For when the not good enoughs won't stop staring at you...

I've been feeling a little beat up - a little haggard, if you will. Third trimester alone can do that to a person. Throw in a full and busy [and fulfilling] schedule, some big[ish] things resting upon the heads of our family, and the general day to day of taking care of itty bitties, and a girl can start to feel a little haggard.

While I waited for my coffee to brew this morning, I thought to myself and to God, "I want to feel more prepared for all of this. I want to feel more 'in tune' but I don't even know what to pray."

Do you ever feel that way? Just...ill-equipped? And you do your best to put one foot in front of the other, trusting God to keep turning all that water into wine, and He keeps proving Himself true, good, and faithful, but still the insufficiencies of YOU sneak up on you and make you feel like a high school Freshman moving from class to class, waiting for someone to notice that you have NO idea what you're doing?

That's sort of where I am. My morning time with Jesus has quickly diminished in this third trimester, among all the stomach bugs and nightmares, and general lack of sleep. The alarm rings early and my body has often just begun to rest - so I've been letting it do so more often. I don't feel guilty about that, but I do genuinely miss my morning coffee with Jesus time. And apart from him, my not-good-enoughs always float to the top and bob there like the toys in the bathtub that are forever and always in the way.

I am also in the middle of an incredible experience via IF. I encourage all of you to head over and check out the tools they have to offer - on your individual journey, in small group settings, and even in a corporate atmosphere. How much I am learning through what they are providing! Some friends and I "did" the IF:Gathering together. For four Sundays, we gathered, watched wonderfully diverse women share the message God has put on their hearts, and then we sat for hours around a table, eating, laughing, and pouring out our own hearts. It was truly one of my favorite experiences of adult Jesus-following to date.

We are now using the IF:Equip website to continue our time together via Facebook conversation. And y'all. Today - isn't God sweet and pretty incredible in the way He knows what we need and plans in advance for us to get it at just the right time?

Peter. Sweet, screw-uppy, scared, bold Peter. He's my Bible crush - the one whose story and words almost always touch the deepest parts of my heart. This is the man who has been all over the board up until now...a hot mess, if you will. And then..."Peter stood up with the Eleven, raised his voice, and addressed the crowd." It gives me a lump in my throat!

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="861"] Also, the Scripture reference on the pic is wrong. It's Acts 2:14, if you want to read a little further.[/caption]

Peter always had some "Bring It" inside of him - but the Holy Spirit, he's the one that tamed it, groomed it, and made it have an everlasting "Boo yah" impact. What hope that gives me and what encouragement to live FULL of the Holy Spirit every moment of every day!

I AM all over the board - most of the time. I AM a hot mess - today and for always. But there is hope for me! The Holy Spirit is in the process of taming and grooming my own "Bring It," and one foot in front of the other is all he asks of me. He will handle the rest. He will take my little steps, my moments of "standing with the Eleven" and make them resonate with exactly the amount of "Boo yah" necessary for that breath.

Thank you Jesus for being you and giving us the Holy Spirit.

Thank you God for meeting us where we are.

And thank you for letting us know Peter and his story.

Easter Reflections

I spent the weekend reflecting on who I might have been if Jesus hadn't rescued me. Well, that and sewing and eating crawfish and visiting with friends. But in the middle of it all, there was the reflecting on my own depravity. I find that this is a good exercise for myself now and again - lest I begin to overestimate my own awesomeness apart from Jesus. Hear me when I say that this is not about guilt or condemnation. I don't do it so that I will remember how rotten I am. I do it to remember how sweet and wonderful Jesus is.

A boozer and a floozy. That's what I would have been at some point in my life were it not for Jesus. And maybe a bit of a liar - because I wouldn't have wanted to know the depth of my screw-ups. I would have felt guilty all the time - forever and ever, amen. I would have been a woman living under insurmountable regret. I would not have known this freedom, this grace, this (most of the time) life without condemnation.

Perfect Jesus came down and lived a perfect life. He loved and healed and invited others to follow Him. Then they killed him. The beat him and mocked him and he, for the first time ever, endured an apartness from His Father. He paid the price for all of my great sin.



And then...

He was raised to life. He was made new. Unrecognizeable even. He walked and smiled and loved - fully alive.

This is the hope that lifts my soul and sets me free. My Jesus - alive. Free from death and all things that lead to it. This is the gift he hands to me in this life. To live full and whole and new today - this side of heaven! It's not just the regret I am thankful to live without - it's the joy I'm allowed to live in today because He is alive.

He is alive. He makes me new. Unrecognizeable even. He frees me to walk and smile and love - fully alive. And He walks it all with me step for step.

Oh, how I really do love Jesus.

Thoughts from a Melancholy Monday

"Hug Molly and kiss sweet Catharine...It's killing me not to be there." I choked the words to my Mama past the lump and my throat and found myself surprised that it was there at all - the lump, I mean.

I woke up yesterday morning after a full and wonderful evening with some dear women sat around my table and communicated with their eyes, their tears, their words, and their laughter - that even though we feel alone right now, we don't have to forever. It was beautiful and rich and life-giving and affirming. I went to bed full and woke up  expecting more of the same, as a friend who I've wanted to be an even better friend for a very long time was scheduled to bring her littles to my house so they could play and we could get right down to what God is doing in our lives - and beyond.

What I ACTUALLY woke up to was a toddler with hand, foot, and mouth disease and thus the melancholy set in and hung low all the live long day.

Let me tell you that all was fine. The girls were wonderful. Marilee was snuggly and a little irritable, but she was not what she might have been - what I might have been - with friggity, fraggin' sores all over her mouth, hands, and feet. It was not a bad day, but I could not shake the blah's. I tried. I couldn't.

We stayed in PJ's. We watched more TV than any expert or super-mom would ever approve of. I finally got all the children's clothes in some sort of order.

And my sister, my best friend for as long as I can remember life, delivered her second baby. And I wasn't there. Again.

There is an ache that accompanies that sentence - an apart-ness from the people who have molded me and loved me whole for all my life - that runs deeper than my words can say and holds tighter than this life has the power to shake. It's good. She's good. Sweet baby girl Catharine is good, too. They're beautiful, and I am grateful that I have pictures to see and a trip approaching. But the fact that we miss out on each other's major life events - it's almost more than I can bear sometimes.

There's no answer, no solution. Only the honest acknowledgement of the pain of it all, another surrendering to the One who has allowed us to bear this particular burden, and the choice to keep living full and whole in the where, who, and how of today. So, I told Him it was hard. I felt mounds of gratitude to and for a gracious friend who hooked me up with oils for the hand, foot, and mouth situation, and considered that blessings and burdens blend together like the pinks, oranges, and blues of the Florida evening sky - to make something deeply beautiful - something so striking that you let your five year old stay up past her bedtime watching it disappear and marveling at it's inexplicable beauty. 

Then you rent Saving Mr. Banks and embrace the art of creativity and the way it allows you to cry for what you didn't realize you were quite so sad about. You eat popcorn and stay up too late and say feelings aloud to the man who lets you hurt when you need to. You go to sleep and you get up and you do it again.

And you know that Jesus, sweet Jesus - He is the one to look to and consider at the beginning of every day. He is the maker of beautiful, possible, and strong.

Being who God Created You to Be: Motherhood

So, I'm on this quest to discover how to still be who I am - like deep down in my soul and being - and also wipe tiny hineys all day long...and not feel annoyed by it. Mostly, this feels impossible. The wiping of tiny hineys? Not my thing. Pinching them, smacking them, tickling them? Totally fine with that.

As I journey through this, I am realizing that all of these gifts, talents, and abilities - all this purpose - well, sometimes I romanticize the whole lot of them. I make them into these spectacular, wonderful, go out and change the world things. It's not that they aren't. Or can't be. Or won't be. It's just that I want some way to qualify what God has tasked me with. I want to know - am I doing it well? What He is gently nudging me towards is the fact that I have the freedom to be the person AND the mama I am....at the same time.

Here's the truth:

• I do not read a hundred articles about to vaccinate or not to vaccinate. I have read a few, but more importantly, I prayed about and found myself a great pediatrician whom I trust. I do what he recommends that I do. Period.


• I am considering using essential oils because it seems like they work, not because I'm afraid of traditional medicine.


• Sometimes I do cute crafts with my kids - for twenty minutes - because I cannot roll that stupid ball again.


•       I think the whole "Great moms have dirty houses" deal is stupid. I am a woman of order. Josh is a Hunk of EXTREME order. Sure, there are things we let go of because our kids are tiny, human wrecking balls - but I don't have to have a dirty house to be a good mom, thankyouverymuch. On the flip side, if you're down with a dirty house - you can be a good mama, too. See how that works?


• I take my kids outside to play. I push them on the swings. I laugh with them. I do. But that is not my whole life every single day. And I am learning not to feel guilty about it. I am learning that I can still be their good mama because God put us together on purpose.


• I've read two parenting books. I really liked them, and they were helpful, but I do not attend numerous Bible Studies about parenting and/or mothering. I fully support you if you do, but all that information overwhelms me and tempts me to force my kids into some sort of predetermined role. And it makes me feel like my only job in life is to mold these tiny humans...and like I will forever and always suck at it. Granted, this is the most demanding role of my life right now - but isn't it possible that plowing deeper into my relationship with Jesus will be enough to help me do that effectively?


• I bake with my kids - because I love to bake and I'm pretty good at it. I let them into my world as much as I focus on entering theirs. We are a family. We pick up the toys in the living room before Daddy gets home [sometimes] because it makes him happy. I play Candy Land with Adelle because it makes her happy. I sing The Wheels on the Bus eight HUNDRED times a day with Marilee because it makes her happy. Isn't it more important that I make room for all my family to be who they are - including myself - than to feed them all perfectly prepared organic food? Unless doing so happens to be my jam?


• At the same time, there is much room for improvement. For less of me and more of Jesus in my mothering. MUCH room. And I have to keep a close eye on my motives behind a Facebook feed full of my everyday life - which happens to be the littles at this point in time. Am I using them to make myself feel important? Like I matter? Like my life is exactly what it should be? The accepting of who I am as a mother does not negate the need for change.

Does this make sense? Be the parent YOU are. That's what I'm saying. On this quest to discover who I am and how God wants to use me, it has occurred to me that I get to be that person in every facet of my life...and because God is so cool and plans for everything - that person is exactly who Adelle, Marilee, and soon Jude need around to shepherd them through these years. Phew.

This post inspired in part by:

Run Your Race

I Worry for the Mommy Bloggers

Chronicles of a Christian Millenial

Leave Room for Ugly

This one has been bouncing around in my head and my heart for the past week or so. I have had a hard time figuring out how to get it on paper without sounding just as graceless as those who got the post brewing did/do. So, I waited. I waited and I thought and I waited some more. And God did the thing He often does when I am struggling with a thing that involves other believers - He showed me how we are the same - how I can choose different - how I can love better - how I can be a do-er, not a whiner. Nobody likes a whiner.

I read two blog posts a few weeks ago - one in response to another. The first was an honest portrayal of her beliefs, a desperate cry for us all to be more loving, and admittedly, a shakily communicated belief about many facets of scripture. The second was a calculated response to the first post, a portrayal of her beliefs as they conflicted with the first writer, an attempt to extend her kindness and understanding, and also evidence that she knows little about the first writer, her background, or her heart.

I left both articles feeling frustrated - where one felt too open-ended, the other felt haughty and judgmental. Somehow, though, I found myself siding with the first author when, quite frankly, I disagreed with both of their deliveries equally.

Thus began the bouncing around situation. Why? What is this about in my own heart?

Fast forward a week or so when I shared something that felt very honest and vulnerable from my own perspective. The response of a dear friend to those words was the sort of thing that is teasing in nature but usually reveals a deeper annoyance she has with you. I haven't been able to shake the sting of her words since she spoke them. This morning as I waited for my coffee to brew, I mulled through them again - wondered what exactly she meant, and whether she was a butt-face or I was a baby. Or both. I asked God what He thought about it, and the response was swift and clear.

1. This is issue is between you and me. The reason it stung is because it's a thing that you haven't surrendered to me. Leave her out of it and talk to me about it.


2. What was her heart? Just as what you shared felt honest and vulnerable to you, so also did how she responded feel honest and vulnerable to her. You know she loves you. Let that be enough.


3. Leave room for ugly. This is grace, people. This is loving each other deeply. Leave room for grace. Make no assumptions. Confront where confrontations are necessary but be very, VERY careful about how you define necessary. And if you must confront - ask questions, don't make accusations.

This is where I felt the rub on those first two bloggers. I felt like the first was being attacked - and by some of the things she said, a little like I was being attacked - so my knee-jerk was to lead an attack upon her post in my head that night. I did not consider her heart - only her delivery - and I did not leave room for ugly. I still don't agree with everything that she said or how she said it, but I can rest the knowledge that THAT issue is between God and herself. I need not take it into my own hands, for that is an ugly place, indeed.

What's your darkness?

To sit back and wait, to let the Spirit of God stir and move and change and love us into a place where our hearts are wholly His - to this list-making girl seems like the hardest thing He could ask of me. To do more than tell my overly-chatty or angry four year old, "Be quick to listen and slow to speak," but to actually step it out in every moment of my day - it goes against my own overly-chatty, sometimes angry nature.

[God] will bring to light what is hidden in darkness and will expose the motives of the heart. At that time each will receive their praise from God. 1 Corinthians 4:5

I am not comfortable in my own quiet. I feel the need to contribute, to direct, to advise, to love through my words. It's part of my make-up - the one God gave me on purpose - BUT I see how much I have to learn, how much God wants to do in my heart, how the things that are hidden away beneath my constant noise and movement are the very things that are keeping me from living in complete intimacy with Him. It's only in my own silence that they can be unearthed, brought to light, and release praise from the lips of my Father.

The chatter is my darkness. Have you thought about what yours might be? I warn you - to consider this is to walk right into uncomfortable. Simultaneously, I encourage you - establishing that which is making things dark and unclear makes removing it look like pizza on the weekend...exactly right.

How being sick in bed is like growing stuff...

I spent the weekend in bed with a stomach virus-esque something or other. It was not a stomach virus, I'm pretty sure, but the effects of this pregnancy that continue to plague me. And today I had to choose to get out of bed and plod into God's Word anyway.

Isn't that a hard thing? When you are physically wo' out and growing another human being, you just want to sit in the recliner, eat chocolate [or drink Gatorade depending on the stomach situation], and look at magazines. Oh, is that just me?

I keep telling God that He's not funny - asking Him if it really is necessary to fill my mind and heart with possibility and what if? when I have the very least amount of energy to get behind it all. He keeps saying that He is more excited about meeting me in my need than in my plenty.

I know that.

I am also learning to take one step - put one foot in front of the other - and see what He does. If He stays still and silent, then so must I - and wait - maybe in the recliner with chocolate and my Bible instead of the magazine. Sometimes the magazine - let's not pretend like magazines are getting ruled out here.



Adelle asked me last week when our plants were going to grow flowers. I told her I didn't know. She asked me why, and I told her that everything takes time to grow into what God made it to be. We don't always know when we'll see the flowers or the veggies or even if we will see a darn thing come from that which we buried deep beneath the earth. We don't always know. But waiting's always a part of the game. Plant and wait. Water and wait. Fertilize and wait. Repeat and wait some more. Sometimes they flower one season and then straggle along for another but then, THEN, there they are big and beautiful as the morning sun - geraniums that just needed a little time to become what they could be.

So when I am sick and tired and weary, I will plod forward holding onto the knowledge that waiting and being sick in bed - it's all part of the journey.  Next season, there just might be big, beautiful geraniums!

A Bone when I Need One

Y'all. On this uncharacteristically dreary Florida Spring day - this happened. For 30 straight minutes my girls voluntarily played downstairs by themselves while I enjoyed salad, and French Bread, and Pottery Barn eye candy.

I wondered what it would be like to "shop" for the kids' bedding for a "summer home". Then I remembered it's rude/sinful to judge people who do and also, pastors don't generally have summer homes so it's a bridge I'll likely never have to cross. Phew. Because we all know it's easy to judge until you're the one being handed a summer home.

No one touched me or called my name. I think I heard Marilee flush the downstairs potty 83 times, but I let it go for fear that correcting her would draw attention to the fact that no one was touching me or calling my name. I checked later. She didn't flush actual items. She's just fascinated with the flushing "button" as she calls it. 

 

Also, at some point during this day, I laughed hard with the girls over the sheer joy of bubbles.

 

Jesus loves me. This I know, for he throws a girl a bone when she needs one.

 

The end.

 

More than Fear

It's more than fear that keeps me from dreaming. It's just...life. It's mornings in the library, two little girls in tow, that are so horrific you are driven to Ruffles and Ranch...and two bags of chocolate. It's sitting at the lunch table repeating over and over to yourself, "The goal here is not to hurt anyone before nap time. Just make it to nap time without inflicting any wounds." It's planning on a little down time reading and NOT moving just so that your mind and heart and swollen body can reset, but instead winding up with a squirmy, whiny toddler in your lap. It's compassion for the bloody toe-nailed, dramatic four year old. It's being so tired that you pick a fight with your husband because this is OBVIOUSLY someone's fault that is not me. Obviously.



Who has time to wistfully and whimsically dream and pray and feel excited?

I get this. I battle this. I live in this.



But as I read Hebrews 10:36-39, I am reminded that I was not created to "shrink back." I was created to believe...and be saved. To believe. To take a step when there is a step to take and to believe that God is handling the rest while I pour water into the urns that are my children, water into the urn that is my marriage, water into the urns that are my dreams. Silently, unseen - He is making it all into a wine that strikes people as better than what they are accustomed to. 



We must not shrink back under the weight of these monotonous everydays that Satan is working to take from us. We must believe. I must believe. I must. That there is wine fermenting, and it is gooood but it gets better with my every "Yes" to faith.



So today? Today I will do my best to dream anyway. I will push forward to laugh and love and play and do all that I can do to glorify God and point my man and my babies toward Him in this moment.



And all the while I will fight to believe that He is handling the part where I don't have the right ingredients to make it come out beautiful.

I am afraid.

I hear my alarm. I wait. I don't want to leave the soft space of escape but hot coffee and the possibility of seeing something more than my own frustrations today grab my feet and swing them to the floor. I pad quietly past the girls' bedrooms and absentmindedly stir in cream and sugar as I consider possibility. I'm barely awake and it's all I can think about.

What if?

I remember the bit about David I read two days ago. "When David served God's purpose in his own generation, he fell asleep." [Acts 13:36] David who got it all wrong - and somehow got it all right, too. He served God's purpose. God's. Am I doing the same?

I dive in further to the Introduction of Jennie Allen's study Restless. My stomach hurts and I want to cry. With every piece of Scripture that speaks of a dream and a calling and a specific purpose, a pre-ordained place in God's great story - I wonder if it can be so. I wonder if adulthood pushed me to dummy mine down instead of fight to dream more and more. I wonder how I have read this verses all my life and never seen the connection - never believed them for the details of my own little life.

I think of my response to the "living God's purpose" question - the one that flowed out in blue ink, broken heart, and fear lurking - all over my journal page. It's there. Staring at me when I didn't even know I was feeling it so hard and so much. The three most honest words I have spoken to myself in a very long time.

I am afraid.

The dam broke and they all came spilling out. Fears I've been harboring silently, never saying out loud because they seem like things I should be afraid of, should be concerned about. Maybe they are, but I keep coming back to the Love whose depths I am determined to plumb and there is no fear in that love. Today I am looking to test the length of the great love of Jesus. Again. Because His perfect love casts out fear...

...and I didn't realize I was afraid of so much.

Bring It

When I have allowed sleep to take priority over my morning time with Jesus for a while, I generally choose Jesus Calling by Sarah Young to help me get back into the habit of steady and committed time with Him pre-dawn. She writes the voice of Jesus so beautifully and has adequate Scriptural documentation to back up what she's writing, so it's a good tool for me to get myself back into a rhythm. After a while, I usually move on to some other Bible study - but Jesus always calls me back after a hiatus, which in this season, will inevitably come.

I told you yesterday about a restlessness of spirit I am experiencing. "Prickly" is what I called it. Prickly. Yes. That still seems right. It is uncomfortable. I am unsettled. I can't shake the need to - do SOMEthing. I used to perceive this as the same feeling as discontentment but the more I get to know this one, it's not that. It doesn't point me to bitterness. It points me to action. With discontentment I am just waiting around expecting something to, for the love of Pete, happen TO me that will fix all of these other things I'm dealing with in my life. In restlessness, I feel this insatiable drive to MAKE something happen that has to do with life-change and love and bigger-than-me. In restlessness, I begin to get my "Bring It" back.

Ephesians 3:14-21. I stumbled across it at the beginning of last week in Jesus Calling. I could not begin to tell you what the devotional words were for that day, but that Scripture - good gravy it has not left me alone. My heart quickened and my excitement mounted as I read it over and over again. I wrote it on index cards and tattooed it on the girls heads. "This one. Think on this one. There is more here than you originally thought." Here it is in the ESV:

14 For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, 15 from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named, 16 that according to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being, 17 so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith—that you, being rooted and grounded in love, 18 may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, 19 and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.

20 Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, 21 to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen.

Over and over again I keep reading it. Further and further it reaches past my intelligence and into MY inner being. It is changing me. Strengthened so that we may have a faith that grounds us in the love of Jesus and allows us to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is that very love that we are grounded in. To know it beyond anything we can understand - so that we are filled with the only type of fullness that fills to the brim and spills right over - the fullness of God.

To know Jesus' love BEYOND anything I can understand. Do you hear this speaking of experience? Of "stepping out and doing" as a part of the knowing? Look at verse 20 - it echoes of dreams, right? He can do far more than we can come up with in our wildest dreams.

For the past many years of my life, I have come to understand the love of Jesus in a deeper, truer way because life has happened. Harder things than I ever would have asked or imagined have happened to me, and I have been forced to either crawl into a hole of despair or into the lap of our Father. These experiences have changed me, and I am grateful for how God has used them to allow me to know Him better BUT I did not and would not choose them for myself or my family. I praise the Great Comforter and Maker of Everything to Good for what He has done, but I did not walk into hard on purpose.

This, though, this is different. This is God saying - Do you trust me enough to choose the challenge? To move past waiting for the next big storm and walk forward where you just might find one waiting a few feet down the road? This is the One who parcels out heaven and earth beckoning us to adventure, to experience the love of Jesus. Not just to dabble in it or wade around on the warm shore with it lapping at our feet as we gaze out at the horizon and wonder what could be. It seems to say, "Come and see. See what I can do. Don't just read about it in books or nod passionately as you listen to others speak of it. No, dream a dream and then, one foot in front of the other, begin wading into the deep of it. What I can do, what I want to do in you and through you is far greater than anything you could imagine. So dream, yes. Dream big. But don't stop there. Do. Act. Move. And as you do, watch your dream become more than you ever asked or imagined! I can do whatever I want."

Ephesians 3:14-21. It's got me all riled up, y'all. I'm sweaty-palmed and red-faced reclaiming some of the "Bring It" attitude that used to mark the essence of who I am. I am re-examining and plumbing the depths of the love that hasn't changed since the days of the philanderer and homesickness. I am choosing to reach out and experience just how far this love stretches on each side of me.

Yes I am, girl. Yes. I. Am.

I'm also praying that you'll do the same.

14-19 My response is to get down on my knees before the Father, this magnificent Father who parcels out all heaven and earth. I ask him to strengthen you by his Spirit—not a brute strength but a glorious inner strength—that Christ will live in you as you open the door and invite him in. And I ask him that with both feet planted firmly on love, you’ll be able to take in with all followers of Jesus the extravagant dimensions of Christ’s love. Reach out and experience the breadth! Test its length! Plumb the depths! Rise to the heights! Live full lives, full in the fullness of God.

20-21 God can do anything, you know—far more than you could ever imagine or guess or request in your wildest dreams! He does it not by pushing us around but by working within us, his Spirit deeply and gently within us.

Glory to God in the church!
Glory to God in the Messiah, in Jesus!
Glory down all the generations!
Glory through all millennia! Oh, yes!

The Message

Like a blank canvas. I can't wait to tell you about the dreams that are waiting to fill it up!

Discontent or Restless?

My whole life I have struggled against discontentment. It's always this season, this job, this ailment, this moment that is the problem. If only "this" would change, then I would experience a sense of fulfillment and purpose. "This" trickles down into every area of my life making me bitter, frustrated, and an overall negative person. "This" makes me live beneath that all things bad that happen to life happen to me on purpose. "Why does this kind of thing ALWAYS happen to me???" Newsflash: "THIS kind of thing happens to everyone. All the time. And usually to other people in larger doses and quantities than what you experience, Little Miss Charmed Life." I don't say this to bash myself. I have a lot of other redeeming qualities, none of which are humility, obviously, and I feel alright about identifying my own weaknesses. No need to worry about me.

I used to think that this discontentment issue was a direct byproduct of my lack of a growing relationship with the Lord. By that, I mean daily time spent reading and reflecting on the Bible and talking with Him throughout my day. I do still believe that, but I am finding that even in seasons of intimate relationship with the Lord, I still feel something akin to discontentment. Although my regular communion with the Holy Spirit helps me combat some of those other issues, i.e. the whole, "My life is pretty great but I whine about it like a spoiled brat," mentality, I still experience a restlessness that is often trickier to identify and pricklier to handle than the one of my flesh.

I think that I am BEGINNING to identify it as a restlessness of spirit. God is challenging me a great deal in the area of obedience for the sake of knowing Him more intimately, of choosing that which appears to be a little more difficult for the sake of being stretched and strengthened and changed.

As I was deciding which college to attend, both my senior year in high school and the summer after my freshman year - because I second guess myself when things get hard - and in this case things getting hard looked like my boyfriend - AKA Josh Blackwell - breaking my heart, I ultimately based my decision upon what I KNEW would be the most challenging situation for me. Someone asked me why I had chosen to stay at a school where friendships were hard and my ex-boyfriend was a womanizing philanderer [I can't even type that with a straight face] when I had the choice to hop into a really great life with all of my dearest friends somewhere else. I'm not going to pretend that I wasn't still in love with and partially hoping to reconcile with said philanderer, but in large part, this answer was true: I could have chosen the easier path, and God still would have used me. He would have changed me and blessed me, and I don't event think that it would have been a sin. He never was exactly clear about His opinion in the matter. It would have been wonderful in a lot of ways - maybe even challenging. But to me, in the moment, staying where I was seemed like the most challenging choice, and if you have the opportunity to be challenged and grown, why not choose that? Why not choose an opportunity to become more as a person and a follower of Jesus? Why not?

Somewhere along the way I lost that "bring it" passion. I released it out of fear because that which was challenging began looking bigger and harder and less worth it to me. I began to believe that life had gotten really good at challenging me all by itself, and I'd not go daring any-One or anything to use up any more of my courage, determination, or passion, thankyouverymuch.

And that's where you find this gal in this particular season on this particular morning. 30 and restless unless I'm ignoring Jesus, and then I'm just discontent, but God is doing what He does best and causing me to think outside of the neat little box I've put Him in. He's causing me to open the lid and add a few more ideas, and tomorrow I'll fill you in on just what it is He's teaching me.

Survival Tactics of a Sleep-Deprived Mommy

I think that, when you are the parent of young children, and a thing is happening in your life that requires great focus, attention, and prayer [aside from said children, that is], the easiest way for Satan to attack you is to cause the littlest biggest parts of yourself to be up for all hours of a night.

Truly - I believe this is one of his strongest tactics. And several of the nastiest sort of every days strung together all in a row so that you become so distracted with keeping your head above water that you forget about the other thing that needed focus, attention, and prayer and formulate a plan to run away ASAP. Or you feel annoyed with your man for no good reason which causes you to snap at him at the end of the day over...come to think of it, you're not really sure what.

For me personally, if I don't get a handle on all that nastiness real fast, it all snowballs into a heaping mess that looks an awful lot like me crying on the bathroom floor. I'm learning that in order to combat this particular tactic of the big, fat butt-faced liar, I have to:

1. Pray. A lot. When at all possible, build time into my day to spend time quietly visiting with Jesus, revealing my heart. And also right before company comes over with broccoli wilting on the stove while everyone is talking to me at once, calmly walk to my bedroom, close and lock the door, and get on my knees to ask Jesus for forgiveness for not doing this earlier and help showing love and seeing others - or whatever needs to be said in that moment. And then serve your guests wilted broccoli and be okay with it.

2. Memorize as much Scripture as my fried mommy brain will allow. Don't focus so much on the word-for-word, but on the idea and the heart of the message - as well as the Scripture reference, so that if I need to know the word-for-word I can look it up. Write one scripture/week on index cards and place them on my dashboard, by my kitchen sink, and on the foreheads of my children [mostly kidding about that].

3. Choose joy. When I am caught up in the fog of little sleep, catching Marilee sucking toothpaste out of the bottle...again, and answering question number 543 from the impressive mind of Adelle, choose joy. Choose to take a moment and see the way Marilee's hair floats a little when she walks, or the way Adelle considers others far more than most four year olds, or the way the "B" on our front door looks so inviting. Choose joy by taking time to see it all around me.

4. Let it go. Let it go. I am one with the wind... wait. But seriously, let it go. I was supposed to fold laundry yesterday and also mop the oh so disgusting kitchen floor. I read my book and took a nap instead because this pregnant mama needed something to aid in the maintenance of her sanity - something different than a perfectly completed to do list. Often that's the case, and I am STILL learning to do it.

That's all, really. It's nothing ground breaking. These are not newly discovered mommy survival tactics, but they are things that I am not doing well right now, and I am barely breathing. I know they work because I've employed them in the past. Maybe you needed the reminder today, too?

God Cares about the Mama Sheep

I woke up at 5 heavy-hearted and uncomfortable in my bed. I prayed, cruised Facebook for a while, made a mental checklist for today, prayed some more and finally dozed back off at 6. We all slept until almost 8 this morning, and I felt pretty grateful for that. Marilee woke up all fluffy haired, puffy-eyed, and happy. Adelle was still sound asleep at 8:15 when I went to  close her door. I felt pretty grateful for all of those things, too.

I brewed coffee, watched pudgy hands wave goodbye to Daddy out the window, poured cereal for the pudgy hands to eat on all morning, and heard the pitter patter of little big girl feet down the hall. Hugs were exchanged by all, celebrations were had for late sleep-in mornings, and juice was prepared. Somewhere around this point, I looked over to see the pudgy hands pulling a cup of juice off the counter. There was nothing that could be done at that point. Sticky juice - all over the kitchen floor.

Here is where the happy, lazy morning came to an abrupt stop. I fussed at Marilee in a way that I'm pretty sure no 18 month old really understands, but this very same thing happened yesterday morning. Yesterday, y'all. Sticky juice - all over the dining room rug - as I was preparing breakfast. She reaches, grabs, climbs - all the time. I can't keep up with it, and I'm beginning to get pretty frustrated and EXTREMELY nervous about adding an infant to the mix around the time that her abilities become more impressive. Adelle knelt in front of the juice spill saying things like, "Now I don't have anymore juice. Why are you, like, slamming the paper towels? Marilee's coming back in the kitchen." My best bet, at that point, was to stay mostly silent and give the shortest answers possible. Marilee stood at the kitchen entrance crying, arms up begging to be held. My coffee sat on the counter, staring at me as I mopped, reminding me that it was rapidly losing its cozy warmth.

Monsters Inc. is our distraction of choice this morning. Well, it's theirs. Mine was the Jimmy Fallon/Justin Timberlake History of Rap number. As I watched it, I couldn't help but lament, once again, that The Tonight Show comes on SO DARN LATE. We are in bed asleep by 10 pm, y'all. Every night. And we don't DVR. So, looks like I'll just keep enjoying clips and wishing for more. Jimmy Fallon is one of the funniest people in the history of ever.

But I digress.

Between the heavy-heartedness and my ability to slip so quickly from snuggly morning bliss into cranky pants, mean mommy over spilled juice - one thing is glaringly clear...I need Jesus. I need Him at 5 am when the worry and the fear sneak in, at 8 am when the day calls me forth, at 8:15, 8:30, and 9 when life's little hiccups point straight to my weaknesses. I need Him at 9:15 when I get a text that The Hunk will, surprise!, be home later than usual because he forgot to tell me about a racket ball game. And I have to decide whether be a witchy poo about it or be gracious because, really, I'm glad he's doing something for himself - I'm just annoyed that his plans make mine a little more difficult to accomplish today. And he's the easiest target at which to point my spilled juice frustration.

I need the Good Shepherd. Fortunately, I know Him, and He cares about the Mama Sheep. Isaiah 40:11

Remember that today, ladies, whether you are at a job that you hate or one that you love - and the deadlines are pressing in and you have spilled juice on your pretty pants because you did the whole morning mommy routine in addition to your other job. Remember it if you are still in your jammies at nearly 10 am with a squirmy fuzz head in your lap and on your keyboard and a monotony that threatens to turn each day into an eternity. Remember that you have a responsibility to love and lead your babies well, to graciously and gracefully serve your man. Do remember all those things, but also remember that when you run into a wall of "I cannot do this for one more second," God cares about the Mama sheep, and walls aren't really a big thing for Him.

The Office/Guest Room Combo

Okay, so remember that one time I was redoing my office very slowly? The thing about doing things slowly is that often times the whole plan changes in the slowness. I'm alright with that, but it does take some flexibility and imagination. My tiny little office was a really great space for what I needed it to be, but the more we talked about our washer and dryer being in the garage and how very much neither of us felt excited about that, the more we considered combining the Guest Room/Office. Finally, after some help from Josh's brother, we decided to eventually pull up the carpet in the teeniest room in our house and convert it into a laundry room - Hallelu-jah!

Just so you know what I was working with, here's the before:



The problem at this point was that I'd already bought the paint for my office. What do you do with that? You just make the guest bedroom work with your original plan. I picked white. Not even kidding. Plain Jane, Benjamin Moore Simply White. We live in a split level and the downstairs windows, as you will soon see, are tee-niney. Natural light is limited at best. In an effort to make this space - my space - as light, breezy, and flexible as possible, I sprung for white. I've never painted a wall white in my life. It goes against every fiber of my being. Even as I put it on the walls, I still felt really unsure about my decision. In the end I really love the freedom it gives me. I can play with furniture and accessory color freely and not have to to worry about anything clashing!

The thing about living debt free and on a single income AND really appreciating pretty things is that you are forced to DIY your life away. Sometimes I get so tired of doing it that way. Everything takes twice as long. Nothing looks entirely professional BUT it's all done in love and care and intentionality. PLUS it forces me to use things that I already have to make a space spectacular. I'll tell you more as we move through the pics, but that's the basis of how it all came to be.



The view from the door. Notice there is no mattress yet. Eventually there will be white, gold, and probably some teal or purple-y accents adorning a fully paid for mattress and box springs, but for now isn't that $20 Craigslist find metal bed frame really great?! As for the Roman shades...sheesh. I made them myself...obviously. I bought $7/piece panels on clearance at the Hob Lob, took the old blinds down, and followed this tutorial. I didn't account for the lining on the big window over there and therefore the top layer of fabric sags. I'll have to go back and make sure the fabric glue soaks in well, but until then it'll just look...bless its heart.

Eventually I want to put a warm wood dresser here to store office goodies and provide a space for our guests to put their clothes. Probably with an indoor plant and a giant mirror on top. For now, Marilee's beanbag chair that has a rip in it and is waiting to be mended will hold its place. Also, notice the little pixie in the bed frame.



This pretty little number - frame and all - helped mold the color choices for the room. My sweet mother-in-law let us go through her storage room and pick out any goodies we'd like to have. This one, dripping with Southern charm, caught my attention immediately. It was also the gift her brother bought her to take to Brazil as a reminder of home. How fitting!

Another thing that happens when budget is limited - you become a pro at making what you have work for you. These "night stand shelves" are about ten years old - originally purchased from Wal-Mart when I was college. Then they lived in our garage for a lot of years housing dust and spiders and Josh's tools. Then I cleaned them off and brought them into the tiny office because storage was needed. Now they've been painted the purple color that I cannot seem to get enough of - primarily because we had some left over from our foyer and it worked with the color scheme of the room.

Lamps on Clearance at Target. Art work provided by Adelle Catharine.



 

And this is my wall. The chalkboard wall of my dreams. The sheep painting is from my sister bear. Remember I talked about it in the original office post? And the portrait is me - well, is a Parisian artist's very generous rendition of me. It's been sitting in a tube since 2004. It makes me smile and brings back so many memories. The red chair is an old hand-me-down that has sort of become an old friend to me. It's not really anything I would ever pick out in a store, but I love it all the same because of the things we've experienced together.  I really love special little touches that have character - like this sweet little cat lamp - an old man reading to a little fellow. Such a whimsical, fun little touch - thank you, Gran!

So, this is what it looks like to do things all yourself, unprofessionally, and slowly. A lot of mess-ups that live on indefinitely, a bed-less frame, and guests headed our way this weekend. Someday, though, it will be complete, and I will love it more with every addition. I have learned so much in the absence of instant gratification.

A glimpse at the wrestling match inside my head.

A thing looms before me that is too big to touch. I can't even roll it around in my head to get a feel for it because it's so foreign - so other than anything I could dream up - or, quite frankly, would ever want to. It's a thing that, at this point, I should probably be praying FOR - but I can barely bring myself to pray ABOUT.

I'm not meaning to be vague and cryptic. I'm not even talking about one thing in particular. I'm just contemplating how Abe, Isaac, and Jacob prayed. We get so little of what they talked to God about. There's a lot of prayer about conception but not that much about direction. What do you think that means? It seems as though they just waited for God to say, "Go," and they went. Isaac just moved around digging wells until they hit one that no one argued about. There's an overarching sense that God was in control of it all, but there's little direct conversation with Him detailed.

I wonder if sometimes we make too much of "God's will." We glorify it and worry over it and feel certain we are missing it. I wonder if often times He makes it slap obvious that we should be taking that job, making that move, starting that conversation, etc. I wonder if we agonize over whether or not it is direction from Him because we are so hoping that it isn't. I mean, we are half hoping that it isn't. Wait, mostly hoping. Wait, only a little hoping. This is one of the reasons I love our God so much. He slowly and gently keeps pointing us toward a thing. "Yes, yes. I see it, God. Are we sure this is from you? Because nothing about it makes sense." And then He reminds you of every story there ever was in the history of the world about people following Him and you remember, for the eight hundredth time, that none of those made sense either.

So you just stand there and stare at it until you start to get nauseated. Then you take a break and pretend that it isn't there, patiently waiting for you to turn around and consider it again. But somehow, through a conversation that could only have happened if God strategically orchestrated it, you do turn around again and start to consider it as a real thing.  Somehow, the excitement begins to match the fear, or they take turns winning wrestling matches in your heart.

Maybe it's time to start praying specifically for a thing instead of just vaguely mentioning it in prayer because I know I can't pretend it isn't real but I really don't want it to go any further than this. Maybe.

What do you think?

How do you dream big AND embrace today?

I was up for my two hour jaunt last night. It's a thing that, with this pregnancy, happens about once a week. I've come to embrace it and since, now, I'm no longer fighting nausea for those two hours, I am using it to reflect and pray. I am soaking up the quiet while simultaneously praying for sleep to come.

I am leading a class surrounding Emily P. Freeman's book, A Million Little Ways. It has truly been a blessing - to read it a second time and to move through it with a group of honest women. What I am struggling with, though - what I always struggle with - is the ability to dream big for the future while standing with my two feet planted firmly in my present reality.

Once, I took the test that is a part of Tom Rath's book, Strengths Finder. It told me that I am, among other things, futuristic. "You are the kind of person who loves to peer over the horizon. The future fascinates you. As if it were projected on the wall, you see in detail what the future might hold, and this detailed picture keeps pulling you forward into tomorrow...When the present proves too frustrating, and the people around you too pragmatic, you conjure up visions of the future..." This seemed like a really good explanation for my tendency to be discontent with the present. When I was just out of college, I came up with a new dream every month. What could I do for a living that would use some of my talents and interests that wouldn't be the same job every.single.day? The things I came up with were endless - and most of them silly, but I would dive headlong into these possibilities because I was so sick and tired of my reality.

They never came to fruition because, you know, I do live in the real world with real limitations...and a lot of them were silly. I'd wind up frustrated with myself, with God, and with my circumstances. Then I realized that discontentment was a deep rooted sin in my life, and it needed to be addressed. So, part of that solution was to stop dreaming and to live entirely in the present. This also doesn't work because it requires me to tuck away a legitimate part of who God created me to be...a dreamer. I have continued to hop on one side of the time line or the other for nearly ten years, but there has to be a better way.

Do you struggle with this, too? How do you dream big, expectant dreams while simultaneously embracing and enjoying your present reality? Seriously - a sister needs some help!

Walk before Him

I find myself astounded - again. In some swift miracle, I am Emily again. I am eating chips and cooking dinner and dancing in the kitchen with my man. I am marveling at my girls and considering God's Word. And a week ago I was still in the trenches of "just get through the day." No one was dying. There was no great tragedy, but I felt like I was barely holding my head above water. I felt like I couldn't thrive or be enough. I didn't turn from God or get angry at Him. I just - walked before Him.

And for the first time, maybe ever, I didn't wrestle against the season. I didn't beat myself up about my lack of Bible reading or an ability to pray anything more than, "Please help me be kind to my children." I rested in three months of not being enough, of a dirty house, of my man taking care of me. I'm not saying I did it gracefully or without complaining - but I didn't fight it. I walked before God in that season - honest and open and in full faith that He would, in His time, get me where I needed to be.

He did. I am awake, snuggling into the warmth of Truth and the Word of the God who created me. He drew me back in. He always has. This is all I need to know, all I need to hold onto. He always ushers me right into the place I need to be. I am beginning to wonder if living like this - like it's God's promise to grow us and change us and draw us, not our burden - is a bit of the greatest faith we can have. Certainly it is more peaceful and restful than any other way I've ever lived.

It's only up to me to respond. To say "Yes." And to kneel upon the battlefield and acknowledge that He has carried and held - and that never once did I ever walk alone. Breathe in grace. Breathe out praise. In the pukes or in the glow. That's really all He asks.

Confessions

I thought I'd do a little bit of everything sort of post. All I can promise is that it will be truthful...and maybe a little sloppy. Read at your own risk.

1. There are so many things about motherhood I am deeply moved by - desperately in love with. Like watching Adelle's heart unfold in front of my eyes...watching her little God-created spirit bloom, her kindness evolve, her compassion grow, and her interests pop against the backdrop of life - it's humbling and fascinating and I cannot believe I get to be a part of it, for her and the other two behind her.

2. One thing about motherhood that I am flat fed up with is the clean up of other people's bodily fluids. I feel like I am forever wiping hineys, washing sheets, and suctioning snot. Y'all - I'm just not a fan. It's a thing that I cannot seem to get used to. I mean, I do it, obviously. And it's not like a shocking thing when it happens, but when it does, I always think, "Oh. My. Gooooooosh." Every single time.

3. I used to send cards. Like, I would spend an hour or more in Hallmark carefully handpicking the cards that made me laugh and think of one particular person. It was my thing, and I genuinely loved doing it. I even had a stockpile of funny cards that I was saving for just the right recipient at just the right time. I don't even know what it would be like anymore - to stand in any place for an hour or more just reading cards. I feel a little sad about that.

4. Adelle is starting kindergarten next year. At a place that is not my home. We are in a massive struggle of both faith and reality as we choose what's best for her and what can actually be afforded. As I enjoyed the no sleep curse of pregnancy last night, I could hardly bear the thought of sending her anywhere all day every day next year. I don't want her to stay home. She doesn't want to stay home. I know that it's time, but I think that I'm having a hard time letting go...and I never thought I'd be a mom who had a hard time letting go.

5. I am genuinely struggling with asking God for much of anything in regard to this pregnancy because my baby-having experiences, no matter how diligently I've prayed for them, have not gone smoothly in the past. I think I am masking my lack of belief in God's desire to give me a good experience with an "I trust His plan," attitude. Really what I feel is weary, and whatever, and let's get this over with. I'm sad about that, but I don't really know how to deal with it.

 

And there you have it. The things that have been bouncing around in my head this week. What's been bouncing around in yours??

The Truth About Being a Pastor's Wife: When Sharing Is Hard

[caption id="attachment_3823" align="aligncenter" width="720"] At Josh's ordination service...when the journey was just beginning.[/caption]

I have grown into this pastor's wife gig. I recently heard another pastor's wife say, "I just worry about being me and nothing else." I felt like that was really good advice, and I think that I am coming much closer to having that sort of attitude. I don't notice the loneliness like I used to. The Sunday Morning Single Motherhood thing doesn't even bother me much these days - puke-ville and all.

When Adelle - as in my first and only child at the time - was little and I still had time to curl my hair before church and be on time, nay early, to church - I made some comment about how hard my life was to a dear old friend who always calls me out on my junk and happens to also be married to a pastor's wife. His particular call out this time was an understanding head nod and, "Yeah. It's hard but you can do it. A lot of really good women have done it before you and a lot more will do it after you." As in - girlfriend, life isn't that bad and your situation isn't so spectacular that no one else has handled it, and handled it well, before.

After that I made the decision to stop being dramatic and put my big girl panties on, and for the most part I think I've kept them on - in that category at least. But there are Sundays, like this one in particular, when I find myself telling God, "I know, Lord. My life is really good. I'm sorry I am feeling a little pout-y about it, but I am." I found myself facing the same insurmountable battle I have faced for a great deal of our life here, and I was so grateful to feel Josh's arm pressed up against mine as we listened to the sermon. I was grateful to have my strong and steady best friend.

Then the closing music began, he leaned over and whispered that he wouldn't be able to help with the girls afterwards today and then took his post at the front to be available to pray with whoever might need to be loved on. But today I needed to be loved on. I wanted him to be there with me as tears welled up behind my once-a-week make-upped eyes. I didn't want to share the only person who knows me through and through - and loves me just the same. It wasn't his fault. I wasn't upset with him. I was just...sad. And a little lonely. And so, so weary.

So the truth is that most of the time I don't mind sharing my man with whoever might need him. He is good and kind and wonderful at what he does. He points people to Jesus in whatever way they might need, and that is an amazing, wonderful thing. I've grown accustomed to sharing him logistically. But every once in a while, I find myself completely unprepared to share him emotionally.

I recognize that this isn't all bad because my only choice in that moment was to look toward Jesus - to whisper my sad - and to remember that He has taught me that I'm never alone. There are people all around who don't know...they don't know that they really aren't ever alone. But not me. I get to claim that peace and grab the hand of Jesus.

Maybe I wouldn't have remembered it so readily if I'd been able to grab the hand of my man.