Category: Relationships

 “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.”

“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.”

“If I Could Just Sit With You Awhile…”

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Despite my best intentions to be present and stay balanced, the hustle and bustle of life inevitably draws me in. Just a few extra commitments or stressors within the week can overwhelm. Instead of operating from a place of calm or sitting with the anxiety in a productive way that would move me forward, I often revert to striving and dwelling in a state of near panic.

Part of this is a natural introversion. When exhausted and overwhelmed, it’s only through quiet alone time that I recharge and recenter. But feeling groundless also means that I have lost the deep connection with my Saviour that nourishes and sustains me day by day. In busy times, I’m often still sitting down to be with God in devotions, albeit for less time, but struggle to free my mind and heart from all that weigh on them. The to-do list presses in on the time my soul most needs. 

Songwriter and singer Dennis Jernigan has an older song called, “If I Could Just Sit with You Awhile.” In it, he discusses the merits of getting quiet with Jesus when life’s demands and concerns press in. Though reading the Word and praying are normally the ways I do this, with a crowded mind, just getting still and turning up the worship music works best. Sometimes, I picture crawling up in the lap of my Good Father and being welcomed into His arms. If I meditate on this, all else fades. As Dennis Jernigan sings, 

“If I could just sit with you awhile,

If You could just hold me.

Nothing could touch me,

Though I’m wounded, though I die.”

Oddly enough, when I’m craving life, death is often what’s needed. To return to a state of peace, I must die to the pride I take in completing things well or keeping up or even reaching out to others. I cannot pour out until I allow the Holy Spirit to pour into me. Once I’m filled by Him and resting in His presence, just as the song says, nothing can touch me. The act of surrender returns me to equilibrium.


In her book CAPTIVATING, Stasi Eldridge explains that most women struggle with the simultaneous yet competing ideas that they are both not enough and too much. This resonates with me. But would I struggle if I didn’t buy into the lies that I should attain perfection in so many different areas of life? Instead, I must surrender the ideal and accept and embrace what IS. I must forgive myself for falling short and give thanks to the One who lived and died in perfection for me. Then, my weary soul can breathe easy, for it isn’t all up to me. I will focus on loving God and allowing Him to use me to love others, but trust it is ultimately His work. After all, as the Apostle Paul says, I am only a jar of clay.

“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.”

Safe Space…

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After spending fifteen years in public education, I’ve fielded my share of questions.. Middle and high school students have not yet accepted the status quo and see the world in a different way than adults. Though their questions can be challenging and cause me to reexamine hard issues with a fresh perspective, they also merit an audience, a safe space to be heard.

 

Those who have helped me in my own journey are those who have been able to sit with me in the times I’ve doubted and questioned. They’ve assured me that I’m seen, that it’s okay to ask, that I serve a God who’s big enough to answer. They’ve also offered their wisdom and ideas, shared their experiences and council, and helped me find answers through study and God’s word.

 

From Job to the Psalmist to the prophets, God has made space for the doubts and questions of mankind. Jacob wrestled with God. Job asks many questions of God in his suffering, and he was not ignored, “…the LORD answered Job” (Job 38:1). Jesus did the same for those who came to him. From the rich man to the Pharisees to his disciples, he showed each he didn’t fear their questions. His answers often reframed their thinking, but he heard them. Each walked away understood and met in his own place of need. 

 

Paul and Peter also model this for us in their letters to the early church. It’s obvious they address questions held by various individuals or communities in specific, yet supportive ways. Whether the issues be faith, sin, Spirit-filled living, marriage, or understanding God’s will, they don’t hesitate to seek or explain, or encourage. Questions are not ignored or derailed. Concerns are heard and addressed so that growth can be facilitated. 

 
I Peter 3:15 tells us, “Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect….” Peter encourages us not only to be prepared to respond to those who inquire, he encourages civility and reason in our discourse. The council comes from the apostle who continually questioned and even challenged Jesus. But because Jesus met him in his place of need, his story, name, and life changed forever.

“Emmanuel: God With Us…”

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I have a few friends who have nailed the art of being present. When I’m with them, they look at me, listen without interruption or distraction, nod their heads as they actively participate in the conversation, and then offer their hearts and lives in exchange. Because they’re so focused, they have this way of showing others they matter. It’s a gift to receive that kind of love, to have others who are there, ready to celebrate or cry or just sit beside me, willing to offer their strength or joy or compassion. 

 

God’s like this. He gives Himself fully to each one of us, with the infinite capacity to be present in all of us in life’s ups and downs, in just the ways we need. He pursues us and fills us to overflowing with His individual ministrations and unconditional love. How telling it is that two of His names are “I AM” and “Emmanuel/God With Us.” During the Christmas season, we remember that the Eternal God sent His beloved Son as the long-awaited Saviour. He would dwell as man with us and give His life as an atonement for our sins. 

 

I love that on his Christmas album, accompanied by Yo Yo Ma, James Taylor sings the Beatles’ song, “Here Comes the Sun.”The Son has come, and His arrival changes everything: “Little Darlin’, it’s been a long and lonely winter…but here comes the sun. Here comes the sun, and I say, well, it’s alright.” 

 

Taylor also sings one of my favorite Christmas songs, “In the Bleak Midwinter,” an old English carol based on a Nineteenth-Century poem by Christina Rosetti:

 

“In the bleak midwinter/A stable sufficed;

The Lord God Almighty—Jesus Christ…

What can I give Him/Poor as I am?

If I were a Shepherd/I would bring a lamb;

If I were a Wise Man/I would do my part,—

Yet what I can I give Him—Give my heart.”

 

O Come, Emmanuel, be present with us this winter, in each day, as you have in ages past. Thank you for providing us with access to the ultimate gift—the feast of your presence.

“Just Another Ordinary Miracle Today”

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For the second time this year, my husband has undergone major surgery. The last time, it was an emergency situation that caught us both by surprise, almost took his life, and required a month of living in the hospital. This time, we planned for the follow-up reversal surgery. Though I feared our lives would spin out of control again the moment we stepped into the hospital, things went far better than expected. They found few symptoms of his auto-immune disease, he required no time in ICU, and we left after a stay of three short days, with the doctors and nurses amazed at his rapid healing.

 

I wish I could say it hadn’t come as a surprise to me. It’s true–I’ve prayed and believed for his healing many times over the past several months. Apparently, however, there were places of disbelief I held back. The moments I allowed my fear to be bigger than my faith are greater than I would like them to be. This experience, as well as others, provides a lesson in POSITIVITY. An unknown quote posted on my wall encourages me to become a “possibilitarian.” Eventually, gradually, purposefully…I hope and will work for conversion.

 

To ground myself, I remember the cadence of gratitude that came after a month in the hospital last spring: 

  1. Sleeping and waking up in our own bed, not to mention getting to sleep in the same bed.
  2. Cooking and eating our own food…mmmm…though I’m sure my husband will occasionally miss those mystery meat patties from the hospital.
  3. Looking out at the mountains instead of concrete and highway traffic.
  4. Sitting in the sun instead of a hospital bed as the sound of windchimes replaces hospital alarms. 
  5. Being outside and breathing fresh air with our dogs, enough to bring us both to tears! 
  6. Being able to sit on our couch without constant interruptions from the IV monitor or those we affectionately called the “cuddle police” at the hospital.
  7. Hot showers.
  8. Better sleep. No more daily or 4:30 am IV draws or middle of the night interruptions. 
  9. No more 6:30 am visits from the team of doctors, though we are thankful for the care they provided.
  10. Returning to life, not as we knew it, but some semblance thereof. 

 

Sarah McLachlan’s beautiful song, “Ordinary Miracle” reminds us that each day is full of these possibilities:

“It’s not that unusual

When everything is beautiful.

It’s just another ordinary miracle today.”