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.  

The Dad, The Daughter, and The Depend-able Airman

I originally posted this story on Facebook, then decided it was too fun not to chronicle here as well. Family stories should be...passed on. 


Once upon a time a young airman was dating our daughter. We'd all gathered for her dad's birthday and, no doubt, had a grand time. Later that night, Dad headed to bed only to find a surprise gift nestled in front of his pillow...a 12-pack of Depends. So hilarious! 

Well played, young airman.

A few months later, while Airman was out of town, Dad talked Daughter into letting him set up a little payback. With painstaking care and devious creativity, Dad hid every single pair of whitey-not-so-tighties all over his apartment...and truck. For months after his return, young airman would find plastic puffy pants wedged in the oddest places...his guitar case, ski boot, zipped into a flight suit... Nothing's quite as fun as a prank that keeps on pranking. "Touché!"

That was seven years ago. Airman is now Captain and married to Daughter.

Today a package arrived from the couple addressed to Dad. Considering they've been in the throes of packing and moving, we had no idea what it could be. As Dad ripped open the parcel, what to his wondering eyes should appear...but nearly a dozen tightly packed pink Depends. 

Hahaha! Dad could hardly stop laughing.

Well played, Captain. Well played. All I can add is...

To be continued.

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