Drafts on Being Faithful in Little

One who is faithful in a very little

is also faithful in much . . .

Luke 16:10a

Cold rain hits the windshield followed by the irritating scrape of the wipers as my car slides through the darkness. Not a great night for going out. Not a great day in general. All my worries and annoyances are riding along in the passenger seat, urging me to just turn around and go back home. It’s dark. It’s late. It’s raining. I’m trying to find the delicate balance between warmth and fog on my windshield, while constantly reworking the climate controls. Is this worth it?

Why venture out into the unknown? Especially when it’s warm and dry back at home? I have a cozy blanket and a steaming mug where I can just stare out the window protected from the wind and biting rain. Why leave?

Then you get a text. Can you talk? Can you meet? Can you help?

The answer can’t always be yes, but I’m trying to be open to being uncomfortable. To venturing out in a place that is not my forte. Being willing when it’s inconvenient. Saying “Here am I, Lord, send me.”

Also I heard the voice of the Lord, saying,

Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?

Then said I, Here am I; send me. Isa 6:8

I’ll go

I used to think serving the Lord meant going on a mission trip or leading a Bible study, but it is not limited to these big or maybe intimidating acts. As Christians, we are called to Kingdom work and there are oh, so many jobs. Your don’t need to go to seminary and become a pastor or start a non-for-profit to be about “The Father’s business.” You can start small and close to home. You can start with “very little.”

Perhaps you have a very young and growing family and you can barely get in a hot shower, let alone, further God’s kingdom. It’s so often a time of feeling like you have very little. Very little time. Very little sleep. Very little cognitive thought past if you can wear these leggings one more day. Ironically, I found this season of my life to be very fruitful for ministry. When I had the least to give, God used me the most. Of course, we have a built-in audience with our own little ones (and this can be a topic all on its own). But I have found being a parent has put me in unique situations to speak and minister to other mothers. We are in the thick of it together; the not sleeping, constant question answering, no alone time thing. We talk over screaming kids at playdates and sit by each other screaming for our kids in sports bleachers. As we raise our kids, we walk side by side through the ups and downs of life . . . and listen to each others’ hearts.

It felt like at times, I had little to give in this season, I could speak truth, show kindness and give encouragement. I could share the hope of Christ Jesus. These women have been my ministry and they have ministered to me. Not all our conversations went somewhere, but some went really far. It’s not my job to judge the outcome but to just give from the little I have.

Serve in your field … or … playground

Who is in your life at this season? Who can you connect with that is naturally in your sphere right now? Ironically, I went into motherhood focused on its limitations, but found it to be an incredibly fruitful field. Have you forgotten that you can give from your very little? Snippets of conversations with parents in the concessions stands, texts with that new young woman at the office that seems a little lost, an encouraging note left on your neighbor’s door.

Perhaps you are not overwhelmed with a family at this season of life. You have time but, your insecurities hold you back. “I’m not good with people. I don’t know what to say. I would do it all wrong. I have nothing to give” There are many ways to serve and to give, but sometimes God asks us to step out and do something that is uncomfortable. Moses was called, yet he complained of not being a good speaker. By many accounts, Peter and other disciples are labeled “uneducated,” ordinary men who were poor and lacked training. I have found the best training is to just get out there and talk and minister to people. When I get stuck, well, that’s where I need to study. I was once in a taxi with some new friends and they asked me what it meant to be born again. Well, I had never been asked that before and had no good answer. I stumbled around for what to say, but in the end I knew I needed a good answer and I better find one. I started researching my beliefs. Nothing will spur you on like not knowing! Little is much in the hands of God . . .

So I looked into that question you asked me …

I think of the widow Jesus commended in Luke 21:1-4: “And He looked up and saw the rich putting their gifts into the treasury, and He saw also a certain poor widow putting in two mites. So He said, truly I say to you that this poor widow has put in more than all; for all these out of their abundance have put in offerings for God, but she out of her poverty put in all the livelihood that she had.” This woman gave “very little” in the eyes of the world, yet she gave what she had. How often are we called to give to a point that is uncomfortable. It may not be money, but time or a place and you feel as if you have but two mites to give. A friend needs encouragement and you yourself can hardly get out of bed. A family member needs hope and you feel as if you have none to give. A co-worker asks a spiritual question to which you don’t really have an answer. But you throw your mites in the offering plate. You get out of bed and meet the friend for coffee, you speak of the hope we are given when your own heart is broken and you promise to do the research to find the answer. You give your mites.

His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant.

You have been faithful over a little;

I will set you over much.

Enter into the joy of your master.

Matthew 25:21

A few years ago I was asked to join a prayer team. Let me tell you, prayer was not really my thing. I was told this prayer team met and prayed for hours. Hours! Look, a few years ago, I could barely pray 20 minutes. I would stammer and awkwardly say the same catch phrases everyone uses. Um… Lord please bless this thing we are praying about, heal the aforementioned sick people. I could add a few sentences to a group prayer, but outside of that I was not only intimidated by long prayers, I found them (whispering) boring. A prayer team? Like all they do is pray? Is there even coffee and cookies? I’m going to need a lot of caffeine and sugar.

Alright guys I’m going to take this thing around the block

In the time prior to this invitation, I had been slowly upping my prayer life. Through the guidance of a Bible study teacher, I was starting to grasp the importance of warfare prayer. I had read a few books on the topic (and of course the Bible). I listened to podcasts on prayer and repeated the prayers at the end. Repeating prayers was like riding a bike with training wheels. Simply saying what other more experienced warfare warriors said helped me learn to get my balance. I could ride longer with the help. I could leave the driveway and do a loop around the neighborhood. I started to modify and make the prayers my own. Soon I could make long strives without needing to lean on others. I practiced praying scripture, especially the Psalms. My mindset changed. Where before I saw prayer as important (isn’t it the safe answer to almost every Sunday school question after all), I now began to get it on a deeper level. Prayer was not important, it was vital, it was necessary. Prayer started (slowly) to take a prominent place in my life. I was even (gulp) offering to prayer with people in public, sometimes strangers. Who was I?

Yet, when this opportunity to be on a prayer team was offered, I did not jump at the chance. I could pray longer, sure. I had more wisdom in this area and more confidence, yet I did not love the idea of praying for hours. Although I said yes, I found myself looking for ways to get out of it; oh . . . that’s a bad time, that’s a long drive, I even got grumpy about it being at dinner time. I’ll admit I went in with a bad attitude. Driving to my first meeting, I was not happy. I was not in a right place of mind, say, to pray for hours!!

But . . . I drove there.

It was uncomfortable. I wanted to stay home and apparently eat dinner. But I kept driving. I got out of the car and I went inside and I showed up. And God met me there. He wouldn’t force me through the door, but once I was inside, he helped me off with my jacket of doubt. He met me right in that prayer group. And the training wheels came off. I prayed for hours. I prayed till I lost my voice. I was supposed to be there. That night was a turning point in my prayer life and my ministry life.

Ministry does not always feel this way. I have served in the nursery and thought, nope . . . this is not for me. I can do it in a pinch, but I feel the pinch (ya know?). Ministry can have lots of different feels. It can be hard and clunky, it can be smooth and rewarding. Areas we are good at can feel hard and areas we are bad at can, at times, feel easy. Working for God is hard work. But if we are faithful with little he will give us much.

Has the Lord has been asking you to step out in a spiritual way?

Start a Bible study (or invite that friend to a Bible study).

Be more bold in sharing the Gospel (or when someone says something that sounds like it would be good a bumper sticker, but isn’t biblical, humbly speak up).

Foster parent (or invite your kid’s friends to listen to the Bible after dinner).

Fundraise for that ministry (or instead of another shirt/mascara/extra large mocha give that money to a worthy cause).

Say something that points to the Lord next time you have opportunity (or pray for that person/situation in your head).

It’s okay to start small. Just start.

Very little can turn into very much.

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In His footsteps

I heard once that as soon as they finish painting the Golden Gate Bridge, it’s time to repaint again. Well, that’s how shoveling the driveway has been lately. So faced with yet another snow day, I needed to run into work and my son was along for the ride. We were greeted with an unplowed driveway (or possibly one that was shoveled 10 minutes ago; it’s hard to say) and since he had left his boots at school, he was clad only in tennis shoes. As I am not in the habit of leaving my winter gear at various places (seriously, every time I walk by the lost & found at school, I need a laundry basket to haul it all home), I laced up boots for the blizzard and he did not. Alas, being the great parent that I am, I said, “I will walk to the door in my tall boots and you follow in my footsteps, since the snow is literally up to your knees . . . which is why we have boots.” Anyway, who can bother to remember appropriate foot wear? (Not him!)

I was equipped to handle the weather. I had donned all my armor, so to speak: coat, hat, gloves, (clears throat) boots. I had checked the weather report and saw blizzard and got out the big guns—my Russian princess coat, the gloves you can’t even bend your fingers in and a hat, complete with the ball thingy on the end (that means you are serious, by the way). I was ready to go. I’m one of those weirdoes, who kind of likes winter, but fully know part of the reason is that I’m well prepared for it. I have good gear, so I don’t feel the icy chill one would, say, without a coat and boots.

I do believe it’s a fairly common phenomenon for children to not want to wear their coats and hats. In fact, in my house it’s almost a daily argument.

Me in a bewildered tone: “You need a coat; it’s 12 degrees out there.”

Said child: “But if anything, I’m too hot right now.”

Me (still bewildered): “Yes, well, you are inside where it is heated, but you are about to enter the tundra where the wind chill is like 8 degrees. I promise, you will want a coat.”

With no faith and under threat of duress, said child, dons his coat as if he is doing me a favor! Then 20 minutes later wants to come in because . . . wait for it . . . he is cold.

Children and so many of us tend to live in the moment, don’t we? Everything is fine now; I’m warm and don’t need any more layers. The Bible tells us . . . In this world, you will have trouble (John 16:33). . . We are warned over and over again that we need to be ready for battle. Our enemy, Satan, has a blizzard planned. We know it’s coming because we can check the forecast (the prophetic Word of God) Yup, 100% chance of warfare; wear your winter coat. Parents, teachers and reasonable adults can look outside and see snow and logically say, you will need your boots. God has also “looked” outside and knows that storms are coming.

Our All-Knowing God, like any good parent wants his children to do well in the elements and, say, not lose a finger to frostbite. So, he gave us some gear to put on. It’s called the armor of God. You can read all about this armor in the book of Ephesian (chapter 6) and there are many good studies that focus on this crucial teaching of the Bible. I have done several, but one of my favorites is by Pricilla Shrier, called the Armor of God. I highly recommend it.

When you get ready to go out in the world put on your:

Belt of Truth

Breastplate of Righteousness

Shoes of the Gospel of Peace

Helmet of Salvation

Sword of the Spirit

Shield of Faith

Ephesians 6:10-18

We, in our ignorance or immaturity, don’t always think we need these things. We are comfortable and from our point of view, we can’t see any warfare. But God, our loving Father, says to put it on daily. We don’t always like to listen. It takes time after all to zip up a coat and dig a hat out of the bin. We need to study the armor so we understand it, take the time to pray about it, build our faith and trust in Him. It is far easier to just walk outside. But like a kid, we will only last about 20 minutes before we feel like we are going to lose a toe and want to come back inside. Winter is a hard season, in many ways; I believe it can be a picture of life’s struggles and hardships. Our spiritual life has cycles, just like the seasons of the year - the cold, dormant winter moving into the the spring and the renewal of life.

Winter (physically and spiritually) can be depressing. I think of the part from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, where the witch made it always winter and never Christmas. Wouldn’t the enemy just love to overwhelm us in our winter seasons. We feel cold, isolated, shut off from the sun (the Son). Yet, God gave us winters in our lives for a purpose, each unique in its lesson. Perhaps you are feeling lonely or you would give anything for some alone time. Perhaps you have been battling health issues and feel as if you have more questions than answers. Or a friendship you counted on has unexpectedly froze. An exciting business venture seems stuck or yet another promotion passed you by. Whatever the “winter” is you are dealing with, God knew it was coming. And while we would much rather he had rerouted the storm, it still hits. Sometimes one after another.

The good news, though, is that you have a loving Parent who knew it would be cold outside. He bought you some winter gear and laid it out by your door. He won’t wrestle you into it, but it is there for the taking. We will feel the chill of this fallen and broken world, and yet, the Lord knew this and prepared a coat to keep you warm during this season of life. It’s so much better with our armor intact. We have a loving Savior who has walked ahead of us. Jesus arrived fully human (as well as fully God), so He knows what it’s like to walk knee-deep in struggles. He left His footprints for us to follow in when we bring shoes (instead of boots) to a snowstorm. His steps lead us to know the Word, to be in communion with our Lord and Savior through prayer and to be in community with other believers. Have you ever been surprised by a neighbor snow blowing your driveway? What an unexpected blessing! In turn, who can we bless even in the midst of our own blizzards? Maybe you can babysit for an overwhelmed mother, invite a lonely co-worker to coffee, offer prayer (and cookies) to a hurting friend, teach a new Christian about the armor of God, or shovel someone’s driveway (more than once in a day?).

What is God doing in this winter of your life?

What lessons?

What calling do we have even during the blizzards?

Look for God’s footprints in the snow (and wear your coat!)

looking for the lessons

Drafts on the New Shore

The holiday season is fully unwrapped; bits of paper and ribbon are strewn about, not only on my floor, but also in my mind. I find myself longing for a clean canvas. We have been working up to something: the big event. Everything merry and bright. Trees covered in tinsel, mugs with snowmen and bells on dog collars. This season is warm and jolly and it is also loud and busy. Many of us can become frustrated with the holiday season. It demands a lot from us. All the cards to address and gifts to buy and bows to tie. Like a good party, its fun; but after a while you just want to bury yourself in the coat pile and take a nap.

As all children, I loved the Christmas season! It was not, however, for the meaning of the holiday or the family time, but for all the unabashed consumerism. I felt zero shame in making an outlandish list of toys—this was, as far as I was concerned, the point. Once I entered young adulthood, however, my enchantment with the whole thing shattered like a dropped Christmas tree ball. I became decidedly anti-holiday and Christmas was the biggest offender in my mind. It was just all about things. And just so there is no confusion, I still wanted “things” to be under the tree on December 25th, but I was above it in an “emotional” sense. I scoffed at dishes with Santa, fake garlands, candy canes and holly-shaped soaps; outside of some white lights, Christmas décor was way over done. It was was just trying too hard.

Yet, age changes one’s perspective. The further I swim out into the lake of life. the more I find myself looking for a floating dock. A touchstone. A place to rest on my journey through this world. Holidays have taken on a new meaning for me. And Christmas, I must confess has become my favorite of traditions. I find it a great comfort. Not for its hot drinks and iced cookies, not even for its dancing lights or new mittens, but as a landing place. A safe spot to climb out of the waters of life and look around a bit. Or should I say look up a bit. The singing angels and shining lights are not there to illuminate what we have or don’t have, for that matter, but to remind us once a year of the babe in the manger. The holidays often seem to point out what we don’t have—that missing person, that broken relationship, that lack of resources; and while these things are melancholy, they do not take away from what God did for us. For all the pain, all the lack, all the loss—God sent His Son.

What are some resting places in your life?

What floating docks do you swim to throughout the year?

Our Christmas this year was more sober than most. We experienced a great loss. It was hard to celebrate in the face of grief. But I found myself still thankful for the floating dock of Christmas. A place to hold on and rest. It was not rest for my body, far from it; but rest for my soul. Knowing on this longest of nights we stop to celebrate The Word made flesh, laid in a manger and the hope for all humanity. Now, as the season is passed, and we are on the other side, staring a long cold January in the eyes, I’m thankful for the warmth of that little manger scene. I have a Saviour that understands my fragility. He cried for his mother, was tempted, hungered, felt betrayal, bled, suffered and died. All so very human. So very us.

Hebrews 4:15

For we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feelings of our infirmities: but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin.

As I take down Christmas cards and put away my new little treasures and eat the very last star cookie, I am thankful, and perhaps, more so than I was in the moment. I stayed up too late laughing on the couch, watched people I love open gifts, and sipped clove-laden hot toddies after a funeral. Now the pretty paper is in the bin, the tree is shedding needles and yes, that cookie was a bit stale. It’s time to get off the dock and swim back into life. I will carry this season with me, some of it is heavy and weighs me down, but some of it lifts me up. I’m ready to get back to work. I’m planning to spend more time in prayer and study. Already I’ve experienced new revelations in my understanding of God and my place. I’m doing a deep dive into warfare and praise. I’m using my new pens to mark up great spiritual books gifted me this season.

I’m not one for New Year’s resolutions, but I do think the ritual has its place. We have celebrated, (and perhaps mourned), we have ate too much chocolate and cheese, we hung ornaments and sang in candle-lit churches. It’s difficult to take it all down; hard to go back to the bareness of it all. Gingerbread smells that wafted through our kitchens are replaced by the hint of cleaning sprays and totes of greenery are placed in the attic, stockings are put away. Now is a time to look ahead. The cycle of the year has washed us up on a new shore.

Now I look to my spiritual goals. To grow closer to the Lord. To understand my faith better. To do more of His work. I want to equip myself for the long swim. And yet, we typically focus on our physical health and set goals towards earthly accolades. But what is beyond that? What awaits past the here and now? With age, with trials, with loss we become more aware of our limits.

Remember ye not the former things neither consider the things of old. Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and river in the desert.

Isaiah 43:18-19

Hope is the answer. Expectancy for what is over the horizon. I can’t always find my way to hope. I get lost in the tangles of this life. Like a fretful night, I toss and turn and become caught up in blankets that weigh me down. But all I need to do is turn on a light and see that it’s just a dream. This life is but a vapor. Smoke. The glow of truth chases away the monsters. We have a God who loves us so much he sent His Son as our Redeemer. On our best day and our worst day and all the hours in between, that is always true. The hope is always there, but sometimes I can’t see it and I have to rely on faith. I need to grow my faith by reading the Bible, praying the scriptures and speaking the truth with my mouth, so that the lies are chased away.

I look out at the blank pages of this year—as a white snowy day, a cold lake, a smoothed out sheet—and aim to cross more pages of the scriptures, walk in the beauty of nature, swim in the waters of life and rest in the Lord.

What are your aspirations for this year?

Have you considered setting spiritual goals?

I often think of snow as a reminder that God keeps giving us fresh starts. His blessings are new every morning, He covers our messy sin with fresh clean snow. We can always have a new start with God, as His children we are granted Christ’s covering. I love to stare out at a snowy field, a sparkling white canvas. That is how God sees us when we come to him asking forgiveness, seeking help and guidance. He paints over all our mistakes like fresh white snow over a muddy pasture. He beckons us to follow Him. He gives us rest and then encourages us to jump back in the water, to walk on a new path.

Where will your footprints lead?

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Drafts on Unbraiding

You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me.

Psalm 139:5

I’m feeling unbraided.

The strands of my life that hold me together have come, well, unbraided. My little world is unraveling strand by strand. Have you ever watched a well-worn sweater start to fray at the edges? You think, oh, look at that. I wonder what is going to happen? Do I need to do something or can I just ignore it?

It starts slow. Almost unnoticed, this unraveling. A little catch here, a twig that pulls at us. Maybe a relationship that is strained, a strange sound in the car engine. We think this will right itself. Then we get hooked on something more substantial like a gate latch, that actually yanks us back. We feel it. A fight with a spouse, a surprise bad review at work. We see a few strands of fabric come out.

I have this beautiful airy scarf that is swirls of yellows and blues. It is so delicate I can see through it, and subsequently, it is easily damaged. Large loops of thread pull out and I am startled and upset; immediately I drop everything and set to work pushing the strings back through, attempting to rethread them into place.

Why am I so quick to reweave this scarf and yet allow the sweater to slowly come undone?

The sweater is hardy. Thick yarn twisted together to protect me from the cold, where the scarf is purely ornamental. I have high expectations of the outerwear, it is meant to keep the chill out, take the brunt of what the world throws at me. I hope it will not allow the elements to seep through to the next layer. Yet, of the scarf, I have no such demands. Its sole job is to look pretty. It will not do any heavy lifting. A slight breeze will blow directly through its almost invisible form, like a net meant to allow sea life to keep swimming.

When my surface life unbraids, I’m often quick to react. I don’t want to appear unraveled, like a mussed French braid that makes me look like I’m losing it. I can pull my outside self together. Shove the toys and dirty laundry in a backroom. Shape my mouth into a smile. Swallow down the sadness or anger that is trying to work its way up. I pull the threads back in, rearranging my life to look pretty.

One day, we unshelve that old sweater. It’s getting cold. Life is getting harder. It’s more difficult to pretend we have it together. The pretty scarf isn’t really working anymore. It’s too delicate. It’s too airy. It is meant for good days when the sun is shining and we are meeting a friend to share good news like a new love or a business idea. The smile is real(?). But on dark days, in the middle of winter, we need this sweater.

I have ignored this sweater. Its problems. I completely forgot it was snagged and snarled, its edges coming undone. It has become unbraided. I don’t need the pretty scarf. I need the warm sweater. I have given all my attention to the ornamental and I have ignored the practical, the substance, the needs.

My life has frayed these last few weeks. The things I hold dear have dissipated in my hands. The touch stones in my life have sunk and I’m staring at a wide river to cross. My beautiful little house is sold. There is no stepping stone in place. Busyness has crowed out my writing. This website has fallen along the wayside. Relationships once easy have become strained. Places we frequented have changed. The things I have held onto to keep me above water have overflowed.

So. . . I put away the lovely scarf and I reach for the solid sweater. Yet, I have let it unravel. I have not kept my eye on it as I should. It is something to be monitored—like my faith. To be clear, not who my faith is in, but my faith, the part I’m responsible for. He, God, does not change! But faith is not given and then stored away for when the storms roll in, like the sweater in the closet. This is my mistake. I think the sun is out, I’m fine, this light-as-air scarf will be perfect. I tell myself that I don’t need to make sure my protective wear is in good order. It will be there when I need it.

But our faith can, and does, get caught and tugged and torn. When I get a tug on my faith, I must get out my Bible; I must search around in the linen closet for my neglected sewing kit and set to repairs. Reading the Word of God will rebraid the strands that have come loose.

I must deal with these rough thoughts left blowing in the wind.

Why is this hard thing happening to me? My faith begins to unwind.

Where is God? He could stop this? The unraveling continues unchecked.

God must not love me or care about me. I got caught on the gate latch.

When I read the living Word of God, it sets to fix the unraveling. The truth begins to knot the loose threads so they don’t lose their form.

Psalm 120:1 In my distress I called to the Lord, and he answered me. The Lord hears me. This rebuilds my faith.

Isaiah 26:3 You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you. The Lord gives me peace when I seek Him. I am covered.

Isaiah 40:10 Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you in my righteous right hand. God fills in the holes in my faith.

I hear the truth through the Bible and I activate the peace it gives through my prayer life. The layers of my defense against a bad day, a bad season, a lifelong challenge are rebraided in my relationship with God. When I do the work in the spiritual realm through time in prayer, my soul is strengthened, the parts that have come undone are made whole again.

There is so often not a change in the physical (because that would not take faith); our faith is strengthened by being woven with truth and the peace of the Holy Spirit. The Bible teaches that a three cord strand is not easily broken. A braid has strength. Ecclesiastes 4:12b ”…A threefold cord is not quickly broken.”

Are you trying to get through life in a thin scarf?

Perhaps you are feeling the damp cold of uncertainty and doubt seeping in?

Have you let your faith come undone?

Is there a hole in your protective layer?

Don’t despair. Faith can be rebraided. Pull in strands of truth, prayer and the Word to strengthen your faith. Keep pulling those threads tight. The Holy Spirit is the Author and Finisher of your faith. Ask the Lord to strengthen your belief so you can withstand the bitter trials with a peace that passes all understanding (because it’s supernatural). This faith and peace has nothing to do with the outside, but what is in our souls; the warmth of God’s love and the promise of eternity where faith will not be necessary because we will be with The Lord.

Our trials of faith are but temporary, but we need a good sweater for these seasons.

Drafts on Fuzzy Hope

I love all four seasons, but here in Michigan we have a fifth season. We refer to it as second winter. If you don’t know what that is, it’s when you think surely (surely!) winter is almost over; and then a whole ‘nother winter starts, but this time without Christmas lights. I’m a big fan of sweaters and boots and reading by a fireplace, so I don’t complain as much as most, but even a second winter is too much for me. So as you can imagine, by the time we hit anything faintly reminiscent of spring, we are very excited. People will wear shorts and sandals and rave about the balmy weather when it hits anything above 50 degrees.

It reached into the 60s here last week and I found myself sitting outside drinking an oat milk miel latte, feeling like there was hope in the world once again. It was glorious. Springtime naturally turns my mind to newness and growth. This winter has been particularly hard on my writing. I felt frozen. Unable to thaw out any good ideas. Like standing before my freezer looking at unappealing chunks of chicken and ground turkey. Not appetizing! Sure you can take them out, thaw them, cook them up and add spices, but it all just feels rather . . . uninspiring.

As I sip on my honey cinnamon froth, the sun is shining on my face and some far-reaching branches from the artisanal planter behind me are attacking my hair. I turn around to confront my assailant which turns out to be one of my favorite branches (What? You don’t have a favorite branch?). Mine is the pussy willow. Lovely pink and yellow blossoms surround tall sprigs of this small cat-like tree known as the pussy willow. The silvery grey, fuzzy catkins (. . .could that be any cuter?) remind me of a sweet childhood memory.

When I was young my dad would take my sister and I to pick pussy willows every spring. There was a spot down the road from the farm where we would select branches. We would point out a favored limb and he would nip them off with his pocket knife. We would take them home and put them in vases around the house. The pussy willow will always have a spot in my heart.

The pussy willow is one of the first plants to bloom after winter. Let me make that a bit more dramatic: after second winter! We are all so ready for something new. We are sick and tired of cold and wet and dreary times. Bleakness has ruled not only the days, but our minds. And just when we start to give up hope, we start to think—this is it, this is life now. Then something so unique, like the pussy willow, starts to blossom. But new hope is fragile, it’s shaky and unsteady. But God knows that we are on shaky ground after a hard winter.

Has your faith been tested this year?

Have you felt really tired?

Too cold and numb to go on?

I know I have. I have tried to stay steady in my faith. I know God is big. Bigger than my fears. Bigger than my doubts. Bigger than my loses. But I have felt stilted. Unable to grow. Just a bare branch on an icy day.

Then spring comes. And there is a tiny bud of hope. The sun comes out and melts some of the ice. Limbs we thought had perhaps died over the winter start to stir. Our minds soften to the idea of something new.

I’m creating something new says the Lord:

“Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert.” Isaiah 43:19 kjv

God, in His infinite wisdom, knows that our little buds of hope need a fuzzy coat to stay warm—like the pussy willows dressed in their little silvery grey jackets. New hope is very fragile and a sudden frost could kill the buds, if it were not for their outerwear.

So what is our outerwear against a cold snap? Because as anyone who lives in Michigan knows, there is always another cold day tucked right in between a row of pleasant days. We have hope and joy, inspiration and promise. We have banished the big puffy jacket to the back of the closet and . . . surprise, it’s 30 degrees out! This very thing actually happened to me today as I came back to this piece. I started it on a sunny and beautiful day. Yes, I will write again. There is hope. Then cut to a few days later: me driving to school in a white-out snow flurry completely aghast. What?!! Didn’t see this coming. But I should have.

We need to dress our hope in protective wear until it matures enough to withstand the elements. For my writing, I need to think there will be days in the sun where everything is easy, the words flow like brewing coffee, and I just have to catch it in my favorite typewriter mug. Other days it is cold and everything is hard. The coffee is bitter and turns my stomach, my favorite mug is in the dishwasher, but yet I still need to write. I still need to push forward.

It is like this in our faith. Some days we feel God’s presence. We have a song in our hearts, it’s a time of revival and newness. The branches that seemed stilted are suddenly sprouting new buds of joy, peace and long-suffering. God is using us to bless others, we are workers in the kingdom. The words of the Bible are alive, speaking directly into our lives. These are glorious days. Days with color and fragrance. Like a spring-time garden.

But then there are the dark days. The days it feels as if God has disappeared. The Bible seems antiquated and for a different time and place, confusing at best. We feel a heaviness like the clouds are low and about to pour out cold drizzle on our little fire. These are the days we need the fuzzy coats of the pussy willows. Something to keep out the chill, of yet, one more disappointment; to ward off the mist of a depression we can’t understand, to keep us from going back to frozen, back to numb, back to winter.

How do we get this jacket that the pussy willow comes by so naturally?

What lessons do our little fuzzy friends have to teach us?

The pussy willow doesn’t worry about the weather, they bloom in their time, trusting that God will equip them to come to full blossom. How often do I think that I know best. This isn’t a good time for me to start a ministry. I can’t move there. I can’t speak to that person. Yet, God says He will provide. But how do I know this? I know this because I have read His Word. Why does this so often not feel true? Usually, because I confuse my wants with my needs or I think being uncomfortable is reason enough not to move forward. The pussy willow would never bloom if they looked at a weather report. They just trust in that soft layer of fuzz - their protective “coat” - from their heavenly Maker.

Traditionally, the crocus is seen as a first sign of spring. It’s meant to symbolize hope. Their purple and white flowers pop up in my lawn every year, and I love them; but I always know I better enjoy them while I can because they are not going to make it long in Michigan. These are lovely, tiny little flowers that have no staying power. Just like these little beauties, I want my hope to be pretty. I want to collect it on a sparkling day and put handfuls of eye-catching bouquets around my house and hand it out to my loved ones. But this type of hope is fair-weathered and easily shaken.

I want my hope to be like the pussy willow. Sure, it’s not exactly pretty, but it is interesting, textured and hardy. It is soft to the touch but hard underneath. It’s not showy, but it has a promise of something more to come. It’s appropriately dressed for the weather (something mothers love).

Is your hope wearing a jacket? Just know that it’s going to thunderstorm, snow, hail and one day reign fire from heaven (see the Book of Revelation for details). We zip up our spiritual jackets when we read the Bible and spend time in prayer and worship, so our faith will not cool off and risk freezing.

How often do I think I’m better because things are better. It’s a nice day; I had a sweet word from a friend; I like my hair today. Yet, my hope and joy cannot be in these temporal things. And like the weather . . . my looks, my relationships and my work will have its ups and downs. There is only One that I can count on.

Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever. Hebrews 13:8 esv

Drafts on the Ordinary Life

I wear my great-grandmother Gertrude’s (this name makes me smile) wedding band on my ring finger. It is simple. Just a silver band. Very plain. Nothing anyone would notice or comment on. I actually have a rather eye-catching diamond ring sitting in my jewelry box at home, that I haven’t worn in years, opting for Grandma Gert’s ring instead. Sometime after having my son, I just found the simpleness of it better suited.

The ring dates from June 26, 1923! I know this because the exact date is etched on the ring. My great-grandfather, Robert, gave her this ring with their initials and wedding date carved inside. You see, from the outside, it looks like a perfectly ordinary, some would even say boring silver band. But if you could see inside, you would say that’s where the beauty is—hidden away. In flowery script, an important date between two important people (at least to my family) is memorialized.

How sweet to wear a great-grandmother’s ring. To know this tiny piece of jewelry was exchanged under vows by two souls that would later be responsible for producing my family (who just so happens to be some of my favorite people) is a lovely thought. I never met my great-grandma, Gertrude. We did not walk this earth at the same time; and yet, I carry a little piece of her with me everyday. It is quietly etched into the most unassuming piece of jewelry I own.

I also know some very unassuming people. They are just ordinary, everyday people. They have jobs like teachers or nurses or data analysts. They have ordinary families with the regular ups and downs; the kid that hits a home run, the dog that digs up the garden—again, the marriage on the back burner as they care for an elderly parent or whatever. Just life. Nothing eye-catching. Nothing that would make someone stop mid-conversation and say your life sounds amazing. Nobody is asking to see their plain silver band in the way you would a precious gem. Their lives don’t look like diamonds. The sun doesn’t catch on facets of their life and sparkle and dazzle all those around.

Besides, we tend to romanticize our dream job, our ideal family, that perfect trip. And, yes, these things have their moments. The promotion at work, the book deal, the vineyard wedding and the sleeping baby all have their thrill. I have had some of my own big moments—drinking coffee in Paris and seeing my first article in print! And even the everyday joys are such blessings. I delight in my friendships and in laughing with my husband and seeing my child love literature as much I do; it adds such sweetness to life. But honestly, in this season of my life, the thrilling moments are nestled in deep between just a lot of ordinary living.

Do you feel this way?

Is there just so much ordinary?

Do you feel like a plain silver band, that no one would notice?

And yet, when we become children of God, we are immediately taken out of the ordinary and remade into the extraordinary. Our plainness is transformed into breathtaking beauty, but it all takes place on the inside. Just like my ring, a very important script is written on our soul: “You are mine.” The day we say “yes” to our Lord and Savior, He claims us as His own. He immediately sets out to change us. He takes our plainness, our ordinariness and etches truth in a beautiful font upon our hearts.

So someone passing us on the street won’t stop and say, “wow, you sure are special!” And yet, if they sat with us, shared a cup of coffee and a deep conversation, they would see we are different than just the plain silver band they took us for. We are full of light. We have exchanged our heart of stone for a heart of flesh. We are like-minded with Christ and Holy Spirit led, or at least striving for these things.

When I look down at Gertrude’s ring, it does not impress me. When I look around at my life it also often fails to impress. It looks like a lot of laundry to do that will just need to be done again and again, vacuuming up dog hair that collects everyday and stacking tea cups in the dishwasher. And then there’s lunches to make, spelling words to go over, fights over screen time and who is going to walk the dog? And don’t even get me started on dinner (pasta again?). We cut the lawns, fix broken furnaces, shovel driveways and change light bulbs and I could yawn at the mundaneness of it all.

I have to remove Gertrude’s ring to be able to read the inside and see its worth. It actually wow’s me—really, when I take the time to read the inside; it’s beautiful! I have to look at the inside of my life to be impressed, as well. Behind all that cleaning and shopping and driving, behind work meetings and endless emails to be answered, behind the is-this-all-there-is thinking and there-has-to-be-more wondering is something special for the Christian.

God has written it on our hearts; He has made us special. We have been called out of darkness into His marvelous light.

We have been selected as special. We are an off-menu dish, the collection kept in the back room, let into the VIP area sorta special. You can’t tell from the outside. But we are called by God to work for Him. We have been bestowed with gifts and prayer power to change the very fabric of this world. Once we choose to follow Christ, He points directly at us and says, “I have a job for you.”

“Who me?” We look around, surely He is talking to someone else.

The guy over there with overflowing charisma or that woman with all the money and connections. Sure God could really use their lives, but not mine; did you hear about the laundry I have to do?

“Yes, you,” He says again.

Some people shake their heads and just walk away; I have nothing to offer, I think you have the wrong guy. Others say I don’t want that job, to raise these kids, work at that office, live there? I want something more exciting - with travel and covered business expenses. I don’t want a special needs child or a challenging marriage; I don’t want a ministry where I have to talk to people. What else do ya got?

But you are special. He has a special job just for you.

The Lord has been doing a work in me (in you). At times I think my life is just plain hard, but what if all this struggle in life is actually a training ground. Some of us have been training hard! Those issues in our thought life, with that parent, the guy at work. Yup. Training. So, when God calls us to encourage, help, pray, teach, admonish (gulp), we have already practiced. (Perhaps failed.) And practiced again.

Once we become a child of God, we are no long ordinary. Our struggles are no longer commonplace. And our responses are no longer typical. We have the Word of God hidden on our hearts, prayers on our lips and eyes for eternity. While we walk this earth we may look like plain silver bands, but there has been a promise written on our hearts and one day we will be like precious stones.

Perhaps you are going through a season or a whole life of really hard blows. And you are thinking, I would love some ordinary. Well, not only will the Lord take our ordinary, He will take our down right awful and use it for His glory.

To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified.

Isaiah 61:3 kjv

Don’t let the enemy make you feel small or plain; your worth has been etched on you by the very finger of God. Even better: Your name is written on the palm of His hands (Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands. . . Isa 59:16a). So when Satan tries to whisper in your head that you don’t matter or your life is too small or too ordinary, he is just worried. He doesn’t want you to use your God-given gifts to bring glory to the Lord. so he is trying to bury them in the everyday tedium of life. But your prayers are just as effective from a dark basement apartment as from the mountain tops. You can read Scripture over a cluttered coffee table, the same as over a still, blue lake.

You, my Christian friend, are anything but ordinary!

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How does Your Garden Grow?

I was sitting out in the backyard trying to write; it’s been a real struggle (more on that later). Perhaps you have noticed the lack of blog posts? My backyard is cute, although a little on the unkempt side, but with a small tree growing in the middle of the patio and built-in benches, it has great potential. If someone was more inclined, it could be quite lovely, but I have let it go pretty wild. That is until my son listened to the audio version of The Secret Garden six times in a row (I’m not even exaggerating), so now, naturally, he is all into gardening. I’m more of the let your yard go natural (or wilding) as I like to call it; spell check, however, does not agree that this is a thing.

Thanks to The Secret Garden (which I wish had stayed more of a secret) my son, in cahoots with my mother, is trying to tame our outside space. All on his own, he started weeding and watering “things” in the backyard. My mother was completely impressed with his initiative and promised to come over with a car full of actual plants. I have lost track of all the new additions: six potted plants (in teal to match my doors), ground cover and ferns galore. We (I have helped) have tilled, dug, planted and watered. How much work it is to get things back into order! My backyard, like my heart, wants to run wild.

Entropy (also known as the second law of thermodynamics) is what happens when we do nothing. Order runs to disorder. This is clearly evident in my backyard. When we moved in eight years ago the garden was lovely. Colorful flowers in oranges and purples broke up the lush greens, Hostas ran along the fence and the rocks were all in their proper places next to the house. It was picture perfect. And each spring I did mostly nothing and incidentally, each spring less flowers appeared. Over time the hostas completely died out! I blame the dog. Holes started appearing in my once flawless lawn (for which I also blame the dog). Weeds grew as big as small bushes (I somehow want to also blame this on the dog.)

In short, doing nothing resulted in our cute, cultivated landscaping going back to its natural state. Wild! Slowly at first. All the hard work someone had done held up for a few years, but eventually and almost completely, it fell into decline. I think one flower came up this year (until my dog laid on it, for clearly this was the best place in all of the yard to lay). This makes me think of the state of my spiritual life. I have spent seasons doing the ground work. Breaking up the hard rocky earth of my heart. Digging out lies that I started to believe in my rebellious and young adulthood. Daily watering seeds of truth and being rewarded with flowers and eventually fruit. Painful but necessary pruning of my once held beliefs about God were plucked out as I spent time in the Bible. More growth and more increase as long as I put the work in.

But then there would be dry seasons.

Times where I’m paying more attention to the world than reading my Bible.

I’m complaining more than praying.

Fears would start to sprout around the good fruit of my faith. I would complain and worry more than I would pray. Irritating, prickly thistles make themselves right at home among carefully cultivated flowers of peace and patience. Unlike weeds which seems to pop up without any help, the fruits of the spirit are hard won. I do not naturally go towards love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness and self control (Gal 5:22). I have to get dirty, break a sweat and carefully water these plants almost daily in hopes of a yield. Yet, it just takes one stressful day at work, a differing of opinions or my check engine light coming on and weeds start sprouting up all over the place. I don’t have time for this and pop there is a thorn trying to choke out one of my fruits of the spirit. This is too much work, I’m sick of trying.

I have struggled to write these last few months. I have thought, what is the point? Have you struggled to parent? Work? Clean? Even care? Did you, like me, take in more of the world than the Word? A root of hopelessness took hold, slowly at first but then it gained ground and started to cut off my vine of joy and then my peace and slowly all my fruit started to have spots and then worms. I no longer had fresh, sweet fruit from which to eat to sustain my faith. I was instead chewing on weeds, which are bitter and empty of nutrients. My writing dried up.

Earlier this week, I told my son he should water his plants. He got out the hose and started making his way around the yard. As he turned the corner on the house to soak the ferns, the hose got stuck. I was working on the patio and I watched him start to struggle. He was pulling and pulling on the hose and it was getting more and more stuck. Instead of going back to see what the trouble was he had wrapped himself up in the hose to get more leverage and pulled with all his body weight. I yelled to him to stop! “It’s only going to get worse if you keep pulling”, I told him. “You have to go back and see where you got hung up.” From my vantage point, I could see that the hose was stuck on his bike, which was getting pulled into the wagon and was about to topple over one of the yard games. The more he pulled on it the more damage ensued.

I was instantly annoyed, but quickly saw the analogy. When something gets stuck in my faith, I want to just pull at it, hoping it will pop free. I don’t want to walk back to the other side of the house and see what is going on. As I became fearful, depressed and irritated over the last few months, I wanted to just pull free of these feelings. I didn’t want to examine why I was feeling these things on such a deep level. Sure our emotions get stuck on things—that child that won’t listen, a fight with our spouse, the car won’t start, the check didn’t come. But the deeper things, the hopelessness, the oppression that won’t let up; that’s when my thought life becomes tangled up in something solid. It is caught on a bike and a wagon and unless we go back and untangle it, the knots will only get tighter until eventually the water supply is cut off.

It was planted in a good soil by great waters, that it might bring forth branches, and that it might bear fruit, that it might be a goodly vine.

Ezekiel 17:8

Good plants need water and if the watering hose is caught in my doubt and disbelief, they will shrivel up and die. I often struggle with where God is in my pain. I find myself wondering if He cares. Does He see what is happening? My weeds of fear and worry seem to need no tending. This is as old as the Garden of Eden. Adam and Eve lived in a perfect backyard. Fruit aplenty, communion with God as easy as a walk on a shady trail. No stony ground, no bugs eating away at the berries, and they didn’t even need a watering can. Everything grew easily without effort.

Yet, when this first couple decided to eat of the forbidden fruit, their days of ease (and ours) were over. Their choice led to the great responsibility of knowing good and evil. We, today, walk in that garden; one that sprouts weeds and thorns more readily than fruit. Where communion with God is easily choked out by the cares of this world—the bikes and the wagons and all the stuff that gets in the way—the more we pull at it the more entangled we become.

My son had to walk back and carefully, thoughtfully figure out how to unhook the garden hose from his things. In the same way that I have to walk back in my thought life, in my actions and see where I got hung up.

Do I care about this world too much?

Was I making this my “forever home,” when in essence, I’m just passing through?

Did I start to think the here and now is what matters most?

My comforts and my happiness so often get tangled in my “things.” I need to look good, feel good, have nice things and enjoy life to be in a good spot. When ultimately, my faith should be sure no matter what my life looks like. In good times and in bad times, like the Apostle Paul says, my faith should remain constant. My emotions won’t of course, but my faith must be on solid rock, so the storms of life won’t toss it about.

He only is my rock and my salvation; He is my defence; I shall not be greatly moved.

Psalm 62:2

What are my weeds of doubt and sorrow, but too much love for my life and my comforts? What is the worst that would happen? My way of life is threatened; my actual life is threatened? These are scary thoughts to my flesh, but they should not be to my spirit. My spirit is not made for this life. It is bound for the next—it is heaven-bound. No sickness or loss of freedom or devastation can take that from me.

We must work hard to keep our garden in order or it will quickly fall into entropy.

What does this look like for you?

For me it’s time spent alone with the Lord. Sitting in my garden in the morning before I start the day. I breathe Him in by reading the Word and and exhale His truth through my prayers.

I minister to others and let others minister to me. (I ask for others to cover me in prayer.)

I listen to teachings and ask to be lead by the Holy Spirit.

At times my flesh feels that these things are not enough, but my spirit longs for them, knowing they are the transforming of my soul.

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Drafts On Soul Wounds

We all have vulnerable spots. I’m sensitive to bright lights, as everyone in my life will attest. I have never met a dimmer switch I didn’t love. We have two light switches in my bathroom. One goes to a lovely muted luminary that bathes the room in soft warm colors. The other activates three fluorescent lights that are equivalent to the white hot glow of an operating room. I never ever use that light. It feels like a direct switch to a headache. I don’t care if I have something in my eye or need to remove a sliver out of a child’s foot, it will be done in that low lighting. While the rest of my family uses this other light switch without a thought; they even seem to enjoy all the extra eye-popping brightness.

In the same way my eyes are sensitive to bight lights, my emotions also have weak spots. Things that have happened to me in the past have caused wounds. Like when people talk about sisters, it sometimes feels like a prick. I have to quietly deal with a wound that no one can see. I lost a sister. So, when someone starts causally talking about plans they have with their sister or how they talk everyday or even how annoying they might be, I can’t help but feel that loss. Time has healed much of that wound, but it’s still there. Nobody means to hurt me, of course. Some days it doesn’t even phase me, but other days it cuts; but I just keep smiling and nodding. I don’t want my friends to not mention their sisters.

Perhaps all your friends are getting married and you just experienced a terrible breakup. How do you get through those wedding showers and sit at a table with your parents pretending to be happy when inside you are hurting? You can’t ask people to not get married, you can’t not be happy for them. But there is a wound there that nobody can see. We have all had losses. A friend mentions how her dad fixed her car and you never even met your dad. A wound is touched. Your co-worker is buying a house when you are thinking you might have to move back home to save money. You started a ministry that can’t seem to get any funding while others seem to flourish. We try to hide our invisible hurts, so no one sees us flinch when when they talk about their spouse, their baby, their job . . .

The Enemy Hits Us Where it Hurts the Most

The places we feel like we aren’t enough are the places the enemy hits hardest, because it does the most damage—the quickest. If you were in a fight with a guy who had a broken arm, where are you going to punch him? In the place that will bring him to his knees. We are in a spiritual battle and our adversary does not play fair! You have a difficult child who is hard to parent, where will you get attacked? There! Someone will point out what you are doing wrong (when they don’t know anything about it). And bam! The enemy has you reeling. Your marriage is struggling and someone will go on about how great their marriage is and how it just gets better every year while yours seems to get harder. A hit in just the right spot. You feel stuck in your office job and are wondering about purpose when your roommate from college calls to announce they are opening their own business. You are glad this conversation is over the phone so they can’t see your face while you take the hit.

We do not feel the punches in our strong areas. If you rock at your job or have an easy marriage or are about to get a book published, comments can be made and they just roll off because you know they aren’t true. We are attacked in the vulnerable places. In the spots we worry about or the areas we carry a hurt or that secret fear. How do you recover when you are punched in a broken spot? Those comments can take your breath away, make you lose your footing. You want to just lay on the ground. It’s easy to be mad at that person or the situation, but we need to remember that it’s often the enemy at work and this is what he does. If you are in a knife fight, you can’t be surprised when you get cut. Yet, I find myself surprised. Like . . . “hey, that hurt!”

Don’t be Mistaken: We Are in A Battle

This life is a battle; it isn’t practice, it’s the real thing. We are in active combat. This is why the Bible instructs us to pray on the amour of God each day (Ephesians 6). Not because we are going to spar with a friend, but because we are in battle everyday—if we like it or not (1 Peter 4:12). So, when the enemy (through that guy at work or even your sweet grandma) says just the right thing, that speaks to your biggest hurts and fears you can know immediately you are in a fight for your emotions and your heart. The point is to take you down. To make you doubt God’s love (If God loved me, would I have lost my sister?). To make you doubt your calling (I’m not good at talking about my faith, maybe I should just be quiet). To make you doubt the hard things (someone else would be a better parent to this child). To make you doubt your purpose (Shouldn’t I find happiness in my family/job/ministry—maybe there is something more?).

As if the hard things shouldn’t be hard.

As if the struggles can and should be avoided.

As if the lies are true.

We must be ready for battle. We must suit up and pray up and read up. The Bible will instruct you; the prayers will empower you; the Holy Spirit will lead you. You have everything you need to fight the good fight. But you will get hurt. Nobody goes into war thinking they will emerge the same. They will be shot at, wounded and hardened by the blows of the enemy. From each battle we emerge with more experience (2 Tim 2:4). I know if I don’t start my day in prayer, I’m already set up for some blows. It’s not that prayer stops the blows; actually, I think it often “ups” them, but I’m ready to handle them.

If we are wounded, it is much harder to keep fighting. We often need others to drag us to safety. We need to go to the medic. Who is our Great Physician? Who is the Healer of our souls? The very One who created us, will also heal us. When we bring our soul wounds to Him, our Lord and Savior will do a great work in us. Sometimes it is major surgery (which could be preformed under the lights in my bathroom!). When we come to Christ, our loving Father lays us out and removes our hearts of stone and give us new hearts.

Ezekiel 36:26-27

“And I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes and be careful to obey my rules.”

He will give you a new heart

Nobody questions the major undertaking of a heart transplant. Getting a new spiritual heart is pretty major, also. It changes our life in dramatic ways. Things that used to bring us pleasure become dull, as we shift from a selfish worldly view to an eternal spiritual view. There are aspects of this change that happen suddenly. I once sat with a friend in my home and could see the heaviness of her past etched in her face; yet, a few moments later when she came to the Lord, it was instantly lifted. One of the first things she said after we prayed was, “The heaviness is gone!” She didn’t need to tell me. I could see it in her face. She met her Saviour and he removed her heavy heart and put in a living/beating heart that pushed blood through her soul into places that were formally crippled.

Other changes come on slowly, over years as our new hearts pump the oxygenated blood of new life to parts of our souls we thought were dead. Healing soul wounds that were caused by sin done to us, sin we fell into, perhaps, because of a family cycle of hurt or a temptation that we thought would soothe our wounds. But, in fact, it deepened the damage. I have been walking with the Lord several decades and just in the last few years, I have come to realize some of the places I carry wounds. Instead of letting air and light get to them where they can heal, I instinctively hide them, keeping them in the dark where they fester and spread into other aspects of my life.

Let the Healing Begin

I asked the Holy Spirit to expose them, so I could pray for the healing I didn’t even understand I needed. The wounds I had wrapped up in the loss of my sister were many and painful. There are ways I unknowingly respond to life—reacting in hurt or depression, never connecting it back to that vulnerable spot. God has removed much of that weight, just by exposing it. When something pricks me, I can say I know why this hurts. I don’t want to react in a way that brings me low. I can feel sad. I can feel the loss. But, I don’t want my reactions to be something that causes me to sin or causes me to pull back when I should be pushing in.

What soul wounds do you have in your life?

Can you connect some of your seemingly odd or extreme reactions to that hurt?

What if you asked the Lord to start healing those spots?

The Lord keeps showing me that He is enough. His grace is sufficient. The things I think I need to be okay are the very places He will fill. The hurts are a reminder that this world is not home. I have a promise that I will see my sister again (along with others gone ahead). Meanwhile, He has brought women into my life that I call sister . . .and my heart fills. I stand up in their weddings and the program says—sister to the bride. And that wound closes a little. I have a group of women in my life that are as dear to me as sisters. We have a depth in our relationships that I imagine is as deep as a blood sister (and perhaps deeper in some cases). That spot is very tender, but not as gut-wrenching as it was at one time. The term “soul sister” means more to me than most.

Ask the Lord to reveal your wounds so you can ask for healing in those areas

Have you already experienced some healing? Was it instant or slowly over time?

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Drafts on The Unlived Life

Your flight has been canceled! How many times have we arrived to the terminal to be told those soul-crushing words. We had a plan. A ticket, even, as proof of the direction (literally) our life was headed. We had it all mapped out only to be told we would not be partaking in those particular plans. Has there ever been a more fitting metaphor for life? When we are young we make such grand plans. With nary a thought for cost, delays or an entire re-routing. We say such things as, “I shall never get married” or “I will have three kids, two boys and a girl,” with no concept of any interference. We boldly pronounce that we will leave town as soon as we can, securing a flat in a faraway country or a lavish ocean-front home. Dreams are free. Free of cost, free of reality. Free of the entanglements and strange twists of life. But all too often dreams get canceled.

We are just coming off the holidays and I always try to make a point of watching It’s a Wonderful Life. I have seen this movie more times than I can count; I even acted in the play in college. The older I get the more I realize just what George gave up. I’m sure you are familiar with the movie, but in a slight recap, George Bailey has big plans. He grows up dreaming of travel and excitement. In one scene he is purchasing a suitcase for his adventures. The first piece of luggage he is shown is met with a head shake, no that is not big enough! It will never hold the numerous stickers from all the countries he plans to visit. He has a life plan and it is getting out of his little town to see the world. Bag in hand he heads out to say goodbye to friends and family. But, alas, George never puts one sticker on that suitcase. It turns out he didn’t need the extra large one, or for that matter, any luggage at all. That life was canceled.

Do you have a suitcase in your closet for that life you never lived? Most of us do. Have you packed up a wedding dress that never walked down an aisle or put away baby clothes that were never used? Did you plan to finish college and got sidetracked by a baby? The move to Paris or Rome never materialized and you live in the same town where you grew up. The job pays the bills, but you had dreams of a career in fashion or owning your own restaurant. You thought you would go out to conquer the world, but instead you deal with chronic pain or depression and conquering the day is all you can manage. Or you were going to show your kids the world and everything you loved as a child, but they live in their own quiet world that you can’t quite reach.

Most of us are George Bailey with a life unlived. We did the right thing, we stepped up when a parent needed help, we held back when a child needed us. We pay the medical bills instead of booking that voyage. We take in a struggling friend or we do rounds of endless doctor appointments with our spouse. We put the suitcase in the closet and shut the door. Perhaps you made a series of wrong decisions. Invested in the wrong person, left when you should have stayed, stayed when you should have left. Either way you feel like George when it all starts to cave in around you. You look longingly at the empty suitcase and think if only . . .

We Make Resolutions (And Then Life Happens)

So here we sit in the foothills of the mountain that is this year; this decade even, and we are asked to make New Year’s resolutions. To write down what we hope to achieve these next 365 days. I can strive to write more, have less clutter in my house and find something to be thankful for each day. But the truth is I will forget about these small goals in a month’s time. We never talk about these aspirations in March or July. They are long forgotten because life happens. We move again, someone gets sick, someone gets born, we switch jobs, we age. There are triumphs of course. We meet the right person, we get a promotion, we start a business, we finish school. But the trouble with even achievements is that they fade. In It’s a Wonderful Life, George has wonderful things happen. He marries a lovely woman, has four children, helps countless friends, grows the business and supports his country during wartime. He is a beloved pillar of his community.

I do not for one minute think, if George had left town that day and taken his trip, we wouldn’t be having this same discussion—it would just be in reverse. He would have traveled, but never found, say, love or real meaning. He would see the world, but have no sense of home. We humans are genius at longing for what we do not have. If it wasn’t that thing, it would be another. I’m easily tricked into thinking, if I had what I wanted, than I wouldn’t want what I have now. That if I had gotten on that “flight,” I would be happier somehow. I would have a wonderful life. But it is a lie. If we travel, we long for home. If we are secure, we want adventure. If we have responsibilities, we want none and if we have none, we ache for them. We are funny, fickle creatures. Always chasing something. Always wanting more . . . or less.

We are always chasing something.

Always wanting more … or less

We all have suitcases in our closets

I can tell you my perfect life as I’m sure you can tell me yours. We are told the trick is balance. But we can’t, no matter how hard we try, stay in balance; we just hit it once and while, on the way to being out of balance. I’m all for being mindful and intentional. Make New Year’s goals; I did! But what the Bible says in Philippians 4: 11-13 is true; we must learn to be content in whatever state we find ourselves—in plenty and in need. I’m always in both these spots in various parts of my life. Flush with friendships, but struggling at work or dry spiritually but in good health. The life I wanted is not this. How could it be? I long for balance, for perfection and something is always out of sync.

If I could make it all work, I would not need a Savior. My goals are sweet, but small. They speak to the here and now which will never, ever be enough. I can have the best marriage, kids, job, vacations and it would not come close to being enough. One of the greatest blessings in my life are friends, as dear as sisters, and family I enjoy like friends, but it is only a taste of what I long for. Achieving dreams is amazing. I met a goal of getting over 100 pieces published and it was rather exciting and a feather in my cap; but it does not give my soul purpose, it is merely a feather, ornamental. I very much wanted our unique little house with the wall of windows and mid-century modern fixtures, but I have to be very careful not to complain about its lack of a second bathroom and doors that don’t close tight. Opening our own business was exciting, but at the end of the day, it’s a job, and a hard job at that. All the dreams that do come true are still not enough.

God knew it would never be enough. Our bodies were not designed to die, but to live. Our hearts were not created for envy and longing, but for a perfect, complete love. Our minds are meant for good, for edifying thoughts, not negative and evil imaginings. We use our liberty to create bad as well as good. We are victims of others’ free will and they are our tragedies, as well. So thus the world goes: broken, lost, and hurting even in the best of circumstances. The Bible teaches us to control our thought life, to think on things that are good and lovely; not because we will necessarily manifest a better life that way, but because we will need this discipline to navigate life. (Read about this in Philippians 4:6-8) It is a bumpy road. Sometimes the plane leaves on time and we get upgraded to first class and life looks good; but other times we have to sleep in the airport, just to find out we are seated next to a fussy toddler (who is oftentimes our own!).

This post is not about how we miss one flight to make another, different but better excursion. Our lives are a lot of canceled trips, lost tickets, sick on Christmas Day, missed opportunities and so forth. And in many ways we just miss out. But we are mostly nearsighted. We look at the life unlived and we mourn, while God sees eternity, knowing the end from the beginning. He knows our hurts and our disappointments, He is farsighted! Where we see loss, hurts and failures; He sees the refining of our souls. He knows we are pilgrims, just passing through. As it turns out we didn’t miss the flight at all, we are still waiting to board. It’s a bit of a delay, so we set about doing things, having families, working that job, putting our hearts into a ministry . . . all while we wait to live our (yet) unlived life.

Do you find yourself longing for an unlived life this side of eternity?

Have you considered that even if you had that dream life it would still never be enough? Can you think of some examples of people who have it “all” and still struggle?

What can you do to keep your focus on the things that are “good and lovely"?

Drafts on Christmas Lights

Christmas is such a unique time of year. As a kid it’s so intense, mostly about the gifts (let’s be real), but also, all the special things like decorating cookies and twinkling lights and watching favorite movies while snuggled up in red plaid pajama sets. Yet, as I entered my teens and young adult years, it lost some of its charm; I couldn’t quite get those old feelings back. The lights were not quite as bright and the wreath cookies not quite as sweet. The pressure to find the right gifts and fit in all the events started to feel like a chore. As a parent, I get to enjoy the wonder of it all again (but this time on the other side-the work side). The wonder isn’t going to put up its own lights or remember whose gift is in which identically wrapped box after the dog eats the tags off.

As a child of divorce, your lack of not being able to do it all and be everywhere is never felt as deeply as at Christmas; although in retrospect, it was good practice for marriage. The minute I told my Grandma I was engaged to my husband, she blurted out, “I get Christmas Eve” . . . it was July. We still talk about how smart that was. We were too distracted by wedding venues to realize we should probably add a disclaimer, but my husband congenially agreed. Guess where we go every Christmas Eve? (I’m taking notes.) No matter what your arrangement, you can never be in enough places or bring enough gifts or food. Because the thing with Christmas is, that it highlights what you are good at and what you are bad at. My mom can wrap a gift so that the wrapping is the gift, where I just gave a friend a gift with the price tag still on (it was on sale) so at least she knows I can find a good bargain.

While I’m beyond blessed with family and lavished in blessings, I am at the same time more keenly aware of the brokenness that many may feel during this season. The losses are felt in a more profound way this time of year. The strings of white lights reflect not only the awe and magic, but also the loss and heartache. The people that are missing, the fractured relationships, the pushed down depression or anger or bitterness that may surface in the cold air of December. Like Charles Dickens’ famous line “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,” Christmas for many of us can be a tale of two Christmases The joy of eggnog by a fire with those we love and trying to smile while Aunt Claire asks you why you aren’t married, have children, or didn’t bring more dinner rolls or Uncle Clyde asks if you have been promoted, published your book or if you would like to hear about his eczema issues (just kidding he doesn’t ask).

Unlikely of Places

As the holidays approach, most likely you are being asked to contribute or attend an event, that although you will show up (with cookies) your heart isn’t right. Perhaps there are family members that are difficult (see eczema story), maybe you feel judged or unappreciated? Holiday gatherings can bring out old insecurities and emotions we thought long buried. We revert back to our childhood roles that are just not who we are anymore. Frustrations, jealousy and misunderstandings may float through our heads as we drive to parties and stay to dance around our conversations. The enemy wants us at our worst during these times. He wants us ineffective and distracted, and while it can be lovely to chat about the job and kids and how amazing the tree looks, maybe there is someone that needs to hear something deeper. Maybe a hot cocoa in a comfy corner by the fire can lead to healing words over a deep struggle. When our hearts are right, the Lord can use us, even in the most unlikely of places.

When we feel warm and fuzzy over Christmas, it’s easy to think everyone feels this same way. After all isn’t that what we see as the cards start to arrive, lining our windowsills—smiling faces looking back in holiday cheer. Isn’t everyone enjoying the parties and shopping and looking forward to the day of being reunited around a tree? What we don’t see in the cards are the sleepless nights over our jobs, anxiety over grades, the toll of finances and the health issues yet shared. We see the good, as it should be, but also not the whole truth. I’m trying not to be fooled into thinking everyone one else is problem-free this season.

I wrote an article years ago on what goes on behind a photoshoot; all the people at work to make that one picture look perfect. Fake hair, fake eyelashes, fake food and computer generated images make models and homes look flawless. I myself have modeled in these shoots and there is not only a small army of professionals styling each set, but also liberal airbrushing to catch any possible flaws. When I look at Christmas cards, I enjoy the adorable children and creative settings, but I try not to think that they have it all together; especially, as I look around my house, at tinsel waiting to get stuck in my vacuum and I still can’t find the O from my silver letters that spell NOEL. (My son keeps asking what NEL means!) I’m behind on shopping, decorating and baking (i.e. buying random things to bring to parties because I can’t remember what I signed up for). Quite obviously, I do not have a team of stylists working on my Christmas card setting (which I’m actually not sending for the third year in a row).

I’ve decided with the house lights off and the Christmas tree lights on, that it looks almost pretty—but those lights also cast shadows. I gathered with some of my best friends last week to celebrate, but one of us is missing (she went to heaven two years ago). I miss her so much and when we are all together, I feel like I’m always looking over my shoulder, wondering who is missing from the table. As we shared salted rosemary bread and warm cookies, we also shared our loss. While I gather with family and friends, I’m overwhelmed with my love for these people. The Lord has been healing my heart with hope of knowing this life isn’t all there is and I will see those who have gone ahead, especially, my sister (who has been in heaven far longer then she walked this earth). I have mostly known life without her, but I still feel her absence more keenly at these times of emphasized togetherness. I, also, long to sit again on my grandma’s bed and tell her all my problems or ride one more time with my grandpa on a sulky, training a young race horse.

For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord!

The first nativity wasn’t this polished

As I smile for pictures by the tree lights, know that I’m happy and blessed, that I love eating snowman-shaped cookies and watching you open my haphazardly wrapped gift. The Lord is filling my longings with promise and as I look at my nativity set, I know that He, the Christ Child, came to suffer & die for mankind. He is lit by the glow of my tree in this moment; however, He was not in a polished glass manger scene, but in a dirty, smelly stone cave. It was most likely not well-lit, or warm or comfortable, but yet He brought the gospel of peace (“He restoreth my soul”). He would start His life on the run from men that wanted to kill Him, yet would not be angry. He would be called out of Egypt to a humble life, strikingly void of any grandeur, yet He would not be bitter. He is a King, but came as a servant. He was born, so that He might die. He gave all, so that we might gain everything.

The tree lights pale in comparison to my Saviour’s light. He illuminates all my blessings and all my faults, all my efforts and all my failures. He promises to be the strength in my weakness, the grace in my failures, the joy in my soul and He uses everything for His purpose. He is no longer a helpless babe in a manger, but God come in the flesh. He has known hunger and betrayal and deep loss, He knew His purpose and never looked for the easy road, He did not seek an earthly treasure, but one that does not rust. This time of year as the twinkling lights dance in the darkness, I’m in awe that even the tiniest of lights can be seen. I can be a little light in someone’s struggle because His light shines though me and perhaps brightest through my pain. A string of lights during the day goes unnoticed; it is in the darkness that they really shine.

**update: The missing O from NOEL has been found and returned to its rightful place!

What do the tree lights illuminate for you this time of year?

How can you be a light in someone’s darkness?

Drafts on Ebb Tide

Change is a constant companion in our lives. Like the ebb tide of the waves, the new washes up and the old is swept away. It is relentless. When we are young, this feels slow, as if we will be children forever; remember when summer felt like it would go on forever? One sandy beach day disappeared into the next, marked by dripping popsicles in the hot sun and counting fireflies in the evenings. I never once thought about change on those long carefree days. But change was always there, with me, even when I was unaware. Now as a middling adult, I’m keenly aware of change and the passage of time. My childhood seems a lifetime ago. The changes I have gone through are staggering. The hardships and the growth that followed has formed me into an entirely different person.

As I write, I’m perched at the window bar of a coffee shop and my view consists of blowing leaves and pumpkins on hay bales: it is autumn. This is my favorite season. I identify with its many layers—a clear sun followed by unexpected clouds, cold rain and gusty winds. I have often wondered what our favorite seasons say about us. Fall is a time of change, cooling temps, tall boots and burnt orange sweaters, The days are short, but bright. It is the last brilliant moment before the world resets with a long sweep of cleansing cold, unforgiving air. It is change wrapped around me like a scarf, held in my hands like hot apple cider.

The older I get the more I realize that change is part of the game; it’s not going away. I’m constantly growing and learning. And in that growth, I must face the fact that there needs to be growth, because I’m still not there yet. I see this in my marriage. After 15 years together, we are still figuring it out. Our partnership, all and all, is fairly smooth, but then last weekend we had a fight about a juicer. Yup, a juicer! So guess there is still room for growth there, or at least a glass of carrot juice.

Parenting is arguably the biggest vehicle of growth around. Having a baby is like an instant death to your old self and born in its place is this soft squishy person who cares about bizarre things like the shape of pacifier nipples and who keeps a journal of wet diapers. Who is this person? And in a way you relive your childhood all over again with all the great things, like reading Make Way for Ducklings, but also all the hard things, like when your first fish dies (R.I.P. blue beta fish). And you change. . . you are a parent to a baby and then a toddler and then suddenly the baby is driving. And while you were fine to drive at 16, surely that cannot be true today!

Twisting in the Waves

Change also comes in the form of hardships. Tragedies like divorce, loss or severed relationships that can close off parts of us until they shrivel up and die. We can’t even access that part of our heart anymore. Maybe you have lost someone or perhaps your marriage feels like far more of a struggle than it’s worth, a needy child is chipping away at you and there is no time for anything you enjoy. The grind of life . . . has well. . . ground you up. Those long easy days of summer are a distant memory that play in your head like a movie you watched once. Ten-year-old you would never recognize your life now. Your dream journal seems completely unrealistic. Obviously, you are never going to work for SeaWorld at this point (although, the Blackfish documentary really finished off that dream).

Blackfish aside, I don’t know where you are at today. Perhaps life has come up roses with a few thorns or perhaps it’s thistles with a few flowering weeds. Life is always in motion, the waves are always reaching for us, trying to push us forward or pull us back. Sometimes there is little we can do about our circumstances. My childhood was punctuated with tragedy, there were long summer days and nights on the porch counting fireflies, but storms blew in unexpectedly. Loss and tragedy are big part of my identity. Of who I am. They shaped me young into twisty ways that are taking a lifetime to untangle. But I’m working on it.

The enemy has spent years whispering in my tender ear that this is who I am. That these knots cannot be untangled. The blood supply has been cut off and growth cannot take place. And you know what? In many ways it’s easier to let these areas lie dormant. I’m strangely comfortable in it. Like when your foot falls asleep and you are unaware until you try to move it and as blood flows back into those veins, it is painful. As I have reopened some of my past, it too, is painful; but I no longer want to be pushed into a shape that God did not intend for me.

So I look back at things that happened to me and I start to look at it all through the eyes of the Lord. Sure, He can use these things and He absolutely does, but also He does not want me to be bound up in my losses, my hurts, my disappointments.

When the waves reach for me, I start to sink in the quicksand of my emotions, being sucked under by the past. Bound—unable to swim; sinking into depression and despair. At times, the Lord sends others to swim along side of me to encourage me to keep swimming; but more so, Jesus Christ, my Savior, wants to see me unbound, free to swim over the surface of what tries to pull me down.

Learning to swim

He will Walk on Water

When our minds turn to depression/anger/bitterness/ apathy, we start to feel the weight of our past, our pain, the things that haven’t worked out. It’s too heavy, we are tempted to stop swimming and just sink. We look away from God and we start to go under. We are trying to swim with broken legs and twisted arms. If we are standing on the beach and we see our child or a friend struggling in the water, would we not rush out to help them? Of course! And God our Father does the same. If we cry out, He will walk on water to save us from sinking. But more so then save us from drowning this one time, He wants to teach us to keep our eyes on Him so we don’t sink; showing us how to navigate rough waters, to swim because He knows storms will arise often in our lives. While I want Him to remove me out of the water altogether and put me up on dry land, He knows the world we live in and that it will never stop trying to pull us out to the depths. In John 16:33, Jesus says, “These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”

The waves will roll over my head, the enemy will try to convince me to stop swimming. But the Lord, the Lord Almighty will teach me to swim. The Holy Spirit will buoy me, the Great Physician will heal me, the power of Christ will strengthen me. We will face my crippling hurts together and He will breathe new life into the dead parts of my soul. He will unshackle the weights the enemy has chained to my limbs, and teach me to use them again. I will keep my eyes ever on Him—reading His word to renew my mind and speaking His truth to my hurting spirit. I pray in the power that changes things, changes me; I try (in His power) to cast off the old weights and get my stride. It does not come easy, it is work. I’m fighting the current. But the more I immerse myself in the things of the Lord, the stronger I become. I can only write about this because I have lived it. I have been bound up and I have been set free. Matthew 11:28 says: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest! “ The ebb tide will never stop, but the difference now is that (in Him) I can navigate the rough waters—I can swim..

In what ways is the ebb trying to take you out? How are your limbs bound up?

What would it look if you let the Lord unwind the areas in your life that are twisted up?

Are you being called to help someone else learn to swim?

Drafts on Margins

Let’s see, do I have everything? Computer and cord, blanket scarf (in the unfortunate event air conditioning has turned a lovely fall day into the polar vortex), library book to return, shopping bags and list, Bible study (in case I get a few minutes in car line) and the snack bag (never forget the snack bag!). This is how I leave my house most days. I run from one thing to the next, always having to think three steps ahead. Do I have the notes for that meeting, the right shoes to get a work out in and enough food to get me through the next six hours? It’s a lot and as you can imagine, I often fall behind and have to call my next meeting and say I’m running late. I jam too much into a day and if one thing gets off track, the whole day is off-the-rails and I’m running, running, running!

Have you ever noticed how pages come with margins? That lovely clean space around the perimeter of the words so there aren’t letters or punctuation marks running right off the page and falling into the abyss. Margins offer a space to work that leaves a little room. Margins keep all the thoughts confined to the middle of the page. But perhaps the best part is that they leave room for mistakes. I make a lot of mistakes; how about you? I misjudge how long a conversation will take, what the expectations are, or I show up in the wrong shoes with the wrong attitude. Margins allow time to find parking and to take the long way round if the bridge is out. So, if I get a little lost or need to take a phone call, margins give built-in sidelines to my day—to my life, which gives me space for such things.

Am I Available?

Margins give us room to breathe. A few minutes to collect ourselves and the space to help others. More importantly, margins give room for God to use us. When I pack my day so tight, I’m not available for any assignments He may have for me. Maybe a conversations that starts out about the weather (a fav topic here in Michigan) takes a deeper turn and demands more time or maybe one of your kid’s friends asks for a ride home, but really it’s a divine appointment for prayer. If I don’t have any margins in my day for such things, I will miss out on what really matters. Is my goal to check off my to-do list? Or to bless people? Do I get up in the morning with the goal of turning out three loads of laundry, replying to work emails, and helping with the school play? (Surely these things need to be done.) Or is my goal to be available to those who may need me?

The other day at the grocery store, the checkout girl was new and young and she was struggling. I had built in extra time to go the store so I was able to be patient, but the woman behind me was loudly complaining about how slow the line was moving (I saw myself in this woman), but I just smiled kindly as the girl apologized for needing to repack my bags a couple times; she was going to need some encouragement to get her through the next client. I have to build margins into my day and hope others build margins into their days when I might . . . say, lock my keys in my car (and then my son’s piano teacher has to load up her 4 kids and mine and come get me at the post office and then drive me home to get the spare key and drive me back again!). So . . . I might need some big margins.

Creating White Space

Last week I talked about making time for kindness in our days: see Drafts on Kindness in Tiny Beads. I have been pondering just how does one build free moments into our hectic lives? There is no easy answer and it looks different for everyone depending on where we are in life. Perhaps getting up a little earlier than usual? One of my friend’s gets up at 5:00 a.m. to get her time with the Lord in before her children wake, and I believe she also gets in a whole pot of coffee (I mean—it is 5:00 a.m.!) To me that is a ridiculous time; clearly meant for sleep! But I guess we are all different. Of course, we can not stack our days so tight, perhaps spacing out meetings in case they run late (don’t they always?). If you have small children (or just any children or even a dog) getting ready to leave 20 minutes sooner so you have time for the lost shoe hunt, muddy paws, spilled juice on the one day you actually thought—maybe, just maybe, you could finally wear white again.

I just got a text about a playdate after school today; and while I did say yes, I put a hard border on the time. If I make it home by 5:00 p.m. instead of 5:30 p.m., that extra half hour margin will allow me to be a more patient mother at bedtime, which is most often when we have our best talks about God and life. (I’ll let you know how it goes . . .) Update** So, I did make it home around 5:00 p.m. and still felt crazy trying to get it all done; but when my son asked me later to read to him about the weird creatures in the Bible in Ezekiel, instead of being ridiculously past bedtime it was just sorta past bedtime—so I went for it. I was glad there was that little clean margin on my page for that conversation.

These are simple ideas, and I know there are just days that have no margins (and sometimes the Lord calls for our time when we feel we have no time to give). Yesterday, a friend texted me after her child threw a fit about having to wear pants to school and then they got in the car late to only realize she was completely out of gas. This is the type of day where the words are written right on to the edge of the page with no room to breathe. Maybe there is something you need to say no to in order to have more time in your life for God to work. My husband and I have had seasons of saying no to good and fun activities, like sports and sitting on the board of great nonprofits, because it just made our days spill off the pages. Things I would love to volunteer for or writing projects that I would be thrilled to take on, but knew it would just fill my days to capacity and I need (I think we all need) margins for the Holy Spirit to move.

I find when I don’t build space in my day, I get crazy, I have no patience, no time and I more than not end up with a headache that has me stuck at home anyway. I want to take it all in. I want to fill every second of my day with coffee dates, work projects, community events. I think of those old letters people used to write when paper and postage were expensive and they would literally fill ever inch with teeny-tiny writing, even on the envelope.

Does your life look like a Jane Austen letter?

But my eyes need a place to rest—white space, if you will. Gaps from the words of life to just not have to focus and think and try. Margins allow us to write postcripts to our day, underline and draw arrows out to the edges; making note of this or that, praying for this person or that person as the Lord lays it on our hearts. I know for me, I may need time to take an unexpected phone call. I may need time to comfort and encourage hurting people; taking note of what they are really saying and what they really need. I may need time to stay late and talk. Sometimes I need your margins and sometimes you need mine. I’m trying to keep clean edges on the pages of my day.

What does the Lord want to write in your margins?

Is there space for Him? Or have you filled your days tight like a Jane Austen letter?

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Drafts on Kindness in Tiny Beads

Bins of teeny-tiny Perler beads awaited us at the elementary craft night at our library. My child had been begging for these minuscule beads for over a month. In case you missed it, check out my last post on How I Melted the Dog’s Face to see our first round with this craft. I avoided them for about two years, but my number had been called. We are back for more, but fooled not by their cheerful riot of colors: neon, pastel and sparkly. I know exactly how this was going to go down. There will be certain colors needed, tiny beads stuck to sweaty little hands, all going everywhere except the peg on which they are supposed to land. Tables bumped, tears (mostly mine), and this just a night of fun crafts with kids. So as you can see, I went into the event with the right attitude.

I had brought along my computer to hopefully catch up on some work, thinking I would sit in the hallway and not necessarily participate in this struggle, I mean craft activity. But I could quickly see, with the time restraints, that parental participation would be needed, if I ever hoped to make it out of here before bedtime. So without much deliberation, my son chose to do a wolf and of course would need mostly grays and whites. It became apparent to all the parents that we would be the one digging out colors, that is, if we didn’t want to spend the night to finish this project. While an overnight in the library has its appeal, those bean bag chairs in the corner looked suspiciously like some place I would not like to lay my head.

So, I sorted through hot pink, clear and royal blue beads to hand-pick the desired hues. It was a full-time, absorbing job that had me glancing longingly at my computer. But I resigned myself to my task as his beaded Minecraft wolf began to take shape before my eyes, along side the other creations of butterflies and puppies. As moms asked their kids what colors they needed next and grey, white or pink was called out, something interesting began to happen. One little girl delivered a handful of black beads that she had sorted out for a boy at her table. I thought, well, that was sweet and carried on plucking out our needed colors. Soon another girl delivered a small cache of white to someone else at our table. We all looked up and acknowledged her thoughtfulness.

Next, an adorable little girl delivered an offering of gray to my son. He was thrilled and touched by her kindness. Such a little thing I thought, but it seemed to ignite something at our table. My son asked the dark-haired girl across from him what color she needed and started searching for her orange beads. My rational mind thought . . . well, what’s the point? If we all look for our own colors it would be just as effective. But that’s not the point, is it? While these kids showed up to make Perler bead creations, they were actually participating in a big life lesson. Kindness was being passed out in tiny beads. It was catching!! Most of the kids at our table were actively looking for colors for other children, eager to show a complete stranger that they cared enough to help. They did not know each other’s names or backgrounds; they had no idea if that child had a good day or a bad day, they were not doing it to win favor or get a prize. They were simply being kind.

Our lives are so busy and harried we often don’t take time to show each other kindness. We are always on to the next things, running late, forgetting something, needing to make a phone call or send an email. I think if I just keep my head down and keep typing and posting and emailing, I just might be able to get my work done. I plan my days so tight there is no breathing room for say, a break-down (I usually have those in the car or the shower) or to lose my phone, panic and then realize I’m talking on it (you guys do that, too, right?). I often go to bed the night before already overwhelmed by the day to come. Meetings follow meetings, I dive through the grocery store on the way to something else and vacuum just the parts that show (please don’t look behind my couch or under it!).

I tend to work in coffee shops (big perk of freelance) but one issue is running into people I know when I’m under a deadline. We will say Hi and I try to show through the frantic look in my eyes, that I have just this little window of time to get my work done. I must be doing something wrong because this seems to invite them to sit down at my table and tell me what is going on in their lives. While I feel like I don’t have time for this, I am also quite certain this exactly what I am supposed to be doing. You see, I pray in the morning that the Lord will use me to encourage others, help others and be someone that can show God’s love in a tangible human (although, flawed) way. And then, I promptly act put out when He actually does. People—why are we so ridiculous?

We can all stay in our own lanes, getting our work done, finding our own beads. But is that the point? Maybe part of this time here on earth is helping others find their beads and letting them help us find ours. Not one of those kids was worried about getting their own project done. They were not hurried or stressed. Remember those days? No? Me either. Yes, I need to post for work, and make that phone call and write that piece and there is a time for that, but there is also a time for kindness. There is time to listen and time to do someone a favor and time to pray, and you know what, I never regret it. There will always be another thing in my work inbox and more dishes to wash and somehow we are always out of essential staples, like bread or butter or dark chocolate. But I want to look back and say, I took time to show kindness to the people God has put in my life and the stranger he often sits next to me at a coffee shop.

Although kindness doesn’t cost money, it often costs time. My husband says time is money (when I want him to cut the lawn or wash the windows), but time does not seem to cost as much when there is a baseball game - hmmm? So, there is a cost. When I take a phone call at an inconvenient time because someone needs to vent or when I linger over coffee with a downhearted friend because they need a soft place to cry, I never think . . . well, that was a waste of time. No, I think that it is what I was supposed to be doing. But now, when will I edit that copy I wrote for a client? The time it takes to show kindness is not free, but I count the cost and find it worth every penny! And you know what? Others do the same for me—they listen, they bring meals, they encourage, they let me cry and they give me rides. I don’t usually stop to think that this cost them something; they started dinner late or didn’t make it to the store or lost a precious time to read before bed, but they counted the cost and found it worth their time.

If life is an exchange of colored beads, I want to know what color you need.

Write about an instance where you made time to be kind. What did it cost you? Was it worth it?

Journal about how you can make a change in your day and outlook that will make more time for kindness.

DRAFTS on The Time I Melted the Dog’s Face

Don't worry; this is not a post on housework. But it is about a time I tried ironing or also known as the time I melted the dog's face. There are many, many things I struggle with like the aforementioned housework; and then there are things I'm just plain bad at and ironing would fit into that category. But sometimes we are forced to do things we have no business doing. That is just life. The day of reckoning came for me when I dragged my six-year-old to the craft store while I picked out fabric for a project. As you will soon see, I'm no good at crafts either, so I was forcing my friend, Tracy, to make me a shower gift (I do this all the time) and in exchange I continue to be the Ethel to her Lucy. 

After an exhausting hour in the store, against my better judgment, I allowed my son to pick out a craft. He selected these things called Perler beads. The idea being that you take these beads and put them on a peg board to create something like a turtle or a cat. Then you iron the beads to melt them together. Easy— right!?

So, I unearthed my iron from the basement. As I plugged it in, my son, *Wolfy* asked what it was. Which makes sense because I had yet to iron anything in his lifetime. I replied that it was, in fact, an iron. He asked what one did with an iron and I said, “iron things”. He asked the next logical question: is it scary? And I answered: I think so. At that extract moment, the iron let out a hissing spray of steam like a medieval dragon and both my son and dog dove under the bed in pure fear! This is what happens when you don't iron regularly . . . or at all.

Once I tamed the beast and coaxed the team out from under the bed, I set to my task of ironing this beaded puppy. It must be stated here that my son was called puppy for at least two years, so the love for puppies is fierce. He had worked long and hard on his creation (because Perler beads are no joke) and my only job was to fuse it together with a little heat from the hissing dragon. Wolfy and Scout quickly left the room as I cranked it up all the way and laid it on the dog. When I pulled it away, it looked a little —well—perplexed. I sent Tracy a picture and she texted back: Awww, you melted it’s face.

Yup, I melted the dog's face. My dog, Scout, was not wrong to hide from the threat of a similar fate.

We all have things we struggle with, but can't get away from as parents, spouses, friends, employees and writers.

Fortunate for me, ironing doesn't come up very often, although my mom would argue that perhaps it should, but other things do—more important things. Perhaps forgiveness is hard for you or patience and when you are forced to pull these things out they are rusty and scary and quite frankly could melt a dog's face.

Maybe it’s a part of your job, such as being nice to rude people or maybe you are in a parenting stage that you are just plain bad at like having sympathy for teenage problems. Perhaps being happy for others who are achieving your dreams, when getting there yourself is proving difficult. 

This is great lighting, but this poor dog’s face is much more melted than it appears—we all love a good filter.

What is the "ironing" in your life? Is it something tangible like caring for an aging parent or is it something emotional like serving your boss who you feel should not be in charge of anything. I did go on to iron a turtle, a cat and another dog with varying degrees of success. No one who knows better, will be asking me to iron anything, but I can do it when life demands.   

Ironing aside, we are all asked to do hard things. Challenges we feel unequipped to handle. When we are naturally good at something we tend to do it in our own might; thinking, yes, I’m good at connecting with people or I’m trained for an emergency. But when something arises that is out of our wheel house we acutely feel the lack of our own abilities. It is in these moments that I have learned (often the hard way) to find strength in someone else, someone bigger than me — my personality, education, background — when I’m out of my element, I have to turn to the Lord. He tells us in His Word that our weaknesses are made perfect in His strength. Do we believe this? What does it look like when we live this way? I have to lean on Him to walk through the anxiety and fears that often accompany the areas of my life that make me want to pull the covers over my head.

Parenting asks so much of us, as does marriage or work. At times, demanding things we don’t feel able to give, but know we must. God does not ask us to go it alone. He says come to me, you who are tired and weary. Why does quitting sometime seems easier? Because I’m trying to do it on my own and I simply can not do it. Writing this blog forces me to talk about it, ask people to read and share it and that makes me want to cringe. It makes me want to quit. But I asked the Lord to bless my writing, to use my words to be an encouragement for the weary, a needed word or bright spot. It is only in His strength and not my feeble attempts that any good will grow out of these scattered seeds. Perhaps you feel this at your job or in a relationship, you feel the weight of doing it alone, when the Lord never asked this of us.

Write about something you tried to do in your own strength. How did it go? (Did you melt the dog’s face?) What would it look like if you tried to rely on God’s strength instead?

*This is my son’s chosen nickname, which I’m using for blogging purposes—but ironically one of my fav names growing up was Wolfgang and I distinctly remember my mom saying she hoped I would marry a man that would not let me name a child this. Ha! The Wolfgang name will be victorious. I don’t get this last sentence?? This last sentence is from my mom and it makes me laugh so hard I had to leave it in maybe nobody gets it but me(?)

Drafts on the Comments Section

I have been word-bombing blank pages with my thoughts since elementary school. The journal covers may have morphed from prancing horses and snuggling puppies to vintage travel with Jane Austen quotes, but the idea is the same—I need to write. I find putting pen to paper not only a way to organize my thoughts, but a form of therapy. As my emotions perch on the lines of the pages, I can look them square in the eye. In high school, I can remember writing so hard I ripped the paper (bc teenage feelings are that strong). Some words came carefully, as I tried to get them just right, and others poured out like a faucet, open at full tilt, left to overflow the sink and splash around on the floor.

As I grew older, I started writing pieces to share with others. I wrote poetry for my friends and short stories for class. Teachers and family encouraged me to pursue writing. I would work on stories for weeks before reading them aloud to my sisters. Their excitement over my characters and the dramatic and often tragic storylines would thrill me and encourage my writing. I learned that I didn’t want to just write in journals for myself, but I wanted to write for others. I started taking creative writing classes and reading books on the subject. After attending a writing conference I quickly realized this is what I wanted to do. College beckoned and I went on to earn a professional writing degree and started publishing my homework in magazines.

One of my favorite aspects of being an author is opening a notebook and letting others read my words. Like anyone in the arts, we don’t want our creation to stay tucked away in the studio, we want the world to see it and react. I have written pieces for others like a gift, the same way a potter fashions a cup or bowl with someone in mind. I have friends who cook or sew or make chocolate—I write words. Poems about friendships, articles about my mom’s love and short stories about my dad’s farm. This is an expression of gratitude. I want to see their reaction, like when we find the perfect gift for someone, we can’t wait for them to tear off the paper and see just what they mean to us.

When I started this blog, I really thought it would be mostly about writing and its brewdy sidekick, coffee. I had hoped to encourage writers, provoke ideas and share tips. I knew my faith would enter in at times because it is such a big part of me and my writing. After a handful of posts, with nods to my faith, it began to take a more prominent role, no longer watching from the wings, but stepping out into the spotlight. And it felt right, like that is where it belonged the whole time. Like when the star of the show gets laryngitis and the understudy has to go on and he is amazing! I love to write about publishing and little lessons from my life and will continue to do so, but I have felt that there is more to say. Like perhaps my writing is a form of worship, a love letter to my Lord. And I hope it comes across in my words. I don’t want to live a faith that leaves people wondering.

God did not leave us to wonder. He wrote a book for us so we could know Him. It’s an amazing love story! And like any good book, it has it all—humor, drama, adventure, loss and Redemption. God had His book commissioned—to be read; it has an eternal message we all need. I hand out business cards, post on social media and try to casually tell people in conversation that I have written something (not of Biblical proportions by any means!) but I would love it if they took the time to read my blog. The hope is that lots of people will read it and even more so, leave a comment!

Readers comments are the fruit of my labor. When someone takes the time to tell me what my writing meant to them personally, how it was just what they needed that day or that they shared it with a friend, I’m overjoyed. All the hard work feels worthwhile. I try hard to not have high expectations, for it’s a slow process and I’m figuring it out one hurdle at a time. Which brings me to a recent post I wrote and how it had no comments, not one! I was rather disappointed. Perhaps it wasn’t that great of a post; blogging is such a different thing than writing articles for magazines. Blogs are just quick shots of life, not poured-over manuscripts for which someone thought worthy of pay. I assumed it just wasn’t a comment-worthy piece until I realized I hadn’t turned on the comments section!

This got me thinking about how often I feel that God isn’t speaking to me. I’m praying, asking for answers and guidance and if feels like He stays silent. But have I turned on my comments section? Am I looking for the answers in the right place? God has authored a book and as it turns out, many of the answers I’m looking for are in the pages of His Word—God’s comments section, if you will. If we want to hear God speak we must turn on the “comments section” by opening up our Bibles. Something I have not always done. In my younger years of being a Christian, I did not read my Bible very often and I wondered why God was so quiet. Turned out He had plenty of notes and suggestions, if I cared to read it.

Once I realized I had not turned on the comments section of my blog post, it all made sense. Of course, I wasn’t going to hear anything! I have always wished I could get an audible response from God or even if He wanted to write me a letter—I would wait by the mailbox everyday! Well, He did write me a letter - I just need to turn on the comments section or better known as “opening up” His Word. Of course, God speaks to us in other ways, in our spirit and through His followers as we are His hands and feet (“Now then we are ambassadors for Christ…” 2 Cor 5:20a). He often sends someone to encourage or redirect us. I have sat across many a café table from someone lamenting that they just wish they could know the truth. I love to say God sent me to tell you to turn on your comments section. He is Truth . . . and He has so much to say.

Have you ever been confronted by something you journaled, perhaps putting those thoughts on paper made you examine them in a different light?

If you have journals, look through some old musings and write about how your feelings have changed.

Are you looking for answers when you haven’t turned on your comments section?

Drafts on Smuged Windows

The window next to my front door is always covered in nose prints. If you have read my earlier post, you will know that my dog, Scout, is always very concerned by what is happening on the other side of the door and the evidence of his curiosity (some would say obsession) is always very apparent on the windowpane. So I often find myself cleaning this window. I spray it down and clear away the doggy nose prints so I can see out the glass again. It looks good, sparkly and clean, transparent for about thirty minutes. Sometimes I think, why do I bother? This window will always be smudged. Yet, if I don’t keep up on this task, it will get worse and worse, layer upon layer, until my natural chemical-free cleaner won’t do the trick and I might have to bust out a stronger version to cut through the grime.

One day, as I polished the window—yet again, I was struck with how this window is like me. I get smudged and tainted by life; I can start the day off fairly sparkly, but I leave the house late, forget my phone charger, catch every red light and I already have a layer of grime. It doesn’t take much to mess up a windowpane, but then add that next layer - just one longing look at something I don’t have (in Scout’s case a squirrel) in mine, a book deal or a professional cleaning service - and my view is dirtied. I press my nose to the window and think I need more to be happy. But the reality is that if I had the book deal, then I would want the book to sell well, and if I had a cleaning person, then I would want a cook, which would lead to a gardener (and frankly, I don’t have room for that much staff in my house). In short, it would never be enough.

I have lots of aspirations, and I’m working towards many of them right now. Starting this blog was a dream I had for years. I sat with my nose to the window forever, envisioning my own website, a place to write what was on my heart, things I have learned—little shots of life. It brings me great joy to string words together, to craft them into ideas that can move through the world on their own. I have worked hard to pull it all together, and many people supported me and walked along side me to make it happen. My husband’s unfailing encouragement, my friend, Cordelia, who helped me build the site and ultimately pushed the button to just go live (I would still be trying to make it perfect), my cousin of Lighttighttank has done amazing photo shoots to make my vision come to life and my mom has bestowed her gift of editing and insight on my pieces. And just as important, YOU, my reader (with bonus points for sharing). I spend time praying, thinking, typing, reading and rereading. And, then, I press my nose to the window and I want more. Like all of us, I want to be acknowledged, loved, told I matter and rewarded for my hard work.

Sometimes we send little pieces of ourselves out there and it comes back void. As a writer, I often experience rejection. In the publishing world we have a saying—it’s not rejection, but redirection. I have had lots of “redirection” in my life. How about you? Sometimes instead of pulling back and looking at how far I have come, I look out the window and stare at what I want. The window fogs up and I have a hard time seeing past the condensation. I get in my head and ponder what it is I think I need; what is supposedly keeping me from finding happiness. There will always be another squirrel to chase. And if there is anything I know about squirrels, it’s that there are lots of them. I have a lot of dreams, some are big and exciting and others are small and simple. I want my words to matter on a big scale, but I also want to drink amazing coffee out of beautiful cups. Both these things make me very happy. The first one takes lots of time and patience, where as, the coffee is very obtainable.

I’m doing a project on myself right now, where I really take the time to appreciate my blessings. This means pulling away from the window for a time, to enjoy a homemade scone or marvel that I live in beach town or to simply be enthralled with the slice of heaven that is having hot water on demand. The more I think like this the more my selfishness, envy and self-pity is chased away. It does a good work on my soul to contemplate how very different my life could look like if I had been born in a different time or place, without all the luxuries I so often thoughtlessly enjoy. There is a time to look out the window and dream, but if I do it too much, the window gets covered in longings and what-ifs. Sometimes the door is flung open and we get to run after our hearts’ desires. But just as often the door remains shut and the Lord says this is not for you now, but look at what you have already - '“for with Thee is the fountain of life”. Human nature is so prone to want what we don’t have, to want more instead of less and to think what another has is better than what I have.

I don’t want to fall into the trap of spending all my time staring out the window when life is happening around me. I may not be able to have a weekend getaway with my husband, but we can share small plates on a sunny rooftop bistro in our hometown; after all not everyone has someone special to split a goat cheese crostini with. I spend a lot of time driving my child around to lessons and sports and friends’ houses, but we get a lot of time in the car to pray, we do our best praying in the car. Writing is hard and its doesn’t pay well, but it’s portable, so I can do it from quaint little coffee shops. What could your sentences say about your life, relationships and your faith? Where are you spending time looking for something more, when you are missing all that is right before you?

I want to look out clear windows and see a reflective glass not marred with smudges. As I wipe off my old way of thinking it floats in the air and clings to the surfaces of my life and it has to be swiped away. Just as our bodies are constantly shedding and regenerating, so must our minds be renewed. “And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind”. (Rom 12:2a) I no longer need to think I am not enough or my life is not successful because I have too much dog fur floating on my floors or not enough likes on my last post. Happiness, or perhaps a better word, contentment is a tricky thing. There will always be too many squirrels to chase—I want to say, we should enjoy the squirrels we have already, but I had a squirrel in my home once and I did not enjoy it one bit, so the analogy falls apart here—but you get it!

Write about the dreams that keeps you pressed to the window.

What are some small things you can appreciate while chasing the big dreams?

What are some of the lies that keep messing up your mirrors? How can you work to clean those off?

Please share your response on Typeset or any other writing you would like to post. It can always be anonymous - just let me know when you send the email in the submission form..

Drafts on Wrong Notes

Years ago I memorized the song “Heart and Soul” on the piano; I have absolutely no clue what the actual notes are, I just play from memory. I have done it so many times that it is effortless and I sound like I know what I’m doing. Yet, if you put a new song in front of me I would make mistakes, play wrong notes and stumble around for a while. I would need to ask questions and count out loud. At a certain point, it seems, life itself resonates with this; we have our memorized routines and as long as nothing upsets these, we sound pretty good.

My day to day life often feels like I’m playing “Heart and Soul”, it’s an upbeat, if not redundant little song. I make breakfast, clean it up, go to the gym, run to the store, wash the laundry, post a pretty picture for work and meet the writing deadline. I’m programmed to drive through car line at pick up and rinse the dishes before I put them in the dishwasher. It’s a memorized routine that makes me look like I know what I’m doing. I can check the boxes off my list: clean the bathroom-check, forget to get the one thing I went to the store for and go back-check, post for work with the right hashtags-check.

Yet, sometimes I’m carrying a basket of laundry up from the basement and I have this feeling of sadness that seemingly comes out of nowhere. Now, if I was wrestling out the vacuum, this notion would be no mystery . . . but, I actually enjoy folding laundry. This feeling is not part of the song. It throws me off and I miss a beat. Did anyone hear that? Maybe I can quickly get back on track? But my fingers are off now and the rhythm is too slow. I’ll never get everything done at this rate. I’m very busy like all of us, so if I miss a note there aren’t clean towels for showers or butter for the toast in the morning. Work piles up like mail on an entryway table. Tomorrow or perhaps the next day I will open those bills, renew those subscriptions, hang those cards on my fridge.

For me missed notes are felt most in the rare moments of forced slowing down, like in the shower or driving; I perceive sadness like a chill in the air. It may feel slight and undedicated. If I keep moving I can stay warm. I can put on a sweater by turning on an audiobook in the car or playing the news into the hazy morning. A friend’s company can warm me like heat from a fire, but once I step away, the air around me can grow cold. The song grows faint and fades to the background.

My life is a song I play, and it has a rhythm that I know by heart. At times it is complicated with events and trials. We opened a small business and I didn’t even recognize the melody for a while. New people enter my life and add more chords, but my fingers return to the right keys. I can make my life look good on social media. I have access to all those great filters. I can brighten those shadows that follow me up the basement stairs, the fears that keep me up at night, the 100 things I would change about myself. And, I just keep playing.

But sometimes I play wrong notes. I stop in the middle and I forget the tune and it starts to unravel like sheet music blowing in the wind. I practiced. I memorized. But what about when we lose our place and can’t find it again? Our lives were on track and something went wrong. We wrote the novel and nothing happened, perhaps our marriage feels one-sided or our children have problems that we feel helpless to fix. No filter will smooth these disappointments. This song isn’t practiced and perfected until it feels smooth and people will dress up and buy tickets; it’s more like a late night jazz club where the tired musician is making it up as he goes and it just doesn’t quite come together.

The wrong notes for me are focusing on the painful parts. Stopping the music and letting the notes all fall down around me. The people I wish were still here, the let downs, the hurtful words and the places that I fail over and over again. It’s like I’m driving on familiar roads and suddenly fog blows across the street and I can’t see anything. The familiarity has vanished and I have to take the path one second at a time, just following the yellow line with gripped hands. An unexpected diagnosis, a job elimination, a best friend announces she is moving and then the song of your life has changed from a memorized waltz to a clunky jazz piece.

I believe there is a purpose to the wrong notes, but my answer is irregular and mathematically incorrect. The sadness that finds its way into my song will never be answered in this life. That feels like a terrible answer. Even a non-answer. I want a better solution, perhaps living a cleaner lifestlye or being a good positive person, focusing on my family or my art . . . surely these things can chase away the fog. I love the sweet melody they bring to me, yet the mist rolls in unexpectedly. For some of us, like myself, it’s occasional, but for others, it’s a relentless storm. I have always wanted my faith to answer, as in solve, this broken part of my life. I have wondered where is God in this? Why is He silent? Where are His promises?

I have realized, somewhat recently, that God has answered these questions. The answer is more like a symphony than a memorized ditty. Although, I feel His hand in my joys—in a well-written piece, in a child’s sleepy hug and in a friend’s kind words; I find I do not long for my Lord in these moments. I long for Him in the broken parts. When the sadness comes and I look at what I am missing. That’s when I need Him. I need to know deep in my soul that this isn’t it, that this life will never be enough. I have to look upward when the fog engulfs and it reminds me that I am not there, I am not home. I need to hear His voice when the notes are discordant, when I lose my way.

This post feels clunky to me, I abandoned it for weeks only to return to it and try to rework it, yet again. I cut out whole sections and added new paragraphs, trying to make all the pieces fit perfectly together. I have sat here and reread it and thought maybe I just can’t make these scattered notes play the same song. Other posts have felt seamless, like the words were in concord. Not this one—I suspect it has some wrong notes. But suddenly that felt just right for this piece. So I hand it to you, imperfect and broken in places; perhaps it’s just what you needed to hear today.

Write a draft about your personal wrong notes and how they have an effect on you. Have you ever shared them?

Journal about the parts of life that are like a memorized song, what happens when you hit a false note?