Desperation

I was the fun girl who went through life with my happy face on, even when I was dying inside.

Sometimes I'm still that girl.

Being real is exhausting, especially when you're busy dying inside. You know what I mean?

Some of you do.

Being real is exhausting when you're already spent... physically, mentally, spiritually. When you feel that, regardless, everyone in your life is counting on you to show up with your big girl pants... everyday.

     (Note the word feel, because you haven't told anyone that your big girl pants are in shreds
      and you may need someone else to be Captain Underpants for a day or two... or more.)

Being real is frightening and your happy face is much more comfortable... for everyone.

But sometimes feelings are so big they suffocate.
And crushing, because you've let them pile up.
So here you are again, dying inside.

Despite all this, you don't want to ask for help because:

              You're the strong, dependable one.

              Weakness is embarrassing.
           
              You don't want to bother anyone.

              You don't want worn out platitudes.

              You don't want well-meaning solutions.

              You don't want to talk about it, because that might mean
              you have to own up to your pain and really feel it.

You can go through the motions of life and no one will get hurt, right?

You can just be semi-numb and disconnected, living that bare minimum if I just don't leave any glaring holes no one will notice kind of life. But you know it's a lie.

And eventually, the numbness wears off. Ouch. And that well-worn happy face won't hold back the tide anymore. Now you're just a soggy, bloody mess.

So you blog about it. Finally allowing the pain to flow. And you stand there with your heart's road rash laid bare for your ten followers to see, because you won't publicize that new blog on Facebook. Too many eyes on your truth would feel like air on a rug burn... and you're just not that brave.

Then you work on your follow up blog for days, trying to make sense of what just happened - what is happening - and wanting to reassure those who read your grief that you didn't bleed to death.

     That you're still alive.

     That beautiful sisters stood in all your gruesome mess and prayed with you as you spoke your pain.
     And they understood. They listened. They didn't try to just bandage you over.

     That a daughter sent a grace-filled email that touched your heart... comforting with the comfort
     she has received.

     That you began to see light and lightness as others held your emotions tenderly, reflecting Jesus.
     Being His presence, also real and raw.

In that place of naked, bleeding desperation, a gentle voice from heaven began, even that day, to reveal what He is doing in your mess. To show how He's wooing you back to life... real life. Bringing a balm and sweet covering for your wounds all while showing you the pride you've been hiding behind.

He reminds you that desperation is a place of strength when you're hidden in Him.

And somehow, in the midst of all that still yearns to be made right - within and without -
you know, in your soul, it is well.

For real.


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I noticed while laboring over all of this, what began as I quickly turned to you. I'm already analyzing that to death, but I'll spare you the rabbit trails.

Though since we're here, is this you? 

Are you hurting and no one knows?

Do you hide instead of asking for help? Even from the Lord?

This is obviously still hard for me, but every time I've come to a place of surrender - of being real about my pain, my fears, my sin - I've also found the path to comfort, healing, and strength.

I pray you'll find the same.

Knees Bent

Do you have anyone in your life who seems to just be able to read you? The one who, no matter how "fine" you answer the "how are you?" question, squints her soul-eyes and digs a little deeper. 

"How are you really? ... What's going on?"

I have such a friend. She has been God's gift to me the past few years whenever I've attempted to move through life with my purposely evasive "happy face." Though I know better, I still find myself hiding behind a veneer at times. 

In loving and wise response, the Lord sent me a precious friend with compassionate and probing eyes - that truly sparkle when she smiles - to prod me out of my laminate life when I least expect it. 

I've come to recognize that seeing me is His gifting in her, therefore I now trust being seen. And I've learned to love this about her and about our encounters. So as we caught up via text today and planned a coffee date, something I shared struck me at a deeper level. 

Let me back up a little... 

Last night around dinner time the buzz on my phone came with the tell-tale question: "How are you?" Not able to respond till this morning, I started "thumbing" this reply and was caught up short even as I texted:

"I'm doing fine. Still finding my sea legs with life's changes and finding that knees bent..." 

Wait... Hmm... I continued: 

"...knees bent is more than just a way to not lose your balance." 

Knees bent. I picture this posture when I remember endless volleyball drills in high school. Being at the ready...prepared to move to the ball in any direction. I see this stance when I imagine a surfer absorbing the movement of a wave or a sailor remaining aright in choppy seas, thus the term sea legs. 

But even as I texted knees bent, my mind flashed to someone kneeling at prayer. "On bended knee..." Such an iconic image. This is what stopped me mid-text. The Lord spoke in that flash of a thought: 

"You will keep your balance as you come to Me with knees bent...in prayer. I am your sea legs." Selah was certainly implied.


So, now I'm resting awhile upon this thought. Mulling it. And sharing it...

If life is knocking you around, friend...bend your knees. 
If all is dizzying uncertainty...bend your knees.
Bound by sin? Bend your knees. 
Too exhausted to stand? Don't. Fall to your knees...fall in His arms. 

But must I kneel to pray? 

While kneeling is a wonderful prayer posture, it is not the only way to pray. To me, kneeling is often more of a heart posture. Come in humility. Bow your heart. Come as you are and where you are: standing at your sink full of dishes or in the refuge of the shower, sitting in traffic or in the quiet blessing of morning or late evening hours. Mid-day. Mid-text...

Jesus beckons, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." So come to Him with heart bowed, hands open in surrender... 

"I can't do this."

And as you lean into Him, He'll whisper, "I know. But I can... I will."

The words of of the Lord in Isaiah 30:15 ring true to me again today as they have so many times before, "In repentance and rest you will be saved, 
                                            In quietness and trust is your strength."  

Prayer. Knees bent... Come to Him in prayer. Often and always. Breathe in life and grace, strength and comfort. Then stand and find your balance in Him.

*       *       *       *       *       *       * 

Thank you sweet "how are you?" friend, and thank you, Jesus, for sisters who are Your hands and feet to draw me out from my veneer and back to You...to vulnerability and truth.

Now I come, with knees bent...

When it is "the end of the world as we know it"

Thoughts on 12/21/12...the much hyped, supposedly Mayan-predicted end of the world. 
Know that I am a flawed, ever-seeking follower of Jesus Christ. So grateful for His grace. It was Jesus who said, "In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” It is on the premise and promises of faith in Him and His word that I share.


"It's not the end of the world!" 

Has anyone ever said this to you? My mom used to say it all the time, very likely in response to some outpouring of girlhood drama, real or imagined. And I'm positive that it's thoughtlessly slipped from my lips dozens of times.

It's interesting how we often minimize the feelings of others, especially our children. Granted they are prone to huge emotional swings and patience can run thin...but do you remember times or events in your life that did feel like the whole world would end for the sheer doom that was pressing on your heart or giving you that horrid endless stomach-free-fall? Panic rising or dread falling? 

For every decade of my life I remember several, and I am certain that I've lived through scores more that lay forgotten in the kicked-up-road-dust of "life moves on whether we like it or not." 

Truthfully, it was easier to move on with life when those feelings of doom, hopelessness, and pain were acknowledged instead of minimized or dismissed...by me or, most often, by those who had authority in my life. Those whose responses shaped mine and whose perspectives either clarified or muddied my emotional reactions to the roller coaster learning curve that is life on earth. 

Why are we so uncomfortable with others' pain, grief, disappointment, depression? Or is it that we're only willing to be aware enough to say, "That's horrible!" as we comfort ourselves in the thought of, "Glad that's not my problem." And just because our children's complaints, fears, and desires seem childish to us, does this give excuse for not walking them through these things and helping them make sense of the world and their own emotions? 

Has ignoring something ever made it disappear from your heart? 

Does saying or thinking "it doesn't matter" really make it not matter? Do you ever stop and look at the things you've hauled around that were long ago filed as It Doesn't Matter...No Time to Deal With This...or one of the most effective "shut 'er down and make her feel small" categories...That's Stupid...which translates to "you're stupid and how you feel about this hard thing is stupid too." 

In these times where prayer requests come unceasingly from loved ones who need healing...in mind, body and soul...in marriages and families, from those who needs jobs and material provision, from those who are grieving and broken...will we stop and listen? Will we pray?

In a time of history where we as a nation have had tragedies pounding us like unrelenting body blows, will we learn how to handle loss or grieve well? Will we learn to allow time and space and grace for others to travel their road of despair? Will we let it change us and our relationships? Slow us down and cause us to reflect on how we, as individuals, can either throw down roadblocks and snares or make smooth the path of healing with our choice of words, attitudes, actions.

A week ago today our nation, but more specifically a community and a huge ripple of real families and children, had an "end of the world" day, a day that marked an indisputable end to hopes that represented a world to those who woke to an ordinary morning of work and school and holiday preparations. A world to all whose world had known the comforting presence of these precious women and children...and a semblance of peace and safety. 

This event was horrendous in it's magnitude of loss. There is no denying or diminishing that truth. And each day in each of our worlds the cries of death, pain, sickness, divorce, betrayal, fear, sorrow, and despair reverberate just as truthfully. Some seem small and trite, others are undeniably heart-wrenching, but pain is pain. How we deal with the small muddles gives us tools for the catastrophe. How we choose to show grace to those weaker, younger...our own children?...can make a world of difference in their ability to ride out the next inevitable storm. 

For those in Newtown, Connecticut and their loved ones, today is the one week anniversary of the end of their world. For others of us, our cataclysm...our unexpected crash, or slow ebbing away, our end of the world may have been weeks ago, months ago, perhaps years ago. No matter which, the end of anything that is "life as we know it" is a time for grief, real and raw...most often followed by cold, unpredictable sneaker waves that suck our breath and threaten to drag us under. 

Most of us have heard Jesus' parable of the house built on sand. (Matthew 7:24-27) The longer I live the more I realize the truth of His word picture. This world is all shifting sand. It is a place where evil, sin, and death all have sway. My hopes, my world, cannot be sustained upon it's promises. The only way I have weathered storm after storm, and pounding after pounding is by learning to set my feet upon a Rock that is not of this world, and the rock of His word. This is my firm foundation.

Hebrews 12:3 reminds me to, "Consider [Jesus] who endured such opposition from sinful men so that you so not grow weary and lose heart." These words show me ahead of time where to redirect my gaze in the times of trouble that will come. He has been my only place of hope in those "end of the world" moments and seasons.

But the intent of my challenge to you today is to look at your own responses to those around you who are suffering. Perhaps this will mean looking deep into why you respond as you do. Do you run from pain...yours and others...and why? 

Do you diminish the expressions of pain, confusion, or fear of those in your path, including your children of any age, or can you do battle with them by listening, listening, listening...and then, after you have really listened, speaking truth that is truth, not just the knee-jerk reaction of your own hidden pain or fears? Or your need to get back to your to do list?

When we are open to being healed we have the potential to be a healing balm in the lives of others. But know that there is pain in healing, just ask the burn victim or the physical therapy patient. Why do we expect anything different of emotional and spiritual healing? Do not run from this pain, embrace it. 

Pain will mold and shape your life anyway...

but you have a choice in whether you'll end up misshapen and bitter, 

or scarred, but whole. 

I have found this healing in Jesus, in His character and in His promises. He may correct, discipline, even painfully prune, but He never diminishes or dismisses me. He is a wise and tender physician who has walked the road of pain with me...so often carrying me when my legs and my mind buckled under life's strain, when my world was ending.  

Therefore, it is His tenderness that I long to share with others who are hurting. In view of His mercy, it is His grace I long to give. His long-suffering, His ability to suffer long...to be patient...that I need in order to really stop, share their pain, and with a heart ready to listen, come alongside. Whether the grieving parent or the wounded child, the sister who sees no hope, or the teen drowning in fear or depression, I want to be willing to walk this road of pain with others.

Am I ready for "the end of the world" in someone's life? Are you? 

How will you answer your young children in the face of the little calamities sent to shape them? 

How will you walk with another's grief? 

When we shut ourselves off from others with the habit of dismissing their pain, 

we not only miss out on the potential of helping them grow and heal, 

but, far worse, we become a part of the pounding 

that maims their hearts.

My favorite of God's promises is, "I will never leave you nor forsake you." Would that we lived even a pale reflection of that promise in each other's lives. 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, 

the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, 

who comforts us in all our troubles, 

so that we can comfort those in any trouble 

with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. 

~2 Corinthians 1:3,4

He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. 

~Psalm 147:3

Goodbyes...

Today I am pondering goodbyes. I am beginning to see that much of life is about saying goodbye...and learning to do it well.

Goodbye can mean "I’ll see you soon" or “I’ll see you in heaven,” and everything in between. In the past several years this has become more poignant as I’ve been parted from dear friends that I have loved and ministered with. Some have been called to minister elsewhere nearby, some have been sent on grand adventures of faith hundreds of miles away. Others have lived out their days here on earth and have been called to their eternal home. And most recently, I have had to say goodbye…one by one…to my children and their spouses as they have followed their given paths away from home.

My preparation for these goodbyes began many years ago with “seasons” of friendship. Can you look back on your life and notice that there were people that you were closely connected with - perhaps in school, or while your children were small, on a job, or in ministry - but as time and life’s events took your journeys elsewhere, the proximity of that friendship was gone? I’m not talking about having a falling out, but perhaps more of a calling out. At first I would try to hang on so tightly and force a relationship to stay, but I began to see that some relationships were there to nurture a season of life, to truly just propel me on to the next leg of my journey. There are also some that, despite distance, will be life-long and, truth be told, I don’t think we get to pick which ones are which.

Every one of us has a journey. If I love you I will walk the stretch of the road with you that is mine to walk and when the crossroad comes, I will bid you farewell…praying that you do “fare well” wherever you are called. Your life is not mine to hold tightly, but it may have been mine to encourage for a time. And at the end of the day, I just want to be faithful to that for I am so eternally grateful for those who’ve walked those stretches of road with me. It may have been a matter of years or just a few conversations, but each life that’s touched mine has made an impact. Even those that have caused hurt and pain have been used for God’s greater purpose.

Years before my children ever had the glimmer of a calling, be it marriage or other life adventures, I began praying that I would be able to let go of them gracefully and graciously. (Grace being the operative word.) Especially being a mom-at-home, my life and “career" has been so closely identified with their lives. But my goal as a parent was always to propel them toward adulthood. Even when they were younger, to challenge them to look beyond immediate gratification and not just learn practical skills for adulthood, but begin to have a vision of themselves as, in their case, a man and as women. It was so good to choose to celebrate their milestones, to allow for rites of passage that were meaningful and intentional, but in the back of my mind was the knowledge that one day all of this must culminate in “goodbye.”

And how intensely do we love our children? I have often thought of mine as “burned into my heart"...like a brand. My heart is forever changed by having given birth and by having done life with them. The joys of victory and the agonies of defeat…and all the ordinary days in between. I love them in ways that words fail to fully capture and that is fitting, because they were never meant to be captured. True love is huge and holds it’s hands outstretched, it is never tight-fisted. My kids were created by God for their own journeys and if I love them, I will shout, “fly…fly!” even if the next minute I must bury my head in my hands and cry. I must bear the sorrow of goodbye so I can watch them stand, and struggle, and grow, and embrace all that life has for them.

And, so too with my friends. Sometimes I have seen God take a friend out of my life so that I will learn to stand without them, and stand more fully in Him. Or so that I will have eyes to see a new relationship that He’s ordained for me. Even as an extravert I can get pretty content with my little circle of close friends and fail to see someone new who is just waiting for a fresh companion. And most often, He is calling my loved ones to a new adventure and I can either focus on my sadness at having to say goodbye, or love them well through the sadness by continuing to encourage…standing at the curb-side waving with all my might and wishing them a safe and amazing journey.

As I grow older, I have begun to see the beauty and purpose behind the ebb and flow of life...and lives. It’s sole purpose is life, and life to the full. A seed must fall to the ground and die in order to bear much fruit. This is the order of life. And so often this means that my ordering of life must die, and I must learn to say goodbye in a way that joyfully says “fly!” When someone leaves there is always a hole left behind, but isn’t that where new plants are nestled? In fresh holes? The trick is not missing new blooms because we’re still staring down the road at a set of taillights. Do we acknowledge our sorrow? Of course. But we can bear it a little better each time as we come to see that life is not about hanging on to things or people.

So today as I began the day skyping with my daughter and her kids in Arkansas, then did the same with a beloved friend in California, and also learned of a dear couple who have been called on to their next adventure, I have stopped to ponder all this, to let the sadness wash over me with each goodbye, and at the thought of that "farewell" to come...and I know it's all going to be ok. Goodbye is ok, even when we love much and it hurts.

We can love deeply and learn to say goodbye, because sometimes they are the same thing.

My Thursday Moms: a tribute

As we sat on the sofa listening to Heather give us her update on speaker phone in a raspy, congested, "I'm too sick to come today" voice, I had a growing sense of deep thankfulness for what these women have meant to me over the many years of seasons. Even as she spoke I thought, "I cannot even fathom where I'd be and who I'd be without them." If "aged to perfection" is even a possibility, I would say that this describes our deep sisterhood in Christ. Though we are far from perfect, our friendship has taken on a beauty that only comes with the seasoning of those seasons; enduring with one another through countless trials and rejoicing together as we've witnessed God's miraculous hand weaving the threads of our lives into a garment of praise.

Little did we know well over 15 years ago that a group of women gathered to pray for our kids and Linwood Elementary would be the catalyst for such an enduring friendship. We were a Moms In Touch prayer group led by another wonderful woman who felt God's call to this ministry. Every Thursday morning from September to June we would meet to encourage one another in prayer and to testify to God's answers for our children, our families, and our school. As time went on and our kids began to leave for middle school, high school, home school, and college, we morphed from the official Moms In Touch to a more informal moms in prayer. Many women came and went over the years, each a blessing and dearly loved. There are three of us left from that original group - Diana, Heather, and me. I affectionately call us the Thursday Moms. 

These woman have walked with me through almost two decades of raising my small children, behavior issues, illnesses, attitudes and rebellion (my kids' and mine), head lice (ugh!), depression, grief, marriage issues, the teenage years, schooling choices, mission trips, the dating years, wedding planning, wedding planning, wedding planning (smile)....and now extreme empty nesting. They have been so patient and wise and faithful. They have pointed me back to God's word countless times and encouraged me with His promises. And, more than words, they have been Jesus' hands and feet of blessing.

This year we "got all crazy" and decided to continue meeting together through the summer. We didn't start out knowing how important this would be, but the Lord knew. Oh how we needed Him this summer! (smile...we always need Him!) Hopes, fears, anguish, quandaries, mountains, marriages, mine fields...and through all these things, desiring to be faithful wives, mothers, friends - faithful servants of our Savior, Jesus. So much more than seeking relief from these looming issues, we desired to respond in the Spirit and in truth; to know Him more deeply and to honor Him in all we did and thought and said. This has been our quest...this summer and throughout the years. No Holy Grail, just holy living. Journeying together through the maze of life, spurring one another on, battling in prayer and in exhortation, lifting one another's arms when the fighting was fierce. And in all this, loving one another.

Ah, yes...loving one another. This was the reason for the deep sense of quiet and peace that came over me as I sat back, shoes off, curled up with steaming coffee mug in the corner of comfy green sofa. We'd prayed for Heather and settled in to continue our morning of fellowship and it dawned on me. Gazing at my lovely friend with the rich golden hues outside reflecting the changing seasons of this place and of our lives, I realized that this was where I had always known I could be myself. I am loved here. These women have graced me with the ministry of listening...not just hearing, but listening. Such a gift! They know me so well and they have allowed me to know them. We have confessed our sins to one another, shared joys and fears, cried together, laughed together, invested in the Kingdom and in one another...together. What a treasure we share in Christ and in the wonder of womanhood, lived together as friends. Let the seasons change! We have one another and we have Christ. Oh, how I love you Jesus and how I love these sweet, sweet sisters! Thank you for my precious Thursday Moms!