Post Category → faith

the cross

Is it always this bad?

This: my heart.

Does the speed of life, the constant movement, prevent me from seeing, with open eyes, the wretchedness which this Holy Week — the Giant Pause — now lays bare?

A look. A word. A thought — o! the thoughts! — betrays my lack for what it is.

And slowly, surely, I am laid low.

I’m stirring the onions, breathing deeply, wondering at my sadness of soul. (My mind is slow to catch onto the truth which my heart instantly grasps.)

And I think I need the Cross. I find words that will say what I need to hear, need to confess, need to wash over me.

Days of struggling, of being disappointed with self, of grasping for love and truth and righteousness — this exhaustion falls away as I weep.

Here, in my kitchen, with my onions and baby monitor, I cry to borrow language — language that will thank this Dearest Friend.

My heart. My wretchedness. My empty attempts at perfection. My soul’s anguish. They are rags; I accept Your righteousness.

o sacred head

O sacred Head, now wounded,
with grief and shame weighed down,
now scornfully surrounded
with thorns, thine only crown:
how pale thou art with anguish,
with sore abuse and scorn!
How does that visage languish
which once was bright as morn!

What thou, my Lord, has suffered
was all for sinners’ gain;
mine, mine was the transgression,
but thine the deadly pain.
Lo, here I fall, my Savior!
‘Tis I deserve thy place;
look on me with thy favor,
vouchsafe to me thy grace.

What language shall I borrow
to thank thee, dearest friend,
for this thy dying sorrow,
thy pity without end?
O make me thine forever;
and should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never
outlive my love for thee.

a. carmichael: grey days

When I was 16, I spent two months in India. It was my first overseas trip, my first independent travel, and my first length of time away from home. A special friend gifted me with this small book before I left — a compilation of letters written by one of our heroes, missionary to India Amy Carmichael. (Do you read this blog, Erin? If you do: this book is the most well-worn on my bookshelf, save for my first Bible. It has been read over and over and over. Thank you.) May I recommend it to you? Small little snippets — deeply inspiring, convicting, and full of love for the Savior.

I remember the first time I read a particular page from this book for real. I was sitting in the library at school. The windows behind me let in the dull gray light of a wet, dreary day. I was taking a break from the monotony of study on a totally routine day. This booklet had made its way, again, to my devotional rotation, and so I pulled it out, ready to read anything that had nothing to do with polytonality.

I read, and the words burned in my heart:

All sorts of days come and go — they go, that’s the best of them. Don’t let the dull days pass without giving you what only dullness ever can give. It isn’t the days of high tension that try us most, and so give us most; it’s the days that seem all grey and dull. They test the quality of the gold.

Of all the truths I stumbled upon in my singleness, perhaps this one has helped me most on the path of motherhood. Learning to value gray days. Realizing they do happen. And realizing that the question asked of me is, Will I be found faithful? Even on the days that could easily be discounted, wasted, seen as not really counting — will I serve 100%? There is the ability, when you’re single (or at least childless) to get a “gray” moment and immediately squirm your way out of it — go somewhere, do something, you know. Add some spark. Live from high to high, drama to drama, event to event. I know. Hey, it’s more fun. But learning to just do my best and plod on when it was an active choice was phenomenal training for this role in which I now find myself.

Certainly there are plenty of dull moments, if not entire days, of dullness in this current season. I’m not trying to be negative; there simply are. Sometimes I think I must have done something wrong to have landed such a dreary day, but no, not always. Sometimes they’re there because there is gold that needs testing: my faithfulness and steadfastness of heart.

Most of all, it’s reassuring to know that God can be found, even on days when there’s no prayer meeting scheduled, no cell group meeting at your house, no emergency that requires ten hours of speaking in tongues. He’s there, watching for my response in those moments that don’t seem to matter. Smiling when I choose diligent service. And encouraging my heart with His songs of delight.

So whatever season you’re in, don’t discount the gray days. Sometimes they’re the best ones.

adding “get to” to your day

I’m a fairly self-disciplined person, they say. I’m not sure I’d label it that, since that sounds like such a positive quality (and another part of my personality is being not altogether, umm, “up” on myself), but I do tend to work hard and not indulge in too many fun things until the work is done. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?

Well, you don’t have to be a homemaker very long to realize that the work is never done. This means that either a.) I never allow myself to do “fun” stuff or b.) I put that self-discipline to good work, making myself stop working at some point and just go for it. Do something fun.

What got me thinking about all this was this post about adding some “get to” to your day.

It occurred to me as I read that I’m wired to love certain things. And it’s on purpose! I could tend to feel like all of the unique talents and qualities that make me me are buried under a mountain of mundane mothering, but that’s not what God intends. He wants my loves and passions and strengths to flavor my mothering. In fact, Jameson and William were given into my stewardship because, for reasons unknown to me, their growth and development will happen best in my home — a home flavored by my personality.

Make sense?

So, God doesn’t want me to bury my talents.

That said, finding ways to add “get to” to my day needs to be creative in this season of my life — and it needs to happen within the context of serving my family.

That means that deciding to block off an hour and half every day to pull out my favorite Bach Toccata, Beethoven Sonata, and Chopin Ballade is probably not exactly right for this season. If I saw that as the only way for my talents to be expressed, I would be one frustrated woman! Instead, recognizing how God’s wired me, and my need for “fun” moments in my day means sitting Jameson next to me on the piano bench and playing some hymns “together.” Boom-chucking “God’s Not Dead!” while he dances and practices all of the hand motions. And maybe — just maybe— putting William on the floor at my feet and getting through just the exposition. (Ah! Bliss!!)

It also means that when I get a crafty itch, I wait for a rainy afternoon when we’re trying to find creative things to do, and sew up some bean bags with Jameson. How much fun he had sorting out the dried beans in muffin tins, and filling up the little bags (and dumping them, and filling them, and dumping them…) And in the meantime, I got to cut out pretty squares from my scraps and had the satisfaction of having made something!

Here’s something else I did recently to add some “get to” to my day. While Jameson and William napped, I made placemats for dinnertime. Jameson is learning to set the table, and (thanks to an idea Brietta had) I thought I’d make something to help him learn. Poster board, contact paper, and sharpies… and Voila! My family is served, Jameson is thrilled, and my gotta-make-something urge is indulged!

So I’m learning — learning to ask God how He wants me — Danica — to be a wife and mother in this home. And I’m taking this advice and finding myself more refreshed along the way.

(My floors are no cleaner, but Ryan seems to appreciate a smiling wife more than spotless floors, anyway. Go figure.)

reflect

A baby lays on the kitchen table, staring quietly out the window. I’m on my hands and knees, scrubbing the floor. My nano plays the songs I programmed, and I’m drawn to a moment of devotion, of hearing…

Priceless treasure, Jesus the Christ
The jewel of my searching demands my life

So I bow to You, and I kneel to You, You have my heart

Oh, marvelous Savior, You came down from heaven to us
Oh, beautiful treasure, You made us His daughters and sons
Oh, that we could reflect You, show You to the world that You love
Jesus the Christ

You are my gain in death or in life
My quest is to know You, my god, my delight

Jesus, whom have I in heaven, but You
And having You, I desire nothing on earth ( — charlie hall )

Those words arrest my heart. I’m impassioned again to live for this marvelous Savior. My soul cries out with this modern psalmist:

Oh, that we could reflect You, show You to the world that You love…

That’s all I want. To show Jesus to the world that He loves.

Here. Now. To this little bit of the world that He loves:

Oh, Lord, may they know Your love through me.

[more thoughts on] coveting

When you think coveting, don’t you mostly thing of struggling with wanting more stuff?

So isn’t the answer to want less stuff?

No, I don’t think it is. (Although my pendulum-swinging, Pharisaical self-correcting human nature would like it to be.)

Truth is, although occasionally I’ll find myself coveting better landscaping, nicer furniture, more money, my daily struggle is with coveting less.

Isn’t that silly?

But it’s true.

You can be just as discontent wanting a simpler life as you can be wanting a more plush existence. If you’re like me, you might find yourself coveting things like a one room Little House in the Big Woods of Wisconsin — or something [admittedly silly] like that.

The point of this “thou shalt not covet” thing is simply this: wanting God, wanting His will — and being satisfied by Him and only Him. And of course, that doesn’t boil down to a simple formula of how many bedrooms you should or shouldn’t have in your house, or how much is too much to spend on a car. It’s about constantly, every day, purposing to worship Christ alone and delight in doing His will.

easter stories??

I’d love to start reading the Easter story to Jameson, but for SOME reason, finding books about Jesus rising from the dead is just not that easy. (Go to your independent bookstore and count how many references to Jesus you see in the Easter section. None? Really? Shocking.)

Anyway, does anyone have any children’s Easter books that they recommend? (children=toddlers!)

Thanks!!