It Doesn't All End Up on the Fridge.

      I was just trying to be frugal. . . I needed a new Christmas picture for my unwritten cards. And so I curled long strands of hair, all three heads of them, gave my little man a home-cut before church, dressed them all up, and we walked into our classes with smiles and little blond hairs from Rowan's last minute hair cut all stuck to my tights. After, we drove through for some cheap sustenance, and then a certain someone spilled her nachos all over the backseat of the van. I briefly lost a wandering child in our quick trip to the store. And though frazzled, four children and I headed off for some photography-by-Mom at the park. 

      It was a pretty warm December day, so I envisioned them having fun, running out energy, taking some cute pictures of the happy play, and thought of airing out four children who should then sleep better and longer this night. Well. One daughter has to pee, and the park bathrooms are closed for the winter and nothing is close. This one daughter is not country enough to go behind a bush, though I tried and coaxed. One boy wanted nothing to do with the camera-- shocking I know, and one girl is still upset that nacho cheese touched her water cup over an hour ago, a little girl who did not want to smile or place her bottom on anything that might be wet, cold, or grassy. And my oldest little girl tells the others that the ground is covered with bunny do-do, so that now no one wants to sit anywhere. Picture the game Wac-a-mole, except no one was getting wacked. Just a lot of bouncing up and down, and "I've-got-to-peeee" thrown in throughout. 

       So to anyone expecting a cute Christmas picture in their letter this year, don't. Do expect to smile and receive one of the following Kodak moments. :) All of life just doesn't belong pinned up on a fridge. Life is real, squirmy, ornery, and more times than not, does-not-go-as-planned. And as often as my grandiose plans fail, I think of how intricately God's plans, weaved through all of time and humanity, have never failed. Each prophecy is fulfilled. Each promise is kept. His beautiful, unknown plans are always carried out in His perfect timing. And when my ideas fail so horribly, I might ask, are my plans really God's plans at all?

Lamson family Christmas picture - 2011

 

                                                                                        Ewwww!

                                                                                                             

                                                                     

                   

                                  

       And much later, in the quietness and warmth of home, away from fresh hair-do's and poses, was a simple song to baby Jesus. This "unplanned" moment, this poorly lit, poorly captured moment may not land on a fridge either. But it certainly landed in my heart. His too.

       When I force my plans, I loose sight of His. When all I can do is pray and wait and breathe-- that is when I am alive in the moments He has given me. When I can let go of the past, let go of the future, and hold on to these present moments-- only then can I let go of my will. That is when I see small pieces of the present plan He has given me. And living in His plan isn't unbending and rigid. Living in His plan is fluid, it sees with His eyes the moments worth investing in. It hears with His ears the speaking hearts that need love. It reaches out with His hands for the opportunities worth the "interruption." Living a planned life is simply planning on living each moment for Him. Living in His plans means that I don't mind if my own plans fail. For when my will is unbending, it isn't His will at all.

        ¹⁴ “Glory to God in the highest heaven,
   and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

 ¹⁵ When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”

 ¹⁶ So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. ¹⁷ When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, ¹⁸ and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. ¹⁹ But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. ²⁰ The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.  (Luke 2)

     

May we all rest in this peace, that God's great plan for mankind has already succeeded. 

May we all rest in Him.

 The only Christmas picture that really matters--
A plan, a promise fulfilled.

When it's All Homemade Stockings.

Sometimes I wonder if our place was handed down from Old MacDonald himself. With the landlord’s bootleg, crooked-piped-wood stove that smokes on the inside as well as the outside, the one that melts snow on the rooftop so that it drips down inside our home, to the water pipes that freeze on every ice-cold-night, and take about two days to thaw, to the field mice who seem to coexist with our two cats fairly well now… to my kitchen stove with only two knobs and no handle, the outlets that only allow only a few things to be plugged in at a time without going dark, the coffee can vent system, and door-knobless-doors... I mean, I wonder?

This is my domain, and it’s not from lack of trying that I feel I’ve gone back in time. When I’ve done laundry in the bathtub, washed countless dishes in the sink, when I’m bringing in wood (that I’ve chopped) to heat the house, and even resorted at times to melting snow for water…I can now at least pity the pioneer woman. Although they never knew what they were missing I suppose? I know that toilet is supposed to have water and flush. And if that yellow tub is just there for pretty, than it's failing already. Friends come to my home and say, “Oh, I wish I lived in the mountains. I wish I could live here,” and I smile to myself, wondering how long anyone else could take this house with all its peculiarities.

And as I’m a die-hard romantic, I still try to make something beautiful of all these loose ends. I tried again today. I redirected school this morning to sewing a new set of matching white stockings to “hang by the fire with care.” Little Rowan is two and still didn’t have one to hang. Last year I gave him the furry dog bone stocking of Shadow’s. But neither boy nor dog minded. Between sewing wrong sides together numerous times, Rowan pressing the pedal all the way down at all the wrong times, four sets of little hands in the project, and a toy truck running over my sewing machine, well, they came out looking pretty much like everything else. My perfectionism got in the way. And then upon seeing the results of the first two attempts, the only thing left worth holding onto was the experience of making these little stitches with love, with the little ones I love. A little uneven and homemade—but here they are, all lined up, all six of them, and as I see it: I can’t help but feel blessed to be given this much. I have loved ones for each newly hung stocking to belong to. 

 And as I survey this humble, rickety little home, I must feel the same. It’s imperfect, not even code, yet it’s a domain where I can raise my babies, teach and love them. I look too at my heart. It’s as imperfect as everything else. Yet God keeps working, loving.

So, it’s all really a choice of what I will hold onto, what is worth holding onto? Straight stitches? A perfect house? 

 This time of year, I think of Mary. And I want to be like her-- and hold on to the best thing of all: Jesus. And I want to hold on to what He has given me. And it’s not found in a Better Homes and Garden magazine, or even on Old MacDonald’s farm. It has nothing to do with these fingerprinted walls, but much to do with who is in them. Nothing to do with me, and everything to do with Him, who lives in my heart. That’s what’s worth holding on to. A silver, crinkly-foil-covered-star, dangling by yarn from my ceiling reminds me-- He is the one who has come, born in a manger, to take a hold of you and me.

For I am the LORD your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you.

Isaiah 41:13

 ¹⁶ So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. ¹⁷ When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, ¹⁸ and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. ¹⁹ But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.

(Luke 2)

Who do You say that I am?

“But what about you?” he asked. “Who do you say I am?”

We all long to know. Even my Jesus wanted to know. He asked His closest friends—“who do you say I am?” 

And Peter knew. He saw Him for who He was, “You are the Messiah.” 

We yearn to believed in. We yearn to know that someone knows who we are and willingly stands beside us. Without it, life feels lonely. Just as my children want to know someone is on their side, someone is there to sit in the crowd, cheer them on, we all long to know that we are believed in, that someone has confidence in our worth. When we feel doubted,  when we are given false names, false worth, our hearts weaken. It's just too often man made names speak untruth.  We are given names that at times make us question on the inside who we are. As if we don't doubt ourselves enough without others adding their own labels. Without Him, I am liable to call myself plenty of damaging lies. But the only question that really matters is, “Who do You say I am?” 

He sees us for who we are: Sinners, yet redeemed, unworthy, yet died for, hopelessly flawed, yet fiercely loved. Only when we truly know who He is, can we ever truly know who we are. 

“You are the Messiah.” Peter answered. “The Messiah.” There is only One, has only ever been One, can only be One. And because He is the Messiah, because I believe in who He is, I am called by a new name. And when I long to be truly known, I can say with David:

¹ You have searched me, LORD,
   and you know me.
² You know when I sit and when I rise;
   you perceive my thoughts from afar.
³ You discern my going out and my lying down;
   you are familiar with all my ways.
⁴ Before a word is on my tongue
   you, LORD, know it completely.
⁵ You hem me in behind and before,
   and you lay your hand upon me.
⁶ Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
   too lofty for me to attain. (Psalm 139)

When I need to know who I am, I will remember the I AM. I will remember He is the God-Who-Sees, as Sally Clarkson so beautifully reminded. He sees me. He knows me and calls me by my true name. He calls me by His name.

Isaiah 43:2 Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.

Redeemed, Ransomed, Precious, Loved, Called by His name

Isaiah 43.1-7

Who do you say He is today?  He is my Messiah, my hope, my strength, my peace...

                                                                                                                                      Undeserved, yet wholly loved

When Questions become Answers.

A crowning head of white hair adorns a very loved and beautiful grandmothery woman at our church. Her name is Betty. Pearls of Miss Betty’s wisdom are cherished. I sat next to her at a lady’s retreat a couple years ago. Her words were of worth, and I want to extend the white glossy beads, before I too forget.

She shared of her experience of attending college during the second World War. Her time was lent in a hospital, working as a nurses aid of sorts, caring for patients. The head of the hospital held a training conference for them, which she attended. He spoke to them of counseling. He said, often in this line of work will someone ask you for help, and they will ask, “What should I do?”

He suggested that many times the answer to life's questions would seem easy, obvious. It would be easy for his staff to want to “tell” someone exactly what should be done and how. But he taught them how little this never really helps. He said, to truly help someone, you must wisely help them to see the truth with their own eyes. Miss Betty likened this to talking with a teenager who will turn a deaf ear at being preached at. She said the secret to Godly counsel is in prayer and wise, thoughtful questions. She instructed that I could ask my blathering little daughter if she would rather be sorry for herself? Or, fix the problem? The choice, the decision to do the right thing then becomes our own. And the action that follows is done of our own accord. With questions, I am training them, encouraging their own decision process for the next time they find themselves in a similar situation.

Asking questions leaves room for God to do the talking.

Miss Betty shared humbly and sweetly that when someone comes to her, in need or want of advice, she must first truly listen. And then she must pray, and ask God in His wisdom to help her direct questions that allow for the one who needs help to reach a conclusion of truth and right thinking on their own. There is a gentleness to this. Compassion is nothing, if not gentle.

Seeing God’s truth with our own eyes will always be far more beautiful than any canvas others may paint for us.

I diligently applied this to my mothering for a while afterward—and like much else I learn, often I forget, and the habit dies.  I would ask— Why did that make you angry? What do you think you should do to fix this problem? What would please the Lord in this situation? How would you want to be treated?

The Lord brought her wisdom back to mind recently when I found myself in need of counsel. Found myself unheard; with answers that didn’t speak to my questions. Her pearl was worth remembering. So for today, and prayerfully many of my tomorrows, I will listen before I answer. I will ask my children questions before I advise. And I will ask myself if I am listening to Him, His words, or merely the sound of my own voice?

 

                                                  Sometimes the only way to help, is to reach for God's.

               For our best advice has very little to do with our own wisdom, 

and everything to do with His.

James 1:19 My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak.

1 Corinthians 2:¹³ This is what we speak, not in words taught us by human wisdom but in words taught by the Spirit, explaining spiritual realities with Spirit-taught words

Psalms 119: ³⁴ Give me understanding, so that I may keep your law
   and obey it with all my heart. ³⁵ Direct me in the path of your commands,
   for there I find delight. ³⁶ Turn my heart toward your statutes
   and not toward selfish gain.

John 16: ¹³ But when he, the Spirit of truth, comes, he will guide you into all the truth. He will not speak on his own; he will speak only what he hears, and he will tell you what is yet to come. ¹⁴ He will glorify me because it is from me that he will receive what he will make known to you. ¹⁵ All that belongs to the Father is mine. That is why I said the Spirit will receive from me what he will make known to you.”

John 14: ²⁵ “All this I have spoken while still with you. ²⁶ But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and will remind you of everything I have said to you. 

How we give Christmas.

Hanging onto the shirt tails of November, I am anticipating days ahead, December’s festivities already peeking out from the walls of our home. As we handled the hodge-podge of home-made, inherited and memorable gifted ornaments, and strung them over the branches of the tree, I watched as Rowan eyed a sparkling star and looked in wonder at our lighted collage.

A simple thought struck my heart as he fingered that small piece of this season, wondering why his world has gone sparkling— “How will I give them Christmas?”

 

I think of how He has given it to me. That Christmas morn, He birthed such hope, such promise of things yet to come, such joy—and a whole chorus of angels proclaiming peace. My version of chicken scratches filling each calendar box, lofty goals of gifts all homemade, old traditions and new accompanied by dutiful fulfillment was hardly what He came for.

I try desperately to gather the loose ends closer, to pull in what matters and let the rest fall away, and I feel a bit like I’m in the ticket machine at Chucky Cheese. With all the pieces of life blasting around me, I hardly know which bits to grasp at. If onlys fall easily from my thoughts, “If only I could get this house de-cluttered, if only I could have time for each child, one-on-one, if only I could get these piles of laundry away, if only I could clear my thoughts, if only I could have a couple hours alone, if only I could feel rested…”

And then I am face to face again with the question, “How will I give them Christmas?”

Life is imperfect. My scenery behind this season is also imperfect. Yet I think of Christmas’s first backdrop, hardly the setting of a King. And in the midst of the muck, my Savior was born. Nothing about His goodness could be hindered by what this world offered in return. The Christmas I offer to my children has far less to do with how many batches of cookies emerge from my oven, or how many dishes are stacked in my sink; but has everything to do with the humble, dear story of our Savior, born that we too may be born again. Everything to do with peace. For He says, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” John 14:27

If my house is imperfect, than let it be a joyful mess, a home filled with life, and lives humbled before Him. If my plans fail, let them not fail to have sought after You as the shepherds did. If I am without peace, than tune my ears to the chorus of angels proclaiming Yours. If I am overwhelmed, let me only be overwhelmed with Your goodness.

How will I give them Christmas?

In simplicity: only to joyfully, humbly, remember the One thing that matters at all-- Jesus. May their picture of Christmas be of a babe in a manger, small and holy, wrapped in swaddling clothes. Of a babe who was, and is, and is to come.  

    

  

 

Close to His Heart.

If I am so often compared to a sheep in the Bible, it shouldn’t be any wonder that I wander through perilous valleys more times than not. And I am prone to be in danger. As my pastor preached this past Sunday, my only defense is my Shepherd: no horns, no sharp teeth, no speed or aggressive instincts to defend with. Whatever the prey, it is only my Shepherd that can save me: lost and dumb as I am. And as I feel an overwhelming need to be held close to His heart these days, I read in Isaiah 40:

¹¹ He tends his flock like a shepherd:
   He gathers the lambs in his arms
and carries them close to his heart;
   he gently leads those that have young.

I wonder at the beauty of these words. These days when all I want so badly is to get it right-- not miss this precious fleeting time I have to raise my own children. I want to pour into their lives in ways that build them up, that encourage and inspire, yearn to wet their thirst for a Savior, and I find the task so unbelievably risky. The stakes are so high if I am counted as the shepherd. Oh, but I’m not. I am merely a helpless mama sheep, caring for her young, best she can, but ultimately led gently, held closely, by the only One who can turn my muddled attempts into and good for His glory. My greatest task as a mother is to closely follow my Shepherd, and let Him gather and care for my sheep.

Lord, weak as I am, helpless as I am, please keep me close to Your heart. Lead me beside the still water, restore my soul. Lord, give me the strength to follow Your voice, the submission to be held in your arms, the discipline to stay on Your path, and the courage to walk joyfully through the valleys.

          

²⁹ He gives strength to the weary

   and increases the power of the weak.
³⁰ Even youths grow tired and weary,
   and young men stumble and fall;
³¹ but those who hope in the LORD
   will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
   they will run and not grow weary,
   they will walk and not be faint.- Isaiah 40

Need Hope?

On the tails of a long day, I come to Him with tired eyes and a nearly empty self. I crawl into the corner of the Bible that has the comfort of a fire-side, overstuffed armchair. It comforts me: I crawl into Isaiah 35.  

 

Isaiah 35

Joy of the Redeemed

 ¹ The desert and the parched land will be glad;
   the wilderness will rejoice and blossom.
Like the crocus, ² it will burst into bloom;
   it will rejoice greatly and shout for joy.
The glory of Lebanon will be given to it,
   the splendor of Carmel and Sharon;
they will see the glory of the LORD,
   the splendor of our God.

 ³ Strengthen the feeble hands,
   steady the knees that give way;

⁴ say to those with fearful hearts,

   “Be strong, do not fear;

your God will come,

   he will come with vengeance;

with divine retribution

   he will come to save you.”

 ⁵ Then will the eyes of the blind be opened

   and the ears of the deaf unstopped.

⁶ Then will the lame leap like a deer,

   and the mute tongue shout for joy.

Water will gush forth in the wilderness

   and streams in the desert.

⁷ The burning sand will become a pool,
   the thirsty ground bubbling springs.

In the haunts where jackals once lay,

   grass and reeds and papyrus will grow.

 ⁸ And a highway will be there;

   it will be called the Way of Holiness;

   it will be for those who walk on that Way.

The unclean will not journey on it;

   wicked fools will not go about on it.

⁹ No lion will be there,

   nor any ravenous beast;

   they will not be found there.

But only the redeemed will walk there,

 ¹⁰ and those the LORD has rescued will return.

They will enter Zion with singing;

   everlasting joy will crown their heads.

Gladness and joy will overtake them,
   and sorrow and sighing will flee away.

If I close my eyes I can almost imagine how wonderful that moment will be, when we, His redeemed, will be overtaken with joy and gladness. I have had a few glimpses on earth: the moment my newborns were first placed in my arms, a sparkling ring slid onto my finger with a promise-- but these glimpses pale to that moment when I will be swept off my feet and carried into His presence. What better hope to cling to than this promise of gladness and joy everlasting-- when all sorrow and sighing will flee away? 

                                                                                                                                      JOY

The Only Sight for Sore Eyes.

There are times when God is quiet, when life flows by on smooth steady water, gentle turns. And there are turbulent times. There are times when the waves beat hard enough to disorient. And yet something about it assures me that I am very much alive; I feel pain deeply; I am acquainted with real fear. And from the midst of the storm comes Jesus walking on water. His words, “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.“ (Matthew 14)

Everything inside of me needs to hear those words. I know that this storm can rage, but it can never destroy me, for passage to my homeland has been paid. And Jesus is here in the midst of the storm with me-- Jesus who rebukes the waves. “Then he got up and rebuked the winds and the waves, and it was completely calm.” (Matthew 8:26) And while the storm yet rages, Lord, help my eyes to remain fixed on You, not the waves. God, You know how drenched I am. You know that I’ve faltered, know my white knuckles have been gripping the boat in fear. Lord, help my eyes to be fixed on You. (Matthew 14) “Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him [Peter]. “You of little faith,” he said, “why did you doubt?” And when they climbed into the boat, the wind died down. Then those who were in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”  

Lord, help me to trust. Help the words from my mouth only proclaim: Truly, You are the Son of God. You are the Prince of Peace, Rebuker of the winds, My Shelter, Guard over my heart, Keeper of my soul.

Who is He to you today?

Heavenward.

When the sun washes up the shore of a new day after a restless night, the first words I heard were in a song: You are Good. And He is. My soul sings it out at the top of its lungs. Scripture from Philippians humbles me from my complaint. Philippians 3: “I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, ¹¹ and so, somehow, attaining to the resurrection from the dead. ¹² Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. ¹³ Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, ¹⁴ I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.”

What is “that” for which Christ has taken hold of me? For you? He died to take hold of my heart; He died to free my life from sin's bonds; died to bring me to His side. Am I living to take hold of His life, His heart? Lord, help these to be tears of joy that fall from my face.

You are Good

When the sun starts to rise and I open my eyes

You are good, so good

In the heat of the day with each stone that I lay

You are good, so good

With every breath I take in

I'll tell You I'm grateful again

When the moon rises high before each kiss goodnight

You are good

When the road starts to turn around each bend I've learned

You are good, so good

And when somebody's hand holds me up, helps me stand

You are so good

With every breath I take in

I'll tell You I'm grateful again

'Cause it's more than enough just to know I am loved

And you are good

So how can I thank You

And what can I bring

What can a poor man lay at the feet of a king

So I'll sing you a love song

It's all that I have

To tell You I'm grateful

For holding my life in Your hands

When it's dark and it's cold and I can't feel my soul

You are still good

When the world has gone gray and the rain's here to stay

You are still good

With every breath I take in

I'll tell you I'm grateful again

And the storm may swell even then it is well

You are good

So how can I thank You

And what can I bring

What can a poor man lay at the feet of a king

So I'll sing you a love song

It's all that I have

To tell You I'm grateful

For holding my life in Your hands

The Right Words.

His words, reaching to me from each page, especially now. His words, the only ones that can truly reach the hurt, the only words that fully know my heart and speak to it. And these words from an old hymn today, I heard them in my soul. I hope they speak to you too.

Jesus! What a friend for sinners!

Jesus! Lover of my soul;

Friends may fail me, foes assail me,

He, my Savior, makes me whole.

Refrain: Hallelujah! What a Savior!

Hallelujah! What a Friend!
Saving, helping, keeping, loving,

He is with me to the end.

Jesus! What a strength in weakness!

Let me hide myself in Him.
Tempted, tried, and sometimes failing,

He, my strength, my victory wins.

Jesus! What a help in sorrow!

While the billows o’er me roll,
Even when my heart is breaking,

He, my comfort, helps my soul

Jesus! What a guide and keeper!

While the tempest still is high,
Storms about me, night overtakes me,

He, my pilot, hears my cry.

Jesus! I do now receive You,

more than all in You I find.
You hath granted me forgiveness,

I am Yours, and You are mine.

Refrain: Hallelujah! What a Savior!

Hallelujah! What a Friend!
Saving, helping, keeping, loving,

You are with me to the end.

No Harder Road.

What is brave? When you can’t stand; when you wobble even on your knees, it’s that whisper of a prayer, the next beat of your heart when your body grows faint. I took a little step today. It felt like the smallest baby’s first tottering stumble forward. Yet it was the biggest step I’ve ever taken in my life. These have been days with no words to write, because the Lord has been writing on me. 

A friend reminded me, the road to the cross wasn’t easy. But our Jesus took those agonizing steps because there would be no healing without that road, without the pain. Sometimes, there is no easy way. And sometimes it is just the whisper of a prayer. But He hears it. The beat of our struggling heart, He strengthens, pours into with His love; breaths life into my soul just as He brought life into Adam. And I’m reminded of the promise that “all things work together for good.” All things aren’t good. All things don’t feel good. But He can make anything good. It’s been His skill set for centuries: turning captives into rulers, turning sinful hearts into His temple, turning nail pierced hands and death into life and joy and hope. And it’s this hope He breathes into me when all else trembles. It’s His hand I hold when all else is dark, and it’s this hope I look to until my faith becomes sight. And a God that is strong enough to carry a cross, is strong enough for anything you or I can lay at His feet.

It Is Well With My Soul

When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to know,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Refrain:
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:
If Jordan above me shall roll,
No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life,
Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.

But Lord, 'tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait,
The sky, not the grave, is our goal;
Oh, trump of the angel! Oh, voice of the Lord!
Blessed hope, blessed rest of my soul.

And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul.

Horatio Spafford

Where Do I Get the Cape?

God often surprises me. He chooses characters; He casts outside of what's expected. And I breathe out a big sigh of relief when imperfection is  on the hero's cape. I don't cheer for sin. I smile at a God so capable that He thrives on the challenge of using the unqualified for His purpose. He's just that good. It's why He can use me. Why He can use any of us: the youngest, the oldest, the scared, the overwhelmed, the unqualified-- in His battle plan.

Unlikely heroes fill the pages of the old testament, hardly church boys: assassins, adulterers, shepherd boys, and murderers. To name a few. God doesn't work off long resumes. He doesn't even look for brave hearts, or willing participants. He takes us how we are, who we are, and He does the rest. He moves mountains with mustard seeds. He promised the blessing of all blessings to a liar, to a man who refused to commit, despite all his "christian" upbringing, promising prosperity and children more numerous than the stars to a man who made ultimatums. "Then Jacob made a vow, saying, 'If God will be with me and will watch over me on this journey I am taking and will give me food to eat and clothes to wear so that I return safely to my father’s household, then the LORD will be my God. ^' " Genesis 28:20-21.

God loves Jacob, whose name means deceiver-- Jacob, who God Himself renames Israel, one who struggles with God. This Jacob wrestled with God. He fought for a blessing, despite all he'd done, the trouble he'd caused, despite all of his deception. This man struggled. He struggled to believe. And God didn't hold back goodness. "Then Jacob prayed, 'O God of my father Abraham, God of my father Isaac, LORD, you who said to me, ‘Go back to your country and your relatives, and I will make you prosper,’ I am unworthy of all the kindness and faithfulness you have shown your servant. I had only my staff when I crossed this Jordan, but now I have become two camps.' " Genesis 32:9-10. 

God used him to be the father of a nation. He used him to raise a son who would save a remnant of the earth's population from starvation. He used his seed to father the line of Christ, Savior of all. He used a man who struggled. In some way or another, don't we all? And when we do, God prevails. He always has. Always will. Even if we have to wrestle all night long.

I like the strugglers. Strugglers are real people. I struggle, struggle with perfection. And the more perfect I try to be on the outside, the less perfect my heart becomes. So, hey world, "My house is a mess. I fall asleep in my clothes, don't brush my teeth before bed, don't wash dishes after every meal, and I bribe my kids with candy." There's more. But God has never been fooled by me anyway. He loves the strugglers too; loves me and gives me a new name.

                                                           There's a superhero in us all, if God is in us.

My love sonnet from Him today is in His one penned word: prevailed.
"Thy name shall be called no more Jacob, but Israel: for as a prince hast thou power with God and with men, and hast prevailed."

Every Desire.

It was a my-feet-never-left-the-pavement kind of day. The motions of life pulled me in many directions. I desired a still moment with my children and a storybook, desired enough time to wash and dry a cycle of clothes. I desired a clean house and to be rid of this weighty sense of failure. Somehow reading 1Thessalonians added to the heaviness pressing in. I could make a real long to-do list out of that book. I’m good at guilt.

And then I reach part two, the words: “that by his power he may bring to fruition your every desire for goodness and your every deed prompted by faith.” 2 Thessalonians 1:11

Desiring goodness is not the problem. Having the faith to put what does, or didn’t happen in my day, in His hands-- is. To stop working at times, to stop wearing thin, to stop postponing my children, that is where my deeds prompted by faith lay. Faith means looking to Him for the strength, not measuring my day by the clock, by its progress, but by the opportunities to love that weren’t ignored, the moments to build upon in lives around me. 

 My every desire for goodness is what gets me up each morning, but it is only by His power that I stay on my feet. It is only in Him that I can have faith enough to live the day He writes for me, not merely on the lines of a self imposed list. It is only faith that can turn what feels like domestic failure into His glory. He is the One-Who-Sees, the one who knows how great are my desires, how earnest were my attempts; He is the One-Who-Knows that I stepped out in faith, and the One who now offers me a pillow of hope to rest my weary head. For tomorrow has desires and deeds-prompted-by-faith of its own. 

My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him. 

He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will never be shaken. 

Psalm 62:1-2

Do you not know? Have you not heard? 

The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. 

He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom. 

He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. 

Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; 

but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. 

They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, 

they will walk and not be faint. 

Isaiah 40:28-31