Stumbling Around in The Light

New Easter Life

We stand under sunrise sky, fresh-powder snow under foot. 
The morning is still, windless, a holy-hush of Easter reverence.

Kevin carries the risen-bread, I carry the bitter cup, and our heads bend in prayer & newly-awakened thanksgiving, over this our holy, new-Easter-year communion.  Jammy-pants stuffed into snowboots, bathrobes as coats, we smile & gaze & rub sleep from our eyes, breathing clouds of early-morning-giggles into the cold air.  The bread is fluffy and warm, a comforting breaking-of-fast from the unleavened Passover week.  The wine is bitter, rancid, sour...and we sip it slow, intent.  No sweet grape juice this Resurrection Sunday; this day we will sip the bitter cup, a symbol of our submission to His Will, a symbol of our willingness to accept His Path, instead of the petulant pursuit of My Way.

Just seven days earlier, we gathered around the Aspen table, spread with a motley feast of eggs, greens, matzo, haroseth.

As we dipped bitter greens into salty tears, we talked of how bitter life is without Him, how filled with tears...

"But, if we have Jesus, Mommy, then why do we have to eat the horseradish? It burns and makes me choke and cry! I don't like it!"

And then the admission:
Sometimes, there is bitterness-that-burns, in the obedience; sometimes there are choking tears in the following.  But in Him, we can trust there is a sweet cup of rich, red grapes to soothe the sting; the juice of His sacrifice, crushed, pressed down, filtered down into these cups of sanctification, remembrance, salvation...celebration...

On the afternoon of our Easter Resurrection Celebration, another table is spread with swaths of yellow and green; colorful flowers and eggs beckon us to feast, to join Him in celebration of this unending, abundant gift of Grace.  Friends and family gather, laughing, loving, rejoicing, relishing.  Little ones search and find and pluck treats from new-life-eggs, and we taste His sweetness, and we speak anew our commitment to follow Him, even into the bitterness, and we thank Him for all these gifts of remembrance, of rejoicing. 

We'll do it wrong, over and again, but for now we voice the longing of our souls: 
to pursue God's Will, to relinquish our own.
Despite our self-absorption, we are filled with an aching desire to surrender the hard-hearted, unforgiving, stiff-neck for a willingness to bend and submit to the windstorm of the Windmaker.

I hear His voice calling me in the wind, whispering softly under the cacophony of this cyclone-home full of children and chores and joy and demands and dreams: 
"I AM here..."
If I listen, He is here, in the middle of it all, calling me to sip this sometimes bitter-cup, sometimes sweet-cup, of motherhood.  Guilt whispers - the submitting should all be laughter and beauty and happiness.  Yet the truth is submitting is hard work, sacrifice, perpetual nitty-gritty forgiveness; its the caring when it feels I'm all poured out, spent, emptied.

And isn't that what Easter is all about?
God's poured-out gift of Christ's submission,
washing over my shame with perpetual forgiveness.

So this is the start of my New Year: and this resolution to offer myself up for surrender to His Way.  That my faith may have new Easter life, that the sip of bitter-cup will make way for the sweet taste of sanctification.

What does it profit, my brethren, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? Can faith save him? If a brother or sister is naked and destitute of daily food, and one of you says to them, “Depart in peace, be warmed and filled,” but you do not give them the things which are needed for the body, what does it profit? Thus also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead.
 But someone will say, “You have faith, and I have works.” Show me your faith without your works,and I will show you my faith by my works. You believe that there is one God. You do well. Even the demons believe—and tremble! But do you want to know, O foolish man, that faith without works is dead?  Was not Abraham our father justified by works when he offered Isaac his son on the altar? Do you see that faith was working together with his works, and by works faith was made perfect?

Is God calling you to bring your faith to new life?
Any Easter resolutions?

Rocks

Five unfulfilled days, and we turn from palms to rocks.

I wanna think I'm better than them; better than the ones who begged their hosannas, then just days later, gripped rocks of disappointment, bitterness, vengeance.

But here I stand, here I live, with a rock in my hand.
It's the rock of My Way. 

This is how it's gonna go, okay, God?  Do You hear me? Can You see me? 'Cause I'm praying in faith, and this is what I need...

I hold my rock tightly, I fill my pockets, I scramble to keep the armload of all things My Way close to my chest.  The children need to do things my way, Kevin should react according to my way, circumstances need to work out my way.  Else I stamp and cry and complain, petulantly, even bitterly, throwing my rocks at those who offend.  Family. Circumstances. Myself.  My God?

I wanna be better than them: the rockholders.  I can scarce breathe the truth to myself, but I know it none-the-less.

When the wind blows too fiercely, I stand hard against it, and shake my fist at the Windmaker, and grip tight-fisted the rocks of My Way.

Who am I to tell the Windmaker how to blow the wind?

I read again the story of Jesus in the garden, praying to his Father...

And He was withdrawn from them about a stone’s throw, and He knelt down and prayed,  saying, “Father, if it is Your will, take this cup away from Me; nevertheless not My will, but Yours, be done.” Then an angel appeared to Him from heaven, strengthening Him.  And being in agony, He prayed more earnestly. Then His sweat became like great drops of blood falling down to the ground.  - Luke 22:41-44

He began to be sorrowful and deeply distressed.  Then He said to them, “My soul is exceedingly sorrowful, even to death. Stay here and watch with Me.”  He went a little farther and fell on His face, and prayed, saying, “O My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from Me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as You will.” ...Again, a second time, He went away and prayed, saying, “O My Father, if this cup cannot pass away from Me unless I drink it, Your will be done.”  - Matt 26:37-42

It comes to me in a rush, a moment of merciful, guilt-lifting revelation:
Jesus too, struggled to lay down the rock of his own way. 

O God!  Abba, that in Your compassion You let us see Jesus' wholly-human battle of wills!

Why did He let us see?  He could have written it differently:  "Then Jesus went to the garden and danced a jig of joy & praise for the coming triumph through crucifixion..."

That could have been the example for us, the frame to fit our trials into:  When God leads you into trials and suffering, even unto death, you should sing & dance & whoop & holler & be 'inside, outside, upside, downside, happy all the time!'

But no, in His great & tender compassion, The Father allows us to see that Jesus agonized, He didn't want to drink the bitter cup.  God came right down among us and felt the heavy, burdensome weight of wanting to go My Way instead of God's Way.  He wept and prayed and sweated blood and called His armor-bearing friends to help in His flesh-battle for submission.

Nevertheless.

Nevertheless, Jesus laid his rock down.

He released the rock of My Way, and chose to drink the bitter cup of submission.

Choosing submission didn't suddenly lift the burden of suffering.  He suffered more, in His submission, than I can fathom.  He still cried out, in depth of excruciating-agony-beyond-all-agonies:  "My God, My God; Why have You forsaken Me?"

And there's the reason I grip tightly the rock of My Way.  I don't want to suffer.  I am horrifically afraid of God's Way.  Trusting Him is so...so out of control...so unknown...so terrifying...

I
Want
My
Way.

Nevertheless. 

Just as we can mercifully read about the humanity of Christ's excruciating obedience...
We can also read the Glory, the Joy, the Eternal Salvation of His obedience.

There is a greater good, a better joy, a splendor beyond all imagining, when I lay down the rocks of My Way and submit to God's Way.  No, not easier.  No, not without suffering, sorrow, pain.  In His compassion, God shows us, it's okay to weep & agonize & suffer over the submitting.  But the submitting must come, for God's Glory to unfold.

How often do I miss the sweet cup of submission, the comforting wine of His Peace, because I am unwilling to sip the bitter cup of God's Way?

If I can learn, if I can begin by releasing just one rock of my way, perhaps I can begin to taste the sweeter path.  Perhaps I will find relief from my burdensome load, and discover that indeed, His yoke is light...as in bright...as in shining His Glory, and not the foggy-facade of my attempt at control.

And what then? 
What if I begin to empty my pockets;
what if performance clattered down,
and unfulfilled expectations tumbled out,
and heart-hardened bitterness crashed into a thousand pieces?

I might cry then. And suffer. And feel embarrassed. But maybe I'll also feel lighter, brighter; God might begin to shine out of those vulnerable places.  I might be able to accept the way of the Windmaker, and find peace in the storm, bending with gentler-mercy to care for my children, loving my husband with whole-hearted acceptance.

So today, I try. 
Today, I release the wearying grip on My Way.

Any rocks you need to let go of?

Palms

Hosanna, hosanna!  Lord, Save us now!

They raised palms to heaven, branches waving, crying out for freedom, calling for a king to deliver them...

All week they waited.  The unthinkable happens, then Miracle morning, yet still the people cry out for a king:

Therefore, when they had come together, they asked Him, saying, “Lord, will You at this time restore the kingdom to Israel?"

We raise our palms to heaven, and cry out for healing, deliverance, provision, comfort...

The wind was fierce up on the ridge.  Tearing at my hair, whipping grit into my eyes, twigs and branches cracking, toppling, blowing down around me.  I yell up to the cloud-spotted sky, "Enough already; enough!  Can I get a moment's peace to hear from the Lord?!?"  In the span of a sharp-breath-intake, I hear the wind's echo of my words.  Did I really just tell the Windmaker to stop blowing, to stop all that racket, so I might hear Him more clearly?

Hosanna!  Hosanna in the highest!  Lord, deliver me!

I raise my palms to heaven, crying out for release, help, guidance, comfort...

The wind blows hard again. Baby in my arms, diaper bag & purse slipping down, and the Palm-Sunday-special, silky-green wraparound skirt whips wide.  I call the younger ones to stay close as we cross the parking lot, a frown etched on my face, juggling baby and bags, slapping my skirt down, silently cursing the fierce-blowing wind.  And even inside, the whirlwind continues, greeting friends with pasted-on smile, corralling little ones, staggering in as they cling to my legs.  In one swift moment, pride is shattered, as I stumble back, strappy-high-heels kicking upward, skirt flying, baby in arms...landing 41-year-old hiney smack on worship-center floor.

Hosanna, hosanna...hosanna...O God, help me!  O God, help me to hold it all together, to look right and do right and be right.  God, fix my circumstances!  So I can be happy, Lord; okay?  Just...happy?

And after I've held my palms up to Him, and cried my Hosannas...

Jesus looks tenderly over me and weeps;  "if you only knew, my sweet girl, if you only knew the things that make for your peace..."

Now as He drew near, He saw the city and wept over it, saying, “If you had known, even you, especially in this your day, the things that make for your peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes.

An acquaintance, the one who needs to see me thus, helps me up.  We laugh, I gather things, children, shattered pride.  But it won't be pieced back together this day.  Tears spring to my eyes, yet not of shame or horror.  The shards of my ego lay splayed out, open, broken, revealed...and released.  So tightly I have held those pieces together.  So tightly I cling to the approval, the acceptance, the pleasing of man. 

All at once,
the clench-hold is force-released,
and lungs expand with freedom of grace-covered-shame,
and tears smear black-smudged-mascara on cheeks,
and it is as it should be.

What if it's in this whirlwind that I find Him? 
What if this unmanageable whirlwind of life, that I ought to be so grateful for and yet find so overwhelming - what if through this cacaphony of wind and storm comes the seeking that produces the refining to grow the perfecting that brings His peace?  What if this chaos-of-life is just as it should be, with all its pain and stumbling, and the having-it-all-together isn't the kind of together that includes Jesus' true peace-presence anyway?

Who am I to tell the Windmaker to stop blowing the wind?

Hosanna, hosanna...Lord, make me...happy? 

I raise my palms to heaven, and cry out, "Abba! Father!"

Hosanna, hosanna! 
Lord let me seek You in this fierce storm;
Let me find You in this whirlwind; 
Save me, save me from myself!

Lord, open my eyes to see the things that make for my peace: 
not the things I want, not the circumstantial hosanna-longings of my flesh and heart, but the upended, pride-shattering things of You, true mercies I can't even begin to understand.

 

Spending Time

Just.

Don't.

Have.

Time.

And there's the lie.  'Cause we all have the same hours in the day.  The bottom line is, I didn't choose to spend time on __________ (fill in the blank).

So I've been spending time on other things.  Choosing those things; creating priorities from the organic flow of life.
Working with Creative Team at my church, on our Holy Week services. 
Writing a script for the drama/skit we're doing Sunday, and the sequal for Good Friday. 
Singing with worship team for a women's conference this past weekend. 
Pushing my husband out the door for a 'work intensive' to get some of his own writing & creating done. 
Getting all our tax stuff together (a collective, "ugh!").
Watching a movie with my children instead of opening the computer.
Memorizing the book of James.
Seeking God, out in the mountains.

And that's okay.  Choosing different things, different priorities.  Flexing with new opportunities.  Isn't it...?

"If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all liberally and without reproach, and it will be given him.  But let him ask in faith, with no doubting..."

If I pray with faith that God will direct my steps, and then a friend stops by and interrupts my agenda...is it an interruption? 

If I ask Him for wisdom, without doubting, for direction in our home-school lessons, and we get no further than sight-words-practice, did I miss it?

Who's agenda is it anyway?

Guilt awaits me in dark moments; whispering accusations, comparisons. 

So I squirm and blame and excuse.  And with the pride of busyness I claim, "I've just not had time!"

But don't believe the lie; 'cause I had time.  Twenty four hours in the day to spend.  Just like you.  Now if I can just trust and believe it has been spent according to His purposes...

What have you been spending your time on lately?  Has the accuser been trying to feed you lies about it?

Nitty-Gritty Forgiveness

There's alotta sand at my back door. 

Sprinkled around the snow boots and the flip-flops, ground into the rug, piled in the doorjam - sand.

And I really, really don't like it. Even tho I love seeing the kids out in the sandbox on these sunny Spring days.  Even tho I love the sandbox itself, a huge 9ft by 9ft square, bordered by unfinished, rough-cut Aspen logs from our property.

It's just the sand at the back door that drives me crazy.  Okay, and the sand that gets tracked into the bathroom.  And the sand that ends up trapped in pockets and cuffs and hoods, to spill out like so much irritation on the laundry room floor. 

When we talk about forgiveness, we're always talking about the big stuff.   Forgiving the abusive parent, the unfaithful spouse, the back-stabbing friend.  Or the bully that kicked you on the playground, the sister who stole your boyfriend, the contractor who screwed up your remodeling project. 

And then of course in family, it's always this 3-step process of apology, forgiveness, and reconciliation.  I find myself coaching the little boys thru forgiveness-scripts: 

Mommy:  "Did you hit your little brother?!  You need to go say you're sorry!"
Stinker #1:  "...sorrrrreeeee..."
Mommy:  "Good. So buddy, now you need to say 'I forgive you.'"
Stinker #2:"...I fragive you..."
Mommy:  "Now, give each other a hug..."

That's all good & fine.  But the thing I'm struggling with is forgiving in the nitty-gritty.  Forgiving the stuff where there's really no major thing to forgive.  Like that stinkin' pot-hole in the road that nearly rattled the teeth outta my head last week.  And the brand new jar of stuffed olives gone bad.  And yeah, the sand.

It's not like the kids are out to get me, with the whole sand thing.  I mean, sand happens.  Toddler sits in sandbox, sand gets into capri cuffs, sand goes all over bathroom floor.  I certainly don't blame the maddening grit of sand tracked halfway down the hallway on her. 

And yet I get so mad.

Who am I mad at? 

Who do I need to forgive?

Maybe when Jesus was talking about forgiving seventy times seven, and turning the other cheek, and walking the extra mile...maybe He was talking also about endurance.  About enduring the temptation to grumble and frown and slam the door open and bang the little pink sneakers extra hard on the deck to get all that sand out.  (not that I'd ever do that.  I mean, what kinda mom do you think I am?)

Maybe little irritations like sand are actually some of those trials I'm supposed to consider a gift.  Maybe sand is the opportunity for me to learn patience, and let patience have it perfecting (ouch) work.

And then I think...what about those little things that get me all mad at the big kids?  Breakfast dishes still piled up at dinnertime...overflowing trash cans...paints and beads and fabric scraps scattered across the table.  What about those little things that grind like sand in my shoes, about my husband? 

How quickly...how easily, I get so mad.

And I spew it too: 
"Would you PULeeeze take out the trash already?"
"If this isn't cleaned up in 10 minutes I'm throwing it all out!"
"I have told you a thousand times to have your breakfast chores done by 10am!"
"WHO took my cell phone and didn't put it back?"

But lately, James has been speaking back to me:

"Let patience have its perfecting work.... 
Blessed is the one who endures temptation... 
Do not be deceived, every perfecting gift is from above... 
Let everyone be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger, for the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God... 
You must be a doer of the Word, and not a forgetful hearer... 
Whoever claims to be religious, and does not bridle her tongue, deceiving herself, this one's religion is useless..."

There are so many things in the nitty-gritty of day-to-day busyness with a family of nine that require patience, and endurance, and listening, and doing, and shutting up...and forgiving.  Forgiving right away, right in the midst of the grit of sand on the rug. 

Isn't that what Jesus taught us?  Isn't that what His crucifixion & resurrection is all about? 

"Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do!"

O God, forgive me.   Teach me Your ways of forgiveness, especially in the nitty-gritty of life.

How do you deal with forgiveness in the nitty-gritty?

My Favorite

Linking up with Lisa-Jo over at The Gypsy Mama; with an exercise she calls Five Minute Friday.
1. Write for only five minutes. Don’t edit. Don’t over think. Don’t stifle your creativity.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. Go leave some comment love for the five minuter
who linked up before you.

--------------------------------

So, here goes...

Some days I'm all about my kids.  You know what I mean...the baby couldn't be any cuter, the older ones are such great helpers, and everyone in between captures mommy's adoring focus. 

Some days I'm all about myself.  Uh-huh, I bet you get this one too.  Those are the cranky days, where everyone from the humans in my household, to the humans responsible for that #^%*& pothole in the road, are ready recipients of my ire.

Tuesdays I'm usually all about my girlfriends.  That's when we have our girl's-group Bible study, and my soul is filled to overflowing with laughter, compassion, encouragement, conviction...and I generally wish our morning hours together could go on & on.

If I was alot holier than I actually am, I'd say that everyday is all about the Lord...but nope, I'm just not that holy.  Always striving to be, reaching towards that, but honestly at this point, Sundays are pretty much the only day all about God. 

But every few weeks, for about 6 or 7 days out of each month, I'm all about my Kevin.  Yup, since yesterday morning, he's been my favorite.  That's pretty much where I'm at right now...beyond my control, like some instinctive pull, I'm magnetically drawn to my husband.  Every irritation or frustration I sometimes struggle with (who me?) is swept away by the curve of his bottom lip, the craggy smile-crinkles at the corners of his eyes, his laugh, his touch...

We went on a date last night.  Spent 8 hours together, uninterrupted focus on each other.  Nothing fancy, just a few errands, some Goodwill shopping for jeans & shoes, late night split-dinner at Chili's.  But I couldn't get enough of him.  Who am I to have this incredible man?  Funny, sexy, wise, thoughtful, tender.  Best friend, confidant, lover, dreamer, amazing Daddy to our kids...

And I know I should be all about his heart.  Right?  The depth of his soul?  And I am, really!  But also?  Dang, I love his physical presence.  Every. Thing. About. Him.  Kevin's my favorite.

--------------------

Okay, here's what I learned about five minutes in my house.  I can't find five uninterrupted minutes!  Well, at least not this afternoon.  So that was probably more like 12 minutes; in stops & starts, between rescuing Serene from a fall, English Lit questions, Nekoda up from a nap.  You know, the usual.

And yeah, I'm gonna go back now to do some clean-up edits.  And add some pictures.  Of my honey, of course.  Yup, he's my favorite...

Who's your favorite this week?  Or...during those peak-days-of-the-month...who's your favorite then?  Or...who do you need to speak favoritism for...even if he currently irritates the fire out of you?

P.S. True confession, that post took me more like an hour.  I'm such a rule breaker.