Category: Day by Day

“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.

“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.

“Overwhelmed”—

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If there is one word that describes the past year for me, it is overwhelmed. Like any year, it has held its highs and lows, yet the highs have been higher and the lows lower than most. 

I am loving watching my baby girl grow in her first year of life—there are so many moments where I’m overpowered by love and wonder for the miracle of her. Yet currently, I feel overwhelmed by a multitude of circumstances beyond my control—the loss of a beloved grandfather, struggles with my health, severe illness and surgery for a dear friend, challenges at work and at home, relationship difficulties, and a seemingly futile effort to balance everything well all attempt to prevent me from enjoying this season as I would wish. 

As much as I hate to admit and face learning this truth again, however, I still have a choice in my response to these circumstances. As we all know, the attitude we choose each day ultimately dictates the tone and quality of our experiences.

In that vein, I must also acknowledge the many blessings present in my life, for I am also overwhelmed by the kindness and generosity of friends. Dear loved ones have given of their wisdom, resources, time, presence, love, and empathy in this past year in life-sustaining ways. I’ve learned to rely on them. Their examples, generosity, and goodness have changed me.

I’m also overwhelmed by the goodness, grace, and presence of my loving and mighty God. I don’t often understand what He’s up to, but I do know He’s with me and that He fills me over and over again with His strength. As the band BIG DADDY WEAVE sings in their song OVERWHELMED, “I delight myself in You/Captivated by Your beauty/I’m overwhelmed….I’m overwhelmed by You.”

My prayer for this day and for this season is that I would allow myself to be emptied of all the negative emotions that tend to consume me and that I would use that space to be filled with all that is good. May wonder for our great God and His many blessings wash over all of us today.

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.”

Mi Hija…

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There’s a lovely phrase, in Spanish or in any language, “Mi hija…my daughter.” I’ve always loved how Spanish-speakers pronounce it as though it were one word instead of a phrase, like two notes to the same beautiful song. Now it is mine! I am a mama to THE most amazing and beautiful baby girl (not that I’m biased). Almost three months old now, I fell in love the moment I knew she had arrived in the womb. But this is nothing compared to the love I felt meeting her for the first time, or have felt every day since. It’s as though I have always known her, and yet, how wonderful it is to get to know her still more and more each day. 

This all has me thinking a lot about the kind of woman and mom I want to be. Recent months have provided ample opportunity to refine my character and expose its weaknesses, yet it feels like real growth for me to be able to say there are some things I like about myself. As an older first time mom, I’m confident in who I am and what I want out of life. And even if I can’t always achieve or obtain those ultimate goals, I know how to sit with that too. I know to delight in the preciousness of this time despite its challenges, to treasure each and every single moment. Even in the difficult ones, the words of an old country song by Trace Adkins often come to mind, “You’re gonna miss this.”

But I’ve also realized how difficult it can be for me to be present, how easily focused I can become on looming to-do lists, how inclined I am to look at the glass as half-empty, and how rapidly I become irritated. I’ve become more aware of how prone to anxiety and compulsiveness I am and of how much I STILL need to grow. Above all, I see how self-critical and perfectionistic I am. 

I want my daughter to know me as hopeful and humble and kind, a woman at peace and at rest each day. I hope she’ll witness strength intertwined with gentleness, wisdom with wit, patience with perseverance. May she learn from a mama who works hard but who also knows how to quit…one who can play and laugh and dance, especially with her. May my daughter see someone who can forgive herself and who has a growth mindset. As she watches me with others, may she witness integrity, joy, and a generous spirit, someone who listens well and truly gives love and presence.  Of all this I fall far short, a reminder that a profound sense of failure is one of the emotions I did not expect to arrive so quickly in this journey of motherhood.

It’s easy to get ahead of myself…to become so full of ambition for what I want to be that I lose sight of and gratitude for what IS. But that’s just what a dear friend encouraged me towards recently, to be “…a lover of what is.” She encouraged me to take God at His word that I have all that I need…to INHABIT my fullness and completeness. I think I’ll be sitting with all of that for quite some time to come.

When I think of the women I admire most, real women who have blessed me with the opportunity to be a part of their stories, they’re not perfect either. They are humble and patient with themselves as they journey. How grateful I am to have wonderful examples in my friends, most of whom have shown me generosity and kindness beyond measure in this season. And above all, I have an amazing example and a constant companion in God, whose strength and grace I am dependent upon each and every step of the way. 


Once again, although I know what I want, I’m not always sure of how to get it, which brings to mind the words of the great Wendell Berry, my favorite author: “What we must do is this: ‘Love always, pray  continually, in everything, give thanks.’ I’m not always capable of it, but I know those are the right instructions.”

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.”

“Just As I Am…”

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Mistakes and failure seem to be a part of venturing bravely and wholeheartedly into this great big world, or just staying at home. I can’t say I’m thrilled about it. Over and over again, I come to the feet of God, the plea of Charlotte Elliott’s old hymn on my lips:

 

“Just as I am, without one plea,

But that Thy blood was shed for me.

And that Thou bidst me come to Thee.

O Lamb of God, I come. I come.”

 

As many times as I think I’ve accepted the fact that I’m going to make a million mistakes in this human adventure, the ugliness of failure hits me anew each time like running into a brick wall. Like author Anne Lamott, I must tape Hillel’s line on my wall, “I get up. I walk. I fall down. Meanwhile, I keep dancing.”

 

Nelson Mandela said, “The greatest glory in living lies not in never failing…but in rising every time we fall.” And I have this blessed hope. As I pick myself up and dust myself off, my loving Father greets me with His arms wide open. He looks at me tenderly, telling me without words that all is well, and all manner of things shall be well. He whispers that He has loved me with an everlasting love (Jeremiah 33:3) and I am completely right with Him through the blood of His Son (II Corinthians 5:21).

 

I walked yesterday, a few things troubling my spirit, the weather windy as a storm rolled in. As I rounded the corner to my house, a warm sunset greeted me. Pastel purples, pinks, and yellows stretched thin across the western sky. Just then, a small wren landed on top of my wind chimes and sat there bouncing joyfully in the wind. As he began his song, accompanied by both the stormy breeze and the chimes, silhouetted by the mellow evening sky, part of a favorite song came to me: “I sing because I’m happy, and I sing because I’m free. His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.”

 

That night I read a portion of Bill Holm’s poem Ann Lamott quoted in her book BIRD BY BIRD called “August in Waterton, Alberta,” and it connected these musings on failure and songs in storm:

 

“Above me, wind does its best

To blow leaves off

The aspen tree a month too soon.

No use wind. All you succeed

In doing is making music, the noise

Of failure growing beautiful.”

 

Though perhaps my time for success in certain realms has not yet come, if it ever shall, and the wind may blow all the while, my roots grow deep and my colors turn bright and beautiful. “Meanwhile, I keep dancing” (Hillel).

Embracing Uncertainty…

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Kenko said, “The most precious thing in life is uncertainty.” That’s not quite how I would have phrased it. I might have said the greatest certainty of life is uncertainty or that it is the most difficult thing to accept, but the most precious thing? Really? That certainly puts things in a new light and gives me much to ponder.

 

A dear friend who lost her mother last week and her father just a few years before told me that the more she lives the more she realizes how much we have to cherish each day, for our lives can change in an instant. She’s also battled cancer and knows this all too well. On a national level, we see this in a country suddenly inflamed with acts of racial hatred and violence the likes of which we haven’t seen in over fifty years. Another beloved friend received devastating news about her husband’s health a few days ago. My heart breaks for them and I know that God weeps with me. What a paradox that the God who sits on the throne with all things under His feet allows these hard things yet comes to sit on the floor with us and help us (Leeana Tankersley). 

 

Events such as these remind us that control is an illusion. There are few things in life that we truly have authority over–our attempts at striving to control have limited if not damaging results. Author Leeana Tankersley writes, “Urgently fixing is not acting out of wholeness, it’s acting out of brokenness…. Working hard and working out of a place of anxiety are not the same thing…. If you can’t breathe, stop. Never move or act out of that place. Wait until you can breathe.”

 

One of the most life-changing lessons I have received is from author Brené Brown in The Power of Vulnerability where she offers ten guideposts for wholehearted living:

 

  1. Cultivating authenticity and letting go of what people think;
  2. Cultivating self-compassion and letting go of perfectionism;
  3. Cultivating a resilient spirit and letting go of numbing and powerlessness;
  4. Cultivating gratitude and joy and letting go of scarcity and fear of the dark;
  5. Cultivating creativity and letting go of comparison;
  6. Cultivating play and rest and letting go of exhaustion as a status symbol;
  7. Cultivating calm and stillness and letting go of anxiety as a lifestyle;
  8. Cultivating intuition and trusting faith and letting go of the need for certainty;
  9. Cultivating meaningful work and letting go of self-doubt and “supposed to”;
  10. Cultivating laughter, song, and dance and letting go of being “cool” and always in control.

I notice that to cultivate each of these wonderful and admirable qualities requires letting something else go. In order to inhale love and light, we must exhale all that would lead us toward darkness. As Leeana writes, “We let go with a long, forceful exhale so we can get what our soul really needs on the inhale: space, love, broad grace, therapy…. And watch [Him] be God. Watch [Him] set a table of glory. You show up and let [Him] show off…. All other ground is sinking sand.”

“I’ll Follow the Sun…”

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I’m loving the extra light within each day as summer approaches. Every morning I’m greeted by a stunning sunrise creeping over the jagged mountain peaks, stirring my soul and taking my breath away as it gradually lights and touches them with rainbow hues. But…I should say that’s true–the light stirs my soul and takes my breath away–only if I let it. I must take the moment to breathe deep, to be still, to take in all that goodness–a surprisingly difficult feat. That act of stillness is a gift of kindness I can show myself or share with others. Most days, I drive myself on to the next thing and the next thing without taking the time to stop and accept the series of similar gracious gifts I’m given, forgetting what Mary Oliver says, “Sometimes I need only stand wherever I am to be blessed.” 

 

I’m currently taking a wonderful course from Life is Good Playmakers called “Compassion is a Superpower.” It highlights the fact that human beings are all wired with compassion and empathy but that these are qualities that can be controlled. We can each either choose to repress them, as we often do out of busyness, or cultivate them. Yet the simple act of being PRESENT, opening our eyes to truly see those around us, can help us to show more empathy and grow the quality of compassion. Research has shown that different areas of our brain respond and grow as a result. Learning about this science takes me back to the importance of breathing to slow down each day, reminding myself that life is not an emergency. 

 

Another study I’m doing highlights verse six of the Twenty-Third Psalm: “Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.” As author Jennifer Rothschild says, this promises us that “…goodness and mercy invade every scene of our stories” (emphasis mine). Jennifer also asks, since that is the condition we are being left in, do we also allow goodness and mercy to follow us when we leave a room or an interaction? I want to live slowly and intentionally enough that this is true. I also know that I can’t give what I don’t have. If I am to show empathy towards others, I must first allow enough space and grace in my life that I can practice self-compassion. An unknown author encourages us, “Validate humanity without highlighting brokenness.” What an important practice in both the way I treat myself and others.

 

I want to “Follow the Sun,” as Xavier Rudd sings:

 

 

“So follow, follow the sun…

The direction of the bird,

The direction of love.”

 

 
When I think of living in the light, I think of living in the full-fledged Presence of God. Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote, “Earth’s crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire w/ God; but only he who sees takes off his shoes.” If that’s true, I aim to walk barefooted through this one great life we’ve been given. I hope I can stay with this thought from Max Lucado: “Next time a sunrise steals your breath or a meadow of flowers leaves you speechless, STOP, remain that way. Say nothing and listen as heaven whispers, “Do you like it? I did it just for you?”

“Your Love Awakens Me…”

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I’ve noticed that when I can’t be still, when my OCD tendencies kick in and I’m operating on overdrive when I’m spinning in circles in a wild attempt to fix everything, that I need to stop and pay attention. Something is going on under the surface. Instead of numbing through activity and efforts to keep things under the illusion of control, I must be willing to sit with the discomfort. And this…this is hard.

 

As author, researcher, and speaker Brené Brown says, we all have ways of numbing. For some, they come in the more blatant form of substance addiction. For most of us, it’s subtler. We escape the pain of conflict, life, or difficult seasons or relationships with Facebook, food, television, or shopping…even cleaning. Not that any of these things are bad. They are all necessary and good in moderation. But the question is…are they bringing us pleasure and rest, or are they deadening our senses so that we feel we can cope?

 

Although I often retreat to unhealthy spots, God continually calls me out of these places, reminding me, “Come out of hiding, you’re safe here with me…You’ve been on lockdown and I hold the key…..(Steffany Gretzinger & Amanda Cook, Bethel Worship)” He is perpetually opening my eyes to the world around me, helping me learn that it’s connection, not escape, which helps me survive. Brené Brown also states that letting go of numbing and powerlessness is one of the ways we cultivate a resilient spirit and embrace wholehearted living.

 

This reminds me of what the great poet Rumi said, “Your task is not to seek for love, but to see and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.” It also brings to mind a recent worship song, by Phil Wickham, but also sung by McKenna Sabin, “Your Love Awakens Me,” which states:

 

“There were walls between us,

By the cross you came and broke them down…

You called me out of the grave. You called me into the light.

You called my name and then my heart came alive.

Your love is greater. Your love is stronger.

Your love awakens, awakens, awakens me.”

 

It’s a continual process, but I ask that this day, moment by moment, I can allow His love to lead me out of the darkness and into the light, to break every chain, to awaken me. As poet e.e. cummings once wrote,

 

“I who have died am alive again today…

now the ears of my ears awake and

now the eyes of my eyes are opened.”