Snow Days

I find myself surrounded by special “days” this month. Snow days ushered in January while yesterday was MLK day. And for those who observe it, Sanctity of Life Sunday was two days ago. More, my birthday is this Saturday. Not only do I share the day with my brother (who’s two years older), but also, I share it with the anniversary of Roe v. Wade. And here we are today…

Another snow day.

I’ll be honest, I’m not usually fond of snow days. I love to watch it coming down and don’t mind being outside in it. And aside from the effort of walking back up, I do like to sled down our driveway with the kids. It’s the mess I dislike. Coming in afterward and draping soggy clothes everywhere to dry out. Extra towels. An extra load of laundry. I know, this sounds very much like a complaint, so I’ll stop there.

That’s not the main reason why snow days bring me disturbance, anyway.

Have you entered the storehouses of snow or observed the storehouses of hail, which I hold in reserve for times of trouble… Job 38:22

Basically, snow days disrupt my routine. They throw things off course and mostly, they slow me down. Thus, the rigid woman I can be, bound to a schedule and a plan of my own making, can easily fall into a funk by what I deem to be delay. Yes, in my book, that would aptly describe a snow day.

A big fat delay.

But you know what? I’ve come to realize they’re so more than what I feel. Because the past two weeks have served to teach me God ordains them. And He, who is sovereign, planned them. And if I submit by giving in to the slower pace of the day, He can shepherd me by it. But when I resist?

Well, that would be me shepherding (guiding) myself. That’s when angst sets in.

The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want; He makes me to lie down in green pastures… Psalm 23:1-2

I just wrote about this subject on the heels of the last snow days, and I thought I was done with the matter. However, it appears God has more to say on the issue. And seeing this week is bookended by monumental days, His teaching is quite timely. Providential, even.

Because me and snow days have a history. As I recently shared in my last blog, snow covered the ground when I wondered if I were pregnant. I was twenty-two but alas, the Lord was not my Shepherd. No, I was my own guide, led by a fierce sense of longing and want. And my pace was hurried and hectic. Oh, I always moved too fast in every way. Thus, without thinking, I chose the unthinkable.

No, seems nothing could deviate me from my plans.

And as for today? I realize I still have a choice. I can submit to God’s guidance and plans, or mine. Unfortunately, at the beginning of last week, I chose my own. Because snow days hindered my at-home job, the work eeked into special days I set apart for a big project. By Tuesday night, just a week ago, I was foul. I told my husband I felt beat up. And at the time, I felt provoked by the devil.

Today, though, I know it was me using the prod…

I was driving myself at an unreasonable pace. Forcing myself to hurry so I could get to what I wanted. Reaching for the thing I aspire to attain, but delays only push it that much further out.

You know, my lord, that the children are frail and need gentle care, and the nursing flocks and herds (with young) are of concern to me; For if the men should drive them hard for a single day, all flocks will die. Please, my lord, go on ahead of his servant and I will move on slowly, governed by the pace of the livestock that are in front of me and according to the endurance of the children… Genesis 33:13-14

I read this passage yesterday and it caused me to take notice. Because no doubt, God reveals much through it in conjunction with these snow days. Well, in conjunction with any perceived delay. Because that’s how I’ve looked at this past month…

Snow days capping off holidays turned a two-and-a-half-week holiday into nearly three weeks. Add in a busier than expected work week, and faulty perspective suggests I’m a month off course. And despite my hectic pace, I still feel behind. But God reveals I’m right where I need to be. Because through it all, He’s teaching me to follow His lead.

And His pace is often slower than mine.

Through the words of His chosen servant, Jacob, He provides illumination. Jacob, who hurried away from his hometown because of his rash actions. Jacob, a former man of the house who was transformed into a shepherd. Jacob, who learned about driving cattle and sheep. And who knew the young, and their mothers, needed to move slowly.

That’s what God has been trying to teach me. He reveals my hurried, hectic pace negates all traces of tender care and gentleness. More, it’s not God who drives me so hard, it’s me. I’m the one who pushes and pokes and prods…

I feel beat up and knocked about. Driven severely (all definitions of “drive them hard”). A week ago, I felt all this because I am a driven woman. I drive way too hard.

And way too fast.

My little lamb…

If I let it, Genesis 33 can be life-changing. Because God gives me my pace. “Governed” by the pace of the livestock… and according to the endurance of the children. It’s all in that passage. Under His shepherding hand, I am led on softly and with care. And in stages. More, He leads me to rest. And most incredibly and awe-inspiringly, He leads me through my children.

They’re the pace car. They cause me to slow down. But only when I yield.

And if I can take it to heart, this becomes the greatest lesson of my life. And I absorb here it in the midst of monumental days. Because this week is bookended by Sanctity of Life Sunday and the anniversary of Roe v. Wade. And monumental days give way to colossal enlightenment…

Because at twenty-two, I refused. I was not governed by the pace of my unborn children. The Lord was not my Shepherd, and guided by my own harsh hand, I was driven too fast to operate life safely. Driven to leave both God’s plan and my children behind. And this is one of life’s greatest tragedies.

That fact is, though, it can still happen. Left unchecked, I can do the same. Because inadvertently, when I operate life at a breakneck speed, my living children can be left behind in the stirred-up dust.

This is truth.

And so, I see the choice remains. Every day, I get to choose life or death. But I have to tell you, sometimes it feels so hard to choose wisely. Because choosing life at forty-eight means putting aside all my plans. It means giving way to the slower pace yielded by a snow day. Because the kids are at home.

However, when I make them the plan, my plan lines up with God’s…

So very different than the younger woman I was…

Your eyes saw me when I was formless; all my days were written in Your book and planned before a single one of them began. Psalm 139:16

my flock…
Open your mouth wide and I will fill it (Psalm 81:10)

He also chose David, His servant and took him from the sheepfolds; from tending the ewes with nursing young. He brought him to shepherd Jacob His people. So David shepherded them according to the integrity of his heart and guided them with his skillful hands. Psalm 78:70, 72

I was a shepherd in our Christmas play this year. In preparation, I read all of the passages pertaining to Jesus’ birth, and Matthew 2:6 resonated. Because not only was the forthcoming Jesus described as Ruler and Governor, but also Shepherd. ” Jesus would shepherd God’s people.

And though I don’t always yield to His prodding (pace or direction), He does certainly lead me. Eventually, I find myself turning the way He points. And when I do, I discover He gives me both what I need and what I want. And as always, it’s not what I’ve been chasing. It’s them.

Yes, my family plays a huge part in the lesson of my life, that of choosing life. Because in facing God, He forever faces me toward them. He reminds me of my nursing young. My flock. And though they’re not babies, anymore, they still need to be fed. Both physically and spiritually. And that’s one of the definitions for shepherding…

In addition to everything else, it means to feed, pasture, graze.

But see, God wants me to do it like King David. According to the integrity of my heart. That means fullness or completeness. And with skillful hands. That means spoon, hollow, or palm. Do you see it?

My heart can’t be full of angst caused by longing and want, it must be full of Him. And my hands can’t be full of everything I cling to. Instead, I have to let go of that which displaces my childrens’ feed. Because if I don’t, they go hungry…

And that’s not what a good shepherd does.

See, the flock needs to be fed.

When the layer of dew evaporated, on the surface of the wilderness there was a fine, flake-like thing, as fine as frost on the ground. When the Israelites saw it, they said to one another, “What is it?” For they did not know what it was. And Moses said to them, “This is the bread which the Lord has given you to eat.” Exodus 16:14, 15

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lay down. He gives me rest. And sometimes, He governs my pace with snow days. But like the Israelites, I was confused when they first began to hinder my progress years back.

Why the delay, I wondered. Is it me? God? The devil? But now I know.

It’s how He feeds me. It’s part of my sustenance. Like manna in the desert, snow-white flakes from heaven serve to provide me with my daily bread. It’s what the Good Shepherd offers from the hollow of His hand. And if I’m wise, I’ll remember it. And oh, I pray I do.

Because that way, I’ll no longer resist. Or push so hard chasing my agenda. Because I know He sends them…

Snow days.

God uses them and rules through them. He redirects and slows. And unlike last week, I thank Him for today’s. Because through it, He deepens the lesson of choosing life. And because it’s a new day, He gives me yet another opportunity to make that choice. And I tell you, choosing life at forty-eight looks a lot different than it did at twenty-two…

Because there was no struggle for the younger me. No fight. Nothing was going to slow or deter me from my plans. Today, though, I can. I struggle because laying down “mine” for theirs can be hard. But inevitably, I always come around. And in the end, I make them my plan. And this is how I choose life at forty-eight. I put my flock first…

Because as He teaches me, that’s what a good shepherd does.

“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.” John 10:11

Sometimes the devil wins…

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“How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news!” Romans 10:15

Christmas happened. December 17 came, and from that moment on, it’s been a mad dash. Preparations and presents and baking and a trip and the aftermath. I don’t know about you, but it usually takes me a week or two to bring order back to my life. It entails an overhaul of each room, removing items no longer needed, and also, movement of furniture.

I emptied closets and cabinets making room for the new. And I had to smile when I realized both my mom and my mom-in-law gave me footcare items. As you can see from the picture, my feet desperately need them. The polish has been on my toes since July and my heels are as rough as 40 grit sandpaper.

I tell you, though, in seeing the lotion and solutions, another thought occurred to me going beyond self-care. It had to do with the above verse… how lovely the feet. That word means belonging to the right hour or season. It means timely.

And so at the end of December, I wondered, is it time now?

How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news, who proclaim peace, who bring good tidings, who proclaim salvation, who say to Zion, “Your God reigns!” Isaiah 52:7

This message rings out from the Old Testament, as well. It resonates in that the definition for “bring good news” can mean to publish. And those who know me best know this is a heart-felt dream of mine. Not only do I hope to complete a book, but I want to publish it. Oh, I’ve been chasing this dream of mine ever since the Fall of 2011.

In fact, that’s what I was vigorously doing up to December 17. Then, I hit pause on my dream and settled into everything else, expecting to get back to it just after the 3rd of January when school started. Alas, snow days bookended the one day my kids went that week. Nonetheless, I found my heart so full of God’s goodness by Friday morning, I wanted to share.

Indeed, it felt like it was time. I wondered… a blog, Instagram, Facebook? Perhaps a card for the two women in my sphere who are dealing with something exceptionally hard?

I needed an outlet for my good news. But because a snow day’s busy with extra, passion waned and life carried on. Ever since, though, I’ve found myself wanting to share at dawn’s first light. Busyness and duties forever eclipse that early morning high, though. And inevitably, good morning news gets overshadowed by the weight of everyday pressures.

It just happened yesterday. My heart so full was black as night by evening. And the woman who stood at the kitchen counter heating up leftovers, barely glancing her husband’s way when he got home, seemed to be the very same one who stood there ten years earlier. Yes, after everything God’s brought me through, it seemed as though I hadn’t changed a bit.

Indeed, the devil won the day. Because not only did I have a terrible attitude, I also gave way to doubt. I thought how can I share good news when my very demeanor seemed to shout, what good news? Thus, I felt disqualified…

And judging by last night, I’d say the time most assuredly had not come.

The Lord speaks; many, many women spread the good news. Psalm 68:11

My grandfather, Eddie, was a Bible thumper. In his day, he was a lay preacher, and later on, he preached from his chair in the living room. And when he lay on his bed reading that old black book, he’d sometimes call for me, asking how to pronounce a difficult word. These were my first tastes of God.

Now, forty years later, I find myself following Eddie’s footsteps. I preach from my driver’s seat and from the living room. To whoever will listen. The dream of publishing plays into this. Yes, when I first felt the prompt to write, I wanted to share what I knew. And hearing Psalm 68:11 for the first time seemed to solidify the call. Because it’s right there in black and white…

See, the King James Version uses the word publish instead of “spread the good news,” and I tell you, I aimed to do it. There was a problem, though. Seems I set out to proclaim the good news before I actually had any. That’s because I hadn’t internalized anything I read from God’s word.

And the woman who stood at my counter last night?

Well, proper perspective assures me she’s an occasional visitor now. But in 2011, and for many years afterward, she was pretty much a permanent fixture. Oh, I was dark. And yet, I believed myself qualified to spread the gospel.

No doubt, I’ve been moody ever since that first snow day. That’s when the darkness outside my window reached inside my heart and took root. And my journal gives evidence of everything I carried to bed with me the night before…

Anger, hardness, brittleness, sharpness. I felt numb and had given way to a feeling of resignation. But I sat in my chair anyway last week. It’s just what I do. And before I even opened my Bible, a phrase came to mind. Hold Fast. It’s something I heard at a Beth Moore conference long ago. “H.O.L.D.F.A.S.T. God has set His love upon me.

And so I sat there and meditated. I knew the reason for my blackness and I knew the way out of it. It has to do with submission. The surrendering to God’s plan. And because I felt so bad, I prayed I would yield to God instead of giving way to the darkness. Nothing extravagant, just a one-line prayer.

And when I noticed the picture I recently placed on my side table, my heart began to shift. Because it seemed God was whispering to me the very words written out by my mother. She gave me a poem for my birthday, twenty-two years back.

A daughter is a precious gift; she shines as silver in the sun, and gleams like gold caught in the moonlight. Fine chains are woven of these two, but stronger still, and holding fast are chains of love that hold us tight. MLC

I saw what God wanted me to. I knew He was telling me that not only do chains of love hold me tight to Mom, but also to Him. I am held fast to God, my heavenly Father. And oh, what treasure I find in the definition for Father: for those who through Christ have been exalted to a specially close and intimate relationship with God, and who no longer dread him as a stern judge of sinners, but revere Him as their reconciled and loving Father.

I had to see this. More, I had to internalize it for real and for good. And had I not moved my room around, I would have missed it. Thus, I comprehend the shifting of furniture wasn’t random. No, a strategically placed poem served to point me to the deepness of my Father’s love. And that’s when I felt a shift.

For a while, in my surrendered state, the blackness dissipated. And the land blanketed by snow seemed to give testimony to the white flag I’d hoisted in my heart.

The Lord gave the word: great was the company of those that published it. Though ye have lien among the pots, yet shall ye be as the wings of a dove covered with silver, and her feathers with yellow gold. Psalm 68:11, 13

Me and God had a moment Wednesday because He reminded me of His Fatherhood. But through my daily Psalm on Thursday, He stressed my daughterhood. For I am His little girl.

And there’s that verse. The one about publishing. This time around, though, I noticed the verse after. And it’s here I find good news highlighted through the word yet.

Though you did (fill in the blank), yet, you will be as silver and gold. The God of all creation was rereading my mom’s poem to me, but this time through His holy word. He confirmed that yes, I did many things in the past. And yes, I continue to do things. Like my bad moods. And yet, I shine like silver caught in the sun and gleam like gold caught in the moonlight.

God confirmed His Fatherhood and my daughterhood. And by Friday, my heart was full of this good news.

And I wanted to share.

“Daughter, your faith (…in Me) has restored you to health; go in peace and be (permanently) healed from your suffering.” Mark 5:34

Just look at that. God, I love this picture. I wanted to share it Friday because it captures the Father’s love and a daughter’s adoration. Alas, busyness set in and I never got to it. Thus, it appears the devil won the day. But you know what? Sunday hadn’t happened yet. And I had to experience Sunday before I could share this message.

Because that was the day I put my own little girl first. I tended to Annabelle’s heart by taking her to church for AWANA…

I tell you, God met me there in a hundred small ways. When we prayed for the two little girls who are so sick, Annabelle’s teacher asked for healing and that God would make them miracles. She had no idea she was voicing the very words I’d read that morning through Psalm 71:7, “I am as a sign and a wonder (miracle) to many.”

And the picture she’d drawn to depict what creation must have been like? Well, it immediately brought to mind the cards I intended to mail on Friday. The ones I never sent to the little girls’ moms.

The biggest encounter came from my conversation with the pastor. I shared with him about Fathers and daughters. Then he shared with me about the woman who had a bleeding issue (Mark 5). He said it was the only time Jesus addressed a woman as Daughter, and I could hardly wait to get home and read it.

Daughter. It means daughter of God, acceptable. Rejoicing in God’s peculiar care and protection. And I tell you, Sunday is when that verse came alive in a way it never has been before. Because I’d just experienced such peculiar care from Him. So intricate in His dealings with me…

And I hope to never forget it.

Daddy’s Girl

I painted the above of me and my Daddy a couple of years back. And this past November I used it at the beginning of the section of something I was writing called Painter’s Daughter. Lo and behold, I found a coat that looked just like it in Annabelle’s size at the thrift store. At the time, I had no doubt God gave it to me. See, He was confirming His Fatherhood then, too.

Which begs the question of why? If He confirmed it in November and confirmed it years before, why did He have to again Friday? I think my answer is found in the bleeding woman’s story. Because her 12-year issue made her unclean, she was unacceptable to the religious leaders of the day. Untouchable…

And yet, Jesus stopped to interact with her. He tenderly called her Daughter, marking her as His own. Though she was unaccepted by the world, she was accepted by Him.

And though it may not be a church leader who sets a high bar of expectation, I am my own worst enemy. I demand perfection, thinking I must be a certain way before delivering God’s message of good news. In my mind, I cannot make mistakes. Like yesterday’s very bad, dark day. In every way. In my mind, I wasn’t fit to share because I just can’t get it right.

I’ve been bleeding out over this issue and it’s hindered me off and on for years. It causes me to shut down and when I do, the devil wins.

But this is contrary to the gospel because I’m basing acceptance on my goodness and what I do. The very, good news, though, is being acceptable to God has everything to do with what Jesus did. That’s it. And no doubt, the devil delighted when He was raised on a cross. How dark it was that Friday…

And it must have seemed like the devil won. But see, Sunday hadn’t happened yet. And when it did, after burying my sin along with the sin of the world, Jesus came up out of that tomb alive. And my faith and belief in Him, and what He did, is what makes Psalm 68:13 true. That though I (fill in the blank), yet, I am as silver and gold.

A little girl, accepted by God, her heavenly Father.

Seems I needed a reminder of that good news. And how like God to make sure I got it this time through the painting below. Yes, I recently moved it. And no longer does it hover over my jewelry box, where I keep all my adornments. Instead, it sits above my quiet time chair. And what a visual…

Because it tells me that in His sight, I am more precious than gold…

Since Friday morning, a couple of invitations or requests have come my way relating to Facebook. And they seemed timely. Doors opened for sharing the gospel on the heels of my elation. But for reasons known to God and me, I declined both. For now, at least.

The second was really tempting, though, because it was an opportunity to share what I’m writing. Since sanctity of life Sunday is coming up, it seemed a good spot to talk about the book because it’s a pro-life message. Or choose-life. And sadly, that’s my story. Because at twenty-two, I did not.

As a young woman, I found myself pregnant and when I first realized my condition, thick snow covered the land. A snow day, if you will. But back then, I wouldn’t be stopped. Nothing hindered me from progressing because I chose me. And therein lies the rub…

Because today, I do get stopped. All the time. And a snow day most specifically halts my plans because I have children. Their wants and needs will always trump mine. That was the battle last week. Surrendering to the day. To God’s will. Thus, God’s word, and the verse Annabelle is learning through AWANA, resonates all the more.

“For God so loved the world, He gave His only begotten Son…”

Yes, God sent a Son to lay down His life for God’s children. And because I’m a follower of Christ, my actions should look the same. God sends me, a daughter, to lay down my life for my living children. That means putting their stuff before mine. Them first. That’s what choosing life looks like for me at forty-eight.

But God help me, I slip up. Darkness descends whenever those selfish mannerisms the younger me possessed present. It happened just last night. But unlike the old me, I don’t dwell there. Light always slices through the dark. That’s why I know…

I have changed. And that, my friend, is good news.

“Little girl, I say to you, get up!” The little girl immediately got up and began to walk… Mark 5:41-42

Indeed, the fifth chapter of Mark is one I won’t forget. The bleeding woman speaks because like her, I’ve got some issues. But if you keep reading, you find another story. This one of a sick little girl. She was at death’s door when Christ took her by the hand. He told her to walk, and she did.

The Greek word for walk intrigues me because it means to make one’s way, progress, make due use of opportunities. And I can’t help but see this in light of the good news. See, feet aren’t just made for walking, they’re used to bring good news. And when you do, they become beautiful.

Even feet sorely in need of a pedicure…

Beautiful. It means timely. Now. No matter what. And so I deem yes, it is time. Because it’s always the right time to bring good news. The key is, you have to have some to give it.

And though the devil won yesterday’s skirmish, he won’t win the war. And though darkness creeps in, it won’t utterly consume the light. I know so because this is my story. It’s my good news. I’m free to share it because it has nothing to do with me and my goodness.

Instead, it has everything to do with His.

Then Peter said, “Silver or gold I do not have, but what I do have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk.” Acts 3:6

Watering Holes

I felt compelled to share last week but delayed. And the stirring, which began on Thursday, was enhanced by Friday afternoon. Maybe even to a fever pitch. However, a busy weekend was followed by even busier days. And by Tuesday night, I was done. Exhausted. Spent. I had nothing left to offer. No more was I inspired to pour out my heart…

That’s why today, I smile at the verse I read first thing this week. Perhaps a mild chastening from my heavenly Father in that John 9:4 exhorted me, “We must quickly carry out the tasks assigned to us by the one who sent us.” Because that’s what the previous week’s compulsion to share felt like. An assignment. But one I neglected to carry out. And because the past few days happened, I no longer wanted to do it. Passion waned as all my creative energy depleted.

I felt empty, not full. Dry, not satiated.

But then, today happened.

And he who waters will himself be watered… Proverbs 11:25

I chose to meet my friend this morning. We were supposed to yesterday but my new job required all of me, so I postponed. We met a day late. God’s word, though, assures me our walking date was right on time. That’s because last night had to come first.

And, oh, I relish the quiet hours I spend alone in the evening. After all my people go down, I either watch an old sitcom or immerse myself in my current mystery novel. But last night, I didn’t want to read my “Cat who…” book. Instead, I just sat there staring into the not so distant dark outside my window. Eventually, my tired hand reached for the living words housed inside my Bible. I just really wanted to hear from Him because the preceding days felt so heavy…

There’s the world. The chaos and the discord. Tragic events left and right, afar and within reach. Sicknesses and divisions too close for comfort and too close to home. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

So I opened my favorite Book and the pages fell to Jeremiah 31 . At first, I honed in on a favorite passage. But then I glimpsed a phrase that moved my parched spirit…

“For I (fully) satisfy the weary soul, and I replenish every languishing and sorrowful person.” Jeremiah 31:25

I needed to hear this last night. I savored the definitions of satisfy (saturated, take one’s fill, slake thirst, satiated). And I meditated over the meanings of replenish (to fill, be full, be full of). And before I knew it, one verse pointed to another, and to another, leading me straight to the truth of my situation.

I was empty because I chose to be. I expended myself, neglecting to pause and fill on the most necessary thing. And it’s cyclical. Summer, always pressing, is followed by the first days of school and followed by birthdays. Excess busyness. And the extra causes me to make cuts in other areas. Like late nights infringing on my mornings with God. Later and later I stay up, lessening and lessening those precious moments in His word. With Him…

The pattern ends with me hitting a wall because I keep hitting the ground running. I start pouring out before pouring in. I attempt to fill needs from an empty vessel. Empty bowls and empty cups and empty backpacks and empty stomachs and empty closets. Then there are things that need emptying, like full inboxes and full hampers and full dishwashers. Endless emptying and filling, filling and emptying.

And yet, filling on the one thing that can truly fill me is minimized.

By last night, my innermost being echoed the psalmist’s sentiment, “I pour out my soul to God, and I remember how I used to… ” Yes, not so long ago, I used to wake when it was still dark and fill on His word. But for days, I had not. And my soul was left parched. But He reminded me last night. He told me how He fully satisfies dried out beings. And how He replenishes thirsty souls.

And it happened. It’s absolutely true that God poured out His Spirit into my empty one last night. And for today, I am refreshed. Replenished. And my friend’s actions during our seemingly one day late date seemed to underscore everything He revealed. Because without asking, she brought me a full glass of water. She knew what I needed and refreshed me.

But you know, my replenishment had more to do with our time together than it did with the contents of that cobalt vessel.

And one who gives others plenty of water will himself be given plenty. Proverbs 11:25

Last week, before losing my oomph, I wanted to write about Rebekah jars. After reading Genesis 24, I had all these thoughts swirling around about how I should be filled with God’s spirit, but how hard that is when I’m full of myself. Yes, I admit, I have a problem with pride. And yet, I was moved by Rebekah’s actions when asked for a drink…

She quickly lowered her jar and offered its contents. The aha moment being that I’m the jar. A clay vessel formed by God’s hand, to be filled with good things for the outpouring onto others. However, I must be full to accomplish that. And more, I must be lowered. Humble. The best example I find is in Philippians 2, which tells how Jesus lowered and emptied Himself. And further, how He gave His very life for us. His blood poured out…

But during His time on earth, even Jesus took breaks. Solitary moments alone with His Father. A time for filling to equip Him for His time of emptying.

And as to Rebekah, her lowering prompted me to look into wells during biblical times. Seems young women typically had the daily chore of drawing water from wells. Not only would they gather water for their families into earthen vessels, but the time was also used for socializing. For meeting people. Talking. In my eyes, ancient wells were the equivalent of a modern day watering hole.

And so, what strikes me today as a forty-eight year old woman, is that a young woman’s need for female companionship was tended to while she took care of her family responsibilities. And what was important then is no less important today…

The lesson is that while I take care of my family duties, filling and watering my people, I must also tend to my own needs. And one of those, in addition to time with God, is time with friends. In fact, I’ve discovered this particular need is essential to my well-being.

Because after quality time with a dear friend, I walk away feeling full. Satisfied.

More, I am inspired.

We have this precious treasure in earthen vessels… 2 Corinthians 4:7

I realize I’m fortunate. I work from home, so flexible hours allow me time to schedule a walk or occasional lunch. Like this past Friday, when I met two of my girlfriends. One reached out seeking counsel and thoughts, wanting to pick our brains. Though I didn’t have much to offer verbally that day, I’ve had time to ruminate since.

And the advice I now offer to my dear friend, the who stands at a crossroads…

Do what fills you. Do what’s fulfilling. Don’t add one thing to your calendar that empties and leaves you feeling dry.

Yes, that’s what I’d tell my friend who is facing something really hard. Now I know, some tasks women face are unavoidable. There are unwanted things we have do in life every day. But the reality is there are some things we don’t. In fact, a lot of what we do, we don’t have to. And too much unnecessary doing leads to excessive emptying.

This is what life, and especially the last few days, have taught me. That if I want to add something to my calendar, in addition to my responsibilities, then it must be life-giving. Fulfilling.

It should be something that fills me in a way that’s beneficial to me and to those I’m surrounded by.

a filled me…

Funny thing we talked about Friday was women’s work vs. men’s work. Perhaps that’s why one of the definitions for vessel in 2 Corinthians 4:7 really stands out today: specially, a wife as contributing to the usefulness of the husband.

Well, we all had our thoughts on that issue. And a few differences of opinion as we each lead different lives. Accordingly, our roles and responsibilities on the home front vary. But you know, after this past week of meditating on jars and wells and filling and emptying, I’ve come to the conclusion there’s one task that applies for all of us women.

And no, it’s not ironing or cleaning or cooking. It’s that of collecting water. Living water. That type of women’s work affords the most benefit to our husband. Because no doubt, women are vessels made for filling. And we will be, whether good or bad. And inevitably, what’s inside comes out because that’s what women do… we pour out. We empty ourselves from the moment our feet hit the ground.

That’s why we must be filled…

With things that make us happy. With fun things, like time with friends. Coffee dates and lunches and walks. But also, with things He calls us to do. Because assuredly, an assignment from God is fulfilling.

First and foremost, though, we must spend time in His word. Time with God. Because that’s where the filling starts. The good kind. Yes, this task is essential in order for a woman to accomplish all she must do.

This is what God reminded me of last night. And what He reiterated through my friend this morning. He wants to fill me with good things, but it’s a daily filling. Because I can’t continue pouring from an empty vessel. Thus, I choose to fill up on Him. In doing so, I find the replenishment I need…

And I am satisfyingly full.

“But whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” John 4:14

Did God Cry?

Something happened this morning. I was doing my last-minute inspection before rushing out to the car when I heard a loud thump outside the door. And though there was no scream or shriek, I knew without looking. I knew it was my little girl. Annabelle. See, the deck is slick from frost and I didn’t think to warn her as she went out…

I took a quick glance at the stove once more – off, off, off, off, off – just to be sure the house wouldn’t be set to fire by gas burners while I was away. Then I went out to see.

Though she was down on those wooden steps, she wasn’t crying out, which somehow made it worse… she just silently writhed while grabbing hold of her back. It broke my heart. When I got to her, a quiet moan escaped, and her face revealed pain. Yet, she held back. Since she held her tears in, I gathered her into my arms and cried for her. And I held tight as long as I could. Alas, it was 7:03 a.m. Time for carpool and I had two boys to get to our designated spot.

Where Annabelle fell – picture taken after she was dropped off at school

On the way to drop off, I kept glancing in the mirror to check on Annabelle. While she was silent as a mouse, I had to choke back sobs. And I wondered why the emotion. Because my crying seemed disproportionate to what actually occurred.

Thus, I deduced my tears had as much to do with my own tumble as with Annabelle’s. And because of His mercy and grace, I think God gave me a glimpse into His own heart, and how He felt when I went down…

As one whom his mother comforts, so I will comfort you, and you will be comforted in Jerusalem… when you see this, your heart will rejoice and your bones will flourish like new grass. Isaiah 66:13-14

Some years back, I sensed God calling me out of everything. Most specifically, the light. He wanted me to come out of view of the watching world and yet, I resisted. I wanted to stay right where I was in the midst of it all. Incredibly visible.

But see, God knew what was coming my way. Like Humpty Dumpty, He knew I was headed for a great, fall. A spiritual and emotional one. In my mind, God was calling me out of view because I was being chastened. Punished, if you will. But this past year, I came to comprehend the truth of it all. It had more to do with God’s surpassing love for me…

He was trying to protect me so people wouldn’t witness my downfall. See, it may be true a fall can hurt physically. But if someone sees you take a nosedive, the inside pain can be almost as unbearable.

I think that’s what happened with my little girl. Oh, so sensitive she is. And that’s why I cried this morning. Because I knew her humiliation. She fell hard and someone else saw it happen.

How often I wanted to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were unwilling. Matthew 23:37

I could hardly wait to be alone with Annabelle. I wanted to talk to her about what happened. She confirmed she was embarrassed but smiled so big at me. I think she was happy I understood. And as soon as we got to her school, I pulled her onto my lap and held on. I told her over and over, “I love you so much.”

And oh, I do. More than I could ever imagine. So much so, it hurts. That’s what loving someone can do. It opens you up to pain.

I knew Annabelle was okay by the time I left her at the school door, though, because she was already discussing recess activities and how she might not be able to play tag… if others touched her where she bruised, it could hurt again.

I told my precious daughter it was a good idea to sit out. Because I saw the bruise. I know how bad it hurt. And I have to say, as I left her at the door, that purple stain from her back was emblazoned on my own heart. And when I got home, I cried as if I’d taken a beating myself.

Surely He has borne our griefs
And carried our sorrows;
Yet we esteemed Him stricken,

Smitten by God, and afflicted.
But He was wounded for our transgressions,
He was bruised for our iniquities;
The chastisement for our peace was upon Him,
And by His stripes we are healed. Isaiah 53:4-5

Something happened this morning. However, it goes deeper than my little girl falling on the steps. It has to do with the pain I felt inside my own heart. I cried till I was hoarse. And as I quieted, I had to ask God, why? Why was I so affected by it all…

Then a verse came to me. It has to do with Jesus and the beating He took for us all. That’s when God revealed truth. See, every bruise I ever received by this cold, world (both inside and out) was emblazoned upon the body of God’s own Son just before He was raised up on a wooden cross. He took all my pain. Jesus felt it.

More, God felt every bit of it, too.

And in contemplation of what took place at Calvary, I have to believe God cried. Because that’s what I did. How could He not for His Child was in pain?

And no doubt, the beating Jesus endured caused both kinds of pain, inside and out. Oh, how the rejection must have scored His heart just as deeply as the cords cut His skin. And because I’m a mother, made in the image of God, that’s how I know God cried, too.

Oh, how He must have wept. Maybe even till He was hoarse.

Bottle of beads, made by Annabelle, the “m” for “mama”

You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book. Psalm 56:8

I tell you, being a mom is so hard. It opens you to so much pain. Because who wants to see their child suffer?

And this morning, I realize just how God feels when I hurt. Oh, how it must have grieved Him to see me cry all those times. Oh, how He wanted to gather me under His wings to protect me, just like a mother Hen. And oh, how He wanted to draw me onto His lap for comfort.

He feels just as I do when I see my own children hurt.

God loves me so very much, He takes note of every tear I shed. And when He wipes away those salty drops, He places them in a bottle.

As for me, I can’t collect the tears of my children. No, Levi’s and Annabelle’s salty drops evaporate. But I sure do feel them. And I sure can love them through the pain. Because that’s what God created me to do… I am a mother.

Made in the image of Him who loves me.

In the image of God he created them; male and female he created them. Genesis 1:27

A feather or a sign (for my feather buddy)

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I have a friend I don’t see very often. And though I’m a bit older than her, we used to play when we were young. See, our parents were friends way back.

I have great memories of running around her property, riding in the tractor bucket, jumping in their pond, swinging the swings into the high heaven, and singing songs with her and her sister late into the night (Shimmy, Shimmy, Ko-Ko-Bop, Shimmy, Shimmy, Bop)…

Anyway, life hasn’t turned out so smooth for her. And she posted the most beautiful poem today (copied from a friend). After reading it, I was inspired to write her the longest Facebook message ever. But just as I finished typing it up, my computer went black. Some sort of error shut me down.

When I rebooted, I hoped the message would still be there. That I could send it. When I saw it wasn’t, in frustration, I gave up. I wondered if the computer glitching was a sign to not send anything.

Then, I looked to God and said, you’ll have to send me a sign today if I’m supposed to send that message.

About six hours later, I received the above feather. A totally unexpected gift from my cousin. Well, to me, this is God’s sign. Reach out to my friend and tell her what I’d been thinking…

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I’m six days into this devotion. Because of that, I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to be a strong woman…

I’ve told my friend more than once that she’s the strongest woman I know. And if you know who I’m talking about, you know why. See, she takes care of her kids. They need her. More so than other kids need their mama’s.

I ended up printing that poem she shared for my journal. I have her name on it, with a note, “Wonder Woman?” See, I’ve asked her before if she’d be willing to share her story with some women…

How God’s helped her through life.

Today, I wondered again if she’d be willing to. One day. God willing. Maybe via video… because her life is just too up and down to commit to anything outside the home. It was the following from the poem that made me think it again:

“A little one fighting for their life – And you, strong beside them in perfect stride.” Again, “More strength than you had ever known. A faith in God and Him alone.” Again, “You’ll fight and give up and fight some more. You won’t be stopped by seemingly closed doors.” And finally, “Your motherhood was not the way you planned. But today you love more – and stronger you stand.” 

Wow.

This describes my friend perfectly. And what stands out the most is that part about faith in God. Him alone. See, my friend has a faith in God that runs deeper than most and she’s very vocal about it. No matter how rough things get, she continues to praise Him. To thank Him. Never losing hope…

And because of a conversation we had recently (via messenger), I think I understand why…

He will cover you with his feathers,
and under his wings you will find refuge;
his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart. Psalm 91:4

My friend had posted a picture of a feather. I had to ask why because feathers recently took on new meaning to me. I just love the image of God covering us with His and even wrote about it a few months back. Lo and behold, after finishing the piece on feathers, I caught one in mid-air. Out of the blue.

It felt like a miracle.

One month later, I received another feather. This one was deep, down in my purse. I found it the day the state shut down. My second feather coincided with the shelter in place.

Well, after my friend posted the picture of feathers, I learned she loves Psalm 91:4, too. More, I discovered she also receives feathers. Hers being way more dramatic and way more amazing than my finds but that’s not my story to tell…

The point being, because we bonded over feathers, I believe God nudges me to send that message I started earlier. That golden feather inspires me, too.

What I find amazing, though, is that my message would have been incomplete had it gone out earlier. Because I hadn’t read what I did tonight…

And I can’t help but wonder if the timely shut down of my computer was so I’d have the following to pass on first.

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As I said, I’m reading a book called STRONG. Because of that, I’ve really dug into the definitions of strong and weak and meek. The above find provided me with a picture of the younger me. Man, was I meek. But also, I was weak and I hated that about me. Oh, I despised my timid and mousy demeanor.

Not surprisingly, my friends were always the opposite. Bold and secure and strong and confident and all that went with the package. And because I admired them, I made this my aim. I wanted to emulate the strong woman, not the weak.

Because strong women are admirable.

But see, God’s taken me to task over this the past few years. It’s been quite a process. Basically, though, I now comprehend I was trying to be strong according to the world’s standards. More, I was trying to be strong and confident and the whole package through my own power.

But what I want to share here, is that I believe my friend emulates not just the world’s model of a strong woman, but also God’s. I think she is strong because God is within her. I think He equips her and empowers her and I think that’s true because Psalm 91:4 is her verse. “He will cover you with his feathers.”

But I think the key to her strength is found in the first verses of the Psalm…

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

There’s a lot to do with dwelling and resting and abiding in here. And I think my friend does this. She stays with God. She remains with him. She has to. But because she does, she can state the following and really mean it:

“My God, in whom I trust.”

Honestly, before this past year, I couldn’t say that in all sincerity. I still placed my trust in too many other things. And when those things gave way, there went my confidence. When everything I hoped in was shaken, I was left shaking. Insecurity abounded.

Here’s my big revelation of the evening, though. I find it in the definition for trust. Among other things, it means: confidence, secure, confident, bold, sure, to have confidence, to be bold, to be secure, to feel safe.

Wow. This is my definition of a strong woman. It’s everything I ever wanted to be. But I realize if I want to be this kind of woman, I have to dwell in the shadow of His wings. If I want to be bold, I have to remain with God. If I want to be confident, I have to stay with Him.

And I have to tell you, this really kind of rocked my world tonight. Because it feels just like God handed me the blueprint for becoming a strong woman…

Nestled right here in the verses I’ve been meditating on for months and months. Tonight He showed me exactly what a woman who trusts God looks like. She looks just like a strong woman. And she looks just like my friend…

Because when a woman has that kind of faith, it shows. The world can’t help but notice her sureness. An inner strength.

This describes my feather buddy. Because no matter how hard life can be, no matter how difficult, and no matter how crushing, she always displays strength. But I now know, her strength stems from trusting God.

The end result is the strong woman she is.

I want her to know that I’m not the only one who sees her strength. One born not only of struggle, but also, born of God. That’s what I want her to know…

Strength. It’s her feather.

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I realize I could have sent a private letter. Or a whopping personal message. Instead, I opted to post this blog. There’s a reason for that…

See, when my feather buddy and I talked about feathers, she told me it was time to receive another. Well, I’m putting this out there because I’m hopeful it will feel just like she found one…

Because that golden feather given to me out of the blue today? I can’t help but think it was right on time. A nudge from God for me to tell her just what I just did. Thus, I have no doubt in my mind…

That one was just for her.

Because indeed, God covers her with His feathers.

 

Kindergarten Math and the COVID-19 Factor

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At my first defense, no one stood by me, but everyone deserted me. 2 Timothy 4:16

Sheltering in place has allowed for a whole lot of extra around the house. Yes, I’d say the percent of increase has gone through the roof in certain areas. But also, so has the percent of decrease. And I can only attribute the ups and the downs to something I call the COVID-19 factor…

Which in its simplist form, is staying at home.

No doubt, the COVID-19 factor is directly related to all the recent additions and subtractions to my life. As to exact percentages, I can’t say for certain but I can assuredly name the changes…

First, there’s stress, the rate of increase directly proportional to the increased time my children spend in the house. And I know how this can sound… selfish. Ungrateful. But for today, it’s truth. My stress level has gone through the roof and it has to do with the increased level of noise coming from their direction.

If Annabelle shrieks one more time, “I’m serious, stop, stop, stop, I can’t breathe,” I may lose it. And frankly, I’m proud of myself for not having done so already. Which brings to mind another through the roof increase…

The loudness of my voice. Oh, I’ve shrieked myself once or twice but overall, I feel a real sense of accomplishment. See, I’m keeping it level more than I used to. Even when it appears my daughter can’t breathe again because of the kids’ newest game, “Scarers.”

Other shenanigans having the propensity to send my voice into the back reaches of my neighbor’s yard, and into the outer atmosphere, are “Pushers,” “Shovers,” and “King,” all of which involve physicality and knocking each other about.

If my calculations are accurate, the extra noise from the extra time my kids are in the house attributes to at least 32% of the increase in my stress (and my loudness).

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The COVID-19 factor (staying at home) means extra. More food consumption, more laundry, more needs only I can address, and more talking. Sometimes both kids talk at the same time, one right over top of the other, which decreases my ability to hear.

And there are other decreases like personal time and space. Yes, Annabelle’s supplies replaced the easel I recently topped the yellow table with in my office and Levi’s work moved my writing binders right off my desk and onto the book shelf.

And though it sounds like I’m complaining (yes, I think I am), I can’t help but contemplate the whole lot of good that’s accompanied this COVID-19 factor. Other increases and decreases…

Coffee dates and occasional lunches are 100% decreased. And though the initial workload for my at-home job skyrocketed, the steady subsequent decline, coupled with additional time at home, has allowed for noticeable progress on the house.

My work productivity has increased exponentially. I washed my car inside and out, cleaned two years of grime off of my windows, and dusted six years of dirt out of those hard to reach areas. And I finally planted a flower garden. I’ve never done that before.

I put an entire downstairs together after our basement finishing project and now, everything in my home has a place. There are no spare heaps or piles. All items are where they need to be, and my home is in order for the first time since we moved in nine years ago.

And the truth is, had we not been forced to sit still, I don’t know how long it would have taken me to accomplish all that I have. I attribute every bit of the increased work productivity to staying at home.

It was because of the COVID-19 factor.

Yes, the COVID-19 factor (staying at home), has changed everything. There’s been additons and deletions. And with all outside distractions cut off, including people, everything that needed to be tended to on the inside has been tended to. And I’m not just talking about work and house-hold projects.

I’m also talking about my heart. Because although there’s someone here with me all the time, an isolated and lonely feeling appeared anyway. It happened as March closed out and April made her entrance.

Without fail, a sense of rejection and abandonment assails my soul with a regularity I can count on. Spring ushers in this low period and because it coincided with the shut-in, home projects and homeschool, I experienced something new that soothed me more than anything ever had.

Or ever will.

It was the discovery of the COVID-19 equation, which I’ll get to later. And because of it, I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again. Ever.

At least I hope not.

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I tell you, I don’t know who’s learned more through Kindergarten math, me or Annabelle. Because though she’s been learning simple addition and subtraction, the titles of her worksheets have been speaking to my heart. Especially this one here…

Take away stories.

If I were to put a name to my story, perhaps there wouldn’t be a better title. Because if I had to put a name to my wound, the one that never healed, this would be it. Take-away.  Because once upone a time when I was young, something was taken away from me. It happened when I was left behind.

More than once, those who should have loved me the most decided to take someone else the the party of the year. Someone else was deemed more fun, and I was left at home, alone, at sixteen and again at seventeen. And though this sounds petty in light of the plight of the land, this is what happened to me. It’s what damaged my heart in an irreversible way and I swear, it damaged me all the way up. Till April.

A mere month ago.

It was the second time that really did it for it was a double whammy. The details aren’t important, but suffice it to say, I felt utterly forsaken. Left behind and left alone because the one I depended on left me hanging. She didn’t stand by me when I needed her to and it broke my heart.

For Annabelle’s math purposes, the take away story is simple. Two take away one is one. But my heart tells another story. It says when one leaves another behind, you have one left… A left over.

That was my incurable wound. Because of it, any little bit of confidence and security I might have possessed was stripped away. This is what Annabelle’s math homework brought to mind when I saw particular words highlighted at the top of the pages.

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I’m thankful to God because the past few weeks of homeschooling have allowed me to put a name to my hurt. God helped me dissect it in such a manner that I can name it, define it, and see it for what it really was and is.

And more, He healed my heart through the very wound itself. Honestly, I don’t know if I can find the words to describe just how God used the very thing that hurt me to heal me…

It was the COVID-19 factor. Staying at home. The only reason I found healing is because I stayed home

But see, for so long it was the place I avoided. I’ll tell you why. If I was home, it meant I was unwanted. Home meant I was left behind because there was someone better to go out with. Being home implied I was not “fun” like those my beloveds chose. Yes, staying at home meant I was not loveable.

Thus, at eighteen, I made being the life of the party my aim. I figured if I could be as fun as the chosen ones, I would be, too. The girl who made everyone laugh and knew how to party was the one who received love.

And so, if I could help it, I went out. At nineteen and as a young twenty-something, I never stayed home. Because as long as I was out, I was “chosen.” And as long as I was out, I didn’t feel the hurt.

Only when I stayed home, did the ache return. And only when I was alone. Or lonely…

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I spent a year in Korea when I was in my early twenties. The best part was never being alone. I had a group of ready-made friends through work and my living quarters and oh, how I loved my girlfriends…

And though there were lots of parties (one every night if you wanted), what I loved best was the girl time. Drinking coffee and shopping at the commissary and laying out in the sun on the far reaches of base in the most secluded spot and going to the gym. The list goes on…

I loved being a part of a crew and knowing they loved me and I them. I felt confident and secure as long as we were together. Surrounded by my new friends, I started to feel loveable.

Alas, I found myself pregnant. It was the Spring of 1995. A heartbeat had been added to mine, and yet, I decided no. I didn’t want the child and aborted. Why? Honestly, I didn’t think twice. When asked, I said no to a sonogram. I rushed ahead in my decision and allowed the doctors to take away the little one whose heart beat inside me…

It was a true take away story. Two minus one equals one left alone.

Afterward, a friend told me to go home and lie down. She said I should rest. You know what? I never, ever did. Because there was no way anyone could make me stay home. To me, it was a punishment. Home meant everything it meant at sixteen and seventeen. Unwanted and unloved.

And if I stayed home, alone, while everyone else was out, the ache returned. That lonely rejected feeling I suppressed over and over. So, I kept moving. For years and years and years.

Oh, I made sure to keep myself busy. One, to keep the hurt at bay. And two, I had to be out. Out, out, out. Because only when I was out, could I be loved. Even after I was fully grown, with a family of my own. Those feelings remained…

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The COVID-19 factor (being forced to stay at home), has truly allowed for a whole lot of extra. Like understanding. Yeah, I’d say that’s increased 100%.  And hindsight. It is the year 2020, and hindsight surely is that. Because I can see now.

I was co-dependent. At five and eleven and sixteen and nineteen and twenty-two and all the years after. I needed a friend to love me to make me feel worthy. And if I didn’t have that person, well, I felt so bad about me.

But after reading the story of Martha and Mary at least 20 times, I saw something this past week for the very first time that moved me to the core. It was how Martha spoke to Jesus and the hurt revealed in her words. She said, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me all alone to serve…”

I’d always focused on the serving part before. But perhaps the reason she was so busy is found right there in the preceding words. She was left alone. It’s the wound I sustained at an early age and carried into my adult life…

Left meaning to abandon, to have remaining, to forsake, leave behind, to be left. Alone meaning remaining, sole or single, mere, without a companion, forsaken, destitute of help, merely.

My wound spelled out through the definitions of these two words. I was forsaken because I was merely. Not enough. I was left alone without a companion because other companions were deemed more worthy. Thus, I was compelled to act a certain way. In my early twenties, I partied hard. In my early thirties, I served hard. And for years afterward. All in hope of receiving the same reward.

Love.

And I can’t help but wonder if Martha’s obsessive serving was born out of a wound, like mine, that hadn’t healed. Lord, my sister left me alone…

The Lord has promised that he will not leave us or desert us. Hebrews 13:5

Yeah, God spoke to me through Martha’s take away story. But also, He spoke through another woman who was left alone. She’s the adulterous woman mentioned in John 8…

Some religious men brought her into the center of court to put her on display and to demand an answer of Jesus. “The law says we stone her!” They demanded, “What do you say?” Jesus ignored them and simply stooped down, writing in the dust.

When they persisted, Jesus straightened and said the one without sin could throw the first stone. After He stooped again, they all left…

Until Jesus was left alone with the woman.

She standing before Him in the center of court. And that’s when Jesus stood up again. When He was left alone with her. Or when she was left alone with Him. And I’m not surprised to find the very same meanings for the very same words in this woman’s life. Those that were in Martha’s and in mine…

Three women left behind. Remaining, forsaken, abandoned, and caused to be left over. Alone, sole, single, and mere. And who knows. Perhaps this is why the adulterous woman felt compelled to sleep around.

Maybe she’d been wounded, and left to her own devices, she sought the love and warmth in the circle of another man’s arms. And in the end, after her wound and sin was exposed to the world, that’s exactly what she found…

Because left alone with Jesus, Him standing by her side, she encountered love instead of condemnation. He simply said, “Go, and sin no more.”

Oh, how that speaks to me this day. Because this is exactly what He did with me last month. It was April, the time of my season. But also, it’s an anniversary. The month of what I did at twenty-two. I was so very low. Overwhelmed by that cyclical sense of rejection and loneliness. No doubt, exacerbated by being at the house. For I was home, the place that accuses me of being mere and unwanted.

And unloved.

It was here the voice of my accuser found me, when all other sources of comfort and distraction and dependency were taken away. But this turned out to be my salvation. The very best of take away stories…

Because when the devil reminded me of my past and what I had done, I found I was not by myself this time. Though it seemed I was alone, deserted and forsaken, there was another standing by my side. And He answered for me. I didn’t even have to open my mouth.

But see, it had to happen just this way. When every bit of extra was removed. That way, I’d understand. Healing wasn’t from any outside source of comfort. No other person, no other thing, just Jesus. My healing came only through Him.

And had it not been for the COVID-19 factor, staying at home, I wouldn’t have discovered the beauty of the COVID-19 equation, which is adding one. See, His name is Jesus and He is the +1 we should always add.

Because He is right here with us in the midst of it all. As for me, though, I had to be at home to comprehend it…

I had to be alone.

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“Therefore I tell you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven—for she loved much. But he who is forgiven little, loves little.” Luke 7:47

For so long, I avoided home because it allowed the hurt place in me to rise. But how like God to heal me here, at home, where I first sustained injury. Not at church or at a friend’s house or on a coffee date or in a counseling session…

It happened at home. Just the two of us.

But you know, He’s been trying to get me to sit still here for years. Hindsight tells me it goes all the way back to 2010 when I first came back home. And when I first began to sense what He was saying, I tell you, it felt like punishment. Like I was being disciplined.

But I had it so wrong. It wasn’t that at all. No, the truth is, God simply wanted to love me. He wanted me to receive what He was offering, lavishing me with His love…

But me? I could only bring myself to accept His mercy. It was January 31, 2014 when I found forgiveness for the abortions of my past (there were two). I had no doubt.  Through Jeremiah 31:20, God assured me, “I will surely have mercy on you.”

The word surely and mercy are the same. It’s mercy squared. Mercy + Mercy. Double mercy for my double abortions. Later that day, a bracelet I’d worn while in Korea disappeared from my arm, never to be seen again, proving my past was gone. And later, I heard my daughter’s heartbeat at her first sonogram. Proof of my future…

I was forgiven and I knew it. And yet, somehow, I missed the first part of the definition of the word. In addition to mercy, it means to love, love deeply… to have tender affection. It means to fondle. This is what God wanted to do in my life.

But see, after so many years of being beat down, life teaches women like me (and Martha and the adulterer), that we don’t deserve love. No, we have to work for it. Serve for it. Perform for it.

And that’s why God’s love didn’t touch me. I missed it because I kept striving for it. Proving myself loveable. On the outside. Out, out, out. Never at home.

So God tried. For a whole decade, He tried to still me. Finally, the virus attacking our land forced me into staying home. And while homeschooling my children, I find He’s been homeschooling me. Thus, after sitting at Jesus’ feet and listening to His teaching, I comprehend truth.

I realize I have to sit before I can stand. But more, I know He’ll stand with me when I do. And only through the support of His love can I move forward. This is how I overcome the voice of my accuser (Rev 12:10-11). Through God’s love, and His take away story…

For God so loved, He gave the life of His Son for mine.

And by the blood of the lamb and by the word of my testimony, I have victory.

Yet another take away story, for the power of my past no longer has a hold on me. It no longer remains and I am free.

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Yes, the COVID-19 factor sure has caused a lot of extra around here. Extra stress, extra noise, extra projects, but also, there’s a whole lot of extra love. In every capactity. Percent of increase through the roof…

And sure, my kids have pushed my buttons many times. And the schoolwork, if I’m being honest, has caused me angst more than once. But through me teaching them, He teaches me. I’ve learned so very much.

But I’m not the only one who’s understanding has increased. My little girl suprised me a month back when we talked about prayer…

“Where two or more are gathered, there I am with you.” I asked Annabelle how many people were at the table and she said four. I said no, because there was me + Levi + her. Immediately afterward, though, I smiled and told her she was right…

See, she got it. Even before I did. At five years of age, she understood to apply the COVID-19 equation, which is +1.

You always add one for Jesus.

As I said, I learn so much through teaching them. Even in March, God was showing me then. He is with me always. I am never alone…

But the Lord stood with me and gave me strength… 2 Timothy 4:17

Country Roads

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Beautiful words stir my heart. I will recite a lovely poem about the king, for my tongue is like the pen of a skillful poet. Psalm 45:1

Every now and then my heart is so filled, I can’t contain what’s inside. Today is one of those times. Because I realize how very blessed I am. And how good God has been to me…

It started this morning. I got a late start. Slept in a bit too late. And I felt miffed because my son rose at 2:30 a.m. and stayed awake till I rose at 6:00. The reason? He drank about a liter of Mountain Dew yesterday evening. And all I could think before school was how tired he’s going to be today.

But he didn’t complain. Happy to go to school. And when we had morning prayer, his words were so sweet and so sincere, I nearly cried.

After dropping Levi at the high school, I took hold of my little girl and breathed in her essence. I squeezed her tight as I lifted her to the ground and grasped her little hand. “Mommy, walk with me today.” And I gladly did, sending her off with a kiss.

Afterward, I needed to grab a couple of items for a ladies’ group meeting in my home. I had nothing to offer which necessitated the long way home, so I could come across a particular store. And as I cruised down the country roads of my youth, my heart soared higher and higher with every curve.

Then I arrived at my destination…

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I just love this place. So eclectic. So country. And man, it stirs a longing within me. Both the store and the roads remind me of a calling God placed within me at least six years ago. I seemed to have heard Him whisper, “Sit on the porch.” I even voiced it to my husband, “I think God wants me to sit on the porch.”

I’m sad to say, I didn’t heed His call. Instead, I entered the busiest period of my existence. No doubt, 2013 through 2017 brought me full calendars each month. I heard God again in the Summer of 2017. “Rest,” was the urge. And I tried. But in all honesty, I kept my toe in the pond. I couldn’t come to a complete standstill despite my best efforts.

And here I am today. It seems I’ve heard Him whisper yet again. As I traveled along a country road passing by various houses that prompted the sweetest of memories… Jack’s house, and Kathy’s and Sarah’s. Yes, I visited all those places when I was young. But not now. No more visits because there’s never enough time.

And so I hear God’s words fresh. The message? Be still. Quiet down. Take your time. Smell the roses. Watch the sunsets. Enjoy life. Lavish your family with love. Sit a spell. Go visiting. Practice hospitality.

Oh, my heart stirs this morning as I remember what He told me so long ago. And with gladness, I plan acquiesce to His prompting.

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As I said, I love that store. Laurel Mills, for those of you who are wondering. I love everything about it… how the tables on the porch invite you to sit a spell. A shelf offering books for the lover of words. A church pew for meditation. And praising.

And just look at that doorway. Thousands upon thousands must have traveled across the threshold. The wood deeply grooved by feet of all sizes. How it moves me. The passing of feet and the passing of time.

And that’s what really moves me to speak this day. Particularly, how my feet have passed through the days…

The Lord speaks; many, many women spread the good news. Psalm 68:11

This verse first popped out 7 years ago. What a turning point in my life. It was September of 2012. That was the true beginning of my spiritual journey with God, no doubt. Because what a journey He’s taken me on.

However, I digress. That Scripture. Many women spread the good news. But what good news?  Well, how about the first part of the verse. The Lord speaks. That right there is plenty good news. Indeed, God speaks.

The first time I heard Him, through His holy word, was nine years ago through the the prophet Jeremiah. “I will bring you back to the place I deported you from.” My heart soared then. I knew God would bring me back to my hometown and these country roads. And He did. God fulfilled His promise.

This is what causes my heart to overflow now, though. One, the beauty of this land I live in. I’ve traveled around and lived in many places. I just have to say, though, there’s not many like this county of mine. My homeland is stunning. The pastures and livestock and cornfields and trees and skyline. I don’t have enough words to capture it.

But the best part? I was raised here. Lived here till I was nineteen years old. Born and raised. And when God brought me back home at thirty-seven, I was a spiritual infant. Nothing more than a baby. I didn’t realize that, though…

And that’s what brings me to my knees in gratitude and praise of my God this day. That He saw fit to bring me back for my second raising. Raised twice in the most beautiful place I can imagine.

I thank Him for that today. That the second time around, He raised me up. A daughter of God. For truly, I am His girl. As precious to Him as my children are to me.

And even more.

Yes, I traveled multiple country roads this morning. And I visited a store that brings longing to my heart. It makes me yearn for a simpler life.

I ache for the days of my youth. How we’d just jump in the car and go to my aunt’s house. No call necessary, you just went. Endless Summer nights of playing in the fields. No agenda and no plans and no busyness. Nothing but time on our hands. Visiting. People. Life’s just not like that anymore.

No, the world clamors for our attention. Do more. No, do more, more, more. But God calls me to do less. Do less, less, less. He urges me to be with Him more. More, more, more. Like when I travel country roads. And oh, He was with me as I drove. And He was with me when I bought the pumpkin nut bread and half and half. Yes, God walked with me over that worn threshold. And He was with me when I brought my stuff out to the car.

That’s when I noticed the Bibles. One on each child’s seat. That’s because Levi will go to youth tonight. And Annabelle? Well, she saw us reading one this morning and decided to take one to school.

So my heart yearns for this. More of this. More of God’s word. Yes to more, more, more. I want more time with God and more time for teaching my children His ways. So they’ll learn to hear Him when He speaks.

For indeed, He does. And that is such good news. The Lord speaks in many places…

Often, for me, it’s as I travel down solitary country roads. When my body is stilled and my mind is free.

So I listen to Him today. And I throw off the world’s expectations of me and place all my expectation on Him. And I expectantly wait for the next word He will speak to me.

Older women (or my life as a country song)

September happened. It was a big month in our household. There was Labor Day, Jason’s birthday, me and a friend hosted a ladies’ event called Something Beautiful followed up by a beach trip. This all made for incredibly packed days. Oh, so busy.

Also, I chipped this cup. My hurried state caused me to carelessly unload the dishwasher. It’s the family rules mug. The thing is, when it happened I wondered if perhaps more than a piece of Porcelain was broken. Common earthenware. I wondered if just maybe, the rules themselves had been broken…

Covenant vows, even. Alas, the notion was a a passing flicker and quickly faded.

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Yes, September happened. This photo showed up in my Facebook feed along with it. I can’t help but wonder if God wanted me to see it. Because I stared when I saw it. I just looked so different then. My smile reached my eyes. I looked happy. And thin. And I can hardly believe it… I had only one chin.

And I know this may come across as vain, but I think I look pretty then. Beautiful, even? Because youth has a way of making one shine. And six years ago, I was younger. I’d just turned forty.

In reflecting on the me of 2013, I know I was younger, bolder, and confident. I had something to say and wanted to be heard. More, I wanted to be seen. I wanted to insert me into the world because I’d taken up a platform. It had to do with the woman’s role. And it had to do with being on the outside. Way beyond my walls..

Yes, in my smiling eyes, everything important happened out there. Where one could be seen.

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Funny thing about being seen. As I planned that ladies’ event, Something Beautiful, I recognized the irony of it. I knew I’d never felt more un-beautiful in my life. And also, I did not want to be seen. Mostly because of my outward appearance.

See, my contours have changed. I’m not as angular as the 40 year-old me. I have wrinkles and bags under my eyes while my waist heaps over my pants. I have bulges where I never did before. Oh, there are lines in unsightly places and veins mar my legs.

So this past Sunday, shamefully, I skipped church. One, September had taken its toll. The busyness left me so tired. And honestly, thinking about what I could pour my body into was too much to bear. So I drank coffee instead.

Later, I motivated myself to stuff my rolls into clothing and rolled into town. There was a baby shower and I had to finish off the gift. That’s when I found a beautiful box of stationary. And I bless God for this gift. Because it serves as a reminder.

See, Ecclesiastes 3:11 was the theme verse for the ladies’ event. Something Beautiful had a lot to do with being beautiful, but from the inside out. Letting your outer match your inner. And this box was God’s gentle way of reminding me of what’s truly important. Goes back to the broken vows I mentioned earlier. And my insides…

Not my heart, though. What’s inside my walls.

Stand by Your Man…

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She does him good, and not harm, all the days of her life. Proverbs 31:12

September is always a big month. A seasonal time of reflection. More often than not, I find myself melancholy and enter a period of repentance. This is what September means to me.

Thus, I can’t help but reflect on a particular verse. Because in two days time, it’ll be the anniversary of Jason’s proposal to me. It happened October 4th, 1997. Yes, this man of mine got down on one knee and asked me to be his.

And that’s not surprising, really.  Because back then, I would have moved heaven and earth for him. I revolved around Jason. I’d follow him to the moon and back and pretty much did. Yes, I bent over backwards to please him. I was a woman who stood by her man. At least I did, then.

But the truth is, I don’t do that anymore. No, somewhere along the line, it became more important to do all the back-bending and flips out there in the public forum. That’s where all the credit is. And to be completely frank, I’ve given more time and energy to those on the outside than to those on the inside. I easily turn down a request from my loved ones but no rarely escapes my lips when someone from out there asks.

Yes, as I slide into the back side of forty, this is where God leads me. He has me seriously consider Proverbs 31:12. Particularly that word good. The bigness of it being it’s the same used in part of the ladies’ event. And it means just what you think… good, pleasant, agreeable, welfare, etc. But also, it can mean beautiful. Two times in Scripture, the word is used to describe a woman’s appearance. 

She does him good. She does him beautiful. She is agreeable and pleasant. But in September, I did not emulate this verse. And Jason called me on it.

That’s because no one knows better than Jason how I bent over backward for the ladies’ event. And please don’t mistake me, I’m glad I did. However, I let everything get upended at home. I had so much to uncover from afterward, it left me feeling pressured.

Thus, I cracked when Jason requested something extra of me. Oh, I didn’t say no but I let him know how inconvenienced I was. Not in words, mind you. Just my demeanor. Coldness. Silence.

Not at all like the woman I was way back when. And most assuredly, I was not beautiful inside or out at that moment. Sadly, my actions nearly nullified everything about the event… Something Beautiful. Almost.

And so, as I close in on my forty-seventh year, I comprehend what God wants…

He wants me to bend over backwards at home. Like I did when I first met Jason. He wants me to stand by him and support him. He wants me to treat those I love the most like the ones I treat on the outside.

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The wise woman builds her house, but with her own hands the foolish one tears hers down. Proverbs 14:1

Look at us. I knew I’d see my friend this past Sunday and I wanted another photo of us side by side. Because we were beautiful in our younger days. But God, He tells me we’re even more beautiful now. In a hundred ways….

And though I can’t speak for Carolyn and what she’s learned through the years, I can speak about her heart. Because in the words of Willie and Waylon, she’s a good hearted woman. Life’s thrown her curve balls and stumbling points but those seasons have created a softness inside. She always sees the best in people. She sees the best in me.

And when I think of our outer shells, I can’t help but wonder if our not-so-firm skin and less-than-angular contours mimic the softness inside. Our hearts being more tender than they were…

Because I think I am. Six years have made me older and wiser. And softer. Because I’m more pliable. And when I make a mistake, I realize it and own it quicker than I once did. Like the day Jason asked me to do something and I resisted. I apologized for my actions within an hour. The old me would have held to my rights and plans for days allowing the coldness to shroud our home. Plucking down my walls with my own hands.

But the new me? The older me?

Basically, I’ve come to comprehend I was nothing more than a self-made woman back then. I put all my effort into making me into what I wanted to be. Something more. And there’s nothing wrong with striving and goals.

However, all my goals had to do with what I considered the big things. Important things. All being outside my walls. Oh, I struggled with my maker for years and years, asking Him “why have you made me thus?” (Romans 9:20) I resisted His purpose for me, which is mainly domestic. At least for now. Because ultimately, that’s what He built me to do…

Yes, sometime in the past year, I submitted to God’s design. Instead of being a self-made woman, I became a God-made woman. And there’s relief in that.

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“It is not good for man to be alone. I will make him a helper (one who balances him – a counterpart who is) suitable and complementary for him.” Genesis 2:20

I love how Scripture fits together. Take Proverbs 14:1 for instance. The wise woman builds her house. The word build is also used in Genesis when God made woman. He built a woman for the purpose of helping the man. Yes, God built me to help my husband.

Help meaning to aid or succour (assistance in times of hardship or distress). It comes from another word meaning to surround and this speaks to my heart today. Surround him…

A woman will encompass (tenderly love) a man. Jeremiah 31:22 

Because once upon a time, I surrounded Jason. My life revolved around his. I’d have done anything for him and I did. But then we got married. And that’s when I began to struggle. Jason’s time against mine. His plans against mine. All my plans being those that made me into what I wanted to be. A self-made woman all the way…

All leading to something outside my walls.

Ultimately, my plans conflicted with God’s. Thus, years and years of struggle with my Maker. But finally, this year came about. I raised my white flag in surrender and submitted to His will and to what He makes me…

Which is a wife and mother. These first. Above all else.

This is what God made me to be. It’s what He created me to do. He wants me to back-bend and roll over and surround those He’s entrusted to me. Joyfully and with all my heart.

Older women… 

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There’s a country song that’s been rolling around in my head. Read some of the lyrics…

Older women, are beautiful lovers
Older women, they understand
I’ve been around some, and I have discovered
That older women know just how to please a man.
Everybody seems to love those younger women
From eighteen on up to twenty-five
Well I love ’em too, but I’m tellin’ you
Learnin’ how to really love, takes a little time.
So baby don’t you worry about growin’ older
Those young girls ain’t got nothin’ on you
‘Cause it takes some livin’, to get good at givin’
And givin’ love is just where you could teach them a thing or two.

 

Call me weird, but I see Scripture in that song. It’s a bit like portions of the Titus 2 woman…

Older women… teach what is good and right… encourage young women to tenderly love their husbands and children.

A few years ago, I thought this verse was odd. Why would older women have to teach the younger to love their husbands and children? Well, now I know. And I believe the me of 2019 can speak wisdom into the me of 2013.

Because back then, I did not love my family as good as I could. I couldn’t because I gave too much of me to the outside leaving leftovers for those inside my walls. And that’s what much of Titus 2 touches on…

The younger woman is encouraged to be a maker of a home. It comes from a word meaning house/build. The maker of a home is domestically inclined and works at home. This is how a wise woman can build her house and love her family. It doesn’t mean she can’t go out or work outside the home. But I think it means a woman makes home a priority.

For years, I did not. What a hard truth to learn. And how many years it’s taken me to realize it.

But since I do now, I feel like my life somewhat resembles that country song. It’s taken some livin’ to get good at givn’ love. And I’m really getting there. And this is where I could teach them younger women a thing or two…

So what are my words of wisdom? You give the best of you to those inside your walls. Love them first. Then, after you love them good and well, go beyond your walls and love the others.

That’s what I’d say to younger women. And in truth, this is what makes us women truly beautiful inside and out. When we’re just as lovely inside our homes as we are on the outside. At least, this is what God has been teaching me these past few years.

I have to wonder. Is it too late? My broken rules and vows? Is it too late to do my husband good all the days of my life?

Though I cannot go back and change what’s been, I can surely change what’s to come. And I can surely do him good all the rest of the days of my life. I can. And the past few days give me hope it’s all true.

First, take a look at my little girl. This was Sunday (the day I skipped church because I felt so hideous). Well, she had on a t-shirt and shorts. After she saw me, she went back to her room and came out with the white blouse on top. She imitated me and truly, imitation is the greatest form of flattery. How precious that she wanted to look as I did.

Afterward, my son told me I look nice (he never does that). And then I found two sets of stationary with the messages “He has made everything beautiful in its time,” and “Beautiful inside and out.”

I praise God for that. I do. Because despite my mess-ups (namely the one immediately following that ladies’ event with my hubby), He assures me a hundred ways I’m beautiful.

The best way, though, was through the lips of Annabelle. When I told her she was beautiful the other night, she quipped, “I know.” When I asked how, she said it’s because I love her. But she also said, “Because God made me.”

And ultimately, this is how I know I am beautiful. For I am fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14). God-made. Built to love my children. Built to love my man.

You know, I’ve come to this conclusion again and again. This isn’t the first time I’ve written about all things domestic. And experience teaches me the last thing my husband wants is another blah, blah, blog. Words not backed by action.

So this time, as a belated birthday and early anniversary gift (of sorts), I plan to give Jason my life as a country song…

In deed, I hope to be a good-hearted woman standing by my man all the rest of my days as an older woman. Because as the song goes, we make beautiful lovers. This is my vow to my husband. Till death do us part.

Cinderella Things

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I’ve been wanting to write something ever since Sunday. Alas, the busyness of life got in the way. I even dreamt about this post night before last. More of a nightmare, really, because I didn’t actually say what I should. I left out the most important piece, which is something about my kids.

That’s what this past Sunday was all about, anyway.

My children…

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Speak, LORD, for your servant is listening. 1 Samuel 3:9

God speaks to me in various ways, but one of the most resounding is through the mouth of my children. I swear it’s like His voice passes through precious four-year old lips. It happened Sunday when Annabelle excitedly came to me around mid-morning, her little hands clutching the above decals.

“Look at these Cinderella things,” she commanded. And so I did.

And that’s when I heard not my little girl, but God. Because earlier that morning, I’d just voiced it. I said I felt like Cinderella. And after the entire household went out, leaving me behind with my two children, that’s just what I did. I looked at what I considered to be my “Cinderella” things…

And bitterness welled up within my heart.

I rinsed a milk jug and washed some dishes. I made my bed and began packing my suitcase (I was out of town visiting my in-laws). All the while, I pictured Cinderella with her pile of dishes and dirty floors…

It was the shoe that really did it, though. My shoe peeking up from the clothes was the ultimate Cinderella thing in my opinion.

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Yes, the real Cinderella may have had glass slippers. But me? Just a pair of shoes that have been sitting in my closet for months and months. I’ve never worn them. No need, really. At home, I’m incredibly casual. I work from home, tend children from home, and rarely go out other than church, which is laid back. Come as you are, which means flip-flops for me…

And Annabelle had been wanting me to wear these shoes. She’s pulled them out on numerous occasions, tried them on and even had me slip them on so she could see. And I’d planned to wear them to church that Sunday. My mom-in-law teaches a women’s Sunday school class and I was really looking forward to going. I craved women’s fellowship. A time to soak in and soak up…

I can’t stress how much I really, really wanted to go.

Alas, when we woke that morning, Levi didn’t feel well. He’d been struggling for days at that point and his ear hurt through the night. When we talked about going to church, he was reluctant. Nose congested and simply feeling run down, we decided to stay back.

And though I did all things necessary like feeding my kids and tidying up, my insides festered. All because I wanted to go but couldn’t. I felt as Cinderella did, having tasks to do – at the house – before going out. Her “things” being dishes and floors and ashes, unable to go to the ball unless she completed all her duties…

But me? It wasn’t the dishes or the packing or the milk jug that kept me from going. In truth, it was because my child was sick. And that’s when I heard what God really wanted me to hear.

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“Look at these Cinderella things!”

Acts 16:14 speaks of a certain woman whose heart the Lord opened, that she attendeth unto the things that were spoken. I like that word, “attendeth.” It means to bring near, to turn mind to, attend to, be attentive, give attention to, take heed, devote thought or effort. It means attend to or be attentive to a person or a thing, of caring for, providing for.

And Sunday morning, God opened my heart to understand what He meant in directing me to look at these Cinderella things. See, I’d been feeling sorry for myself. Bitter. All because I wanted to go. Basically, I didn’t get my way.

But ultimately, Cinderella things were not the dishes and the tidying. It was not a pair of shoes. In actuality, Cinderella things were, and are, my children. Levi was the reason I had to stay home. He was the reason why I could not go and do what I wanted.

And God’s message to me?

My kids… Levi and Annabelle. It’s all about them. It always has been. Look and see your children, He urges. Tend to them. Pay attention to them. And really, that’s all God wanted me to take care of this past Sunday morning.

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I confess, there’s a huge misconception I’ve battled with most of my adult existence. Well, more like after I had my babies. For some reason, I’ve always felt like the big things take place outside my home. I’ve always believed important things are out there, not in here.

It was June when I attended a retirement ceremony and I was so inspired because it caused me to want to be a part of something bigger than myself once more. It gave me the nudge to come off the sidelines, which is where I’ve spent most of my time these past two years.

However, on the cusp of my “going back in,” God gave me a gentle reminder. That yes, important, big things happen out there. But remember, even bigger things take place at home. The most significant thing I can ever do is raise my children properly… to nurture them and lavish them with love. To teach them what I know.

God wants me to comprehend in doing so, I accomplish my part in life. Because in tending to my children, I prepare them for their entrance into the world. And this is so much bigger than me…

In truth, it’s the biggest thing I can ever do. And it happens on the home-front. Unseen to the world. Even when I can’t “go,” big things happen at home when I tend to my little ones. My Cinderella things.

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“let me not see the boy…” Genesis 21:16

There’s a passage in Genesis that moved me in a dramatic way years back. The story of Hagar. She wandered the wilderness with her son and when the water ran out, she felt desperate. Because not only was she was going to die, but also her son. She said, “let me not see him.”

Wow, did that penetrate. Still does. When it first resonated years gone by, I was down. Depressed and dry. And truth? Though not desperate or in despair last Sunday, I was dry. Summer tends to do that to me. Time with the Lord is not as much as I’d like and prayer time diminishes. Kids are home and life is busier. Fuller. Thus, I’m emptier…

Yes, Sunday, I was dry before the sun even arose. And I longed to go to church. I wanted refreshment. I wanted a word. But God showed me, He can give me a word wherever I am. No doubt, He speaks loudly in a myriad ways. Most recent, through my little girl.

“Look at these Cinderella things,” she said.

But it was more than her voice, it was God’s. And so I think of Hagar, who didn’t want to look when her son was perishing. She didn’t want to see. That word means to look at, inspect, consider, look after, see after, give attention to.

And that’s the message God brought home on Sunday (and in the days following). He says see your boy and see your daughter. And though my kids are not dying as Hagar’s was, they most assuredly need my help. They need my care and attention and love. And that’s more important than anything I could ever do “out there.”

“Get up! Help the boy up and hold him by the hand…” Genesis 21:18

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“Cinderella things,” Annabelle dubbed them. She placed them on my window when we got back home. They’re still there and they serve as a reminder. And in seeing them, I’m reminded that Cinderella things can be the reason women have to stay back. They may be why one can’t just go and do.

For me, my “things” consist of an at-home job and the care of my house with all that entails. But mostly, it’s about my children. Yes, because I have children I can’t always “go” and I can’t always “do” what I want…

I can’t always go somewhere and I can’t always go to sleep. I can’t always go to work or go my way. I can’t always participate in all the big stuff that happens on the outside.

But you know, what I can do – at home – is the most important thing I can do this day. And it’s so much bigger than what I can even imagine. Because my kids, well, they go beyond me. And their future efforts will reach far beyond my days. Now, how BIG is that?!?

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In closing, I want to say 95% of the time, I have proper perspective. I realize most days, I can go and do what I want. Every so often, though, I stumble. My eyesight clouds and I forget how good I have it. That’s what happened Sunday.

My husband reminded me last night, though, I can go and do when I really need to. Like the picture above when I needed to take Levi for care. In many countries, there are women who cannot do this as medical care may be hours away…

And then there are other women who simply cannot just up and go because their kids need constant care and attention. Every, single day. God help me not to forget them. That when He says, “Look,” I see not only my own children but theirs, too.

And on the flip side, there are women who have to go on the outside to work. This is how they care for their children. They have no other option but to go and do so they can do for their own. May I not forget them.

God help me to really see…

Not just me and mine, but them and theirs. And when I do open my eyes, may I also open my mouth in prayer. For mine and theirs. Yes, this is one of the biggest things I can do today and I don’t even have to go out to do it. I can stay right here in my home and do what God calls me to.

Tending to my oh, so precious Cinderella things…

Re-entry

 ‘All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does, and that is his.’ Oscar Wilde

I bought a small book of quotes for my mom once. It was a gift for Mothers’ Day, oh, so many years ago… before children were even a thought. I actually underlined the words of Wilde because I thought they were so great. So deep.

In hindsight, not the best quote to point out to my mom. It was the part about the man not becoming like his mom, though… that’s what struck me as compelling. It’s what I wanted to convey. But I’m not so sure it came across. And more, I’m not so sure I believe these words anymore. Because surely, my young man and my little girl are very much like me.

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Look at these nails. Annabelle painted them for me. And before the polish even began to wear off, there were imperfections. You can see that by my thumb. A big gloopy pile took extra drying time. And yet, I let the polish stay.

However, I found myself telling several people (even strangers), “Oh, my daughter did these…” as if an explanation were necessary. I wanted to explain away the mistakes. Tell why they were imperfect…

Today, though, I wish I’d kept my mouth shut. Because my sweet girl painted them for me. More, it would hurt her to know I felt the need to explain. And oh, how my heart melts when I recall the pure look of pleasure on her face with each stroke.

And as to me feeling the urge to explain my imperfect nails, well, it says a lot about me and how I think. And how much stock I put into appearance…

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Look at these nails. So much like mine in that the polish has worn away. Her little fingernails mimicking mine. But this is just the beginning. My little girl is like me in every way. Painfully so. It has to do with how she will be received. And how she looks to others.

That became apparent over the Easter break. My son and niece were in the basement talking and Annabelle wanted to join them. Most kids? They’d have run down the steps taking two at a time to join in. Not my daughter, though. Instead, she wanted me to call down first. To announce her arrival so there’d be no surprise. And really, she just wanted to know that they’d accept her into the group. That her appearance would be welcomed. That’s what pierces my heart this day…

The fact that she is just like me in this regard. Because for way too long, I was just like this. Oh, so concerned with how I’d be received. Or regarded. Will they accept me?

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For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline. 2 Timothy 1:7

Annabelle reminds me of me in another way. She’s incredibly quiet. If someone speaks to her, she hides behind my legs. She remains mute. Shy to the core. This was me all the way up to the time I was in my early-thirties. I didn’t possess the skill of conversation and I didn’t have the desire to put myself out there. An introvert at heart.

And this is Annabelle.

However, things changed for me one day. I encountered the living God through His living word (Heb 4:12), and He made Himself real to me. Over and over. With each progressive manifestation, I felt myself more and more emboldened. As confidence grew, I became outspoken. I felt courageous. So unlike the little girl I was.

It was a heady feeling, I can assure you, and I began to do things I never though I would. But you know what? When you put yourself out there, inevitably, you get hurt. Something may be said to you. Or perhaps nothing at all is said, and that can hurt just as much. Or even more…

I put myself out there so much, eventually, my heart began to hurt. And before I knew it, I regressed. I began to shy away. I withdrew, closing up and shutting up. Incredibly, I was just like the little girl I always was.

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Get up; help the boy up and hold him by the hand… Genesis 21:18

The first time I read the above passage, I was so impassioned. Because I’d been going through a time of depression. I slept a lot and felt so uninspired. But my little boy needed me. He was around Annabelle’s age now when I read those words. It was the first time I felt the nudge or motivation to get up.

I wanted to do it for my son. For Levi. Because I knew as long as I was on the ground, I wasn’t in a position to help him up. In truth, if he’d grabbed my hand once upon a time, I’d have pulled him down with me. Because I was flat on my face.

But I rallied and rose. I got up and began making great strides. I was full of purpose and aim and took on so much. I was fully confident and fully courageous. Once upon a time, I really was…

And I managed to remain in that upright stance for several years.

Who is the man who is afraid and lacks courage? Let him go and return to his house, so that he doesn’t cause his brothers’ courage to fail like his own. Deuteronomy 20:8

Alas, I sensed God calling me out of the world a couple of years ago. Seems He wanted me to exit the light and enter a dark, quiet place. I resisted wholeheartedly because once I tasted the light, the dark was no longer appealing.

And yet, God persisted. Finally, I succumbed to His bidding. It was August of 2017 and I did my best to stay quiet. Unseen. I knew there was purpose, one of those being found in the above passage listed under the heading “Laws of Warfare” in my Bible.

Wow, it penetrates.

See, I lost my courage. Somewhere along the way, fear set up and not a shred of boldness remained. And so, God took me out of the line of fire. I just couldn’t handle it. Not in 2017. And for coming up on two-years now, I’ve been halted. However, my stand-still allowed for the most wonderful thing to happen.

In coming out of everything, God was finally able to do what He’s always wanted to do. An inside work took place. And in looking back, I can see it all. How He removed my feathers one by one. All the things I wanted to present to the world… all the things I believed were keeping me aloft.

But one by one, God plucked every activity and writing venture and volunteer spot out of my life till there was nothing left. I was completely bare. Just God and me. And that’s when I realized how much confidence I’d placed on me and my abilities. And how dependent I was on everything I allowed the world to see in me. To appear perfect. I did everything I could to keep me upright. And in the air. Until my feathers were all gone…

Grounded by God.

It had to happen. Because uncovered, I comprehended how I’d been using everything I could to hide my weaknesses. All those insecurities and fears that caused me to keep quiet, like when I was a little girl, rose to the surface. In fact, they caused me to become mute in recent years…

But see, laid bare in the nest of God’s rest, He was able to tend to me and my old hurts become new ones. He nurtured me. And cared for me. He tended to me in a way I’d never experienced. And there, in the secret place of His refuge, I found my strength returning. I saw glimmers of boldness and splashes of courage inside and out. It’s what prompts me to write now. To step to the edge of His nest… 

For I find a new feather in my wing. Unlike my plucked ones, this feather was placed there by God. It’s called boldness. Inconceivably, though, the wing grew from a weakened state. But out of my weakness, I gained His strength (2 Cor 12:9).

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The above is on the front of my journal. I started it on April 22, the day after Easter. The preceding journal is full of notes about getting up, coming out, re-entering the world, etc. Over and over, I see nudges to leave the security of His nest. And to open my mouth. For my heart sang all last month as it composed words to God and His goodness…

But I’ve resisted movement.

It was just too easy to remain here. In the secret place. Because here, I don’t get hurt. And as whole-heartedly as I resisted going in, I find I’ve been just as reluctant to leave. But then, I stumbled across this quote a couple of days ago:

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I know God allowed me to hear this because it was the final nudge. It’s what I needed to hear. Because you know…

I see His Son, Jesus. Not in the words about failing and stumbling and error. That’s not it. It’s in the reading about a worthy cause because the cross was His cause. And it’s in the blood and sweat, because He did that. In the garden. But more, I comprehend Jesus went into the arena first. And He’s my example to follow.

See, He entered the arena of the world and was hurt by the crowds. He was stricken and wounded and crushed and beaten. All for me. All for you. But He could have avoided it. And oh, how He agonized in prayer over it. And when He prayed, His sweat became like drops of blood, falling to the ground (Luke 22:44). He cried out, “Take this cup.” But in the end, He submitted to His Father’s will.

He entered the arena and so shall I. For Him. For me. But also, for them…

IMG_1753 Taking the child’s hand, He said (tenderly) to her, “Talitha Kum!” – which translated (from Aramaic) means, “Little girl, I say to you, get up!” Mark 5:42

Two days ago, I was ready. Oh, I was moved. God had spoken and there was no doubt. He said, “Get up! Get out! Get it back!” And I was emboldened. Ready to be brave. I wanted to leave my secret place and enter the arena of the world.

Wouldn’t you know Annabelle got sick. Up through the night and home yesterday. I lay down with her, I ate more than I should and slept in the afternoon. And can I tell you? Courage waned. And I doubted. I wondered if I heard God clearly.

But then, I remember my Christ, who entered first. And what strikes me most about His actions is that He kept silent. When insults were hurled His way or when the crowd esteemed Him not, He did not open His mouth. And I tell you, this penetrates.

Because I realize my Savior and Lord kept quiet that day and this may be the one area in which He calls me not to follow His lead…

See, He kept quiet so I would not. Jesus kept His lips sealed so I would open mine. Thus, with a heart full of His love, I do. And this is how I choose to enter the arena. This is how I go back into the world. It’s the one He died for.

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Oh, she’s so much like me. She’s quiet and reserved and scared to open her mouth. And the thought of her entering the world and what it will do to her can leave me paralyzed. It can cause me to grab her tight and never let her go.

Because how will it affect her? Will insults and ugly remarks rip her tender heart to shreds like it did me? Or worse, when she’s esteemed not or ignored completely, how will she handle it? Will she realize her incredible value when she’s not received by the world? When it doesn’t want her and she’s not welcome?

But then I realize a lot of that depends on me. Because how I handle the world will likely be how she handles it. For according to Oscar Wilde, all women become like their mothers. And from experience, I know little boys do, too. So the choice is all mine. What will Levi and Annabelle see when they view my life? What example will I provide for following?

Oh, I want them to witness a strong woman. One who may have laid down a time or two, but in the end, she always had the courage to get up. And get out. I want them to see a woman who may have lost it a time or two but always had the gumption to get it back. Yes, that’s my desire.

And I have hope that’s me. A woman who got it back. For I no longer fear being seen just as I am. Imperfect. Like the polish that adorns my nails…

Because in my imperfect weakness, His power if perfected. Thus, I embrace it. Because when I am weak, then I am strong to carry on. And I find this is the absolute best place to open my mouth.

Yes, through all my frailty, I find courage to say what I should.

And this is what I hope my babies see when they look at me. A woman brave enough to speak up. A woman who didn’t avoid the arena of life. One who allowed God to take her by the hand, lift her off the ground, and lead her back in. 

And my hope is that they go in, too. Boldly. Levi and Annabelle. Both led by a strong mom who courageously follows Jesus…

The little girl immediately got up and began to walk… Mark 5:42