Sacrifice is an everyday reality for me, like most moms. We sacrifice our bodies, our intellectual pursuits, our careers, our leisure time, our privacy.... All these sacrifices leave us with less of certain things, in exchange for the rewards of happy, healthy children and marriages. Would we change much? Probably not.
I have to admit, though, that I have moments of selfishness when I want to scream "MINE!" and grasp frantically to hold on to a few moments alone in the bathroom, or with a book, or a meal, or coffee, hot to the bottom of the cup.
In this selfishness is a certain amount of desperation -- of hunger. It stirs a cry of longing, and in that longing, I am focused on my lack -- lack of time, lack of resources, lack of freedom, lack of devotion and prayer. In that longing, the last thing I am thinking about is greater sacrifice!
My previous post was about the power of praise to transform circumstances. How much more sacrificial praise!
I was in the chapel recently, in the depths of one of these "cries of longing." Okay, I admit it. I was whining. But in the corner of my mind came the smallest whisper: "Sacrifice of praise". It was a phrase used so lightly in my upbringing -- it really had very little meaning for me beyond its use in a rather up-tempo praise chorus we used to sing. But there, before that altar, in the presence of Christ, I began to read aloud psalms of praise -- psalms that acknowledged God for his attributes and exhorted others to do the same. I didn't feel like praising. It was truly a sacrifice to lift my voice just then. But as I did, something amazing began to happen: a transformation of my perspective. My circumstances didn't change. My needs didn't change. My attitude, however, did. There, before that altar, I acclaimed aloud that He is holy, He is worthy, He is the joy of my salvation, He is able.
I acclaimed Christ as King, and in my acclamation I found peace. I found rest for my soul. I found myself able to return home and face the day in gratitude for the many blessings I have been given.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Monday, November 3, 2008
Bloom Where You Are!
How often do you see a movie or TV show, or read something that you've seen or read countless times before, and suddenly see it in a way you never have? How often have you said "I can't believe I missed that!"? So this is how my day began...
I was reading morning prayer, and one of the selections in the psalter for today was Psalm 84. I have been through the psalter many times - it's a four week cycle. I have read the Psalms through more times than I can remember. Somehow, though, this particular passage has always just skimmed past my eyes; I never really saw it until today.
"Even the sparrow has found a home, and the swallow a nest for herself where she may have her young - a place near your altar."
Now, as a "nesting bird" of sorts, this tickled my awareness. What better place to care for my young than near the altar of the Lord? As I've considered this further, maybe I have less need to feel out-of-sorts in church with my children. This reassures me that doing "mom stuff" that addresses my children's immediate needs and helps to direct their attention to Jesus and His unique presence at Mass really is okay, after all. (You too, Mrs. J.L.!)
Ah, yes...my original point.
"Blessed are those who dwell in your house; they are ever praising you. Blessed are those whose strength is in you, who have their hearts set on pilgrimage. As they pass through the Valley of Baca (translates to "weeping"), they make it a place of springs; they go from strength to strength, till each appears before God in Zion."
What admonition! What encouragement! What simple direction!
Praise is, for lack of a better term, magic. It turns the driest, bitterest valleys we pass through on this pilgrim journey into places of springs, where we may find strength and refreshment - strength that carries us until we see Him in Zion.
I was reading morning prayer, and one of the selections in the psalter for today was Psalm 84. I have been through the psalter many times - it's a four week cycle. I have read the Psalms through more times than I can remember. Somehow, though, this particular passage has always just skimmed past my eyes; I never really saw it until today.
"Even the sparrow has found a home, and the swallow a nest for herself where she may have her young - a place near your altar."
Now, as a "nesting bird" of sorts, this tickled my awareness. What better place to care for my young than near the altar of the Lord? As I've considered this further, maybe I have less need to feel out-of-sorts in church with my children. This reassures me that doing "mom stuff" that addresses my children's immediate needs and helps to direct their attention to Jesus and His unique presence at Mass really is okay, after all. (You too, Mrs. J.L.!)
Ah, yes...my original point.
"Blessed are those who dwell in your house; they are ever praising you. Blessed are those whose strength is in you, who have their hearts set on pilgrimage. As they pass through the Valley of Baca (translates to "weeping"), they make it a place of springs; they go from strength to strength, till each appears before God in Zion."
What admonition! What encouragement! What simple direction!
Praise is, for lack of a better term, magic. It turns the driest, bitterest valleys we pass through on this pilgrim journey into places of springs, where we may find strength and refreshment - strength that carries us until we see Him in Zion.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Afternoon delight
(October 4, 2008)
Ah, children. As I write this, I am watching a mess o' kids in a McDonalds playland. The dynamics are fascinating to me. It's lunchtime on a Thursday, so the kids are all toddlers and preschoolers. A microcosm of their demographic, they're all finding their places and making their ways in the pack, as it were.
There's my preschooler, talking big and tough, challenging other kids at every turn. He's almost always outrun, outjumped, and outdone at home, where he's the fourth in line. And there's the kid who just punched him in the head for pushing him out of the way and beating him to the steering wheel.
There's my toddler, following around and petting another little guy who's about his size, but probably six months younger.
There is a veritable gaggle of little girls, squealing in ways that only little girls can, and the one who'd rather play with the boys, I think, but is instead wailing piteously. You'd be inclined to worry, but there's not a tear in her eyes and she's continuing to play on the fringe, waiting to see which grownup will come to her rescue.
There are moms who are oblivious to the activity on the playset, and there are those following their little darlings to catch them before they land on their well padded backsides.
There's the nubile walker who insists on keeping up with the big kids, and the kid who's pushing four but still running around with a pacifier and blankie.
In this world of ketchup-eaters and slide-climbers, there is no notion of crises, impending legislation, or global tension. For them, there are french fries and ice cream cones, tunnels and slides, and any slight of etiquette or aggression will be forgotten before bedtime. The kids will figure out how to be and how to go forward because there are grownups to show them the way until they can do it on their own. I wish that I could feel that sense of freedom sometimes: to live in the moment, and leave the bigger picture to the bigger people. But I am one of the "big people" now, and the task of looking forward and back to understand the significance of this moment lies with me. Lord, grant me eyes to see, ears to hear, and a childlike spirit to trust you for the rest...and eat ketchup.
Ah, children. As I write this, I am watching a mess o' kids in a McDonalds playland. The dynamics are fascinating to me. It's lunchtime on a Thursday, so the kids are all toddlers and preschoolers. A microcosm of their demographic, they're all finding their places and making their ways in the pack, as it were.
There's my preschooler, talking big and tough, challenging other kids at every turn. He's almost always outrun, outjumped, and outdone at home, where he's the fourth in line. And there's the kid who just punched him in the head for pushing him out of the way and beating him to the steering wheel.
There's my toddler, following around and petting another little guy who's about his size, but probably six months younger.
There is a veritable gaggle of little girls, squealing in ways that only little girls can, and the one who'd rather play with the boys, I think, but is instead wailing piteously. You'd be inclined to worry, but there's not a tear in her eyes and she's continuing to play on the fringe, waiting to see which grownup will come to her rescue.
There are moms who are oblivious to the activity on the playset, and there are those following their little darlings to catch them before they land on their well padded backsides.
There's the nubile walker who insists on keeping up with the big kids, and the kid who's pushing four but still running around with a pacifier and blankie.
In this world of ketchup-eaters and slide-climbers, there is no notion of crises, impending legislation, or global tension. For them, there are french fries and ice cream cones, tunnels and slides, and any slight of etiquette or aggression will be forgotten before bedtime. The kids will figure out how to be and how to go forward because there are grownups to show them the way until they can do it on their own. I wish that I could feel that sense of freedom sometimes: to live in the moment, and leave the bigger picture to the bigger people. But I am one of the "big people" now, and the task of looking forward and back to understand the significance of this moment lies with me. Lord, grant me eyes to see, ears to hear, and a childlike spirit to trust you for the rest...and eat ketchup.
I got tagged...
Marva, I'm sorry you had to find out, but yes, I'm slower than molasses in January about this stuff. I had to think of quirks I was willing to air publicly, and then think of at least a couple of bloggers who'd play along. (Most of the blogs I read are of a more professional, specialized variety.)
Here's how to play.
1. Link to person who tagged you.
2. Post the rules on your blog.
3. List six unspectacular quirks you have.
4. Tag 6 bloggers by linking them.
5. Leave a comment on taggee's blog to let them know they have been tagged.
So here we go:
1. When I do dishes, I do my pots and pans first.
2. I have a "thing" for ugly socks...they're my favorites!
3. I make most of the bread we use at our house.
4. I pour the cream into my coffee cup first, then the coffee, so I don't have to dirty a spoon.
5. If I don't look like a lobster when I get out of the shower, it wasn't hot enough.
6. I get weepy with very little provocation. Hallmark commercials, movies, episodes of Full House -- you name it, it will probably make me cry if you catch me at the right moment.
JRH
The Semiotician's Lair
Here's how to play.
1. Link to person who tagged you.
2. Post the rules on your blog.
3. List six unspectacular quirks you have.
4. Tag 6 bloggers by linking them.
5. Leave a comment on taggee's blog to let them know they have been tagged.
So here we go:
1. When I do dishes, I do my pots and pans first.
2. I have a "thing" for ugly socks...they're my favorites!
3. I make most of the bread we use at our house.
4. I pour the cream into my coffee cup first, then the coffee, so I don't have to dirty a spoon.
5. If I don't look like a lobster when I get out of the shower, it wasn't hot enough.
6. I get weepy with very little provocation. Hallmark commercials, movies, episodes of Full House -- you name it, it will probably make me cry if you catch me at the right moment.
JRH
The Semiotician's Lair
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Still here...
does this blogger ever plan to post a new article? Where are you, Ms. Redsocks?
I have to say, I was more than a little flattered to find this comment on my last post. Anonymous, thanks! And I'm sorry it's been so long. The simple fact of the matter is that this blogger is rather thoughtful, and her goal in blogging is to share her thoughts in way that inspires thought and gives a true picture of what's rattling around in this little head. Of late, there's been precious little rattling around in here that isn't bound to the crisis of the moment. The day-to-day things of my "real" world are drawing all of my attention and energy, and none of them really seem to be blogworthy. There are the routine struggles of keeping up with the general activity of our home and family. We've had viruses come through: a respiratory one, followed immediately by a tummy one (which, by the way, is going to keep at least 2 of the little darlings home from school tomorrow). For some reason or another, Mr. Redsocks' schedule seems more difficult to work around this year, so that's keeping me jumping. In short, my life is kicking my butt! So, besides "Boo-hoo, I'm tired, I'm stressed, my brain is oatmeal," what's there to say? And who'd care, anyway?
Seriously, though, I haven't been intellectually idle. I have a couple of posts begun; I just haven't been able to bring them around to where they'd make sense outside of my head. I'm still going to the chapel every week (almost...Mr. Redsocks goes sometimes, too) and finding my mind drawn to meditate where my heart is most needful. It's beginning to come clear, but it takes a while to find the quiet and actually apply the words I need to share it all. So stay tuned...I'm still here, and delighted that you are, too!
I have to say, I was more than a little flattered to find this comment on my last post. Anonymous, thanks! And I'm sorry it's been so long. The simple fact of the matter is that this blogger is rather thoughtful, and her goal in blogging is to share her thoughts in way that inspires thought and gives a true picture of what's rattling around in this little head. Of late, there's been precious little rattling around in here that isn't bound to the crisis of the moment. The day-to-day things of my "real" world are drawing all of my attention and energy, and none of them really seem to be blogworthy. There are the routine struggles of keeping up with the general activity of our home and family. We've had viruses come through: a respiratory one, followed immediately by a tummy one (which, by the way, is going to keep at least 2 of the little darlings home from school tomorrow). For some reason or another, Mr. Redsocks' schedule seems more difficult to work around this year, so that's keeping me jumping. In short, my life is kicking my butt! So, besides "Boo-hoo, I'm tired, I'm stressed, my brain is oatmeal," what's there to say? And who'd care, anyway?
Seriously, though, I haven't been intellectually idle. I have a couple of posts begun; I just haven't been able to bring them around to where they'd make sense outside of my head. I'm still going to the chapel every week (almost...Mr. Redsocks goes sometimes, too) and finding my mind drawn to meditate where my heart is most needful. It's beginning to come clear, but it takes a while to find the quiet and actually apply the words I need to share it all. So stay tuned...I'm still here, and delighted that you are, too!
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
NOT one of those days
You know those days when you feel the warmth of God's presence in the simplest things? When your smile is ready and your heart is full of gratitude? When little things don't seem to bother you because God is in His heaven and all is right with the world? Today is not one of those days.
Today is one of those days when I simply know he is there because he said so. Not because I can see him or hear him or feel him, but because he said so. I am tired -- demands of motherhood, an irritating cough left over from last week's sick day, and more chores than I want to admit undone and awaiting my attention -- these things are taking their toll on me.
Today is one of those days that I have to consciously remind myself of blessings in my world. Today is one of those days when I have to fight the urge to throw my hands up in frustration and let the chips fall where they may. Today is one of those days when I have to make a deliberate effort to speak with a bridled tongue. Today has begun far earlier than I intended. Today is full of chores to do, people to receive, and errands to run. Today will not end until the sun has long gone.
Today is a new day, new with promise and mercy. I choose today. I cast my choice on an ever-faithful God. I choose faith. My choices are few, but today, I choose Him.
Today is one of those days when I simply know he is there because he said so. Not because I can see him or hear him or feel him, but because he said so. I am tired -- demands of motherhood, an irritating cough left over from last week's sick day, and more chores than I want to admit undone and awaiting my attention -- these things are taking their toll on me.
Today is one of those days that I have to consciously remind myself of blessings in my world. Today is one of those days when I have to fight the urge to throw my hands up in frustration and let the chips fall where they may. Today is one of those days when I have to make a deliberate effort to speak with a bridled tongue. Today has begun far earlier than I intended. Today is full of chores to do, people to receive, and errands to run. Today will not end until the sun has long gone.
Today is a new day, new with promise and mercy. I choose today. I cast my choice on an ever-faithful God. I choose faith. My choices are few, but today, I choose Him.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Lord, Hear the Cry of My Heart
In the morning, when I rise and reach out to you before the day's work calls
Lord, hear the cry of my heart!
When I rise and rush into the day with hardly a glance toward heaven
Lord, hear the cry of my heart!
When grace bridles my tongue with gentle words
Lord, hear the cry of my heart!
When that restless evil leaves its poisonous sting
Lord, hear the cry of my heart!
When humility guides my steps alongside the man I love
Lord, hear the cry of my heart!
When arrogance or wounded pride stirs a disrespectful spirit within me
Lord, hear the cry of my heart!
When a song of praise rests on my lips
Lord, hear the cry of my heart!
When ingratitude turns my eyes from the abundance of your kingdom
Lord, hear the cry of my heart!
When my arms are strong for my tasks and my hands are diligent
Lord, hear the cry of my heart!
When discouragement or indolence reduces me to idleness
Lord, hear the cry of my heart!
When uprightness and integrity light my way and guide me
Lord, hear the cry of my heart!
When fear for earthly needs keep me from trusting in the God of my youth
Lord, hear the cry of my heart!
Hear the cry of my heart! O my God!
And close the chasm
Bring the cry of my heart and the work of my hands into one accord
To walk hand in hand the path of righteousness
To lead me home
To where the cry of my heart will ever be "Holy!"
And the work of my hands will be only to worship you
Hear the cry of my heart!
Lord, hear the cry of my heart!
When I rise and rush into the day with hardly a glance toward heaven
Lord, hear the cry of my heart!
When grace bridles my tongue with gentle words
Lord, hear the cry of my heart!
When that restless evil leaves its poisonous sting
Lord, hear the cry of my heart!
When humility guides my steps alongside the man I love
Lord, hear the cry of my heart!
When arrogance or wounded pride stirs a disrespectful spirit within me
Lord, hear the cry of my heart!
When a song of praise rests on my lips
Lord, hear the cry of my heart!
When ingratitude turns my eyes from the abundance of your kingdom
Lord, hear the cry of my heart!
When my arms are strong for my tasks and my hands are diligent
Lord, hear the cry of my heart!
When discouragement or indolence reduces me to idleness
Lord, hear the cry of my heart!
When uprightness and integrity light my way and guide me
Lord, hear the cry of my heart!
When fear for earthly needs keep me from trusting in the God of my youth
Lord, hear the cry of my heart!
Hear the cry of my heart! O my God!
And close the chasm
Bring the cry of my heart and the work of my hands into one accord
To walk hand in hand the path of righteousness
To lead me home
To where the cry of my heart will ever be "Holy!"
And the work of my hands will be only to worship you
Hear the cry of my heart!
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Ordina, deus meus, statum meum --- secundum verbum tuum.
It's been a long summer. I've struggled to keep an ordered home and family life even more than usual. Fitting in trips to the beach, the park, and family celebrations on a leaner budget has tried my patience. Keeping the boys active, civil, and enlisting them to help around the house has been a chore at best. By the time the July 21 post to this blog was begun, I was wearing thin and frustrated. Some friends invited us to join them at their cabin in northern Michigan, which sparked the comment at the bottom of that post. Lake Hanley is in what is known as the "upper chain" of lakes connected to Lake Michigan. There I found much needed rest, refreshment, and renewal. You can click here to read more about our vacation.
Now the children are back in school, my husband is back to his educational responsibilities, and I return to the order that makes it all possible. I find myself relishing the pre-dawn hours, when I can be alone with my morning prayers and a cup of coffee. I'm prepared in those moments to face the day with grace befitting a godly woman. I will undoubtedly stumble before the day is done, but if I have touched the solid face of my Rock and Salvation, then I will not fall far. The lifeline will be in my hand, the cry of praise that lifts me up will be still warm on my lips. And then there's the sweet gift of memory: I can drift back into a kayak on the Green River and remember that so long as the sun rises and sets, then mercy is ever new, and my hope cannot be stilled.
Now the children are back in school, my husband is back to his educational responsibilities, and I return to the order that makes it all possible. I find myself relishing the pre-dawn hours, when I can be alone with my morning prayers and a cup of coffee. I'm prepared in those moments to face the day with grace befitting a godly woman. I will undoubtedly stumble before the day is done, but if I have touched the solid face of my Rock and Salvation, then I will not fall far. The lifeline will be in my hand, the cry of praise that lifts me up will be still warm on my lips. And then there's the sweet gift of memory: I can drift back into a kayak on the Green River and remember that so long as the sun rises and sets, then mercy is ever new, and my hope cannot be stilled.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Couldn't have said it better myself.
"Why [am I] now developing a sense of reverence...and finding deep peacefulness in not knowing all the answers? ...I can only say that the Holy Spirit is on the move. Grace is flowing with a particular kind of abundance, calling us more strongly and guiding us more clearly toward true healing and wholeness."
-- Gerald May, Simply Sane: the Spirituality of Mental Health
-- Gerald May, Simply Sane: the Spirituality of Mental Health
Monday, July 21, 2008
Great Expectations
I try to keep things light. I try to keep smiling...to be consistently optimistic, if a little darkly sarcastic in doing so. My faith makes me ready to say that I believe, that I hope, that I am confident in my God and in the saving power of His son. But honestly, I'm struggling. I feel like I am not using my gifts to their potential, like I'm not approaching my family with the gratitude that allows me to care for them as I should, like I'm floundering to make sense of my vocation and what it requires of me. And I feel like in the midst of it, God is standing by, silently watching. I feel the distance...I feel the burden of my failures...I feel that somewhere in the growing hunger in my soul, a dam has to break. I feel that this time will give way to some growth, or healing, or new understanding -- some touch of abundant grace that lies just over the horizon. And so I wait...and pray for courage and resolve to embrace the darkness, and to be vigilant in expectation of the dawn.
This post was started just before a family vacation in July. In abundant mercy and abiding faithfulness, I know my redeemer lives. As they solidify, I will post the thoughts and prayers from our time away...a chain of blessings from a chain of lakes beneath the Michigan sun.
This post was started just before a family vacation in July. In abundant mercy and abiding faithfulness, I know my redeemer lives. As they solidify, I will post the thoughts and prayers from our time away...a chain of blessings from a chain of lakes beneath the Michigan sun.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Cleaning out the Fridge
Yep, I did it. One of the hottest, most humid days so far this summer, and I cleaned out the refrigerator. It's a little embarrassing, but I can't seem to get to those out-of-the-ordinary-routine type jobs nearly as often as I should. I usually think of them when I am in the throes of some other, more immediate task, when I can't really stop and take care of other things. And so I really cleaned out the fridge -- shelves out, throw away anything remotely questionable, scrub the whole beastie inside and out. The subtitle of this blog is "a journal of God's grace in a mom's world." It could only be grace that allowed me to see myself in the sticky, cluttered mess that was my refrigerator, and lead me to better understanding as it was transformed into a clean, shiny, and fresh-smelling chill-chest (props to Alton B.!).
A refrigerator serves a specific purpose. It keeps stuff cold. That capability may be applied for a family's groceries, an office staff's lunches, beverages, or fishing bait. There's virtually no limit to the applications, but the essential function is always the same. We also serve a specific purpose. The Life of Man is to know the only true God and to know Jesus Christ whom he has sent (Jn. 17:3). We come forth by His will, and we return to Him in His time. There are innumerable variations in just how we accomplish this, but the essential function is always the same.
A refrigerator isn't nearly as effective if it's not clean. Sticky stuff on the shelves or pooled in the bottom make it less efficient. Too much stuff in the doors or stuff not put in neatly will keep it from closing correctly, or block vents it needs to move and cool the air inside it. Dust on the coils can really cause problems...it can shorten the life of the fridge, burning out the motor before its time. And in this knowledge (bandied about with the Aquinas and Chesterton I had been reading), I came to better understanding of what sin does in the life of a Christian.
When I lose my temper, speak unkindly or disrespectfully, let my thoughts wander where they shouldn't (this list could get really long), it gums up the works. It puts stuff between me and the performance of my essential function. When I neglect my spiritual needs and put other, more immediate (read "noisy") issues ahead of time to pray, time to read scripture, time to stop and see God's hand in my life, it gets my vents and coils dusty. I can't breathe; I'm likely to burn out.
Sad but true, this little metaphor goes even further. My refrigerator has humidity adjustment for each of the crisper drawers, and it has removable shelves on the door. I broke one of the shelves, because it was sticky and I couldn't remember how it was supposed to come out, and I don't have a foggy clue which vegetables like what level of humidity, so I'm not using that feature to its potential. But I'm not using all of my features to their potential, either. I get a little roughed up emotionally when I try to muscle things in the direction I think they go, rather than easing them in the direction they actually go. A little time devoted to learning something new, and I could bring a little finesse to the way I do my job.
I have to admit, I was a bit grumpy while I was cleaning the fridge, muttering about the pickle juice that had dripped down the back and the sticky iced tea that had spilled when the jar leaked. I knew darn well that the job would have been easier if I hadn't put it off. I also knew that I could have put it off longer, but that would just complicate things further, and that my much-needed (and appreciated) icebox would keep plugging faithfully, but at a diminished capacity, eventually burning out and becoming useless.
I have to admit, I'm a bit grumpy taking stock of the dust and sticky stuff I've let into my life. I know darn well that the job would be easier if I weren't so attached to my pride. I also know that I could put it off longer, but that would just complicate things further, and my commitment to my faith would keep plugging along, but at a diminished capacity, eventually burning out and rendering me useless.
Then someone put an open can of soda in my nice, clean, fridge. It spilled.
A refrigerator serves a specific purpose. It keeps stuff cold. That capability may be applied for a family's groceries, an office staff's lunches, beverages, or fishing bait. There's virtually no limit to the applications, but the essential function is always the same. We also serve a specific purpose. The Life of Man is to know the only true God and to know Jesus Christ whom he has sent (Jn. 17:3). We come forth by His will, and we return to Him in His time. There are innumerable variations in just how we accomplish this, but the essential function is always the same.
A refrigerator isn't nearly as effective if it's not clean. Sticky stuff on the shelves or pooled in the bottom make it less efficient. Too much stuff in the doors or stuff not put in neatly will keep it from closing correctly, or block vents it needs to move and cool the air inside it. Dust on the coils can really cause problems...it can shorten the life of the fridge, burning out the motor before its time. And in this knowledge (bandied about with the Aquinas and Chesterton I had been reading), I came to better understanding of what sin does in the life of a Christian.
When I lose my temper, speak unkindly or disrespectfully, let my thoughts wander where they shouldn't (this list could get really long), it gums up the works. It puts stuff between me and the performance of my essential function. When I neglect my spiritual needs and put other, more immediate (read "noisy") issues ahead of time to pray, time to read scripture, time to stop and see God's hand in my life, it gets my vents and coils dusty. I can't breathe; I'm likely to burn out.
Sad but true, this little metaphor goes even further. My refrigerator has humidity adjustment for each of the crisper drawers, and it has removable shelves on the door. I broke one of the shelves, because it was sticky and I couldn't remember how it was supposed to come out, and I don't have a foggy clue which vegetables like what level of humidity, so I'm not using that feature to its potential. But I'm not using all of my features to their potential, either. I get a little roughed up emotionally when I try to muscle things in the direction I think they go, rather than easing them in the direction they actually go. A little time devoted to learning something new, and I could bring a little finesse to the way I do my job.
I have to admit, I was a bit grumpy while I was cleaning the fridge, muttering about the pickle juice that had dripped down the back and the sticky iced tea that had spilled when the jar leaked. I knew darn well that the job would have been easier if I hadn't put it off. I also knew that I could have put it off longer, but that would just complicate things further, and that my much-needed (and appreciated) icebox would keep plugging faithfully, but at a diminished capacity, eventually burning out and becoming useless.
I have to admit, I'm a bit grumpy taking stock of the dust and sticky stuff I've let into my life. I know darn well that the job would be easier if I weren't so attached to my pride. I also know that I could put it off longer, but that would just complicate things further, and my commitment to my faith would keep plugging along, but at a diminished capacity, eventually burning out and rendering me useless.
Then someone put an open can of soda in my nice, clean, fridge. It spilled.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Mirror, Mirror
It's no secret that God's ways are far above our understanding -- that he governs all according to his will, whether we approve or not, and regardless of whether or not we understand. And so when we have need of a given virtue, he gives us circumstances that enable us to develop it. Be it patience, courage, faith, fortitude, generosity, humility, or obedience, he provides for our every need!
I remember when my oldest son was a toddler, just developing a sense of his own will, and the realization struck me for the first time: this is not an exercise in biology and sociology. This is a vocation -- a calling -- that demands that I exercise every virtue, even those I lack. I remember being so frustrated with my little boy, thinking that if he would just listen to me and do what I said, then he would be protected by my experience and perspective. He wouldn't get hurt, he wouldn't have to sit in time-out, he wouldn't spill his juice on the rug...and on the list goes. And then, in the tender compassion of our God, dawn from on high broke upon me. How much pain, how much frustration, how much damage to the trust and affections of the people I love could I have avoided by simply listening and obeying the will of my heavenly father? To bridle my tongue, to be diligent, to be obedient, to be temperate, to be generous, or to be patient, in so many instances would have been my saving grace.
Several years and several children later, I find that my most frustrating moments with my children are those in which they do the very things I continue to struggle with. Sometimes I can justify "do as I say, not as I do," because there are certain things that fall under a mother's authority that are not appropriate for them to repeat (i.e., correcting and disciplining each other). But sometimes...
Sometimes, my children are rude and unkind. But how often do I raise my voice? How often am I abrupt with them, failing to slow down and direct them on their level with love and gentleness?
Sometimes, my children are impatient. They want what they want, and they react with a mountain when they are irritated by a molehill. But how often do I snap at one of them when he asks repeatedly for something, or asks for something that I have just given the other four? How often is a shouted-at-the-top-of-his-lungs rendition of "Slow Ride" just the final straw that gets somebody (or everybody) sent up to bed?
Sometimes, my children are sloppy with chores, or simply don't do them. But how often do I avoid responsibilities, procrastinate, or do a "quick job, for now" and fail to give my work the attention it deserves?
Sometimes, my children are critical and nitpicky with each other, quick to tattle on each other or simply retaliate for whatever slight they feel. But how often am I critical of them, or fail to praise them when they are helpful or kind or generous?
Sometimes, my children battle to avoid responsibility for their words and actions -- "He did it first!" "But he called me ..... " But how often do I scramble frantically to justify myself when I am wrong, or argue for the sake of being right?
Truth be told, I am flawed and sinful, and my children tend to mirror my behavior and attitudes, whether good or bad. So my prayer is that I have humility enough to recognize and admit when I am wrong, and to let my children see me when I seek forgiveness, reconciliation, and greater virtue. I pray that they will see, when they are older and look back, that I am not who I was when the first stick turned blue. And I pray most of all that they will grow into men whose lives are devoted to the pursuit of virtue, strength, and integrity, because they have seen in me the way they should go.
I remember when my oldest son was a toddler, just developing a sense of his own will, and the realization struck me for the first time: this is not an exercise in biology and sociology. This is a vocation -- a calling -- that demands that I exercise every virtue, even those I lack. I remember being so frustrated with my little boy, thinking that if he would just listen to me and do what I said, then he would be protected by my experience and perspective. He wouldn't get hurt, he wouldn't have to sit in time-out, he wouldn't spill his juice on the rug...and on the list goes. And then, in the tender compassion of our God, dawn from on high broke upon me. How much pain, how much frustration, how much damage to the trust and affections of the people I love could I have avoided by simply listening and obeying the will of my heavenly father? To bridle my tongue, to be diligent, to be obedient, to be temperate, to be generous, or to be patient, in so many instances would have been my saving grace.
Several years and several children later, I find that my most frustrating moments with my children are those in which they do the very things I continue to struggle with. Sometimes I can justify "do as I say, not as I do," because there are certain things that fall under a mother's authority that are not appropriate for them to repeat (i.e., correcting and disciplining each other). But sometimes...
Sometimes, my children are rude and unkind. But how often do I raise my voice? How often am I abrupt with them, failing to slow down and direct them on their level with love and gentleness?
Sometimes, my children are impatient. They want what they want, and they react with a mountain when they are irritated by a molehill. But how often do I snap at one of them when he asks repeatedly for something, or asks for something that I have just given the other four? How often is a shouted-at-the-top-of-his-lungs rendition of "Slow Ride" just the final straw that gets somebody (or everybody) sent up to bed?
Sometimes, my children are sloppy with chores, or simply don't do them. But how often do I avoid responsibilities, procrastinate, or do a "quick job, for now" and fail to give my work the attention it deserves?
Sometimes, my children are critical and nitpicky with each other, quick to tattle on each other or simply retaliate for whatever slight they feel. But how often am I critical of them, or fail to praise them when they are helpful or kind or generous?
Sometimes, my children battle to avoid responsibility for their words and actions -- "He did it first!" "But he called me ..... " But how often do I scramble frantically to justify myself when I am wrong, or argue for the sake of being right?
Truth be told, I am flawed and sinful, and my children tend to mirror my behavior and attitudes, whether good or bad. So my prayer is that I have humility enough to recognize and admit when I am wrong, and to let my children see me when I seek forgiveness, reconciliation, and greater virtue. I pray that they will see, when they are older and look back, that I am not who I was when the first stick turned blue. And I pray most of all that they will grow into men whose lives are devoted to the pursuit of virtue, strength, and integrity, because they have seen in me the way they should go.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
In Good Company
There are so many ironies in our lives. There are the little, Murphy's law types: Mop the floor, and the children will spill the entire bottle of maple syrup on it. Dress up for a night out without the kids, and the babysitter will give the littlest ones Oreos before they give you hugs and kisses. The worst diaper blowouts will happen just as you walk out the door, especially if you're running late or if everybody's dressed up and on the way to a special event. You will see everyone you know at the grocery store, but only when you're just ducking in for milk on the way home from whatever, sweaty, unkempt, and in your crummy clothes.
But then there are those big ironies -- major paradoxes that can reach the scale of an all-out war. St. Paul (Romans 7) describes it so well: "For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. ...I find this law at work: when I want to do good, evil is right there with me. For in my inner being, I delight in God's law; but I see another law at work in the members of my body, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin...." This is the grand paradox of a believer's world -- the struggle of a lifetime, between the eternal and the temporal, the physical and the spiritual.
To be a believer -- to say "I believe" -- is to commit to the struggle. It is to willfully engage in the fight to be emancipated from slavery to the law of sin, and to enter in to slavery to the law of Christ. It is to acknowledge that there is a greater reality than this, and that it is as different from what we know as an acorn is from a mighty oak. Just like that acorn contains the fullness of the oak, the fullness of the of the kingdom of God dwells in us! Just as the tiniest roots and green stems break forth in search of light and water, we struggle to break free from the limited perspective of our temporal world, reaching out for eternal light and living water. We take courage in this: even though the tiny seedling struggles frantically to take root and spread its leaves, it settles into peaceful strength after it has gained them. It rests and bears fruit. When we have taken root, and found the strength of maturity, we too will have rest.
In maturity, there is quietness. There is still growth, but it is a steady renewal from our depths, not the frantic reaching of a seedling to find stability and sustenance. In maturity, there is strength to replace the fragile vulnerability of a new life. If we are shaken, or even broken by the storm, we recover. We continue to grow. And if we die, it is never in vain, for death bears us from our temporal world into an eternal one.
Lord willing, we all will reach for maturity in Him, and provide comfort and protection for the young believers among us who are reaching and crying out to be rooted and nourished. St. Paul, a man well aware of his weaknesses and failures, came to the end of his life with peaceful strength that allowed him to stand before the Emperor Nero and face his execution. He, a mighty oak of the faith, was cut down, but in his death fed the flames of the Holy Spirit that allowed the gospel to reach the ends of the earth. He, a self-acknowledged sinner, stood confidently before the throne of grace, certain that there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ, and taught us to embrace the same confidence, no matter what thorn we wrestle with in our own lives.
"...he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus."
But then there are those big ironies -- major paradoxes that can reach the scale of an all-out war. St. Paul (Romans 7) describes it so well: "For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. ...I find this law at work: when I want to do good, evil is right there with me. For in my inner being, I delight in God's law; but I see another law at work in the members of my body, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin...." This is the grand paradox of a believer's world -- the struggle of a lifetime, between the eternal and the temporal, the physical and the spiritual.
To be a believer -- to say "I believe" -- is to commit to the struggle. It is to willfully engage in the fight to be emancipated from slavery to the law of sin, and to enter in to slavery to the law of Christ. It is to acknowledge that there is a greater reality than this, and that it is as different from what we know as an acorn is from a mighty oak. Just like that acorn contains the fullness of the oak, the fullness of the of the kingdom of God dwells in us! Just as the tiniest roots and green stems break forth in search of light and water, we struggle to break free from the limited perspective of our temporal world, reaching out for eternal light and living water. We take courage in this: even though the tiny seedling struggles frantically to take root and spread its leaves, it settles into peaceful strength after it has gained them. It rests and bears fruit. When we have taken root, and found the strength of maturity, we too will have rest.
In maturity, there is quietness. There is still growth, but it is a steady renewal from our depths, not the frantic reaching of a seedling to find stability and sustenance. In maturity, there is strength to replace the fragile vulnerability of a new life. If we are shaken, or even broken by the storm, we recover. We continue to grow. And if we die, it is never in vain, for death bears us from our temporal world into an eternal one.
Lord willing, we all will reach for maturity in Him, and provide comfort and protection for the young believers among us who are reaching and crying out to be rooted and nourished. St. Paul, a man well aware of his weaknesses and failures, came to the end of his life with peaceful strength that allowed him to stand before the Emperor Nero and face his execution. He, a mighty oak of the faith, was cut down, but in his death fed the flames of the Holy Spirit that allowed the gospel to reach the ends of the earth. He, a self-acknowledged sinner, stood confidently before the throne of grace, certain that there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ, and taught us to embrace the same confidence, no matter what thorn we wrestle with in our own lives.
"...he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus."
Monday, June 23, 2008
Truly Present
As I write this, I have just come home from the chapel where I have a holy hour: a time devoted to adoration of Christ in the Eucharist. I have the opportunity to reflect on how truly present he is there: body and blood, soul and divinity, the invisible and eternal made visible. And then I wonder: the Lord of heaven and earth has made himself truly present here for my sake. Do I have the courage to be truly present for His? Am I truly there, opening myself to Him to be drawn deeper into the mystery of salvation? What a challenge! For to be truly present in this mystery requires a sacrifice. Just as in ancient times, when blood sacrifice was required to enter into the presence of God, truly entering into this presence requires a sacrifice of self. It is not enough to pray for wisdom; I have to sacrifice my will to walk in the way of truth. It is not enough to ask for strength; I have to sacrifice my pride and allow his strength to be made perfect in me. It is not enough to ask for courage; I have to sacrifice my anxiety and allow the peace beyond understanding to take hold. It is not enough to acknowledge Him in joy; I have to bring forth a sacrifice of praise in all things.
And so I ask for courage and strength and wisdom to acknowledge Him wherever he is truly present. Tonight, it was in the Eucharist, but tomorrow I will have opportunity to recognize His presence in other places. Lord, grant me the grace to see! In the eyes of my family, in the work of my hands, in the words of my mouth, in the meditations of my heart -- He is there! He will be truly present, for to be otherwise would be to deny His very nature. I pray simply that I may be truly present there as well, and honor Him with the gifts He has given me.
And so I ask for courage and strength and wisdom to acknowledge Him wherever he is truly present. Tonight, it was in the Eucharist, but tomorrow I will have opportunity to recognize His presence in other places. Lord, grant me the grace to see! In the eyes of my family, in the work of my hands, in the words of my mouth, in the meditations of my heart -- He is there! He will be truly present, for to be otherwise would be to deny His very nature. I pray simply that I may be truly present there as well, and honor Him with the gifts He has given me.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Gratitude!
It may seem such a simple thing, but it is something I have always had to work at. The Birthday Elf almost took back my third birthday because I wouldn't tell my Aunt Joy "thank you" for the present she brought. Stubborn little turkey, I was.
And so it remains! "Thank you" is common enough to my lips now-- it is common courtesy. But in the deeper places, I forget to be grateful for the imperfect. I forget the abiding truth that I know in quiet moments: gratitude can completely reshape frustration. And since life is rarely perfect (and often frustrating), I have to consciously remind myself of all the beautiful blessings in my world.
Life with a busy family sometimes feels like an exercise in futility. Do to be undone, speak to be unheard, remain steadfast and calm in the face of unrest and distraction. It goes to the heart of my greatest weaknesses. Some days I work myself ragged, some days I am guilty of being less than diligent, and somehow it always comes out the same: imperfect. I see "imperfect," equate it to "unworthy," and fall prey to discouragement. But in His mercy, the word of God bubbles to the surface of my mind: "For the creation was subjected to frustration (NAB uses "futility"), not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who created it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God." (Romans 8:20-21) His hand is here! The question is, what do I do with the frustration?
Frustration is to be stewarded, just like any other gift. It can break me or purify me. In it is opportunity to either bless or curse, to be driven by anger or driven by reason, to be paralyzed in fear or to move forward in faith, to wait in the darkness or light a torch (see Isaiah 50:10-11). Whether I chose God's way or my own, the difference is often gratitude. Gratitude allows me to submit my efforts to all-sufficient grace, and see not imperfect fruit, but fruit not yet perfected.
And so it remains! "Thank you" is common enough to my lips now-- it is common courtesy. But in the deeper places, I forget to be grateful for the imperfect. I forget the abiding truth that I know in quiet moments: gratitude can completely reshape frustration. And since life is rarely perfect (and often frustrating), I have to consciously remind myself of all the beautiful blessings in my world.
Life with a busy family sometimes feels like an exercise in futility. Do to be undone, speak to be unheard, remain steadfast and calm in the face of unrest and distraction. It goes to the heart of my greatest weaknesses. Some days I work myself ragged, some days I am guilty of being less than diligent, and somehow it always comes out the same: imperfect. I see "imperfect," equate it to "unworthy," and fall prey to discouragement. But in His mercy, the word of God bubbles to the surface of my mind: "For the creation was subjected to frustration (NAB uses "futility"), not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who created it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God." (Romans 8:20-21) His hand is here! The question is, what do I do with the frustration?
Frustration is to be stewarded, just like any other gift. It can break me or purify me. In it is opportunity to either bless or curse, to be driven by anger or driven by reason, to be paralyzed in fear or to move forward in faith, to wait in the darkness or light a torch (see Isaiah 50:10-11). Whether I chose God's way or my own, the difference is often gratitude. Gratitude allows me to submit my efforts to all-sufficient grace, and see not imperfect fruit, but fruit not yet perfected.
Monday, June 9, 2008
In the moment
(May 31, 2008)
I don't generally consider myself unaware. Some people around me may disagree, but what can be perceived as a lack of awareness is more correctly divided awareness. Five children, a home music studio, and a husband constantly on the go often take me in more directions than I can begin to process efficiently. But in the midst of a bustling household, there are rare moments -- usually away from the routine and demands of home, when my awareness comes together. All of the energy that is usually directed to the most immediately pressing issues comes together with the various other trains of thought that I might be sustaining at any given moment, and they simply resolve into a single, undiverted moment of acute awareness that is marked by its complete effortlessness.
Last night was one of those moments. We were at a concert. There had been threats of severe weather all day, but it had held off to that point. I was standing on the lawn at the ampitheater, listening to the haunting blues floating out over the crowd. The sky was gray, and there were white thunderclouds silhouetted against it in the fading light. There was lightening all around us providing a spectacular light show, and the winds were whipping around us. As I stood there, eyes closed against the monitors at the top of the pavilion, I was suddenly startled at just how many things I was immediately aware of, but my attention was not on anything but the music. I was aware of the wind, of the lightening penetrating my eyelids, my hair on my bare shoulders, the vague notion of people around me talking, laughing, dancing. I was aware of the sweet, smoky aroma of clove cigarettes, the drier, ashier odor of tobacco, and the occasional earthy whisper of marijuana. It was all there, all at the forefront of my awareness, but my participation was effortless -- almost ethereal.
I was almost immediately struck by a pang of guilt. When was the last time I felt so free, so relaxed, and so completely present in the reality around me? Was it with my family? At prayer? In Mass or adoration? I froze. But then a peaceful whisper rose to my consciousness. Is God not in the grass beneath my feet? Is He not in the winds tossing my hair against my shoulders? Is He not in the lightening streaking above me, and in the looming clouds ignited by it? Is not every person around me sustained by His love alone, just as surely as I am? Am I not bobbing my head in response to the steady heartbeat of a bass drum -- a heartbeat that mimics my own?
The day will come when my children will no longer be with me at Mass every week. My waking hours will no longer be filled with their immediate needs. The day will come, I hope, when I no longer have to spend so much time and energy on the basic daily functions of our home, and perhaps I will have learned, at least a little better, to be anxious for nothing. Then perhaps I will be able to slip into effortless awareness of the perfect reality I enter at Mass. Perhaps I will be able to to immediately contemplate and realize the presence of Christ when I enter the chapel for adoration, without the time it takes to shed the distractions I bring with me now. Then, maybe, those perfect, eternal realities will be at the forefront of my awareness. Perhaps a rosary in my hand, the pages of a prayer book under my fingers, the the kiss of a lace veil against my cheek as I bow my head -- perhaps these will me what draws my senses into an effortless awareness in which I simply am. But for now, I will give thanks. He met me in the reality of that moment, and provided me grace to acknowledge him in the wind, in the lightening, in the crowd, and in the lull of a heartbeat sustained by love alone.
I don't generally consider myself unaware. Some people around me may disagree, but what can be perceived as a lack of awareness is more correctly divided awareness. Five children, a home music studio, and a husband constantly on the go often take me in more directions than I can begin to process efficiently. But in the midst of a bustling household, there are rare moments -- usually away from the routine and demands of home, when my awareness comes together. All of the energy that is usually directed to the most immediately pressing issues comes together with the various other trains of thought that I might be sustaining at any given moment, and they simply resolve into a single, undiverted moment of acute awareness that is marked by its complete effortlessness.
Last night was one of those moments. We were at a concert. There had been threats of severe weather all day, but it had held off to that point. I was standing on the lawn at the ampitheater, listening to the haunting blues floating out over the crowd. The sky was gray, and there were white thunderclouds silhouetted against it in the fading light. There was lightening all around us providing a spectacular light show, and the winds were whipping around us. As I stood there, eyes closed against the monitors at the top of the pavilion, I was suddenly startled at just how many things I was immediately aware of, but my attention was not on anything but the music. I was aware of the wind, of the lightening penetrating my eyelids, my hair on my bare shoulders, the vague notion of people around me talking, laughing, dancing. I was aware of the sweet, smoky aroma of clove cigarettes, the drier, ashier odor of tobacco, and the occasional earthy whisper of marijuana. It was all there, all at the forefront of my awareness, but my participation was effortless -- almost ethereal.
I was almost immediately struck by a pang of guilt. When was the last time I felt so free, so relaxed, and so completely present in the reality around me? Was it with my family? At prayer? In Mass or adoration? I froze. But then a peaceful whisper rose to my consciousness. Is God not in the grass beneath my feet? Is He not in the winds tossing my hair against my shoulders? Is He not in the lightening streaking above me, and in the looming clouds ignited by it? Is not every person around me sustained by His love alone, just as surely as I am? Am I not bobbing my head in response to the steady heartbeat of a bass drum -- a heartbeat that mimics my own?
The day will come when my children will no longer be with me at Mass every week. My waking hours will no longer be filled with their immediate needs. The day will come, I hope, when I no longer have to spend so much time and energy on the basic daily functions of our home, and perhaps I will have learned, at least a little better, to be anxious for nothing. Then perhaps I will be able to slip into effortless awareness of the perfect reality I enter at Mass. Perhaps I will be able to to immediately contemplate and realize the presence of Christ when I enter the chapel for adoration, without the time it takes to shed the distractions I bring with me now. Then, maybe, those perfect, eternal realities will be at the forefront of my awareness. Perhaps a rosary in my hand, the pages of a prayer book under my fingers, the the kiss of a lace veil against my cheek as I bow my head -- perhaps these will me what draws my senses into an effortless awareness in which I simply am. But for now, I will give thanks. He met me in the reality of that moment, and provided me grace to acknowledge him in the wind, in the lightening, in the crowd, and in the lull of a heartbeat sustained by love alone.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Holding out for 31
We rate so many things numerically -- "on a scale of 1 - 10," "100% sure," "We're #1!," and we all want to achieve perfection -- to be a 10.
But I am challenged -- and resolved -- to hold out for a perfect 31.
A noble 31.
A frugal 31.
A diligent 31.
A generous 31.
A charitable 31.
A well-clothed (in strength and dignity) 31.
A wise and faithful 31.
A crown of honor to the husband I love, and a faithful steward of our children, raising them in the discipline and fear of the Lord.
This is the desire of my heart: To be a perfect 31!
But I will pray for grace to strive, and courage to accept and be at peace when I fail.
Lord give me courage to be afraid, strength to be weak, and humility to be bold before the throne of grace.
But I am challenged -- and resolved -- to hold out for a perfect 31.
A noble 31.
A frugal 31.
A diligent 31.
A generous 31.
A charitable 31.
A well-clothed (in strength and dignity) 31.
A wise and faithful 31.
A crown of honor to the husband I love, and a faithful steward of our children, raising them in the discipline and fear of the Lord.
This is the desire of my heart: To be a perfect 31!
But I will pray for grace to strive, and courage to accept and be at peace when I fail.
Lord give me courage to be afraid, strength to be weak, and humility to be bold before the throne of grace.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
And then the red sock...
Well, actually it was red sleeves on an otherwise light blue baby shirt. But the result was the same. In the 20 years or so since laundry became "my job," I have never turned a load of lights pink. Until that day. And that day, it was the final straw. And so I cried. I didn't tear up. I didn't sniff and dab at the corners of my eyes. I sobbed. I sobbed until I was almost sick. I sobbed until my throat muscles ached from exertion. I sobbed until my eyes swelled and stung from tears. I sobbed until I was utterly wrung out -- exhausted.
And then I stopped, and (in my accustomed fashion) began to hyper-analyze what exactly about a load of pink laundry (which, by the way, came clean on a second wash) could send me spiraling into hysteria. So now, almost six months later, I'm looking back -- and forward. I'm seeking God for the order so desperately lacking in my life. And maybe, as I sit here reflecting in these ridiculous hours of the morning, I can share the journey. Why was I there? Why am I here?
The sun will rise and I will face a new day. I pray I will steward it well, but also to submit my shortfall to perfectly sufficient grace.
And then I stopped, and (in my accustomed fashion) began to hyper-analyze what exactly about a load of pink laundry (which, by the way, came clean on a second wash) could send me spiraling into hysteria. So now, almost six months later, I'm looking back -- and forward. I'm seeking God for the order so desperately lacking in my life. And maybe, as I sit here reflecting in these ridiculous hours of the morning, I can share the journey. Why was I there? Why am I here?
The sun will rise and I will face a new day. I pray I will steward it well, but also to submit my shortfall to perfectly sufficient grace.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
