Category: Contentment

“Just As I Am/Tal Como Soy”

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I can still remember the sound of my grandmother’s aged, beautiful, magical, and throaty voice singing the stanzas of the hymn “Just As I Am” as she washed dishes and looked out the window of her Wisconsin home. I was right at her side rinsing and drying, but as her gaze alternated between the items she scrubbed in the hot sudsy water and the trees outside, she was somewhere else entirely.

Perhaps this is why this hymn remains one of my favorites. It’s also one of the few remnants of my childhood piano lessons that I still play a crude version of on the piano. I’m no longer the small, innocent child standing at my beloved grandmother’s side, but a middle-aged adult who is much more familiar with all the highs and lows, success and failures that this roller-coaster of life brings us. The song now resonates with me for more reasons than nostalgic memory.

Written by Charlotte Elliott in 1835 and composed by William Bradbury, “Just As I Am” gained new popularity when Billy Graham used it consistently as the invitation hymn in his crusades. How appropriate, for it perfectly describes what it means to to see ourselves as sinners in need of grace, desperate for the pardon of a Holy God. We are humbled that God not only grants it, but sacrifices His beloved son to death on a cross so that we might receive it. 

This past summer, I had the words “Tal Como Soy”, the Spanish translation of “Just As I Am” tattooed on my arm to remind me of God’s grace and mercy, but also of His unconditional acceptance of me as His daughter, regardless of my shortcomings, mistakes, and circumstances.

In the past few years, I have known what it is to be rejected by close family and friends, simply for placing some much-needed boundaries in my life. This injured me at the deepest levels and has been enough to make me completely question my identity and perception of reality. Although I acted out of my personal conviction and understanding of God’s leading, as well as the results of everything learned in several years of therapy, these things weren’t enough to protect me from distorted versions of what happened or to help me escape harsh judgement. I attempted to take responsibility for my roles in these situations and to apologize, but those too seem to have disappeared into thin air. I’ve heard that boundaries can be described as the distance between which I can love both myself and another person well. Somehow, those I’ve been in conflict with missed seeing the love and health in the situation.

And so, the tattoo–to remind me daily that however I got here, I’m loved and accepted by my Savior just as I am.

Out of all the lullabies, songs and hymns that I have sung to my daughter at bedtime, “Just As I Am” has been one of her favorite requests over the past year. What a gift from God that I am so compelled to dwell, almost nightly, on the words. One of my favorite verses begins, “Just as I am though tossed about, with many a conflict, many a doubt.” How true, and yet these lead me through the journey of acceptance. I must learn to accept myself and my circumstances, and above all, accept how God sees me and the ways He is working.

Songwriter, singer, and worship pastor Jesús Adrian Romero has a beautiful song called “Tal Como Soy” (“Just As I Am”). In it he sings, “Just as I am, Lord. I have nothing to give but my heart” (My translation). How true. And so Lord, here is my battered, bruised, and misshapen heart. I’m all yours–do with me what you will.

 “Dancing”–

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I’ve long viewed my relationship with God as a dance. Early in my life, He held out His hand to me in invitation. I often picture the scene in the old Disney cartoon ALADDIN where Aladdin rides up to Jazmine on his magic carpet, holds out his hand to her, and asks, “Do you trust me?” She looks at him, questioning if she can, then decides she will. She  jumps on for a ride that leads her to “A Whole New World.”

I’ve returned to that moment over and over in my journey of faith. In the beginning, I naively jumped on without questioning, assuming it would be easy to trust and ride. At many other points, wondering if I could still handle the wild ride or disliking where the journey took me, I nearly jumped off and withdrew my hand. Despite often needing to trust God’s heart when I haven’t been able to see His hand or face, despite struggling to do so at several points, I know His invitation stands. Indeed, partnered with Him, I have seen sights I never could have expected otherwise.

A wallflower to my core, it’s a wonder that He chose me. God sees the most unlovely, clumsy, and broken parts and continues to choose me. As I took Hook His hand, He brought me out of my shell and brought a smile to my face. He led and guided confidently when I didn’t know a single step or have any rhythm of my own. He taught me to ignore the crowd, close my eyes, and follow His lead. He allowed me to lean on Him and held me up when I grew weary. When I followed His lead, He made me look good. When I resisted and fought for my own way, I broke our rhythm and fell. Yet there He was to pick me up, time after time, and offer His hand again. And there’s nothing so beautiful or freeing as dancing with a good partner. 

A new song by Elevation Worship, called “Dancing,” captures this experience and the promise I returned to Him: 

“Dancing on the mountain of a victory; dancing on the valley of a broken dream;

Dancing on the plain of the in-between; If it’s you and me I won’t stop dancing.”

“Land, Sit, Dwell”—

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I have a dear friend who diligently seeks God’s provision of a word from the Word that will guide her direction for each new year. It’s inspiring to hear the word chosen for her and to watch her set her heart and mind towards that new vision, trusting that God is doing a new thing. I’ve followed my friend’s example on occasion but haven’t been as faithful to this practice as she is, this year included. There are, however, three words that God continually brings to my mind and heart in this year and season: LAND, SIT, and DWELL.

LAND. As a new mother and a working mother, I find the pace of life to be much more frantic than ever before. As much as I chase it, balance feels elusive. For that reason, despite all the wonders and blessings of this season, I often find that my thoughts are fixed on the past or ten steps ahead in the future, worrying instead of being focused on the present moment. God often whispers to me, “LAND, beloved. Be where you are, fully, right now.” I sometimes have to continue talking myself into it with phrases such as, “Here you are, Nancy, in your favorite chair, holding your sweet baby girl. This is your favorite place to be. LAND here.”

SIT. I’ve been doing a lot of sitting since my baby was born, something that my back finds difficult due to multiple past injuries. But I want to enjoy these sweet times of sitting with my girl…to be able to be still…to dwell in the presence of the Lord. And so, I must sit with the physical discomfort I experience and hold the many emotions that accompanied the rollercoaster ride of the last year. A friend told me recently that being a mother means realizing strengths you didn’t know you possessed and facing fears you weren’t aware existed. How true that is! I’ve had some absolutely paranoid fears regarding my daughter’s wellbeing, fears that often resurface. I often have to sit with the discomfort of them to truly process and let go of them. Another friend has reminded me that as I spend so much time looking down and caring for my baby this year, I must also remember to look up. I look up and thank God for my many blessings. I praise Him that all things are under His feet and that I have been seated with Him. 

DWELL. Being present, being still, and letting go of fear are all things best done in God’s presence, as I DWELL and make my home with Him. God has made me His dwelling place and I have made Him mine. My heart often cries out an old worship song, “I just want to be where you are, dwelling daily in Your presence. Take me to the place where you are. I just want to be with you.” In every high and every low, He is my safe space where I can abide. In Psalm 84:10, David says that “Better is one day in your courts than a thousand elsewhere; I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of the wicked. For the LORD God is a sun and shield; the LORD bestows favor and honor; no good thing does he withhold from those whose walk is blameless.”


One of my greatest goals for the year is to be here, now. And yet, I also set my sights on the journey to new places, for there are still many things I want to see and many ways I desire to grow. André Gide wrote, “In order to see new lands, one must consent to lose sight of the shore for a very long time.” That feels like an accurate description of the place where I am. I pray for the strength to keep swimming until I reach that distant shore.

The Table—

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“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,” wrote Charles Dickens in A TALE OF TWO CITIES. A long while back, when I attended a debriefing conference after a year of missions in the Dominican Republic, the instructor used this phrase to describe the mission experience. Its profoundness struck and resonated with me as never before. 

Despite this, and despite the fact that I have chosen drifting between light and darkness as the theme of the novel I’ll finish one day, until recently, I somehow missed that it is one of MY life themes. I realized it when a beloved former student gifted me with a children’s book for my baby shower. Inside the cover, she wrote a note stating that the book reminded her of me because of the many conversations we had shared about all the beauty, challenges, joy, and sorrow life simultaneously offers us in our journeys.

I’ve been thinking about all of this again recently as I enjoy the rapture of watching my baby girl grow. I should say that due to sleep deprivation, my battle with chronic pain, and the busyness of trying to find balance after returning to work, I work at being present enough to enjoy every moment.

As I search for balance and joy amidst the challenges, I’m reminded of a phrase from the favored Twenty-third Psalm. David wrote of our Shepherd, “He prepares a table before me in the presence of my enemies.” IN the presence of my enemies, a table is prepared. I can picture that table. It’s a long banquet table set up on a sprawling porch, prepared with the choicest food and drink, decorated with flowers and fine linens, lit with candles. As the enemies of sleeplessness and pain and the frantic pace of American life look on, there I am, seated with my Shepherd at the close of day. My daughter and family and treasured friends surround us. We smile and laugh and enjoy one another as the sun sets. All the while, my enemies lurk and darkness descends.

Some days, as I practice gratitude in stillness, it’s relatively simple and easy to some to the table. Others, as as is typical of my dinnertime reality, I struggle to cease striving and sit still. A friend once described this type of experience to me as picking at the crumbs on the floor when I’ve been invited to a feast. Still other days, it feels as though I must fight my way through bramble and thorned brush just to find where the table IS. But the invitation is always there. 

My Lord says, “Come, all you who are thirsty, come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy and eat! … Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good, and you will delight in the richest of fare” (Isaiah 55:1a;2b). As counterintuitive as it may seem, the beautiful table prepared is often an altar. I reach it best by kneeling, laying down my best efforts, perfectionism, and striving to do it all on my own—laying down selfish ambition and my ideals of what the table should look like, who I’ll be seated with, what will be served, and how long the meal should last. Above all, I must accept that my task is to enjoy THIS meal without worrying about the next, without being able to control that my enemies haven’t left me in peace. I must claim the peace and respite offered anyway. 

In her stunning book, AN ALTAR IN THIS WORLD: A GEOGRAPHY OF FAITH, author Barbara Brown Taylor invites, “Wherever you are, you live in the world, which is just waiting for you to notice the holiness in it. So welcome to your own priesthood, practiced at the altar of your own life. The good news is that you have everything you need to begin.”

“In Over My Head…”

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In the old Sandra Bullock movie WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING, the protagonist Lucy begins her narration by stating that her dad had told her as a child that life doesn’t always turn out the way you think it will. She wishes she had realized at the time he was referring to her life. Isn’t that the truth? We all hear similar counsel when we’re young, yet somehow believe our lives will be the exception to the rule. This reminds me of what an old gypsy proverb tells us, “We are ALL wanderers on this earth. Our hearts are full of laughter and our souls are deep with dreams.”

When life takes unpredictable turns or we choose the road less traveled and find that our path has led us in unexpected, even painful directions, disillusionment, even despair, can follow. What can we do with these overwhelming emotions except to look outside of ourselves for answers and peace? 

The only comfort I have found is in God. Though He didn’t promise an easy or predictable path, He did promise an abundant life full of His constant companionship and the strength He provides. Though my emotions and circumstances are constantly in flux, He never changes or wavers. There have been many times it’s been difficult to trust His hand, but He keeps drawing me in, assuring me of His heart and His tender care. Jenn Johnson of Bethel Music sings a song called “In Over My Head (Crash Over Me)” describing a similar journey of faith:

“And you crash over me, and

I’ve lost control but I’m free.

I’m going over, I’m in over my head.” 

These lyrics bring to my mind images and memories of swimming in the Caribbean ocean at high tide. As I head towards the surf and the tide crashes in, I’ll be lost and swept away if I try to fight. The more I’m willing to go with the tide and dive into its depths, however, surrendering to something stronger than myself, the better chance I have of getting to the other side. And on the other side, a view like none other awaits…a multi-colored horizon, a clean slate, a new beginning.

In “I Could Sing of Your Love Forever,” the band Delirious? sings,

“Over the mountains and the sea,

Your river runs with love for me,

And I will open up my heart and let the Healer set me free.

I could sing of your love forever….”

The sea is His love. Up to now, I’ve done little more than dip my toes in its water or wade in ankle deep. Today, I wade in and surrender. I release my expectations of what life is or will be and cling to His strong arms. May His goodness lead me in over my head and to the other side.

“A World Made, Yet Being Made” (John Muir)…

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Snow falls gently again today after a weekend that brought a foot of snow. I look out the windows past my Christmas twinkle lights and the silver star that tops the tree, seeing and seeking a world made new. What a wonderful God we have–a God who brings beauty from ashes and makes all things new. I think of the many situations in my life that have seemed hopeless, yet through it all, God made a way.

John Muir said that we live in a world made, yet being made. Our awesome God is Creator and Sustainer of the earth. Yet in His great wisdom and affection for us, He has allowed us to play a role.Paradoxically, we all carry both beauty and brokenness within us. We live in a fallen world, yet we bear the image of a perfect God. Endless choices of what we will reflect are before us. In God’s Kingdom, we can choose to allow Him to redeem us, our surroundings, and our circumstances. Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “Though we travel the world to find the beautiful, we must carry it within us, or we find it not.”

An encounter with creation is always an encounter with its Creator. In God’s mysterious glory, He meets us there and allows us to come to His feet in whatever condition we are in. He has made us, yet we are being made. Whatever our journey, He is our Emmanuel, God present with us. And as the apostle Paul declared in Romans 8, “If God is for us, who can be against us?” 

In The Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, author Annie Dillard sought to observe and experience the marvels and mysteries of nature. She wrote, “I am prying into secrets again and taking my chances. I might see anything happen. I might see nothing but light on the water. I walk home exhilarated and becalmed, but always changed, alive. ‘It scatters and gathers, Heraclitus said, ‘It comes and goes.’ And I want to be in the way of its passage and cooled by its invisible breath.”

We may feel we have nothing of significance to offer the world, but God says differently by choosing to create and sustain our lives. Nelson Mandela used the following quote from author Marianne Williamson in his inauguration speech, 

“It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented?’ Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

In this season that holds the darkest days of the year, yet one in which we celebrate the coming of the light of Christ the Messiah, may we each choose beauty…to let our own lights shine in the places we inhabit.

Call to Wonder…

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As I drove home a couple of nights ago, a pink-orange sky bathed the rugged snow-capped mountains and low-hanging clouds in mystical light. The scene took my breath away. I thought of a card a dear friend once gave me for my birthday that pictured a little boy, mouth agape, gazing out the window at a newborn bird. The caption said, “Never lose your sense of wonder.” What a privilege to marvel again and again at God’s creation and this wonderful wild land where we live. As John Muir said, “Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul…. All that sun shines on is beautiful, so long as it is wild.”

As my husband and I await our first baby and stand in awe at this miracle of life developing each week, I am awakened once again to this Christmas season of wonder. I marvel at our creative Creator and the artistry with which he put together the world and each miraculous, unique life to grace it. Though this past year has been one to remember for all of us–a friend told me she’s heard 2020 will be the new swear word–I’m astonished at all the ways, big and small, our great God has provided for us within the storms.

In her many books and blogs, author Ann Voskamp invites us to offer a song of gratitude each day for every grace we are given. In Unwrapping the Greatest Gift she states, “You were formed to have front-row seats to waves hugging the shore, to trees touching the sky, to stars falling across the night–the whole of the universe falling in love with God…. You could unwrap the wow today just by going to the window. By going to the front door, to the park, to the backyard, or to the top of the highest hill you can find–standing there and staring and being wowed by the shape of the clouds or the color of the sky or the size of the sun when you hold up your hands.”

Edith Wharton, first woman to win the Pulitzer Prize for literature, has a quote I adore about how this kind of spirit can even keep you young. She said, “There’s no such thing as old age; there is only sorrow. In spite of illness, in spite even of the archenemy sorrow, one can remain alive long past the usual date of disintegration if one is unafraid of change, insatiable in intellectual curiosity, interested in big things, and happy in small ways.”

As we do the work of remaining alive and curious and grateful, may we be assured with the knowledge that regardless of what storms may come, we will never be alone on our journeys. As Lamentations 3 and the great hymn say, “Morning by morning new mercies I see. All I have needed Thy hand has provided, Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me.”

“Walk Down This Mountain…”

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Though I walk each day on a flat country road, I live in a land of mountains and valleys. They parallel life for me—a life that is a journey, but one that feels like a roller coaster more often than not.

I make the arduous climb to the top of various mountain peaks, some of them relationship or personal struggles, others life or professional goals, and others various lessons or faith journeys. The reward is often a breathtaking vista and the wind in my hair—exuberant joy and renewed passion, even if only for a few moments in time.  These summit moments might be among my favorite memories, but mountain peaks are cold, dangerous, and lonely places to dwell. It’s hard to stay there. Eventually, I must descend.

I walk down mountains, knowing that my journey will end with a return to valleys. Often, my heart and mind and body feel weary and dread the new low valley experiences, the new climb that will need to be made before I can summit again. 

Third Day, one of my favorite bands, has a song called “Mountain of God.” In it, author and lead singer Mac Powell says, “I thought that I was all alone, helpless and afraid, but You are there with me—You are there with me.” In the chorus, he continues,

“Even though the journey’s long, and I know the road is hard,

Well the One who goes before me, He will help me carry on.

After all that I’ve been through, now I realize the truth,

That I must go through the valley to stand upon the mountain of God.”

As the song implies, the valley experiences are necessary to prepare us for climbing and summiting mountains. In the valley, it’s easy to feel we are alone. By the time we reach the mountaintop, having made our way through the clouds, we know we have been accompanied all along. Despite difficulty, we were never abandoned. Through the journey, we learned, grew stronger, realized the depth of our hunger for relationship and growth, and eventually, we were rewarded. The panoramic view that filled our senese at the peak also gave us the companionship and understanding we longed for and a vision for the future. Even more, it filled us with confidence that we are in fact, strong enough to be equal to such journeys. What we’ve done before, we can do again. God has been faithful before and He will be again.

So there’s no need to fear the next valley or climb. We must bolster our own hearts, as Julian of Norwich did when she said, “All is well…and all manner of things shall be well.” As Bebo Norman sings, we can…

“Walk down this mountain with your heart held high. 

Follow in the footsteps of your Maker. 

And with this love that’s gone before you and these people at your side, 

You offer up your broken cup. 

You will find the meaning of true life.”

This Moment…

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This moment, I’m struggling to be here now. My thoughts, as usual, are running quickly ahead of me, attempting to rush me on to the next place and the next phase, all without allowing me to slow down and arrive in the place that I’m in. So slow down, beloved. It’s up to you to choose.

As Thoreau said, “Live in each season as it passes.” I slow, remembering that haste makes waste, attempting to be mindful of simple pleasures—washing my hands w/ sweet smelling soap and hot water, a pleasure around seventy percent of the world doesn’t have. I take in the beautiful fall colors as I walk—stunning hues of browns, golds, and reds in the tundra and trees. I breathe in the cool fall air and autumn scents. I thank God for the breath and life he gives, for legs that move and walk and a body that allows me to get out of bed and outdoors each day.

This moment…this moment…is a gift. Each holds possibilities of wonder and joy, or perhaps sorrow or grief. As most often happens, each will hold a mix of things. I have no control over what the next moment may hold, but I do have the power to accept and embrace it—to allow myself to experience it, come what may. If I don’t allow fear to rule me regarding the many difficulties that may come, I may find I am more equal to greeting them. I may encounter a greater capacity for celebrating and enjoying the good ones—abandoned to joy instead of holding some space for anxiety of the future or regret for the past. The ability to be present will fill me, recharge me, strengthen me.

There is so much my mind, heart, and body are holding at any given moment, especially at this season of life—family, finances, relationships, work, and a pandemic world struggling with conflict. Balance feels elusive. If I look around at others, it’s easy to feel they have it mastered, but most people freely admit they struggle too. What would it feel like to let go…to release the burden of trying to measure up and figure it all out? This is the ideal, yet something I’m not sure I know how to do. “God, give me the strength to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference” (Serenity Prayer).
Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it is called  the present.” May I live this day with the knowledge and acceptance of the gift of every moment. And moment by moment, may I live this day. As the wonderful Celtic poet John O’Donohue said, “May I live this day/Compassionate of heart/Clear in word/Gracious in awareness/Generous in love.”

The Dance of Surrendered Faith…

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Sometimes living feels like a bit of a tightrope walk, doesn’t it? There are so many keys to staying the course and living life well. We need to be strong, but not hard or callous. We should be fun and relaxed, but also hard-working and disciplined. Flexibility is a must, but so is holding to and protecting our boundaries. There are rules that must be followed and those that, at least on occasion, appear to be made to be broken. Our culture sends us a whole slew of confusing messages on a daily basis, something that feels especially true for women. 

A friend said to me recently, “What a crazy dance life is.” She’s right, at least based on my experience–there is a great deal of craziness that keeps us spinning. But if it’s a dance, then there’s beauty in that, for dancing involves music, steps, rhythm, and hopefully, a fun partner who gently leads. Dancing can be a celebration. Entering in means embracing it for what it is, choosing to be led, choosing to be joyful in it.

Of all the crazy dances or tightrope walks in this world, one that I find the most challenging is the balance between faith and surrender. Jesus tells us that if we have faith as small as a mustard seed, we can tell a mountain to move and it will. He also tells us, “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find…” (Matthew 7:7). Paul and other apostles applauded men like Abraham who, “…human reason for hope being gone, hoped in faith.. as he had been promised” (Romans 4:18). So, for example, I can pray in faith for God to heal me, believing that He can at any moment, but I must also walk in complete surrender, trusting Him to do His will. No matter how things appear, I believe that He is always at work for my good and for His glory.

Jesus tells us that as His followers we must take up our crosses daily and follow Him, that whoever desires to keep his life must lose it. Brother Lawrence, a saint of old, encourages us, “Complete surrender to God’s will is the only sure road to follow. In it, there is always enough light to assure safe travel.” We are told in the first chapter of Ephesians that we are seated with Christ in the heavenly realms and that, “…God placed all things under His feet and appointed Him to be head over everything for the church.” He has given us authority over all the things that trouble and plague us here on this earth, yet we’re also told that for a little while we must suffer. What a crazy dance life is.

In her book, When Things Fall Apart, Pema Chödrön expresses it this way, “…We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together and they fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all this to happen, room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy…. Letting there be room for not knowing is the most important thing of all” (p. 9). 

Christ holds out His hand and asks, “May I have this dance?” I accept His invitation and embrace the journey. I surrender and make space, that I may be open for all that comes next, however unknown it may be.

*Photo Credits: lovedoes.org