An Accidental Mama

I'm an accidental mama, I had no plans of motherhood. Content in my skin, loving marriage, figuring out life; I was surprised by motherhood.

Not My Call

I don't live for my kids. I made room for them. But they don't define me. I don't relate to mothers who declare they were born to be have babies, that it's all they ever wanted. I can't taste it, don't trust it.

I worry about mothers who say their children are their lives. From my own experience I know the gaping wound that's left behind when a child grows up, claims their life for their own and leaves you. The bitter taste on the tongue of the heartbroken mama and the frustrated young adult. When I left home, I watched the slow bleed in my own mother's heart until Jesus healed it and gave her a new and right passion, himself. 

Some days I look at my children and wonder how I got here, covered in peanut butter and washing mounds of laundry. How did I become the mommy, where did my youth go? I don't resent it, most days. But I marvel at the fast moving pace of time and it's slippery march onward.

I don't live for my kids. I live for Jesus. But I do love them. I wasn't born to be their mother, they were born to make me one. And I'm thankful, because nothing has shaped this selfish heart with compassion, like motherhood has.

I'm amazed to see their little personalities and opinions emerging; unique, wonderful. I see God so clearly calling, drawing, loving. It makes me fall in love with him all over again, the way he loves my babies even more than I do.

My Calling

I don't understand motherhood as a calling. Perhaps it is and I just missed the memo. But I do know it's a privilege, and my responsibility, to usher these little lives into their own faith, their own place in God's family.

No, waking up to referee fights, cook another meal, read another book, make another bed doesn't set my heart racing with purpose and passion. Being a voice for the broken, mentoring women, praying bold prayers of faith, taking a risk for the gospel, pounding out words that bleed grace; that makes me whoop and holler!

I know who I was made to be, a voice, an advocate for truth. Being a mama is a tool God is using in my life to refine me, to remind me he knows what we need better than we do, to put a magnifying glass on the way of grace. I'm not at the place in my life where I can say motherhood is a calling. It's a refining, a breaking, a rebirthing.

The beauty is that if you see motherhood as your calling, a divine purpose for your life, or if  like me you don't, God still has grace for us all. Our end goal can be the same, children rooted in the love of Jesus, growing in faith. Our source of strength and help is the same, Jesus' mercy and power for this day. This moment. Mercy for now, mercy for each other.

Is motherhood your calling? Or are you more like me, pursuing your calling in the midst of motherhood?

The Scandalous Truth

Have you ever read the Bible to a kid? I didn't realize how scandalous the Bible was until I tried to read it to my son! It's full of murder, adultery, lying, stealing, and trickery, and that's all done by the good guys. It's worse than a Maury Povich show, father-in-laws and daughter-in-laws and babies. How do you read that to an impressionable nine year old? 

All of that scandal points out a greater scandal though, God's love. He's not surprised or put off by the mayhem. He moves in with grace anyway. 

Do you ever feel like your life is a wreck, one big scandalous mess? Don't hide from God, like your parents Adam and Eve did, or you'll miss out on the bigger scandal; God's not impressed by your mess, he's impressed by his mercy.

But we really good Christians try to clean all that up, and in the process, without realizing it, we lose the power. It's unfortunate really that we tend to do that. 

As I read the Bible to Max I want to teach him to read it with wonder over the worst of man being met by all the goodness of God. 

Let's read the Bible with fresh eyes.Without hiding our flaws and mistakes, let the light of truth bring them out in the open, only then can we realize the greatness of God's gift of reconciliation. 

"The old life is gone; a new life burgeons! Look at it! All this comes from the God who settled the relationship between us and him, and then called us to settle our relationships with each other. God put the world square with himself through the Messiah, giving the world a fresh start by offering forgiveness of sins." 2 Corinthians 5:18

Do you let the messy reality of your life, of the world, of the heroes of the faith, and the undaunted goodness of God come face to face in the pages of the Bible? 

How do you use your influence?

Business bullied my heart this week and pressing responsibility squeezed tight. The littlest one bore the brunt of it. She usually does. As I felt the crush of expectation, mostly my own; and drive to accomplish, my words turned sour and sharp. How could I think about, write about, celebrate mercy, and yet so shamefully neglect to give it? 

I'm reminded once again that I am sorrowfully broken, so easily misguided. Even the best of my intentions, without God breath, are a puff of dust leaving a dry taste in the mouth. 

Perhaps that easy distraction, a slipping into the love of boxes and rules instead of truth, isn't so new a problem. In Acts Paul mentions a group of women, devout, God fearing women, who were easily stirred up to love their own way more than the truth.

And so the Word of the Lord [concerning eternal salvation through Christ] scattered and spread throughout the whole region. But the Jews stirred up the devout women of high rank and the outstanding men of the town, and instigated persecution against Paul and Barnabas and drove them out of their boundaries. Acts 13:49-50

The truth of Christ is always met with opposition. What is scary is that it can be met with opposition even in the most devout. Truth always requires a response, a bending with or standing opposed. It strikes me in this passage that the women mentioned had the opportunity to affect the whole community, for good or bad, with their actions and words.

Do I realize, do you realize, the power our words and attitudes, actions and choices have on those around us? Our children are watching, our husbands listening, the young women we teach, the facebook community we interact with, the women we have coffee with, they are all influenced by us.

Women are influencers with the power to "instigate". Sometimes it's hard to look in the mirror, but I think this question bears attention. How are we influencing? Are our words negative, biting into the heart of those listening, leaving behind a trail of doubt and cynicism; are they self exalting; are they colored with rigid religion, fear, or pride?

Or do our words wash others with an outpouring of hope, fresh as rain, quenching parched hearts. Do we speak of mercy, forgiveness, trust? Do we confess our fears and weaknesses, doubts and lack of understanding in humility? Do we celebrate the spread of Christ's eternal salvation, for all people?

Our influence as women in our communities is powerful and not to be taken lightly. I'm convicted regularly how short I've fallen, how careless I've been with such a sacred trust.

I'd love to hear from you. How do you guard your influence? Do you have women in your life who hold you accountable? 

You can leave a comment here or head over to the Allied Women website and join in the conversation in the Mentoring forum. We would love to have you!

Looking for Jesus like a Four Year Old

I've missed posting here lately! I've got so many exciting things going, like this, this, this, and this with a group of ladies, that days have been passing in a whirlwind! I love to imagine calmer times when I can write at a more leisurely pace, but I think for now that's a dream I've spun from the air. So I'll grab these snippets of moments to pour out what fills my heart.

Yesterday my four year old, Maggie, spent much of the day wrapped around my leg, or sitting in my lap, and yet it was not enough. "I want to be with you Mommy," was her constant declaration. I'm embarrassed to confess my annoyance with her. If you're a parent, I imagine you've had those days when you feel you're being loved by an octopus and cannot escape the constantly grabbing arms.

As I prayed for her little heart and wondered what makes people so needy for love and connection, the dots began to connect. If only I pursued God with such fervor. Following him around, "I want to be with you God," face turned up expectantly, arms reached out. He's not a harried, limited mama like me. He has all the time in the world. When we ask, he gives. I think the thing he most likes being asked for, and giving, is himself.

Let's be like the psalmist who cries out, "A single day in your courts is better than a thousand anywhere else!" (Ps 84:10) I want to be with you, God!

Looking for peace, joy, contentment, rest, etc. is like chasing fog with a butterfly net. Those experiences and attributes will allude us. Yet a magic eye of truth pops into view when we search for Jesus, and all these things are added in, a natural by product of the main thing. His presence. The cry, "I want to be with you, God," unlocks more than we can imagine. 

Today let's imitate a four year old, hungry for time with her parent. Let's follow God around, face upturned, crying, "I want to be with you!"

Holding My Child For The First Time

Newborn Maggie

I'm linking up with Ellen for her writing prompt; Holding My Child For The First Time. How many of you parents remember holding your child for the first time? I have no doubt most of you moms have a flood of memories, emotions, and images immediately. That first moment, when a child and motherhood are birthed entwined, is a pivotal one. I remember details of that moment from eight and then four years ago that defy explanation; sounds, smells, colors, sensations, numbers, emotions, conversations. Some of you remember those details from decades ago, it's amazing.

I remember the pouring out being more like falling in love than giving up. Relief and wonder flooded my heart as I held my son for the first time, rising as if from the depths of my soul. I remember thinking in amazement, "is this really how God feels about me?" There was humor as we noticed that he looked like a miniature version of his father! And so much thankfulness. The birth of our little pink girl was different. The labor was different, the hospital was different, adding a girl to our family brought a new dimension of delight. Yet so many of the emotions were the same; wonder, joy, gratitude.

As I prepare to travel to Serbia I wonder what it will feel like to hold someone else's child in my arms for the first time. A child that isn't used to being held by a mommy. What did their mommies feel when they held their child for the first time? Were they afraid? Where they sad and filled with longing? Did they feel love? I wonder if some of the children's mommies got to hold their babies at all before they went to live in a long row of cribs with other broken babies.

I think often of the children I will see in Dom Veternik's rooms. But I also wonder about the parents who said goodbye, parents whose hearts still bear the scars. Many of the mother's must have been surprised by their child's disability or illness. The moments leading up to that revelation surely were similar to my own. Picking out baby clothes and a name, the pain of labor and relief of delivery, the joy of becoming a mother. Do they still remember each smell and sound, each sensation and emotion, strange details and every conversation?

I doubt they have forgotten the nightmare of learning that their child was not perfect, the pain of being told it would be better with other's of it's kind and not at home with her. I imagine each will remember that moment until the end of her life, but I pray it won't haunt her. As much as I pray that their disabled children are set free from their captivity of pain and healed by love, I pray that each mother's heart is set free from it's own captivity of remorse and healed by forgiveness.

Won't you pray with me for the healing of the disabled children of Dom Veternik as well as for the healing of their parents hearts?

Reflecting on Beauty

 "Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything beautiful, for beauty is God's 

handwriting." Ralph Waldo Emerson

My summer has been saturated with moments of beauty. After some difficult days, I'm reminding myself of the generous way God has splashed tangible glimpses of his creativity and grace throughout my life.

The heavens proclaim the glory of God.

    The skies display his craftsmanship.

² 

Day after day they continue to speak;

    night after night they make him known.

³ 

They speak without a sound or word;

    their voice is never heard.

⁴ 

Yet their message has gone throughout the earth,

    and their words to all the world.
Psalm 19

How has God displayed his beauty in your life?

Seeing Costs

How much can a heart endure? After a front row seat to suffering I wonder. I'm listening to Brandon Heath's Give Me Your Eyes as I write this. Months ago, as I prayed for the eyes of Jesus to be transplanted into my heart, this song shaped me. Blurry stains began to stand out in sharp contrast; evil and blood transposed over blue skies and carelessness.

If I'd known then what I know now, that seeing costs, would I have asked for heavenly vision? Like a fever I caught, that got under my skin, God vision was more than I bargained for. My Mikey-boy and his Mama and sister, calling for grace. Could I let them in my life? Can I let them out?

Today, at my table, Mikey, an impish grin and jelly stains, worked so hard on his letters. What was a commitment for the year, to invite him in and teach him every week, is over. Finished. The serrated blade of loss cuts at my heart and I feel the love spill.

Tonight his Mama ran to my house afraid and hurting, a wild fury of tears and pain, a burst of terror through the front door. And it was done. Crying, praying, trembling, laughing, and crying again, we sat together. A promise, I won't loose you, and then she was gone.

I hope she's gone forever, a new life, a new chance, and still I'm sorry. No more standing in the in-between of our yards and faith, discovering Jesus. No more Mikey standing at the front door grinning, "Hey Mi(ss) Be(ck)!" No more Hello Kitty tattooed girls giggling and getting into trouble. And I wish I hadn't been too busy earlier this week, when I was cooking dinner, to draw with chalk in the driveway. I wish I'd said I love you one more time.

I trust I will see her again but it won't be the same and I'm sad, so very sad. Yet I'm hopeful. For months I've been watching a baby struggle to be born. Tonight she called out to Jesus for help. I believe he's faithful and will give her new life, spiritually and physically. I know the Father doesn't start good works merely to abandon them.

Now comes the pain of sorting through the future, of starting over. The pain of upheaval and uprooting. The pain of wounds healing, of letting go. Fresh tears come as I remember something Max told me tonight.
"Mikey asked me today if I was his brother."
"What did you say?
"I said no. But I think of you as a brother. That's why I call you bud."

I think of you as a brother. Eyes that see with a new vision. Dare I pray that my children see with the Father's heart? It will cost them. It cost him.

Seeing costs when we engage. I don't know what her boyfriend will do. He's scary. As I lift my eyes from typing this post the Names of God emblazoned over my door frames call out the reminder of our Great God. And I pray Jehovah Sabaoth fight for us, Jehovah Nissi spread your banner of victory over my dear friend, Jehovah Mekoddishkem clothe her in your righteousness, Jehovah Shammah be present with the brokenhearted, Jehovah Jireh provide all she needs, Jehovah Shalom rule over these dear ones in peace, Jehovah Rohi seek out your lambs and shepherd, El Shaddai won't you satisfy.

Far From Home

I have been "far from home" for a long time. When I started this blog I named it Beck Far From Home for two reasons. The most obvious being that Wyoming, where I lived at the time, was a significant distance from my Georgia roots. 

Living in a land wildly different from what I knew, longing for the familiar, highlighted the second reason for my homesickness. The longing was just a reminder that Home is a deeper truth my heart is searching for. My heart agrees with the psalmist cry, "Lord, through all the generations you have been our home!" (Psalm 10) I live in eager anticipation for the day my body will experience the reality my heart already knows, where Jesus is there is my home.

Lately a new homesickness has surfaced. My heart has taken flight and wanders outside of itself longing to be with those Jesus loves. What could compel a journey far from home to be with a people who are not my own? Only the grand love of the Father. What compels me to walk out the doors of my house into the messy life of a neighbor? Only Jesus grace.

My imagination is being caught up in the wonder of what God has planned for a nation. My heart is captured, becoming a co-conspirator, by his love for a needy little boy just across the street. God's deep desire to reconcile all mankind to himself compels me, and has set a new kind of homesickness in my heart. I have a new awareness of being far from home. I long to be where Jesus is. I hear him calling from an ancient land, from the halls of people institutionalized in their suffering. And he's calling in the voice of a tongue tied preschooler, with speech so broken it makes me wince. "Love sees, love goes, and love is present."

I choose to see the neighbor, the needy foreigner; I choose to move toward them in their pain and loneliness; I choose to sit with them in their need being the ears that listen, the hands that sooth, the shoulder that gives rest. I wonder how much I'm really blessing though because truly I'm the one being blessed. I didn't know it was possible to love a child that isn't your own so fiercely. That surprise can only be due to the years I've spent loving like a legalist and not like a Servant. I choose love only because Love chose me. 

My heart hears it's Love call and leaves home but I'm learning, that in a sense, it's impossible to leave my home because it's always been Jesus.

Five Minute Friday ~ Join

I'm joining up with Lisa-Jo and her fabulous group of Fridayers! Today is five minutes on; Join:

Go:

An invitation to join the messy is living across the street. A broken mommy, angry daddy, scarred children. Once a people group I would have shied away from. Who wants to be splattered by sin and pain, someone else's, regularly?

"Join me." It was an invitation. A command. A plea, a gift. Jesus was already there, knee deep in mess. Trembling I put one foot on the driveway, a path to a neighbor's front door, and joined the work. At moments the amount of pain takes my breath away.

I have never heard so many foul words strung together in one breath, truly it's a skill. The little eyes that seek out mine have seen depths of pain and abuse I've only read about. But here they are, in front of me.

The grace Jesus gives meets the pain. I sense it, they need it, he brings it. So in one hand I grab a hold of Jesus, and in the other take hold of trembling fingers, in a grasp of love. In the gloaming we stand at the edge, between a house of pain and a house of refuge, swatting bugs and surrounded my tumbling laughter, hearts touching. I'm in.

Stop

How about you? What have you joined lately? Where is God leading you to join him?

Jesus Bugs Me, the Cure for a Wicked Heart

"Yes Jesus bugs me, yes Jesus bugs me, yes Jesus bugs me the Bible tells me so," sings my four year old Maggie lately. I chuckle to myself over her misunderstanding or perhaps her interpretation of the children's classic. Her perspective sheds light on some pretty sketchy behavior and I think she speaks for others when she claims, "yes Jesus bugs me." Jesus bugs us in different ways. Some are bugged by his insistence that he in fact is in charge, I have a feeling Maggie falls into this category. Others are bugged by his altogether uniqueness, they're bewitched, can't get enough of him, he gets under their skin.

Last week I was reading Psalm 1 to the kids at breakfast.  

Oh, the joys of those who do not    follow the advice of the wicked,   or stand around with sinners, or join in with mockers. Psalm 1:1

I hadn't even made it passed verse one when Maggie jumps in, "I like being wicked." Taken back I wasn't quite sure what to say. Chris had come into the kitchen in time to hear his littlest pk (pastor's kid) make that charming statement. "What does wicked mean?" he asked Maggie. I'm sure he was hoping to clarify her misunderstanding of the word. No such luck. Without missing a beat she answered, "to be bad." Well, she has a good vocabulary.

We took a moment to help her understand that it was entirely her choice to be good or wicked. She just needed to be aware of the consequences, which we explained. Her brother was horrified that she would want to be wicked, which is a heart reflection, he wants to please Jesus and his parents. Jesus has gotten under his skin. Maggie is not encumbered by such desires. We told her that her family loves Jesus and wants to please him, while she lives with us she will be required to do what is right, the above mentioned consequences will ensure her compliance, but ultimately the issue comes down to her heart.

Her confession is honest. Most people should be so candid. I think her statement is a reflection of the human condition. Unless we respond to Jesus' love and come to the place of willingly submitting to his authority we're like Maggie, free to choose wickedness, and apt to, we just need to be aware of the consequences.

We've all had moments when we "like being wicked." But when Jesus bugs us, gets under our skin, in a good way we will begin to love being righteous more. Until that time we're free to be wicked we just need to be aware of the consequences.

For the Lord watches over the path of the godly,  but the path of the wicked leads to destruction. Psalm 1:6

I pray for my little girl, that Jesus would "bug her", he's the cure for a wicked heart. I pray he would get under her skin and mold her to his likeness, I pray that for myself as well. I trust that in time she will come to prefer the joys and blessings of a godly life. 

Let's make that our prayer today for those around us who are choosing wickedness, that the consequences will lead them to grace. And for our own hearts that Jesus would bug us, would get under our skin, molding us more to his likeness every day.

Eyes That See

Seeing is a gift

There are people around us, everywhere, that need to be seen. Sure we notice their clothes, designer or dirty; skin, white or black or a thousand other shades; stuff, Apple or knock off. But do we see what God sees. An image bearer?

A wounded boy

There's a little boy next door, four years worth of pain old. His solemn eyes make him look older. He's cautious, as skittery as a stray puppy. It took him a whole weekend to finally smile at me and it felt like I'd struck gold. It took even longer for him to talk and when he did I knew why. It's painful to my ears, it must be torture to his own, to hear the words jerk out.

When Chris hears him speak he looks at me confused. One day when I answered back Chris whispered, "how did you understand that, did he actually say something?" It's taken me weeks to learn the rhythm and I do a lot of guessing but it's worth trying. I want him to know he has a voice and not be afraid to use it.

I shudder to think of the teasing he may endure. The wounds that will dig deep into that little heart, tracing back over existing scars. I see a small boy being swallowed up into a tough man with clenched fists, but the little boy will remain, buried deep, aching. I imagine he will look a lot like his daddy; a little boy who's so afraid that he drinks too much and yells, who beat's his whatever she is, wife or girlfriend I don't know which anymore. I pray love will intervene and that won't be the case, oh I hope it won't be, but it feels like a long shot.

Now he crosses the street and walks on in to my house, without saying a word, and makes himself at home. He smiles at me and sometimes he holds my hand. And tonight as he walked through the kitchen where I was making dinner he stuck up his hand and said "bye." I reached out and hugged him. Then he kept on his way out the back door. It could have been my imagination but I thought I heard, "I uv ooh," tossed over his shoulder. "I love you," I shouted back. And I do.

A place to start

Seeing people is worth the sacrifice of comfort. It's easier to look away from the mess or pain or whatever. But seeing is a gift and only when we take time to see are we able to take time to act. Seeing comes first, it's where we start. Have you allowed yourself to see those around you lately, really see? Who are you tempted to turn your eyes away from?

A Lesson In Abiding, Humility, Grace and a New Found Limp

On Wednesday I wrote a blog post that I regret. (If you didn't read it don't bother looking for it, I removed it.) On Thursday I wanted to delete my blog and silently slip away, never to have my words read again. Like shards of glass, sharp and scattered, I knew I could never call the words back. Friday I woke up to Mercy, a song over me, grace extended in my direction even though I hadn't offered the same. Sweet relief.


The week before I posted about not being enough. Then I posted about a right expectation of other's and their inability to be enough to satisfy us. I then promptly forgot everything I learned and gave way to the self-righteous urge to sloppily express hot feelings.


Thankfully Jesus doesn't deal with me in the same manner I deal with others. 


Interestingly, Wednesday morning, my father-in-law and I had a conversation about learning from the mistakes of others and our own mistakes. And still I blazed ahead giving vent to feelings I had not allowed Jesus to temper properly. What could have been an opportunity to give voice to truth was lost because truth and humility cannot be separated, and I would have none of that.


Graciously some friends emulated Paul in my life, "But when Peter came to Antioch, I (Paul) had to oppose him to his face, for what he did was very wrong." Their gentle push back, a reminder to embrace grace, stung. Their words also forced me to Jesus in prayer. Through it I gained more clarity about the concerns I had so clumsily expressed but more importantly I regained a right perspective of who I am in Jesus.


I had not been abiding in him. Disconnected from Jesus' heart, that great source of love, my words had turned brassy and ugly. A painful reminder that abiding is essential. Apart from him I am nothing, my words mean nothing. 


John 15:3-5 "Remain in me, and I will remain in you. For a branch cannot produce fruit if it is severed from the vine, and you cannot be fruitful unless you remain in me. Yes, I am the vine; you are the branches. Those who remain in me, and I in them, will produce much fruit. For apart from me you can do nothing."


As a writer, to have an audience is a privilege, words are a trust. When my words resonate with you I'm thankful. But when they don't I'm thankful for friends who are willing to say so. I have people in my daily life I'm accountable to. I've given them the right to challenge me. I want to do the same here. I welcome accountability from you the reader to remind me to abide in Jesus, to use words according to his purpose. 


There are times for a writer to call out a bold challenge, times for quiet tones of beauty, and then there are times to sit in quiet humility, hand over mouth. Sometimes it's a challenge to know which is which. 


I know that I will at times meet with disagreement or criticism, that's an inevitable part of putting yourself out there as a writer. Pleasing people can't and shouldn't be my goal. But a healthy part of the writing process is taking challenges from trusted sources to heart, allowing them to sift motive and intent.


I will write with a limp for weeks, months, maybe even years. Which I think is a valuable gift. A costly gift, guarding words as they flow from my fingers and into your heart. Reminding me I'm susceptible to pride and foolishness, reminding me to abide in Jesus.


Thank you for reading, for being gracious and patient, and for second chances. 

Just A Man

I saw something yesterday that I can't shake. It's niggling me. I saw a man. Let me explain. I watched a speech by President Obama. Now, before you start stepping onto your band wagon or soap box, sit back down, this isn't one of those posts.

No I didn't see a demon or a savior, as he is so often painted. I saw a man. A man with tired eyes, graying hair, and a flat voice. I could be wrong but it appeared to me I saw a man loosing heart. A man who has been fighting a battle far bigger than himself for longer than he has the resources or energy.

Ideologically I don't agree with President Obama. Actually when he was elected, to be honest, I flipped out. But I'm not flipping out anymore and quite frankly I have little interest in elections and politics and such. Not because I'm embittered more because I'm liberated. Living in the Kingdom of God here and now, destined for the Kingdom of God later, is perspective changing.

Previously, I saw President Obama as the enemy. But I don't anymore. He's not our enemy. Our own hate is. If we have been born into the family of God through the sacrifice of Jesus and power of the Holy Spirit we have very few enemies. Death isn't our enemy, it's been defeated; people aren't our enemy, God is greater; circumstances aren't our enemy, they are temporary.

No, our greatest enemy is our own self. Our own pride, lust, fear, or indifference; they are the enemy of intimacy with God. Not the president. 

And yet I see sound bites and words flying across the internet and hear conversations that drip with vitriol and disdain. But the president shouldn't be our enemy. He should be the focus of our prayers and compassion. We all want a scape goat, and President Obama is a natural target, but he's the wrong one. No one person ruins a country. We all have.

I think there is enough gluttony, self-centeredness, apathy, and prayerlessness to go around for us to all indulge in a little humility and repentance. What concerns me is our pride. How can we speak about grace for others but not offer it to the president, as if he's too bad for it? But God says he expects something different from his children.

"Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God... rid yourselves of all such things as these: anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language from your lips.... Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience." Colossians 3:1,8,12

If we are raised in rebirth with Jesus Christ our real life is in him, and his leadership is unshakable no matter who is president. Fear is improper for people living in the reality of eternity. Malicious, hateful words have no place in our speech, they are a denial of our birthright of grace. I have no doubt God meant that applies to all people we speak to or about, from our children to our president. If we join in the mudslinging debate we are wallowing in the filth of this world. Clothing ourselves in compassion, humility and gentleness lifts us above that mess.

Yesterday, for the first time, I saw a man. And I repented from my slander and hate. I prayed for compassion and kind eyes. And I prayed that I, and my brothers and sisters, would do my part in the reformation of society. Not by yelling at the unrighteous but by living in bold conviction and authentic love. 

It is our duty to speak up for the unborn, the poor, the disabled. It's also our responsibility to care for them. It's not our duty or right to turn that love for the needy into hate for others. Certainly we can speak about what is good and right for all people without ungracious words for someone else. 

If God had treated us with the gracelessness we have a tendency to treat others with, when we were dead in our sin, what hope would we have had? I'm thankful he's not like us but that we can become like him. I invite you. Look and see a man. A man that needs grace, just like you. 

The Gift of Right Expectation

Yesterday I wrote about not being enough. Not enough to satisfy other people, or accomplish anything on my own really. Only Jesus is enough to satisfy and to overcome our weaknesses. 

Today I'm wondering, do we allow Jesus to be enough for others as well? Grace let's others off the hook. It is a right expectation that they can never be enough to satisfy or fulfill us. Grace says, your weaknesses are covered by Jesus' righteousness. Grace has orderly expectations of God and of people. 

I'm not saying we don't hold other Christ followers accountable to a righteous life. And I'm not saying that we don't desire those living in sin to be reconciled to God.

I'm saying we live out our relationships with others, even the hard parts of confrontation and restoration, with a heart remembering that we ourselves are not enough. Expecting others to be enough to get it right all the time, please God in their own strength, and never disappoint us, is unwise and unkind. 

I think that may be what God meant when he inspired Proverbs 16:18. "Pride goes before destruction,  a haughty spirit before a fall." He hates it when his children, whom he saved when they couldn't save themselves, forget their humble beginnings and deal harshly with others. When we expect others to be enough we're saying we can be perfect ourselves, which is a lie, and God opposes that lie in our lives for our own liberation.

I have to confess, I have struggled for years with this. But God has faithfully been stripping away spiritual pride. Of course I'm disappointed when leaders don't lead, peers stumble, those who should know better don't. But the reason I'm disappointed has changed. Instead of being offended by the short comings of others, it's my love for Jesus' bride that desires the health and well being of it's members.

I've lived too long with the proverbial plank in my eye, running around pointing out others specks, their not enoughness. But I don't think the size of the sin is the issue in that teaching, I think the ownership is. Our own issues should be foremost in our lives, our sin, our obedience is our primary responsibility. It's not that we aren't supposed to assist others with their own speck. It's that we need to deal with our junk, recognize in humility the that we have junk, and remember it's a privilege to assist others with their messiness.

Not an easy task, to admit we are not enough and allow others that same freedom. But what a liberating way to live; our eyes on Jesus, trusting his righteousness for us all. Our devotion in prayer for the church body and our families, our gift of forgiveness, our hopeful expectation, are all evidence of faith in the One who is enough for us all.

Ephesians 5:1-2, "Follow God’s example, therefore, as dearly loved children and walk in the way of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God."

Is it harder for you to accept weakness in yourself or in another? Ask God to help you extend life giving grace today.

A Garden of Love

For many years ministry has taken me far away from my Georgia roots, our last ministry was in the wilderness of Wyoming. In the last twelve years I've missed my grandfather and two cousin's funerals not to mention a handful of weddings. The distance has dulled relationships and each gathering missed was itself a grief.

But this week was different. In this season of life God has graciously placed me closer to family. I traveled from the Alabama coast and wound my way through Georgia pines to say goodbye. My last grandparent is gone. Grand, columned houses and orange country roads flashed past on my way home.

It was a comfort, a joy, to celebrate my grandma's life, her legacy, and her home-going, with my family. After the beautiful funeral and memorial service, conversations and hugs, my parents, sister, and I stopped by Grandma's empty house one last time.

Grandma was a gardener with a green hand. Every inch of her back yard was filled with life, at one time it had been a show place, but in recent years it had begun to reflect the life of it's aging owner. As we entered the metal gate and walked around the tiered yard I felt like I was entering the secret garden. Roses still bloomed, hydrangeas showed off their color, lilies had faithfully made their appearance but all amidst a tangle. 

I think families are a bit like the garden. Sometimes messy, in need of pruning, maybe some thorns and work to be done. But always with flowers blooming and a few quiet places of rest, beauty and potential. The question is will we enter in and participate. Engaging takes courage.

God is purposeful. He doesn't make mistakes when he crafts a family. We can embrace the gift of family, with it's challenges and joys, overcoming fear and pride for the sake of love. I'm learning that participating with God is always more productive than resisting him, that's true in our family relationships as well. What blooms when we do is a thing of beauty.

I'm thankful for the variety of relationships I've been blessed with, they shape and refine me and bring my life meaning. Is there a relationship you resist because of fear or hurt, maybe difference or time separate you. How can we engage and allow those relationships to be transformed by grace, blessing both people?

I brought a plant and angel home from my grandma's garden as a reminder that beauty lies locked inside the heart of every relationship.

Anticipation

I've been in a quiet, contemplative, prayerful place for the last week. I posted this as a facebook status last Thursday and it describes my heart well:

Sometimes wrestling with God leaves me limping, tender footed, and quiet. The hours spent in the vice grip of truth, seeking God's face, takes it's toll on my blustery confidence. I put my hand over my mouth, and walk out humbly. Aware that my confidence can only be in God's righteousness and never my own.

This week I'm praying to walk out in the confidence of God's truth and grace in my life. I'm living in a sense of anticipation. One thing I'm anticipating is a birth. Not a new baby in my family or friend circle, but a spiritual birth. My neighbor shows signs of being ready to be born into new life and I'm praying God will use me as an effective midwife. I'm praying to love her and her family with a compelling, honest, attractive love. I'm praying the Holy Spirit opens her heart to truth.

I offer her summer squash and a bible, both wrapped in life giving prayers. I've never witnessed a death to life, first gulps of grace, birth. But I imagine just like any baby's birth it's messy and bloody and there's crying and celebrating and the soft hush of the miraculous.

What are you anticipating this week? Do you expect the miraculous? Where do you hope to see truth born out in grace?

A Basket Full of Thanks {Mondays}

Lately I haven't joined in the holy discipline of recording the gracious gifts of God, set as precious jewels in my life. So, I'm jumping back in this week and setting them down as stones of remembrance at which to kneel and worship with a thankful heart. My heart pours gratitude:

231. With all my heart I'm thankful that temper tantrums and pitched fits, all the uglier when adult sized, don't disqualify me for grace, tenderness and love!

232. For the ability to worship, another gracious gift from the Father.

233. For delicate reminders of God's intricate design.

234. Children delighting in new found friendships, and their childish laughter rippling through the yard.

235. Dinner with my true love, enjoying shared moments alone.

236. The light of Love that drives the mist of doubt from our souls.

237. Witnessing the molding of my little boy's heart by the Holy Spirit, tenderness taking shape.

238. Prayer that brings me close to the heart of God. Unworthy one that I am, invited in on the merit of another, mysterious wonder. 

239. A heart that is becoming broken over the things that break God's heart, a heart that is learning not to turn away from pain but to press in and bear witness.

240. For a little boy taking joy in a rough, brown lizard, smile up turned and eyes dancing.

My week, like each one that's preceded it, has been marked by God's tender care. How, I ask myself, will I turn the praise of my lips into the action of thanksgiving? By a gentler word chosen in a moment of frustration. Through a prayer prayed for an orphan my arms can't hold but whose pain I can take responsibility for by speaking about him to our Father who can rescue him. In caring for my family and my own body as a steward of the gifts God's given. How will you thank God for his kindness to you this week? 

Joining up once again with Ann Voskamp and all of the many counters of gifts.

Christmas Blessing

 Merry Christmas to you my dear family, friends, and cyber sisters!

 As you celebrate the Father's love may you rest on the assurance of his faithfulness.

May joy permeate the corners of your soul, filling your conversation, and quiet moments.

 May the wonder of the incarnation fill you with humble gratitude.

 May peace blanket your days and nights with the reassurance of God's presence.

And may the glorious song of love that rang out over Bethlehem hills so many years ago ring clear across your heart! Good news, your God loves you, he is with you, redeeming you. All at a cost to himself. What kind of love is this?! Wonder, ponder, reflect on such a gift. Love for love's sake!

May your Christmas be a time of worship and your New Year seasoned with undeserved grace!

Love's heart

Where am I going? What is this journey I'm on? This path marked with challenges, on the way to Love's home, is an unexpected grace. The truth I've learned before has become a link in a chain, leading to what's to come. Grace becomes stale and doesn't store well. It's best gathered fresh.

In the past my blood raced fast in passion for the sisterhood. Finding my place in the circle of women, loving and being loved. And while the truth of life lived together and embracing the sisterhood so that we all "grow up in Christ"(Ephesians 4) hasn't changed, my passion is swirling and shifting and taking on a new form. I'm straining my ear to hear the variation of notes in the tune.

I'm finding the truths of the last season are becoming stones in the altar of worship and sacrifice that God is fashioning in my life. This season will have new stones, new truth, new grace. Lately Jesus is stirring my heart in compassion for some of the most broken and disregarded of the world.

I recently found two beautiful blogs by women weaving stories that move me. First Stumbo Family Story by Ellen Stumbo and The Blessing of Verity by Susanna Musser. I encourage you to visit and be humbled, make sure tissues are nearby!

And I see the link that is forming between sisterhood and compassion, community and action. I was privileged to write a post about Jennifer, my dear friend with Down Syndrome, a few months ago. The novel I'm writing weaves the love of sisters and the journey of a mother with a Down Syndrome child together in a story of sweet grace. The blogs I mentioned above are written by mothers caring for biological children with Down Syndrome and adopted children with special needs. Coincidence? Never.

I boldly asked God not long ago to give me eyes and a heart that sees and values what he does. I didn't know what that would look like at the time, but shapes are coming into focus and I see broken humanity, in need of mercy, becoming beautiful at his loving touch. I hope you'll continue to travel with me on this journey to Love's heart. I'm blessed by so many of you to witness the journey Love has you on as we journey home together! What is God doing in your heart and life lately?

A Basket Full of Thanks {Mondays}

I'm off to enjoy time with my sweet husband and little girl, but I wanted to take a moment to lift up some thanksgiving!

221. Enjoying a crisp breeze and cloudy skies, feels a little more fallish.

222. Worshiping together with different congregations, ages and races, just a small foreshadowing of what heaven will be.

223. An impromptu tea party with little curly top.

224. Quiet moments with my husband, how is it that he becomes more dear the longer I'm with him!?

225. Family time at the NASPensecola watching the air show and exploring cool planes.

 226. Spending time with new friends and old; God is such a gracious giver, weaving our life stories together.

227. The ability to enjoy yummy smells; fall candles, apple cider, pot roast cooking.

228. Sweet brother and sister time, exploring the bay and playing together.

229. Conviction that I'm not what I should be yet and the reminder of God's faithfulness to complete the good work of holiness in those he loves.

230. Time, while it often feels like an enemy, in God's hands it is redeemed.

Enjoy your day knowing you're loved, cared for and enjoyed by our kind Father!