Post Category → faith

love that pursues

I think often to myself:

GOD is LOVE.

This doesn’t make Him flowery or feminine or greeting-card worthy.

God’s ideas on love are not summed up by chocolates, red roses, and picnics at sunset.

When the Scriptures say God is love, it means that He is always and continually

passionate

jealous

redeeming

pursuing

even when we don’t want to be pursued. It’s just the nature of God’s love. Who can stop it?

I lay my head on my pillow at night, knowing that as I sleep (recognizing my frailty and the fact that I, in fact, do not hold my world in my hands), GOD is LOVE. And He is, even as we sleep, PURSUING.

I sleep a lot better with that thought to hold onto.

glorious light

Last week, as I was taking a wonderful winter walk with my sweet William, I realized it’s been a year since we moved back. Here just in time to see winter’s tail end and reluctant departure, order our maple syrup (very important), and watch spring come to the beautiful property we’d just purchased.

And now I’ve watched four seasons from these windows. They’ve all been breathtaking in their simple beauty.

What I’m most struck by, though, is the opportunity I’ve had to watch a whole year of new days — seeing the sun rise earlier, later; sparkling off of July’s wet dew and January’s diamonds of snow; crimson and clear, and barely perceptible through a sky of heavy cloud. But every day, day after day, a new morning coming, bringing beauty and mercy all its own.

Still, despite the beauty, and despite being a life-long morning-lover, there are days I fail to notice. There are mornings when I wake up with a hangover from life — worry, discouragement, exhaustion, worry, annoyance, a general feeling of being beat up by the devil, worry…

Something Ryan said to one of my sisters a few weeks ago stirred something inside of me. Speaking of an expectation for God to move in our lives, “‘What if today’s the day?’ We can live with that faith-attitude.”

And at breakfast a few days later, as the boys and I sat holding hands, ready to pray and “officially” start our day, I looked out at a brilliant new day and realized, I really can begin each day wondering, by faith, What does God want to do? What miracles does He want to work in our lives? What change does He want to affect? How does He want to use our simple actions and words to impact one another in profound ways? What prayers does He want to answer — prayers for people we know and love, prayers for children and places across the world?

Every single morning, God is on His throne. There have been some mornings in my life that led to days of really, really bad news. Even on those days, God is on His throne. Those morning, whether I knew it or not, grace was being poured out in extra measure, ready to catch me, us, ready to hold when worlds crumbled.

Most mornings in my life have led to just, well, just days. Days when it would be easy for mercy and grace to go unnoticed, for expectations to be at a bare minimum, for the hangovers of life to leave us slumped and defeated.

But every single morning, God is on His throne. And every single morning, because our souls have a hard time remembering, He causes a blazing orb of fire to rise out of darkness, consuming every shadow with its light.

I want to stop and marvel at its warmth, its glorious colors, the beauty it brings to the earth. But mostly, I want to remember that this new day is an opportunity to welcome the rule and reign of Christ in my life — to yield to His beautiful plan and lift my face expectantly, ready to see (and be a part of) what He wants to do.

a tuesday afternoon: just thoughts

This winter has been the prettiest winter ever. I think. There’s fresh snow almost every day — or, rather every other day. In between, the sun comes out and makes yesterday’s fresh snow sparkle. There’s so little yucky sand/slush/slop. It’s all just white, clean snow.

It sparkles like diamonds. Of course, that can prove disappointing if you’re 4. Jameson and I were out on a particularly sparkly day, and he, in a dejected voice, announced that “it looks like diamonds but if you get close, you can’t find them anywhere!”

Of course, this house makes winter (and spring and summer and fall) just more enjoyable. I feel like I’m living in the most magical snow globe ever. Snow dancing and whirling, snow on pine tree’s branches, snow on split rail fences, snow in drifts like dunes… Snow in all the most beautiful ways.

*****

It almost makes up for the fact that this has also been the dirtiest winter. Sheetrock dust EVERYWHERE. Always. No matter what. In my teeth, in my rug, in my bed, on my just-washed dishes. Spring cleaning never sounded so good. I’m trying to just patiently wait for the day they say, “Okay! You can now clean and be done!” Because I’ve lost all my oomph for cleaning in the midst of more dust settling. My mantel is as snowy white as the great outdoors, I know, but I just can’t care right now. I’ll quietly and happily wash my kitchen table and counters, vacuum a million times, and block out the rest. Oh, look, isn’t it pretty outside? Yes, let’s just look at the snow, shall we?

But.

But there is a test swatch of color on the walls, and that must mean something, right? (A pale, pale, pale warm peachy-pink. I think it’s going to be just right: clean but warm and most of all, pretty. I just want light, elegant, pretty.) And Monday (!!!), our talented friend comes to lay floors. He and Ryan will hem and haw over which board is the prettiest, which grain to highlight, how to scatter the varying widths — and then, ta-da, we’ll have a floor! Maybe it will make us giddy and itchy with excitement, and we’ll turn around and just start tearing the up the kitchen carpet—

Or maybe not. Maybe we’ll just stand and sigh and love it and take a break.

And go to California.

*****

For a week. Just Ryan and me. To what was home sweet home just one year ago (almost a year to the day, actually, I’ll be back where I started.) How strange and fun that will be! Strange to walk by “our” house and think that it’s not ours. Strange to meet my neighbor and realize she’s been strolling those streets for a whole year without me. To see friends from church and their kids-who-aren’t-babies-anymore and try to fill in a whole year. To walk out the door in ballet flats and a cardigan and laughingly remember that I willingly and joyfully left those winters for these.

*****

Speaking of clothes, I’ve hit that awkward stage. The old pants still work, sort of, if I don’t eat too much, but I had to buy a few extra-long t’s to cover my already-generous belly. 13 weeks? Really? That’s what people say when they see this generous belly, but that’s nothing new. I seem to always get off to a rip-roaring start when it comes to baby bellies. And I tend to finish a bit on the generous side, too, I guess. Blame it on genetics, right, Mom?

*****

Mostly, this is a winter to go deeper. For my roots to wriggle through another layer of rock and dry soil to find the water that’s always flowing, always life-giving, always sustaining. It’s a little happier, perhaps, when life isn’t serving up rocks and sand, but this is when it counts. So I wriggle away, reaching for the water I know is there, knowing that someday these root-strengthening days are going to prove to be oh-so-important. Never mind the extras: today I just set my feet a bit more firmly on these things:

Who does God say He is?
What has God promised to do?
How much does God love me?

Does anything else matter? Really?

No, not much.

A house won’t quickly be blown over when it’s built on the true answers to those questions.

Build my foundation, Lord. Make my house strong. I want to be standing at the end.

new year, new day

One year ago, our purchase offer was accepted. The boys and I were recovering from a violent tummy bug, and our little California house was topsy-turvy with the remains of a cross-country visit.

What a difference a year makes.

Lately, though, I’ve mostly been thinking about what a difference a day makes, as I ride the waves of nausea and exhaustion and not feeling myself. I wake each morning and wonder, what will this day be? Will the simple acts of breakfast and shower completely wipe me out till evening? Will I be forced to sit perfectly still, hoping to keep my stomach from sloshing, upsetting? Or will there be the gift of energy spurts, and a lifting of the “I just don’t care” that seems to be my constant feeling these days?

What a difference each day makes.

Everyone around me is talking about new years, fresh starts, new seasons, and I try to not feel severely lacking as I continue to simply process days. I have no exciting game plans, no fresh excitement for routines. Instead, I’m trying to let go of everything but bare essentials. Trying not to feel bad that the routines I so enjoy are having to go by the wayside for a bit. Trying to combat a sense of guilt for letting a New Year go a bit uncelebrated and unprocessed. Instead, being thankful for two little boys who are so happy these days, who have not once been demanding when I needed rest, but instead are almost always delightful. Thankful for a husband who is happy with clean socks and sandwiches. Mostly, thankful that, although God grants us the newness of seasons and years, He moves in our lives day by day.

Morning by morning, new mercies I see.

Strength for today.

Bright hope for tomorrow.

Blessings all mine.

christmas promises

As much as I love a good orchestral arrangement of The Christmas Song, and as lovely as images of sleigh rides and mistletoe and being home for the holidays may be, today I’m glad that Christmas is about more than that. I’m glad to hear these words and marvel at them:

And the glory, the glory of the Lord
Shall be revealed
And all flesh shall see it together
For the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it.

This morning, I’m sitting by stockings hung with care. A beautiful tree is glowing in the other room. Out my window, the most exquisite shades of blue and gray and luminescent white are slowly giving way to light. It’s perfect.

But is there a promise anywhere that this is how I’ll spend every December? That this “perfection” will be my children’s experience? No, no such promise.

Although stockings, cozy homes, peaceful landscapes, beautiful music streaming from Pandora are not guaranteed, there is a promise I can count on for myself and for my children:

The glory of the Lord shall be revealed. For the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it…

For behold, darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness the people; but the Lord shall arise upon thee, and His glory shall be seen upon thee. And the Gentiles shall come to thy light, and kings to the brightness of thy rising.

Then shall the eyes of the blind be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped. Then shall the lame man leap as an hart, and the tongue of the dumb shall sing.

Worthy is the Lamb that was slain, and hath redeemed us to God by His blood, to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and glory, and blessing. Blessing and honour, glory and power, be unto Him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb, for ever and ever. Amen.

(Read the entire libretto here. Is that good stuff or what?)

learning

This morning, I’m thinking about:

“spend me.”

And how I say that to the Lord all the time — all the time — and yet, I’m disappointed when I’m spent and there’s none left for me. Silly, right? I want the satisfaction of giving and living for the Lord, but I also want the rest and ease of having. Classic “have your cake and eat it, too” syndrome, I guess.

So yes, I’m thinking about how I shouldn’t be surprised that when I say, “Spend me,” I end up feeling spent.

(And I can trust God to nourish and nurture my soul along the way.)

flexibility

and how it’s not flexible unless after getting pulled and stretched and totally re-shaped, you bounce back to “on track.” If the stretching leaves you totally bent out of shape, then you’re not being flexible.

And that flexibility requires grace. So much grace. It requires enthusiasm for serving the Lord every single morning. It requires that cynicism and frustration and resentment get checked at the door. It requires that you constantly be asking, How do I need to stretch today? It means not getting angry when you work so hard to accommodate today’s needs, only to have tomorrow bring something completely new.

And most of all it requires that you always maintain the kinetic memory of “home”: only Jesus.

Yes, it’s not early bedtimes or dinner at a quiet table or chores all done or 5 days in a row of uninterrupted mornings. (Those are nice, and certainly can help.)

My soul’s center isn’t A Routine Day, it’s Jesus.