To Have And To Hold On To

From today's Facebook post...

Before he became The Hubs, and I, his well-meaning wife, there was this moment...

Thirty-six years ago yesterday - and exhausted for reasons I'll not innumerate today - we stood rehearsing for the celebration of a covenant for which there is no adequate rehearsal. But pushing through while tired and stressed - and totally clueless to what the future held - was probably an accurate foreshadow of the gritty faith it would take to travel the years together.

We knew even then that the marriage out-ranked the wedding day. A single day of pretty does not a life make. 

Instead, the honeymoon leads to each day’s decision to love, to celebrate joys and victories, and to bear with each other’s flaws, sinfulness, and selfishness. To forgive seventy times seven... times seven... times seven. To hold hands no matter what, and to persevere when life grinds at the frayed edges of hope. To pray for one another even when faith falters and the season feels cruel. And, for us, to savor the moments after each child's wedding and the birth of every grandchild - not only in gratitude - but in sober reverence, knowing full well how many times we could have given up on each other and missed sharing these joys together. 

The pledge we made so many years ago - for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, faithful to one another always - remind me of God's promise to those He calls His own, a promise I have clung to time and time again, "Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you." (Hebrews 13:5) He's kept that promise. 

But what of our promises? 

To have endured this long, you may think we've been lucky, perfectly compatible, or amazingly determined, but that is so far from true. We all have a story, and this ours: we know without a doubt that it was, and is, God's unwavering faithfulness to us, His endless grace, and the power of His Spirit in our lives that has enabled us to keep those vows. The only thing we determined was to follow Him, and sometimes that looked anything but pretty. 

So on this, our anniversary, we will celebrate our 36 years. We will reflect, be thankful, grab hands yet again, choose to keep following. And since, for us, a perfect date day always leads to a coffee shop, that's where we'll start. To us! Cheers!

Thank you, Jesus, for thirty-six years!

#tohaveandtoholdfromthisdayforward #happyanniversary #thirtysixyears#Godisfaithful

The Faces of Motherhood

I stumbled upon these half-written reflections that began on Mother's Day. My life is littered with unfinished projects, so in a rare burst of determination I decided to circle back and finish this one. Some of you may find kinship here.



Sometimes the doing takes hold so hard that quiet moments drag me off to some mindless distraction. Today, the distraction dragged me back to mindfulness. Even social media can be the all things that are worked together for good. Wonder of wonders.

As I scrolled through my Facebook newsfeed, I was struck by the many faces of motherhood. Women cradling newborns, tales of sleepless nights and toddler antics, bedside hospital vigils, celebrating plays and proms. So many snapshots and shared thoughts that reminded me of my journey as Mom. So many seasons - all of them simultaneously happy, hard, wondrous, tedious, heart-wrenching, mind-stretching, and somehow good for my soul by the mystery of the unseen Hand that held me.

Soon I was nudged back to real-time by tears painting picture upon picture across my older, life-worn face. Tears that longed for the simpler, exhausting days gone by. Streaks that celebrated the joys, mourned the griefs - some yet raw. Tears that declared I've not yet found a place of peace in the so-called empty nest season...

...mostly due to the unexpected season: watching our own moms, and others, age in ways that we celebrate, but also in ways that keep me up at night once again - anxious, wringing hands grasping for elusive wisdom. Who knew the same uncertainty that gripped those long ago firsts would resurface in caring for the generation who raised us?

What I once pictured as carefree, possibility-full days of walking alongside my kids and grandkids has been fraught with cares and dreams deferred. I wrestle to lay down my vision of this season. There's no grace in how it's looked - this struggle - but much grace surrounding me in it. I am trying to find stillness in this storm, to soak up mercy, comfort, wisdom, love.

Who am I in all this? What can I hope for and work toward? Questions that took flight even as our first child married have had no space or length of time to land as I've bounced from one major life event - or crisis - to another these past several years.

Who am I? How do I fit, how does the rest of life fit, in to the new normal of caregiver in perpetuity, for that is how it often feels: never-ending. In part, this is who I am, what I do well, what I'm called to in this season. But the responsibility overwhelms at times, and I am clumsily learning to navigate, delegate, and find healthy boundaries, instead of mentally curling up and giving up.

This is my face today. Acknowledging the joys and sorrows, the struggles, fears, confusion, clarity. So often trying to hide the weariness, anxiety, depression. Confessing the resentment and sad state of a malnourished soul, but lifting a chin to look up, and leaning an over-weighted shoulder into my Savior once more.

This has always been the face of motherhood for me.

The Long Mourning

It had already been an emotional morning -- revisiting another grief, decades old. But isn't that the way of grief? Sneaking into ordinary days that begin the same as every other: cooling coffee to the right, discarded cereal bowl to the left, morning paper refolded, and me scrolling for news of friends, enjoying insights, perusing photos...

My husband and I were not expecting the old loss to surface, both left wondering at a hidden significance in the timing. For as we wade through this season of midlife, taking lingering second looks at those roads less traveled, we know an increasing desire to invest in things that last. Even the prodding of an old wound can be an awakening. Such was the vein of my thoughts in the aftermath: patiently unresolved, sent up in prayer, waiting raw... a familiar place.

Now, coffee fresh, I resumed scrolling posts and pics, when I found myself stilled by a new photo...
My beautiful daughter. Tucked in close to husband and friends, her sparkling soul of a smile grabbed my heart and squeezed more tears.

Seven years since she first left home, then hometown, to the south, then southwest -- my grown up girl was on her way to yet another coast, a new home, a new adventure. This snapshot a piece of that journey. Her deeply loved family will settle far from here, once again. And even as I trust the Lord's directing her path, I felt every mile as a slow gouge across my heart... I'm so wrung out with goodbyes.

Standing in the kitchen sometime later, I felt it keenly -- life is the long mourning.

I've known it most profoundly as my children moved away. Each visit too brief. Each time to go chaffing the wound of the first goodbye. At least their childhood milestones kept them within arms reach, though they whispered a misty-eyed prelude to all that is now.

I've known it in hopes deferred. Relationships broken. Friends moved on, passed away, or caught in all manner of devastation. So much upheaval added to a lifetime of transitions. Season upon season, loss and change coming steadily, often leaving no time to process. Lives and issues demanding attention. No time to feel. Just move. Do. Now.

And always... the goodbyes.

Everyone's journey with loss etches differently, but is no less real. And I'm realizing that I often diminish my own pain, sweeping it away as pale in comparison to your pain... or their pain...
or suffering of global proportions. In doing so, my grief is shamed into some dark corner with no arms to comfort, no outlet for tears, no truth to lead it back to life and hope. The weight of it, unresolved, a silent shackle diminishing today's joy. And by deciding it does not matter, I am in effect saying
I don't matter.

This revelation brings a grief all it's own.

There is much stirring in these midlife days that I both welcome and want to run from. Healing requires revisiting storms past and a closer look at new issues swirling. All that wind... messing my hair... and messing with my emotions. I don't like either messed, but the hurts have been in disarray for a while. Hair is an easy fix. Maybe that's why I like doing hair.

I'm rambling now...

...and trying to make light of things that need light. That need honesty. That need a level of brave that has me on my tippy toes, longing for solid footing. Stretching for faith. Sorting through distractions that include voices, within and without, "Hurry up already!" Voices that throw out white-washing platitudes... "Let's just plaster you over with a few positive-thinking posters. Here's one with a Bible verse! There, now! Stand up straight so we can read your posters. We feel so much better now.
Don't you?"

We're all so uncomfortable with pain. Covering over is what we do, to ourselves and others.

Sigh...

Somewhere in this jumble of frustration and fear is a woman who longs to be set free of griefs deferred. To take hold of everything for which Christ has taken hold of her. To press on.

I know that Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life. He has redeemed me and calls me His own -- deeply loved, forgiven, accepted -- I do matter. And He's gently calling me to this heart-tending, lighting up dark corners, infinitely patient in my struggle. Amidst the storm, He will bring quiet, turning gusts to refreshing breezes as the Spirit bears truth and healing.

So, despite the desire to run away, I'll lean into Jesus, then lean into the wind, and keep on walking. Sometimes pressing on feels more like being pressed, but I know I'm safe, in Him, in the mess of
this long mourning.

Because of the LORD'S great love we are not consumed,

For His compassions never fail. They are new every morning;

great is Your faithfulness.

~Lamentations 3:22, 23

To everything there is a season,

A time for every purpose under heaven...

A time to weep,

And a time to laugh;

A time to mourn, 

And a time to dance. 

~Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4

 For all that gives rise to mourning, I am so thankful there remains a time to laugh.

  

*       *       *       *       *       *       *

How about you? Is your pain cast aside or covered over?

Are you running or leaning in?

I pray you'll let Jesus tend your heart.

His compassions never fail.  

The Pull of Sin: How Laughter Won The Day

At an event this Saturday night, we were reminiscing with a hometown friend about the haunted house we'd grown up attending, Hagel's House of Horrors. Seems the iconic building is finally being torn down. We all had memories, including our friend who talked of being so startled that he literally punched the ghoul that tried to scare him. Fight or flight, right?

My husband, Ty, and his dad both spent some years working there. His dad often got to be an ankle grabber.

Man, I hated the ankle grabbers! Didn't you? I hate being scared!

But I digress.

The line around that place would often stretch a block or two long and they'd stay open into the wee hours. Sometimes his dad didn't get home till 2 or 3 in the morning. He had all kinds of stories. Ty shared the most memorable with us: One night, amidst all the crowds and screams and running, his dad grabbed an ankle and instantly felt something warm and wet run down his hand.

Yes... exactly.

"Ooooh! Gross!" we all exclaimed. I've heard this story many times and it's still pretty nasty.

On to Sunday... At church we began a new series about our life in Christ. As he taught through the points of who God is, who are we in relation to God, and what our purpose is, our pastor spoke of the pull of sin. How, even with the Spirit in us, there is this type of gravitational pull toward evil. (Like wanting to go to haunted houses - when you hate being scared?) It was a great, foundational message.

(Don't worry. There's a point here.)

Fast forward to Monday morning... I drove Ty to work and as he prepared to leave the car he referred back to the sermon in regards to this pull of sin. He talked of the heaviness he sometimes feels at work. The tugging. The negativity. We're supposed to take our thoughts captive, he shared, yet it's so difficult. The tug is always there... like those hands reaching out to grab your ankles...

As his tale of frustration wound down, a thought came to mind. So I looked him right in the eye and said,

"Pee on 'em and run!"

Yes, I know. I truly am this spiritual.

Well, you know what, Ty laughed so hard as he grabbed his gear. He kept saying it over and over as he chuckled, "Pee on 'em and run!" (I love it when he laughs. He sounds just like his dad.) And off he went with a wave and a smile and a nod that said, "Good one! Really good!" (You know guys and their nods.)

A tad irreverent perhaps, but I'm thinking it'll be a great visual reminder for him to douse a few flaming arrows - with truth, and thoughts taken captive, an anything else the Spirit brings to mind. Scripture is full of strategies to stand firm and combat the enemy.

While you won't find mine in there specifically, perhaps it'll lighten up a dark moment and remind you to go to your real armor.

Resist the devil and he will flee. James 4:7

There are many ways to resist.

Laughter for the win, again.

Open Hands

It came to me in a sun-soaked moment while contemplating the pages of another's story...

Learning the posture of hands held open - ready to surrender, ready to receive - had been invaluable as I raised my little ones. Watching them grow with an eye willing to see them become who they were created to become. Willing to feed and nurture, knowing the goal was flight. A strong, joyous launching into the skies of their callings. I readied my heart for their leaving with hands held open.

They were never mine to keep.

Today I saw my own life, one that is also not mine to keep. Bought with a price. Precious blood spilled, washing me so that clean, forgiven hands can come with confidence to a throne of grace that still staggers. Grace lavished. Grace unmerited. Jesus' nail-scarred hands open, embracing, forever offered... to me. Forgiveness to all who come in repentance, trusting in His saving grace.

Yet, here I stand with one hand open, outstretched, hopeful... not seeing the other, crooked and fisted behind my back.

I gave my life, didn't I? Look upon my children. Look upon a marriage still alive and learning to thrive despite all manner of opposition. Now it's my turn to have what I want. Pursue the things I imagined doing with this half of my life. To rest from the exhausting rigors of motherhood and all that I've given myself to these past decades. Can I not grab something for my own? Of my own choosing? And hold it tightly? 

This is the cry of the crooked fist. The one hidden so that even I did not see the willfulness and lack of trust.

For all my knowledge of the peace and safety of surrendering to God who is good and able, faithful and true, sovereign, wise, and loving, nothing but oppression and frustration are born if knowing doesn't open my hands... both of them.

This is where confession began today.

Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says. 

~James 1:22

Trust in the Lord with ALL your heart and lean not on your own understanding. 

In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will direct your path. 

~Proverbs 3:5,6

Search me, God, and know my heart;

test me and know my anxious thoughts.

See if there is any offensive way in me,

and lead me in the way everlasting.

~Psalm 139:23, 24

You have searched me, Lord, and you know me... far better than I know myself. I'm so thankful that you always lead me back to You... the way everlasting. 


Grateful for His open hands and new-mercy mornings.

Poor and Needy

Hear me, Lord, and answer me,
    for I am poor and needy. ~ Psalm 86:1

Monday:
As the birds chatter away in the midday sun, I find a place of quiet in the psalms. The plaintive cries of David - shepherd, warrior, king - never fail to resonate. Neither do his flaws. We are far from ideal, he and I.

Yet he was a man after God's own heart. This speaks to me of both God's heart for David, and David's heart for God.

Am I a woman after God's own heart? I am sure of His heart for me. Though it still mystifies, I know His love never fails.

But me? I am all of failure, left to my own. Left to my own? No, that is false. I am never left, but I do leave. I am all of failure when I strike out on my own and leave His strength behind.

*   *   *   *   *  *   *

Friday:
A friend sent a loving text earlier this week, nudging me to life and truth. Within it, "...Ps 86." So I read the whole thing, soaked in it... and, starting over, stalled on the first verse. "Hear me, Lord, and answer me, for I am poor and needy." My shoulders dropped as a sigh escaped. My body crying surrender long before my heart. My will, always the last to die.

Now here I sit on the same patio days later, with lawn mower white noise as soundtrack to the white noise in my head. I'm so tired. Tired of being strong. ... I don't want to be that strong girl anymore. I can't be.  ... This feels so selfish ... What is real, Lord? What am I to be doing?

I don't know about you, but I'm wired to serve others. If I see a need, I want to fill it. It seems as natural as breathing to me. "Here am I, send me" is a line of scripture that has resonated since I was chest high to the back of a pew. Seeing things with eyes of mercy is also God's gift. So many wonderful opportunities to bring God's grace into the everyday arise from both these Spirit-born passions.

But somewhere in this, life has piled up and I've lost sight of my Source. So busy keeping my head, and everyone else's head, above water that I'm exhausted. And so the cry comes... God, is all this really of you? Is this my portion or am I taking more than is mine to do? I am so ready to let all these spinning plates crash and run for the hills... or the beach... leave town with no forwarding address. 

I'm a mess.

How desperate and mentally spent are you when you're seriously considering moving away - new town, new deal - just to escape responsibility? Have you ever been there?

If I were physically sick, I would have an excuse to bow out, but other than the occasional far away look, there is no outward evidence of how thin this thread feels that keeps me tethered to ... what? Sanity? Reality? My own well-being?

Amidst the din of such thoughts, the prayer of David has echoed all week long. "Hear me, Lord, and answer me, for I am poor and needy." A soul cry. A heart beat. Prayer without ceasing.

It seems He's heard the echoes. Though still frayed and perplexed, I've sensed the infusing of "strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow." Forever and always, great is His faithfulness.

As I travel the life of hymn and psalm - bowing down, declaring Truth, crying out, singing praise, all while still mulling through and waiting for answers, direction, wisdom - He lives, He hears. He loves me with an everlasting love. In stark contrast to my weakness and desire to pull away from everything and everyone, His presence and power - and mercy - are steadfast.

Thank you, Father. 

We all can get buried in the issues of life. Noise abounds. Advice is everywhere. But in a world full of motivational tag lines and endless lists of the 5, 7, or 10 things that happy, successful, amazing people do to be happier, more successful, and infinitely more amazing, I am finding solace in a list of three.

1. Hear, me, Lord
2. I am poor
3. I am needy

Perhaps it's a good thing I'm too tired to remember much more.

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.


*       *       *       *       *       *       *


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.

I am bleeding

I am hemorrhaging. Not literally, but it feels that way.

Life is in the blood... and I am bleeding. So much around me is bleeding out.

How can I stand up to this onslaught of life seeping, life-sucking bleeding? Today I feel so fragile and weak in it's wake. Life leaving and lives moved on, taking away community and, ultimately, identity. Though I've watched it happen, I did not foresee identity tumbling, staggering, gasping.

Who am I in this death march?

So much transition, loss, change in five, six, seven years time... and now this.

Jesus, You are still the rock I stagger on. I know You are there, but my heart aches and bleeds with all around me. I have stood up to it so long, but I am weakening. There is only so much... too much...
I feel my legs buckling and my heart caving in. I'm so tired of being strong and steadfast. I don't even want You to be my strength. I want to curl up and close my eyes and be done.

I am weary and I can hardly see You for all the blood.

Yet You bled for all this, too.

I know.

Still, today there is grief and heaviness... and no time to stop. No time to be weak.

For every time there is a season...

This is the season of dying, but no time to die.
This is the season of weariness, but life does not care.
Of losing myself in the bleeding and not wanting to fight anymore.

Not even sure why I think I need to be strong, but I have always thought I must.

How can I care for others when life of soul and spirit are leaking out? Most days I soldier on and fake it with grief dragging like a millstone.

Oh, how I long to really rest in a spacious, life-giving place. How I long to breathe again.

I've known that life before. It seems an age away. Someone else's life.

How I long to be her again...


But, how will I stop the bleeding?


*       *       *       *       *       *       *


Sometimes life is real and my heart is raw. Most days I keep that to myself. 

Today I let it spill. 

The circumstances: too numerous, thus purposely vague. 
My heart: on my sleeve, clearly bleeding.
No pat answers. No platitudes. 
Just a snapshot in real time.

If you're here too, know that someone else is trudging along... and journaling blog-like prayers.  

Hope On Display

Sometimes the ache on the inside 

steals my breath

and grinds my insides

Really? Again? 

Can't this - peopling - ever be simple?

Will hope always be 

mired in muck

always grasping and gasping

for life?


Hope


It is truth!  

Not all this 

...other stuff 

that reeks of death 

and cheerlessness

expectation 

and failure


How long, oh Lord?

And why so hard?

I hate this place...


Yet on these days 

smiles and jestings flow 

Like grace

they save me

bathe me 

in refreshment

and laughter breathing


On these days 

I'll make you laugh

Life force on display

for you 

...for me

For no matter how breath-less   

I will see grace 

I must


Come what may

...and it is here again...

hope will breathe

grace ever-flowing

It's origin far upstream

where no eye has seen

no ear has heard

and no mind has imagined

the goodness prepared 

by Him who is all good


He holds me tightly

...always has

In Him

hope never disappoints

Into this parched

discouraged 

stubborn heart

He will pour love


again


And while I wait

I'll fight

with light and laughter

...hope on display

The smile that hides the battle

but battles on

unquenchable


For hope will have the last laugh

*       *       *       *       *       *       *

No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined

the things that God has prepared for those who love him.
~1 Corinthians 2:9

 Therefore, since we have been declared righteous by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in the hope of God’s glory. Not only this, but we also rejoice in sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance, character, and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us.

~Romans 5:1-5

To Be or Not To Be?

The list clamors in my head, "Do this first! No, this! You should! You must!"

I can't bear all this yelling.

Despite some maturity, I still hate conflict. And today, mind curls into fetal position that cries, "Enough! Just care for me! I am not what I do!"

Is this weakness? Laziness?
I don't know.

Is it real need for real rest?
I have no idea.

But it is today.

I do not thrive on dos and shoulds and musts. I never have. I am so out of place in this world of dos. My skin never fits it's demands.

Take me to a quiet place where doing is paced. Tasks, patient. A place alive with listening, watching, knowing. Let me feel and write. My best doing is in being.

I wish it were enough.

Yet, each day has been apportioned for me...

Is my weariness mere rebellion?

So often this battle finds me. Outer reality meeting inward frame. Most days we compromise. I muster courage. Stuff down inner voice and do...stuff.

Yet I always wonder: Is there a place to be in this world of doing? Do I only earn my being by doing? Is joy and breath and fresh air only for those who get their stuff done? 

And even as I rise from pondering, knowing I will do today, resigned soul clamors back it's parting shot,

"To be or not to be? That is the question."

Perhaps it's the voice of Eden lost that keeps me ever longing. An inner knowing that I was made for rest. For knowing and being known.

One day all that was lost will be restored. Until that day I soldier on, by His breath and in His strength, wresting quiet from the truth that one day I will be free...to be.  

Trespassing Darkness

Oh, the thoughts I do not write out loud

The thoughts concealed from others

yet not wholly hidden

The ones weighed heavy

discontent

threatening breath and life


How I'd love to will them away

but no

It doesn't happen that way

I wish it did

It's a lazy desperation

while mired in imaginings

standing as shadow over this heart


Darkness and shadow...


Yes, sometimes I venture there

staying far too long

Roots fingering down

demanding vindication

lengthening oppression

These are not friendly roots

The shadow unsafe

I know this well


For truth stands vigilant

when mind cries vigilante

Truth stands still

and stills my heart

Stills roots that seek

to bind in stealth

...make bitter


How despised, this place I choose to go

These thoughts that trespass holiness

For in them I trespass darkness...

another's kingdom


I have no haven here

Sorting the Pile

So many days are not tidy.

So many circumstances just won’t be tidied, not any time soon, anyway.

Part of me is ok with unattended piles and those metaphorical dishes left undone, but there is another side that wants order…punctuation, as in, tidy periods that cross things off the list. Essay-like seasons with beginnings, middles and ends. Complete sentences. Unlike that last one, or this one.  They're only fragments made to look tidy by punctuation, not ideal, but real. Isn’t this how I think and how I often speak?

Now I’ve jumped from housework to grammar with no clever transition…

This, too, is life.

The pace is dizzying. No time for grammar or syntax or clever, just a constant pace of ideas, events, and emotions flashing past at paralyzing speed. And because all disciplines tend to intersect, science brings inertia to bear. When I feel that sudden inability to move amidst the rush, a twenty-three car pileup of thought comes crashing from behind.

Today is pileup day.

It happens.

I could have ignored the pile, but somehow saying what is has helped sort it out. I know the pile or the pace does not define me, yet I sometimes trip or get run over. 

A friend of mine spoke truth today…declared what is, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding…” (Proverbs 3:5) and she added much encouragement. This passage in Proverbs, a well-worn road in my heart and mind, continues, “In all your ways acknowledge Him and he will direct your path.” 

Praying what is. This, too, helped me sort the pile.

Truth does that.

Obedience Gives Me Courage, The Prequel

"Obedience gives me courage," she says. Somehow this seems ripe for a sequel...or, perhaps, a prequel...which is just my fancy way of saying, "I think I'm supposed to come clean about all the fear and courage stuff." 

You want to know what has always scared me the most? 

Singing in front of people. 

Guess what the Lord asked me to do just a little over a decade ago? 

Sing in front of people. 

"Ahh! Are you serious, Lord? Really? ...Anything but that!"

"Yes, I am serious." Insert long conversation with God that ends in Him asking... "How will you ever look your children in the eyes and tell them they can trust me if you will not trust me?" 

Well, that rendered me speechless. Yes, speechless. Nothing is impossible with God.

"Wait..." you say. "Haven't you been singing on worship teams for years?"

Yes, I have. 

I wrote the original obedience post on the eve of preparing to lead worship...as in, I was to play the piano and be the lead vocalist...for a large women's event and I found myself nose to nose with fear once again. As I prayed throughout that day, the Lord reminded me of who He is...mighty, loving, holy, faithful, always near....worthy of my trust.

If you've ever been held back by fear, you may find encouragement in this testimony of God's faithfulness. 

Here's the whole story...

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My biggest fear since...well even before...high school was singing and playing the piano in front of others. I'm pretty sure the desperate pounding of my heart and the feeling of all the air being sucked out of my lungs drowned out any actual thought as to why I was afraid. The terror just took hold. Much of it had to do with perfectionism, I am sure. Fear of failure. "What if I mess up?" Assessing risks. "If there's any chance I might not be perfect I will not even try. I don't want to be humiliated." 

It was sometime during my junior year that I literally skipped my afternoon piano recital because I was too terrified to play in front of...who?...a bunch of other music students and perhaps a smattering of parents. The pieces had to be memorized. Again...what if I messed up? Somehow there was nothing more shameful. So I went across the street to the music building at my high school, walked into the choir room, sat down calmly and played my recital pieces to no one. I played with heart and a true love for every note, every chord...for the sheer complexity of what two hands and weeks of practice could achieve. It was wonderful...and free...and fearless. 

But this was the choir room. My safe place....where I could just be one of the altos....and occasionally lead with the piano as we did our vocal warm ups. I was never asked to do a solo...and would have died right there in my chair if anyone would have even suggested I try one. But singing...yes, I loved singing! Loved the sound of sweet harmonies ebbing and flowing. One of the group. Blending in. Never really...heard.

So after high school I gave up music. Pursuing it in college would have meant...gasp!...auditioning. Easiest decision ever. "Uhhh...NO!"

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Fast forward almost 20 years... 

Married with three children. I began to long for a piano. The old family upright wasn't even in the family anymore, so I began to pray for a piano, was going to put an ad in the paper for one. "Wanted: That lonely piano in your living room that is only being used to hold family photos and knick knacks." You know what I mean....lovely piano as a display piece that no one plays. Such a travesty!

Within months...maybe it was just weeks, I can't really remember...but this I do remember: A man at my church walked out one Sunday after service and said to all of us standing there, "Would anyone like a piano? We have two and need to get rid of one of them." Free? "Yes, free." 

It makes me smile to think of how little, then, I really knew this miracle-working God who had just answered my prayer.

Days later the piano was delivered and I wasted no time in digging out old sheet music, honing old favorites, and working on my sight reading by playing through a Maranatha Praise book. For many months, every night after the kids were tucked in and every day while they were at school, I would worship at the piano for hours. Such a joy to sing to the Lord...to play for the Lord...in the privacy of my own living room.

But the safety of my own private heaven was not to last. Through a series of what I like to call "stepping stone" events, I was asked to consider joining another woman...soon to be dear friend...in leading worship for our church's women's Bible study. My first response to this request of, "Would you like to play the piano and sing with me?" was "Uh..no!" Translation: "Are you crazy?!" But then the above mentioned conversation with God occurred and I knew I had to say yes even though the mere thought left me shaking in my shoes and, literally, sitting at the piano praying that the Lord would be teach me.

So began the journey of the reluctant worship leader. Practicing endlessly... piano parts, harmonies, even practicing something to sing for sound checks. "Sound checks?" Yes. Sound check time scared me to death! This is when I would have to sing in the mic all by myself so the speaker levels could be set. ALL BY MYSELF! WITH EVERYONE LISTENING! Commence rapid heart rate and tummy elevator careening to the basement...air in lungs...gone! 

It's always been the singing that scared me the most. I do not, nor have I ever had any desire to sing by myself in front of anyone. Ever. 

But when it comes to Jesus the songs just well up. Worship is a part of me. Singing to Him is as natural as breathing. In this context it is not performance, it is praising my King. 

In this the Lord said "Go!" and I knew I must obey. Thus began a long season of scouring the word for His promises of "be not afraid, I go before you always." 

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I've been clinging to these promises for over a decade of being on and off various worship teams. Through it all He has proven Himself faithful; faithful to be with me while I forged ahead through stomach aches (and other anxiety induced bodily functions), through jitters beforehand, or even crazy fear welling up suddenly in the middle of an otherwise relaxed worship set, and now, thirteen years later, while leading worship all by myself...albeit, in a small, intimate setting. It's been baby steps of obedience. Lots and lots and lots of baby steps and incredible stretching...miles beyond any self-defined comfort zone.

Bottom line? I love God. I love to worship Him. I desire to obey Him. And...He's given me new eyes. He's taught me to look out on a Sunday, or a Thursday night, or with the Tuesday morning ladies and see my family...my brothers and sisters in Christ...who need to see Him, to be in His presence, to surrender, repent, be healed. He's given me a deep love for my church family that far outweighs my fear...that's more important than my fear. 

It's not a new message: Consider others' needs above your own (Phil 2:3,4), but we don't usually associate it with overcoming fear. 

Why I even get to serve in worship ministry is still beyond me, but I have learned to rest in His character, His call, and in the promise that He will equip me.  

So do I rehearse? Yes. Still somewhat endlessly...till my tired voice and achy hands remind me that I'll have no voice or strength the next day if I don't stop. I never want to be careless in serving the Lord. He is worthy of my best; of diligent preparation...pray, practice, repeat. 

Am I ever still afraid? Yes. But at the end of the day, or more appropriately, as I walk toward the keyboard, I know that the results are all up to Him. And I don't entirely mean how I do with the singing or the playing...

Here are the important questions: Did the Spirit move in the hearts of those who were lifting their voices to the Lord...including my own? Did He find a soft spot in a hardened heart? Did a wall crumble? Was love poured out lavishly to one who was longing? Did the Lord bring comfort...or healing? Were eyes opened to see Him as bigger and more powerful than they'd ever imagined? Were eyes opened for the very first time to His goodness and grace?

These are the results that matter. Was God glorified? This is why I've chosen to push through the fear for all these years. The Lord desires that His children enter into the promised land of His presence, into fullness of life in Him, and it's an incredibly humbling to even get to be a part of that. I don't need to be perfect as long as others see Him who is perfect. Worshiping in song is a powerful thing.  

As I've seen Him work in and through me in this battle against fear, my courage has grown. He promised to never leave me nor forsake me, and He has been true to His word. 

The craziest discovery has been that these lessons of obedience in the face of fear have had only a little to do with leading worship. 

In hindsight, the Lord has shown me that they've had everything to do with continually taking me to the edge so that my faith could learn to leap, then to soar. 

Why? Because He knew that there were challenging events ahead that would require great faith, that would tempt me to run in fear, or to just hunker down in selfishness.  

And for the sake of very important relationships in my life I would need to learn obedience, overcome fear, let faith be stretched. I would really need to know my big God...not just know about Him, but know Him; to invest in my relationship with Him. This happened by having to take Him at His word in those leaps of faith over and over again. 

Worship ministry was my training ground for bigger battles. 

Battles have a way of leaving their marks upon us, don't they? Here are a few that are burned into my heart: When I obey...in the power and strength of His life in me...He is my courage. And in deep thankfulness for all that He is and all that He's done, I am willing to be courageous. 

Willing because He's with me. 

Willing because He's worthy.

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On the night of the women's event as the time for worship drew near, I found myself overwhelmed by a flood of fear, worse than I'd known in many years. Heart pounding, trouble breathing, scattered thoughts... I looked at my dear friends around the table, shared my fear and asked them to pray with me. We joined hands, bowed our heads, and then something wonderful happened. Even as I began to speak, praising the Lord and asking Him to do battle, an amazing calm began pouring over me, into me, through me...literally washing away the fear. Heart and breath returned to normal and I walked up to the keyboard filled with peace. 

What are you afraid of? 

How has the Lord shown up as you've faced your fears?