A Poem: Evolution of God

Life has been really busy for 2 straight years and I've about had it.
Recently, I have pulled back. I am trying to make some healthy adjustments.
One of the habits that has suffered during this frantic time is my writing.
Writing is a release for me.
A respite.
A place of peace.
And I haven't been visiting it much lately.
And so, here is my first piece of writing in a good bit.
It's raw. It's honest. 
But it's my journey (past and present).

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Evolution of God 

(Portrait #1)

Waiting and working on me again.

Expecting You to show up.

I don’t know when; I don’t know how;

but I know You will.

You always do.

Thomas needed proof. 

To touch your wounds and know You were real.

To be certain You were true.

I need proof too.

Proof to know You aren’t the God I am leaving behind.

A god of only judgement and wrath;

limited in patience and mercy,

abounding in moodiness.

I need proof that this new look at You is real and true.

That it isn’t wrong to hope you aren’t a bastard

ready to smite me in my imperfection.

I keep replaying Pascal’s wager in my head.

What if I am wrong about who You are?

What if I am wrong about You?

What if I am wrong?

Hell seems too costly a bet, doesn’t it?

But I’m already here in hell 

if you are impossible to trust,

if You aren’t good.

I’ve known that hell.

Trying to please a cruel taskmaster.

Burying my talent for fear of failure.

Afraid to lift my eyes to Yours,

because I am sure I will only see disappointment.

I’ve listened to the marching orders;

all legalistic and concerned about the outside.

I’ve carried my whitewash and marched right into the tomb

and away from You.

Straight on into Hell anyway.

Because what if I am wrong?

So I ask the same old questions 

as I sit across from one with a degree and listening ear.

I explain the eroding of a god I believed existed but cannot follow now.

In the middle of my messy waiting and working,

as I work on how I see me and understand You;

You come into view.

Closer and closer.

Until I feel Your breath again.

Pneuma.

You are more than I thought You were.

Bigger than previous glance.

Grander than first believed.

More mysterious than expected.

You show up, just like You always do.

And even while trying to hide away, 

I look up into Your face,

hoping to catch a glimpse without Your awareness.

And I see Your eyes awash with tears, 
and wonder for the first time if the tears are born from love, not disappointment?

And I see the fire in Your expression,
and wonder if I misinterpreted the fury? Was it really the thunder of laughter?

And I am blinded by the smile that bends Your mouth upward,
and dare to imagine what life would be like if You are more than I believed You were?

What if I was wrong?

Things I've Learned (or Re-learned) Recently:

My kids cooperate really well when playing Wii together.
My kids argue really well when playing Wii together.
I do, indeed, have more than one gray hair.
Trusting God is hard.
I often operate from a position of fear.
Jillian Michaels kicks my behind.
Watch what I say...it may come out of my kids' mouths.
I have lots of mirror conversations.
Women served (illegally) in both the Revolutionary and Civil Wars.
Children are beautifully resilient.
The purpose of education is discipleship.
Snuggling with my kids feels really good.
One of my greatest pleasures is reading out loud to my children. 
When feeling stressed, I don't like people to touch me.
When feeling stressed, one of the things I need most is a hug.
My oldest is simultaneously astonishingly creative and incredibly tiring.
The best Mother's Day gifts cost very little money.
I have trouble asking for help.
I have trouble receiving help.
Even Reese Witherspoon messes up.
The literal definition of amuse means "no thinking". 
(I see a future blog entry here.)
One of the sweetest sounds is my 5-year old sounding out words.
Prayer is what often saves this anxious heart.
It's easier to talk emotional health than to pursue it.
I like storage containers even more when I feel out of control.
I hardly ever write a "real letter" anymore.
Math is more fun with a dry erase board.
God is crazy about me. Always. Period. The end.

My Life According to "A Lady"

OK, I'll admit it.

I am an ever-so-slight, marginal, fringe-dwelling 

Jane Austen enthusiast.

Not the full-in, sink or swim, 

spend-my-hard-earned-dollars-on-a-vacation-in-Bath 

kind of enthusiast. 

But a lover of Austen nonetheless.

It's her characters I adore. 

They are relatable and real. 

They are human and alive. 

And I often find myself in their story.

photo credit: Jane Austen Game

A Growing Self-Awareness

Recently I took a personality survey. 
I love those kinds of things. 
I mean it.
I. really. love. them.

There's this standing joke between my best friend and me about my disdain for learning how things work. 
I couldn't care less. 
I mean it.
I. really. don't. like. it.

But I love to learn about how people work. 
Why they do the things they do. 
What makes them tick.
Enter my romance with personality surveys. 
Exit my disdain for most things science-y.

And yet, for someone who loves the study of people, you'd think I would be a little more self-realized.

It's difficult for me to see myself clearly. 
I know how I want to see myself. 
And it's easy to see the benefits of varying personality traits in others. 
But with me, well...I either can't see myself accurately 
or if I do, I don't like what I see.

But, for now, after this last crack at a personality test, here are some of my thinkings about who I am and how I tick:

- I am an introvert who likes being around close friends.

- Big groups drain me and shut me up fast.

- Under pressure, I tend to choose the task over the people.

- I am a person interested in how others are feelings and what they are experiencing.

- I am detail-oriented. (Wouldn't it be funny for me to have a typo in this one?)

- I like to think of myself as a visionary, but I am actually not great at brand-new ideas. I do better with something to give me concrete direction.

- I fight the lie that my worth is determined by my performance because I am a recovering people pleaser.

- I like quiet. Too much noise induces stress.

- I am fairly intuitive but also look to my 5 senses to help confirm my gut.

-I am cautious. Not a risk-taker. But I wish I was.



There is a valuable benefit from this current awareness of myself. To understand these truths about myself provides me allowance for my own humanness.

So, when my children are screaming wild with fun but I am about to climb the walls, I can know there is a reason why. It's not that I am a bad parent who can't enjoy life. Instead, it's an indicator of personality.

When I am sensitive to another's feelings, wondering if that somehow disqualifies me as a decisive leader, I can remember that is part of how I'm wired.

One of these days, I want to be utterly comfortable in the skin God made for me. I want to be fully me without regret or apology. I want to embrace the whole of me because the world - my world - needs me to be me.

Every little piece of understanding I gain, about me or another, nudges ever so much closer to that day. And I am finding that journey is well worth it. 

Introvert as Scapegoat

I was dreading one thing about our time away.

The "get to know you" gathering.

You know the one...strangers put together for a specified number of days for similar purpose and now you have to open up and share with these people right off the bat.

Oh, I really hate it.

As a youth pastor, I would plan these inane kinds of activities all the time - "Icebreakers" they're called in the youth ministry manuals. 

In my world, they're called torture.

So, I waited until the last possible moment to speak (because well, I was really hoping that we'd run out of time). 

I was up. Eyes on me. Ugh.

So, I say my name and where I'm from. And then explain that this introvert, quite frankly, was really dreading this moment.

Introversion.

That's been my rationale all these years. My thinking behind my angst.

But something - nagging at the back of my mind - has made me question that logic. But I don't question for too long.

And then, during our time away, 
in the midst of strangers who heard some of my story, 
in the midst of really quiet mornings on a lake with hot tea, 
in the midst of reading books I didn't know were written, 
I think I have finally figured out that this introvert is also just plain scared.

I am scared to show me. 
To just be me.
I am scared that I could be found wanting.
That I might be rejected.
That I might disappoint.
That I might appear slow, silly, immature, odd.

And so, I've chalked it up to being an introvert. I say Meyers-Briggs has dictated my dread of "get to know you" talks. 

But it's not really true.

What's true is I am scared to be myself. 
What's true is I might still hate icebreakers but I can be me.
What's true is I can simultaneously be scared to be me but still be myself. 

So, I am gonna work on it...being me - all the time - unmasked and vulnerable...even when I am scared.

Doing What Comes (super)Naturally

"When we consider the spiritual transformation of our lives, it often means being stretched beyond what comes natural and leaning hard into what is supernatural, those things that come from God." - Emily Freeman 


Natural, for me, is thinking I am what I do.
Natural, for me, is believing that perfection is the only acceptable method.
Natural, for me, is impeccable outward behavior while inside I am a mess.
Natural, for me, is estimating my value with my accomplishments.


Supernatural, for me, means knowing I am loved. 
Supernatural, for me, means finding freedom in failure.
Supernatural, for me, is a steady heart even if the outside has seen better days.
Supernatural, for me, is remembering my value is intrinsic and unchangeable.
Period. No debate. No ifs. or ands. or buts.


So here's to living supernaturally. Leaning hard. And finding a life transformed.


2 Corinthians 5:17

Lost and Found

I grew up singing "Amazing Grace". It is a song dear to my heart and close to my memory. 


A few days ago, I was enjoying a "good day". One of those days where I felt strong and able. Not in a prideful kind-of-way, but in a competent, equipped kind-of-way. It felt good.  Really good. The last few years, navigating the murky waters of mothering three, has left me listless, spent, drained, unsure and defeated. But a few days ago, my heart-sun was shining and it felt good!


I remember thinking that I felt like my old self again. That phrase "old self" is simply my nomenclature for the expanse of time prior to my world unravelling. A time when I held my head higher with confidence. When my shoulders didn't slump from weariness. When I had no doubt I had a contribution to make to the world. When I looked into the face of a new day and met joy, not failure. That was my "old self". And the other day, I felt that.


Little by little, step by step, I have clung to the One who is certainty. To the One who is all Truth even when I was hearing the Lie. The Faith-weaver was leading me long through a wilderness time. A desert place. A dry and thirsty land of soul. I haven't always welcomed it. I have thrashed in revolt. I have screamed in misery. I have crumpled in despair. And yet, the Faithful One has triumphed. He has not let me go. And I have not run too far from His reach. He enabled me to set my mind firmly on what little I knew was True when my heart-legs were buckling beneath.


And then I remembered this phrase I've used before...I am finding myself again. Yes, indeed, I am finding myself again. Pieces of a life I had before. Pieces of a life still ahead for me. Pieces that lay dormant among a field of emotional landmines. Pieces that scattered like shrapnel when the full weight of life accosted.


I am finding myself again.


And then I heard it. 
Old lyrics. New meaning.
Familiar words. Fresh insight...


"I once was lost but now I'm found".


Of course! Of course. Amazing Grace indeed!
This grace that extends not only for the lost one who has not yet responded to Shepherd of Souls but this is a grace that extends even to this rescued sheep that struggles. This sheep who has felt lost, whose footing has been unsure. The sheep who has been surviving, just getting through each day. 


I have been lost. 


And I am being found.


Little by little, in small, minute ways...The Shepherd is leading me. And His faithfulness had led to being found...little piece by little piece. Broken piece by broken piece. Healed piece by healed piece. Hope by hope.


It is amazing grace and it's sound is oh so sweet. 

a tension

Here's a current tension of mine...

Multiple voices shouting and whispering and pleading and encouraging me to 

make the most of every moment

not let a moment be wasted

never underestimate the power of one moment

(Do you know how much anxiety that produces in one recovering from a mind-set of performance-based worth?) 

Multiple voices consoling and saying and reckoning and explaining that

every parent makes mistakes

you won't be perfect all the time

there will always be choices you want to re-do

(Do you know how easy it is to excuse my laziness and lack of intention with statements like these?)

I struggle functionally to make the most of my every moments while allowing space for my own humanness.

It's hard.  And I am not so good at it.

There.  I feel better just saying that.

i think i may be on to something...

Today has been rough for me.


Well, yesterday was too.


These are days where the fight for joy is unrelenting.  Tears are quick.  Emotions are raw.  Hope is fleeting.  I want to yell and scream.  I want to blame and point fingers.  I want to beat myself up. I want to wallow in guilt.  I want to hide - deep and dark away.


I awoke asking for strength.  Asking for help.  I feel desperate.  And school today was rough.  I was impatient and hard at times.  Why do calm and gentleness seem mutually exclusive for me?  I spend so much energy trying not to respond with a raised angry voice that gentleness is punted out the window.  (In my rational moments I understand it's still a lack of self-control just manifested differently.)  I feel crushed under this weight of responsibility - to be wife, mother, housekeeper, teacher, friend, and on.


And I sit to still.  To drink in grace.  To hear what the still small voice might have to say if I am quiet in heart.  I write my thanks.  And I wait.  I look hard for beauty in the difficult days and I write again.  Choosing to see differently.  To think newly.  


And then it sparks...the thought.  The conviction.  The answer.


In all my moments of waking grief due to my own want of soul, I realize I strive to externally control what I have lacked internally to attain.  God gives peace but only through relationship.  When I side-step my time with Him, I am starving my soul.  There is little peace.  Little order.  Inside.  Deep down in the crooks and crevices of heart.  


And so I plow ahead vainly attempting to put order onto the things around me.  My children.  My husband.  My home.  My circumstances.  I try to silence all voices - any extraneous noise is deafening.  I nit-pick - nothing is good enough.  I well up with fire - where there hasn't even been smoke.  


These are warning signs.  Red flags. Gauges for me.  I should heed these indicators next time.  When I try to get control of all around me and settle for nothing less...that's the very time I need to look long into myself.  


I need to ask, "Have I first surrendered to the keeper of my soul?  Have I first allowed God to have control in me?"  


If I have not, then I will struggle needlessly for control of things I should instead choose to shepherd, nurture, and steward.


If I have not, then I will view my abundant blessings as burdens.


If I have not, I will fail to offer back to God the thankful life for all He has given.


So today, still in the midst of the struggle, I choose to give up control that I might find the very thing I have been pursuing on my own today...peace, harmony, order, contentment, hope.


I think I might be on to something...

On Orcas and Fears

"Mommy, will you draw an orca?"
A sincere and hopeful question from my 4-year old.


Here's the thing:  
I cannot draw.  

No really.  

I can't.  

No false humility here.  

I struggle with creating even a stick person.  

Here's the other thing:                                                          
I am a scaredy-cat.  

You name it.

I've probably been afraid of it.  

Much of the time, the fears come.  I deal.  They go.  

There are, however, a few stubborn ones that plague me.  

One of which happens to be a fear of failure.

I won't go into all the analysis on this fact, but trust me, I don't want to fail.  I want to do all things perfectly and well.  With one question, my preschooler immediately dashed all hopes of me succeeding in this request.

I have stubborn fears.  Ones that decide to be life-long traveling companions.  They pack themselves deep into my heart and create weighted travel.  As a result, I don't get very far, very fast.  Heavy baggage does that.  But I was created for a life free of unnecessary weight, where fear doesn't sit in the driver's seat.

And so, a crossroad moment...  

Will my fear of failure prevail or will I bravely draw my best version of an orca?

(Internal deep breath and a "Here goes nothing" kind of sigh) 

And when my marker rested, there was this big smile on his face. 

And on mine.  

Loving my son enough to draw an orca forced me to leave my fear-companion for the briefest of moments.  I set down my baggage to pick up a black Crayola marker and found a moment of freedom.  

What about you?  Will you dare to draw an orca?