A Quiet Place of Retreat

Every morning the alarm goes off and I jump out of bed. OK, well actually the alarm only goes off some mornings ... and usually I jump out of bed so I can cross the room to hit the snooze button ... but eventually my days starts like it does for many people around me. I rush into the day trying to put together my mental checklist. I make breakfast, pack lunches, get boys up and going, and start the tasks of the day. I navigate my checklist, trying to weave through the chaos of living in an unkempt house, filled with loud, noisy children, and secured by a pile of bills yet to be paid ... all of these things demanding my time, my attention, my money, my sanity. The breakneck pace of the simple world I have chosen to live in makes me wonder how I would cope with a world that is more complex--be it working outside my home, rushing kids around to multiple schools and activities, or even just trying to please a husband. I have searched for years for a way to calm the clamor and conquer the chaos, trying lists and accountability partners and rewards only to discover again and again the only thing that can bring me peace.

I'm not a morning person, so the momentum of propelling myself into immediate activity first thing in the morning often seems like the intuitive way to keep myself awake, not to mention to actually accomplish something before noon. Yet the only way that I reach the end of the day feeling satisfied with what I have (or haven't) done is when I spend time at the beginning and throughout the day looking, listening, waiting, being still, and remembering to let myself be led by the One who made me for a purpose and who knows how today can bring me closer to fulfilling that purpose.

Being still ... waiting ... listening .... All are very hard activities to learn to do well in our culture. With all our modern conveniences to do survival work for us, we continue to overload ourselves with more tasks and call them necessary. We drown out the cries of our own souls with images and noise and imitation relationships until silence and stillness seem wasteful, dull, and tedious. We exhaust ourselves to the point that if we aren't doing something we can't keep our eyes opened or our minds engaged. And by we ... I mean me.

One of the things I love about new beginnings ... about the new opportunities afforded in recurring routines ... is that I am reminded again and again to return to what is essential. Not what I think is necessary, but what my very soul needs. Once again, I'm reminded of how badly I need quiet time in the morning to read from ancient pages about the One who has brought me this far. Once again I draw close to His heart to pour out to Him my concerns, to ask Him for help, to share with Him the my delights. As I try to do this in chaos I remember, again, that I need a place to retreat to His arms, so one more time I clean out a bag ... a corner ... a closet to set aside as my personal Holy of Holies where I can worship Him.

My house is still in chaos. My schedule packed with more things to do than there are hours in the day. Even my room is a disaster, but this morning, I retreat to the lovely prayer closet I have restored and sanctified for the purpose of worshiping the Lover of My Soul. It is a place of beauty ... of simplicity ... a place of escape into what is eternal from that which will continue to change until it ceases. This is my response to needing the SHELTER of prayer. This is my retreat.

The 4 Minute Mothering Habit

Again, I'm reminded, and I wonder: When will I be over it? When will I forget? When will my scarlet D be removed? Again I tell myself: Never. It is a part of who I am - a part of the story that God has written into my life, and God never uses erasers on our story. I am divorced. I don't have a husband or a marriage. For now, that's not a part of the adventure God has written for me. 

It's not that I envy others who experience wonderful marriages ... that I would ever want to take the joys and struggles of marriage away from someone else .... I just grieve again and again for all those dreams and plans of which I have had to let go. Again ... and again.

I go through all this emotion while reading a favorite blog ... Not that it's unusual for me to experience a lot of emotion when I read Ann's blog, but I don't like these emotions ... don't like revisiting them.

But what she shares is truth ... a key to strengthening relationship ... advice for enhancing koinonia. She asks Who doesn’t want a deeper relationship? and I remember "Bloom where you're planted."

I may not have a husband to try these methods with, but I have relationships. And although they may require some very different things from the marriage relationship, they still need some of the same things too. So I take her advice, and consider what it should look like with my boys, and how these 4 Minute Marriage Habits can be transformed to 4 Minute Mothering Habits:



1. Four Focuses
Four times a day focus on the promises I've made to God in raising these boys to manhood. When they wake in the morning, leave the front door, return to front door, head off to bed - even with my young men, these are the four critical archways of time in our day. Touch or whisper encouragements at these gate points, reminding them that they are my treasures. No matter what has transpired through the day, I should take these four opportunities to remind them that no matter what has happened or what will happen, I want them and am here cheering for them.

2. Four Touches
Four times a day, intentionally touch them. Hug them and look in their eyes. Rub their back. Hold their hands a minute. Kiss their hair. Intentionally repeat it four times daily. Connection requires contact. Even though my boys are at different stages of acceptance of public displays of affection, they all still need to be touched. I need to look for private moments to remind them that we are connected and that they are very much loved.

3. Four Affirmations
Four times during the day, thank them. For diligently completing schoolwork, for being kind to their brother, for giving me a hug, for taking out the trash. Look for the ways to thank each of them. Recognize the strength in their character and compliment it ... but be prepared to give them a specific example or two of how they demonstrate such qualities.

It has been a long time since I thought of this, but when the boys were little, I had simple goals. One of them was that each boy, when asked "Who is mommy's favorite?" would say, "Me." I want each boy to feel so special to me, that it is easy for him to believe he is my favorite. I still want that today, but that goal gets lost among the goals of finishing schoolwork on time (or at all!), and getting everyone to the places he needs to be, and remembering in between all the taking-care-of to make sure I get a shower and eat and read my Bible! The 4 Minute Mothering Habits can go a long way to making each of the boys feel special, treasured, favored.

As I consider these habits, I suddenly realize the biggest way that these 4 Minute Mothering Habits differ from those in Marriage: I am only doing these for them until I surrender these habits to their new wives. And after all, that is one of the biggest reasons I want to mother them well - because I want them to be loving husbands and fathers who know how to love and to be loved.

So I guess it is all about marriage after all. And I do play a very big part in this loveliest of relationships!

2010 Christmas Meditation #1

For years I thought that Christmas was about the perfect family holiday, full of traditions, and food made only once a year, and the perfect gifts, and everyone you love around you all happy and enjoying one another. After I was married and had a home of my own, I worked tirelessly (OK, I actually was VERY tired) to create the perfect holiday traditions for my family, incorporating some of my own childhood traditions with my husband's, and some of our own ideas as well. When the kids came along, I renewed my efforts to weave together the real meaning of Christmas with our own special ways of celebrating it and enjoying one another. Of course, every year, I got to Christmas day with those few things still unfinished, with a couple presents forgotten--it wasn't perfect, but it came close.  Or did it? Our first Christmas with our first baby was also the first Christmas after my mom went home to be with the Lord. One Christmas my husband completely missed Christmas day because he had food poisoning. Many Christmas celebrations found my husband out working his beat as a sheriff's deputy, or us rushing from one family member's house to another's, ending the day exhausted.

For years I thought I knew what God wanted me to have in the way of a "perfect" family. Oh, not perfect in the sense of sinless, but living our lives together biblically and growing in our love and service of Jesus and one another.  I worked very hard to be what I thought was the "perfect" wife and mother. I tried to encourage my husband to be the best he could be and I also tried to show grace and forgiveness when he wasn't (because I knew full well I wasn't!) I read books to become a better mother, a better housekeeper, a better Christian.  I made lists and tackled goals.  Life was moving along beautifully, or so I thought. Then one tragedy hit after another--the losses of my parents, and my marriage, debilitating health issues, the slow dwindling of my financial security until I was living on manna from heaven--life became very hard, and I felt all the time like I was barely keeping things together. I watched as my family moved from what I thought was "perfect" to what seemed to be barely functional. This was not what I had grown up expecting! This was not what I wanted, or what I thought God had planned for me.

I was reflecting on the beginning of the Christmas story today.

Oh what a precious promise,
Oh what a gift of love;
Joseph makes his choice to do
What few men would have done:
To take Mary as his bride,
When she's already carrying a child
That isn't his own.
Oh what a precious promise;
Mary and the child will have a home.

     (Precious Promise, by Steven Curtis Chapman)

Mary was a simple Jewish girl. She had lived a "perfect" life--simple and reverent, awaiting the day she would marry and have a perfectly simple home and family. God's plan for her was anything but simple.

Joseph was an earthy carpenter. He had lived an industrious life, perfectly suited to a man of the working class.  It had come time for him to marry, and he had chosen well--a simple girl, from a simple family, but perfect for him. Life was moving along beautifully, of so he thought. God's plan was anything but simple, anything but expected . . . but it was perfect.

God's plan for Mary and Joseph wasn't the common, expected plan for a young, simple Jewish couple--work, family, life, faith.  It turned their lives upside down. It brought challenges into their lives from every front. Their friends and family thought they were scandalously sinful and probably even crazy.  They ran from government oppression for which their baby was the cause.  They had to leave everyone they loved at a time when those dear people would suffer extreme loss and grief.  They had to leave a home, and an established occupation, and travel long distances with a young baby. They had to try to parent every other kid they had in the shadow of a perfect one, and they had to deal with their own sinful parenting in contrast to a sinless child (Ugh! The thought of that makes me glad I was the one chosen!) Eventually they would have to watch as their son was rejected, persecuted, gossiped about, and Mary would even have to watch her completely innocent son put to death on a cross. They had to wrestle with all of the worst of humanity in glaring contrast to the perfection of heaven, and up close they had to watch as humanity rejected what they knew was holy. Life did not seem perfect after they became the parents of the baby Jesus. It was hard and painful.

Once again today, I was reminded that the Christmas story was not about a lovely little tradition tied up in a pretty bow. The gorgeous nativity scenes we set out in our homes were not what the presence of littered hay, and animals, some dirty travel gear, and the remnants of childbirth would have looked like. The scent of cinnamon and spice candles does not accurately represent the stench of a lowly Galilean stable where a baby had just been delivered.  The aftermath of the birth of this holy king did not glow even as the shepherds knelt and the star shown down.  The long years after the baby arrived  most certainly did not seem to unfold perfectly as anyone else would have planned. But then, perfection couldn't look like anyone would have expected it to, because this world was far from perfect.  The world was corrupt, sinful, painful, and awful as the glory, beauty, and perfection of heaven was poured into it.

What was perfect was the baby held in the new parents' arms. What was perfect was the plan no one expected--a plan written by a perfect God from before time began. What would be perfect was what God brought out of the imperfect world after Jesus came. My life . . . your life . . . on their own--they aren't perfect. But with Jesus they are exactly what God planned for them to be, and that makes it perfect. Christmas isn't about a perfect tradition, it's about a messy one. When I don't get my decorations up "on time," when I struggle to smile because I miss family members and traditions that only I remember, when I can't buy presents for my own kids . . . it's exactly the kind of life that Jesus came to be a part of--a messy, troubled, painful, imperfect one.  A perfect God came into a very imperfect world, and I am a part of the miracle that He is still working today revealed in that one event 2000 years ago. That is a reason to celebrate. That is Christmas.

The Sincerest Form of Flattery—and Worship!

When I moved into the stage of parenting toddlers, I was quickly convicted of some weak areas in my life.  Words I said, habits I had, even what I liked to eat . . . all were imitated by my children.  It was one thing to hear a slightly off-color word out of the mouth of an adult, or maybe even a teen, but to hear it from a two-year-old made my skin crawl. Something inside me innately knew it was wrong, but my age and exposure to the world had dulled my sense of it being wrong even for me. I think I expected that as my children grew, they would become more independent thinkers, less likely to imitate what they see and hear, but that is actually not true at all.

Right now, my teenagers are downstairs playing "Ninja" on each other. They are quoting funny "Mythbuster" lines because that is what we just watched.  I have laughed at them as they watch shows studying it for cool or funny lines and repeating them ad nauseum for days afterward. It was funny when one of my kids informed me that his goal in life was to be able to converse completely in movie quotes (and I think he's there!).  Recently we listened to some Bill Cosby comedy, and in just a hearing or two, they completely memorized the routines. I've come to realize that everyone--young children, teens, and even adults--imitate what surrounds them.  How often do we find ourselves using coloquial expressions: "Right on!"  "Like . . . totally!"  "Dude!" and lately "Seriously?" or "Totally awesome!" (said with a high pitched squeal on the "awesome")

We are creatures made to imitate what we admire.

We return again and again to what we admire, cutting grooves into our minds that match the messages we see and hear.  Not only are we creating thought and belief patterns in our own minds, but also in the minds of those we have in tow with us—especially our kids—who are watching and learning too.  As I enter further into the task of parenting teenagers, I'm very concerned about ways that I've failed to understand and apply that principle earlier in the lives of my children.  For whatever reasons (or excuses), I have allowed influences into their lives unintentionally, without thinking through what they would admire, love, and imitate. I've had to sacrifice some of my goals and plans for them, because I myself derailed those goals by not being intentional about using exposure and influence to shape their passions and their character.  I wish that I could go back in time and do things differently, but I'm comforted by the truth that in God's plan there is no plan B, and everything that I've done, intentionally or unintentionally, is a part of His plan A.

I’m currently working through Louie Giglio’s study Wired: for a Life of Worship with my Jr. High girls, and I’m so convicted of the way that imitation is actually a sign of worship. As I study, I’m hoping to write more on what I learn about worship and about the things that influence us.

On Grieving

I'm glad to see the month of September go. It has been one of the hardest months for me since the year after my dad died. September 9th would have been my 20th wedding anniversary. It was a mark I always dreamed of as a little girl. How differently life has turned out than I expected! Strange that although I've been divorced for seven years, it still hurts. I still have many days when I think to myself, when will it stop hurting? The truth is, that it won't stop hurting until I get to heaven.

I don't think I would have understood that a decade ago, in fact, I know I wouldn't have. Our western culture has such strange notions about grieving and loss. Once the customary couple of months are over, it is implied that it is time to start fighting the grief and move on with your life. "Make lemons out of the lemonade." Get on medication for a while until you get over the loss. Take on a hobby or new responsibilities to empower you so you will be able to take charge of your future. In truth, after the first several months you truly start to grieve. The loss becomes less surreal and more real, depression and anxiety become constant enemies, and getting out of bed seems like progress each day. To make things worse, people around you have moved on, and you often feel as if you are left to wrestle with ongoing grief alone. As odd as it is, even though there is a cultural expectation of "bouncing back," we are intuitively aware that the grief goes on. After all, who of us doesn't understand a parent who never recovers from the loss of a child? Who expects a widow to forget her husband? Who would lose an arm or a leg and not expect to always struggle with the feelings of loss and insecurity that such an amputation would create? It puzzles me then why as a people we are so unable to sustain our compassion and assistance to the brokenhearted. As a culture we don't know what to do with death and loss, especially once the funeral is over and life resumes.

From my experience, I suspect that responses are a little different to loss by death and loss by divorce. When I went through my divorce, I felt not only as if I had lost him, but as if I had died. I lost much of my sense of identity. I was no longer "his wife," and I wasn't sure what I was. Although over time I have built new experiences to draw identity from, the part of me that loved being wife, helper, lover, and best friend are still gone, and I miss them like I would miss an amputated arm or leg. Although my heart has toughened in small ways, I still have phantom pains that hit me frequently, and I find myself crying for no reason because I feel alone and rejected, and my "not-so-new life" seems overwhelming and lonely. Until you have been through a devastating loss, this ongoing grief, and the hole left in your soul are hard to understand, and sometimes hard to be compassionate toward.

I've also noticed that ongoing grieving is hard for children. Although children are very resilient, and can withstand a lot of disappointment and grief, an overwhelming loss or a series of losses can leave them wrestling with grief for years, even into their adulthood. The emotions tend to dive below the surface for a while, and the kids look fine, only to resurface later, particularly during adolescence. As much as they might try, a grieving parent is struggling through their own grief, and it is hard for them to help their children through theirs also. I can remember times after my tragedies when I was fighting to get out of bed in the morning and keep my kids fed, clothed and working on schoolwork, much less have conversations to draw out of them how they were feeling. Furthermore, I learned mostly by trial and error how to process and manage my pain; I was at a loss how to guide them through theirs.

That's not to say that ongoing grieving is a completely bad experience. Does that sound odd to say? In the last seven years, I have seen more clearly how evil, heartbreaking, devastating, and miserable our fallen world can be. I have learned to appreciate the complete wasteland that sin can make of a life, and I have come to understand that no one is guaranteed shelter from its effects. I was a "good girl." I made "good choices," was kind to other people, went to school, ate my green beans, and tried to live by my convictions. Yes, I was still with flaws and weaknesses and sins, but I followed the rules, and "life" still ran over me. Or did it? I don't believe that my losses were accidents or without purpose. In addition to the greater understanding of the evil that has corrupted the world, I am more sensitive to people who have been trampled. I'm less likely to say stupid or meaningless things to them, and more likely to find ways to really comfort them. I don't minimize pain, even when it is appears that the pain someone is wrestling with is something I would gladly exchange my pain for. I've discovered that our pain is designed for us, to expose our weaknesses and draw out our strengths.

Most of all, I've come to realize I have true hope within me. Without it, the pain would have overcome me a long time ago. I would have given up trying to get out of bed, or would have been sucked into the illusion that I was "better" by burying my grief in a flurry of activity and self-help mantras. Instead, I've come to realize that the "cure" for the depth and destructiveness of sin is Jesus. I've learned that all of the things that my heart cries out for in grief are the very things He stands waiting to be for me. I've come to know Him as everything I want and need in my life, and honestly, I've come to long to be with Him in heaven even more than I want to stay on this earth. Grieving losses, like being homesick, has made me aware that I don't belong here. Instead I belong to a different place, where all that my heart cries for is available and abundant.

Within the church, we need grieving, broken people. We need to minister to them, and we need them to teach us and remind us of the lessons they are learning. If we as Christians are going to enter the devastation of a fallen, broken world, we must learn from our brokenhearted brothers and sisters how to show compassion to such needs. We need to discover how to make ourselves vulnerable to the hurting, how to enter into their hurt in a way that compromises our own hearts and shares the pain. We need to know how to communicate hope in a winsome way that neither belittles their suffering, nor presents the Gospel as a trite, easy answer or a guarantee that they will not hurt anymore. Those in our midst need us. They need us to call often and ask if they are getting out of bed. They need us to know whether they have family or other support people to remember birthdays and holidays. They need us to love and spend time with their kids, and to take on some of the burden of shepherding their children through grief. Most of all, the world around us needs to see us caring for our wounded in a radically different way than they do. If our love is demonstrated in the way we care for our weakest members, it will be hard for the world to dismiss our Savior. And He will draw us closer to him for having his heart for the wounded.

A Special Twelve Years!

My dearest Stephen,

Have you noticed that lots of great things come in 12's? Eggs come by the dozen. Twelve inches makes a whole foot! There were twelve tribes in Israel, and twelve disciples, so the number twelve was important to God too! This year marked a dozen years I've had with you. Wow! As always, money was tight this time of year--it always is with the end of the school year and beginning to prepare for the next year. Of course, a major difference this year was that we didn't go to the homeschool conference on Memorial Day weekend, so we were home to celebrate your birthday. Only . . . I didn't have any money. It was hard to watch you so excited, when I knew I wouldn't be able to do anything until the day OF your birthday. I couldn't prepare ahead . . . no presents, no cake, no decorations. Even the planning lacked a little as I have struggled to get through the end of the school year, complicated even more by all the events in your brother's year at the Academy. So there I sat on Friday morning after dropping your brother at school. I was trying to figure out how to redeem the day and make you feel as celebrated as my heart feels when I think of how much I love being your mom and having you as my son.

Then it came to me! The idea I proposed to you was quickly negotiated and embraced, and you told me all day long how much you loved it! We went on a shopping spree. I could laugh when I even call it that, since you wanted so little. The first thing we got was a big gift bag to fill up, only there were so few things you wanted, we could have done with a much smaller bag. First we hit Starbuck's and the grocery store to get coffee and donuts, then we went to several stores to find the things you wanted. We headed home for a little while for lunch and so AJ could have his tutoring done. Then we picked Josh up from school and wisked away to watch "Night at the Museum 2." Afterward we went to Cici's for pizza, then home to enjoy playing with your new games and shows. It was a simple day, but you genuinely loved it, which says volumes about who you are. You love simplicity . . . love being home and with family or alone.

The day after your birthday I took you out just the two of us, to a movie ("Wolverine") and to dinner. The day after that we celebrated with a big family party with us and the Borkos, just lots of noise and activity and fun! Matthias spent the night, and then you were completely satisfied with your special day(s). It is easy to see in this what I have long known about you--you are content to have a few very close relationships, and don't really need many of them. You like the "social scene" and have enjoyed the activity and excitement of being with the youth at church, but your preference is to just enjoy the people you love being around.

You've grown so much this year, in size (you now top the scale at over a hundred pounds!) and in skills. Your art work has come such a long way, and you love to spend hours drawing cartoons. You love all things boy! You giggle at explosions (go figure!), and love action movies more than anything. But you are quite the ham, and LOVE LOVE comedy of all sorts--from sitcoms to Garfield cartoons to blonde jokes. You are always cracking me up with some hilarious observation and comment, or with a new cartoon that reflects your ability to get inside the heads of those who draw your favorite comics.

Stephen, I love being your mom so much. You are so full of surprises. You are sensitive, and when I get down, you look for some way to help or encourage, even if it's just in holding my hand. In spite of your insistence, I dread the day that some cute girl takes away my snuggle bug, and I love all the affection you give me still. But I also love the ways you are changing--new conversations we get to have, new kinds of movies we can watch, and lots of new humor.

Happy birthday my dear boy! You are a delight and a joy!

My Big Mess

A poem God gave me in quiet time with Him today:

The Big Mess
January 25, 2009
as I reflected on how much I’ve messed up my life

It started as I worked on it, and what I thought I saw
It wasn’t much . . . well, maybe just . . . I thought it was a tiny flaw
I picked and poked determined that perfection was the goal
And then I realized all at once, my finger had made a hole.
I tried to make it better. I tried with all my might
But as I worked a little more, the flaw became a blight.
Now frantically I tried to fix the problems I had caused
Until in pieces there it laid and finally I paused

Now slowly I approach Your throne with only my big mess
I’d hoped to give what You deserve, a thing of loveliness
I lay it down before you, and mumble in my shame
It’s all I have, this giant heap, and for it I’m to blame
I wait, the quiet moments scream. I wonder if you heard
Fix it? I think but still you sit there saying not a word.
I look to You, impatience floods the recess of my soul
I wonder if you love enough to make my mess a whole
I look to you, and see you looking not at all the rubble
For just a second I am calmed that on your face there is no trouble

But then I say to You, “Will you not help me with all this?”
Why did you give me useless tools and let it all go so amiss?”
I wait and wait . . . it seems like days . . . to see what you will do
I know that I deserve to be sent out. I just blamed my big mess on You!
But as I start to watch Your face, I see there something more
It’s not at all what I expect: disgust, rejection, something more.
Instead I see compassion, concern for me—and love?
I see You open arms up wide, and beckon me above
I slowly feel my feet begin to move up toward Your side.
I feel your arms embrace me. I feel the tears you’ve cried.

I watch, You look me in the face, I hear Your tenderness
My child, don’t you understand I care not for the mess
But you, my love, you are my bride! What hurts you hurts me too!
So I will fix this mess you’ve made, but first I must fix you.
And as I melt into His love, frustrations disappear
My life finds meaning all because Beloved drew me near.
And what I have to show for it to those who gather ‘round
Means nothing, but His love for me will dazzle and astound.
And all the messes I have made will fade to nothingness
And I will give Him what He wants—my adoration to profess.

copyright 2009

Rambling on Trials That Never Cease

My sister is in a lot of trouble right now. Without going into it, she has made some choices, the results of which have left her once again severely depressed, hopeless, and nearing the point of suicide. It is a miracle that God has preserved her life thus far.

This weekend, the boys have all been staying with friends. I needed the time to pray--about school decisions, and training them, and Robyn. More too. Just lots of decisions and trouble. I actually reached a point of peace yesterday. It was weird--I had some errands I had to run, and walking through Walmart I felt disconnected from the frenzy and chaos around me. People scurrying like ants to do things that wouldn't matter in a day, a month, or a year. Although I was alone, I sensed my Best Friend alongside me.

I prayed this weekend that God would make me freshly aware of His presence. He did it in a strange way--mostly through forcing me to rehearse what I believe by reminding my sister of it. He is here. He is in control. He does love me. All is for His glory and my good. No plan B, only plan A.

I blew it for a while last night--got caught up in a show I like to watch. But today everything is quiet, and I've decided to keep it that way. I still have a lot to pray about, and lots of decisions pressing in on me. My sister is still a mess. I have to increase my income. I have to make decisions about school next year. So many things.

But for now I still have a few hours alone with my Beloved.

New Year's Redirection

I hate the term New Year's Resolution. Have I mentioned that already? I like the idea behind a resolution--something you commit to do. The problem with the New Year's kind is that I commit for a couple weeks, or at best a couple months, then I forget and my committment . . . well . . . isn't. I've tried all kinds of things to allay the guilt that comes washing over me at the end of the year, as I realize that once again, my resolutions weren't exactly resolute, but to no avail. This year, I have been praying about my direction in 2009. What God keeps pressing on my heart is that all my striving and working are useless if they are powered by anything other than Him.

I'm fallen into a subtle trap. I'm doing some things--some very important things--and I say they are for Him. But the truth is, although I do believe they are His will for me, I'm doing them all in my own strength. I have yielded to a culture of over-communication. Information is seconds away, at my fingertips. I have inundated my brain with Google and Netflix and Facebook. While there is nothing wrong with these means of communication, God's Word . . . and worse yet God's presence have fallen to the wayside in my life. Communication with Him is hard, because it requires me to stop . . . to be still . . . to wait. I don't like waiting. Heroes don't wait. Successful executives don't wait. And well, mom's don't get to wait. Waiting requires an intense amount of self-discipline, and I'm not exactly that.

In our spiritual culture, we live in a mindset that has washed away the seriousness of our relationship to God. I have grown up in the church, and sometimes I sense that "Jesus loves me" and "Jesus saves me" and even "God is soveriegn" are washed out phrases that have become bland. Shame on me! Shame on us! Christ's love and sacrifice to save me are world-changing!!! If the idea of men I don't know fighting and dying on a battlefield half-way around the world humbles me into reverence for their sacrifice, the idea of the holy God of the universe CHOOSING to put Himself at risk and die for me should level me to my knees. Prayerlessness--the casual neglect of the relationship with that very God--should be considered a travesty instead of excused by my own weakness. It is sin! Chasing after all the things of this world is adultery, not mere choice made in freedom! Am I being hard on myself? No, I don't think so.

So my goal this year is a hard one. "Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness." I only have one goal, one "resolution" this year. I want to seek after God's kingdom harder . . . more intentionally . . . . I feel certain that if I work at this one thing, with Providence's help, everything else will fall into place and I will see progress in more areas than I can imagine. Or at least, those other things bugging me? They won't matter, because my goals and desires will be more shaped by God's concerns.

I'm not off to a good start. But I still have 364 days to work at it. And ANY progress toward this goal is something to be pleased with! What have I got to lose?

Needing the Rock Today

So often I am made aware that I need a rock. I don’t know why I am still so thrown for a loop when I discover how unpredictable life is . . . and unpredictably hard. Big trials and little stresses are so common that they are . . . well . . . predictable, and yet they still catch me unaware. All of us live on a rough sea of raging waves. I am seasick, and I need a rock.

Rock of Ages cleft for me
Let me hide myself in Thee
Let the waters and the blood
From Thy wounded side which flowed
Be for sin a double cure
Save from wrath and make me pure.

The thought of hiding in the crevice of a rock is warming to me—the security it affords is what my heart craves. Unlike a ship, caught unexpectedly on a wild sea in a storm, my raging sea is one of my own making. Daily . . . hourly, I am reminded of my duplicitous heart, driven by pride and selfishness. I am capable of every evil known to man. Even on my worst day, if I try I can feel God’s restraining power preventing me from being the worst I could be. I deserve judgment and death. I am ever conscious that I have no merit with which to enter His presence. And then . . . I remember the blood which washed me clean. I remember the righteous acts of Christ that were credited to me. I recall the continued cleansing of the water of the Holy Spirit. Justified and being sanctified. I can enter the presence of the Most High God.

Not the labors of my hands
Can fulfill Thy laws demands
Could my zeal no respite know
Could my tears forever flow
All for sin could not atone
Thou must save, and Thou alone

Nothing. That is what I have to offer God which He needs. I watched the shock wash over the faces of some ladies in a Sunday School class when the lecturer on the CD reminded us that God really doesn’t need us for anything. We like to think He does. But the truth is, my work couldn’t save me. How could it possibly be required by Him to build a kingdom? There is also no catalyst that makes that work more effective so that it will be effective enough to save me or serve Him. I am aware often that I am unable to be pure in my motives, but even if I could be zealous enough in my devotion to God, it wouldn’t be enough. Neither could penitence make my works more acceptable to Him. Yet He longs for me to be a part of His work. So He saves. He saves me. I was dead and rotting . . . . He gave me life and made me useful.

Nothing in my hand I bring
Simply to Thy cross I cling
Naked come to Thee for dress
Helpless look to Thee for grace
Foul I to the fountain fly
Wash me, Savior, or I die.

Finally I realize it . . . again and again. I’ve tried to earn it again. I’ve tried to pay Him back. I’ve tried to prove my worthiness to Him. And I’ve failed . . . again and again. There I stand again, just like I did the day He saved me the first time, with nothing to offer. I grab hold of the Gospel, and for a moment cling with all my might. I watch for just a second as He again puts beautiful garments on me. For one minute, I am aware of my weakness—of my labored breathing, the fatigue of my spiritual muscles, the distraction of my mind, the fickleness of my affections. In that moment, I look to Him for help. And suddenly, His glory is blinding to me. And I glimpse others beholding it because He is using me, His weak and frail vessel, His lifeless tool now animated.

While I draw this fleeting breath
When my eyes shall close in death
When I soar to worlds unknown
See Thee on Thy judgment throne
Rock of Ages, cleft for me
Let me hide myself in Thee.

Today I hide . . . again. Not out of hopelessness or self-loathing. I hide because the rock is safer and more predictable than the sea. Out there, I work and work, yet if I get anywhere I can’t even see my progress. Here I cannot see progress either, but I can see Him. And I know He isn’t going anywhere. I am safe. I can rest.