Stumbling Around in The Light

Kinda Pregnant

Just so no one has a heart-attack...no, I'm not actually pregnant.

But in a way -
I'm kinda pregnant.

After growing seven babies in my belly, you'd think I'd be plenty weary of pregnancy. I'm no spring chicken either; at 43-ish my body is past the birthing years & cresting the mid-life-crisis hump. And yet, over the past year or so, I keep thinking, and wishing for, and dreaming I'm pregnant.  

To help God grow a new life...is just, well, beyond words.

But of course, since this is a blog & all, I'll try to think of a few:
Ummm, how 'bout - empowering, challenging, thrilling, exhausting, energizing, nauseating, aSTOUNDing and pretty much all around terrifying.  (I mean, sheesh, who wouldn't want 3 months of morning sickness followed by 3 months of heartburn and then 3 months of waddling with a watermelon under your skin???)

Okay, but obviously there's more to it than that. And I think maybe my recurrent dream about being pregnant is true.  
I think God has new life growing in me.  
No, not a baby in my belly - but new life, all the same.

It's not much more than a flutter so far; a dream of something incredible and beautiful, eternal even.  A mission, a calling, a passion - finally conceived, and swelling within me.  I'm not even sure yet about it's name...but I can sense the heart of this baby, and its so much about healing, rescue, empowerment.

So this new life has been implanted in me, right? And I'm all thrilled & scared & expectant.  But if I leave it at that, the life won't grow or thrive.  Now I've gotta join God in this miraculous process - take my prenatal vitamins, eat well, exercise, rest...

You see what I'm getting at?

Just because God is makin' it happen doesn't mean I'm supposed to sit back & do nothing.

Being a mommy is all about joining God in the miraculous.  
Doing my part to nurture & grow the gift of life He has given me.

So this past week I met with an admissions adviser to pursue my master's degree in psychology.  Reserved Mt. Princeton Hot Springs Resort for the inaugural Mommy Sabbatical retreat in May 2014.  Dug into the 'Calling Class' with Free Agent Academy.  Scheduled a weekend with a business planner & author James Woosley. Created my Collaborative Crew' support team.  And tomorrow I head into Donald Miller's Storyline conference in Nashville, TN.

It seems pretty daunting - joining God in this venture, stepping out in faith.  

I'm feeling kinda pregnant with it all.
Grow, baby, grow! 

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Feeling pregnant with anything lately???

Mid-Life Deconstruction

Some people call it a mid-life crisis.

I sure wasn't gonna have one.  And sheesh, I'm what...42, 43?  That's not like mid-life already or anything.  That's way down the road.

Ahem. 

I definitely didn't see it coming.  I mean, who does?  
Cause in the middle of yelling at my kids, blaming my husband, being jealous of my friends, resenting my aging body, and killing myself to hold it all together...it felt more like my life just generally sucked, than some identifiable crisis.

Crisis somehow implies a catastrophic event: a volcanic eruption, bomb explosions, flash floods and mud slides...

No, I think what actually happens is a slow, gradual, inevitable deconstruction of life.
What has been needs to make way for what is yet to come.

I'm starting to see a pattern: for alot of us, the mid-life deconstruction happens somewhere in the early to late-forties.  Feels too young, doesn't it?  
My life is already halfway over?  I'm at mid-life?? Mid. Life???

And so here at the end of the world, and the middle of my life, it's time for a new start, a fresh perspective: Reconstruction.

But here's the really crappy, hard truth:
Reconstruction must be preceded by Deconstruction.
I know, genius, right?  That's some kinda serious rocket-science logic there.

Obviously, I couldn't see that in the middle of the slow, gradual, not-so-much-of-a-crisis train wreck of my life.  Now, with the dust starting to settle, I'm getting a hint of just how far back the train track was deconstructed, just how long ago my life started falling apart, trestle by trestle.

With a little time to let the bruises fade, and the wounds to heal...I get a glimpse of what a mess this train has been for a long while.  I was in serious need of some deconstruction!  

This mid-life deconstruction is a good thing; I can finally see it now.  I've been rattling along for too long, with too many slapped together spare parts, trying my darndest to hold it all together.  And now my good Abba God has a shiny new engine for me, and so many boxcars loaded with hope & promise.

Just to be clear - I don't know diddly about trains, or engines, or much of anything mechanical - so obviously, God is gonna be the one makin' it happen.
Thank heavens, cause I am plumb tuckered out of steam, or coal, or whatever it is that makes trains go, and finishes up this silly analogy... 

I'm all in pieces here, Lord!

Let the reconstruction begin!

* Steam Locomotive image courtesy of  Tom Curtis/freedigitalphotos.net
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Caught up in any train wrecks lately?  C'mon...spill it...don't leave me hangin' here deconstructed, all alone...

Makin' It Happen

I used to think Makin' It Happen was all about me.

Pull yourself up by the bootstraps, right?
I'm the master of my own fate!
If its gonna be, its up to me...

And yet, when I finally let go of all the trying & straining & stressing & pushing -

God started making things happen.

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Everything's getting golden around here.  The Aspens are starting to change, and just like every fall, I'm awestruck by the glowing beauty of yellow and orange leaves quaking in the wind.

Our western culture would say those Aspens sure worked hard to get so glorious!

Ummm, yeah.  Sure.

Why is it we so clearly see the mighty Hand of God in creation...and yet think our personal lives are in our own small hands?  

Seriously, it just doesn't make sense.  As much as I wanna believe it, and so often live like it - I'm really not God.

Now don't start with the whole, "God can't move a parked car...ya gotta get yer engine goin..."  Cause, duh, I know.  I'm not suggesting a life of apathy & paralysis.  Just wondering if all our cultural focus on taking-the-bull-by-the-horns is more bull#### than truth.

All I know is I got to the point of being so. stinkin. exhausted.
And then I sorta gave up.  Cried alot, ate too many potato chips, quit running, stopped blogging, and mourned the loss of so many self-aggrandizing dreams.

Through the cold, dark winter, my cry to God was desperate & simple:
Transform Me.

I've spent so many years trying to transform myself.  Be thinner, act nicer, get smarter, serve better, make your life happen, girl.

And when I finally said, "screw it; this whole change-myself project has officially failed, and I'm sending it to the shredder" --
when I finally laid back & cried & got off the treadmill, and admitted that I couldn't heal myself, fix myself, or transform myself....

God started making things happen.

Yeah, I had to 'allow' Him in.  I had to come to that place of utter helplessness & defeat.  I had to cry out for Jesus.  But I didn't make it happen, y'know?

And now, seriously?  I'm a little bit of a lot of transformed.
There are so many new, exciting, frightening, overwhelming, beautiful new paths ahead of me, my head is spinning!  In alotta ways...it feels like a new life is opening up for me.  And I didn't make it happen.

'Course now the challenge is to stay in this trusting, released place, where I remember that God is God, and I am not.  Cause there's a whole lotta stuff to get done, as I venture forward onto these new paths.  

I'm pretty damn scared.  
Definitely more free.
And hopeful like I've not been in...maybe forever. 

So yeah, I'm gonna risk typing again.  But this time in a transformed kinda way.

Here's a shout-out to God, 
for Makin It Happen.

How's God Makin It Happen in your neck of the woods?

Fast Forward

The healing journey is mostly a long, slow, arduous path.
Alone, ashamed, convinced its all up to me; rushing forward, then collapsing exhausted. Tripping and stumbling through briers and mud and dark valleys, it feels like I'll never find that light at the end of the tunnel.

How long, O Lord? Will You forget me forever?
How long will You hide Your face from me?

Somewhere in the depths, I begin to get it:  
I don't have to see the light at the end of the tunnel,
I just have to believe its there.

No sooner does my heart accept this truth, than I sense a glimmer, bringing light to my despair-blinded eyes.  And suddenly, in a rush, propelled forward by His grace...light shines all around.

Fast Forward.

Twelve weeks:  Classes, counseling, healing prayer, more counseling, more prayer...little God-appointed, coincidence-miracles all along the way.  And I find myself in a different place.  

Crying out, still - but now, seeing His face.

 

Fast forward twelve weeks:
Hope shines bright.

Are you in a season of crying out?  Praying for that Fast-Forward?

Light At The End of The Tunnel

There were dark days this winter.

Endless mornings of bitter cold and dim light; wishing I could stay curled up in bed and avoid the drudgery of housework, chasing after little ones, laundry, bills, home school lessons...  Each day so much the same as the one before, mind-numbing with repetitiveness.

Nothing to complain about; everything to be thankful for.  But gratitude evaded me.  The bitterness of a critical spirit kept my teeth on edge and my head aching with disappointment, resentment, exhaustion.  

I slept for hours, yet never rested.  Painted on a happy-holidays smile, but remained hollow inside.  Lost the motivation to get up, get out, get along with anyone or anything. Heart sickness drug me down, deeper & deeper, until physical sickness took hold.  Strep, flu, sinus infection...

I left the doctor's office with a prescription for antibiotics, and a strange new diagnosis: S.A.D.  (No kidding, doc - I'm sad.  Tell me something I don't know!)  A step beyond the winter blues, Seasonal Affective Disorder can you leave you feeling lethargic, tearful, apathetic, depressed.  And it all made sense - the chilling lowlight of winter sun in our mountain home, depletion of immunity-building vitamin D in my body, cold temperatures keeping me indoors & away from sun exposure & exercise & alone time & prayer...

I was suffering from lack of sun exposure, no doubt.  And along with that -
I was suffering from lack of Son exposure.

I would crawl into bed at night and cry to my husband:
"There's just no light at the end of the tunnel!"

From November thru February, the bleak words repeated in my head, tumbled hopelessly from my lips:
"Just. no. light. at the end of the tunnel."

Darkness so black, so endless, I couldn't see my hand in front of my face.

And then the Cross crashed in.

No, not with blinding light or burning bushes...
the cross crashed in with a simple, quiet voice in my head:

You don't need to see the light at the end of the tunnel; 
You just need to have faith it's there. 

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.
--  Hebrews 11:1

It was still dark.  I didn't see the light. But I believed it was there.

And maybe with a little help from vitamin D supplements, and working with a counselor, and forcing myself to get outside...
things got brighter, bit by teeny-tiny bit.

We got over a foot of snow this past weekend.  It was so cold, cloudy, dim.
But today dawned bright & sunshiny warm.

There will still be dark days.  Days when I've gotta choose to have faith in that Light I can't see.  But for now,

there's Light at the end of the tunnel.


 
How has your winter been? Need to believe for that unseen Light at the end of your tunnel? 

Unremarkable Me

I've spent years striving to be remarkable.

Ever grasping for brightness, for that always-out-of-reach glow.
Not just another dancer; I wanted more than corps-de-ballet.
Didn't settle for singing in the choir; I had to become the soloist.

English class? Nothing but straight A's & top honors.
Poetry contest? I'll win that scholarship, thank-you-very-much.
Stage productions? A leading role, or I'll move on to another company!

My marriage had to be fairy-tale bliss; my children the picture of perfection & delight. 
Gotta stay fit & trim,
keep the house tidy,
impress the in-laws,
please the friends: 
keep working, working,
working to be,
remarkable me!

Wholly crap, people.  I'm exhausted.

And I've finally figured out what you've known all along...

I'm ordinary.

Unremarkable.

So much wasted time & energy, trying to shine, trying to be so special, so radiant. But the real me? All by myself?  I'm kinda dull & weary.  Crabby, controlling, critical.

Ironically, most of my works are faith-related. 
To be a godly wife, a devoted mother, above-rubies and all that.
The Proverbs 31 woman, y'know? 
Okay, except without the up-at-dawn part.  But even there, we all feel a little guilty for it, don't we?  Sleeping in?  Not getting up to knit socks & make five-course breakfasts before the sun rises?  I mean, seriously, who can measure up???

What a relief to discover I don't have to. I never will.

God didn't create me to be perfect, only to be perfected.

What a relief to discover I'm not supposed to be remarkable after all.  Ordinary is just the place He wants me to be:

Clearing breakfast dishes with a toddler on my hip.
Endlessly picking up Legos from the living room floor.
Driving my daughter to & from youth group.
Laughing at the antics of my boys on the trampoline.
Scowling & scolding when it turns into a wrestling match.
Bending, cleaning, reaching, cooking, holding, fussing, loving.

Nothing remarkable about it.

And yet...
Everything remarkable about it.

The remarkable of what God has done.

With ordinary me, He has brought forth this home of laughter & struggle & heartbreak & repentance & forgiveness & love, so much Love.
Through ordinary me, He birthed these 7 amazing children; filled with imperfections & beauty & fun & frustration & redemption & love, so much Love.
Despite ordinary me, He grows a marriage, from roots of control & fear, to branches of commitment, and blossoms of hope & humility & vulnerability & courage & love, so much Love.

I've not been created for perfection, only for perfecting.

How strange that I've spent years striving to be remarkable for God.
So backwards!
He is the only remarkable in me. 

Ordinary, unremarkable me.

Oh, but with Jesus in me!
With letting go,
trusting; unafraid
I may begin to see
the ordinary, unremarkable in me
is really something special after all.

"...so they should seek the Lord, in the hope that they might grope for Him and find Him, though He is not far from each one of us; for in Him we live and move and have our being..."

 

Linking up with Lisa-Jo and Five-Minute-Friday.
And just for the record...I always cheat. The basic writing might take 5 minutes, but yeah, I go back & edit & add links & all that jazz.  Still tryin' too hard to be remarkable, I know.  So c'mon, cut me some slack. I'm in recovery, 'kay???

Afraid. No More.

Linking up with Lisa-Jo and Five Minute Friday



What if I were to become unafraid?

What if I were to let go?

Release.
Trust.

Hope; without fear.

Fear of regrets.
Fear of what you think.
Fear of my children suffering.
Fear of falling, failing, flaking out.

But wait.  What's that? 
What's that, Lord?

You have regrets, Teri, and regrets are simply a part of your humanity.  There will always be those who think ill of you, no matter how you perform or try to please.  Your children have suffered, and suffering will continue in this world, despite all your protective, controlling efforts.  And sweet Teri...hear My voice of compassion and not condemnation: you fall, you fail, you flake out.  Of course you do; you live in a fallen world.
But. I was beaten for those things; I paid the price.  Nothing, nothing you do or wish for or fret about can add to the price I already paid.

 

What if I stopped controlling & worrying & analyzing?
What if I renounced apologizing for myself all the time?
What if I quit responding out of guilt and shame?
What if I silenced my hard-edged, defensive reply of perceived accusation?

Things might fall apart. 
You might not approve of me.
Something bad might happen to my kids.
I might disappoint you, or hurt you, or offend you.
And I'm so afraid, so afraid of falling, and failing, and flaking out. 
But.
But I have, and I do, and I will. 
So why live in this prison of fearing the inevitable?

There.  There it is again...

Oh, sweet Teri, don't you remember? "For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, being justified freely by His grace through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, whom God set forth as a propitiation by His blood, through faith, to demonstrate His righteousness, because in His forbearance God had passed over the sins that were previously committed, to demonstrate at the present time His righteousness, that He might be just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus."

I can move thru this day in the familiar chains of fear, and I will still fall 15 times...20...200.  Or I can move thru this day in freedom, and even then I will fall 15 times...20...200.  It matters not:  if my goal is responsibility, comfort, perfection, and pleasing others - I will stumble & suffer in my humanness, whether I walk in fear or freedom. 
But what if my goal is walking in the Spirit?

I can't pay the price for my failures anyway. 

And I can't walk in the Spirit if I'm walking in the prison of my own fear/guilt/shame-shackled efforts.

Why do I try so hard to beat myself into the submission Jesus already paid for me?

As I type this, the phone rings:  3 teenage siblings in our small-town high school were in a devastating car accident this morning, and the middle boy has died.  My stomach knots with pain, worry, heartbreak...and so much fear.  In milliseconds, foreboding-chains strangle thought and reason; how can I let my children out of my sight, my control, my protection?  And yet how ludicrous.  Will my worry add one cubit to my stature, or theirs? Will it make a difference? Why waste this day in fear?  Hold them close, love them well, yes...but imprison myself in worry?  Tomorrow will have it's own worry, it's own trouble.

O God! That family! How can they go on? How can any of us?
Compassion - may it double.  Fear - may it decrease.

I sure don't have it figured out.
But I'm so ready for this endless fear-shadowed groundhog-day season to be over. 

If you know what it looks like - can you give us a glimpse?  Or just bring some of your own fear-shackled chains into the light?  Maybe together we can seek for that key to freedom...

Diving Deep

Linking up with Lisa-Jo and Five-Minute-Friday



I tear off the page of my calendar and take a deep breath.

Ready...
Set...
Go.

Diving Deep.
Into a new day, a new year, a new hope.

Glad to bid December farewell; kindred with Jamie, I ponder the pleasant escape and comfort of Prozac.  Would this pill perhaps go down easier than the bitter one of facing my demons?

Some tell me to shut up, sit down, stop rocking the boat.  Keep that mask firmly in place, and all will be well.  Speak the positive, lift yourself up by the bootstraps, heal thyself!  Onward & upward; you can do all things thru Christ who strengthens you!

Others reach out with tender hands, gentle words, and assure me: you are still loved, even in stormy-seasons of suffering, burning, refining.  Surely, as you fix your eyes on Jesus, you will emerge shining as gold; beauty from ashes.  Embrace the pain, trust the Healer.  Fortunate are the poor in spirit, for they shall be comforted!

I know not which is true, which is best, which path leads upward from these dark crashing waves of foreboding fear and doubt.  Perhaps it is both?

And yet for so many weeks I've been kicking, choking, fighting upward on my own ever-waning strength.

So this time, I dive.
Down, down, down...

Deep into this place of grieving; leaving behind the shining, glimmering, ephemeral fairytale.
Diving, swimming, fighting, kicking...and then...
Letting go.
Drifting.
Drowning.

Gentle me, Lord!

Trusting.

There will be Arms to buoy me.

The Love-Maker holds the future; one of faith-tales to replace fairy-tales. Plans for hope. 
Resting.
Quietness.

A season of hush.
Silencing the enemy-voices of fear and shame clamoring at the surface.
Silencing the words bubbling from this broken and longing heart.
Silencing the discontent, the guilt, the constant fear of failure.
Silence.
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“Woe to the rebellious children,” says the Lord,
“Who take counsel, but not of Me,
And who devise plans, but not of My Spirit...

“In returning and rest you shall be saved;
In quietness and confidence shall be your strength.”
But you would not,
And you said, “No, for we will flee on horses”—
Therefore you shall flee!
And, “We will ride on swift horses”—
Therefore those who pursue you shall be swift!

Therefore the Lord will wait, that He may be gracious to you;
And therefore He will be exalted, that He may have mercy on you.
For the Lord is a God of justice;
Blessed are all those who wait for Him.

For the people shall dwell in Zion at Jerusalem;
You shall weep no more.
He will be very gracious to you at the sound of your cry;
When He hears it, He will answer you.
And though the Lord gives you
The bread of adversity and the water of affliction,
Yet your teachers will not be moved into a corner anymore,
But your eyes shall see your teachers.
Your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying,
“This is the way, walk in it,”
Whenever you turn to the right hand
Or whenever you turn to the left.
You will also defile the covering of your images of silver,
And the ornament of your molded images of gold.
You will throw them away as an unclean thing;
You will say to them, “Get away!”

Then He will give the rain for your seed
With which you sow the ground,
And bread of the increase of the earth;
It will be fat and plentiful.
There will be on every high mountain
And on every high hill
Rivers and streams of waters...
Moreover the light of the moon will be as the light of the sun,
And the light of the sun will be sevenfold,
As the light of seven days,
In the day that the Lord binds up the bruise of His people
And heals the stroke of their wound.

Sometimes You Just Gotta Celebrate

It's Wednesday afternoon.

Time to celebrate.

Cause Wednesdays are hard, y'know?
Okay, well maybe not as hard as Mondays...but tough anyway.  And when we make it through the chores & classes & agenda & work, we could use a little celebration.

Fall is consistently a challenging season for me. 
(Ahem. Yeah, my husband would tell you that's putting it lightly.)  After the long, lazy days of glorious Colorado summer...home schooling & part-time classes & cross-country & choir concerts & chauffeuring-everyone-all-over-the-country pretty much stinks.  There are days in September when I'd just as soon get a root-canal with a chainsaw than get out of bed and face groundhog-day all over again.

By the time we hit November I'm kinda figuring things out.  Coming up with new ways to juggle kids' schedules, settling into routines with home school lessons & naps for little ones.  And learning that a mid-week celebration is a far better way to cope than wishing I could crack open a bottle of Olathe Winery's sweet red Pinolem on Thursday morning.

Sometimes you just gotta celebrate.

And maybe we don't actually need anything special to celebrate: cause really, can't life itself be reason enough?

So Wednesday evening we light candles, and play Ronnie Freeman on the stereo.  Kevin puts fish on the grill, while I whip the mashed potatoes.  Dinner's later than usual, 'cause its bigger than usual...and we all sit down in the warming glow of oil-lamps & firelight.

Laughter & conversation spills across the dining table, and Kevin & I clink our wine glasses together, "to home; to us!"  Little ones are cranky-sleepy by the time we finish, and the big kids clean up while we head the boys & little peeps to bed. 

By the time we're back downstairs, Uno or BananaGrams or Scribblish is on the table, and someone is poking around the pantry for chocolate.  'Cause seriously, what's a celebration without chocolate, right?

It's not some huge deal, and we don't have to do anything fancy...but for whatever-silly-reason, we're all starting to smile a little more on Wednesday mornings. 

I'm sure there's a pretty darn good reason why God ordered up seven massive celebrations per year for the Israelites!  He knows how bogged down we get in the doldrums of dailyness.  Our hearts long for celebration.

So, my weary friends...aren't you in need of something to celebrate?

Well, shoot - whaddya know, it's Wednesday. 
You made it thru Monday and Tuesday, you rock-star, you!

Time to celebrate!

Shiny Rocks

I love water.

I mean, I really, really love water.

I love water in creeks, I love water in pools, I love water in lakes, I love water in bathtubs, I love water in rivers, I love water in the ocean...
I love drinking a ton of water, I love long showers in hot water, I love clean, refreshing, life-giving water. Hot, cold, salty, soapy, chlorinated, carbonated, bottled, whatever.  In most any form, I love water.

So I'm at this retreat last week, which just happens to be a mile up the road from Mt. Princeton Hot Springs Pool...
Are you kidding me? score!

There I am, with a bunch of my dearest friends, listening to speaker Karin Blythe, digging into the story of the woman-at-the-well discovering Living Water.  And then we spent half the day in the water.  Heavenly!

So if you've never been to a natural hot-springs pool, I'm tellin' you, it is one of God's most astounding, incredible creations.  At Mt. Princeton Hot Springs you can go down to the river and sorta make your own little hot-tub, by moving rocks around to let in just the right mix of hot & cold water.

Up above, there's a naturally-heated lap-pool.  Halfway immersed in deliciously warm water, back-stroking my way across...looking up at the pristine, azure-blue Colorado mountain sky...and my soul wants to burst with peace and freedom and gratitude.

Later, we're sitting down below, in this natural, bubbling-up-with-heat river-pool, talking & laughing & soaking in the healing powers of mineral-rich waters.  I trail my fingers through the smooth bed of river-rocks, absent-mindedly pulling out bright stones.  I stack them beside me on a boulder, where they dry quickly in the afternoon sun.

My fingertips find a smoothly-rounded stone, rolled & refined & shaped into a sweet, fat heart.  I pluck it from the water. It's a deep, rich green; shiny & shot thru with golden-threads of iron-pyrite. I set it alongside my little stash of rocks.

Within minutes, my shiny-green heart is dry...dull, pale. 
Unremarkable.  Colorless.  Grey and lifeless without the drenching of water.

Oh.

Oh! I see...

How my heart becomes colorless, dull, lifeless without the constant drenching of Living Water.  And it happens so quickly!  A few days, a week...the busy-ness of life convincing me I don't have time for soaking in God's Presence, for absorbing the Living Word.

The rock sits pale & chalky in my palm.  A quick dip into the fast flowing river, and it emerges vibrant, lush-green, sparkling-gold.

The other girls laugh & scoff at my sentimentality, but I tuck the rock into my bag when we leave. 

That I might not forget.

I love shiny rocks.

And I love water.

Following Jesus Gives Me Hives

Ten years ago I thought following Jesus meant waking up early to read the Bible. Going to church twice a week. Praying more than just before meals. Not walking away from my marriage even when my bitter heart already had running shoes laced up & ready to go. Carrying the banner of my son's degenerative epilepsy like a martyr's identity.

My little faith took a beating.
I shook my fist at God. And my husband. A lot.

And then we moved out west, and hung onto our marriage, and God surprised us with our 4th child, so we got all weird & had three more. Found a church family that loved beyond the masks, right down to the icky-nitty-gritty. Went further into debt, considered bankruptcy, took a leap of faith & built a crazy-straw-bale house, & paid off all the debt with the equity. Watched God heal my boy.

My faith still took a beating. I shook my fist at God.
And looked at Him in wonder. My husband too, actually.

Isn't that just life, tho? This crazy roller-coaster journey of ups & downs & loop-de-loops. Tearing me down, building me up.

So, you know, still in process. Maybe with a little more faith, a teeny bit more wisdom. Definitely learning to listen more, & speak less, & stifle that fist-shaking thing. Cause it sure wasn't bringing me any kind of hope or joy or righteousness. 

And now Jesus has us veering off down this really bizarre path. 
As if we could get any weirder, right?

So, a couple of weeks ago we finished up the home study, and signed all the paperwork, and got all officially certified for foster-to-adopt.

And the next day I broke out in hives.

At first I attributed it to the sushi we had on Wednesday afternoon with my girl's group.  Maybe too much wasabi? An overexposure allergy to ginger? (love it!!)

But despite taking Benadryl, & Zyrtec, & vowing to never have sushi, wasabi, or ginger ever again...I'm still randomly getting hives.

And all that goes with it.  Generally acting like a raving-lunatic; high-pitched-nagging, rushing-late everywhere, whining, middle-of-the-living-room melt downs complete with the ugly-cry.

It wasn't the ginger.

I think, perhaps, it goes a bit deeper than that.
Like serious anxiety, psychosomatic, Jesus-following-phobia kinda stuff.

I want this Jesus-following path to be strewn with rose petals, and lined with daffodils, covered over with sweet-smelling lilacs... 
But it's not. 
It's just dang hard. 
Somewhere deep inside, there's a little girl, stomping her feet, pitching a fit: "but I don't wanna go dat way!!!!"  And since I'm trying to stifle that gripe-at-God thing...I end up griping at everyone else.  And covered in hives. It's like my true self, that petulant little girl, trying to scratch her way out....

Nope, I don't have a tidy ending for you. This morning was hard. Didn't wanna get outta bed. Cried myself to sleep last night cause I'm so dang mad I can't afford to get on a plane & go to Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of Congo, and rescue little Benie. Her face haunts me.

Yesterday someone mentioned the extra seats in our 11-passenger van, and I choked up, with fury and heartbreak and petulance...thinking of little Daria, wherever she is. Wishing I could fly to Kazakhstan and find her.

And all the while, I fire off complaint after complaint at my husband, yell at my kids, and stare apathetically at the dust-bunnies piling up in the corners of my bathroom.
I mean is this really it? All this waiting, and work, and drudgery?
I thought following Jesus would be full of romantic, book-worthy adventure; epic tales of risk & travel & lives transformed.

Jesus beckons, right up the path, smiling, loving, patient, encouraging. I trudge on.

And the hives rise up on the back of my hands, and cry out, "No, it's too hard! I want the easy way; forget about these briars of patience & endurance! Stop pruning me already! And this path is too steep anyway...and...and..."

Blah, blah, blah. Cry me a river, right?

'Scuse me while I go find some sandpaper...

Slipping

How quickly I slip away.

Wasn’t it just last week I felt the burn of Your Word in me? 
Oh.  That long? 
Has it really been that long?

O Lord, spit me not out; lukewarm and comfortable…

It doesn’t seem so many weeks ago, but I guess it was.  Approaching the bubbling heat of His call, stoked by the flames of implanted scripture, of persistent seeking. 

I could scarcely dip a toe in.  So fearsomely hot. 
Scalding away apathy.

Stepping in with surprise: expectancy and pain meet, with sharp intake of breath.  Ever gradually, I am immersed, slipping in till I am swallowed up in the burning warmth.  Every cell feels tinglingly alive, and I am seared with heat to the depths of my soul.  My very countenance is reddened, aglow from the burning within. 

Gradually, ever-so-gradually, I can relax.  Settling into the warmth; sitting back, stretching out, I become comforted and comfortable.  Acuity gives way to complacency.  Passion yawns and relaxes, unwilling to emerge from the now decadently-warming waters of His presence.  I know I’ve got to arise, to brave the cold and stoke the fire and join Him in this work in me.

But it’s so nice…just to sit here…and close my eyes…

I’m not even aware of when it happens:  when the heat wanes, when the fire dims.  And yet, here I sit, in these tepid, still waters.   With glazed eyes I notice the bubbling has stilled.  Where once I was surrounded with life-giving motion, all is now stagnant.

I come to my senses.
And I am cold.  Shriveled and shivering; with a critical spirit, a biting tongue.  Pursed lips.  Frown lines etched all the way to my soul.

With devastated revelation I emerge from the now-lukewarm waters of this present dimness.

But it’s not too late. 
It’s never too late.

The embers of His Presence ever glow, beckoning me to enduring warmth. 

With a stoking of prayer and praise, fueled by His Word, the fire will burn hot again.

And so I begin anew.

So This Is Love, Again

The following is a repost from last year, cause I need to read it again. And again. And again...
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On the stairs, seven parts-of-my-heart, from final-born cuddle-baby Nekoda, to first-born man-child Caleb.

Eager to see Daddy's Valentine's Day surprises.  Thoughts of roses, chocolates, sweet treats, and matchbox cars. 

"So what are we celebrating?"

A chorus of little and big voices: "Valentine's Day, Daddy!"

"And what is Valentine's Day about?"

Six year-old Ian: "About loving Jesus, Daddy."

Kevin and I stop in our tracks, eyes connecting.  Did you tell him to say that?  No.  Did you?

"And...how do we love Jesus, Ian?"

"By loving each other!"

Roses and chocolates and sweet treats and matchbox cars wait on the table downstairs.  We all stand, staggered in the stairwell, watching, smiling, eyes filling, hearts overflowing.  Even the little ones know:  truth has been spoken, from the mouth of child. 

To such belongs the kingdom of heaven, He tells us.

So this is love:

Loving Jesus.

Loving each other.

Truth spoken, with childlike faith and simplicity.  For Valentine's Day...for the celebration of romantic love...for reflecting His glory in my marriage, it all comes down to this:

Love Jesus.
Love each other.

If I can love Jesus first, then the other will come.  If I can love Jesus, if I can receive His love, if I can let His Love fill the broken places in my soul...then, I can love the one He gave me.

Love is not a feeling.  Love is an action, a choice, an obedience.
We all know this.  But do we know it?  Does my knowing bring that truth into my living?

Love is something I do, something I stop doing, something I put on, something I put off, something I give, something I receive. 

Love is going beyond the natural feeling and pursuing the Holy Spirit for strength to do the unnatural.  To trust a man, when the green-smoke lies of the enemy coalesce to convince me no man is trustworthy.  To submit, when Eve-within wages war against my good intentions. 

Love is a strange and beautiful, rainbow-reflecting, oil-and-water swirl of conflict and resolution. Love is a cheek-aching night of laughter with treasured friends, sharing stories of first kisses and wedding night snafus and cold-in-the-night, cuddling-for-heat confessions.  And love is also wee-morning-hour sobbing and retching and comforting and careening-away and drawing back, and covering it all with love-in-action, fear-ignited fervent prayer.  Love is being held when everything falls.  Love is sticking it out even when the holding has to be Heavenly Hands, and the free-falling is the waking-nightmare of seeing the hole in my soul that leaks black-bottomless-darkness onto the one He gave me. 

Love is consuming, pulling-into-one-another passion of gratitude for the one-given who brings healing to the wounded-raw parts of my heart.  And Love is jaw-clenching, fisted-hands determination to press-into-one-another, even when discovering that same given-one also brings wounding to the healing-raw parts of my heart.

Love is knowing there is pain in this world, and accepting God's truth that He is more concerned with perfecting us through the pain, than protecting us from the pain.

Love is believing through the pain, for the perfecting, and still with compassionate arms of love, protecting.

Loving Jesus.

Loving each other.

So this is Love.
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How's your love life going?

Launching The New Year

Yeah, I know, we're already halfway thru January...

but this week felt like the launching of the new year.

Monday was our first day back into all the busyness of home school lessons, cottage school, youth group, extracurricular classes. 

Early mornings tend to be just a teeny bit cranky around here, especially for certain teenagers who spent the last two weeks enjoying late nights watching 'Lord of The Rings' and sleeping-in till 10am.  Hiking to the high school for 1st & 2nd period part-time classes at 7:15am, uphill-both-ways-in-the-snow (you think I'm kidding??) is, ummm...welllll, let's just say the toddlers in the house aren't the only ones with a whining issue.

Oh - you thought I was talking about the teenagers?  Well, maybe them too - but seriously, Kevin & I are the ones whining.  So much pleading & persuasion for a ride to class.  So much driving.  So much busyness. The hurried rush to get breakfast, make sack-lunches, prepare backpacks, get some out the door, then turn around and face home school lessons with others.  The days feel so crowded; I can't see my way.  Where is the peace we used to enjoy with home schooling?  This straddling-the-fence, half-cross-ways between home schooling and cottage school and part-time classes and extracurricular activities...is just. not. working. 
(okay, be honest, aren't ya rolling your eyes at all my whining???)

So - we're recalibrating.  The pace of last semester was NOT sustainable.  Over the last few months, Kevin & I have learned a valuable lesson:

If it's not sustainable, it's not gonna work.

Even more harsh, and true?

If it's not sustainable, it leads to sin.

Trying to sustain a pace of pleasing all seven of my children, my friends, family, husband...adhering to cultural expectations at every-other turn...and striving for 'perfect'...is not sustainable.  And - duh! - you know as well as I do -
all that self-reliant striving & perfectionism & people-pleasing leads to the worst kind of looks-good, deliciously-insidious sin. 

pride
impatience
judgement
frustration
criticism
discontent
anger
just to name a few...

That is a stinking, rotten-on-the-vine kinda way to live.
Not exactly the fruit I wanna cultivate in my life, and in my home.

So here we go, launching the new for this year.
With new hopes;
new plans,
new relinquishing,
new intentions,
new deferring,
new dreams,
new peace,
just to name a few...

We're dropping some of the cottage school classes, rearranging the pick-up schedules.  Taking an afternoon for some 'Come Away With Me' time, to read, write, pray, think.  Adding a worship dance class, just for my soul.

Rejoicing in the promise:
Even as I struggle in my people-pleasing,
He gives more grace.

Yeah, I've had a bit of a slow start...
And now I'm ready to launch. 

So what are you launching this year?  Anything you need to let go of?