Post Category → faith

september 4

A few mornings ago, I was watching this amazing sunrise. I don’t even live anywhere spectacular, and still, it’s stunning every single day. Magnificent. An orb of fire in the sky. I mean, who thought of that?

And then I looked straight ahead and saw my little geranium, recently pruned of all flowers, growing in its little earthen pot.

All things, large and small, the Lord God made them all.

The vast expanse of history, with kingdoms being raised and cast down, people moving here and there, cultures shifting and changing the scape of all future — and me. Just me.

God has His eye on it all.

He has His eye on you.

Happy Sunday.

August 28

“Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I have become sounding brass or a clanging cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, but have not love, it profits me nothing.

Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy;
love does not parade itself, is not puffed up;
does not behave rudely, does not seek its own,
is not provoked, thinks no evil;
does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth;
bears all things, believes all things,
hopes all things, endures all things.
Love never fails.”

Just simple thoughts the last two mornings. “If I have not love…”

It is so easy to lose sight of the goal once you get into the thick of things. So easy to spend every last bit of energy and personal resources on serving people, only to find the love that inspired you to start has disappeared, or gotten lost in the shuffle.

I made my list yesterday and saw there a host of activities and ideas that all must be tethered to love.

Today I wake early and will dress freshly bathed children in neatly ironed clothing, and will go through the hassle of actually leaving the house all together just to be at church. Those elements of “busy” quickly obliterate the view of “why”: love for the brethren, love for our Savior.

Love.

Most of the world over knows love is powerful, love is needful, love can set free.

But then there’s a limit. We can only go so far before hurt or unloveliness or just sheer exhaustion smothers the last flicker of compassion or affection.

And that, oh my soul, is where Jesus comes in. A fount of love that ceaselessly flows, reaching me, changing me, empowering me to keep on loving.

“The love of God has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us.”

“The fruit of the Spirit is love.”

Need more love? Turn to Jesus.

*****

Called to love these:

August 22

I want to say that this has been a perfect Monday.

But what I would really mean is that this happened to be the kind of Monday I enjoy. I have had slews of other kinds of Mondays, and you know? My times are in His hands, He has written my days in His book, and there is perfect in those other Mondays because He is there.

I’m slow to learn that. I don’t always respond that way.

I’m trying.

It certainly helps to look up from my “perfect” Monday and ponder how many people are living vastly different lives at this moment. Bombs, guns, terror. Fear, pain, abuse. Loss, tragedy, grief. Confusion, depression, hurt.

He is there.

Emmanuel, my favorite of His names. He’s right here. And He is all — all — that we need.

*****

Up and at ’em — alone. My favorite way to start a day. Get everything humming. My spirit, my mind, my oven, my washer. It doesn’t happen often and it’s a gift.

The baby fell asleep as usual, and it was cool and breezy, and I spent two hours alone (“Are you bleeding? Is the bone broken? Go outside.“) starting to really map out the start of this year. Another gift that I had asked for but not banked on.

Sweet Cecily, asleep in her little nest on the floor, since laying down and nursing is her new (not negotiable) preference. Laying down twice a day doesn’t hurt me, either. God must know stuff.

Back to the kitchen for some more cooking-ahead. Cutting into tomatoes so dense and pink, I almost cried. Silly?, but I feel like I’m viewing something miraculous when I cut into these beautiful gems.

Sitting outside to write something, anything, on this little blog, and looking up to see this bit of sweetness. Yellow flowers, blue and white sky, navy polka dots, Goldilocks hair. I have so much beauty in my season.

august 10

This was in my devotional a couple of days ago — so well put (of course; leave it to Mr. Keller.)

“Lord, you hide yourself in history, but you don’t hide yourself in your Word.”

In other words, experience does not need to dictate my theology; the Word of God needs to shape my expectation and hope.

When asking what the will of God is, or how to pray, I need not look at history or my experience, but instead, look at the Word. There I find a rock that will settle my feet quite firmly in the truth of His unfailing goodness, His unflagging power, and His boundless compassion. Hope, pray, expect in the light of that abundantly clear revelation.

August 8: fret and faith

A couple of weeks ago, I left all my kids home with Ryan and got a massage.

Okay, so, it was in a dentist’s chair. But since their chairs are fancy Brookstone massage chairs, I’m gonna call it a spa day.

Your molars show a lot of wear, she said. You clench your teeth a lot. Relax.

And since then, I’ve realized how often I’m chomping down. Relax. So many times a day — RELAX.

But my soul — it’s the same. A constant state of tension, waiting for it all to fall apart, feeling like it’s held together by a thread, a thread I have to keep tense, or it’s all over. We fall to chaos. I notice my clenched teeth, and I relax. I notice my clenched soul — but how do I relax? How do I dare to let go?

“Take my fret…
I will worship You Lord
Only You Lord.”

We sang that in church a few days later, and I realized the clenched teeth and the clenched soul — it’s a worship problem, ultimately.

Sometimes I’m hurrying to get us all ready to go somewhere, and Ryan will call me. Come look at how cute the baby is, or come read this email I’m trying to send, or just come and say hi for a minute. And I think, I can’t!! I can’t stop, or this will never get done. You don’t understand. I just can’t. But over the years, I’ve tried to learn to just pause and come.

And that’s part of how the Holy Spirit illuminates this worship problem.

Come to Me, I want to speak. Come to Me, I want you to rest. Come to Me, I can show you how.

And my soul screams, No! You don’t understand! I can’t come right now, or the food will never be ready and our house will never be tidy and these kids will never be dressed and don’t You see that it all falls apart faster than I can hold it together?

Clench. Grind.

Worship, but not the kind I want.

****

I make a list of the things I love:

Peace. Order. Faithfulness. Work. Calm. Beauty.

Sweet things, things that clearly are of God, created and exemplified by Him. But when any of those are on the throne of my heart, ruling my moments and my spirit, the fruit looks more like fret and frenzy and less like order and beauty. Ironic, yes?

I will
Worship
You Lord
Only You Lord.

August 4

My friend and I sat and chatted, my fifth baby asleep on my lap, hers growing large within her belly. The others, all eight (!!!) of them, ran helter-skelter, drawing cities of sidewalk chalk, pushing baby dolls, catching frogs and traipsing through woods.

“Our lives are different now,” she said with a wry smile at one point, and we laughed.

Even as my arms are full to overflowing with the incredible blessing of God in these five children, my own self — the identity I once had — undergoes a deeper work of decay. If there are moments when, with a sense of panic I cry out to God, “I feel like I’ve lost all sense of who I am! Who am I?”, the Holy Spirit is quick to gently rush in close and whisper, “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies…”

Covered by earth. Lost, as it were. That deep darkness working to soften, break open, doing its part to bring forth much fruit.

There is the tendency to grasp frantically at the receding light of day as the darkness of that earth closes in and around. To at the last moment jump from the altar I so nobly laid myself upon, a living sacrifice. To want to save just a few last sips from the drink offering being poured out.

It is so easy to forget that the things that were gain to me are truly nothing in light of the treasure that is knowing and loving and living for Jesus.

An amazing thing, really, that I can give such a small thing — my own “self”, nothing special at all — and receive in exchange the chance to be used by Christ, bearing eternal fruit.

Yield to His hand. I am not lost, really; no, I am being found. My soul may flail, but if I but lift my eyes to Him and yield to these little moments of falling into the ground, I will find my soul’s desire is, after all, in HIM.

*****

From Lilias Trotter:

“Today’s first lesson was in these little mountain paths. I followed mine only a few yards further this morning and such an outburst of beauty came. You can never tell to what untold glories a little humble path may lead, if you follow far enough.“