Author Archives: foundmercy

Gospel

I go on detours. Sometimes it seems like the detours take more time than the actual race. I have spent years in ditches, weeks on mountain ranges (just look at those clouds!), days meandering in meadows or swamps. If life were a finish-first type race, this would be devastating.

Life is not a finish-first type race; it is a finish-strong type race. Thank God.

Detours may be off the path, but I cannot deny how those detours inform how I walk the path when I return. Falling from heights has made me grateful, truly humble. Being chased from swampland by an alligator has made me think of it as the safest foundation. God pulling me up from the ditch has me dancing, not walking, on the rock beneath my feet. Every detour has only made the path more beautiful, more certain, more alluring. And while my desire to remain on this path grows with each detour, I find my tendency to stray no less.

What does this mean?

Only that after such a long detour this past several months of swimming in perspectives that glorify human experience, grasping at understanding like one who does not know he is in the dark, accepting reasoning that falls short of gospel-reasoning, I come up for air and find that the path is still here; the Ancient of Days is, in fact, still unchanged.

And my greatest problem is still — not the society I live in, the pain I feel, my coping mechanisms, DNA or even the sin of others — my greatest problem is my own sin. My own rebellion, my own hard-heartedness, my own selfishness, greed, and pride. And while all those other problems exist, if I attempt to understand them outside of the deep knowledge that my greatest problem has been gloriously solved for all eternity, I will despair.

Lately I have felt like I need to untangle all that I have gone through as a child and young adult, and spending so much time reading about the life experiences of others. I have been reading some (really good) parenting advice and I dipped my toes into the waters of psychology again as a means of trying to understand myself and how on earth I might heal a soul and body that has been through more than some people experience in twice as many years. YouTube recommended a channel about healing from cPTSD. The word “safety” keeps coming up in terms that my ancestors would have had a good laugh over. A dirty house makes you feel “unsafe”? Lipschein, I think the word you are looking for is “uncomfortable”.

One step into the waters of psychology quickly pulls me under, as these are the waters of my youth. I go from just wanting a little more context than I can find in scripture for my particular areas of struggle to breathing the water of God-outside-the-world, not relevant to the everyday, insufficient or indifferent to my emotional distress. God wasn’t enough to explain, so He lets me see how far I get without Him. Turns out, not far. I go from feeling like I am walking a narrow road with a small lamp at my feet to plunged in total darkness, no path at all, only a relentless tidal wave that batters me and threatens to pull me under.

The most upside-down thing is what brings me topside: a reminder that “we do not wrestle against flesh and blood”; a reminder that the gospel tells me my biggest struggle isn’t a body that “keeps score”, a brain full of faulty wiring, or even my own understanding of how to deal with those things. My biggest problem is that I am prone to take detours.

The detours are not the problem; I am not the problem; I am simply a human being who wanders like we all do. My choosing to take the detours — that choosing is the problem. But thanks be to God, I know the path. So many do not. So I am confronted today with a blessing that does not look like one until you see the other side of it: I have sinned and I can repent.

God uses all these things for good. Some of this I see; some of this I must trust. But this I know after so much wandering, so much meandering — He even uses my sin.

So I am going to publish this and it will probably serve more to confuse than edify, so if you have read this far let me leave you with something unequivocal:

The good news of the gospel is that Jesus Christ came to save sinners. He didn’t come primarily to bring rest to the weary (though He does), to bring justice to earth (though He will), or to make us “better people” (though we find in the course of following Him we have no choice but to look more like Him who is infinitely better than all we can ask or imagine). Jesus, on the cross, solved our biggest problem. When things get heavy or confusing, start there. You might just find yourself asking Him to keep you near.

A Reflection on Appreciation

Katie said she misses my writing. Here’s something I messed around with a couple months ago and kept waiting for inspiration on how it should end. Looks like the ending is good enough. It’ll do, anyway.

I was in my late twenties when I posted a “shower thought” on Facebook: Saying thank you when someone does what they should anyway is sorta like thanking them for existing. No one responded except for one lone comment: It’s called showing appreciation. Try it sometime. Ok, ok, the “try it sometime” is probably an addendum of my bitter imagination and several years’ rumination, but the correction stung. 

In fourth or fifth grade, I was asked to be a reading buddy for younger children. I did not do it for long. I can’t remember how it ended, but I do remember being chastised for my lack of encouragement and enthusiasm. 

When I was doing some team-building exercise with my youth group in high school, my team wasn’t doing well. In an attempt to spur us on, I called out, “Guys that was pathetic!” Mrs. H knitted her brows at me and said, “Well now that wasn’t very nice.”

Appreciation. 
Encouragement.
Niceness.

These are things I learned in time, and often through these kind of unpleasant experiences. I still am quite confused by niceness, but I try to make up for this, and frankly most other things, with genuine kindness. 

I grew up being told, as most children of my generation were, that I was good inside and smart and could do anything. And yet I was also berated constantly for my thoughtlessness, rarely praised for anything but perfect results, and frequently told that I can do better. 

I grew up believing that the way to success is through constant criticism. And why praise anything less than the best? It cheapens the meaning of praise. I grew up thinking that spurring people on meant correcting every error until all errors were gone. Then and only then would it make sense to let up, to show appreciation and offer praise. 

I started to see in my mid to late thirties (far too late) that this is entirely backwards. We don’t grow from condemnation. Success isn’t the result of ruthless criticism. Ruthless criticism kills the drive to succeed at all. Sometimes it even kills the will to live. 

I cringe at high-school me shouting, “That was pathetic!” But I also want to wrap her up in the biggest, warmest hug and tell her that it’s okay — you don’t know what you don’t know. Because I know now that this is what I needed. I know now that we grow through nurture, which includes a bit of pruning, but is certainly not the whole work. 

I don’t post much anywhere anymore (another learning curve), but when I do it is with this in mind: the world is full of hurting people who are still learning what “appreciation” means. The least I can do is be kind. 

Tell us one thing you hope people say about you.

“Every time I see her she makes me think about Jesus.”

I imagine it said in all sorts of ways. I don’t care how. To be so associated with Jesus that one can’t think of me without being reminded of Him, that is what I hope.

Phillipians 3:13-14

My Secret to Saving Hundreds on Audio Entertainment

I’m gonna do one of those posts. You know those posts. The “try this!” “Three Easy Steps!” posts. I don’t typically write like this, but I have been sitting on this information for months and letting this and that get in the way of sharing it. No more. Today is the day.

First, you have to know that involved parents have been hassled for years now about screentime. Many companies have found a way to capitalize on this guilt most parents have about both excessive screens and not entertaining their children every waking minute. It is important to include both of these guilt-trips together, because one independent of the other would not be profitable for companies peddling screen-free entertainment for children.

If you have children and are on social media at all, you’ve seen these advertisements for Yoto Player, Tonie, or Storypod. All of these things basically offer the same thing: wi-fi free, screen-free audio entertainment. I happened to catch the Storypod on sale about two years ago and bought it because my children are wild and I could just imagine what would happen to the cards that go with the Yoto player or the hard plastic figurines that go with the Tonie.

I will describe the Storypod for a bit in case you’re unfamiliar, because the concept is pretty neat. A Storypod is a screen-free, interactive audio learning system designed for young children (typically ages 0-6) that uses a combination of physical “Crafties” (small, tactile objects) and audio content to provide engaging learning experiences through listening, with features like interactive buttons, stories, songs, and trivia questions, all aimed at promoting developmental skills without screen time. (Thank you AI for the description.) It is very kid-friendly and one of our favorite features from the beginning has been the Craftie that comes with the Storypod which allows us to record our own stories and songs for the kids using the Storypod app. Unfortunately, the recorder does not allow pausing audio recordings. I don’t believe I need to explain how frustrating that is for parents of young children who are frequently interrupted. Also, each soft “Craftie” costs around $20 and we’re library people if you know what I mean.

We have overall enjoyed our Storypods and still use them frequently, but aren’t willing to continuously purchase new content, have difficulty recording new content, and it doesn’t connect via bluetooth. Naturally, that hinders us from keeping it fresh for the kids. We also weren’t able to afford one for our oldest, who absolutely loves audiobooks.

Well, one day, my husband pointed out the mini speaker we had bought for $20 has an SD card slot. “We could put music on a SD card for the kids,” he mused. Before long we figured out that we could record stories on the SD card using my phone’s built-in voice recorder and I started recording stories and songs for my eldest.

Today, I want to walk you through the simple process of making your own!

First, purchase a speaker with an SD card. The one we love for ease-of-use, portability, and bluetooth features is the one I linked above: Anker Soundcore Mini.

Next, make sure you have some mini SD cards. These ones will do: 2 Pack SD Card 32GB.

Open up your phone to the Voice Recording app and do your thing! Sing a lullaby, spin a yarn, tell a joke, or read one of your kid’s favorite books.

Once you’re done, email the file to yourself so you can put the mp3 on the SD card from your computer. If your voice recording app saves files to mp3 automatically, you’re smarter than me because you don’t have an iPhone. For iPhone users, recordings are m4a files that needed to be converted to mp3 to work on the speaker. Use the link provided to download a Windows app that we use.

To put the file on your micro SD card, an external card reader may be necessary. This one looks good: SmartQ C368 USB 3.0 Card Reader. Save the file to the card and pop it into your speaker. Press the mode button until it starts playing your content and enjoy cringing at the sound of your own voice!

Well, I am not very good at these types of posts. But if you keep looking at these ads and thinking, “Man, I wish I could afford that!” consider that I own one of those fancy things and we use our $30 homemade “Storypod” more than the expensive one! We have the option of using bluetooth and streaming, or pre-recorded content on the SD card. Simply that flexibility has made it our go-to for quiet time or bedtime.

You still have time to buy a speaker, record some treasured lullabies and favorite stories, and gift it for Christmas this year.

Happy recording!

Obligatory happy post 

I’ve been writing online since I was 17 years old and I have too much of a headache right now to figure out how long that’s been. Let’s just say over 20 years. That sounds totally wrong, but it’s probably right. Wheeee lack of number sense.

I’ve been writing online for a long time and it never fails that after I write something heavy or sad or depressing that I follow it up with a post that is lighthearted and easy to read to show the one or two people who actually read this thing that yes I’m still alive and capable of being lighthearted.

I think this is the longest I’ve gone just leaving a “negative” post up. For a while, I was committed to never posting anything like that because I was fairly convinced it would be unhelpful at best, possibly triggering. I haven’t gotten any feedback suggesting it be taken down so it stays. I had a couple people tell me I should post it before I did. It may seem like I send these posts out without even considering an audience at all, but I do.

Ultimately, I post on the Internet for that person who needs to see another sojourner. All the answers I have ever found were in the Bible, so I don’t think I can do any better than to point to that sweet Treasure Book. The thing is, sometimes we see the Word better when it’s woven into the context of a persons travels through this life.

Since I posted last, I haven’t exceeded a three on that scale I made up. Simply writing about it changed my perspective. And most of the change occurred in the penultimate paragraph, my own experience with the transforming Word of God.

When I am honest about my weaknesses, it is always an invitation for both of us to look to Christ.

I don’t know if this obligatory happy post was very happy, but I think it needs to go out regardless.

Thank you for being here.

List 30 things that make you happy.

  • Walks
  • Clouds
  • How the clouds declare God’s glory
  • Toddler giggles
  • New pens
  • Church
  • Fresh air
  • Clean sheets
  • Puzzles, especially with company
  • Babies
  • Reading
  • Daydreaming
  • Nature-watching
  • Hearing the creativity of God in the calls and cries of His creatures
  • Mushrooms
  • Helping
  • Breeze
  • Organization
  • Early mornings
  • Quiet
  • The sound the pages of my Bible make when I turn them
  • Simplicity
  • Laughing at myself
  • Listening to calm music
  • Hearing a child say “oh I get it!” — whatever they’ve “gotten”
  • Watching the sky slowly change colors in the evening
  • Hope
  • Thinking
  • For we also once were foolish ourselves, disobedient, deceived, enslaved to various lusts and pleasures, spending our life in malice and envy, hateful, hating one another. But when the kindness of God our Savior and His love for mankind appeared, He saved us, not on the basis of deeds which we have done in righteousness, but according to His mercy, by the washing of regeneration and renewing by the Holy Spirit, whom He poured out upon us richly through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that being justified by His grace we would be made heirs according to the hope of eternal life (Titus 3:3-7)

That’s only 29 but that’s more than enough.

God is good.

While the kids play*

Of course as soon as I tap out the title, my sour patch kid needs to test a limit. Thanks to a podcast I listened to recently I don’t feel like I need to make sure he feels sorry for his disobedience, just give the consequence, prompt the words (I’m sorry is all I can ever get out of him), and move on.

Of course before I can elaborate on that thought, I hear an ominous THUD and my phlegmatic boy wail. He hit his head on the table. Kisses made it all better, and now I am sitting with him as he builds and rebuilds the same 12 magnatiles.

It’s quiet for a moment.

My big Littlefoot has discovered that the Bible he picked up has numbered pages. I can imagine him now in the other room flipping through the pages, marveling at how many.

And now my sour patch kid walks up to me exclaiming, “Mama, look!” and tries to yo-yo… then ends up spinning around with the yo-yo. And tells me as if I need this sober warning, “Mama if you’re dizzy, don’t try to go down stairs. You’ll end up hurting yourself. Like this.” Oh boy.

Now the little one wants to go play with his brothers. Now he doesn’t.

Anyway.

I feel this heaviness lately even as I also am experiencing the freedom of trusting Christ in a way I have only previously imagined. The heaviness is nothing new. It is what the world rushes to diagnose, treat, prevent. Without the truth of Christ, that heaviness is lethal. When I say I wouldn’t be alive without Christ I mean literally, physically.

Snack time, again. Strawberries.

So this heaviness isn’t new, but it is. This is a soberness, and not like those momentary splashes of cold water. This is more like being wide awake for hours in the night… and where I used to ache for sleep, I find myself more curious.

We are outside now… No chores or schoolwork done yet, unless you count a few seconds explaining what a political map is. Sometimes I think the real work here is learning how to interact with people. I haven’t been counting, but offhand I would say we’ve had at least a dozen lessons in considering one another more important than yourself, humility, expressing concern, speaking respectfully, extending compassion and forgiveness. And that’s just on my end. Haha! Kidding… sorta.

And now a tantrum because I declined to carry something for the little one. More like a momentary outburst. He’s probably already fine and I’m still trying to gather together the thoughts that got scattered.

Well, the tantrum ended up being some extra neediness. And then we started working on a little organization project, which morphed into digging unnecessary holes in the yard. Life.

And that (life) is what I want for us, but I don’t want to neglect the discipline of learning, practicing, hard work that yields results.

My question is essentially this: how can I guide my children down a path that I don’t really know, and how can I learn it? I am thankful that I am not unlearning a ton of societal nonsense, as peer pressure was not something I really witnessed in those I admired nor was it fostered in me. But due to not caring about keeping up with the Joneses, I never had the motivation most have for learning hard work, organizational habits, and maintaining friendships. Now that I want to learn these things, I am well past the age where I have mentors available to me. I’m not saying I can’t learn — not at all.

Another long intermission… food, schoolwork, Minecraft, some more reading time for me… and a discovery of what my Littlefoot was doing so quietly in the basement. I am neither shocked, nor dismayed, to discover that it is something that he would not have done if I had been down there supervising. A cleanup project for later.

We are outside again and this time the older ones are climbing a tree. The little one is jumping on the trampoline after many, many requests to go play inside.

So what I’m getting at I guess is just, I wonder if I am a good example for them and I know that I could be a better example. And I know that all the things that I want to get better at are things most people figure out in their teens. But I would be remiss if I didn’t also note that I recognize, I’m not all failings and flaws. While most teens were consumed with spending hours looking their best and impressing their friends, I spent hours reading. My vocabulary is being passed down to these kids. My dialectic skills for sure come in handy as I do not simply settle for what has always been done nor hasty reasoning for choices as small as whether or not we should have ice cream for a snack or as big as whether or not to homeschool.

Just writing that out reminds me that I need to not despise my talents simply because they are familiar. I can learn what I need to learn. I just need to stay humble and focused. Focus comes easily for me. Humility (not leaning on my own understanding), not so much.

Anywho, the day is winding down and dinner won’t make itself. The younger kids are back in now, watching an animated show based on Beatrix Potter’s stories. My big Littlefoot has finally convinced Love to play a “grownup” video game with him. Perfect window for dinner-making.

Time to post and go.

*Alternate Title: Wherein Foundmercy accidentally writes a day-in-the-life post

In which Foundmercy shares her blog post ideas list

Occasionally, I remember to jot down an idea I have for a blog post Usually the ideas just simmer below the surface and fizzle and or die, or maybe they’re still there and I just have to have more than five minutes to think about it.

People who don’t know me well think that I’m a math person because I used to work in accounting. People who know me well laugh at the fact that I used to work in accounting. I am definitely not mathematically inclined and this isn’t to say that you can’t be both “a math person” and a writer, but my verbal intelligence so far outpaces my mathematical intelligence that comparatively… let’s just say I’m way, way, way more of a writer than a math person. 

One thing that writers probably don’t talk about much is the fact that they’re always writing, even if they don’t have a pen in hand. My understanding of the world is language, woven upon language, woven upon language, twisted into strands, and made into patterns and textures. I don’t just look up at the clouds and have a feeling of awe; I find myself telling whole stories about the play of light and dark, and the size of the clouds, and their shapes, and how they’re moving through the sky or how they’re eerily still. I ache for the words even as the words are bubbling up in me.

But the time to write — to really sit down, and make sense of all of my insane stream of consciousness — is short. I am actually talking this post into my phone as I watch the kids… play? fight? on our trampoline.

So, I keep this list on my phone of ideas and I have spent the last 10 minutes working on this instead of actually teasing out any of those ideas. 

And as I am wrapping up and about to just hit the post button because what else do you do when you have 10 minutes and you don’t wanna feel like you wasted it, it occurs to me that there’s probably an issue of prioritization going on as well.

Maybe. Just a bit.



God Is Funny

I’m all ramped up Monday to bring my A game and I had a great day! I met one of my kids where they were when it was difficult. I was flexible about the things that didn’t matter. I didn’t drop the ball on what matters.

And today, fully expecting another day just like yesterday, I jumped in and got slammed with a migraine in the middle of co-op. I didn’t have my medicine with me. When we got in the car one of my boys yelled, and I snapped at him. I told him I was wrong and sorry. I drove home just clinging to the steering wheel and breathing.

And that sucker fully took me out till after 5pm. Thank God for my husband. He just picked up the ball and kept it going till I was able to stand on two feet again.

I just finished helping with bedtimes and I am finally feeling okay. And as I do, I am thinking about the day. I didn’t accomplish much. And my affections were definitely not ordered properly when I snapped at my kid, nor when I chose to be on my phone instead of engaging with the other parents who were chatting at co-op. (I hate butting into conversations, but I could have at least appeared approachable.) And I wonder, what is God teaching me here?

I need to finish up the evening chores now that I’m not flat on my back, and I really need to spend some time in the Word. Maybe I will see what He is teaching me more clearly there. Maybe I won’t. But it’s always time well spent.

Do you really believe that?

During my first attempt at college, I met a man whose “baptist yell” is forever imprinted on my brain. He held nothing back as he screamed after every statement: DO YOU REALLY BELIEVE THAT?!

I am not one who typically gets into emotional worship or sermons where the pastor equates volume with sincerity. I do not trust people who appear to be manipulating me, regardless of their intentions.

But this man, I can’t help but see him as someone I needed to wake me up… and whose Do you really believe that? scream lives on in my mind in a sort of fatherly way, a beacon… a lighthouse. I will be reading Scripture and see a truth about God that would change everything if I truly lived like it were true, and Do you really BELIEVE that?! rings in my ears as if I am hearing it for the first time. A familiar worship song plays on the radio and I am humbled again… do I really believe this, what I’m singing?

I have been in a bit of hibernation since Thanksgiving (maybe longer) and I really believe some things now that I didn’t before. I believe that what makes a restful day isn’t the goodness of my work but the quality of my affections. I believe that God really loves me no matter how poorly I love Him.

As I look forward to getting back into routine, however, I see that my time here is short and I cannot waste it trying to escape from the everyday pressures of life. I will flounder, fall, and fail, but I must still try. I might just be ready now. Now that I know in my bones that it isn’t my effort that accomplishes anything. Now that I know I am loved… so loved. How He loves!!!

And out of the overflow of such great love, mercy, and grace I see that I need to be more present for my children… more proactive about discipline… more creative and engaging with their education. I need to lead by example. Not out of fear for what will happen if I don’t, but because this is what God has for me.

What will that look like practically? I am still working it out. But this has been a growing concern for me over the last couple weeks especially, and I am settled now: some things simply must change. I must change.

Thank you for indulging my introspection. I leave you with a little Scripture that really got me cemented on this train of thought;

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?”
— John 11:25-26

Rememberance

O Lord, may You be glorified in this writing.

I woke up to no pain in my leg for the first time in weeks. I went to bed last night taking the stairs normally. I made a full dinner for my family. My leg only ached some and occasionally I felt a twinge of that stabbing pain that had me down for so long.

While I am feeling so very hopeful that all this pain and sitting are in the past, I want to remember some important things I learned:

First, I have worth regardless of how much I am contributing. When I was doing no cooking, cleaning, dog walking, taking kids outside — I was no less loved. My family doesn’t love me because they need me.

Second, my family does actually need me… though not in the ways I think. Again, I think I am needed because I can chase kids, clean, and cook. What I saw most clearly these past few weeks is that they need me to show the love of Christ. If that means letting go of some arbitrary expectations I have made for myself, that is what needs to happen. God has not said “thou shalt have a warm, fresh dinner on the table at 6pm nightly” or “thou shalt make thy children do chores every morning”. Would I be remiss to ignore my family’s needs? Absolutely. Are there other ways to feed and teach responsibility? YES.

Third, I do care what people think. I always say that I don’t care and I believe that. But I am wrong. I care deeply what people think in the sense that I am terrified that people will hate me. I don’t care if people think I’m a terrible person as long as they don’t hate me. What do I do with this information? Let it humble me. Jesus was hated to the point of people murdering Him. Did He cower?

Finally, God is good in a way that I can taste and see. No matter what. No matter who is mad at me. No matter how much I fail. God is good.

Enveloped

As much as I have been telling myself that God sees me as helpless, dust… I apparently didn’t believe it enough.

Monday morning I was closing windows. As I pushed myself up on a child’s ladder we have coming down from our dining area bench, the step I was using snapped. I found myself suddenly flat-footed on the ground, my breath ragged and saying “I’m fine” on repeat like a daft parrot. Slowly coming out of shock, I found it impossible to put my full weight on my left leg. I hobbled over to the nearest chair and assessed the damage. My shin had a shallow scrape that was bleeding, but not much. I asked my children to bring me a stool to elevate my leg, and an ice pack. As I sat there breathing and thinking, it occurred to me that I should let my husband know this situation. He was in the office. I called, and as soon as I heard his voice I started crying.

I hate crying. I hate telling anyone that I cry. But I have cried more in the last week than I have in the last year. Not from pain. The initial pain was the worst, and the pain from the one day this past week I thought I was healed because I was wearing shoes was pretty bad too, but otherwise the pain level has been more on the level of annoyance.

Yes, I thought shoes were all I needed to resume my usual activity level. Wednesday, I woke and dressed for BSF because they have childcare and I figured that it wouldn’t be too much up on my feet. Previously I had followed my house rule of no shoes, but when I noticed that I could walk without pain (I am thinking some people might have considered it “pain”; to me it was more like a higher than usual awareness of my shin), I kept pushing it and ended up spending probably two hours on my feet in the afternoon in addition to the walking kids to classes at BSF. When I took my shoes off, the pain shocked me. I felt like something was stabbing my shin with a hundred paring knives. I went from feeling like I was on the mend to feeling like I had not improved at all from day zero.

Oh, the frustration! I am fighting every moment with the knowledge that I can be on my feet, yet every minute on my feet causes further injury. It feels irresponsible to be on my feet; it feels lazy to be sitting… even lazier when others are doing for me what I technically can do for myself.

It isn’t my story to tell, but I know I am not alone in that frustration. People with “invisible illnesses” deal with this every day. Even those who have experienced similar symptoms as me have told me not using the injured area is difficult.

So why am I writing? What am I trying to send out into the internet?

I want to share this because I want the record to show that I have gone so far into sharing my experience without a word of gratitude, without a mention of the immense blessings I have received in the last six days. You, reader, need to know that while God is great and has changed me in surprising and wonderful ways, I still am so very self-centered.

God has blessed me with a loving husband who will do anything for me without a complaint. He has placed my mom in my home with her medical knowledge and persistent concern for my wellbeing. Where Love will do anything I ask, my mom knows what I need before I think to ask. My mother in law came and spent two days over at our house doing laundry and keeping kids busy and fed. Then she kept the kids for two nights at her house so I could really rest. I was able to wake up two mornings in a row of my own accord, and sleep as long as I needed. Our church started a meal train, and I have not cooked for a week. Someone even offered to pay for x-rays. My homeschool group is praying for us. While I wrestle with feeling frustrated, I am being enveloped in love that I cannot describe. God has seen fit to shower my little family with the active care of His people. How inscrutable are His ways!

I have asked many people to pray that I would not waste this time. Maybe I am writing in an attempt to make good use of the time I am “benched”.

Know this, dear reader: God loves you. He knows my self-centeredness and He knows yours (though I doubt you are quite so self-centered as me!), and He still loves us. He is trying to teach us, isn’t He? Let us pray that our hearts would be tender, our ears ready, our minds fixed on Him.

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

Chrysalis

I wrote a few months ago that I am in my chrysalis season, and I think that is still true. I’ve posted a few things since then, but ultimately I am finding that every time I try to act like I have something figured out, God reminds me promptly that I’m not in a race, there are not levels of sanctification, and I am not somehow a better person than I was yesterday or yesteryear.

… And while humbling, isn’t that so much freedom? The only way I can fall is if I elevate myself, because God isn’t putting me in that position. He knows I am dust; He never “expected better” from me. He hates my sin — enough to punish His beloved Son for it! — but He doesn’t see me in it; He sees me through Christ and His sacrifice.

Getting better, healing, doing better — those are my aims in life. His aim? To purify, to sanctify. This process looks nothing like I thought it would.

I’m learning to trust the One who is doing the process, look at my actions and not their apparent results, and get comfortable with feeling like I am dying. With every “but it hurts!” I find that comfort He promises. But I need to admit that it hurts, and that is hard.

When you grow up passionately pursuing enlightenment — a state of being un-offend-able and unattached — the call of Christ to throw our entire physical, mental, spiritual self upon His mercy and trust Him is almost too emotional an affair. I would rather carry on with the mental gymnastics of denying the existence my own feelings and even bringing Scripture into it to add veracity to the pursuit.

There is no tidy bow to wrap this up with. The day is already rolling and I’ve got to hop on.

I will end with this, and pray it blesses you:

A Psalm of David.
Bless the Lord, O my soul,
And all that is within me, bless His holy name.
Bless the Lord, O my soul,
And forget none of His benefits;
Who pardons all your iniquities,
Who heals all your diseases;
Who redeems your life from the pit,
Who crowns you with lovingkindness and compassion;
Who satisfies your years with good things,
So that your youth is renewed like the eagle.

The Lord performs righteous deeds
And judgments for all who are oppressed.
He made known His ways to Moses,
His acts to the sons of Israel.
The Lord is compassionate and gracious,
Slow to anger and abounding in lovingkindness.
He will not always strive with us,
Nor will He keep His anger forever.
He has not dealt with us according to our sins,
Nor rewarded us according to our iniquities.
For as high as the heavens are above the earth,
So great is His lovingkindness toward those who fear Him.
As far as the east is from the west,
So far has He removed our transgressions from us.
Just as a father has compassion on his children,
So the Lord has compassion on those who fear Him.
For He Himself knows our frame;
He is mindful that we are but dust.

As for man, his days are like grass;
As a flower of the field, so he flourishes.
When the wind has passed over it, it is no more,
And its place acknowledges it no longer.
But the lovingkindness of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear Him,
And His righteousness to children’s children,
To those who keep His covenant
And remember His precepts to do them.

The Lord has established His throne in the heavens,
And His sovereignty rules over all.
Bless the Lord, you His angels,
Mighty in strength, who perform His word,
Obeying the voice of His word!
Bless the Lord, all you His hosts,
You who serve Him, doing His will.
Bless the Lord, all you works of His,
In all places of His dominion;
Bless the Lord, O my soul!

Psalm 103:1-22