illuminated the context and showed that in many ways the slavery of Paul's day was more like our present day work situations than the slavery we are familiar with. We are supposed to honor our masters, our mangers as unto the Lord. Unto the Lord. He said that the way to make work bearable, make life meaningful, is to work for Jesus. Whether you are mopping floors or running a Fortune 500 company, you will only experience true joy and purpose when Jesus is your Manager, your Captain.

Keller did a good job explaining why every job is important in God's economy, from the lowest to the most praiseworthy of occupations. Our world simply cannot function if it isn't maintained, cleaned, managed, and cared for. Every task is important. Every work is beautiful when accomplished for Jesus.

Honestly, I felt frustrated when we were finished listening to the sermon. I thought, “Thanks Keller, that's easy for you to say. You are a pastor, your direct manager is God. Don't tell me how to do my job better, you don't know what it is like to be me.”

Not a cool reaction, but that is what I felt, even though I knew it was wrong. I felt convicted, I know there are unhealthy ways that I work and I don't usually work as unto the Lord. I don't work like I'm working for Jesus.

Tim and I debriefed the sermon together and when I woke up this morning I prayed, “Jesus, please help me work today for You.”

I felt more at peace today at work, enjoyed the people I serve, and felt all around better. Really better.

If it is so much easier for me to just work for Jesus, why the pain, why the anger?

Part of the struggle for me, and its a struggle I've been dealing with for years... I don't want to admit that I may be called to something that is hard for me, something that I don't love. I have felt that admitting that I'm called to something that I didn't dream of doing makes me a failure, and that ultimately I'll just be unhappy. I don't want to give up my perceived right to my own calling (which, if I'm the one doing the calling, it isn't much of calling anyway, is it?). I don't want to give away my right to a future I'm satisfied with. I don't want to give up my dreams to anyone, even God.

This morning, I again gave to God these things that I hold on to. My dreams and hopes for the future. I know that I just suffocate them when I hold them in my grubby hands.  They are always safer in His.

I had a bit of a personal watershed moment after listening to the sermon when I realized that I struggle with calling, purpose, and so on because I see every path as leading to a different me. There is the childless Abby that works a job she doesn't really like but gets to do some cool things because she has less responsibilities, maybe writes a book, learns a little French, has a dog, goes to Europe with Tim, and teaches a little poetry on the side.

There is the mother Abby, five babies in tow, enjoying the wonder of childhood and helping out at church with Tim. She doesn't get to do things she dreamed of doing but its ok because she has five cute little Tim's to care for and love.

There is the Abby that gets any number of the above things and isn't happy with any of them. And wonders what it is she really wanted in the first place.

Those are just a few examples of my bat-brained thinking, but it really effects how I live my everyday. Last night I realized that I need to stop thinking of the two possible Abbys, or three, or four and just focus on being the one Abby God has called me to be. The Abby that follows Jesus above all things. To not compartmentalize my future into possibilities based on what life events occur. Follow Jesus, do the things I love for Him. You have no idea how freeing that simple idea is to my heart.

Tim reminded me to just look at what my calling is for today. Love Jesus, love the people around me. Today that meant going to work, tomorrow it may too, but it doesn't mean that today's day is the way it will be forever.

This is a new perspective on life for me, one that I have known to be truth but not truly lived. This is a work in progress of course, even as I write this I feel the old doubts creeping back in, struggling to master my heart.  But I desire to make the everyday beautiful, sacred through loving Jesus and loving others. It doesn't matter if every dream doesn't pan out perfectly or if any do. It doesn't matter if I die tomorrow, am paralyzed in a year, never have children, or never set foot on the streets of Paris. It doesn't matter if I work in the same place for twenty more years, if I never write a book. Jesus is greater and the only thing that matters to me is that I grow closer to Him and see His face. My life can be simple and beautiful because Jesus is my Captain. The rest is gravy.

an addiction to distraction

For the first time in my life I gave something up for Lent.  I have participated in other fasts before, but never the 40 day period before Easter.  Perhaps this is because I didn't grow up Catholic, my churches didn't request it, or I simply was afraid of it.  Whatever the case may be, this is my first Lent.

I considered giving up some kind of food, but was dissuaded from that by my husband who reminded me that I already have a very limited diet due to allergies.  I then pondered giving up Pinterest, second guessed it, and in my reluctance to give it up realized that was the thing I needed to leave behind for 40 days.

I'm somewhat ashamed to admit that I was completely enamored with the virtual pinboard.  I used it to research projects at work, and when I came home I used it to unwind.  When I was stressed out by the day's activities and trials I let my eyes wander over the beautiful homes, colorful flowers, delicious recipes, gorgeous outfits,  creative crafts, and adorable baby clothes.  It was a useful tool, I have completed projects and made purchases based on finds on that site.  But it was becoming more than that for me.

It was my distraction.

I realized that things like Pinterest get used like anti-depressants in my life.  They distract me from the real issues that are bothering me, and when I get sucked in I don't have to think about them anymore.  Sometimes though, while I surf the beautiful pages, I see something that reminds me of my sadness and it drives me deeper, searching for another link, another page, one more click that will numb me to the emotions swirling around my heart.

These last few days I have wondered... what if I was more willing to tackle the ache face to face in the presence of God instead of pushing it to the side while I consume more media, more something?

The temptation has been to replace Pinterest and television shows with more media.  Tempted to revert back to more Facebook, more Twitter, more blog hopping, more virtual distraction.  More internet drugging.

This isn't a new phenomenon in my life.  I know that I have used other things, other good things to distract me from God, distract me from pain.  Whether it was getting lost in a book for a few days, constant music in my ears, nightly television, or hours of exercise I have sought ways to shield myself from the world and my God.

I honestly don't think that media is evil.  I love it and there are many great and noble things it can be used for, my favorite being storytelling.  But when media becomes escapism from God and reality, I fall into deeper depression, my own cyber slough of despond.

You may not struggle with this the way I do.  There are many different things that keep us from God, and this is just one of the ways I fall off the path of daily surrender.

I'm thankful for Lent this year, and that it's giving me the chance to refocus and orient my free time around connecting with God instead of updating my pinboards.

Unplugging a little bit is allowing my mind and heart to live out the Psalm..."Be still and know that I am God."  Psalm 46:10

the moon

psalm

You created the world.

You know the heights of every mountain, You molded them with Your hands.

You know the deepest corners of the rainforest, You fashioned the curve of each leaf and vine.

The uttermost edge of the arctic is not a stranger to You.

You know the depths of the ocean that man has never seen.

Your creation is glorious, You are the Lord almighty.

I'm in awe of the work of Your hands.