A New Beginning

This blog chronicles, in part, my journey through the dark night. In the midst of loss and pain, I struggled to know God, to even want to know him. But, in his grace, the Hound of Heaven followed me through the winding paths of my dark night with "unhurrying chase, and unperterbed pace."  He pursued me and brought me out of the dark night. His " Beauty and Love Chase[ed] after me, all the days of my Life!" (Psalm 23)

I'm thankful for the dark night. I'm thankful for the loss, rejection and pain because they brought me face-to-face with the God who Pursues.

So, I am beginning afresh with a new blog and new focus, but am leaving up this small window into my journey because it has been helpful to others, and I pray that it will continue to be.

May we all grow in grace as we seek the one who pursues us through the dark night and brings us to the Light.

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).

When Life Gouges Deep: He Fills Us

A couple weeks ago I sat on our family room couch staring at our dented-up coffee table trying to decide if I wanted to sand it down and stain it again or just donate it.

But how could I give away the table I learned to walk around, that my kids learned to walk around, that we all scarred with teeth marks and toys?

I stared down at the table-top—varnish paper-thin, naked wood poking through gouges so deep there was no sanding them out this time.

As I ran my fingers over the scarred surface, I remembered the time I danced a jig on it in a purple tutu when I was eight. I remembered the silver “Our Daily Bread” platter mom placed in the middle on a white doily. I remembered our oldest, Micah, giggling as he launched match-box cars over the rounded edges.  I remembered the Christmas my world fell a part and I sat on the table weeping as my boys huddled at my feet.

Every scar— a story.

And I’ve been reading so many stories—a new widow fighting for the life of her baby girl. A woman, married just a year, losing her husband on December 7. My friend, Christa, coming home from Sunday dinner with friends and finding her home burned to grey ash. And my friend Valerie aching over the days-old loss of her grandpa.

Life gouges deep.

We try—I’ve tried!—all sorts of fillers—food, work, exercise, busyness.

We paint on thin veneers of righteous living, worldly success.

But the fillers never fill, the veneers eventually crack, and our real selves—scarred selves—poke through.

Then—raw, naked, vulnerable—we’re ready to be filled with the only One who truly fills.  

When life gouges deep, Jesus fills us with the fullness of Himself. 

And we who are redeemed are not defined by the scars of this life but by the Fullness of God.

So we do not lose heart!

For when Jesus fills us up, he opens our eyes to

Hope in Him,   

Eternal inheritance In Him,

Power In Him!

For, in Him, our inner self is being renewed day by day, and the scars of life are preparing us for glory beyond all comparison, in Him!

So we look not to the scars that are seen, but

To Jesus,

who is able “to do far more abundantly than all we can ask or think, according to the power at work within us.”

To Him be the glory, forever and ever.

Amen. 

*2 Corinthians 4, Ephesians 1, 3 paraphrased.

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.