I thought of this song today and realized that it’s not a convicting song at all. If I feel convicted about not showing more mercy, I don’t need more judgment; I need more mercy!

That’s all my tired brain can do for now. Sharing this because it’s a good song, might delete commentary later

I have to wonder if I only write because it selfishly allows me to process, to gain perspective. And if so, why post that crap for all the world to see? Why share it with anyone at all?

Because I think I’m not the only one tired of reading the “five easy steps” and the “one thing you must do” blog posts. I write and share because I can’t be the only one who goes through this. And I am tired of the sunny side. Does God have a plan? YES. Is all this life nothing to be compared with what will be revealed in glory? YES. Do we need to constantly remind ourselves of these anchoring truths? YES.

But we have lost the art of lament. We have become uncomfortable with dwelling. We want to push-push-push, forget the “bad”, focus on the “good”. We go so far as to think that it’s a sin to think anything that isn’t good, pure, right, etc. Rather than ask ourselves why our soul is downcast, we try to cram as much truth down our throats as we can muster and we think that our mental health will be changed by how loudly we proclaim its goodness.

The truth will set you free. The truth is meaningless without context.

During small group, a year or so ago, longer, someone brought up how they knew people that helped one another in some way as an example of community. We were all impressed with it, the obvious sacrifice involved but also the clear mutual blessing. After hearing this, one person in the group said, “So…  how does that happen? Does it just sort of naturally come about?”

I’ve thought about that question dozens of times since. It seems to highlight the most glaring problem we have with “one-anothering” each other. We think opportunities are just going to jump in our laps and it’s going to be natural and easy.

Even in that moment I wanted to jump up and answer: OF COURSE NOT! But like the spineless person I am, I kept quiet, because this is a respected member of our group and no one else seemed to disagree. “Hmm,” was the collective response. “Gee I do wonder how community actually happens.”

I’ll tell you. It happens when we stop saying “yes” to every church event (out of guilt) and start saying yes to the quiet pleas of “Well, I don’t want to be a bother…” It starts by less yelling at our kids because they’re making us late to church and more treating our family like the precious gift they are. (I am super guilty of this one.) It starts with ruthlessly weeding out the distractions and purposefully seeking activities that honor God.

And how it starts it how it happens. Persevere. It’s not easy. It’s very hard. It’s so much easier to pull out our big bag of excuses: small children, long hours at work, “not really good at that”… Of course there’s the fan favorite: “I’m busy”.

I have used all of these excuses. And they all suck. And I’m writing this because today is the tipping point. I’m not going to use those excuses anymore. I am going to MAKE time.

Join me?

I’ve been going to a church for several years now that emphasizes in every way possible that God is the only Person who truly matters. It feels strange to write that, like I should jump up and clarify what that statement doesn’t mean. And that is why I started this post, because I’m seeing so many places more than I ever have that even professing Christians don’t hold a truly “high view” of God. And I see more and more in myself how my old nature is constantly at war with this notion that God is supreme. I see it in my anger, my sadness, and even the things that bring me peace and comfort. Emotions are this wonderful God-given barometer of our loyalty, our desires, our faith. And I don’t have any more time now to write, but I want to post this because somebody needs to know tonight that their feelings aren’t wrong; their hurts don’t make them impossible to love; and the ugly anger they want to just hide from is exactly what they need to drive them to the Rock that is their refuge and strength. A high view of God doesn’t mean woe for us; it is His kindness that leads us to repentance. We are not worthy but He is. 

After the 9-5, the bedtime cuddles, the dishes, and the glass of wine all I have is ten minutes here so I’m just going to write what comes.

I’m coming to terms with the fact that we are all some degree deceived. It’s easy to see in others, so hard to see in oneself. But I wonder if that tendency to have a blind spot about 5’9″ and 180, 190, 200? pounds (I don’t own a scale; don’t judge) isn’t also maybe part of the plan. Maybe God allows us to be a little self-blind so that we have to rely on others to help us, and we have to humble ourselves to the observations of others whose flaws we see more clearly than they do. And on the cycle of inter-dependence goes; we only grow if we’re growing together.

Six more minutes.

I also realized just this week that I truly have to rely on the wisdom of God in order to outwit my enemy. I have this foolish way of believing the best about people, and I open myself up to all sorts of problems when I believe that every misunderstanding can be resolved by appealing to the “good intentions” of others.

And with two minutes left, I have another realization from probably a couple months ago now: all time is the Lord’s. I tend to get overwhelmed with the fleeting nature of time and it can lead to despair when I consider how I’ve wasted time. I’ve been known to berate myself for spending an hour watching TV because I can’t get that time back. And while it is true that we are to be good stewards of the time God has given us, I was taking it to the point of believing I could somehow keep God from loving me if I wasted enough time.

And that’s it, folks. 10pm. Goodnight.

Foolish Foundmercy; did I think that, being helpless as I was to save myself, that I would be able to continue on in my own strength?

While I was yet dead, Christ made me alive with Him. And that God-made-alive power doesn’t quit. God will never take a look at me and say, “Ok! Great! You’ve “graduated”; you don’t need Me anymore! Good luck on all your future endeavours!” He made me to need Him. And of all times, living in this broken world with this rotting body, this is the time I need Him most.

When I get selfish, I need Him. When my anger rises against the demands and pressures of life, I need Him. When that anger turns ferociously inward and threatens to consume me, I need Him.

I read an article recently… Maybe it wasn’t that recent? Anyway, I read an article at some point in the past that talked about how becoming a mom is largely about “making room”.  It was a sweet article and focused primarily on the sweeter aspects of motherhood, or maybe it just framed it all in a sweet way.

I’ve also read a lot of things lately that talk about the tension between self-care and self sacrifice as a mother. Of course the things I read don’t actually say that’s what they’re about. The commenters on the Facebook posts don’t explicitly state that they are either fighting for themselves, their children, or the truth with their comments. “Parents who put their kids to bed early to get some ‘me time’ are utterly selfish!” “Parents who  keep their kids up late are not being good parents because they’re not putting their kids needs before the needs of everyone else!” (And shades of subtlety in between.)  The joking Memes about how mothers don’t have time to shower or that they’re hiding from their kids all the time don’t state their motives either, and they don’t have to.

The truth is, it’s not just motherhood that prompts us to “make room”. What the author of that article so sweetly described is what it means to love — to truly love — anybody.

If you truly love your husband, you will see the state of the bathroom sink in the morning (hair, hair, everywhere) and still kiss him goodbye as he leaves for work. You will receive his imperfect self, his imperfect responses when you have it in your head exactly what the “right answer” is, and you will forgive the hurt of disappointment — not always because he deserves it (although many times he does), but because you are making room for him to be his doesn’t-think-like-you-do self.

If you love your friends, you will make room for them challenge you. You’ll make room in your heart for them to impact you and bless you.

If you love your children, you will make room in your schedule for their particular needs. You’ll make room in the midnight hours for them to cry out with a fever. You make room in ways that no other human will ask you to make room — rearranging your house, your budget, your priorities.

And as you make room, you realize that eventually you have to surrender the walls that surround your heart, because they take up too much room for the amount of space you need.

I’ve been reading all these things lately that show me how a parent, a mother, can embrace what God is trying to do or reject it.

No other human being will ask you to give as much of yourself as your children. But God asks for even more. He will rearrange your entire life. He will ask you to stay up late, get up early, give when you think you don’t have the money, time, or energy. He will turn your priorities on their head. He will turn grey to black-and-white, and things that used to seem clear will gain complexity you can no longer explain.

In all things, God will challenge your attempts to fill your heart with lesser things.

People talk about how motherhood is a sacred calling. This role gets elevated and with that comes the errors of sainthood and martyrdom. Being a mother is extremely rewarding. I feel as though my slightest efforts are met with showers of grace. I don’t wonder for long if I’m on the right track; while I always feel like the long road ahead is like a tunnel barely lit, the next step (once I take that step in faith) is bathed in light.

But I cannot make the mistake of thinking that motherhood is unique. It is tempting to feel like the relationship I have with my kids is more rewarding than others. The truth is, the only reason it may feel that way is because the enormity of the responsibility draws me to seek God in the midst of it, in a way I have not let another relationship do.

Marriage can be that crucible for some. I’ve let marriage refine me to a degree. However, nothing has humbled me more than my children, and I think the majority experience motherhood in this way.

The complete irony of gospel living is that the things that humble us are the things that we end up holding most dear. The things that push the limits of our hearts’ capacity and challenge our (perceived) authority are what bring us back to our right place in this universe: on our knees, open-handed, and empty.

. . . Are you willing to make room?

I went to a marriage conference and I learned how to hate.

I learned to hate my sin more.

And I made a little thing for my lock screen on my third hand (my phone):

I’m learning. It’s so hard. But I’m learning.

Few things give me the courage to keep writing anymore. So much more tells me to keep silent, to hide, to modify my words so that they’re not so dark.

Andrew Peterson reminds me that sometimes penning words to life’s sorrows is exactly what we need. No disclaimers, no “but God”, no drowning the sorrow in cliches — however true those cliches may be.

I saw something once, maybe a cartoon, about how anger tends to trickle down from a boss, to a manager, to an employee, to his kids, to the poor family dog, who turns around and bites the kid. At least the dog is honest in his venting.

How many times do I vent my anger to the people who deserve it least?

I came here to talk about how I’m tired, how I can’t seem to keep all the plates spinning, and how often I fail to even try.

But then I remembered that line in that song O Lord, I am furrowed like the field, torn open like the dirt. And by the grace of God I turned my desire to vent into a prayer that leaked onto my cheeks and christened the paperwork I’m supposed to be working on.

And now I’m just writing to say that life is good, even if it’s hard sometimes. And the quicker can I get over the idea that I’m supposed to be completely selfless and incapable of anger, the better. Foolish Foundmercy; did I think that, being helpless as I was to save myself, that I would be able to continue on in my own strength?

I don’t need people to tell me I’m fine as I am; I need people to remind me that while I was yet dead, Christ made me alive with Him. And that God-made-alive power doesn’t quit. God will never take a look at me and say, “Ok! Great! You’ve “graduated”; you don’t need Me anymore! Good luck on all your future endeavours!” He made me to need Him. And of all times, living in this broken world with this rotting body, this is the time I need Him most.

When I get selfish, I need Him. When my anger rises against the demands and pressures of life, I need Him. When that anger turns ferociously inward and threatens to consume me, I need Him.

And when people tell me I’m too hard on myself, that I need to love myself more, I don’t need to vindicate myself and throw the Book at them, asking “where does the Bible say ‘love thyself’?” When I do that, what am I doing except taking my ungodly, unrighteous anger and dressing it up as Biblical? And who was it that Jesus rebuked most sternly? Oh, right. Those people who dressed up their sins — those “whitewashed tombs”.

So let me end this before I go too far down the rabbit holes of my mind.

Time to get back to work.

(Began July 17, 2019 and Finished July 19, 2019)

I don’t make time to finish most of what I start.

I have had it on my mind to write for quite a few days now, but hungry babies and work and dirty dishes have taken precedence. People who don’t know the sacred calling of the mundane don’t appreciate letting passions fall by the wayside for a time. That’s okay.

Here is what I was wanting to say: at every stage of my life, I have felt like I “arrived”. When I made the adjustment to working and took on the breakfast shift at Burger King, I felt like I’d never need anything better and that I had learned so much. Then I learned how to answer phones and worked overnight and wow, I’m really an adult working two jobs. Then I got “the best job ever” (I only recently stopped thinking of it that way), and goodness, I know my place in life; I’m really hitting my stride!

{Sidenote: I find it interesting that all of these these landmarks in my life are work-related. People say women are supposed to be more interested in relationships than work, but I’ve only more recently developed that in myself.}

I lost The Best Job Ever thanks to the Recession, and after that I took some steps in my quest to “better myself” that ended up in more pain than I could contain within a single blog post. On the incredibly (incredibly) rare chance this has met the eyes of the person I hurt the most, I am sorry. I will never stop being sorry, even if I’m forgiven. There isn’t an excuse for what I did. Nobody deserves what I did to you.

I lost the will to succeed for quite a while after that, but I took solace in my job even then. I might have had a home life in total shambles, but at least my workplace valued me. In many ways, that 9-5 saved my life. Maybe if you’ve lived through it with me, you understand my strange devotion to The Desk Job.

Maybe it’s the lie of time, but somehow I got over the hugeness of my failures. I got married to a man who makes me feel safe in ways I didn’t know a person could. I was blessed with children. I moved to the suburbs. And in all this, I started to feel once again like I’ve learned “so much”, and I’ve gained so much wisdom, and I have (Lord have mercy I’ve actually said these words) “hit my stride”.

And I’m writing here because this new state of “arrival” I’ve reached — this pinnacle title of “mom”. . .  I may have learned a thing or two more than I knew ten years ago, but I have reached nothing; I am nothing. And somehow I think if I can just hang onto that one truth, I might just make it out alive here.

We live in a society that idolizes perfection. Yes, I realize how humorous that statement must sound coming from me. I bet you halfway expect me to say, “And they’re right! Perfection is everything!” But, I used the phrase “idolize” so you know I can’t agree with it.

So, this society we live in, we don’t want to see the process. We avert our eyes at the half-done mascara and not-quite-toned runner.

But isn’t that what we all are? Unfinished? And how can I pour my heart into yours, share what little I’ve gleaned on this journey, without letting the ugliness of my unfinished self bleed through? I do not have any wisdom than that which I have been given by the Only Wise One, and really at the end of the day I just want you to seek Him.

And my ministry is not pretty. But I do not write for myself. I don’t share dark feelings and thoughts because it makes me feel better. I don’t have a blog as some sort of personal therapy. That was the theme of my 20s, but now I’m halfway through my 30s and somewhere in there it finally sunk into this thick skull that sharing my darkest thoughts with strangers is at best unwise and at worst, destructive.

I made this blog private because I was disheartened by the way people are. But nobody is going to change if I let the prevailing climate of a warped society silence me.

So, I’ll keep this blog and I’ll try to write more. Because despite myself, I really do think I have something to say. No it’s not worthy of being published and it’s not always in-your-face encouraging, but I can’t hide my light (such as it is, even my “light” isn’t always so great) under a bushel.

Is it dangerous to isolate when depressed, or is it just being respectful of others?

My reason for asking is that when I isolate, nobody seems to mind. It’s when I start talking about how I’m feeling that people freak out, say their “faith is shaken”, get angry with me.

The worse I feel, the less helpful “encouragement” is. I’ve been in moods so dark that when people try to encourage me, I want to lash out. I want to dissect what they’re saying and point out the inaccuracies. Anyone who dares encourage me with anything resembling human-centric beliefs is toast. It takes restraint to accept encouragement. When I am at my darkest, when my energy is spent, restraint is in short supply.

So — while every therapist on earth says “don’t isolate! talk about how you feel!!!”, maybe what I need to do is just be around people and not feel pressured to be anything other than my morose self. Maybe “not isolating” doesn’t have to mean “crying out for help”.

Really and truly, there is only so much self-examination I can do before I start running into “walls”. I can trap my own self in my own mind, and there comes a point that no amount of words can make any difference. What I need is love — and not just to be loved, but to love.

No deep problems of mine have ever been solved by thinking through them. This irritates me to no end. I want to be able to solve my sin like I would solve an equation. But the equation has already been stated; the proof is in the cross. I don’t need to solve the problem; I need to remember the solution.

So, whatever poor soul actually reads this mess, what do you think?

God has such a way about Him . . . He brought this song to my mind (along with the all the heavy emotions attached to it) a few days ago, and today I’m playing Pandora on shuffle and here comes this song, again.

Maybe one day I’ll write a book and talk about the memories that wash over me when I hear this song.

I can’t be the only person who need this today.

I did one of those “word of the year” things last year. It came up on its own and I just rolled with it, like most good things in my life. The word last year was “refuge”. What a word! I was convicted again and again how easily I turn to worldly comforts when I’m not feeling well. In fact, in the last year I uncovered the ugliest cycle: Life is hard, so I need a refuge; I turn to TV or junk food for refuge; I feel like a lazy person for watching so much TV and/or eating so much junk food; I feel guilty for being lazy; I need a refuge . . .  And on it goes, until I wake up one day glued to the couch with chocolate stains on my jeans and laundry coming out of my ears and I am impressed with the insanity of thinking the responsibilities would disappear if I ignored them long enough.

In high school, a fascinating person told me that I “eschew responsibility”. People that use words like “eschew” tend to be fascinating people. This person was undeniably more of a go-getter than me. Marching band, student government, AP classes, college-bound-and-determined. Freakin genius. Maybe not smarter than me, but definitely worked harder and accomplished more. By the time I got to high school I realized the game of education and despised it. I was so incredibly tired of life, actually. While my Fascination told me of my tendency of avoid responsibility, my day-in-day-out life felt like drudgery. I felt like I was hanging on white-knuckled to any sense of stability. I was uncomfortable in my own skin; I didn’t know who I was but I knew I hated it. I knew I was not worth anything. I didn’t feel unworthy; it went deeper than that. I knew I was worthless like I knew the sun would rise in the morning.

So when I was told at 18 that I eschew responsibility, it was just another proof of my worthlessness. This person who fascinated me, who seemed to know something I did not about how to be intelligent (not simply possesses this ‘potential’ so many raved about since I was small), wrote me off. Not the first person, not the last, but probably the only person I respected deeply, and probably the only person who gave me a real chance before giving up on me.

Six years ago, I met someone who challenged what I “knew” about myself. Because of those counseling sessions and the grace of God, I know better now; I know I am not worthless. I know that to call myself that is a slap in the face to the One who loving knit me together in my mother’s womb, and called me out of darkness, who is making me part of His body and temple.

But it’s going to take more than six years to un-learn what I spent twenty plus years walking in. I was not born “knowing” that the dirt on my shoe mattered more than me. And Lord willing, I will not die believing the grave is more deserving of my body than the family that loves me, whom I love. Meanwhile, I’ve got these little baby steps I need to take which feel more like huge leaps of faith. And the first baby step was last year, focusing on one concept: refuge.

I could spend the next five years working on Refuge. I have not learned nearly enough about how to turn to God when I feel inadequate. It seems a little bit like rushing to move onto the next word, but like most good things in my life this word just keeps coming up on its own and I feel I must roll with it.

JOY

I was not raised in a Christian tradition so I was thirty years old before I ever heard of the Westminster Shorter Catechism, more specifically this question:

Q. What is the chief end of man?
A. Man’s chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy him forever.

I need God to be my refuge; but after running and hiding under the shadow of His wings, I must have the faith to then go out in joy. Joyful obedience, serving Him, glorifying Him, doing the good works He has prepared beforehand that I should walk in them. But it starts with joy.

That’s all I wanted to say.