I don’t like the way this song starts, but I’ve listened to it three times tonight because I need to remember that despite all appearances, God is “neither more nor less inclined” to be Savior, Lord, and Friend to a wretch like me.

1. Try to solve problem by googling, planning, talking it out, thinking thinking thinking thinking

2. Fall into a pit of despair so deep it feels like the sun was some myth people just told themselves to make themselves feel better, and while you may be miserable at least you aren’t living a lie anymore

3. Remember Psalm 139: even the darkness is not dark to You

4. Cry. A lot. Admit that really all the anger has just been years and years of hurt that has no proper outlet

5. Pray. Be rescued again.

Maybe one day I will just start with prayer, but I think it’s going to take some time for me to think of praying as a real way to deal with my petty little problems.

And now you see why those “5 easy steps” blog posts make me want to tear my hair out: it just feeds this long-held totally ridiculous belief I’m trying to kill that I can and should be on this mission to find all the hacks and strategies to DO BETTER.

Sorry if this post is awful and discouraging. I’m going to post it anyway because I need to write more and if I post more, maybe more people will remind me to write or give me writing ideas.

I wrote this in January 2020, before life got totally insane…

Keep giving. Keep giving. Keep giving.

We live in a culture that says “stop giving to people who don’t give back”. This is not the Christian way.

Give.

Let your needs be met in Christ and you will never run out of an abundance from which to give.

Stop counting. Stop keeping track of how much time your friend spends talking vs listening. Stop adding up the number of times you have to repeat yourself. Stop counting the hours of sleep. Stop keeping score — who did the laundry last? When is the last time he picked up my groceries?

Not only is this unwise and likely unfair (when is the last time I put the dog to bed? Or did the dishes? Or watched the kids all day for 3 days straight by myself?), it’s disobedient.

Love keeps no record of wrongs.

It seems like a weight, doesn’t it? “You mean I deserve nothing? I don’t deserve my friends to at least listen to me?” But the real weight is hanging onto what ‘should’ be, to the point we can’t appreciate what is.

What freedom to accept what God has for us as a blessing regardless of how much a blessing it appears to be.

This is not something I am expert at, but it’s something God is compelling me to share. This is the ancient path. Trust and obey.

I’m reading this now thinking it was easier then, but no less true. And it’s revealing to me how difficult it is to really overlook an offense or go the extra step for someone who doesn’t seem grateful. Create in me a clean heart, O God.

Isn’t it funny that what keeps us angry, or fearful, or despairing, or all-over-the-place so often is feeling like we are missing the mark?

Whose mark?

Why does it feel like the “standard” is constantly shifting or moving or slowly yet constantly floating ever out of reach?

God is not fickle or demanding. His standard never changes. His mark doesn’t move.

Yet I stand in the kitchen watching my youngest try his hardest to choke on his lunch and my older two glued to screens on this rainy day after an entirely screen free morning, and after sobbing off and on for hours I recall the handful of parents I know who just leave the TV on all the time and how absurd it would seem to them that I am judging myself for having difficulty thinking of some other indoor activity to fill the gap between lunchtime and nap… among other uglier things I am scared to be judged for so I don’t write about them, but trust me TV time isn’t why I was hating myself.

And immediately, knowing Scripture and the commandments that do not shift or change with culture or societal norms, I recognize my foolishness isn’t that I am judging myself too harshly. I am judging myself by literally any other standard than the Lord’s. Because I know I have failed, and even though I know the gospel I forget — and I don’t trust its simplicity.

As I stand watch over my little kids I remember the question I always ask them after I have received their confession of wrongdoing. What do you do when you do something wrong? I’m training my kids but I need this more than they. Like a catechism the answer is scripted: Ask forgiveness. When forgiveness is requested it’s always granted.

When forgiveness is requested of God, it is not only always granted but it is given perfectly. No lingering feelings of broken trust. No coming up short on affection. No barriers put up or further requirements to receive the full extent of His forgiveness.

I like to think I am angry with myself for failing to meet some ideal. I don’t get up at 5am; I spend my fringe time tapping out words on my phone, searching for free things for my kids, or texting friends instead of cleaning or planning the day; I watch garbage comedy or home renovation shows on Netflix most evenings… the list of non-sins nonsense goes on.

God forgives my real sin. Lack of compassion. Harsh words. Laziness. Impatience. Things I want to say I can’t change, things I want to use as evidence in the case against me — things I take to God as proof that He should destroy me. Because my pride says I can make that call. In my arrogance I actively look for ways to destroy myself. But God is not like this. He sees my sin more clearly and with more wrath than I can imagine, yet He forgives.

He sent Jesus to pay for every last harsh word, selfish motive, and wasted hour.

My only plea is Him, and the only thing that matters is that I walk in His way. His yoke is easy and His burden is light, and His is the only work that matters and the only standard that means anything.

Have I failed to meet His standard? Yes. So what can I do? Ask forgiveness. And then get up, pick up my mat and walk.

Mostly to practice the whole idea of having a curriculum, I bought one from A Humble Place. $45 for an entire years worth of lessons in a print book (I’ve gained an appreciation for printed books since losing easy printer access — active boys are a strange blessing).

I’m just going to document how this all goes here for “spits and giggles”.

If anyone is out there listening or caring, bonus. 🙂

People have told me for — wow, a long time — that I’m “wise”. I took pride in that for a long time, which is a patently foolish thing to do. But I’m coming around to a sincere appreciation of wisdom.

I’ve recently started counseling again (this will be my third time with someone trained in Biblical Counseling as described by ACBC). I’ve seen therapists off an on since I was a child in family therapy. You’d think with so much therapy in my life, I’d be one of the most balanced people you could meet. I think I might appear that way to those who don’t know me well. I know all the correct language; I am often surprised about the lack of general knowledge most people have regarding various disorders; I am aware and practice several coping skills that I learned in therapy such as thought management (thinking about what I’m thinking), documenting “triggers”, asking myself why do I feel this way?

When I started seeing a Biblical counselor in 2013, I did not have any real hope that it would help. I just went because I knew if I didn’t do something, I would ruin another marriage. It seemed inevitable. I could see so clearly everything I did wrong; I knew my separated husband had hurt me deeply as well, but to my thinking I had caused all of that pain myself. And when I walked into that small room inside a church about twenty miles out of my way, it came as a huge sigh of relief that this counselor didn’t zero in on the hurts that others caused me and attempt to get me to see how I was a victim of some sort. She determined in one session my deepest spiritual need at that time, and over the next few months worked with me until I had to humbly admit that despite my sin God did love me and that it was only His love that had the power to change me. I still turn to Psalm 139 and Ephesians 1 on a regular basis to remind myself of the most anchoring truths I had ever received in my life up to that point.

And I say all that to say this: I have grown to love wisdom. And I am writing this now because I want to share this love; I want to encourage others to seek wisdom out for themselves. I want you to know that if I seem convinced of anything, it is only because I have been persuaded that God is still performing miracles and He longs so very deeply to share true abundance with His children. If I seem confident, it is not in my earthly abilities or earthly “wisdom”. May God deal with me, as He has, if I boast in anything but Him.

I started this post in response to something that seems far away and unimportant now. May 2020, I started this, after someone was apparently flabbergasted that I would dare to be certain about the spiritual needs of anyone. I was supposed to humbly admit that I could be wrong — about something I am just as certain of as the sun rising in the east. As recently as a few months ago, I probably would have “admitted” that I could be wrong (what a silly notion anyway; should I also “admit” to breathing, to needing rest, to all other aspects of humanity?) and frankly I would never have even expressed that this person (like everyone else) had any particular spiritual need; I would have decided it’s not my place.

The very little wisdom I’ve gained over the last few months is teaching me that it is very much my place to point people back to God and His ways if they tell me they want to follow Him. It’s not only my place, it is commanded. I am failing my brothers and sisters in Christ if I am too afraid of being seen as prideful to speak the truths of Scripture.

July 2021 brings me back here to this draft, and I think I am finally ready to post it. I still struggle with hesitating to speak the truth. I feel as though God asks me to willingly walk on hot coals for the trouble I know it will cause me to dare say, “I think you might be sinning”. I fail frequently.

I need so much wisdom. I am forever grateful for the counselors that have shown me where to find it.

“Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.
“Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.

— Matthew 7: 1-5

You’re telling me that you can’t do this. The tears are welling up and that spot at the back of your neck is tensing up, that knot. I see your little body becoming rigid, and I know the place your mind is going. You tell me this is possible, but it doesn’t feel possible to me. So I must be deficient in some way. I am a failure.

I understand. It is hard. And maybe you can’t do it right now. That’s okay. You are a human being, not a “human doing”. You are not defined by what you can and can’t do; you are not the sum total of your successes and failures. You had infinite worth from the moment you were conceived; I loved you before you could do a single thing for yourself, and I will love you no matter what.

I won’t ask you to do anything that you cannot do, even though it may take some time for you to learn how. And even then I am right here beside you. You can fail a hundred times and I will never see you as a failure. How can you be a failure when the smell of your hair and the way your hands relax so completely when you’re asleep makes my heart burst with pride?

There isn’t a thing you can do to lose even a tiny shred of the ocean of love I have for you, and likewise not a thing you can do to earn it.

Littlefoot, no matter how big your feet get I will always be here for you to rest your head on. Whether it’s tracing letters or chasing your dream, when it feels impossible . . . Just breathe.

Just a little jot as a nurse…

I just saw the hundredth or so meme on Facebook (yes, my social media is Facebook and I’m cool with how old that makes me) about 2020 being a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad year. I laughed, because I get it. I, too, live on this planet. Not only did we start the year with a pandemic, racial tensions have been further exposed and reignited, tragedy after tragedy seems to be the theme of the nightly news, and… icing on the cake really… it’s an election year.

But in all this, I am not losing hope. And my hope is not that a new year will bring better news or racial healing or even justice. My hope is not that humanity will learn from this pandemic that the burden on mothers who work outside the home is completely untenable. My hope is not in a new president. My hope is not in a future event or even present blessings amidst these trials. My hope is in Christ. That He righted every wrong on Calvary, and that we are just living in the middle of a story already written.

This hope gives me room to laugh at the circus that this year has been without becoming cynical. It allows me to anticipate the future with joy without placing my hope there. It allows me to find blessings in the here and now, sometimes even because of the hardships. My greatest desire is for everyone to know this hope. It’s not an easy road but it’s beautiful.

I took my kids for their annual checkups this morning and I found myself telling the doctor that no, I had not yet taken them to a dentist because I still think I can’t afford it. Going to the dentist is something people with money do.

A probably well-meaning person jumped down my throat on Facebook yesterday for saying that I cannot support any organization whose core values include man’s sovereignty over his own life. While I expect opposition to the concept, I did not expect such ignorance surrounding what the belief means. Sovereignty of God means (among other things) that man is accountable to God in all areas. I didn’t expect such blindness to the fact that asserting a persons right to be whoever and however they want to be (regardless of what God says about who we are) is a value statement that runs antithetical to the whole of Scripture.

We are not our own. We belong to God first, second to one another. We cannot simply choose our life’s path based on what works best for “me”. And if this isn’t the daily grind of rubber meets the road Christianity I don’t know what is. We find in the command to love God and love others an infinite lack in our own selves to accomplish anything remotely like the love Jesus showed us. And we find in our desire to do it anyway, however faltering and failing, an infinite grace that carries us and allows God’s love to shine even in our feeblest efforts.

I will be crying over the injustices I’ve heard about for long after everyone has moved on to the next thing. I grew up in neighborhoods where people got pulled over because their car was too nice. I watched the hostility first-hand towards any non-white civilian regardless of how polite he was. The lack of trust of the police runs so deep in these communities. But isn’t the onus always on the person with authority? It’s the police who need to offer the olive branch. Maybe if I went back to the South side now I would see it all differently, but growing up it was indelibly impressed upon me that the police are not the ones we can trust. And I’m white.

I have money now. I grew up “white trash” but my kids won’t know what that’s like. Even with a paycut since the pandemic, we aren’t struggling financially. And I have to acknowledge the privilege of my race in getting the breaks I’ve gotten. A young white female with wide blue eyes walks into an office far from home and says, “I can learn any software you give me quicker and better than anyone you’ve got working here,” and the hiring manager doesn’t scoff. She believes me. Because I look the part. Not because I’ve got the credentials. Most of my job experience was at Burger King. My little office experience was all due to my connections from my very white, affluent church back home.

I don’t believe that people of color are disadvantaged because it conveniently excuses me from feeling offended by their lack of culture. (Yes I said it; I really believe a significant amount of white people want to believe black people in particular “can’t help themselves” because “the poor dears are disadvantaged”.) I believe they’re disadvantaged because I’ve seen it. The lack of expectations. The “different rules” for “the bus kids” at AWANA. The assumption that they’re poor. The complete lack of surprise if a black teen turns up pregnant. All of this, and more. So much more. It isn’t right.

So when I got accused of racism for disagreeing with an organization that at its surface is about equality but truly at its core supports human sovereignty, I wasn’t upset at the accusation. I was upset that there was no understanding, no concept of God as a person with His own supreme values to which we either submit or rebel. As sad as racism makes me, as rife with injustice as I see this sin-sick world, I know that what we are seeing in racism is the result of a systemic problem far greater: the worlds system, opposed to truth.

To stand with an organization that buys into the world’s system and its greatest lie: that we can be the captains of our own destiny, is in the end to support the continuation of injustice. There has to be a better way.

I will make it a point to get my kids enrolled in activities with people of varying social status and skin color. The one “pro” on my pro-con list of public school vs homeschool is that public school will afford my kids the chance to make friends with people who actually cannot afford to see a dentist, not just people who think they can’t. As a mother of young kids my most important mission is to teach them justice, empathy, kindness. A generation raised on this and exposed to different values, cultures, and ideas will simply not be racist. What we’ve been missing is the acknowledgment of differences. Prior generations of white people (and some more privileged non-white people) thought we could erase the past and just move forward “color blind”. I think we know better now.

But more than anything I can do to teach, I must obey the ancient teachings and never forget:

“…as those who have been chosen of God, holy and beloved, put on a heart of compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience; bearing with one another, and forgiving each other, whoever has a complaint against anyone; just as the Lord forgave you, so also should you. Beyond all these things put on love, which is the perfect bond of unity.”
‭‭Colossians‬ ‭3:12-14‬ ‭NASB‬‬
https://www.bible.com/100/col.3.12-14.nasb

Or, well, your kids toys.

This is truly a magical thing. It takes maybe an hour to set up and saves countless hours of cleanup frustrations and the most awful thing in the world for a child: boredom.

I got this idea from Happy You Happy Family, a blog that just overall contains tons of useful information and perspectives.

Here is the post:

https://happyyouhappyfamily.com/toy-rotation/

I do not label the bins. I also have no idea if I’ve got the categories right. But I spent maybe an hour taking this (some toys not pictured)

and creating this

So the kids can enjoy their toys like this

And when they put up their toys, (yes this is all of them that they can have in the playroom at a time) they can look like this:

I’ve been missing the organization and my kids have been missing their toys!

Now you with the kids — go! Do it!!

This virus, however it’s affecting us, is affecting ALL of us, and in that sense we are all in this together.

A couple nights ago I hopped onto a Zoom Bible study, apologized that I would probably miss a good bit since Littlefoot had to have Mommy put him to bed, and came back half an hour later totally lost.

After rushing to get to a study that was happening my own home, the lesson finally slowed down and we were sharing what’s going on in our lives. The leader and many others in the group seemed to assume that “we are all home right now” and “time has slowed down” for everyone. I didn’t want to be a dissenting voice but I couldn’t help but muse that my life has far from slowed down; I’m trying to compress an already compressed 32 hour workweek into 15 hours. I’m chasing tiny feet from 9am till 7pm and later, trying to make sure my mom gets something to eat every once in a while, trying not to lose my patience with my brother who doesn’t quite understand that what’s important to him is kinda low on the priority list most of the time, fielding phone calls with requests for reports and random information from work (thankfully not as often as my husband does, but that’s why the kids are mine from 9-7 rather than attempting a more equitable arrangement).

I probably just said a few things that need explanation. Yes, I live with my mom and brother. I don’t share much about my living arrangement because it’s usually not pertinent. But in this case, it’s very pertinent.

If I were separated from my mom during this quarantine, my mom might have died. A few weeks ago, as I was trying to make my weekly run to work to get the necessary things done there, Love called and asked if we had any gas medicine at the house. I didn’t know, and I was surprised he was calling me — wouldn’t my mom know? She’s usually the keeper of the medicines; she knows what we have and what should work for just about every ailment.

“It’s for your mom,” he said.

So I turned around and stopped by a pharmacy to pick some up and bring it home, where I found my mom in about as much pain as I’d ever seen her . . . and I’ve seen my mom pain a lot. She has fibromyalgia. Pain is a constant for her. Unfortunately, but maybe fortunately, that’s made seeing her in pain not much of a shock for me. I tried to make her comfortable, adjusted a heating pad, and asked her to breathe deeply and moan through the pain in case it was gas; moaning relaxes the muscles. After a few minutes, we both agreed that going the ER was best. I drove her there and dropped her off — and that’s probably a story for another post about the most surreal aspect of this pandemic I have experienced to date.

Since then she’s come back home, minus an appendix, unable to lift more than ten pounds, and weak. That’s been the hardest thing for us to navigate: how to build her back up to any sort of normal activity level after not just this appendectomy but a knee surgery a month prior.

As for living with my brother, he has special needs but he’s not a child. And you either know what that’s like or you don’t. And even if you know what it’s like, if you’re smart you’ll know that you can’t know exactly what it’s like. Throw in the fact that living with him is a newish development and you can see how I might have gained a few extra gray hairs these past two months.

So, my days are fuller than they’ve ever been. This time here, writing about this, has been the most time I’ve gotten to myself in weeks and it’s under the guise of getting caught up on work. Which I do need to get caught up on; I’m behind on so many things. But those things can wait. I need this.

(Um, feel free to just skip this paragraph entirely; leaving it here for those who know me a bit better and get a kick out of seeing my little wheels spinning.)

I also need a plan for handling all of this much better than I have been, but I’m working on it. Just taking this time right now is a step in the right direction. I can’t let the noise of others needs drown out the pure and simple fact that I do have my own needs. One of those needs is time alone, and time to write. I used to get time alone at work, in the mornings before the rest of the sleepyheads made their way in. I adore mornings, when those mornings are relaxed and I’m not rushing to get things done. Maybe working in the mornings isn’t the best plan. Maybe quiet time, some coffee, and working on Wednesday evenings and Saturdays is best. Get an hour or so in the mornings if I can, after I’ve had time to just BE. Compressing the time even further, but it’s just temporary until my mom is back on her feet. We’ve already talked about a plan to help her slowly build up her endurance. And then, just taking work calls if they come in and handling things as I absolutely have to. With that work pressure off, I need to put my energy into better housekeeping routines so laundry does pile up and bathrooms don’t get scary. And I also need to plan more things for the kids. Rotate toys every couple days since they’re home more. Pare it down to just about 10 toys in the room at a time, and keep it fresh by rotating them in the mornings before they get up. I could alternate toy rotation day with shower day — meaning, I would shower more than once a week.

Sorry about that little detour. Back to the blog post . . .

We’re not all going through the same thingS, but we are all going through the same THING – this virus. I know I can’t be the first person to point this out, but it seems to be a recurring theme in my life, as someone who has been dealt a fairly odd hand of trails, that it’s better to extend the open hand of “I may not know what you’re going through, but I care,” than the determined clasp of, “I know exactly what you’re going through.”

As I wrap this up at 2am after a long text message conversation with my brother, I’ve lost a lot of the motivation I had this morning. But I know that joy comes in the morning, so I’m holding out for that. It’s gonna be alright. We will get through this, whatever it looks like for you or me.

I don’t write about stuff I’ve been through with any sort of detail, if at all, because even reading other people’s experiences is, as people like to say “triggering”.

Maybe one day I’ll be able to write about my past to comfort and encourage others. Right now, I prefer to dwell on the miraculous present.

Ten years ago I would have never imagined the life I have now, not in my wildest dreams. My problems are almost all because of extraordinary blessings. I can’t complain even a little bit without acknowledging this.

So how did I end up here, writing this? A helpful Facebook post, offering a hotline number, led me to a Facebook page and a blog post that left me feeling some strange need to process . . . But I can’t. I have tried before. It doesn’t help; it leaves me feeling stuck in a past I can’t undo and wondering what those I write about must think of me.

Hurting people hurt people. I truly believe that, and because of that I can’t think of any way to talk about past hurts that would do anything other than cause more pain.

It frustrates me that things that should just be helpful end up sending me down a little detour in my mind like this. Why shouldn’t I share that hotline? It’s a good thing to share; we never know what people are really dealing with at home. Not unless they tell us. And why would anyone tell us if we never open that door?

I like to think I’m open, and I know I would never tell someone they couldn’t talk to me about anything— but why can’t I let my own guard down? I can, maybe. Just not on a blog.

I’m okay. After writing this, anyway, I can say that. Funny how it doesn’t take much, just a few minutes and a few words. Maybe we can do this small thing for each other? Just a few words, a few minutes, and we can walk away feeling lighter.

A Prayer of David.

This isn’t a shocking revelation to me, but something I am learning over and over again in every relationship: the only way to experience the communion Christ longs for us to have is to set them free. We have to stop trying to punish people. Yes, he hurt you. Yes, she slighted you. Yes, you were overlooked. And if you hurt or slighted overlooked someone wouldn’t you want to be forgiven? Maybe you would never do that. Oh, yes; the argument of the Pharisee — “Thank the Lord I am not like that sinner.”  Just give it up already. Lay down that burden; none of us are good enough. I could write paragraphs on that theme but I’ll leave you to read the words of Jesus Himself: Luke 18:9-14

So I’m not astounded that this song would say to set them free; what amazes me is how many times I’ve heard this song and never heard that lyric before. What else am I missing?