All of Me

The phrases in my head and the sparks in my heart are all saying the same thing.  Abandon everything to Jesus.  Let Him reign in your life.  Give it all to Him.  Trust completely.  Withhold nothing.  Don't be lukewarm.  Hand over control.  Follow wholeheartedly.  Be all in.

Every which way I look, every book I read, and every song I sing keeps coming back to the drastic.  Die to myself and live only for Him.  The corners of my soul have their concerns, but I can feel the centre growing.  I can feel embers being stirred and the flames beginning to lick at the edges of revival.  

My logical self wants to know what it will look like.  What specific arenas of my life am I withholding?  What would it look like to give Him control in those places?  Really, concretely, what would need to change?

But the part of me that just loves Jesus for who He is, that part just wants to grow the love.  It doesn't want to worry about the consequences or the difficult things it may be asked to do.  It doesn't care about the details and it not fixated on the steps of growing or glorifying.  It just enjoys the moments, the whispers, the intimacy and wants to let the trickles of His glory turn to a deluge.  Just by loving, by listening, by breathing His goodness in and out.

Quote of the Day

Me: Niko, why are you still awake?
Niko: I'm not.

God of Deep Compassion

The things that make my heart beat faster with compassion are from you.  They make me feel that awful thing in my gut and at the same time get my excited to do something.  To help, to fix, to get involved.  They touch me deeply and my passion bubbles up from a sacred place within me.  That's what it feels like to be in the middle of God's will for me.

When S answered the question of what motivates her, it was so obviously of God.  I had never thought of truth as a motivator because it's not one that affects me that way, but she had barely started speaking and her voice got more firm, her words flowed more quickly, and she became more animated.  Authority rose up in her and it was easy to see her in the middle of God's will for her.

Adding that concept to my mental picture of Jesus, makes me see beyond the words of John 11:33 and into Jesus' heart.  "When Jesus saw her weeping...he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled."  I have a God of compassion, who feels to His very core.  His responses are not the calculated actions of someone uninvolved in the situation.  Rather he sees me, His child, and his heart is moved.  His breath quickens, his stomach tightens, his pulse races, his fists clench.  He feels with me and for me as I journey.  I have a God of deep compassion.

Filled and Overflowing

A weekend away from normal, hours of uplifting conversation, many laughs between girlfriends, the kind of sharing that connects people, worshipping with 9,000 women, and soaking in such great speakers have left me filled.  I arrived at the conference in "a pretty good place" with Jesus.  A place that seemed better and better every time I heard what other people are dealing with.

So I am thankful.  Thank you, Jesus, that we could afford the financial cost of the weekend.  Thank you that Bernie is such a competent father and was willing to look after the boys.  Thank you that each of the kids was in a place where they could handle me leaving.  Thank you that we were all at full health.  Thank you that we have so much family who can help out.  Thank you that Syl was willing to go with me.  Thank you for the pain and hurt you have spared me in my life.  Thank you for my roots.

And thank you for being with me in this place of goodness, where I can go and soak up truth and your story.  There are many snippets that are ringing in my ears still, but the underlying thread is your story.  I was moved to hear of how powerfully present you have been in so many people's lives - from the speakers to the music artists to the people I travelled with.  I was challenged to remember no matter where I am right now, every part of my life and faith journey is a season.  And that you are most powerfully present when you seem to be most apparently absent.

I feel filled, Jesus.  I feel filled from this weekend and I want it to overflow.  It is so easy and natural for me to overflow your love onto my friends, neighbours, and acquaintances.  It is easy to see their needs and acknowledge them.  That comes naturally for me.

But I want this filling to overflow onto my family.  The place where I am more stressed and less polished than anywhere else.  Onto my husband, who sees the worst of me.  Onto my kids, who see the most of me.  Onto the ones who are already predisposed to being annoyed by me.

Trust and God's Story

Of all the things to put my trust in, putting it in You seems most logical.  I want to stop taking back 'control'.  Of course, it's not really control I'm taking back, just the imaginary feeling of it.  But knowing I don't and can't ever have control, doesn't seem to stop me from pretending I do.  Having ideas.  Making plans.  Dreaming and scheming.  Good things, but my things.  On my terms, in my ways, with my timing.  To be counted as my accomplishments if I succeed.  And to be hidden as my failures if I do not.  Or perhaps, at best, to be learned from and improved upon as my lessons if I do not.  But even still, it's all so self-centered.  So natural, yet so very much missing the point.

God is weaving an incredible story in and through those who are willing to keep in step with His Spirit at work around them.  I want to be one of them.  I don't want to miss anything.  I don't want to walk right past an opportunity to be involved in God's story because I was preoccupied with my own selfish stuff.

Besides, my stuff is so pale and limp and lame compared to His.  I know how much God loves me, and I put my trust in His love.  The place where I couldn't be safer.  The place where my ideas and passions and dreams will be of Him.  The place where he can mold and shape the big hopes and the hidden corners of me.  Daily.   Hourly.  So that there is no 'my things' outside of Him, because 'my things' are already smack in the middle of Him.

God, the story of You and us is amazing and tumultuous and devastating and elating and suspenseful and altogether Yours.  Thank you for the intimacy you share with us, Your created.  Thank you for inviting me into the story even as You inspire me with it.  Thank you for what makes me uniquely me.  Lord, I want to find myself in You and You alone.  I want to trust in You and You alone.  The words I want to say are words I am scared-silly to say: Make me humble, make me dependent, make me only Yours.

Room for Baggage

You can't talk to him that way!  It's just not fair.  Not from your spot on the corner of the couch.  Not half-reclined with your arm across your chest.  Yes, he is emotional and full of outbursts.  Many of them are uncalled for and most are unnecessary.  Yes, he is rowdy and full of energy.  Much of it is explosive and all of it is exhausting.  Yes, his arms flail and his legs kick and his voice booms out of control.  Some if it is age and stage.  Some of it is personality.  Some of it is circumstances.  Some of it is choice.  Some of it baffles him as much as it does us.

But it doesn't even matter why he does it, what's going on inside, whether there was a legitimate trigger, or how you are feeling at that particular moment.  If you snap at him, your reaction is the same as his: you aren't controlling your emotions or acting in a polite and acceptable way either.  Sure, yours is less disruptive, less prolonged, less of a full-body experience.  But it's just an adult version of the same thing: uncontrolled and improperly expressed emotions.

And you know what else?  If you're not down there on the floor interacting, you don't have the right to react.  You can get annoyed and it can tick you off that it's noisy, rude, or otherwise unacceptable behaviour.  Totally.  It irritates me too.  But you're not giving him an idea of what to pretend.  You're not inviting him to join you in an activity.  You're not racing cars or constructing towers or setting up farms or playing super heros.  Unless you are right there with him, engaged and redirecting as you go, you don't have the right to bark at him.

Please stop.  Please show him the love you say you have for him.  It won't be too much longer before he feels the disconnect that I see.

Marvel

Even though I spend so much of my day modelling, guiding, and teaching my kids about respectful behaviour and relationships, when I catch them embodying those principles to each other, I marvel.  It's not that I didn't think it could or would ever happen.  If I thought that I wouldn't be trying so hard to impart my wisdom.  But I am still a teeny bit surprised that it is happening right here in front of me, that it looks so natural, and that these things are becoming a part of them.  I marvel at how far they have come.

I feel like I know my kids well.  Nobody else has spent more time with them than I have.  Nobody has witnessed as many firsts or coached as many accomplishments.  Nobody has wiped as many tears or sneaked as many hugs.  I know a lot about their gifts, passions, interests, abilities, and characters.  Yet they amaze me over and over.  They do something that will fill me with pride as I delight in them.  And while I am proud of the thing they have done, I simultaneously marvel at what it says about who they are.  I see their accomplishment, but even better, I see the beating heart behind that accomplishment and marvel at who they are at their very core.

Jesus has been teaching me for years and years.  When He sees me living those teachings, embodying His will, keeping in step with His spirit in me...well, I suspect that He marvels.  He might marvel at how far I have come.  How I am growing.  How He is growing me.  Perhaps His heart even swells with pride when I have a particularly big breakthrough.

Jesus knows my gifts, passions, interests, abilities, and character.  He put them there, after all.  But in the moments when I have given Him plenty of space and freedom to move in me and through my hands and words, in those moments he must marvel like a giddy parent.  He must marvel at how the things I do or say reflect His love in my life.  He must marvel at how those great moments point to a living, breathing, beautiful soul that He crafted that with the capacity and drive to do His will.

Lord, today I marvel at You because You first marvelled at me - even as I marvel at how much vertical and horizontal square footage 5 cups of flour can cover.

Why I want to Foster

After finally saying out loud that I think I'd like to foster, I feel very self-conscious about it.  I feel like I need to have good, solid reasons and know for that this is what I want to do and why I want to do it.  I feel like it needs to be more than "a good thing to do".
(Sidenote: what I really want if for the I's to be we's, and I won't actually pursue this if they never become we's.)

I want to foster because the stories of kids whose families can't provide the safe homes they need make me angry and trembly and make my gut knot with compassion in a way that few other injustices do.

I want to foster because I have imagined giving a home to other people's children for as long as I can remember.  For 'irrational' reasons and long before I even realized that that wasn't normal.

I want to foster because I have a burden to share the Very Good Thing we have going on here.  Not the easy thing or the relaxing thing, but the good thing.  I want to pass on the blessing of a solid marriage relationship and of a supportive network of church, friends, and family.

I want to foster because there is a major issue in our city of injustice between races, and it seems that only love and personal connection can begin to heal that rift.

I want to foster because I have always pictured a full house of kids and thrived on managing the chaos.  God has given me a gift for this and I want to be faithful in using it to serve him and others.

I want to foster because God is pestering me to do so.  Pestering and preparing.  I have so many life experiences that have equipped me, on various small levels, for this.  I have begun to recognize and identify aspects of my character that are gifts not everyone has.

I want to foster because God is pulling my heart that direction and if I don't listen, I will miss out on part of his plan for me.

Like a Weaned Child

I am calmed and quieted, like a weaned child who no longer cries for its mother's milk.  Yes, like a weaned child is my soul within me.  Psalm 131:2

When Niko was in the newborn stage, he was so so good at snuggling in and sleeping on anybody.  He liked to be upright on a chest and would just burrow himself in there (I think Karen will have a memory of him doing this to her once during church).  He was so cozy and cuddle-able and content - especially on Bernie's chest.  But pass him to me, and a slow but steady transformation would occur.  He'd start shifting and wriggling.  He'd begin to turn his head from side to side and grunt.  Before you know it he was completely awake a desperate for milk.  Where peaceful sleep had been totally blissful only minutes ago, now only hunger remained.  

So I imagine being calmed and quieted as the place where Jesus is really all my heart wants and needs.  I don't find myself distracted at the faintest hint of a milky fragrance, because I have learned that my whims don't ever take me to that place of complete rest.  That peace is only found snuggled tight, cozily dozing on Jesus' chest.

That said, my weaned children certainly don't cuddle the way they did when they were still breastfeeding, so maybe I missed the message of this verse.

That said, David never breastfed anyone.

Project E

You are not as gruff as you seem.  Your tough and apathetic exterior is a facade.  But I can see how that is easier to show the world than exposing them to your life of single-handedly supporting a family of five on a marginal salary.  Your burden of being the spiritual head of the household.  Your baggage of the mental illness that plagues your home.  Your heart heavy with loneliness as the husband who was supposed to be your partner in all things feels like he is another one you have to care for.

I am glad that you found our group.  I have been bitter before, at how your poison of negativity can drag us down.  But this time I will love you for you, challenge you carefully, and see if we can't both grow a little.  

Turner Of Hearts

It's not on me to put in the requisite minutes of meaningful daily devotion time.  Or to ensure that I pray often and deeply enough.  Or to see the beauty of God in every moment and person.  Or to love everyone I come in contact with.  Or to practice the presence of God at all times.

Those are all really good and wonderful things.  But it's not up to me because God, You are the Turner of hearts.  There are times when I will be on top of it and be doing everything "right".  And there are times I will be floundering.  Most days I am somewhere in between, but my relationship with You is not just another ball I have to juggle.  Not just a category of my life I can give a grade on any given day.  Because it's not on me.

Thank You, Jesus, for being the One to turn my heart back to You in the big and memorable moments.  And thank You for being the One to turn my heart back to You in the little whispers and gentle nudges.  Thank You for bringing me back little by little and pulling me closer bit by bit in a faithful moment by moment way.   Thank You that it's not up to me.

Foster

Every story I hear about abuse and neglect and broken messed-up families makes a deeper cut of compassion into my heart.  I can't gloss over them.  Those stories are the ones that grab my attention each time I see, hear, or read the news.  Sadness swells inside and I feel a yearning to do something.  What I have here is so good.  Not easy, mind you, but good.

I have a solid marriage.  Not perfect and certainly not bump-free, but solid.  It is hard work to maintain, but we are both willing to work hard.  It gets tense here and there, but we can always talk it through.

I have three happy, healthy kids.  They aren't perfect either, but they are learning and growing and are secure in their relationships with us and each other.  They are loved and respected in the way they deserve.

I have an incredible support network.  Parents, siblings, friends, and a church help out, back us up, support us, pray for us, and encourage us.  It is a wide circle of connections, but deep enough in a few places that I can rely on them to be there when I cannot.

The conversation of fostering comes up around me so many times.  Clearly our city needs more good, healthy, strong, caring foster families.  So many people mention that they want to foster, yet so few are.  I want to take steps of action and put my compassion to good use.  I want to share all the good in this house with the little ones whose houses aren't blessed with the same.

Jesus, give us courage to move ahead.

You have the Words

O Lord, to whom would I go?

To the world of friends and supporters I have built up around myself.  To encourage, to corroborate, to challenge, to enliven.  And they do.  But they cannot speak into the places I have not let them see.

To the mothers who know what day in and day out kids feels like.  To understand, to sympathize, to commiserate, to inspire.  And they do.  But they, too, cannot speak into the cracks that are so deep and thirsty.

To the internet with its (over)abundance of stories and ideas.  To be seen, to be heard, to be declared worthy.  And it does.  But it, especially, cannot speak into the real-ness of my real needs.

To my husband who loves me so fully and unconditionally.  To build up, to fill up, to hold up, to open up.  And he does.  But he cannot speak fullness when he is so drained.  He cannot be expected to single-handedly sustain me.

But You have the words that give life.  Thank you, Jesus.  I praise You for being the one who encourages, corroborates, challenges, enlivens, understands, sympathizes, commiserates, inspires, sees me, hears me, declares me worthy, builds me up, fills me up, opens me up, and holds me up.  Your words are the words I need to hear.  They bring light out of darkness and life out of death.  You speak truth.  You speak from a place of grace and gentleness and compassion.  Let my words be few as I learn to hang on every word that comes from Your lips, O Lord.