Goodness

I follow three bouncing flashlight beams through the woods and I soak in this gift, consciously breathing in the tingly refreshment and calling it His goodness.

I lean back on the strong chest of the one who has chosen me and we swing, giggling that what is supposed to be fun just makes us feel dizzy and old - and it is good.

Was it only a few weeks ago that I struggled to sing the truths of His goodness, because my tears belied my words?  Stepping into yet another Sunday, both yearning for and dreading what was ahead.  The power in proclaiming things I knew to be true but that did not feel to be true, melting me into a messy puddle - again.

As I walk the sidewalks to school and the hallways of home, I breathe out His words and find I am breathing in His presence.  In time with my feet, my lips quietly recite God whose thoughts are higher than mine, God whose ways are higher than mine, God whose desires are higher than mine, God whose plans are higher, God whose love is greater, God whose grace is greater, God whose joy is greater, God whose goodness is greater.  The power in proclaiming things I know to be true making a crack for the God of those truths to settle a little deeper into my hesitant heart.

Between straining my eyes to make out the edges of His goodness and practicing praise despite my skewed perceptions, I discover that He has let me ease my way back into believing that He is not just good, but also good to me.  

I thank my Father that there are moments of overlap, in which what I know to be true also feels true.  I thank Him that His goodness also feels good today.

And I thank Him that He doesn't leave me there.  Even as those moments of overlap become more frequent, I feel Him reminding me that He isn't finished.  He has broken my heart for what breaks His and even as He heals it, He weaves into it the thread of His goodness that needs to be shared - again.

God Who Hears (Gen 21:17)

Day in and day out, I question whether I did enough, said the right things, guided without crushing their spirits.  I don't want to be a good enough parent, I want to rock this.  I want them to know love and be able to give it, know empathy and be able to show it, know respect and be able to bestow it.  I want them to find the things they are good at, the things that bring them joy and ignite their passion.  I want them to care for themselves, each other, and the world.  I want them to know and be known by their Creator.  I want them to ride the waves of joy and grief, blessing and loss, and feel securely anchored in God's love and mine.  All of which sounds awesome until I find myself in the midst of tantrums and meltdowns and the mess of day-to-day.  And then He interrupts.  What is the matter?  Don't be afraid: I have heard the boy crying as he lies there.  You are the God who hears, and I am so thankful that you are attuned to the cries of my heart.  But, You are also the God who hears my boys, and I am unburdened as I place them and all their needs in Your bigger, wiser, stronger hands.

Psalm 88: 2, 9, 13

My prayers come before You; Your ear is tuned to my cries.  As I walk through this day, Lord, I call to You Who Listens to my words, my heart, my silence.  Open hands stretched out to You, may I let go of the need for my ways, my plans, my desires, my childish game of control.  In the morning my prayer comes before You and all day long You whisper back Your glorious goodness into my middle moments.

Remember When

Remember when I awoke in Your embrace?  When the rhythm of my soul echoed the footsteps of Your spirit treading through my home?  When the sighs of my day were wrapped in Your glorious grace and the moments of beholding were frequent and meaningful?  As the deer pants for the water, so my soul longs for You, Papa.  I miss our closeness and Your moment-by-moment care for me.  I miss our closeness and my moment-by-moment clinging to You.  I miss the overflowing of joy into thanksgiving.  Of struggle into reliance.  Of silence into song.  Of breath into praise.

Rushing Waters (Ezekiel 1:24)

Your glory sounds like rushing waters and looks like radiant rainbows.
It sounds like noisy castle play and looks like grinning babies.
It sounds like giddy snow tricks and looks like sopping mittens.
It sounds like chatting over crunching and looks like a colourful fruit plate.
It sounds like devastation over missing a brother and looks like cuddles and a lollipop.
It sounds like a book hitting the bottom stair and looks like a family that is okay with that.

Accomplished (Lam 4:22)

Papa, You could have walked away and left me in my own ugliness.  Yet you considered me worth the trouble of rescuing, in my brokenness and messiness.  My punishment is accomplished and not on my own head.  You carried it all away, what had happened and what was yet to come, such that you can somehow look at these ashes and proclaim them already beautiful.  Your grace to me is matched by Your glory in me, even as yet when I catch it only in glimpses.  Because You declare it is accomplished.

Of His Mercies (Lam 3:22)

It is of the Lord's mercies that I am not consumed
Of His mercies that His glory is my daily experience
Of His mercies that patience and grace fill me enough to overflow
Of His mercies that I see the beautiful hearts and fall in love once again
Of His mercies that my story is saturated with His goodness
Of His mercies that my match loves me as I love him
Of His mercies that I live and breathe and have my being
Because His compassion fails me not

Instinctual (Lam 2:18)

Your absence is palpable, haunting in its pervading sense of Empty.  Its footsteps thump out L-o-n-e-l-y as I trudge down the hall the fourth time to re-put him to bed, the one whose heart only comes out by the glow of the nightlight.  Going through the motions, I feel love alright, but Exhaustion overrides it.  This is too hard without Your song to carry me.  Even as the rhythms of desperate self-talk threaten to holler over Your melody, my soul's instinct is to cry out to You (Lam 2:18).  And my words follow, in the way they were created to, as I draw near to You (Heb 10:22).  As surely as goodness and mercy follow me this day, I will open my eyes to Your glory and grace.

My heart longs for its Maker, the One its adores.  His presence has waned and His absence is poignant, and I sink to my knees.  I am sorry, Papa.  You love me and you let me walk away.  I am so sorry.  Papa, today I want to see You, to hear You, to keep in step with the rhythms of your grace.  Prompt me, prod me, and interrupt me this day, that I might know more of You.  And that, in some small way, You might be amazed at me.

Connect

Papa, You came to connect and I, of all people can understand that.  You came to empathize with one side by taking on its form.  You ate its meals and felt its feels.  You wore its skin and hugged its kin, donned its clothes and dirtied its toes.  You were one of us.  Except for where You also weren't.  Because You were one of us for the sole purpose of connecting us with Who You really where and Who You really came from.  I know the desire to connect.  I know the drive to reach out, to extend empathy, to remember, to remind.  I know the desire to love and be loved.  In my heart of hearts, I want to believe that You desire me that way.  And I want that truth to change my every word and motive.  Papa, You sent Yourself in my likeness to make the ultimate connection for me and I adore You for it.

Mother (Luke 1:43)

I find it fairly easy to imagine how she held You to her skin, just moments after You were born.  I can picture her swaddling You, cuddling You, nursing You.  I can feel the joy she treasured up in her heart.

But at the end of my day I wonder, did she tell You 'no' or haul You off the table for the umpteenth time?  Did she grab Your hand when You tried to run across the street or holler for You when You dawdled far behind?  Did she shoo You out of the kitchen before dinner or require that You help with the dishes?  Did she ask You four times to wash Your face or send You to play outside?  Did she insist that You eat Your vegetables or refuse to listen to Your sixth bedtime excuse?

Did she sigh about Your mischief and miss seeing Your strengths for what they were?

Did she tell You she loved You as many times as she told You 'just a minute'?

Mighty (Isaiah 9:6)

Papa,
You are the mighty God.  Today I adore You in that might, even as plead for it in this little pocket of family that is overwhelming and fragile.  Lord, my biggest little needs Your might today, this week.  He has looked his weakness in the eyes, yelled at it, and been brought to tears of humility.  Show Him Your might in overcoming.  Show Him Your might inside of him in places He never knew.  May my heart and his beat in rhythm with the movements of Your mighty grace within these walls.

Tender (Psalm 119:77)

Tender is one of those things that you can't be on the inside without it being obvious on the outside.  It translates accordingly into words and actions, posture and attitude.  Amidst the power and glory of my God, perhaps I haven't put much thought into His tenderness.

But I whisper-adore under my breath as I put in the first load of laundry, trusting that this truth will become my truth this day.  I watch the sun ease it's way above the trees and picture His hand cupping it from below, slowly and tenderly lifting it to fuller brilliance.

I think of chosen gentleness in the face of anger, chosen laughter in the aftermath of dissension.  Sometimes tenderness is deliberate, I suppose.  A gracious response despite preceding circumstances.

But sometimes tenderness just leaks from a genuine heart.  Amidst the rowdy chaos of family and pizza and birthdays, a little boy strokes his baby cousin's cheek, the younger one's eyes adoringly fixated on the giver of the gesture.

His tender mercies come to me.  And my response could not be anything but wholehearted adoration.

You know (Psalm 139:1)

You have searched me and you know me, O Lord.
You know my exhaustion and my exasperation.
You know my tired eyes and tired sighs.
You know my doubts and dread, my full and weary head.
You know my facade and you know where it is flawed.
You know that I bellow, holler, and yell.
You know that I don't want to build another fort
and you know that my fuse is oh-so-short.
You know my wit's end and the time I spend in this hell-ish trend.
You know what is only mine to know.
But you know.

And oh, how you love me so.

Lord, when I am so helpless and weak, sing Your song of delight over my soul so that I too could know.  That I could know the depths of Your unconditional love in the depths of my desperate soul.  That the glorious riches of Your greater grace could be the melody of Your song that is with me when I awake.

Your Song (Psalm 42:8)

I heard it in the heaviness of the fog that sat above me, eyes unable to see You but soul clinging to hope for new chances, fresh starts, and forgiveness from the one who bears larger than his fair share of my wrath.

I heard it in the three-part harmony of giggles and melody, gleefully singing back songs of Your goodness, my soul rejoicing in their praise even as it recognizes Your heart for them is bigger even than my own.

I heard it in spritz of juice and festive scent of mandarins filling the room and settling gently above the chatter of women who trust, who share, who grow, who uphold.

I heard it as the orchestra accompanied my expanding view of the room where we all live together.  Smoothly layering its chaos and order, glory and grace into a masterpiece of family that is as riveting and revolutionary as it is real and regular.

Consider (1 Timothy 1:12)

When I stop to consider that He considers me, suddenly it's the only thing worth considering.  At least until something falls or someone calls.  Yet even then my heart rejoices amidst the broken pieces, because He considers me.

Gown (Judges 6:12)

Mm-hm, I nod so Christianly as I read the words I am used to hearing.  They sound nice, encouraging even.  Maybe I should write them on the bathroom mirror or put them in my pocket for the day.  And then I hang the beautiful gown of truth back up in my closet and walk away in my stained and grubby sweats.  His words are truth, but sometimes it's just easier this way.  I know what these chains feel like.  That freedom, that power, that unrestrained love?  People might notice that.  A gown amidst the casual, even filthy clothes of those around me?  What might He make of me if I truly believed?

Appear (Judges 6:11-12)

Papa, I don't want to miss You.  Keep my heart in tune with Your melodies and my feet in step with Your spirit as You and I move throughout this day.  As You hover just on the other side of my ordinary life, use every sight, sound, smell, sensation and interaction to tweak my heart, reminding it evermore to recognize You through the thin veil that separates us.  Even as You sit under my oak tree, I just don't want to walk by without noticing You.  I don't even desire the flashy, but don't let me get caught in the flesh either.  Can we just plan to be present to each other today?  Thank you for being the one who is present and on the brink of appearing at every moment.  Papa, open my eyes.  

Shaggy Headed Reader (Acts 7:2 & 7:33)

Sometimes, no mosttimes, this house and our days feel so ordinary.  One morning looks much like the next and it is fine but hard to feel much excitement.  

But today my heart bursts with thanks and pride and joy and awe as I watch this boy that is first His before he is mine.  He gathers all three littles around his shaggy head, asking which of the cartoon character chairs they prefer.  He confirms that they can all see the pictures before beginning to read his rendition of the story.  When one of them points out that he is using the wrong word, he gently explains that he doesn't actually know how to read and he's doing his best and that's okay too.  I swear he's older than five today.

Thank you, Papa, thank you for the gift that is Niko.  Thank you that every so often this very ordinary place becomes holy ground and I can sense your glory so much closer than I would have thought in my self-absorbed distraction only moments before.  You are the God with a years-long habit of appearing in glory and making holy that which, by all accounts, is the most ordinary of ordinaries.

Voice (John 20:16)

Everything is moving
and loud and busy.
Can You be the One
to slow it down
or hold my hand
or whisper in my ear?
Just steady me
even if you can't ready me.
Catch my attention
with Your beauty
or Your grace
or Your love
or Your voice.
Say my name
and I will know
it is You.