Quiet Time

My favorite quiet place...Maui at sunset...oh, Maui.

I've been quiet again. 

It's hard to even know where to start.  I don't want to go so long between posts but lately writing has felt like one more thing I need to work harder at.  If I sit long enough and think about what I need to work harder at I begin to feel a giant burden press hard against my chest.   The list begins to roll...

Be more patient with my children.
Get a handle on the laundry.
Show my husband I love him rather than just tell him in passing all the time.
Pray more.
Listen more.
Be a better friend.
Call people back.
Return texts and emails.
Get a handle on the laundry.


The list goes on.


The truth is that I've always struggled with believing the lie that if I get it all together then I will have peace.  If I just work hard enough I will then be worthy.  If I can appear to have it all together then people will admire me.

Really...those are some of the biggest and fattest lies.  And, I'm pretty sure that I'm not the only one who has ever believed them.

In a quiet moment, probably in the big blue chair, I heard the Spirit say, "Be still.  Know that I am God."

Hard command to follow...at least for me.

You see, for the 81 days leading up to May 28th I was in some intense "talks" with God.

Let's just say, I prayed like I never had before.  It was hard.  It was so good.  It was raw.   It was so real.

During that time I couldn't write.  God was doing great things inside of me and inside of those I was praying for and there were no words. But I felt it.  I felt it as I went through those days.  As I fed my children, as I sang them to sleep, as I took walks with them in the big red stroller, I felt it.  But I couldn't express it. 


It felt like hard work but the kind that I was determined to do.  I've never farmed nor do I anticipate it being part of my future, (could you imagine?!) but just like a farmer sweats as he gets the ground ready and lays down the seed,  I sweat.


It was such hard work.  At times I felt that I had done it really well and then there were times where disappointment crept in or just plain slapped me in the face and I wavered...oh, how I got wavy!  For a specific two weeks after a specific prayer was answered the exact opposite way I had hoped for I almost shut down.  What was all this praying for?


As the 28th came and went I had expectations.  I don't know exactly what I was expecting...maybe an earthquake or walls physically falling down.  But that night as I rocked the Little Man in the Big Blue Chair the Spirit ministered to me.  That's the only was I can even describe it.  I know, it sounds strange but...such is life, right? 


After that night there was no earthquake...no crumbling walls.  It was quiet.  Too quiet for my liking.


I didn't know what to do.  So I did...anything...everything.  I thought If I kept "doing" then something might happen, as if I could create or fabricate the answers myself...as if, I were God. 


Then those words..."Be still."


It was as if God was saying, "I heard you.  I know.  I got this.  Watch what I am going to do now.  Just, be still and, let me.  I AM." 


That's exactly what He was saying to me.


It's hard though. 


It means that I have to trust Him.  It means that I have to rely on Him.  It means that I have to remember that the only road to peace right now is through a constant dependence on Him...not on the fact I did or did not get a handle on the laundry.


Dirty socks, dirty dishes, dirty babies, dirty mommy (you mommies totally know that there are weeks where even a shower is a miraculous experience!)...it doesn't matter.  I can "try" to "perfect" my mommy trade until the cows come home but it won't matter.  The only way I can improve my skills is to stop trying so hard and start being quiet.


The answers are coming and if I'm busy I might just miss the beauty of watching the seeds I laid down produce the crop that can only come from the Father.


Maybe those words are for you today too.  So, let's be quiet and watch and see what our God can do.

A LIttle Birdie Told Me

 

I have always loved birds.  I think it might be a reminiscent infatuation from my childhood. As I watched Cinderella and her little bird friends on the good old VHS, I longed for some birdie friends of my own.  I have vivid memories of playing outside and standing very still with my finger available for any bird to perch upon.  I set friendly traps in hopes to get to sing with the sweet winged-creature just as my favorite Disney princesses did.  (Don’t judge…you have your own vivid memories!)

As I have gotten older birds have begun to symbolize much more than dreams and wishes my heart might make.  God loves the birds too.  He even uses them in His Word to remind us of His protection and His love for each of us.

One afternoon a few weeks ago I was cleaning orange splatters of baby food off the back seat of my car.  I thought my Little Man was ready to eat from a squeezy-pouch of food all by himself…I was wrong…it was a carrot crime scene.

I plopped the kids in the grass to play and I propped open the door into the house to easily go back and forth. Scrubbing away, a funny thing happened.  A bird flew right into my garage, through the door, and landed on my ceiling fan.

I stood and watched it, perplexed, trying to find a quick exit for my fine-feathered guest.  I opened the back-slider and waited.  The bird flew to a shelf and landed next to a statue I received as a wedding gift, a husband and wife embracing.  It flew back to the fan.  Then it ventured to the sweet picture of the four of us on my mantle and again, back to the fan.  The next place it perched was on my big clock and then of course, back to the fan.  Finally, it made a break for it and found it’s way out the sliding door.

No, that's not me holding the bird...sadly...but this is my bird...It's a Flycather.  

“Weird,” was my thought in the moment.  And, as any other mama might, I went back to cleaning up the carrots…a little bewildered but determined to get the orange out my seats.

A few days later we found a nest this bird had been building in the garage in the leg of ladder that had been hanging from the ceiling.  It was almost complete.  At first, I didn’t have the heart to disturb this mama’s hard work.  She had been precise and patient waiting for the garage to be open to do her job.  Yielding to her responsibility, surrendering to her call, she dutifully and persistently went to work building a dwelling place for her family. 

Due to sanitation issues we had to remove it, however, that nest made me pray.  I asked God about his sweet creature.  And as I prayed I was reminded of our rendezvous in my house and the places she perched.

The statue of a husband and a wife:  “Pray for your marriage.”  It was time to pray prayers that would not just bless and protect but prayers that would produce fruit and growth.  I prayed for unity and for the embracing to last our lifetimes.  I prayed for my husband, no more prayers laced with selfish ambition, but prayers for him that would bring the future and hope that God might have for him.

The picture of my family:  “Pray for your children.”  I prayed for my kids to have hearts that care about people.  I prayed that we would not let our fear or even our good intentions get in the way of what God has called each of them to be.  May we see early the path they are to walk and do our best to keep Jesus the hero of their lives.

The clock:  “Pray for your time.”  Then I was promptly convicted of my “time-wasters.”  My minutes are precious.  My babies are little and I will regret my lost moments given to Facebook and Pinterest or even the laundry at times.  My time is a gift. I need to stop wasting it.

I thought about that Mama Bird doing what she was created to do and I knew that what this little birdie was telling me was an assignment…one too important to fail.

 It is not enough to pray out of defense and worry.  As a mama I need to build.  I need to be patient and persistent, yielding to my responsibility and surrendering to my call.  As I abide, make my dwelling,  in Christ so might my family and the world may just be better for it.

 Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? – Matthew 6:26

All You Need Is Love

Junior High Ministry at it's finest.

I did some cleaning out of an old box this weekend.

I love slowly going through boxes that are filled with memories.  It was quiet.  It was nap time.  They were both sleeping and I was digging...digging through moments that held some sort of significance.

During my excavation I found three things that brought tears to my eyes.

First, I found a letter my dad had written me when I went on my Kairos retreat my senior year.  (Shout out to my St. Lucy fam!)  As I read it through tear-filled eyes I had to smile as he mentioned one of his favorite memories of me was my love for Strawberry Shortcake.  The Bug came to mind.  She LOVES Strawberry Shortcake too...a special something we can share.  I was reminded of how much my daddy loves me and that always makes a girl feel good.

Second, I found an old journal.  It was writings from about 8 years ago.  I read every word.  I read every prayer.  It was moving and conflicting at the same time.  It taught me things.  It gave me hope.  So much happened in my heart as I read those words.  More than I can even share now.

Third, I found a stack of pictures.  They were from a winter camp or summer camp or maybe even both.  And as I looked at them more memories flooded my mind.  Those were students that I had the privilege of leading.  They were the first. They heard my stories over and over.  Those girls.  (You know who you are!)  Each so beautiful in her own way and each so young, innocent and desiring to know her God.

I left the pile on my desk as a reminder to pray for them.  Then at some point in this full day of celebrating my Savior, these words found their way into my heart.

"Tell, them about my love."

I let it sit.  I let it roll around a while.  And as it sat it just got bigger.  I knew I could not go to bed tonight without writing to you, the students I've had the privilege of knowing and loving...those from the beginning to last bunch.

So tonight, I write to you, young ones:


This morning I heard our Pastor give an Easter sermon that moved my heart in a way that caused it to want more.  More of my Jesus.  At one point he said the words, "I love Jesus," in the most natural, sincere way.  I wanted to not only say it that way but mean it that way.  And, my heart's deepest desire is for people, people I love, have loved, or will love, to say it that way too.  Actually, my heart's deepest desire is to share His love with anyone and everyone who will listen and receive it.

Young one, Jesus loves you.  I am not saying this in a trite, cliche tone.  I am telling you a truth that you need to hear today and remember tomorrow.  Jesus loves you.  You know the story.  You know what He chose to do because of His love for you.  This is good.  So good. But today just focus on the Love.

Young one, no matter where you are, what you have or haven't done, He loves you.  His love is not just a feeling toward you.  It is a moving and living love that penetrates your being.  It separates the yuck and the junk from the person He wants you to be, the person He created you to be.  Love is the key, young one.  His Love can heal your wounds.  His Love can set you free from whatever has a grip on you at this moment.  His love is unfailing.  What does that mean?  It doesn't fail.

If you spent some time with me in the past I'm sure I told you many things...probably more than you wanted to hear!  My heart for each of you was for you to know that there is God who loves you and created you with a plan and a purpose that was not only for you but for something bigger...His Kingdom.  But tonight, if this were the last time I could write or say anything, it would be all about His Love.  His Love received brings transformation.  His Love received heals your wounds.  His Love received forgives your mistakes.  His Love received fills up the empty space.

And once you receive it...I mean really receive it...open your hands up and ask for it...you won't want to keep it to yourself.

His Love received is meant to be given away.  His Love received is an opportunity.  His Love received is Love to give.  It is the only way to live the life He has for you.

Young one, I don't know where you find yourself today.  You may be far from the God who Loves you with a Love that changes things.  Or, you may be sitting in His presence even as you read this.  Wherever you find yourself right now, please, ask for it again.  Ask for His Love to be made real to you today.  Ask Him to fill you with it one more time.  Ask Him to show you just how much He Loves you.

Then open your hands.  Close your eyes.  Sit and receive it.  Fill up.  Don't stop seeking it until you find it.

Then give it away because there's more where that came from.  It's only the beginning.   Ask Him to show you today how to do it...how to Love like He does.   I promise it will change you.  It will change your world.  It can change the world.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. -- 1Cor 13:13

Wrestling: A Letter to the Little Man

 Dear Little Man,

One great thing about recording the first year of your life on a blog means that it can't burn up in a fire somewhere or have a gallon of milk spilled on it.  I'm pretty sure that when you are able to read you will still be able to find these writings.

When you do, you will see that it was because of you that I finally sat down and typed.  It was because of your sweet, little, baby belly so full of bubbles as an 8 week old that through a sleep deprived stupor I began to hammer out my story...our story.

Since that late summer evening we have been through a roller coaster in the sleep department.  Sleep, or lack there of, I should say, has been a running theme for your whole little life so far.

I can't even begin to tell you how many prayers I have prayed for your sleep.  Countless.  I can't begin to tell you how many times your daddy and I have been up and down holding you, calming you, shhhing you, rocking you, even crying with you...in the late hours of the night and the wee hours of the morning.

To be fair, I must say that there have been a few times, probably a number we could count on one hand, that you slept fairly well.  There was even one night that you slept from 7pm to 6am!!! (I seriously cried happy tears...but as you get older you will realize that is not surprising.) However, out of the almost 10 months you have been with us there is no arguing that sleep has been something you struggle with, something that keeps us wrestling.


For a long time I wrestled with you.  I tried everything.  Then one day I realized that there might be more to this.  That night I said to God, "Fine.  If I am gonna be awake anyway we may as well do something productive!"  (Or something along those lines...)  I began to pray. But this time my prayers were different.  I stilled prayed for you but I began to really pray for you and for your sister.  For your futures.  For your friendships.  For your hearts.  For your future spouses and their hearts.  I prayed for your protection but I also prayed for adventure and full life.  I began to use the phrase "Kingdom Builders."  And, as I held your not-so-tiny frame in my arms I prayed that both of you would know the love of you Savior.  That you would know it in a real, deep, know it in your bones kind of way.   I prayed for hearts full of compassion.  Hearts that would be moved by the things that move God.

I'm not gonna lie...I was still tired.  But my attitude changed.  It was a good tired.  And I was finding myself looking forward to my moments with you in the big blue chair.  My pint-sized pray partner lying in my arms was my posture and it was so...good.

That's the big blue chair in the background.  Our "prayer closet," if you will:).

Last night I went in when you awoke with the same expectations....rock you and pray.  But you would not be rocked.  You would not be soothed.  I heard a still, small voice say, "It is time."  I pushed it away and continued to wrestle you and hoped that you would give in and rest in my arms.

You wouldn't.

I heard the voice again in the deep places of my heart...the places that only leave a faint echo in your ears.  Being that the house was so still, I was sure this time that this was it.

I laid you down in your crib and for the next two hours I rubbed your back, your belly, your legs, your hands.  And I continuously said "Shhhh" softly, amidst my breathing.  You would push my hands away and then claw them back.  You would push yourself up to sitting and I would gently lay you back down.

You screamed.  Over and over again.  Your breathing was quick.  You choked a few times on all that saliva.

I cried too.  And as we wrestled three things kept playing through my mind.

1) Psalm 91...You will not fear the terror of the night....over and over again I prayed this for both of us.

2) A sermon a dear friend of mine gave this last year about parenting.  She used the analogy of a canoe on a river.  Some parents pack up their kids and send them on down the river...good luck to you.  Some parents stand on the shore and cheer them on...you can do it!  Then there are some parents that get in that canoe with them.  They say things like. "I know this is hard.  You will get through this and I will be with you."

If you were going to stay awake all night, so was I.  I knew it was time to help you learn.  I knew it would be difficult.  I knew I couldn't do it for you but I wasn't going to leave you alone to figure out for yourself.

So, for the first of many times to come.  I got in that canoe with you.

Then, after that...

3) Jacob.  As my mind faded in and out of those two thoughts a third one entered.  Jacob.  He wrestled with God one night.  You can read about it in the book of Genesis.  He wrestled until the sun was coming up.  He would not give up until he received the blessing.

As that story came to life in my head and images began to form it was like my heart finally began to understand.

That is what this was all about.  It was through you, my sweet boy, that God was teaching me that if I want to pray big, outlandish, impossible prayers I needed to learn how to wrestle.

As you threw your body and fought, and oh, did you fight, I saw the manifestation of what God was teaching me in you.  And then it dawned on me that maybe, just maybe, this lesson was not just for me...but for both of us.

Little Man, I don't know what you are going to be when you grow up.  But, I do know that this first year of your life, the sleepless nights are not in vain.  The seeds sown in this time are nestled in a rich soil.  I believe they will return a harvest greater than we can even imagine.

And, one day, we will look back and thank God for this wrestling match we've been fighting because the blessing will be worth it.

I love you my sweet boy.  I will not stop praying for you and your sister.  I will get back in that canoe tonight.   I will wrestle with my God.

Oh those eyes. The cut on your cheek was from the fight last night.  A reminder.

43 Days

Pure Joy.

My heart is so full.  There is so much to say without enough words or even understanding to express it all.

Backing up.  It's been a while.  I've wanted to write...truly wanted to...but there was a block, a hindrance and at the same time there was too much to say.

In the past 43 days, since my last post, I have seen God move.  My grandfather left this world to be with Jesus.  The Bug has grown, learned the enticing power of a tantrum, and rode on an airplane, shouting "Blast off!" at the top of her lungs as the plane went into the air.  The Little Man has also grown, learned how to pull himself up and cruise the furniture.  He says, "Mama," "Dada," and "Baba."  He loves Cheerios now and for the first time I can see how he wants to be as big as his big sister.

This was the first attempt.  That's my hand.  I got nervous.

Does this really need a caption?

Mom-mom and her grandchildren and great-grandchildren.  (Little Man was asleep on his Grandad) This was taken after a beautiful celebration of my Poppy.  Legacy.

 

 

In the midst of these things my prayer life has been set on fire.  I'm praying like I never have before.  I'm praying for my family, for friends, for their families, for strangers, for guidance, for sleep, for patience, for my home church, for The Church, for the future.

It's been the most wonderfully exhausting whirlwind.

As I sit here trying to figure out what to share that might possibly encourage or even inspire others to give a second thought to the power that lies in prayer...the word that comes to mind is one from a conversation I had earlier this evening. It is experience.

Prayer can be an experience.  It can be an invitation to encounter the Living God.  It can be a outlet of whatever it is that has been bottled up for so long inside of you.  It can be a tool...the only tool sometimes...you can use when nothing else seems to influence a situation.  It can bring healing, physical and emotional.  It can change you.  It will change you.

It has changed me.

I'm still tired.  My son still thinks sleep is for other people.  My daughter, like I mentioned above, has tantrums now.  The Horizon Vanilla Milk Box from Starbucks was bent.  It was tragic.  She cried for 15 minutes straight.  Not kidding or exaggerating.

But I'm different.  I feel Him again.  My God is with me.  He never left me.  He did not forsake me.  He has heard my cry.  He says I can seek Him and I will find Him.

So I am.  I am seeking like I never sought before.

I am praying.  I am experiencing His Presence...every day.

I am finding my Father.  I am finding Jesus.  I am finding the Holy Spirit.

I am finding out who He created me to be.  I've been looking for so long.

So tonight, I write to remind me.  I write to remind anyone who is hurting.  I write to remind anyone who is angry.  I write to remind anyone who knows they need something but can't put their finger on it.  I write to remind those who in the quiet moments can hear and feel the aching of their soul and the hunger or thirst for something more.

He is there.  Oh!  He is there.  He loves you like he loves me.  He hears you just as He's heard me.

Put your hope in Him. And, start the conversation.

Glory.  His Presence. Beauty after a storm.

A Lovely Valentine's Day

The Bug is "making" me smoothies right now.  For Christmas she got a cute retro kitchen and a play blender with pretend fruit and pretend ice cubes.  The blender actually spins.  She loves it.

She's winding down...well, we are all winding down.  I bet if I mustered up the energy to get up and check, I would find the Fly and the Little Man dozing off to Slumberland.  

 What a day.  What a beautifully full day. 

 There was so much love in my house today.  How appropriate, I know.

About a month ago I was thanking God for my neighborhood.  We live on a street filled with kids and parents who love them recklessly.  Recklessly loved kids are the kind of kids that jump off walls together, run around screaming at the top of their lungs, ride their bikes at high speeds and do summersaults in the front yard without fear.  They know that mom and dad are nearby if they are needed.  In the mean time, they are fearless, young and fearless, and their love-tanks are full.

As I was thinking about all those great kiddos and their great parents I thought about how fun it would be to get them together for a celebration.  With the big V-day around the corner it was a perfect opportunity.  Plus, Pinterest basically tempts me to have a party everyday...not exaggerating.

So we planned it.  Some of us split up some of the responsibilities and early this afternoon my house was filled with kids...laughing, running, eating, craft-making, cookie decorating, followed by the cookie eating, of course. 

As the kids ran off their sugar highs the mamas and a couple grandmamas sat around my kitchen table and laughed.  It was so good to laugh.  We learned new things about one another.  Our friendships sunk in a little deeper. 

As nap time neared everyone began to gather their things and trickle out the door.  Smiles, hugs, and thank yous were shared among all of us.

Thank you.  We each said it to each other.  And as they all left and I put the kids to bed for their naps I could still feel the thickness of joy that was left behind.  I walked downstairs to clean up a bit and all I could do was smile.  So thankful.  I was so thankful for each of them.

For the one down the street at the end of the cul-de-sac.  She makes me smile.  She cares about my kids and has been a key friend in my transition from working to staying home.  We've gotten close over the past couple years and that warms my heart. 

For the one right across the street.  She inspires me.  I watch her love her kids and pick and choose her battles with wisdom and I can't help but look up to her.  I treasure our middle-of-the-street conversations as our kids ride each others scooters or ride their bikes up and down together. 

For the one across the other street, perpedicular to the cul-de-sac.  She makes me laugh.  I love her silly songs and the way she teaches her kids to love the Lord.  She reminds me through her actions not to sweat the small stuff and to laugh with my kiddos. 

For the one right next door.  She wasn't here today but her daughter and her mother-in-law, whom I love as well, joined us.  She encourages me.  I love it every time we get a chance to chat.  We swap advice and she reminds me that I'm not alone in this adventure.  I love her generous heart.  

 It was a privilege to have these ladies and two wonderful grandmamas around my kitchen table today. 

It's an honor to laugh with them and do life with them.

The Valentine's Day Monsters the kiddos made at the party:).  That's Proverbs 17:17.

 

Matt 5:1-2

Seeing the crowds, he went up on the mountain, and when he sat down, his disciples came to him.  And he opened his mouth and taught them saying:"

Every sermon starts with people who want to hear something.  People who are yearning, craving, words, wisdom.  Most people looking for a sermon are those that want to hear.

Sometimes they want to hear words that will make them feel better.

They want to hear words that prove them right.

They want to hear words that fill the hunger.

Then there are those that didn't really want to hear the sermon but they came because the person who did want to hear it made them.  I was one of those for a very long time.  All the words floated right over my head.  They entered the hearts that were soft and open.  Mine was closed and distant.  Mine was self-absorbed.  Ironic, as the very words I let drift by would have ministered to ME, the person I was so consumed with.

I imagine the crowds, my New King James Version, the one that reminds me of Shakespeare, says multitudes.  It's been a while since I went through this passage with a commentary but I wonder right now, with no intention of using a commentary, just how many people that was.

Was it Disneyland on New Year's Eve or the 4th of July?  That's a lot of people.

As I type, the Bug is watching Veggie Tales and the Little Man is desperately trying to crawl.  So close.

Silly Faces

Outside is a taste of our winter season, a rainy day sandwiched between So Cal's sun and fun days.

The clouds frame the mountains.  The mountains that the Bug enthusiastically discovers every time we go outside.

The view on one of those Fun in the Sun days.

"Mommy!  The mountains!"

"That's right.  Who made those mountains?"

"God.  In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.  Genesis 1:1"

(This was one of my proudest moments thus far.)

With tears burning, "That's right! Bug.  That's right!"


I look at those mountains today and imagine Jesus, my Savior, going to the top of the mountain, through the droves, the multitudes, of those coming to hear.  Would I have been there too?  I hope so.


Then he sat down.  What?  Again, trying so hard not to go to a commentary just yet, why did he sit?  Most sermons are given from the standing position.  Were the words so decadent and rich that the standing dynamic didn't even matter?  Were the mountains situated in a way that would cause his voice to carry so they could all hear without him having to breathe with his diaphragm?

His disciples came to him.  His community.  They surrounded him.  They supported him.  They listened.  This is why community is so important.


He opened his mouth and taught them saying...

For the first time in a long time my heart is craving the next verse.

Jesus, teach me.  Tell me through your Word.  I come this time as one who wants to be here.  I am on the mountain.   Listening.  Waiting for the next word.