Determing Our Steps

The sun was sinking down over the horizon. The corn waved far above our heads, tall from a cool, wet summer. My husband, graph paper in hand, marked each turn we made as children called out, "I'll check this path!" and "I'll run ahead and see what's down here!". Littlest ones stayed close by as we tried to make sense out of the harvest maze we were hopelessly lost in.


I checked the graph path on my husband's sheet. It looked less than hopeful.




"I know what I'm doing," he said with a grin, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.


"Hmmm," I replied, less than certain.

We trudged along, passing other searchers on our way. We passed flag markings of purple, yellow, white with black spots, blue, and then back to the spotted ones. We had come in a circle. No matter how he tried to mark our path, Jason couldn't get the grand plan just right. The turns faced the wrong way. The paper wasn't wide enough to see the whole maze. All directions were twisted, seen from the perspective of one inside the vast acreage of swaying corn.

We wandered through the maze, enjoying the sunset and each other's company, and eventually I noticed that my husband had given up on his graphed representation of our journey.

"It's just too confusing," he said, shrugging.

In his heart a man plans his course,
but the Lord determines his steps.
Prov. 16:9

After an hour we found our way to the exit, set the camera up for a family picture, and made our way home, a way we did know. The lessons of the evening weren't lost on me. For I am a planner, a controller, someone who desires to set my own path and chart my own course.

Yet I enjoyed not knowing exactly where we were, trusting the grand plan to eventually bring us through. With the sun setting behind us, throwing our shadows on the path in front of our steps, we weren't fearful, or belligerent as I so often was in making my own choices. Instead we enjoyed the journey, knowing home was in front of us, no matter how long it took us to get there.


Christine can be found daily at her personal blog:

Conditions for Growth

My husband and I would love to have a garden. We envision someday having dozens of square feet of lush, ripe soil filled to overflowing with vegetables of all kinds, a harvest too much for our family, but perfect for sharing with neighbors and friends. This spring we dreamed of beginning one, yet looking ahead to our traveling schedule over the summer, we decided to wait another year.


Instead, my husband thought we should try our hand at a couple of easy-to-grow veggies in large rectangular flower pots on our sun-drenched deck to see if he had a green thumb. He started with radishes. They grew beautifully and easily and we enjoyed fresh radishes on our salads for a number of weeks. Next he planted some carrot seeds. "Five weeks", read the packet. So we waited.

And waited.

And waited.

But the tiny green shoots coming from the soil didn't look like they ever matured. They were scrawny and thin and we could only hope that the carrots underneath were full-grown.

Last week, my husband had had enough of the waiting and decided to pull one out to see for himself what they looked like. His over-dramatic disappointment (purely for the kids' sake) at the sad, puny, hairy little vegetable at the end of the shoot cracked us up and we considered this experiment a failure.

Somehow, the conditions were not appropriate for those little carrots to grow to their full potential. Not being a natural gardener (and coming from a long line of conspicuously poor ones), I really don't know why. Maybe they were spaced too closely together. Maybe the soil wasn't deep enough. Maybe they had too much rain. I have no idea.

I assume it shouldn't be so hard to grow things. After all, God created them, all we have to do is cultivate them and allow them ample opportunity to grow. We all want to bear fruit in our lives as well- those wonderful ideals in scripture such as patience and kindness, long-suffering and peace- and again, as in those carrots, those character traits are natural, God-created ones waiting for us to help cultivate in our own lives.

There's something else, though, that needs cultivation and care to thrive. Something that requires nurture and proper conditions to reach maturity.

When tempted, no one should say, "God is tempting me." For God cannot be tempted by evil, nor does he tempt anyone; but each one is tempted when, by his own evil desire, he is dragged away and enticed. Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death.

Sin.

I think we often consider sin to be something that simply is there, or isn't. A failure to obey, a giving-in to temptation that is clear-cut and hopefully isolated, or perhaps a pattern of behavior that we repeat over and over. But James says that sin grows in us. In order for something to grow it requires the proper environment to thrive. And for certain sins, the ones that I fall often into, I am the right environment.

While I try to create in myself the perfect conditions for the fruit of the spirit, I also seek to minimize the popular growing opportunities for the sin that so quickly entangles me. In my life, those sins include pride, a critical spirit, lack of patience and self-control, and discontentment. When I sense a little bit of one of these sin patterns creeping into my life- scrawny and small, like the carrot we grew- I am sure to disrupt their environment and overturn the soil they are growing in, so they can't reach maturity. Perhaps I find a close sister in Christ who can keep me accountable, increase my time with the Lord, find extra opportunities to foster feelings of gratefulness, or practice purposeful acts of kindness.

Sin doesn't have to become full-grown. It is a choice we make each day.

So as I try to learn how to garden successfully, with inevitable failures along the way, I will use my attempts to remember that there are two kinds of things that can either flourish or wither in me as well. As I prepare the soil of the earth, I will also prepare the soil of my heart to cultivate good and not evil.

As you tend to your inner garden, I ask you: What grows well in you?



Christine can be found daily at her personal blog:

Wasting Pain

What is your pain today?

What sufferings are you experiencing, living through minute by minute?


Look around you. Nearly every person you see has some kind of pain in their life at this moment. We may not share it with those around us; we may instead hide it, put on an attractive mask that speaks more to the crumbling inside of us than it does to the outside world. But a common bond we share with the rest of the human race is the fall and brokenness of this world we live in.


So what's the purpose? Have you ever, in the midst of a severe trial in your life, when you are in pain of some kind- physical, mental, emotional- cried out to God and said "Why me?" That response to suffering, far from the lack of faith it seems to convey, could be part of the process to acceptance and growth. And if we don't waste our pain, we can bear fruit from suffering that we would otherwise never taste.

Suffering...is almost always experienced as an unwelcome intrusion into our lives, something that should not be there...[but] the deep truth is that our human suffering need not be an obstacle to the joy and peace we so desire, but can become, instead, the means to it.

Henri Nouwen, Life of the Beloved

How can we possibly use our pain?


Then again, as followers of Jesus, how can we not?


It seems such a bizarre notion to the non-believer, but our sufferings as Christians not only draw us closer to each other if we allow others to bear our burdens with us, but also allow us to draw near to the One who suffered most. For us. Not one ounce of Jesus' pain was wasted. Instead His pain gave us a chance at life. Jesus is identified by the pain He suffered and the life-giving power that His resurrection holds. Jesus is the suffering servant, the sacrificial Lamb. He is the suffering that He endured. In the same way, our pain defines us.

Our wounds are often an essential part of the fabric of our lives. (Nouwen)

Looking back over my life, the times I have suffered the most have resulted in the character traits in me I am most thankful for. Compassion, generosity, empathy, endurance, patience, faith, gratitude. All of these fruits are gained in large part because of, not in spite of our pain and trials. The grain of wheat must die before it can grow. So, too, the deaths in our lives- of our dreams, health, marriages- will bear fruit if we don't waste them.


Christine can be found daily at her personal blog:






This post was inspired by a devotional by John Piper.

Chronicling Your Life

One of the wonders of journaling is that
it interprets us to ourselves.*

When I was a teen I kept many angst-filled journals full of sappy poetry and the occasional entry about my love-starved life. I don't believe I ever finished a journal, but I have many half-full books sitting in a dusty box somewhere that were begun with sheer optimism and the dream of someday being published.

Life, as they say, happens. I never got those poems published (never tried) and yet I still have the desire to write. My journals these days are not the pretty overpriced ones that catch my eye at the bookstore, but cheap marble-covered composition books from the dollar store. My journal is where I figure my life out, work out a search for meaning, and store God's fingerprints in written form.

Why journal?

Just as we have stories from thousands of years ago to relay to us the way God worked within the lives of the Israelites, and on through the stories of Jesus, there are some things in our lives that deserve to be remembered. My journal now is mainly a spiritual one. I pour out my soul to God in quasi-prayers, sometimes shouting on paper, sometimes whispering, but always being honest. Journaling is my gift to myself.

As a spiritual practice, journaling is
really about authenticity...

The past two years have been full of trials for me. I struggled with post-partum depression, which then overlapped a trying time in my job within the church. I lost faith in people, I lost faith in myself, and, for a time, I lost faith in God. Now on the other side of that dark valley I feel an inexpressible gratitude for the words in my journal. The brutal honesty, the pain, the uncertainty, and the doubt have a voice forever, but more importantly, the light that comes through those pages as I progress through the darkness back into a life of faith is no less powerful than the breaking of the dawn over a cold, dark horizon.

January 24, 2009

"Can I learn to accept who I've become? That is the necessary question. It seems this shadow is what I've become, for better or worse, and now begins the painful process of embracing this new person...The loss of my joy and the ensuing bitterness and rudderlessness has seeped in and changed who I am..."



March 19, 2009

"Looking back I can't even believe the utter despair and loss of faith I experienced. It is as though you are speaking so clearly now in every moment, from every place- shouting out your presence to me. Why did I go through that dark time? I still don't completely understand, but experience has shown me that over time I will see bits and pieces of your purpose in my suffering...You have brought me through, and I am filled with thankfulness."

Growth. Gratitude. Maturity. Joy. Understanding. Relationship. All of these are waiting to be harvested upon beginning, and sustaining, a journaling life.

So I ask you...

What stories do you have just beneath the soil waiting to be told?


*Quotes from Journaling as a Spiritual Practice, by Helen Cepero*

Copyright protected 2009. Contents of this post are the property of Christine Hiester. Used by permission

Shedding

Growing up with an asthmatic mother who was allergic to anything with fur meant only one thing to me as a child- no pets. So I adapted. We had outdoor cats to catch the mice around our rural home. We had the occasional fish, which always, I might add, went belly-up soon after adoption. In middle school I became interested in herpetology- or the study of reptiles and amphibians- much to my parents' chagrin. I wanted a snake for a pet, and they humored me by enrolling me in a 4H club, hoping, I'm sure, that I would change my mind.

A number of months later, though, we had acquired a new family member. A baby boa constrictor, about one foot long, found its home within a nice terrarium in our playroom. I was fascinated when it ate, took it out to slither around on the floor on occasion, and collected its skin when it shed.

How did it know when it was time to shed? From my perspective I could see its scales begin to flake around the edges and its eyes cloud over. But did the snake know for the tightness, discomfort and inability to see clearly that it was time to rid itself of the old skin holding it back, and finally have room to grow?

In her book, Gift from the Sea, Anne Morrow Lindbergh, chronicles a seaside trip she took to enjoy a brief respite from the chaos and busyness of her life with a husband and five children. She beautifully expresses with love and grace the difficulties of life as a woman surrounded by people who need her morning, noon and night, and how she often feels drained and unable to fully meet the demands of her daily tasks.

She analyzes, and compares herself to, shells she finds along the beach.

"I mean to lead a simple life, to choose a simple shell I can carry easily- like a hermit crab. But I do not. I find that my frame of life does not foster simplicity. My husband and five children must make their way in the world. The life I have chosen as wife and mother entrains a whole caravan of complications."

What follows this quote is a searching.

A searching for ways to simplify, to bring peace, to those things in our lives that blur our vision. Like the snake, when we sense the tightening, the dryness, the inability to find clarity in our day to day living, we should realize that there's something weighing us down, clouding our view, denying us the blessings God wishes to give.

Shedding is not an easy process. Shedding requires work, time and friction, just as a snake has to rub against rocks or bark. But worthwhile pursuits in life often are not free. The cumbersome burdens we shoulder could be activities (even "good" ones), character traits, physical possessions. We live in a society where more is more, and striving for "less" is like swimming upstream. But as Anne Morrow Lindbergh asks, "How little, not how much, can I get along with?" What freedom it must be to take our families under our wings and teach them simplicity and peace, rather than hurriedness and stress.

My grace is sufficient for you

2 Cor 12:9

Are there things in your life that are weighing you down?

Imagine what it would feel like to shed them. Write down 3 things you feel you need to rid yourself of and work toward this goal.

Christine can be found daily at her personal blog:

Weariness or rest?

Time unfilled is like a vacuum. Have you ever noticed that? Take something out of your schedule and there is something new bound to come creeping in (something that must be done, no doubt) and take over those free minutes in your day. I am one who seems unable to keep busyness at bay. I like being productive. I like crossing things of my to-do list. I like putting things on my to-do list even if I've already done them simply to have the satisfaction of crossing them off! Anyone else like that? Hmm. Didn't think so.

I have experienced many evenings sitting with my husband answering the question, "So what did you do today?" All too often I know I have done hundreds of things, but feel like I've accomplished few. Is the busyness I am enslaved by meaningful? Or am I wearing myself out for no good reason...

Jesus promises rest, a release from the heavy burdens we bear from day to day. Even dailiness itself, the again-and-again quality of so much of our lives, is a burden we must surrender to fully live His promise.

But the rest spoken of in scripture is not always about bodily quiet, it can also mean trust.

In repentance and rest is your salvation,
in quietness and trust is your strength.
Isaiah 30:15

Trusting in God, fully relying on His goodness, His mercy, His grace in our daily living brings us true rest. It is more about obedience than a nap, so to speak, though I love a good nap!

Earlier in Isaiah, he expresses God's dissatisfaction with his people:

...God will speak to this people, to whom he said,
"This is the resting place, let the weary rest"; and "This is the place of repose"-
but they would not listen.
So then the word of the Lord will become:
Do and do, do and do,
rule on rule, rule on rule;
a little here, a little there-
So that they will go and fall backward,
be injured and snared and captured.
Isaiah 28:11-13

The people's willfulness in turning from God's offering of rest, their unwillingness to trust in the Lord and wait on Him, caused His word to become as nothing to them. It began to make no sense. Gibberish.

Meaningless activity apart from God, wearying busyness, not resting in God's faithfulness and trusting Him at His word.

That sounds awfully familiar...

The truth is that our doing, our busyness, our to-do lists take more from us than just sleep. If we do not make a point of trusting in God, resting our souls, laying our heads in His lap for a few moments in our day, all of the tasks in our day are senseless. Obedience in the daily things brings the true rest we need.

Let's not be like the Israelites. Let's listen. Let's capture our time, before something else captures and ensnares us.


Christine can be found daily at her personal blog:

Get REAL!

Dr. Phil coined the term "Get Real!" when he did a series of shows on Oprah a number of years ago. I admit, I watched a few of them. Well, maybe more than a few! In each show he would dramatize someone's need to look at themselves clearly, see their own flaws, and take strides toward fixing them. It would be all wrapped up neatly within the hour with the assurance that the guest would seek the help they needed and set their sights on a better life. Dr. Phil, of course, was the hero.

During the last 15 years, since I became a follower of Jesus, and especially in the years I've spent in music ministry, I have realized the many ways we Christians are not at all "real". We wear finely crafted masks to cover true feelings; we veil gossip ever so subtly behind statements like, "We need to pray for her!"; we say one thing and yet do another. In reality, we have many of the same flaws within the walls of the church, as parts of the body of Christ, as those outside. And I put myself at the top of the list. It is a daily struggle for me to "Get Real" with fellow believers.

"The Lord doesn’t see things the way you see them. People judge by outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”
1 Samuel 16:7b

For the most part, I think we work with the assumption that people don't want to see us as we really are. It's much more comfortable to hide our failings, our inner thoughts, and put on the face we think is more attractive. "How are you?" really doesn't mean that, does it? It usually means, "Say you're fine so I can pass by and do what I was heading to do in the first place." Am I right?

When we hide ourselves in the fellowship of believers we begin and perpetuate a cycle of dishonesty which eventually leads to isolation and loneliness. I'm sure we've all felt alone in the midst of a crowd. That feeling is magnified when it's among brothers and sisters in Christ, with whom we should be able to be open and transparent. If it is true that in Christ we are new creations, yet we still have to struggle daily with this thing we call "humanness" and the sins of our nature, then realizing that we are all in the same boat brings such freedom! There is no need for masks if we accept (and expect) one another's failings and allow others full view of our own.

The biggest obstacle to authenticity in the Christian life is perfectionism. I was a perfectionist long before I was a Christian and I find it very difficult to shed the "old" (perfectionism) even in the presence of the "new" (Jesus). Do you remember that bumper sticker, "Christians aren't perfect, just forgiven"? That should be plastered on the front of every church! That phrase is not just for the unchurched, to make them see us Christians in a more positive light. It is for those of us in the church who think that we must put our best face on everytime we walk in the building! We are all "cracked pots", yet, miraculously, we hold the water of life. We shouldn't hide the fact that we are merely clay, but instead shout, "I am not perfect, but my God is!"

But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.
2 Cor. 4:7

• Do you find that you struggle to be authentic?
• What steps have you taken to overcome this battle?
• Find three scriptures that you can profess daily to become more in line with the "Real" you that God designed you to be.
  

Christine can be found daily at her personal blog:

Stumbling

Stumbling

In order to win their souls "[God] relies on the troughs even more than the peaks;...He wants them to learn to walk and must therefore take away His hand; and if only the will to walk is really there He is pleased even with their stumbles."
C.S.Lewis "The Screwtape Letters"

I dislike the troughs of life, don't you? The times of fervent prayer, of desire to do God's will no matter what, the zeal for early morning devotions eventually give way to dryness and valleys and spiritual emptiness. Even in the midst of mountaintop experiences there lives the faint knowledge that they can't last, mustn't last, if we are to learn and grow. How else would we share our radiance?

I have had times in my life, more in my thirties than my twenties, when I have felt God has let go of my hand. I flounder about, wobble a bit and fall over.

"Why did you let go?" I shout, "I need you!"

"I'm here," He says quietly from behind me, "but you must take a step on your own."

Again, I reach out and try to balance myself within the storms life throws at me, and again I stumble, disappointing myself; I'm certain God must be disappointed too. I look back to see his reaction, and He is smiling gently, forgivingly, as I push myself back up. I get strength from that smile. I know I'll fall yet again, but this time it doesn't feel quite so hopeless...

Zachary, our one-year-old, is learning to walk. He took his first tentative steps a month ago but still preferred to crawl or be carried. It took him a couple of weeks to decide to practice a bit more and this week has really caught on. A couple of days ago he spent twenty minutes taking steps around the room from me to the table, to the couch, to the window, to the chair and back to me. Each time he fell (which was quite often), instead of getting up where he was, he would put his head down, cry out in frustration, and crawl back to me before starting again.

I'm the place he wants to start from. He needs to have me at his back to begin, I thought as he crawled to me for the fifth time. To be that safe place for him showed me how God feels about my stumbles and mistakes.

He wants to be the origin of our every journey.

Yet how often do I start somewhere else? How often do I, the memory of a recent sin fresh in my mind, dust myself off and get back up without checking to see if He's at my back? For Zachary, it is second nature to begin at his source of confidence- me. Oh, how I want to see God as that source for me, not just in theory but in practice!

For You are my hope; O Lord God, You are my trust from my youth and the source of my confidence.
Psalm 71:5

Do you have sins you fall into on a regular basis? Do you have trouble believing God can forgive them yet again?

Are you frustrated by the times when it feels like God has let go of you? How have you grown in those times?

Christine can be found daily at her personal blog:

Overcoming Darkness

Sitting in the dark, a hot little forehead pressed against my chest, I watch the clock display the passing minutes. It is early, early in the morning and little Zachary has barely slept. He's comfortable now, so I plan to stay right where I am, snuggled on the couch under an afghan, listening to the sounds of our home. His breathing is calm and deep, as is mine. I don't mind the dark. It clothes me thickly and allows me to embrace thoughts I may push out of my mind in the lighter hours of the day. Busyness has no hold on me in the darkness.

Memories of the past year travel lazily through my mind. It seems far away now, but at the time my depression suffocated me and erased any possibility of future happiness. Darkness swept over me and my soul hurt with the weight of it. Looking back, from this physical darkness that feels so much more peaceful, I realize that I was pulled unknowingly through that time by a thread of hope deeper than my own consciousness. I didn't know if God was there. God is light; I was in darkness. How could I reconcile those opposites?

I tried to quote scripture to myself in those dark days. It sounded hollow to my ears, to my spirit, too. So many saints had been through darkness and didn't lose faith, why was I floundering?

The enemy pursues me,
he crushes me to the ground;
he makes me dwell in darkness
like those long dead.
So my spirit grows faint within me;
my heart within me is dismayed.
Psalm 143:3-4

The baby stirs on my chest, sniffles, and settles again, his weight hot and damp. I reflect on the gift that he is, though bearing him and living through his first months resulted in my spiritual valley. I feel grateful, yet aware that I had just passed through a season of complete ungratefulness, and whisper a prayer to thank God for the darkness I experienced. That depression, a common occurrence in our world, but unique in my life, had birthed renewed appreciation for the light that is God's presence. I wished I had thanked God in the midst of it, if not for it, following Job's example...

"You are talking like a foolish woman. Shall we accept
good from God, and not trouble?"
Job 2:10

I carefully rise from the couch, cradling Zachary's little head. His binky slips out of his mouth without incident, proving the deepness of his sleep. I realize as I begin to step toward the stairs that there is a soft, almost imperceptible glow in the room, a precursor to the dawn. I hadn't noticed the light before, but the darkness is no longer quite as heavy. I smile to myself, realizing that my depression had faded just as quietly, in tiny increments, bringing dawn in on tiptoe, until I could once more see the steps ahead of me.

I place the sleeping baby in his crib and head to my own room for an hour, perhaps two, of sleep. No matter. It has been a time of reflecting, of learning, of accepting the lessons brought by the darkness. Sleep comes peacefully, tenderly, and is welcomed.

When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire,
you will not be burned;
the flames will not set you ablaze...
Do not be afraid
for I am with you...
Isaiah 43:2,5

• How have the valleys in your life shaped your view of God? Your sense of gratitude?



• Are you able to see God in the "darkness", or does it take time and hindsight to learn what God is trying to teach you?



• What can you tell yourself in future dark times that will remind you that the light will come and you one day will be able to see God in your circumstances? Write yourself a note now to keep for when that time comes.

Greener...

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Christine from Fruit in Season

"Greener..."

I admit it. I've always been a "grass is greener" kinda gal. There's always something out there somewhere that will make my home/homeschool/marriage/parenting better. To some degree this is sheer and innocent optimism:

• The new organizing book will be that extra "oomph" I need to make me what I'm not.


• This discipline technique will finally remove whining from our home dialogue (yea, right...).


• This new-fangled gadget will help me want to get up and have my quiet times like I should.

See what I mean?

My rose-colored glasses (as my hubby calls them) are endearing in some ways, eye-rolling-ly frustrating in others. As I age I am seeing that my "habits" are not so easy to break. I am the way I am, and nothing short of a miracle will change me for the good. This is not to say I haven't changed, I have, and I'm sure more change is in my future, however painful it may be. My life with Christ over the past 14 years has given me many mountaintop experiences and time of drawing from those experiences when down in the valley. But the daily grind wears away at optimism a bit, as wind wears down stone, and I find that if I'm not careful I will pine too much for that greenery "over there".

While driving in the car the other day I heard a part of a sermon that stuck with me all through this week. The pastor (I never got to hear who it was!) spoke of the "devil's culdesacs" in our lives.

"The devil doesn't try to steer us on the wrong path," he said, "but instead keeps us in a culdesac for a while..."

Stalled. Not traveling where we should be, yet not quite involved in something we shouldn't. Maybe enjoying something "good" while something "great" waits for us elsewhere.

Yes! That's it!

How many little side jaunts in a lovely tree-lined culdesac have I taken, wasting away precious hours thinking of how things could be "better if..."? Oh, I so want to enjoy the moment and yet sometimes (even often!) I simply lose focus and drift off the main road in pursuit of that elusive something. Contentedness is just beyond my grasp.

I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation... Phil. 4:12b

My life is similar to yours, I'm sure. I slug it out, day after day, trying to bring Christ with me everywhere I go. Sometimes I rush ahead of Him, certain this next thing is "it", wanting to show Him when He gets there! Sometimes He's ahead of me, chiding me to keep up as I glance down this side road or that, wondering what's around the bend. He's patient. He waits. I come back from whichever "good" thing I've found to realize that the one thing that's important is to draw from Jesus, the Living Water, the source of all good, and be content in the pasture of my life.

Nancy Leigh DeMoss says that the "green pastures" in Psalm 23 are different for all of us, and different at each stage of our lives. The green is all around us, no need to long for what's in someone else's. Yes, there may be something wonderful to find, to bring healing and change to a part of our lives. But if it's not on our main road- if we have to turn off to find it- then it's not the time.

So what about you? What culdesacs are you tempted by? Walk past; speed up a bit. Find contentment on the path He's set for you.

The perfect parent...

"Oh, my goodness! How many times have I told you to pick up your towel off of the floor??" My frustration shows as I grab the towel and hang it on the bathroom rack.

"And, Colin? You've gotta flush!"

My sigh is loud. I wouldn't want anyone to miss it. I quickly move from room to room trying desperately to create some semblance of order. The baby is actually happy in the bouncy seat for the time being. I am well aware that it will most likely be a very short time.

I sort the laundry and head into each child's room.

"Maddy, why haven't you put away your clothes? I asked you to do that three times earlier. You need to do something the first time I ask you! Put them away now please, neatly, and bring down your basket when you're done."

I lift the baby from his seat, get a burp and feel warm stuff running down my back. After a quick check to make sure none got on the floor, I trot downstairs, barely remembering by the time I reach the bottom to wipe off my shirt.

"Someone didn't clear their place from lunch!" I call upstairs to whomever is listening. Probably no one, I think to myself. I sigh again, put the baby on a blanket, and rub my temples.

Why, Lord, can't they remember the things I ask? Why can't they do things the first time? I repeat myself over and over and yet I might as well be talking to the pot rack.

I know how you feel, God answers.

You do?

Yes. Remember last week when I told you to hold your tongue? How many times have I said that to you?

Oh, now you're making this about me? No fair.

Or what about the times I've asked you to not be so sensitive? That's a tough one for you.

You're taking the wind out of my sails now, God. I know I'm not perfect.

I'm only asking you to guide them gently. Shepherd them as I do you. They will learn more by your example than your stern words.

You're the perfect parent, God. Just be with me and teach me...

That's all I wanted to hear. You got it.



"Commit to the Lord whatever you do, and your plans will succeed." Prov. 16:3



Come visit me at my blog home, Fruit in Season.

Right or Holy?

My family is so lucky they have me. I shudder to think of their floundering about should I happen to disappear. I mean, seriously, without me they wouldn't know the right way to fill the dishwasher, the right way to get to any destination, the right way to say prayers at night, or the right way to organize the pantry. I happen to be blessed with the precise knowledge for performing perfectly every task in our home and then some. Nothing would be done correctly without my presence.

Yikes! When I put it that way, I don't sound very pleasant, do I?

And yet, I have been infected since birth with a very serious personality disorder.

---

Right-itis: n, a condition common in, but not exclusive to, first-born children that attacks the infected person with an unquenchable need to be right at all times. It often results in conflict with family members. It is not contagious in peer groups but can be spread down generational lines.

---

I come from a proper Italian family and can argue with the best of 'em. I also do a mean "I told you so...". I enjoy being right, don't you?

As I've gotten older, however, a question keeps knocking at my door:

Would I rather be right, or would I rather be holy?

I don't think I can be both.

Oh, sure, I can be right some of the time. I can even be right most of the time and achieve holiness. But I need to shed the prideful desire to show others that I'm right like a snake sheds its skin. It might take some wriggling and rubbing against something rough, but eventually I will leave it behind.

What, then, does holiness look like?

Holiness is the habit of being of one mind with God, according as we find His mind described in Scripture. It is the habit of agreeing in God's judgement-hating what He hates-loving what He loves-and measuring everything in this world by the standard of His Word. He who most entirely agrees with God, he is the most holy man.
J.C.Ryle

Sure, I might just happen to know the best way to the ice cream shop in rush hour traffic, but what does that matter? Is showing frustration when no one puts the toys away in their correct bins going to bring me closer to "being of one mind with God"? I don't think so.

I need treatment for my condition. Treatment that is eternal. I need Jesus.

"This RIGHTeousness from God comes through faith in Jesus Christ to all who believe. There is no difference, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus."
Romans 3:22-24




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Practice makes...

"But it's so hard, Mom!" Colin sniffled through his tears. He fought them, but the difficulty in producing the desired violin hand position won out in the end. He stopped, took a deep breath, and looked at me with discouragement on his face.

"You know, I had a teacher who made me cry, too," I said. "He would make me try and try and try until I thought I'd never succeed. I would come home after every lesson and cry to my mom. She listened and asked if I wanted to quit, or find a new teacher. But I told her he was so good and I wanted to stay with him. The tears didn't stop me from wanting to improve. And you know what?"

"What?"

"I stayed with him and got better and better. Sometimes the things that are most worth getting take the most work and the most tears."

I said the words, gave him a hug, and helped him finish practicing. I sat on the couch as Colin packed up and then skipped upstairs to his room, presumably to his enormous collection of legos, and I kissed the little head of my 3-month-old resting just below my chin. I thought about what I had just told my oldest and wondered if I really believed it myself.

Colin's teacher tells him, "Practice doesn't make perfect, practice makes permanent."

Colin could practice for hours a day, but if he was practicing the wrong way, the habits he formed would not allow him to fulfill his potential. The same goes for me. What habits have I formed, through daily practice, that bring me closer to my God? Habits are less energy-consuming than things we must think about to achieve. Are my practices bringing me toward holiness? Or are the things I am doing from day to day actually making permanent those things that take me farther from Christ-likeness?

I, myself, give in to tears as I think of how hard a life of godliness can be. I struggle at times with the mundane, the dailiness, the wearying drudgeries of life. But that's when I most need to listen to my own words to my son. That's when I need to remember that every action I make is moving me toward some type of permanence. That's when I must keep in mind that the things of worth often require a payment of tears.

I remember the rewards of pleasing my teacher- the same one that made me cry- by creating beautiful music with my violin. How much more will I bring glory to the Eternal Teacher by practicing, making permanent, a life of godly love and service.



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Jesus is the Water

"Get a glass and stand by the sink."

"Okay."

"I want you to fill half the glass with water."

I couldn't imagine what this had to do with anything, but I stood by the sink and ran water into the glass.

"Okay, you are the glass and Jesus is the water. Now talk to me theologically about the glass."

This had to be the dumbest illustration I had ever heard. Hadn't he heard me? I was hurting, for goodness' sake. What was I doing leaning over my sink, holding a glass of water?

I was so empty that all I could come up with was, "The water is in the glass."

"Good," said my patient mentor. "Now keep going."

"Jesus is in the glass. Jesus is in me," I squeaked through my tears and the ache in my throat.

"Who is in you, O child of God?"

"Only Jesus."

"Yes, only Jesus can fill you. Now hold the glass under the faucet and let the water run into it. Keep talking theology."

"The water is filling the glass. Jesus is filling me. Now the glass is full...the glass is running over."

"What is happening to the water?"

"It's spilling."

"Who is spilling?"

"Jesus is spilling over."

"Why?"

"Because the glass is full."

"Talk to me about you."

"Only Jesus can fill me completely, and when I am full of Jesus, I am overflowing...spilling onto everyone around me...sloshing out Jesus everywhere I go."

When I read this story, I couldn't help but picture myself, at my sink, crying my tears. And now, years later, this image still lingers. When I am broken, exhausted, worn down by life, I can imagine Jesus filling me if I ask. And I can see those around me, those that I love and those I don't even know, being blessed by the Jesus in me. I want to be the glass.

Because Jesus is the Water.

Story from Tender Mercies for a Mother's Soul by Angela Thomas Guffey.




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Just a sip

The breeze is nearly still as I sit out on the porch trying to calm a fussing baby. The air is fragrant with dampness and spring flowers. The quiet, dusk sounds of our neighborhood are drowned out by the whimpers and cries of our youngest as I try to soothe him. The notes of the windchimes occasionally poke through and make themselves known.

Then I hear it. The soft "zhhhhhhhhh" of a hummingbird joining me. Its jagged, yet deliberate, flight toward the hanging feeder catches my eye and I watch it as it approaches for a drink.

Sip, sip, sip.

Then, with another "zhhhhhhhhh", it darts away into the fading light of the day.

We can see them from our living room as they come periodically throughout the day. They never stay longer than a few seconds- just long enough to take a sip of nourishment- and are soon on their way again. For some reason they bring me peace. Their tiny bodies are so perfect, the blur of their wings mesmerizes me, their graceful hovering movement is unique. For me, God is very present in the hummingbird.

Jesus answered her, "If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water."

Their habit of coming briefly just for a sip reminds me that I, too, can take my sips at the fountain bit by bit. I cannot, in this season of my life, find time for a long leisurely visit in my hectic day. But I have moments. Moments of activity I perform by rote. Moments of blessing with my children. Moments of daily routine. All these are time enough for a sip.

Will I remember, as do the hummingbirds, where I can find the nourishment, the Living Water? They don't seem to get lost. Their short visits to our porch are second nature, punctuating their days, keeping them filled and never thirsty. How many times do I find myself at the end of my rope, when all I really need to keep my grip is a simple and habitual sip, sip, sip?

How do I get to the place of habit that I long to find?

Watch the hummingbird. It's my reminder to you...

Sip...sip...sip...


Photo credit

Legacy

There's nothing like a funeral to make you look carefully at your life. It's a time for contemplation, repentence, and most of all, grace. As a singer I have attended and performed many funerals. The most meaningful part for me, whether I shared the life we are celebrating or not, is when friends and family stand to recount a memory. Emotions sit right at the surface, people are vulnerable and transparent, even those who rarely cry, and the dead are honored in such a special way.

My grandfather died last week at the age of 79. Actually, he was a leap year baby and his birthday of February 29, 1928 afforded him only 19 real birthdays, as we always joked with him. I packed up our newborn, leaving the other three in Jason's care, and flew to North Carolina to attend the funeral, share memories with my family and support my Nanny. Zachary, though completely unaware of his effect on everyone, was a healing presence, a tiny angel sent to give solace.

We stood around before the actual service as friends of Papa poured in the church, took my Nanny in their arms and laughed and cried together remembering his life. As I looked at all of these men and women, most of them 70 or above, I was taken by the sheer amount of history in the room. Every one of them had a story. Each one had made mistakes in their lives and lived to tell about them. Maybe some were harboring feelings of pain and guilt even then. Their careworn faces smiled and their eyes shone as they opened their hearts to receive the blessings of friendship and fellowship as they celebrated my grandfather.

What will my legacy be? I am creating what will someday be my history. Now is my chance to write a story that my children, friends and loved ones will want retold again and again. Like Joshua and the Israelites, I am carefully placing stones day after day that will tell my story to the generations that follow.

Am I placing stones of worry? Frustration? Impatience?

Or am I tenderly laying stones of faith, mercy, love and the faithfulness of God?

It's amazing how much my children remember from day to day. It gives me pause to think that each action or word in my day could make or break theirs. And it's humbling to hear the positive words my friends and family use to describe me. Then again, it is an arrow to the heart to hear a rebuke from my husband or read scripture and know that God's discipline is upon me. What keeps me on the upward climb to Christ-likeness is knowing that my life has an eternal influence, or eternal consequences, depending on how I live it.

So as I stood back and watched the people who loved my grandfather fellowship with one another, I looked ahead to the time when people will meet to remember me. I pray that each moment in my life, the good and the bad, leads to a lesson learned. I want my legacy to be one that points others toward the saving grace of Jesus.

I want to leave a legacy
How will they remember me?
Did I choose to love? Did I point to You enough
To make a mark on things?
I want to leave an offering
A child of mercy and grace who
blessed your name unapologetically
And leave that kind of legacy.

Not well traveled, not well read, not well-to-do or well bred
Just want to hear instead, "Well Done" good and faithful one...

Nichole Nordeman

Visit my personal blog at Fruit in Season.

Father, Give Me...

"There was a man who had two sons. The younger of them said to his father, 'Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.' So he divided his property between them. A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and travelled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living. When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country and he began to be in need..." From Luke 15

Father, give me...

Give me time.

Give me money.

Give me control.

Give me freedom.

I am guilty of this. I am guilty of wanting to take what God intends for me to use in the boundary of His will and instead trying to make it mine. I just know I can use it more efficiently on my own. And it's so much easier, too. I don't want to be tied down or accountable. I am able on my own to accomplish my day's tasks- caring for my family, serving my community, making my house into a home day after day.

But then, no.

I squander it. All I desire for good works against me. I find myself frail and weak. I find myself insufficient. I find I was much better off when I was within my Father's gates, using His gifts the way He intended. But where am I now?

...and travelled to a distant country...

I am alone. I have strayed far from home and can't see my way back. I am lost, set adrift by my own selfishness and pride. Can I make the journey back? I must try. But wait...

But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him...

"While the prodigal son was still thinking about what he would say to his father,... his father ran to meet him. What does that mean, to run to meet him, but to assure him of his mercy in advance." (Saint Augustine)

Mercy in advance. God sees me. He runs to meet me. He knows my heart and has merely waited for it to turn. I see His mercy, I know His love. I again allow myself to be wrapped in His arms and forgiven. No words are needed, but I say them anyway,

"I am not worthy, let me simply serve you..."

But my worth is found at the cross. I am His child. Forgiveness is sweet and fellowship is sweeter. Thank you, Father.

Though this scene is played over again and again, the ending is always the same. The Father is always watching the horizon, waiting for our return. Will you pray with me?

Loving Father, thank you for your mercy in advance. Let us always seek you, draw near to you, desire you above all else. And when we fail, open your arms to us and show us what true love is so we may show it to others. Amen.




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On Mothering

Mothers are not just those women who bear children.

Mothers are not just those who adopt children.

Mothers are those who desire children, who love children, who care for children not their own.

Mothers are the women in our lives who bend down to talk with our children and look them in the eye.

Mothers are the women who bring meals to the sick and needy among us.

Mothers are the women who nurture us in so many different ways, showing God's love to all of God's children.

This mother's day is for all of us. All of you.

Happy Mother's Day!

---

I Am the Lucky One

Down by the lake
in your three year old
rock kitchen,
you made me breakfast,
scrambled eggs, toast, sausage.
We both cup hot coffee
in our hands,
taking imaginary sips.
I am the lucky one.

Hide and seek with the spiders,
bread for ducks,
we watch the lapping water,
unnoticed, from between our
crevassed hiding places,
while others pass quickly by
on their way to "real" jobs.
I am the lucky one.

Autumn the time of your birth
reminds me, "This day shall
not be your burden, but your delight."
I don't know where I'm going or
where I'll be when you're grown,
but right now,
I am the lucky one.

We go to the city
stop for a treat, chips and slurpies.
Mine go down quickly, thoughtlessly,
while I delight in your company,
Salty fingers and red mouth,
you're in no hurry.
Shoppers smile at your good-natured ways.
I am the lucky one.

A day of errands, I need a book.
No one notices, amused, as I do,
how you sit in the window ledge,
warmed by the sun,
among much older readers
in the bookseller's shop.
Your face holds the same serious
expression as theirs, while you read
a ghostly tale, upside down.
I am the lucky one.

Errands finished, we're back outside.
Silently, we bend forward.
Watching the birds among the rose bushes
you learn about rose hips, thorns,
and birds' preferences for crumbs
rather than bagel chunks.
Harried passersby pause, your joy
in the ordinary, contagious,
as you balance on stone benches.
I am the lucky one.

The day is done.
I tiptoe to your room.
Tucking you in, I kiss
your sleeping face
and whisper thanks for the day.
To my own bed I pad
feeling gratitude to God
and wondering why
I am the lucky one.

By Michelle Tobin

Photo credit

Is anyone watching?

We have reached full toddlerhood in our home. Elliot, our youngest at 16 months, our easy, fit-into-our-family-with-no-effort baby, the joyful glue that brings his siblings together in caring for him, has become a bit....difficult. He loathes being changed. The writhing, squirming, fighting, kicking, and screeching that accompanies a new diaper and a box of wipes would easily get him accepted into a college-level wrestling program with full scholarship. He has begun pushing his older sister when she has something he wants, throwing food on the floor just for kicks, and displaying dissatisfaction with the slightest attempt at discipline.

A few days ago, when my mother (who's here to help during my bedrest) was horrible enough to take something away from him, he began wailing and crying and carrying on as if his life was ending. He threw himself on the floor, arms splayed, and with a thump dropped his forehead to the carpet.

Then, for a moment, he lifted his head to peek and make sure...

"Is she still watching?"

...and, seeing that she was, continued his tirade.

Oh, my, is that our human nature so obviously rearing its head in our little sweet boy?

I have to admit that I did the unthinkable and laughed. Maybe it's because this time I am not in control of the discipline- it doesn't work very well from the couch. And yet his tantrum and obvious desire for attention got me to thinking.

I am prone to doing the same thing.

When I am frustrated, disappointed, angry, annoyed, I want someone to notice. I try and hide my emotions for a time but they will inevitably make their way to the surface and I know you'll agree with me when I say that there's no satisfaction in throwing a tantrum by yourself. I'd much rather have a sympathetic ear, someone that clicks their tongue in understanding, to keep me company at my pity party.

But maturity brings a different view. Sure, we have friends, spouses, family to lend an ear if we need it and God can certainly use them for comfort, healing and encouragement. But what does the scripture say about airing our grievances?

I cry out loudly to God, loudly I plead with God for mercy.
I spill out all my complaints before him,
and spell out my troubles in detail.

Psalm 142:1-2

Ahhhh, now doesn't that feel better?

I receive so much more reward when I lay out my list of complaints before God instead of those around me. I receive refreshment, perspective, grace, relief, love and a new start. It is tempting to complain to others, and I do still fall into that trap, but it often will leave me feeling more lousy than before I vented my frustrations and will most likely leave the hearer with some of my negativity as well. God is the healer. God is the author of forgiveness. God is my creator and knows my thoughts before I even give them voice. With Him I find acceptance and accountability and can leave His feet with a renewed sense of peace.

Elliot, I hope, will learn this lesson too. If I do my job, I'll be able to point him in the direction of the one who is always watching, no matter how badly we act, and willing to pick up our pieces and recraft them into a new creation time and time again. His toddler tantrums will eventually be a thing of the past, so I can snicker a bit now, but as he matures Elliot will learn of the One who loves him enough to listen to his complaints and turn the time of sharing into a relationship with Him.

A lesson on prayer...

I sat quietly by her isolette as the machines offered their beeps and whooshes. I breathed in the medicinal scents and breathed out prayers. I sang to her, touched her little feet, and just waited. The waiting was long- two-and-a-half months- but each day brought us closer to her homecoming. I watched as other babies came and went, and other parents cried and laughed, all the while treasuring even the slightest interaction with my little one-and-a-half pounder. Her hand barely covered my fingernail; her cry was a kittenish one; her fully-opened diaper was the size of a postcard; her chances for overcoming the dozens of hurdles in her path were slim.

But we waited.

Prayer is the burden of a sigh, the falling of a tear, the upward glancing of an eye, when none but God is near.

There were many times I couldn't pray. I was weary, emotionally raw and too much in pain from my csection to think straight. I felt buoyed up by the prayers of friends and family, but at some deep level I wondered what those prayers meant.

There were prayers for Madalyn's healing. What if she didn't survive?

There were prayers for my strength. Why did I feel as if I couldn't get out of bed?

There were prayers for each milestone to be met. What if she didn't meet any?

I was painfully aware of the fact that I would not allow myself to think beyond each day. I didn't want to look forward to birthday parties that would never happen, hugs I might not receive, pony tails I wouldn't be able to put in her hair, if...if...

I found myself asking my mom this question as she cared for me,

"What if she doesn't make it through unscathed; will you love her just as much?"

I was so in love with this little skin-and-bones miracle and I was petrified that others wouldn't see her as I did, or even worse, that if something were to happen, even I wouldn't love her as I should. Only when I finally heard God amidst my fear did I relax into mothering this child:

As I love you with your weaknesses and shortcomings, so will you love her, no matter what.

When we try to express communion with God in words, our minds quickly come up short. But, in the depths of our being, through the Holy Spirit, Christ is praying far more than we imagine.
Brother Roger of Taize

That was the moment I learned the true value of prayer. I didn't need a "yes" to my requests, I simply needed to know they were heard. I didn't need Madalyn to be perfect, I simply needed to know that God was in her imperfections. I didn't didn't even need her to survive to understand that prayer was about me and God and how I let Him be my peace. The lessons I learned amidst the machines as I sat near my tiny daughter forever changed my view of God, prayer and unconditional love.

As I look at my petite 4-year-old, I remember all that I felt. She did come through unscathed, nothing short of a miracle, but what I see now is that the real miracle was within me- my acceptance, my letting go, my peace. She is who God made her to be, and part of her purpose here was to teach her mom the most precious of lessons.