Strength and Wisdom from Sorrow

My daughter wrote a stunning piece of spoken word.  I would love for you to click on the link and listen to her reading it out...   The truth in these words blessed my heart in a profound way. I share it with you with deep joy.

Click here

Or...https://drive.google.com/file/d/16g6vYacHhssWLukJuJOcM3IUrg-TVUs8/view

The text of the spoken word: 

When you look into a woman’s face
What do you see?
Sorrow.
It’s always there - 
it’s what gives the waves to the ocean in her eyes,
The fire in the pit of her stomach,
The lines around her mouth,
and depth to her words. 

Have you ever sat at the feet of a truly fierce woman:
Wearing truths she taught you to know;
just waiting, for the next pearl of wisdom to fall from her lips.
They splash onto those around her like tears. 

Tears shed for the ruined and loved boy,
tears for the cherished and lost child,
tears for the battered and beautiful friend, 
And hot wet burning tears for her own failures in grace.

These precious pearls were made through 
the scratching of the sand of the world
That made wounds and scars on her heart.
That left their cutting mark, but were not felt in vain. 

The laughter in the eyes of a child should be cherished. 
Always.
for, the liquid sunlight dripping from their eyes will vanish in time.

But the laughter of a woman is stronger still. 
For she has seen the inside of the darkness
and chosen to turn her eyes back to the sun; 
Even when she does not believe in its existence.

The flower might close at night, but soon it will be morning
And with a choice of perseverance 
She will again lift her eyes. 

Sorrow is the hinge-pin, the centrepiece, of a woman's life.
It ties her to those around her with a triple woven tread. 
Its end is what grounds her, like an anchor in a storm.
She has seen this before. 
She knows: in time, a gleam will arise out of the bloodied mess of broken souls.

She stands
It’s a choice
She knows
And with love, She chooses to throw her heart back into the fray
In order to touch the child, seeing darkness for the first time,
The man waylaid and pushed to destruction,
The women abused night after night, 
The running family with bombs sounding still in their ears, 
And the quiet grief of a boy who has nothing left to give.

This is why we come to their feet.
This is why we trust them with our love.
Their eyes hold a well of sorrow and a smile of peace.
We know they can hold more, 
and still will choose to look up from the dark to the sun.

Don’t forget their sorrow,
don’t rush on into life without their hands
They have lived your future pain.

Young women, those just tasting the start of truth,
Do not be afraid.
Every warrior has her story.
Yes, you too will have yours.
But a battered heart is not a broken life.
It is only a woman more ready to love
Well,
Wisely, and

Always. 

Link also here: https://drive.google.com/file/d/16g6vYacHhssWLukJuJOcM3IUrg-TVUs8/view
 or here  https://bit.ly/30nTbNj

Let's Dance Again

You know that moment when you are smiling so much, your face starts to ache just a bit?

I felt the ache in my cheeks the other night.  I sat, smiled, and watched them with deep joy.

How many were they?  Thirty?  Forty kiddos?  Up on stage...  standing in-front of a room of 250---some proud parents, aunties and uncles, and many they would not know.   Most of the audience friendly strangers. These kids of all ages were singing and dancing with all their might!   They sang song after song about Jesus--- His love and grace, His faithfulness and goodness.  Loud voices.  Full attention.  They sang out with their whole hearts.  They gave it their all.

Each song had movements.  Each child did the movements with their "stamp"---their personality.  Some made quiet, small movements. Some kiddos made exaggerated and beautifully flamboyant moves.  Some had hands, legs, faces all in sync.  They were perfectly orchestrated with the music.  You might say these were "on fleek"!   Others---little ones and bigger ones--- hardly managed the choreographed movements at all... they just danced.  Smiles.  Jumping.  Swaying.  Shuffling their little feet.

They performed with joy and freedom and so much fun!  It was pure delight to behold.

While I watched, I had a recurring thought which became a prayer:  When do we loose this?  When did we loose this, Lord?

When does this dancing, jumping, laughing, smiling, singing get lost?  Why don't we do this anymore when we sing of You?  

I began to pray these questions... When did I loose this unhindered joy in moving my body and singing songs for you?  What hinders me in worshiping You like this, Lord?  

As I watched and prayed, everything in me wanted to jump on stage and sing along.  Dance along.  I wanted to join them!

I know the stories that many of these kids walk.  I am aware of pain in their journey.  I know they don't live perfect lives, or in perfect families.  But, still... still...  this night they brought their whole bodies, hearts, and minds on stage and performed with exuberance.

Most faces in the crowd smiled.  Even the older teenagers--- this freedom already lost for most of them--- sat and watched with cheek-aching grins.

Joy begets joy.  Worship begets worship!

Father, I want some of it back!  What I lost... whenever it was... I want to know this childlike faith and purity again.  I want to worship You with my whole body, my whole heart, and all of me.  Teach me to join them in song.  Today... and moving forward.  "Let everything that has breath praise the Lord" (Psalm 150:6).  

"They should praise Him with dancing, they should praise Him with tambourines and harps!"  (Psalm 149:3)

Can you change me?

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Do you ever feel absolutely sure you are right about something?

I read somewhere that a true, genuine conversation can only happen if both parties are ready and willing to be changed by each other.  Conversation and dialogue only happen when I sit anticipating my viewpoint will indeed be altered because of this discourse.  Problem is...  what happens when you think you are absolutely right?  Period.  Full stop.

This prideful, closed way of "communication" happens much, much more frequently than genuine conversation.

I used to think it was certain personality types--- mine or my husband (ha!), for instance!---which felt they were "right" or "correct" all the time.  Or, maybe it was family of origin training.  Certainly my family has it in spades!   All I knew was that I struggled and was upset when my viewpoint was challenged or questioned.

The more years I live, I am convinced that this is true about everybody.  Every-single-body struggles when their point of view feels threatened.  Maybe not on all accounts, to be sure; but, just poke around a bit to find that person's topic-of-certainty.  Push it.  Or have a slightly differing slant or question... and you will feel the mechanisms of defense.  (Defenses are many...and they do tend to suit each personality.)

Don't get me wrong, I am a firm, firm believer if absolute Truth.   I believe that God gives us insight into and understanding of His Truth... certainly He has given us a huge leg-up with the gift of Scripture (the unchanging Truth).  We have a great deal of clarity on many areas from God's Word...  "all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God" (Romans 3:23), for example.  Pretty clear.  I can hold this and many other biblical truths securely. But, I also know that my ability to understand God's ways and truth is significantly limited.   So many things I hold true are impacted by Stephanie-ism.  (Definition of "ism": a distinctive practice, a system or philosophy.)  Stephanie-practice.  Stephanie-system.  Stephanie-philosophy.

Just as there are indeed rock-solid, unchanging Truths in Scripture; equally so, there are many 'not so black and white' areas that I am learning to be at peace holding more tentatively in my hands...

...What one thinks about global warming, boarder control, working mothers, or homeschooling.  How one decides to parent a small child or keep a house.  How one interacts with their adult children, their aging parents or their neighbors.  Where and how one chooses to work, to play, or to rest.  What one thinks about exercise and diet. What one does with their time, their money, their energy... for example.  In these areas, I long to have genuine and true conversations with others.  While I believe that God's Word touches and impacts each of these areas... the "certainty" case is not closed or locked.

Can I be changed by another's ideas and their thoughts?  Can you change me?

All these things above, I think about.  And, I certainly have my opinions on each of these issues---as I am guessing you do, as well.  But, can you be changed---even if just slightly?

Yesterday, I had a conversation where I felt 'changed'.  Honestly (and slightly embarrassingly), going into the interaction, I felt very "right" in my discernment and advice.  Our first interaction about the topic did not go very well.  It was a few hours later over coffee, when this friend and I re-visited the dialogue where the thought twigged for me, "A true conversation is one where you are ready to be changed".  In that moment, I prayerfully looked across the table ready to be impacted.

Was it my openness or just the grace of the person talking with me that allowed for the topic to be resurfaced?  ...maybe a bit of both.  But, I distinctly felt a profound "aha" moment while this dear one was explaining her values and view point.  It was a lovely smack to my pride when I realized that I had been looking at the issue from one singular point---a limited way of thinking---truly unknowingly.  Her words and explanation changed me, even if just slightly.  In that moment, I had available to me another way of seeing the issue and her decisions made sense to me in a way that I had been unable to see before.  Our conversation changed me.

As I reflect on this today, I wonder and quiz myself a bit as to how often I do this with God--- let alone other people.  How often do I pray, assume, and walk forward in the "right" way, without a humble, surrendered heart ready to be impacted by my interactions.

Problem is... I generally think I am right.  Period.  Full stop.

Lord Jesus, have mercy on me, a sinner and fallen short of Your glory.  Change me from the inside out.  

Songs of My Heart

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Like a stream of consciousness, the memories come unbidden.

I was simply sitting down to blow dry my wet hair and then in my mind's eye, I am there...  nearly 20 years ago, but I am "seeing" it and feeling it, like it was yesterday.

While in this season of launching my first child, there seems to be this movement in my mind... seemingly random memories coming like a wave.

Different things trigger the memories---a picture, a smell, a song, a comment.  This morning it was music.  As I often do,  I hit play on my "Worship" playlist.  I sat to begin a regular morning routine of makeup and hair.  Within only a few notes, the memory came rushing in...

link for song...  take a listen, if you can

The song begins with ..."It is our confession what we are weak... so very weak!" 

In a moment, I was taken back...  holding, rocking, clutching a baby girl.  We had taken this little one with us across the ocean into a backwater country.  Young and terrified, I stood over her crib, holding her tiny body while her fever screamed at my momma's heart, "Be afraid, be very afraid!"  

It is an intense fear that we feel as we hold our little ones and watch them writhe and struggle against sickness.  It is a deeply intense fear that we all feel when we are out of control... when we can't fix it, we can't make it okay.  

That night long ago, it was this song that I sung over her.  As I held her and prayed, the words seemed to flow out of my soul---a song, a prayer, a confession---

 "It is my confession, Lord, that I am weak---so very weak---but, You are strong!"

It's our confession, Lord that we are weak…So very weak, but You are strong

And though we've nothing, Lord…To lay at Your feet

We come to Your feet and say, "Help us along"

A broken heart and a contrite spirit, You have yet to deny

Your heart of mercy beats with love's strong current.

Let the river flow, God.  By Your Spirit now, Lord we cry

Let your mercies fall from heaven! Sweet mercies flow from heaven!

New mercies for today--Shower them down Lord, as we pray

How long did I rock her and sing this song over her that night?  It feels like I have been singing and rocking this over her for her entire life!

Today, as I writhe and struggle with the feelings of launching her.  As I watch her sadness, her pain, and as I feel my own...  As we truly roller-coaster-ride the ups and downs of this launch:  ...excitement, hope, anticipation, mixed with the high fever of grief, frustration and terror...

As her tears, and mine, scream at us, "Be afraid, be very afraid!",  I am in that selfsame place I was 18 years ago.  

I am holding her, rocking her with my heart, and I am praying these very same words... 

Help us along!  New mercies for today, Lord, shower them down as we pray!  

And, each time I sing this.  Each time I pray...  He holds and He rocks.  He stills.  In these moments, I know He sings over my soul.  Even when I can't hear it, I know He is singing...  He is always singing His song.  

Today, I choose to listen and lean in.  I let Him hold me and rock me.  Today, I say "yes" and hear His words--- Be strong and courageous.  Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go (Joshua 1:9)

Sorting and Slowly Saying Goodbye

She is sorting her room.  It's time.  In 12 short weeks, she will pack up and leave this home... beginning the launch into a new world.

Bravely, she has been sorting and purging her things.  Her clothes...  ah!! but, I remember her in that shirt, that dress, that sweater!  

This girl, my sweet girl.  The one who keeps everything... the girl who remembers gifts given to her from 10 years ago.
With courage, she sorts and she purges.

Her art... her crafts...her jewelry... her books...   ah!  I remember those art books and the years of painting with those brushes!   ah!  I remember her devouring that book series.  

Unlike some, we don't have the freedom (or the "illusion" of freedom) to assume we will be in this physical place forever... so she has to pack it all up.  It all needs to be put in a box or a bag... a few things to store for "memory" sake (can Grandma's attic even take any more of our things!?)  ...a few things to fill a dorm room.

Most of her things...  most---we will just give away.  The first load went today.  Dad drove it up to the local charity store and offered these things as a gift.  We lay it down and give it away.  It feels heavy as we carry the boxes of books and label them "free to a good home".  ...in a strange way, the books feel like they have life in them---tied so strongly to a lovely memory of her.  Her childhood in a pile stacked in a box.  ...memories of her snuggled up in bed, reading.

It's a strange journey we walk here on earth.  All of us.  We know, somewhere deep, that this earth is not our home.  We are not long for here.  We know this.  Scripture tells us that walking this sod is only a quick, whispering breath in the scheme of time and Reality.

"Come now, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business, and make a profit.” You do not even know what will happen tomorrow! What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, “If the Lord is willing, we will live and do this or that.” (James 4:13-15)

Our lives are just a mist...  a mist that appears and then vanishes.  

So why does it hurt so much to let these things go?  Why does this pink sweater, this piece of art, that necklace, and these books... why do they tug at my mother's heart and hurt so much.  Why does the box of books feel so very heavy as I lay it down? 

I am pondering and sorting with her, I think.  I am sorting through memories.  Sorting through the truth of these last 18 years...  

I told her today that part of me wants to do it all over again!  She was such a joy to parent.  Like a good, familiar book that you want to snuggle up to read over and over again---I want to 'read' those years just one more time.  

But books are not always for keeping---they mold and gather dust.  The jewelry rusts.  The sweater will fray...  And, the sweater is not her. These things are not full of life.

And, ....and, my girl is not for holding-on-to.   I can't keep her.  She was never mine to begin with...  I must let go.  I must continue to release and surrender.  

Bravely, today I sort and purge with my girl.  I remember and rejoice.  I regret and rehearse.  With courage, I allow the very-now of sadness and grief to come.  I let go and lay down.  I hope and I pray. I trust and I press-in to the One who IS always.  

For, I, too, am launching into a new place...  

What does freedom look like?

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When talking about our fragile bodies, the word "mass" is never a good word. Mass is just a bad, bad word.

When the word mass comes with a measurement of length and depth and is found in your 17 year old daughter's abdomen... well, it is an absolutely sickening, horrid word.

She had been in pain.  We knew that the daily pain had been increasing... with frequency and intensity.  But, you just never expect.  We didn't expect it.

On January 14th, they found a mass in my daughter's upper abdomen.  The ultrasound tech poked, prodded and spent an extra 20 minutes measuring and trying to discern the realities of this mass.   In that beautifully new, pristine white, sterile, cold room, the doctor explained that there was a 3.6 cm x 3.5 cm x 1.5 cm mass.  He showed us the sonogram---there it was, plain as day...even to an untrained eye.   It needed more investigation and he scheduled a CT scan for the following day.

The next 48 hours was a wild mix of emotions.

We were in a different, foreign country.  We had only arrived the day before.  My husband was scheduled to speak at a 400 person conference in Asia on the topic of "Freedom".

Freedom.

For the past three months, as he had been preparing his lessons for the conference, it had become our family mantra, "What does freedom look like in this, Lord?"  ...when my email account is failing, when my friend is in depression, when my unsaved family member is in the hospital, when I spill beetroot juice on my white sweater, when the university decisions for our kids hang in the balance, when we are grieving the upcoming launch of our girl.... In these things, small and large, what does freedom look like?  

In jet-lag, in shock, in someone else's home.  With this news... what did this mean?  What was next? The mantra question just hung there around us, whispering into my soul.

What, Lord, does freedom look like in the midst of this?  

After we sent out an email to let our prayer partners know of the mass... the email responses began to come in.  Our friends, so many of our friends, were standing with us.  Praying, they wrote.  One after another wrote to us and told us, "We are praying!"  Our family, our friends... they were praying for us. These emails were a sweet balm.  As they came into our inbox, we read them together, prayed and felt the comfort of Father's kids worldwide standing in the gap.  Asking.  Pleading. Praying.

Our friends who live in this foreign land---they cooked for us, shuttled us to and from the hospital, prayed with us.  Laughed with us.  Cried for us.

Freedom looked like being the weak ones---the ones in desperate need of prayer and help.  Freedom looked like the comfort of the Body of Christ.  Freedom looked like unhindered asking... His kids knowing God's heart, His power and the possibilities asking on our behalf.  

For those who follow this blog regularly, or know me personally, you will know I am not a big "crier".  I don't cry easily.   I have often said that I have plenty of tears inside, they just don't seem to make their way out of me!  My crying friends  (which tend to be some of my favorite people) know that I envy them.  I tell my free-to-cry friends often what a gift their tears are to me.  If only... If only I could cry like that!

These past months, though, something beautiful has been shifting in me.  I finally asked a free-crying-friend to pray for me.  I asked her to ask the Lord to give me the gift of tears.  He has been answering.  Slowly but surely, I am crying!  ...weeping, in fact, at times.  I rejoice in this health.  I am still not a "crier"...and I don't anticipate that my personality will change... but, I am more free to allow the heavy, hard, tear-filled pain come and have it's way.  I am finding freedom to feel. Freedom to be sad---deeply sad---I am finding freedom to cry.

What, Lord, does freedom look like in the midst of this?

So, with this horrid, terrifying news, I quietly excused myself to the guest room...and I wept.  I wept freely and with faith that He was with me, He was hearing.  Lament in the purest form... I poured out my heart in tears to the Lord.  Pain,    pain,    pain... that was all the words that came with the tears. Just deep pain.

My baby girl.  My darling baby girl.

Pain. Pain. Pain.

Freedom in the Lord looked like pain and tears for me that night.  Freedom looked like feeling. Lament and surrender wrapped up in pain... there was deep freedom.

48 hours of deep pain...  waiting, watching, feeling...

As we waited in the hospital for the next poke, the gross green-colored juice to drink, and the IV... my daughter began to sing a song.  I don't remember what song it was... but it was quiet and it was worship.  It was surrender.  We joined her and sang.  A quiet singing in the busy, bustling hospital room. Freedom looked like surrender.  Freedom looked like worship.

On January 16th, the very same doctor looked at us and shook his head, shrugging his shoulders.  He said he couldn't explain the discrepancy.  The mass was gone.  The CT scan showed a clean, pristine, beautiful abdomen.  No mass.  No problems.  All was "healthy and good" in my girl's abdomen, he said.

It's a miracle!  I said this without really thinking.  It just popped out of my mouth as an exclamation. "We asked Jesus to take it away!" I told him.  He just shrugged his shoulders and smiled.  "There is no mass," he said.

No mass, he said.  These are good, good words.

We walked away with two CDs in our hands:  an ultrasound with a mass and CT scan without a mass.  Walking away with a documented miracle, and deep relief, my daughter and I jumped, danced and cried in the hospital!  Right there in that place, we freely expressed our joy.

Freedom looked like proclamation and witness.  Freedom looked like profession of joy, praise and worship---  Dancing and crying and hugging... looking a bit "mad" I am sure to any on-looker.

As we exited the hospital, aware that we wouldn't be back anytime soon, the phrase came into my heart... He said "yes!"

He said yes...  

I knew that freedom looked like receiving and rejoicing in His "yes" to our asking, our praying, our pleading.  Freedom looked like knowing He sometimes says "no"... but, today, He said yes.   Trusting Him for His answers.  The freedom to ask and to trust His kind, His all-knowing heart...

In this... In this there is freedom.

What Lord does freedom look like in this?  

...freedom looked like being exactly who I am with and in Jesus.  ...Needy and weak.  ...Honest and real.  ...it looked like surrender and worship.  Weeping. lamenting, rejoicing and laughing.  ...freedom looked like asking, hoping, pleading, expecting.  ...freedom looked like receiving and proclaiming.  ...witnessing and trusting.

You Lord, present in the the unknown, the scary, the painful,  the "no" and the "yes".  You, Lord, Present in the lament, the worship and the joy...  You, Lord, are our freedom.  
You are freedom, Jesus.  You.

It is for freedom that I am set free.... (Galatians 5:1)

Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom... (2 Corinthians 3:17)

A Mother's Lament

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I sent her off on a jet plane.

She is only going for a few weeks this time---a trial run, really.  Not the real launch.  Not yet.

In one big, true way I can see she is more than ready and it "feels right and good".  And, yet...
And, yet... wasn't it just last week that I was helping her eat, stand and learn to walk.  Wasn't it just yesterday that she was snuggled in or singing and swinging in my yard.

I keep saying it to friends, when they are kind enough to ask--- it feels like I am birthing again. It feels like labor.

Horrible, wonderful, productive, sickening, necessary and painful labor.  When you give birth to a baby, you know that this is "right and good" and you wait and watch in wonder.  It is "as it should be".  But, man---oh---man, does it hurt.  This has been my experience these past months as we ready our family to launch our first daughter.

As she walked away from us at the airport with bounce and confidence... I wanted to feel excitement and joy.  And, I did.  She is ready.  Mixed emotions swirl---joy, pride, peace.  But, what I feel most strongly is deep grief and sadness.  It is so hard to let go.  Tears came unbidden even in the very public airport.  They stream out, with little attention to the "appropriate" time-and-place.

Tears well up even as I type.  How do I do this with You, Lord?  How do I trust more and lean into You alone?  

When a woman gives birth her everything changes.  Scientifically we know that labor and delivery changes a mother's brain, her muscles, her hormones, her skin---it all changes.  Before I was pregnant, my hair was a light, bright blonde.  After birth, my hair quickly grew thicker and darker. All "young" toe-head blonde Stephanie was lost with this babe.

These babies.  These dear ones change everything.

And, now, I find myself in the same state.  Changing.  Watching, waiting, feeling the swirling anticipation and anxiety.  Eighteen years of my life with my heart, soul, and body turned toward her.  ...and now she walks away.  With beautiful, bounding energy, she prances away into the passport line.  It is as it should be.  Right and good.  And, it is deeply painful at the very same time.

I checked my phone yesterday way too many times; obsessed with wanting her "touch" via that whatsapp or messenger.

I close the door to her bedroom, so I don't have to look in to the empty as I pass by.

I struggle for the gumption to make our regular Saturday morning fun-breakfast; as if her not being with us makes it less than.       Ah... the pains of labor.

I read in Ann Voskamp's newest book, "I know a mother's labor and delivery never ends, and you have to keep remembering to breathe" and my soul shouts: Yes, Ann!  Yes! This is exactly what I have been saying these past months.  I will remember to breathe, Lord.  Breath You in---the giver of life, my hope, my strength and my joy.  

Breathe.  Just breathe.

"As long as I have life within me, the breath of God is in my nostrils."  Job 27:3

Watch and wait.
As with labor and delivery, good things are coming in the midst of the pain.
God things are around the corner.

Made With Love

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Things just taste better when they are made with joy and love!

These words popped out of my sweet girl's mouth this morning as our family delighted in the breakfast creation she and her brother made.

Mouth full of sticky, gooey goodness, she declared this truth:  When something is made with joy, it tastes so good going down.

I agree, sweet girl.  I agree.

I had made the recipe before:  "Apple Fritters".  It is a tasty recipe.  We all enjoyed it last time.  But this time, something was different.  They were astounding!  So very, very yum!

"Why?" I wondered.  "What did you guys do differently?"  I asked as I licked my fingers with delight.

"Things just taste better when they are made with joy and love!"

She isn't wrong...

She and her brother had planned this cooking extravaganza together days before.  They had anticipated the activity and been excited to do this special breakfast for me and my husband.  And, they had laughed, sang and worked with fun the whole time.

These doughnuts were fried-up with joy and sprinkled with love.

The cooking, the cleaning, the emails and the work I do every day...  what is it that makes the difference?  What, indeed, makes these things "taste" good--to me or to others?  What is that spoon-full-of-sugar that is available for every task and every job?

May I learn from my children, Lord.  May the work of my hands... the tasks of my day... be done with joy and with love.  May songs, laughter, and relationship flavor all that I do!  

Painful Release and Surrender

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What must she have felt the day she dropped Samuel off at the temple?

What pain must have ripped through her chest, tugging at her heart, as she turned and walked away?  What sorrow did she encounter as she slept her first night alone... her baby boy now ushered into the house of God.

I can only taste Hannah's struggle now as I pray over my boy and realize the desperate need I have to release him.  Release and surrender, once again.

Like Hannah, I asked for him.  My sweet boy.

I pleaded with the Lord.  Praying over my womb, I asked God to give me a warrior.  Within weeks of becoming pregnant, I knew he was a boy... and I knew his name.  He would be called, "Asked of God".  He was a direct answer to my prayers of God's warrior.

Early in my life young teen life, because of my health issues, I was told that it was unlikely I would ever bear a child.  But, God knew better.  God gave me two precious ones.  I asked for them both... my two sweet miracle-gift babies.

Like Hannah, I asked for them.  And, God chose to answer with a massive and beautiful, "Yes!"

...but, also, like Hannah, I know they belong to Him.  They are His.  His creation.  His kids.  His delight.

All along I have known they were gifted to me.  A stewardship offered. They were precious possessions on loan to me, their mother.  They have always been His, before the foundation of the earth (Jeremiah 1:5, Ephesians 1:4) ---His cherished ones, knit together in my womb.

And, I have indeed, time-and-time-again, surrendered them to His care.

But, somewhere deep within, these two sweet babes still tug so tightly to my womb; almost like they are still attached.  And, if I am honest, somewhere deeper within I hear an unhealthy, sinful cry:"mine!".

My babies.  My children.  Mine.

Mine to care for. Mine to guide.  Mine to fix and make perfect.

Oh! The sickness of possessing and holding too tightly.   The tug and the ripping is a painful one.

What must it have felt like for Hannah to go to the temple that day and hand her miracle-gift over to God? We are told in 1 Samuel 2, that she turns and walks away with praise on her lips, declaring God's power and glory and goodness.  She will declare His faithfulness and His goodness.  My heart finds courage in her worship song!

I taste the bitter and the sweet pain of release tonight as I hear the call of their Father, my Father.

They belong to Me, my love.  They are mine, my daughter.

My loving Father gently calls and reminds my heart that these two sweet miracles are His to care for.  His to guide.  His to fix and perfect.

I need to release.  I need to lay them down again.   Tonight I need to drop my boy off at His house, and let him live under His roof.

"I prayed for this child and the Lord granted me what I asked of him.  So now I give him to the Lord. For his whole life he will be given over to the Lord." (I Samuel 1: 9-28)

Small Efforts

"The repetition of small efforts will accomplish more than the occasional use of great talents." - Charles Spurgeon

I read this quote this morning and thought, "Now, that is mothering summed up in a nut-shell!"  Parenting, really.  Life, actually!  

Repetition?  Yep.  Laundry.  Laundry.  Laundry.  Dishes. Dishes. Dishes.  Hugs.  Hugs.  Help with schoolwork.  Making of meals.  Night-time tucking little ones into bed.  Daily repetition.  

And, all these things are most certainly "small efforts" in the scheme of life, history and the world-at-large!  

Repeated.  And, small.  

But, I know Charles Spurgeon is on to something here.  I hear Truth and encouragement behind these words.  I do believe that these small things matter.    

Small things are only missed when they are lacking, aren't they?  When the "small efforts" are not made---we call this neglect.  But, when the small things are done and dusted, we take no notice.  

What do these things "accomplish" in the Kingdom of God?  I am not sure I can articulate the what, exactly.  But, I do know they have meaning.  It matters that my kids are well hugged, well-listened-to, well taught and well fed.  It matters that I answer that email.  And, it matters that I smile at my neighbor and stop to talk to that sweet lady on the street.  

Small.  Repetitive.  Yep.  But, strangely important.  

So, off I go to make some small efforts!   Off I go to make much impact with another load of laundry, another sink full of dishes, and another math lesson to teach!!  May it be for Your Glory, Father!  May it accomplish much for Your Kingdom!   

It is never easy.

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It never is easy.

To forgive.

When the pain has been real, and hard, and deep... it is never easy to forgive.

My sweet girl is learning.  And, so am I---alongside her.

"I don't know if I am ready to forgive her", she responded with tears.  She was responding to my question, "Can I help you? Can I help you forgive her?"

...if I am ready.  When are we ever really ready to let it go and to lay it down?  Are you ready?

Sometimes we just have to choose.  And, that is never easy.

"But she hurt me...", she explained, not protesting as much as asking me to understand.

"Yes," I replied, "if I was in your shoes, I would be hurt too."

Forgiveness isn't needed unless it has hurt.  Forgiveness is only really necessary if injustice has been done.  Where there is wrath and judgment rightly earned, there and only there is forgiveness really forgiveness at all.

I think, as Christians, we push too many of these hurts under-the-carpet of "brotherly love".  "It isn't really that big of deal", we might say.  Or, "they didn't mean it".  Or, "I am just being over sensitive."  In this, we don't actually forgive bad behavior, instead we ignore it or excuse it.  Which would be a great tactic if it worked.  But, it doesn't.  We push it under-the-carpet and then it actually grows mold, stench and bitter roots under our carpets.  These things---even these little things--- must be acknowledged.  ...before God.

I am not talking confrontation here.  I am talking about acknowledgement---to the One who does "get-it" and the One who is perfect!

So, she did it.

My sweet girl.  She told God that she had been hurt.  She told God that what this girl had done had been painful and wrong.  ...even if this girl was totally unaware.  How common is that true?  Most those hurts we push under the carpet are hurts that the perpetrator doesn't even know they have done.  ...but, they still hurt.

Those sticks.  Those stones.  And, those words have hurt.

And, they can be forgiven.  And, they can be covered by brotherly love!  But, they need to be acknowledged and held up before the Lord of the Universe who sees all.

She told God how she felt.  And, then we asked the Holy Spirit to show her what He thought about the situation.  We asked the Holy Spirit what He would say about them... both girls... both she and her friend.  What did He think?  And, with revelation came peace and compassion.  With His Voice came release and the ability to forgive.  To bless.

We ended our prayer time with my girl initiating blessing over this friend.  "I bless her, Jesus.  Pour out Your blessing on her, I ask."

And, the heavy hurt was lifted.

It still makes her stomach churn just a bit when she thinks of it, she said to me today.  Of course it does, my girl.  Of course, it does!

But, keep blessing.  ...keep asking for His blessing on this friend's life.  And, though it isn't easy.
It is good.  It is very good.

To forgive.

Humble pie for dinner...

Sakes alive! am I prideful!

There is no two ways about it... I just am.

I had acted badly.  I had said mean things.  And, I knew it.  To make matters worse for me, it hadn't been hidden.  My family watched it---they had heard it.  My bad behavior was on display for my house to witness.

Simply put, I had behaved very badly.  And, there she was face-to-face, confronting me with my words and my attitudes.  My girl.  My sweet, sweet, growing girl.

Did it matter why I had acted so?  What she had done... what had happened...   Did it really matter what had lead to that bad behavior--- the place of pain from which I was reacting?  Not really.  No, not in that moment, it didn't.

She was confronting me with strength and passion, but with gentleness.  She was addressing my behavior, my words.  She spoke the truth and I knew it.  And, in that moment I had a choice.  We always have these moments of choice, don't we?  Which way will this go?  Which way will I take this?...

Justification.  Excuses.  Defensiveness.  Attack...

I didn't want to apologize.  I didn't want to say I was sorry.  A force to be reckoned with rose up within---my pride--- and I just wanted to be mean again.  I wanted to say more mean things and behave badly again.

I didn't really want this, of course.  And, I did want this---all at the same time.  (Romans 7:19)

Mercy.

That is all I have to say.  Have mercy on me, Lord Jesus.

And, He did have mercy.  I did choose wisdom in the moment.

I apologized to my sweet girl.  And, I did admit to my bad behavior---every last bit of it.

But, even as I ate the humble-pie that was being served, it tasted bitter in my mouth.  Oh!  the pride within!

Yet...
I will say--- it is a meal that sits well after it goes down.  Hard to swallow---yes--, it settles well and nourishes the soul.  Unlike a meal of meanness, anger, unforgiveness and rage... humility and mercy sit in my gut much better afterward.  This humble-pie fed me well tonight.

When the emotions had calmed and the forgiveness was given---and time moved me forward, I was so glad mercy won and I ate the humility dished out to me.

But, sakes alive!, am I prideful!

Snuggle in, my love

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This morning my daughter snuggles in...  my arms wrapped around her, her head pushing deep into my chest.

Buried.  Burrowed.  She presses in and we hug.   We hug long and tight.  She whispers, "Oh that feels soooo good!"

There is nothing like a hug, really.  Tender, tight and sweet.

My girl.  She knows that a hug like this is always available.   And, sometimes she surprises me with her enthusiasm in wanting one!

She is getting taller this 13 year old of mine.  ...we may very soon be face to face.  But, she will tilt and bend and burrow in order to snuggle into that spot, she calls it.  The crux of my arm feels a safe and secure place to her.

This is what I am reminded as I read of God's stronghold.  The LORD is the stronghold of my life---of whom shall I be afraid?  (Psalm 27:1)

Stronghold.  A strong hold.  Wrapped around and secure--- I am held in Him.

This is what I have in my loving Father's embrace.  The Hebrew word here in Psalm 27 has such depth of meaning...   maowz:  my place of safety, my protection, my refuge, my harbor.

My strength.

I have an ever Present embrace.  I have an always-available hug.  I can burrow in.  I can tilt and bend and get there.  His arms wrapped around in a sweet embrace.  He is my strong hold!

So, I snuggle in this morning.  I push in and rest in my Father's embrace.  And, it feels so good and so very right...

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Snuggle in.  Rest, my friends, in His embrace.  He is the stronghold of your life!  

re-post from February, 2012

Painful squabbling

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When I hear them squabble... which they (indeed!) do from time-to-time...it grieves my heart.  Brother and sister.  They pick at each other and poke and bite.  It is painful.

It is painful to listen to them fight, to argue, or to be unkind.

In their words and their actions, I see so clearly the pride and self-centered-ness that plagues our human race.  In their tones and in the tenor of their voices, I hear so clearly the yuck that mucks my own heart.  Ugliness.  Stink.

"Did you hear the way you just spoke to your sister?" I ask of my son.

Why is it so hard, Lord to be kind.  I struggle, too.

I read in His Word about loving genuinely and preferring others above myself.  I read that we are to put on love, grace and humility. I read "as much as depends on you, live at peace with all men." (Romans 12:18)

And, I read Jesus' invitation to come to Him to learn about humility and gentleness. (Matthew 11:29)

And, I realize, again---it is something we need to learn.  I need to learn.  Simply put, it doesn't come naturally.  Both of my sweet kids came out of the womb feeling that they were the center of the universe and not wanting to share or to prefer others.  They didn't want to share their toys, their space or their mother!  And, yet, they can learn.  They are learning.

And, so am I.  ...slowly.

"Did you hear the way you spoke to your husband, Stephanie?"  the Spirit of God whispers to my heart.

Why is it so hard, Lord to be kind and gentle?  

I wonder how He feels when He hears me squabble... even when it is only in my mind... with my brother or my sister?  Does it grieve Him or pain Him as it pains me to hear my children?

How good and pleasant it is when they dwell in unity!!  (Psalm 13:1)  When His children are living in unity, in love and in genuine affection for each other--- it smells good to our Father, "like precious oil running down Aaron's beard".

Teach us, Jesus to live in unity and to be humble.  Lead us into all truth, Spirit of God.  Father, guard us from the evil one and make us one, just as You are one with the Son.  We have so much to learn!  I have so much to learn!  

"Hope and faith will both come to an end when we die.  But love will remain.  Love is eternal.  Love comes from God and returns to God.  When we die, we will lose everything that life gave us except love.  The love with which we lived our lives is the life of God within us.  It is the divine, indestructible core of our being.  This  love not only will remain but will also bear fruit from generation to generation"  -Henri Nouwen, The Wounded Healer

Snuggle in

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This morning my daughter snuggles in...  my arms wrapped around her, her head pushing deep into my chest.

Buried.  Burrowed.  She presses in and we hug.   We hug long and tight.  She whispers, "Oh that feels soooo good!"

There is nothing like a hug, really.  Tender, tight and sweet.

My girl.  She knows that a hug like this is always available.   And, sometimes she surprises me with her enthusiasm in wanting one!

She is getting taller this 13 year old of mine.  ...we may very soon be face to face.  But, she will tilt and bend and burrow in order to snuggle into that spot, she calls it.  The crux of my arm feels a safe and secure place to her.

This is what I am reminded as I read of God's stronghold.  The LORD is the stronghold of my life---of whom shall I be afraid?  (Psalm 27:1)

Stronghold.  A strong hold.  Wrapped around and secure--- I am held in Him.

This is what I have in my loving Father's embrace.  The Hebrew word here in Psalm 27 has such depth of meaning...   maowz:  my place of safety, my protection, my refuge, my harbor.

My strength.

I have an ever Present embrace.  I have an always-available hug.  I can burrow in.  I can tilt and bend and get there.  His arms wrapped around in a sweet embrace.  He is my strong hold!

So, I snuggle in this morning.  I push in and rest in my Father's embrace.  And, it feels so good and so very right...

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Rest, my friends in His embrace.  He is the stronghold of your life!  

What makes you want to dance?

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With a huge smile on her face, she jumped up and down at the back window as I stood in the kitchen.  She came home visibly shaking and dancing with glee!  My sweet 12 year old daughter...

And, I immediately had a thought--- are you doing what makes you happy?

She had just delivered a hand made gift to an elderly neighbor.  It brought her so much joy to bless.  To give.  Such a simple thing, really.  But, the giving gave her deep joy.  And, she wanted more...  More joy!

Poking her head in the doorway she asked, "Can I bring hot chocolate to the construction workers next door?"  She wanted more giving-joy!

So we heated up water, made the hot chocolate and she carried over coffees and chocolate on a tray to the group of men who have been working hard for months next door.   The smile on their faces were remarkable, to be sure; but, the smile on her face was priceless.  She literally skipped home and into our door.

Am I doing what makes me most happy? 

My girl came out of the womb a gift giver.  While she developed in my body those 9 months, God wove into her personality a desire to give and get gifts.  Frankly, she just loves gifts!  And, gifts give her joy.  They speak something to her soul that I do not innately understand .   When she gives and when she gets, she feels joy and love.

And, it isn't just gifts that make her smile.  She loves to hug.  She loves to worship with song; she loves to sing.  She loves to create beautiful things and take long walks with her friends.  ...all intricate details of her, my sweet daughter.

We are most happy---and by happy, I mean true happiness, pure joy, deep-seated contentment----when we are being who God made us to be and doing that which He made us to do.  What makes me smile and dance inside is different than my girl.  We are all unique.

Chosen before the foundation of the earth and hand-made inside our mothers, we are all unique.  He has given each of us special things to do, ways to relate, contributions to make... an offering of ourselves.  What is yours?  

What brings that huge smile on your face or in your soul?  What makes your heart sing?   What makes you shake and dance inside...  deep inside?  And are you doing it?

I want to do it more.

Father, teach me to do those things that will make me most happy, truly happy!  Lord, may I honor You with all of me.  Thank you for making me and creating me uniquely.  Help me to know how You have gifted me and to know how You would have me give of myself for Your glory and Kingdom.  For I am Your masterpiece.  You have created me in Christ Jesus, so that I can do the good things You have planned long ago!!  Ephesians 2:10

She Came Today

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She came down this morning...

Oh! the joy it brought my mother's heart!

Each person has unique ways, ...and places, ...and times, in which they meet with God.  For my husband, his best time is in the evenings or on a walk in the fields.  For me it is early in the morning in my quiet spot.  ...

Each morning, I rise early and make my way down to my small, quiet spot... a place where I long to meet with God each day.  I have invited each of my children to come to me when they wake-up for a quick kiss, a tight snuggle and a moment together.  For years and years now, they have both come down to sit on my lap for a minute or two.  This has been a deep joy to me each day!

For months now, my daughter has stopped coming regularly to sit with me.

She is getting older.  ...sleeping later.  And, often, when I have said to her, "Good morning, sweet girl, I didn't see you this morning?"  She has replied to my comment, "Oh yeah!, I  forgot".  She tells me that she woke with other plans...  a shower, a book she wanted to finish reading, email to check...

She knows that this is okay.  It really is.  She isn't reprimanded or punished, of course.  It isn't a command, or a "must" in our home.  It is only an invitation.  I invite her to come.  I will be there each day and she can come and sit with me for a moment.

And, certainly, it doesn't affect my love for her.  It really doesn't.  I do miss her morning messy hair, and my heart still stirs when I hear her getting out of her top bunk.  I long for her to come.  But, my love for her isn't altered in any way if she doesn't come.  Without her coming, though, we miss the snuggle... I miss the snuggle.  

A few months ago, when I  noticed that she wasn't coming down anymore, I began to realize that I needed to go to her.  I needed to go out of my way during the day to get that hug... that physical touch she was missing in the morning.  So, I have made it a goal to purposefully hug her at another time in our day.

But this morning!!  ...

This morning she came!  Hair messed, warmed in her comfy pjs, wearing that 'just-woke-up' look in her eyes... she came.  And she curled up (not easy anymore... she is getting older!) on my lap for just a moment.

Oh! What joy this brought to my mother's heart.

I will wait for her every morning with anticipation!

Is this what my Father might feel when I come down to that quiet spot and sit, hair messed, eyes blurred, coffee in hand...

If I don't come, He still loves me.  His love is never altered by my not coming...  In fact, He still will reach out, run after me and hug me throughout my day!

But, when I do come...  what must He feel?  Does it bring Him joy when I enter into His love and rest?  Does it bring my Father in Heaven deep joy when I accept His invitation to sit for a while and snuggle in?

Do the words "She came today!" well up within Him as they did inside me this morning?

Delight Over You

Delight.

What a beautiful word.  There is something whole and sweet about the concept of delight.

It is a good word.  For me, it brings to mind little girls twirling, boys making up silly songs and yummy ice-cream cones.  This word communicates to my heart a picture of laughter and smiling faces.

This afternoon, I read words that seemed to jump off the page, "The Lord takes delight in His people..." (Psalm 149:4).  I was so struck with these words, having read them in my devotional,  I actually had to turn in my Bible to check if it did indeed say that... And, it does!  The Lord takes delight.  Delight.  What a word!

I have read this before.  I know this, right?  I would have been able to articulate God's love for His kids.  But, something about these words struck a chord with me today.

Is it because I have taken delight, much delight, in my daughter lately?  I can relate to the word delight.  Recently, I have been aware of my delight over my girl.  I have watched her interact with people, or worship the Lord... and I have delighted.

I watch her wrestle with deep, hard, heavy emotions and communicate through conflict ... and I delight.  As she grows and stretches her budding wings, I have deeply delighted in her.  Recently, I have genuinely delighted in my girl.

To imagine that God Almighty feels such an emotion about His children, ...about me..., touches my heart today in a special way.

And, to be clear, my sweet girl has not been perfect recently.  To be honest, there have been many moments, of late, that I have certainly not enjoyed with my darling pre-teen!  Her behavior has not always been pristine, to be sure.   

But, my delight in my children hasn't been limited to now: when they are old enough to do right, or to respond well, or to love me back.  I delighted in my girl the day she was born.  I remember singing over her and smiling at the sight of her.  I remember hopefulness and awe.  I remember pure joy in her little nose, her wiggling arms, her wandering eyes.  Every non-verbal, non-important sound she made... I delighted.

Even now, I look at my son's face and see his freckles... and I delight.  He doesn't have to do anything...

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What does delight feel like?  When I delight in my kids, I feel ...warm inside.  I feel fullness. Contented joy. I feel proud.  I smile.  I feel connected to them.  I long to be with them and look at them.  I stand in wonder and in awe.  I feel happy and I anticipate.  I feel hope when I delight in my kids.  I wonder what they will become, or I long to see them go even further still.  Is this delight?   Is this, in part, how my Father feels about His kids?  Is this how He feels about me... about you?

What a thought!

His word tells us that He delights in His children.  Psalm 147... tells us again, "The Lord delights in those who fear Him, those who put their hope in His unfailing love".  That is me.  I fear the Lord (certainly, I desire and am learning to fear Him) and I put my hope in His love!  He delights in these--- His kids.

He delights in me.

Do I know this to be true about God's love over His people in general, yes.  But, to be honest, this is hard for me to take-in, to really believe, for me.  I need to sit in this awhile and ask Him to show me His Truth.

Zephaniah 3:17 says that the Lord rejoices over His children with gladness.  He sings over them and enjoys them.  He is happy over them.  Do I make Him smile?

John Piper is famous for his words about our delight in God, and God's delight and pleasure over His children.  And, I am thankful that he (and many other's before him) remind us of this Truth.  (to read more:  Why God Tells Us He Delights, by John Piper).

We need to know Who God really is... and we need to know who we really are, in Him.  

To walk each and every day in the knowledge of His delight over me... how would this impact me, my thoughts, my everyday actions?

Father, show me more of You.  Thank you for Your word that is alive and active.  Holy Spirit, teach me and lead me into all Truth!  May I know You more, Who You really are.  And, may I know Your Truth about me.  ...to think rightly about You, about me and about all Your children.  Teach me, Lord.  For Your glory alone...  

Worship Through Tears and a List

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She wept in my arms today.  My 12 year old daughter.  My girl.  And, I cried with her.

While curled into my embrace, she cried for the lost.  She wept for those she loves who don't know her Lord.  She spoke out her heart to God, in a loud voice, "I just want them to know!  They are missing out!  Why won't they believe?!"  Through tears her words poured forth...

These hot tears and loud voice were a moment of worship.  It was a holy moment.  A moment of intercession.  ...a deeply painful one, to be sure.  Painful for her, for me and for God.  But, it was worship.  And, I believe she cried some of God's tears today.

When we hold up our hands to God Almighty, we can worship with dance and laughter, smiles and joy  And, we can worship Him with righteous anger, deep sorrow, surrender and sadness.   Today I saw this in my daughter.

I join the worship tonight, as I type out just a few blessings...  counting sweet blessings of grace... that He has poured out in my life this week.  And, I join others at www.aholyexperience.com holding up my hands and offering my worship with gratitude.

Counting 1,000 gifts of grace:

#962.  A rainy walk with my son.

963.  A friend initiates time with me.

964.  Giggles...

968.  My man gets to go---and I already miss him.

969.  Forgiveness given that was hard to give.

976.  Laying on the grass together.

978.  She talks, animated with her hair blowing in the wind.  I love listening to her.

979.  Tears for the lost shed in worship and intercession.

Those who sow with tears, will read with songs of joy.  Those who go out weeping, carrying seeds to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with them. Psalm 126:5-6

Disappear into His love---for just a moment.

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Did you see me outside? Did I just disappear, Mom?

She entered the kitchen and asked with a sparkle in her eye.

Huh?

I had seen her swinging in our yard. Yes, I had heard her singing at the top of her lungs as she swung, face upward and turned toward the sun! It was a beautiful sight and a moving sound.

She swung and sang. As she belted-out the worship song words, "I love the Name of Jesus!", I had smiled and wondered, "What will the neighbors think!" It was, indeed, a good and very happy thought at the time.

But, I wasn't quite sure about her "disappearing" comment as she entered the kitchen.

Did you disappear? I don't get it? I asked.

In that instant she burst into tears, unable to contain the feelings! Mom, it was like I went to heaven for a moment and was just singing to God. Her tears were tender, strong and full of passion! I just felt like I wasn't in our yard anymore! And... and... He talked to me, Mom!

Tears still streaming she came and rested her head on my chest (my arms had flung open in reaction, almost shock, to the unexpected crying).

Her face nestled into my shirt and I quietly asked, What did He say to you, my sweet-girl?

He loves me! He just loves me!! And, I don't do anything... I don't do anything to deserve it!

Awe overtook me as these deep Truths and Prophetic words came forth from her mouth.

How can words express the tenderness of that moment?!

Yes, my sweet daughter! Yes!! Yes, He does.

We embraced for just a moment more--- a sweet moment--- and then off she went, running up the stairs to something else.

A passing moment of Presence. ...the touch was deep and lasting for me. And, I pray it was lasting for her.

I will never stop being amazed at His love. For one sweet moment in time, I ---too--- disappeared into His love.

Isn't it amazing?... simply, powerfully and beyond-words amazing!?

Again today, reminded by my 12 year old, I am awed and emotional ... and grateful for His unending, faithful, excessive, merciful love.

Jesus loves me this I know... for my daughter told me so.