The Glory of Messy Days

It all began at breakfast with three boys scarfing oatmeal down their gullets, talking about getting school done fast so they could play football in the basement. Middle brother quipped to older brother, “I’m better than you at math,” and older brother challenged, “well, I can read better,” and little brother piped in, “I can read too,” and big brothers laughed at little brother saying, “you can’t read at all,” and the one-upping ramped up until somehow—no one really knows how—the old-fashioned pencil sharpener sitting on the table with a black belly full of wood dust upended in a bowl of oatmeal. Pencil dust coated slimy oats as the bowl tipped over, spilling grey-streaked porridge onto the yellow tablecloth.

I stared at oatmeal sludge oozing off the table onto carpet and asked myself: “So, just what does it look like, in this moment, to live out Jesus In me?” I knew yelling, “what were you thinking?!” at the frozen faces in front of me wasn’t the answer (I’d tried that before!), so I barked, “Don’t touch it! Go get your schoolwork while I clean it up!”  

But one mess just led to another.

Big brother teased screechy little sister while I tried to teach middle brother that “aw does not say ew.” Then little brother picked his boogers and bled crimson droplets across the carpet while little sister front-flipped over the couch onto her back and didn’t stop wailing for half an hour. When I finally sat down during “rest time,” a loud crash, tinkling glass, and little brother screaming, “It was an accident! It was an accident!” shattered my momentary peace.

So now, at the end of this messy day, I return to my question: “what does it mean to live out Jesus In Me?” How does the truth of “I am with you always” change me from the inside out?

I used to think Jesus In Me meant he’d inspire super-spiritual strategies like, “When Angry, Count to Ten.” But counting to ten before disciplining the kid drawing on the wall with a Sharpie just plugged the flow of nasty words and failed to reach the source—my sinful heart.

I’ve learned over the years that my heart, bent on self-sufficiency, is often blind to the true power of Jesus In Me.

But Jesus—rich in grace—transforms me from the inside out by helping me see.

Jesus opens the eyes of my heart to see Him, and seeing Him changes how I see everything.

  

Jesus in Me is the greatest gift, and seeing his beauty isn’t a choice I make, it’s a gift He gives.

So, on messy days when I’m blind to Jesus in Me, blind to his beauty, my prayer is this: “Jesus, help me see you! “

Because seeing the beauty of Jesus transforms even the messiest days into Glory. 

“One thing I ask from the Lord, this only do I seek;

that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life

 to gaze on the beauty of the Lord,

 and to seek him in his temple. ”

(Psalm 27:4).

The Glory of Messy Days

It all began at breakfast with three boys scarfing oatmeal down their gullets, talking about getting school done fast so they could play football in the basement. Middle brother quipped to older brother, “I’m better than you at math,” and older brother challenged, “well, I can read better,” and little brother piped in, “I can read too,” and big brothers laughed at little brother saying, “you can’t read at all,” and the one-upping ramped up until somehow—no one really knows how—the old-fashioned pencil sharpener sitting on the table with a black belly full of wood dust upended in a bowl of oatmeal. Pencil dust coated slimy oats as the bowl tipped over, spilling grey-streaked porridge onto the yellow tablecloth.

I stared at oatmeal sludge oozing off the table onto carpet and asked myself: “So, just what does it look like, in this moment, to live out Jesus In me?” I knew yelling, “what were you thinking?!” at the frozen faces in front of me wasn’t the answer (I’d tried that before!), so I barked, “Don’t touch it! Go get your schoolwork while I clean it up!”  

But one mess just led to another.

Big brother teased screechy little sister while I tried to teach middle brother that “aw does not say ew.” Then little brother picked his boogers and bled crimson droplets across the carpet while little sister front-flipped over the couch onto her back and didn’t stop wailing for half an hour. When I finally sat down during “rest time,” a loud crash, tinkling glass, and little brother screaming, “It was an accident! It was an accident!” shattered my momentary peace.

So now, at the end of this messy day, I return to my question: “what does it mean to live out Jesus In Me?” How does the truth of “I am with you always” change me from the inside out?

I used to think Jesus In Me meant he’d inspire super-spiritual strategies like, “When Angry, Count to Ten.” But counting to ten before disciplining the kid drawing on the wall with a Sharpie just plugged the flow of nasty words and failed to reach the source—my sinful heart.

I’ve learned over the years that my heart, bent on self-sufficiency, is often blind to the true power of Jesus In Me.

But Jesus—rich in grace—transforms me from the inside out by helping me see.

Jesus opens the eyes of my heart to see Him, and seeing Him changes how I see everything.

  

Jesus in Me is the greatest gift, and seeing his beauty isn’t a choice I make, it’s a gift He gives.

So, on messy days when I’m blind to Jesus in Me, blind to his beauty, my prayer is this: “Jesus, help me see you! “

Because seeing the beauty of Jesus transforms even the messiest days into Glory. 

“One thing I ask from the Lord, this only do I seek;

that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life

 to gaze on the beauty of the Lord,

 and to seek him in his temple. ”

(Psalm 27:4).

The Sanctifying of Mama She-Hulk

The van wouldn’t start this afternoon. I turned the silver key in the ignition, white lights flashed on the dash, orange dials spun in half-arcs, and something under the hood said “click-click-click-click” and I smelled smoke, or thought I did, and Micah yelled from the back seat, “I’m getting out before we explode!”

“Wait!” I yelped, trying to prevent the super-hero leaps of three scared boys into the middle of the street.

I opened the driver’s side door, walked round our Dodge Caravan to see what I could see, and noticed the back right tire was flat too. Lovely! Tomorrow’s Friday and we’ve got a conference to go to this weekend!

I sighed, kicked the flat tire for good measure, then called Jon and left a message—“the van’s dead and the back tire is flat.” Stuffing my phone in my back pocket, I reached over and yanked hard on the passenger side door, the one that’s supposed to open automatically, and announced to the three wide-eyed boys huddled on the back seat, “Well, the van’s broken so we’ll just have to go inside and wait till Dad can get it to Mickey’s.”

The three boys took the disappointment pretty well, given they’d been hoping for an afternoon shooting hoops at the gym. We traipsed inside in silence and hung up coats. I sighed again saying, “Man! This is disappointing. I doubt we can get the van fixed before tomorrow, but that’s life. I’m sure God has a reason for it.”

Micah plopped onto the living room floor, pulled off his Reeboks, and said, “Wow, mom, what’s wrong with you?”

“What do you mean what’s wrong with me?”

“Well, usually when something doesn’t work, you know, like your computer, you act like the Hulk.”

“How do I act like the Hulk?”

“You say ‘AHHHHHHH.”’

I had no words. I wasn’t sure if I should feel insulted that my son just compared me to a green monster or humbled that he’d noticed my less-than-holy attitudes when faced with less-than-ideal circumstances.

“Well, I’ve been praying a lot, Micah, that I would remember that God is with me all the time, even when things don’t go right.”

“That’s good, Mom!” he said as he threw his shoes into the closet and turned to shove Josiah and Isaiah to the carpet in a wrestling maneuver.

As grunts and giggles swirled around me, I marveled at the reality of God with me, sanctifying this Mama She-Hulk, helping me trust that a broken van was part of the plan.

Emmanuel. God with me, changing my heart, helping me see Him at work in and around me.

And this—the seeing—is Amazing Grace.

When You Can't Stand Anymore: Sit in Surrender

“Isaiah! You did not put your legos away when I told you. Go sit on your bed. Now!”

Four-year-old Isaiah stood at the bottom of our narrow staircase, hands on hips, eyes slivers of granite, blond hair curling over forehead. He glared up at his Daddy’s six foot, one inch frame, stomped like a young bull preparing to charge, and snorted:

“I’m not gonna sit. I’m gonna stand!”

Daddy-Jon leaned down and squeezed Isaiah’s shoulders up to his chin, lifting his body till his bare feet arched above the carpet. Jon said slow: “No. You will march upstairs and sit!”

Hanging from Jon’s grip, toes now grazing the carpet, Isaiah growled: “I’m gonna stand!”

From my front-row seat on the living room couch, I watched my four year old dangle from his Daddy’s grip, helpless, like a mouse caught in a cat’s paw, and suppressed the urge to laugh. Jon stared into Isaiah’s bullish face as he swung his taut little body up the stairs: “Oh, son. You will sit!’

Moments later, Isaiah sat on his bed wailing: “Fine! I’m sitting!” and Jon walked back into the living room saying: “What makes a four year old think he can defy me and win? I mean, seriously, I’m four times his size!”

Why does a dependant child defy a loving Daddy who desires to do him good, not harm, all the days of his life?

In Isaiah’s words: “I want to stand!”  He thinks he knows better than Daddy.

And adults—we’re not much different. We grow out of foot-stomping defiance and into stubborn refusal to submit to Father-God’s plans for our lives.

Rather than surrender to Him, we say “I’m gonna do it my way!” Like Eve in the Garden, we deceive ourselves into thinking God is withholding good things—delightful fruit. So we give God the middle finger while attempting to satiate our soul-bellies. We buy into the delusion that we can control life, that we’re good at playing God.

But after weeks, days, years of trying to control the uncontrollable, our souls bloat with emptiness. Then, like our mother Eve, we finally take a good look at ourselves and see who we really are—naked, weak, human.  

“The reason why many are still troubled, still seeking, still making little forward progress is because they haven't yet come to the end of themselves. We're still trying to give orders, and interfering with God's work within us. ” (A.W. Tozer)

It’s time to stop playing God.

To cease covering our naked humanity with mere Bible talk and outward acts of piety.

It’s time to lay our very lives at the foot of the cross,

Giving our Husbands,

Our Sons and Daughters,

Our Mother’s and Father’s, to Him.

Yielding our bodies, jobs, friends, money, to Him.

Offering our painful past, our present, our uncertain future, as a living sacrifice,

Allowing Him to satiate our thirsty souls, calm our fears.  

It’s time to sit in surrender, saying with four-year-old Isaiah:  

“Fine! I’m sitting! Your will be done!”

Not with fist-clenching resignation,

But open-handed, seeking the face of our good Father, 

Trusting Him to pen our story of grief and celebration

Into a Beautiful testimony of joyful submission.

Because it’s only when you sit in surrender that you truly live.

Submit yourselves, then, to God.

Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. ⁸

Come near to God and he will come near to you.

Humble yourselves before the Lord,

 and he will lift you up.

(James 4: 7-8, 10).

When You Can't Stand Anymore: Sit in Surrender

“Isaiah! You did not put your legos away when I told you. Go sit on your bed. Now!”

Four-year-old Isaiah stood at the bottom of our narrow staircase, hands on hips, eyes slivers of granite, blond hair curling over forehead. He glared up at his Daddy’s six foot, one inch frame, stomped like a young bull preparing to charge, and snorted:

“I’m not gonna sit. I’m gonna stand!”

Daddy-Jon leaned down and squeezed Isaiah’s shoulders up to his chin, lifting his body till his bare feet arched above the carpet. Jon said slow: “No. You will march upstairs and sit!”

Hanging from Jon’s grip, toes now grazing the carpet, Isaiah growled: “I’m gonna stand!”

From my front-row seat on the living room couch, I watched my four year old dangle from his Daddy’s grip, helpless, like a mouse caught in a cat’s paw, and suppressed the urge to laugh. Jon stared into Isaiah’s bullish face as he swung his taut little body up the stairs: “Oh, son. You will sit!’

Moments later, Isaiah sat on his bed wailing: “Fine! I’m sitting!” and Jon walked back into the living room saying: “What makes a four year old think he can defy me and win? I mean, seriously, I’m four times his size!”

Why does a dependant child defy a loving Daddy who desires to do him good, not harm, all the days of his life?

In Isaiah’s words: “I want to stand!”  He thinks he knows better than Daddy.

And adults—we’re not much different. We grow out of foot-stomping defiance and into stubborn refusal to submit to Father-God’s plans for our lives.

Rather than surrender to Him, we say “I’m gonna do it my way!” Like Eve in the Garden, we deceive ourselves into thinking God is withholding good things—delightful fruit. So we give God the middle finger while attempting to satiate our soul-bellies. We buy into the delusion that we can control life, that we’re good at playing God.

But after weeks, days, years of trying to control the uncontrollable, our souls bloat with emptiness. Then, like our mother Eve, we finally take a good look at ourselves and see who we really are—naked, weak, human.  

“The reason why many are still troubled, still seeking, still making little forward progress is because they haven't yet come to the end of themselves. We're still trying to give orders, and interfering with God's work within us. ” (A.W. Tozer)

It’s time to stop playing God.

To cease covering our naked humanity with mere Bible talk and outward acts of piety.

It’s time to lay our very lives at the foot of the cross,

Giving our Husbands,

Our Sons and Daughters,

Our Mother’s and Father’s, to Him.

Yielding our bodies, jobs, friends, money, to Him.

Offering our painful past, our present, our uncertain future, as a living sacrifice,

Allowing Him to satiate our thirsty souls, calm our fears.  

It’s time to sit in surrender, saying with four-year-old Isaiah:  

“Fine! I’m sitting! Your will be done!”

Not with fist-clenching resignation,

But open-handed, seeking the face of our good Father, 

Trusting Him to pen our story of grief and celebration

Into a Beautiful testimony of joyful submission.

Because it’s only when you sit in surrender that you truly live.

Submit yourselves, then, to God.

Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. ⁸

Come near to God and he will come near to you.

Humble yourselves before the Lord,

 and he will lift you up.

(James 4: 7-8, 10).

When You Can't Stand Anymore: Sit in Surrender

“Isaiah! You did not put your legos away when I told you. Go sit on your bed. Now!”

Four-year-old Isaiah stood at the bottom of our narrow staircase, hands on hips, eyes slivers of granite, blond hair curling over forehead. He glared up at his Daddy’s six foot, one inch frame, stomped like a young bull preparing to charge, and snorted:

“I’m not gonna sit. I’m gonna stand!”

Daddy-Jon leaned down and squeezed Isaiah’s shoulders up to his chin, lifting his body till his bare feet arched above the carpet. Jon said slow: “No. You will march upstairs and sit!”

Hanging from Jon’s grip, toes now grazing the carpet, Isaiah growled: “I’m gonna stand!”

From my front-row seat on the living room couch, I watched my four year old dangle from his Daddy’s grip, helpless, like a mouse caught in a cat’s paw, and suppressed the urge to laugh. Jon stared into Isaiah’s bullish face as he swung his taut little body up the stairs: “Oh, son. You will sit!’

Moments later, Isaiah sat on his bed wailing: “Fine! I’m sitting!” and Jon walked back into the living room saying: “What makes a four year old think he can defy me and win? I mean, seriously, I’m four times his size!”

Why does a dependant child defy a loving Daddy who desires to do him good, not harm, all the days of his life?

In Isaiah’s words: “I want to stand!”  He thinks he knows better than Daddy.

And adults—we’re not much different. We grow out of foot-stomping defiance and into stubborn refusal to submit to Father-God’s plans for our lives.

Rather than surrender to Him, we say “I’m gonna do it my way!” Like Eve in the Garden, we deceive ourselves into thinking God is withholding good things—delightful fruit. So we give God the middle finger while attempting to satiate our soul-bellies. We buy into the delusion that we can control life, that we’re good at playing God.

But after weeks, days, years of trying to control the uncontrollable, our souls bloat with emptiness. Then, like our mother Eve, we finally take a good look at ourselves and see who we really are—naked, weak, human.  

“The reason why many are still troubled, still seeking, still making little forward progress is because they haven't yet come to the end of themselves. We're still trying to give orders, and interfering with God's work within us. ” (A.W. Tozer)

It’s time to stop playing God.

To cease covering our naked humanity with mere Bible talk and outward acts of piety.

It’s time to lay our very lives at the foot of the cross,

Giving our Husbands,

Our Sons and Daughters,

Our Mother’s and Father’s, to Him.

Yielding our bodies, jobs, friends, money, to Him.

Offering our painful past, our present, our uncertain future, as a living sacrifice,

Allowing Him to satiate our thirsty souls, calm our fears.  

It’s time to sit in surrender, saying with four-year-old Isaiah:  

“Fine! I’m sitting! Your will be done!”

Not with fist-clenching resignation,

But open-handed, seeking the face of our good Father, 

Trusting Him to pen our story of grief and celebration

Into a Beautiful testimony of joyful submission.

Because it’s only when you sit in surrender that you truly live.

Submit yourselves, then, to God.

Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. ⁸

Come near to God and he will come near to you.

Humble yourselves before the Lord,

 and he will lift you up.

(James 4: 7-8, 10).

Marriage: Like Oil and Water



By Tetine view original here.

“Like oil and water, that’s what we are,” laughs Jon, my hubby of twelve years, whenever I do something that drives him nuts, like let soap suds dry in washed cups, giving that next cup of coffee a ring of sour foam, or leave keys dangling in the front door (“Are you trying to leave an announcement for all the burglars in the area?!”) or sit in his Herman Miller in damp gym clothes, leaving a sweat spot on the seat, just for him.

Oil and water—that’s what we are, me the oldest born, him the youngest. Me the realist, him the idealist. Me thinking eating is about living and him thinking living is eating. Me out the front door ten minutes early, him putting on socks in the car. Me drinking coffee straight up, him drinking a little coffee with his Cold Stone creamer. Me focused on the task at hand, him pausing to ponder life.

But it’s our similarities, like our love for competition and all things athletic, that keep us loving life together. When we were college sophomores playing Speed in the Student Center, he beat me ten times in a row, and I threw the deck of cards in his face, and he laughed saying, “well, how bout another round of ten, make it twenty losses for you?” When he schooled me in basketball, I gave him a little roundhouse kick to the backside, and he just laughed until I started laughing. He stopped laughing when I beat him in a 5k by half a mile (secretly he’s proudJ), so this year we’re signing up for a mud run so we finish together.

We’re minimalists wearing thrift store steals, carrying flip phones, and driving rusty vehicles with missing door handles. We’re readers with ten books on hold at the library and a fetish for Amazon and Half Price Books. We’re talkers planning date nights with witty repartee over a glass of Moscato. We’re dreamers and cynics railing against the mundane, fighting for the beautiful.

We’re sinners needing oceans of grace.

Jon’s favorite verse—Galatians 2:20—has become our marriage verse, keeping us learning and loving through oil-and-water moments, the joys and pains of life. Our first year of marriage, teaching AP Lit. to seniors, buried under Hamlet essays and grading grammar tests, I wanted to make Jon something special for Christmas, so I decided to cross-stitch Galatians 2:20  in Greek—the whole verse—even though needles, thread and crafty things don’t come naturally to this wife.

But on Christmas Eve, with half the verse stitched on cloth cut too short to stretch, I drove to the custom framing shop down the street and begged the guy behind the white counter to help me figure out what to do with my half-verse stitched on too-small cloth. He helped me pick out a frame, directed me to some sticky-board for the cloth, and offered to cut a mat out of discounted remnants. I watched as he cut the rose-colored mat on the white counter with an exacto knife, watched as his fingers slipped and blood oozed.

As co-workers scrambled for the first aid kit, I stared at red blood oozing on white counter and thought of my half-verse: “I have been crucified with Christ, therefore I no longer live, but Christ lives in me.”

It’s only after dying that you really live, that Christ lives in you.

Dying to Self, living to Christ, blends husband and wife together.

Christ living in me, living in Jon, breathes joy into our marriage, giving Grace for every-day oil-and-water moments and Hope for years to come.

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