Fragility

Aggie is in bed late tonight, after a day of disappointment and struggle. I marvel at how she can bounce back: she is resilient when she can be. But I cannot help but remember her days of epilepsy, when I laid there with her facing things too much for us to endure.  

My dear, fragile Aggie, how will it go with you?  I remember that you are dust. 

How fragile is this life.  How vulnerable we are to death, destruction, and so many things out of our control.  Devastation and brokenness seem to be everywhere, and they really are, aren't they? We just don't always see it.

I wish I could forget.  I wish it were not so.

I wish that there were no wildfires or hurricanes or cancers or tyr
annies.
Is that the way I will meet my end?  If not, how will it go for me?  I remember all too much that I am dust. 

And my son can't sleep because he's sad about a friend's pet, dying, as all things do. "I don't know why but I just don't feel safe. My thoughts are too big tonight."

It is easy to feel secure in this life when things are normal.  And then suddenly, one quick moment comes, and normal vanishes.  What, then, is left?

There is only one hope for we who are walking dust.  If we have a God, and if He is a forgiving God and a loving God, then all can never be lost.

In Christ, even sinners sleep secure, even dust breathes in life.

As a father has compassion on his children, 

   so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him; 

for he knows how we are formed, 

   he remembers that we are dust.

Psalm 103:13-14 

Expectant child-rearing

"I will surely multiply your pain in childbearing;

            In pain shall you bring forth children."

Genesis 3:16

            The curse of labor is only the beginning of the curse, I fear.  Not just labor, but the whole of motherhood surely would have been much more joyful had there been no fall and no sin.

            Imagine the joy of raising children in a truly safe world; never having to worry about car seats or riding bikes in the road or wearing helmets.  Imagine not having to carry around bandages and emergency phone numbers; not having to learn CPR; not needing health insurance.

            Imagine the joy of raising children without selfish hearts!  Imagine raising a young man whose desire to serve others grew right along with his muscles.  Imagine seeing the beauty of an innocent daughter, as she changed from a sweet little girl to a pretty young lady, and being able to simply delight in her as she blooms; free of the shadow of worry, not wondering whether she will misuse her beauty, or whether some boy would trample it underfoot and break her heart.

            Imagine really, fully loving a child, with a love that never got confused with a selfish desire to possess.  Imagine a delight in every achievement, a joy in the work of God displayed in the uniqueness of your own dear child--- and imagine your heart so large as to feel that mix of joy and praise in the accomplishments of all children.

            Imagine a willing and joyful letting-go at the proper time, and a perfect harmony between the good of the child and the happiness of the mother.  Imagine simply enjoying each grace-filled moment as it came, and then cheerfully releasing it only to accept the blessing of the next season of life. 

            Imagine all of this done without fear.  Imagine not dreading the change of seasons, not fearing the chill of death itself.

            Of course, this is not real life.  The cold shadow of sin us threatens us inside and out.

            In pain do we bring forth children, and in pain do we bring them up. 

            Epidurals do not help with the rest.

            Yet, God did not leave us to this.  He came forth into our pain, He grew up in pain, and He suffered and died in pain. 

            His resurrection announced the coming end of our pain.

            So like a woman in labor, the entire creation groans.  We cry out, the earth cries out, and we wonder together if we have been forsaken.  Yet, soon we will find ourselves relieved.  We will experience for ourselves that which we cannot now imagine.

            Praise God, fellow mothers in pain: The promise is for us and our children.

Originally published Oct 2011

Pretty little checkmarks, all in a row

Sometimes it feels like God gives me too much freedom. When I am feeling the pull of ten different things, unable to give myself fully to any one, and feeling like every priority is getting too little of my attention, well, I would really just like a list. Not just general guidelines, not only ten commandments, but a detailed list. I want something like this:

Emily's to-dos today

Thou shalt remove thyself from bed when the first child calls. Feed, dress the children, and line them up neatly in front of educational television.

Thou shalt spend ten minutes with God and coffee.

Thou shalt work in kitchen for 1 1/2hrs, in three 1/2hr intervals, and no more.

Thou shalt use ten of the minutes I have given thee to catch up with current events

Tho shalt endure 18 knock-knock jokes, but thou canst redirect the child that bringeth the 19th

Thou shalt exercise thyself and children for one hour.

Thou shalt spend no more than two hours on other housework, laundering thy towels and ordering the disorder visited upon thee by thy children.

Thou shalt snuggle thy children for 10 minutes, three times, afterwhich thee may excuse thyself to do your other jobs.

Thou shalt converse with thine husband for at least 60 minutes.

Thou shalt spend 20 minutes talking about God to children, reading this specific Scripture passage, praying, and bearing the nonsensical questions that are presented you in this time frame. After those minutes have passed, thou shalt send them off to bed.

If thou has completed the above tasks and are still without sin, thou may indulgest thyself in telephone or computer-facilitated socializing. Then, get thyself to bed by ten.

I am sure the list would be long and tiresome, but at least it would be clear! If I had a nice checklist like this, at least THEN I could look at all the things still undone at the end of the day and shrug, "oh well! God didn't tell me to do it so it is not my problem!" And I could go before Him with all those nice little checkmarks in a row and say, "Here's my report, Lord! I got it all done! Now give me some good sleep tonight please, and I'll see you tomorrow!"

But there is NO LIST! No black and white job description for me, and as far as I can tell, you don't get one either.

What does that leave me with? God's Word, and the Holy Spirit, and a bunch of demands, and a sinful heart that gets in the way when I try to sort all of this out. There is generous amount of freedom, and a great deal of gray.

And at the end of the day, there are things left undone, and the things that were done were done by me, a sinner, and I see even my best is tainted.

No checkmarks, no gold star. Just me. I come to God at the end of the day with the things I have done, and in His light I see there is not much to be boasting about. "Um, here you go Lord. It's a pencil holder... I think. Or maybe a coffee cup? I guess it's not at all finished, and I'm not sure what it is going to be...and I messed up in a few places. So there you have it... it is what it is... and I'm tired Lord."

Me, commiting the demands of the day, my efforts and my failures, to Him.

No pretty checklist to make me feel good about myself.

Just a lopsided sculpture that may or may not be a pencil holder.


My head does not rest at night comforted by what I have done. And yet by God's grace, what I have done and what I have left undone is taken from me by Jesus.

I am not sure what He does with all the gray; I cannot picture exactly what it is He is making.

I do know that He takes the black, the ugly sin, and hides it in His own wounds.

And then, He takes whatever remains of my lopsided creation, and He uses it for my good and the good of His people.

Then finally, He looks on me with pity, and gives me something concrete that I am to do with myself:

"Daughter, go, sleep in peace."


But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith.


Philippians 3:7-9 

Previously published 1/2015

photo credit: screenbest web design

what's the vision?

 (This poem is a spin off from another (better) poem called The Vision- watch the original, better version here. What follows is my attempt to personalize it in the context of my own vocation. Lines marked with ** are direct quotes from The Vision poem)

The Vision (rewrite, for motherhood)

So this lady messages me and says,

"What's the vision? What's the big idea?"** 

I open my chat and words come out like this… 

The Vision?

The vision is JESUS – passionately, imperfectly, desperately Jesus.

The vision is an army of women.

You see mamas in yoga pants? I see an army. And they are FREED from vanity.

They are free and yet they are slaves**

of the tiny and whiny and crying

laying down their rights and their precious little wrongs**

They work while it storms, plunging hands in dirty dishwater, ignoring the howls of the wind and world, serving and loving with eyes on JESUS.

They make their temporary homes, their blanket forts, with care, 

ready to be transplanted at a moment's notice

Hospitality flows inside, as they light candles and arrange flowers

chosen so as to remind of the garden to which they head, 

the light which spurs them on and calls them home.

The nests they make become fortresses, as God takes blankets and turns them into stone walls to keep out the howling winds of the world.

They raise armies under blankets with read-aloud stories of courage and faith and JESUS.

They walk with swollen bellies, heads up, proud to be living gardens of life

and bearing the scars from brushes with death, 

the wounds of taking the risks of love

in a broken world.

The flowers they raise are not tame;

they turn from soft beauty into soldiers, fortress-makers, light bringers

They see past the sulking, the rage tornado storms in the heart of the adolescent

they see the barely-lit ember of faith, smoldering

and they breathe on it

The shrapnel pierces.

play-dough gets stuck in the cracks and seams are torn.

They keep breathing life.

He breathes out and they breathe in**

 and all have eyes on Jesus.

With clear eyes and open hands

sowing seed recklessly

fighting for joy

sharpening arrows

preparing to launch them

They pry each other’s eyes open, straining glances past the rubble to the promised land

Shooting up defiant gratitude that flies past the dark clouds into heaven and is received gladly by their Maker.

They shun sloth and instead choose service, with heart and flesh and womb and hands

Bruises and stretch marks and wrinkles and heartaches are their battle wounds and they wear them proudly

They pour out and out, 

crawling empty to the altar where they are forgiven and filled 

where they grin quietly upwards** 

and hear the crowds chanting**

again and again**

ONWARD!

With blood and sweat and many tears, with sleepless nights and fruitless days, they pray as if it all depends on God and live as if it all depends on them.** 

When they have wiped the last mouth

and launched the last hope-bringer into the the wreckage of this world

they will proudly take their seats

smiling tired, matronly wisdom

commending the garden to Jesus 

Boldly resting in the presence of Jesus

Hopes, hearts, outcomes, 

bodies, breath, life, death, all in the hands of Jesus.

YES.

---

I type this out and then I lay down exhausted. 

This vision is far too big for a regular morning

when we slept in late and the house is a mess and I don’t want to sacrifice that last piece of bacon to an ungrateful child.

But maybe that’s the point.

The vision is too big because I don’t have it in me

If this is going to come to pass, 

it will be done by the strong, miraculous hand of God,

who finishes what he started in us.

I close my laptop,

but my small, shaking, empty hands stay open

under God’s open heaven

My feeble, whispered, faithless prayer invokes a thunderous, resounding, bone-shaking great 'Amen!' from countless angels, from heroes of the faith, from Christ himself.**

Amen.

Come Lord Jesus.**

Holiday Dissonance

As I am writing this, the kids are jamming to Christmas carols in the bedroom. Lorraine has vowed to wear the Santa hat I bought her all day long. She is still excited from our Christmas shopping extravaganza last week. We skipped in and out of 5 stores buying gifts and baking supplies, just the two of us. Her wide-eyed excitement is absolutely contagious!

As we pulled into the parking lot of Hobby Lobby (our most favorite store,) I got a call from Josh who was at home with the other kids. Apparently Aggie had a seizure while climbing on the bunk bed and fell straight back from the top. She was still having the seizure after she fell, so for several minutes she just laid there unaware of any pain at all. Both of the little boys knew this was NOT normal and were making a huge fuss about it. It took her about a half hour to really notice her aches and pains, and she spent the rest of the night snuggling daddy on the couch. As Josh and I talked about this, the familiar ache in my heart for Aggie returned, and the laundry list of worries I have for her future began to replay in my head. (She was a little bruised but otherwise just fine the next day.)

I slowly closed the phone and looked at the giddy toddler sitting next to me. “OH mommy I see more Christmas lights in Hobby Lobby! Are you ready? Let's go let's go let's go!”

How does one jump from that phone call back into the joy of Christmas shopping? I was startled by the dissonance I felt, the conflict between the joy of Christmas preparation and the pain that cast dark shadows over it all.

I suspect most adults feel this tension during the holidays. We sense the dissonance between the apparent holiday joy and bliss in every store and every Christmas song, and the feelings of fear, grief, or sadness that we wrestle with in our secret hearts. The festivities of this time of year can make the sorrows seem even deeper, the loneliness even more lonely.

Glitter and bells are out of place, and sometimes downright annoying when paraded in front of our pain. How can we be expected to sparkle with JOY when we all we can see is the huge hole where a loved one used to be? How do we hold on to HOPE when we see sickness in the sunken eyes of our own child?

Christians have always been people acquainted with grief, people whose hearts are sometimes torn with this conflict, yet the church has stubbornly and enthusiastically celebrated Christmas in the darkness year after year. God gave us His very own Son, and we see the nearness of God even in this place of pain. Our God does not stand far away, merely cheering us on through the darkness, He comes to dwell with us right in the middle of it.

This time of year, we are surrounded with tangible reminders of the hope we have because God is with us. Candles flicker and we sing praises to the Light that has come into the world. Bells ring with joy as we remember promises made and fulfilled in Jesus. Glitter sparkles on angel wings and we look forward to the blessings to come when our Lord returns.

We dwell in darkness, but the love of Him who sent His Son shines brightly. And so this year, like every other year, God's children gather together in the night, lift up their heads, light candles, and sing songs at the top of their voices, testifying to the world that God is indeed with us, and the darkness is passing away.

originally posted 12/2008

Interruptions

It is funny how quickly comments like this: “Just go play for a second while I finish this one email sweetie,” turn into this: “I SAID GO PLAY!!!” Sometimes I have such patience for kids being kids, and other times I seem to have none at all. What makes the difference?

I think it has something to do with how I look at my time. As C.S. Lewis said:

Men are not angered by misfortune but by misfortune conceived as injury. And the sense of injury depends on the feeling that a legitimate claim has been denied…Now you will have noticed that nothing throws him into a passion so easily as to find a tract of time which he reckoned on having at his own disposal unexpectedly taken from him.

Being a highly task-oriented person, I start most days with a mental list of things to do with “my time.” I seem to remember days with one or two kids that I could still “get things done” even with the babies around. I am a multi-tasker: I can praise the artwork, respond to emails, talk on the phone, help someone with a puzzle, and make lunch all at the same time. As long as everyone cooperates and lets me do what I need to do, things go smoothly. But when “my time” is interrupted, especially by petty fights, whines, or other inconveniences, things start to fall apart. I get angry and frustrated; annoyed to be distracted once again from my never-ending list of things I need to do.

In the book Screwtape Letters, CS Lewis writes imaginary letters between demons who are working to mislead and corrupt a Christian. After making the above insight on anger, Screwtape gleefully describes how easy it is to frustrate human beings by simply encouraging the notion “my time is my own.”

He comments:

The assumption which you want him to go on making is so absurd that, if once it is questioned, even we cannot find a shred of argument in its defense. The man can neither make, nor retain, one moment of time; it all comes to him by pure gift; he might as well regard the sun and the moon as his chattels. He is also, in theory, committed to a total service of the Enemy; and if the Enemy appeared to him in bodily form and demanded that total service for even one day, he would not refuse. He would be greatly relieved if that one day involved nothing harder than listening to the conversation of a foolish woman; and he would be relieved almost to the pitch of disappointment if for one half hour in that day, the Enemy said, “Now you may go and amuse yourself.” Now, if he thinks about this assumption for a moment, even he is bound to realize that he is actually in this situation every day.

My plans, my calendar, my time. These things are not really mine, are they? The interruptions of my children began to teach me this, but this pandemic has driven that point home.

How would I approach my calendar differently if I really understood this? Perhaps every entry would be prefaced with "if the Lord wills." "If the Lord wills," we will visit colleges, gather with friends, have summer vacations. If things "get better," if states open up, if we don't get sick, if things stay intact, if the Lord in His grace orchestrates all of these things over which I have no control.

Time is not our own.
The interruptions we face were on God's list for us.

My new list, my new God-given assignment includes thinking about things I don't want to think about, asking hard questions about what it means to love our neighbors during this time, staying informed, staying home more than we would like, and leaning on God like never before.

It's not that there are no gifts here. These gifts are just not the ones I wanted.
But I did not make this day, God did.

THIS is the day the Lord has made.

This is the day our loving, benevolent Father has given us.
Will we receive it with open hands, and can we give thanks, even now?

Held in Peace

 "And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, 

will guard and keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus." 

Philippians 4:7

Doesn’t it seem strange to talk about “peace” in this place where tornadoes destroy and babies die? What is this peace that we have in Christ? Does the peace of God somehow lift us above the fear and grief that is part of the human condition?

Christians suffer, in body and in spirit in this place.

We are not given the peace of the Stoic. We are not told smile when all is well, and smile when the cancer is terminal. We are not told to close our hearts to that which could disturb our peace. We do not experience a mystical inner collection with God that allows us to weather the storms of this life like immovable statues. No, we flip and fly with the winds, much like the rest of the world.

In our experience, we who have peace with Christ often do not feel very peaceful at all, not in this place.

Christians suffer, and yet there is peace in Christ.

Those who are not in Christ are like a kite unfettered; free-wheeling through the sky; vulnerable to the winds and the elements. The crash is inevitable. The flight is terrifying.

We who have Christ are like the kite held by the strong father.

We have peace with God, and yet we live in this fallen world for a little while longer. 

We are still assaulted by the winds.

The rain falls, and some of the turns make our stomachs lurch. 

We may even feel as if we are careening out of control, and we brace for impact. 

But even in the worst of storms, we are tethered to a Rock.

We are held fast by Him who loves us.

As we flip and fly in this life, we know that nothing that assaults us can force us out of his hands.

He will hold us fast.

And one day He will reel us in, to Himself. 

He will bring us to our home of forever peace, in perfect safety.

Until then, even as we flip and fly, His grip is our peace.

photo credit

His grip is our peace.

You may also enjoy: Devotions by Emily and My Weakness/His Strength

Allow the Present to be Imperfect

“Allow the present to be imperfect.”

These words from Emily Freeman’s podcast that have challenged me for months. 

What could it mean if I took them to heart? 

Well, first, let me think on the opposite. Can I disallow the imperfections? Can I ban the inconveniences, force the house to be clean, insist the children cooperate? Oh friends, I have tried to do all of these things, sometimes all at once. 

I know how this story ends: I will chase the end of the to-do list, and I will end up in tears and frustrated.  I will manage and demand things of my children, but it will not be enough, and I will be disappointed, and they will know it. And what will they make of that? How will mom’s perpetual disappointment be filtered through their child-brains and into their hearts?

These words challenge me, invite me to try something new:

“In resting, we pull away from doing although all is not done. We allow the present to be imperfect.” Sally Breedlove

Why would we even do this? Why “pull away from doing” when there are still things to be done?

This is impossible, for a type A like me, unless…

Unless my “doing” is not the most important thing;

unless I am truly NOT the glue that holds the world together;

unless being perfectly productive is missing the point;

unless my God invites me to rest in Him, not as a reward for conquering the checklist, but as a gift of grace.

I am not really in charge here, people. 

I cannot accept this, not really, unless I trust the One who is. 

By His grace, we learn to live in this tension.  We can fight imperfection, and yet not fully win the battle even in our own hearts. We can be discontent with evil, and yet wait on the Victor to complete His victory.  We can work while it is day, and yet rest in Him at night, trusting all the loose ends to His care. 

Jesus, help us both work diligently, and rest deeply, as we wait for you to make all things new.

Amen.

Food for thought:

“Life in this world is neither heaven nor hell; it is a fluctuating mix of the two. The separation of good from evil is an eschatological hope. Since we have a penchant for absolutes in terms of blacks and whites, we are ill-fitted for our complicated existence in the grays. Perfection is an anticipation associated with “waiting upon the Lord.” Our offense at postponing perfection is another example of our resistance to dependency. In spite of this resistance, our tension over the unfulfilled remains. The basis for godly contentment is not a simple acceptance of imperfection. This could be indifference or even cynicism. Godly contentment is based upon an acceptance of imperfection that is united with a vision of the perfect. This vision provides challenge as well as hope. . . 

“Is the only alternative to perfection a complacency with imperfection? Or is this alternative the false deduction from a point of view that is dependent upon the human need for completion? The middle term between perfection and imperfection for the Christian is gratitude. In a sense the Christian is becoming what he already is. The Christian life is a matter of desiring completion without having to have it. It is a matter of striving for something which we have already attained by faith, but which we have yet to work out by sight. It is a mark of growth to learn to live with imperfection without being satisfied with it - to be content with Christ’s righteousness without ceasing to strive for our own.”

-William E. Hulme, The Dynamics of Sanctification

Recommended Podcast:

https://emilypfreeman.com/next-right-thing-podcast/

Just this.

“I don’t know how you balance it all,” they say.

“Why in the world do they think I am balanced!?” I wonder for a moment, but I don’t have time to say it, or even think it for long because someone is pounding on the pew, and someone else wants a snack, and I have to figure out how to get us all to the car and what to give as a consequence for the next fight.

Dear friends, I am unbalanced in so many ways.  Here’s one:

I like to get things done, and there is nothing wrong with that. It feels good to get one thing done in a half hour, but it can feel better to do two. Then,I think, why not three or four or five? Or I could do two things, while also planning the next two things, and then the next chunk of time will be even MORE efficient.

Is there a name for this form of insanity?

Productivity Addiction? TMultitasking Mania? Energizer Bunny Disease? 

Suddenly, I find myself unable to do just one thing at a time. I am the mom texting at the park to plan the next activities, or getting up from the table the second I’m done eating, and answering all the school questions as as fast as possible so that I can ever-so-quickly get on to the next urgent thing.

My whole perspective becomes tainted with impatience.

“Nobody’s moving fast enough!”

“Get ON with it already!”

and

“Can’t you all see how much there is to DO around here?”

Who has time for rest, for humor, or for seeing the gifts of the little moments? 

I don't want to be that person! And furthermore, I really can’t stop ALL the multi-tasking. My family needs me to juggle many things. But surely, I can do SOME things with a single mind? Like, five minute sprints of focus, just to start?

I’m trying something this week, and I thought I’d share it with you.

Just this.

A simple phrase.

I wrote it on a sticky note when I graded a paper, and it reminded me to JUST grade the paper, not think of other papers, or the other kids, or the dinner plans, or the emails. One thing at a time.

I’m going to try to use this throughout the day, even in the midst of school. I can’t use it ALL the time (I may have to teach math and anger management and handwriting all at once,) but SOME of the time. 

And I’m going to use this ninja focus for ME, sometimes. Even (God help me!) when there are still other things on the to-do list. When it doesn’t feel efficient.

Just this.

A few minutes to “ come in and out of the wind.”

To get some perspective, read some Scripture, notice blessings, and give thanks.

To remove my nose from its place against the tree and let God show me the forest again.

Friends who understand, pray with me?

Father, 

We know we are not loved based on what we do. At least, we say we know. But how to be simply “okay,” not based on the things accomplished, but in You alone? We know that productivity is a slave driver, and we will never find rest listening to its demands. And yet, we know we must work while it is day, and we do want to pour ourselves out here for others. Give us wisdom in both pouring and resting. Teach us to come in out of the wind. May Your love be our refuge.  In Jesus, Amen.