There's just something about coming home.
Last weekend, we visited family for the holidays, and the weekend before that we combined attending a Bible conference with visiting more family. Out of eleven consecutive days, we were gone or on the road for eight of them. With the kids. We thoroughly enjoyed the visits, but by the time we pulled up in front of our house, we were ready to be home. In fact, little Moses actually laughed out loud when we walked through the front door.
So what's so nice about being home?
Sleeping in your own bed. Playing with old toys that seem new since you haven't played with them in so long (a benefit that lasts long enough for Mama to unpack!). Toddling around familiar rooms with familiar interesting obstacles. Showering in your own shower. Cooking in your own kitchen.
Familiarity.
But also precious about home, and perhaps even more so, is the acceptance we find there. In your own home, you are (should be) able to be yourself like no where else. I can roll out of bed in the morning, pull on whatever T-shirt I grab first, and stumble bleary-eyed into the living room with scary bed-head hair without even glancing into the mirror. I can let down the hyper-vigilance of monitoring the kids' behavior. I can ignore the messes they leave behind until I get around to cleaning them up...or dragging them over to help clean up.
That's not to say that I don't want to look presentable and have well-behaved kids and keep things picked up, even at home. It's just that I can accomplish these things with a more relaxed attitude and without constantly looking over my shoulder and wondering what others are thinking about my choice of clothing or Moses's spreading toys all over the living room or CJ's occasional pouting and lack of friendliness. I can relax, knowing that my husband loves me even when our living room looks like a small natural disaster (temporarily, right?). I can relax, knowing the kids don't know the difference between my blow-drying my hair or letting it air dry...or going to bed with it wet and waking up to discover another natural disaster.
And at home, I belong. It's not awkward or uncomfortable. I don't feel out of place...because I'm in my place. I'm where I'm supposed to be.
Familiarity...acceptance...belonging...oh, the comforts of home!
Our first night back, I lay in bed thinking about how nice it was to be home. I was reminded of a verse that had been brought to life for me at a ladies' meeting six and a half years ago.
I remember exactly when because it was just before I married my wonderful hubby. I was getting ready to move to a new home in a new city in a new state, begin attending a new church, and start looking for a new job in a new career (I had just gotten my nurse's license).
A friend and I had driven to a nearby camp that was hosting a family camp. We were there for only one day and listened to only one message. That week, the women's speaker, Nancy Rolinger, was sharing with the ladies from several psalms. The message we heard was on Psalm 90. The only thing I remember was what she had to say about the first two verses:
"Lord, You have been our dwelling place in all generations.
Before the mountains were brought forth,
or ever You had formed the earth and the world,
even from everlasting to everlasting, You are God."
You are our DWELLING PLACE...You are our HOME.
That means that everything that is so precious to me about home, is true about God.
With God, I am unconditionally accepted. I can be sure of His love. He knows like no one else when I'm having a "bad attitude day," like a bad hair day. He knows when I've made a mess of things. He knows when I fail as a parent.
And He still loves me. He may not be pleased, but He still loves me. He accepts me.
He says,
"Yes, I have loved you with an EVERLASTING love; therefore with lovingkindness I have drawn you." (Jeremiah 31:3)
And in my Dwelling-Place God, I not only find the relief of acceptance, but I find the comfort of familiarity. He is familiar. Everything that is so precious to me about Him will never change! He is always kind, always tender, always good, always just, always sovereign.
"For I am the Lord; I DO NOT CHANGE." (Malachi 3:6)
With God, I belong. I'm His. At His side, I'm where I'm supposed to be. Verse after verse in Scripture invites us to come to His side. That's where we belong.
All this means that no matter where I am, in a sense, I am home...because God is with me.
This brought such comfort to me as I sat listening to the message so many years ago. And it brought comfort as I lay in bed thinking the other night. It brought comfort as I thought about the kind of God I have. And it brought comfort as I thought about my upcoming trip.
Next week, I will travel across an ocean to another continent. I will leave my home, my hubby, and my boys for twelve days while I take part in a medical mission trip to Kenya.
That night as I lay in bed, thoughts of how good it was to be home mingled with thoughts of the trip. I was little nervous about going. Oh, I'm definitely looking forward to it, but I'll miss the familiarity and comforts of home. I'll miss my family! So I prayed about the trip...and that was when I remembered Psalm 90:1-2. The same God to Whom I was praying would be in Kenya, too. In Kenya, almost halfway around the world, I would find in Him the same familiarity and the same acceptance and the same belonging I found right there in my bed. And I wouldn't be with my precious family, but I would meet new family...precious people who love the same Dwelling-Place God I love.
So no matter where I am...a state away, or halfway around the world...
Or when I am in my home, but it's one of those times or seasons when "home sweet home" might be a little less-than-sweet...
Even there...even then...
I'll be perfectly at home.
Because GOD is my home. GOD is my dwelling place!
Friday, November 23, 2012
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
When in Doubt, Grab a Wet Wipe
Wet wipes are great things.
I first realized what I'd been missing out on after I had my first son. Now, I know--wet wipes are good for almost anything...like...
Dirty diapers (of course).
Wiping little hands and mouths after meals.
Cleaning up smeared baby food...from the baby's arms and face and eyebrows and neck and hair and ears and toes (yes, toes).
Cleaning up splattered baby food...from your shirt, your hair, the floor, the wall. Your toes.
Dabbing at spit-up on the carpet while you make another mental note that you really really need to get the carpets properly cleaned...sometime.
Those of you that have yet to be introduced to a wet wipe's usefulness and versatility, let me enlighten you.
I first realized what I'd been missing out on after I had my first son. Now, I know--wet wipes are good for almost anything...like...
Dirty diapers (of course).
Wiping little hands and mouths after meals.
Cleaning up smeared baby food...from the baby's arms and face and eyebrows and neck and hair and ears and toes (yes, toes).
Cleaning up splattered baby food...from your shirt, your hair, the floor, the wall. Your toes.
Dabbing at spit-up on the carpet while you make another mental note that you really really need to get the carpets properly cleaned...sometime.
As a last-minute substitution for hand washing when you finally get everyone sitting down at the table and you realize that your little boy's hands are filthy.
As a quick sort-of bath when you decide that getting the littles to bed soon is more important than getting them to bed squeaky clean.
Quickly swiping a dirty surface to tide you over until you have time to properly mop...or clean the bathroom...or dust...etc.
Wiping down the restaurant table before you use the surface as a high chair tray for your toddler's finger food. Oh, and for good measure, to wipe off the restaurant high chair or booster seat, too. Makes you feel better somehow.
Nearly any mess you can think of, wet wipes can handle. Except for runny noses. Tissues work better. Otherwise, things are just a little too...slimy. Sorry. I'm digressing. There is a good point in all of this. I promise.
Like I said, wet wipes are good for almost anything. In fact, I'm heading off to Kenya on a short-term medical mission trip in a couple of weeks, and guess what's at the top of my list. Yep. Wet wipes.
Nothing highlights how great wet wipes are until you find yourself without them.
Last Saturday, we went shopping with the kids in a downtown area. My husband and I had been looking forward to it, as we hadn't been to the area in a while. (We forgot how much more difficult it is to shop with two toddlers...but we still managed to get what we needed!) We stopped for lunch, and halfway through the meal, I realized I'd forgotten the wet wipes at home. I fought the panic welling up and told myself, no big deal...we'll figure out something, right? But then our problem was complicated by the fact that the waitress had only given us three napkins between the four of us, and when the time came to wipe up macaroni-and-cheese leftovers from two faces and four hands, she was nowhere to be found. But we made it through (a trip to the bathroom to gather a few of those brown paper towels helped). So we finished up our lunch and, a little stickier than ideal, headed back to shopping.
A couple blocks and a few stores later, Moses graced us with a strong smell wafting up from his pants. The panic was greater this time. We headed to a little specialty children's store where I asked the clerk if they had any wet wipes. She said, no, they didn't, but they had something else. Can't remember what she called them, but they looked just like wet wipes and, I'm sure, would have worked just as well. Thankfully, though, I stopped to ask her what the little package cost...and she answered, almost apologetically, that the wipes were $11.49. "I think I'll manage," I said with a smile, and headed to the bathroom, where I pulled the last two paper towels off the roll, moistened them at the sink, and completed the task.
Then, a while later, when we were loading the kids back into the car, I happened to look in the back seat...where I spotted a brand-new package of wet wipes sitting there. As if it were mocking me.
If only I'd had those wet wipes when I needed them!
Because, like I said earlier, wet wipes are great for cleaning up almost any mess life can dish out.
Wet wipes are a lot like love.
I've spent quite a few words praising the value of wet wipes. Open the pages of Scripture, and you'll find many more words, verse after verse, praising the value of love.
Words like...
"But above all these put on LOVE, which is the bond of perfection." (Col. 3:14)
"And above all things have fervent LOVE for one another, for 'love will cover a multitude of sins.'" (I Pet. 4:8)
"By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have LOVE for one another." (John 13:35)
"The greatest of these is LOVE." (I Cor. 13:13)
In fact, after the greatest commandment to love God, the second most important commandment is listed as "'You shall LOVE your neighbor as yourself.' There is no other commandment than these." (Mark 12:31)
And on and on.
One of the most beautiful passages of Scripture describing and exalting love is I Corinthians 13. After addressing several spiritual gifts in chapter 12, Paul stops to emphasize that the best of gifts are nothing and less than nothing if not accompanied by genuine love. Eloquent speaking, gifted writing; deep knowledge of the mysteries of Scripture; miracle-working and powerful faith; the sacrifice of every last worldly possession; dying a martyr's death, and not just at the hand of the swift executioner's axe, but by the slow, unimaginable agony of the fire's flames...all this is empty, worthless, even repulsive to God, if they are void of love.
We come across a lot of messes in our lifetimes. Hurt feelings (given or received); cutting words; thoughtless actions...and their ripple effects and the ripple effects of those ripple effects. Mess upon mess upon mess. You and I often face these messes and don't even know where to start; cleaning up seems like a confusing and daunting task.
When in doubt...try love.
That's not to say we should smile and turn a blind eye to sin. But we should deal with messes (ours and others') with a gentle spirit, genuinely desiring the very best for those we love. Giving others the benefit of a doubt. Looking for ways to build them up for what has been done right to soften the blow of pointing out the wrong. Choosing words very carefully. Yes, sometimes things need to be communicated in no uncertain terms. But firmness can definitely be accompanied by love.
And, like wet wipes...nothing highlights the importance of love like when a situation is handled without it.
So when we're faced with messes, let's grab our trusty wet wipe...and LOVE.
Because...
"Love never fails." (I Corithians 13:13)
As a quick sort-of bath when you decide that getting the littles to bed soon is more important than getting them to bed squeaky clean.
Quickly swiping a dirty surface to tide you over until you have time to properly mop...or clean the bathroom...or dust...etc.
Wiping down the restaurant table before you use the surface as a high chair tray for your toddler's finger food. Oh, and for good measure, to wipe off the restaurant high chair or booster seat, too. Makes you feel better somehow.
Nearly any mess you can think of, wet wipes can handle. Except for runny noses. Tissues work better. Otherwise, things are just a little too...slimy. Sorry. I'm digressing. There is a good point in all of this. I promise.
Like I said, wet wipes are good for almost anything. In fact, I'm heading off to Kenya on a short-term medical mission trip in a couple of weeks, and guess what's at the top of my list. Yep. Wet wipes.
Nothing highlights how great wet wipes are until you find yourself without them.
Last Saturday, we went shopping with the kids in a downtown area. My husband and I had been looking forward to it, as we hadn't been to the area in a while. (We forgot how much more difficult it is to shop with two toddlers...but we still managed to get what we needed!) We stopped for lunch, and halfway through the meal, I realized I'd forgotten the wet wipes at home. I fought the panic welling up and told myself, no big deal...we'll figure out something, right? But then our problem was complicated by the fact that the waitress had only given us three napkins between the four of us, and when the time came to wipe up macaroni-and-cheese leftovers from two faces and four hands, she was nowhere to be found. But we made it through (a trip to the bathroom to gather a few of those brown paper towels helped). So we finished up our lunch and, a little stickier than ideal, headed back to shopping.
A couple blocks and a few stores later, Moses graced us with a strong smell wafting up from his pants. The panic was greater this time. We headed to a little specialty children's store where I asked the clerk if they had any wet wipes. She said, no, they didn't, but they had something else. Can't remember what she called them, but they looked just like wet wipes and, I'm sure, would have worked just as well. Thankfully, though, I stopped to ask her what the little package cost...and she answered, almost apologetically, that the wipes were $11.49. "I think I'll manage," I said with a smile, and headed to the bathroom, where I pulled the last two paper towels off the roll, moistened them at the sink, and completed the task.
Then, a while later, when we were loading the kids back into the car, I happened to look in the back seat...where I spotted a brand-new package of wet wipes sitting there. As if it were mocking me.
If only I'd had those wet wipes when I needed them!
Because, like I said earlier, wet wipes are great for cleaning up almost any mess life can dish out.
Wet wipes are a lot like love.
I've spent quite a few words praising the value of wet wipes. Open the pages of Scripture, and you'll find many more words, verse after verse, praising the value of love.
Words like...
"But above all these put on LOVE, which is the bond of perfection." (Col. 3:14)
"And above all things have fervent LOVE for one another, for 'love will cover a multitude of sins.'" (I Pet. 4:8)
"By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have LOVE for one another." (John 13:35)
"The greatest of these is LOVE." (I Cor. 13:13)
In fact, after the greatest commandment to love God, the second most important commandment is listed as "'You shall LOVE your neighbor as yourself.' There is no other commandment than these." (Mark 12:31)
And on and on.
One of the most beautiful passages of Scripture describing and exalting love is I Corinthians 13. After addressing several spiritual gifts in chapter 12, Paul stops to emphasize that the best of gifts are nothing and less than nothing if not accompanied by genuine love. Eloquent speaking, gifted writing; deep knowledge of the mysteries of Scripture; miracle-working and powerful faith; the sacrifice of every last worldly possession; dying a martyr's death, and not just at the hand of the swift executioner's axe, but by the slow, unimaginable agony of the fire's flames...all this is empty, worthless, even repulsive to God, if they are void of love.
We come across a lot of messes in our lifetimes. Hurt feelings (given or received); cutting words; thoughtless actions...and their ripple effects and the ripple effects of those ripple effects. Mess upon mess upon mess. You and I often face these messes and don't even know where to start; cleaning up seems like a confusing and daunting task.
When in doubt...try love.
That's not to say we should smile and turn a blind eye to sin. But we should deal with messes (ours and others') with a gentle spirit, genuinely desiring the very best for those we love. Giving others the benefit of a doubt. Looking for ways to build them up for what has been done right to soften the blow of pointing out the wrong. Choosing words very carefully. Yes, sometimes things need to be communicated in no uncertain terms. But firmness can definitely be accompanied by love.
And, like wet wipes...nothing highlights the importance of love like when a situation is handled without it.
So when we're faced with messes, let's grab our trusty wet wipe...and LOVE.
Because...
"Love never fails." (I Corithians 13:13)
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Little Girls and Rug Burns and Poor-Me Lists
"If I should say, 'My foot has slipped,' Your lovingkindness, O Lord, will hold me up." Psalm 94:18
Last Sunday at church, my boys gave me another picture of what it looks like to cling...and to be held up.
During the donut-and-coffee-and-fellowship break, a sweet little girl decided to love on Moses. Problem was, she hadn't been to church in quite a while, and Moses didn't know her. Her persistence to play with and hold him frightened him. By the time I got downstairs to the fellowship area, he met me at the door with pleading eyes, a furrowed brow, and reaching arms. The little girl handed him up to me, and Moses clung tightly.
Seconds later, I heard CJ start crying at the other end of the room. I looked up to see him sprawled out on the floor behind a row of chairs, and the sweet girl's equally sweet sister trying to comfort him and help him up (and probably frightening him, too). Going over, I set Moses down and scooped CJ up to find a "raspberry" rug burn on his forehead. Moses probably would have been fine on his own by then...had not the first girl followed us over and, trying to be helpful, picked him up. So Moses started crying too, and the sweetie handed him to me.
So now I carried a twenty-plus-pound little boy on my left hip and a thirty-plus-pound little boy on my right hip...both crying. And clinging.
I did the math...and knew I wouldn't last for long. And--horrors!--all the donuts were gone (nothing dries up a two-year-old's tears like a donut!). But then the little girl appeared with the last donut that she had scrounged from somewhere, and CJ perked up. I was able to set him down at a table so he could enjoy it...as long as I stayed close.
Both my boys wanted to cling, and I was willing to hold them...but I knew I wouldn't be able to for long. And had another crying little boy or two appeared, I would have had to sprout another couple of arms (and grow a few more muscles!) to uphold them, too. My willingness to uphold surpassed my ability.
This started me thinking. In a clinging/upholding relationship, how well one clings isn't near so important as how well the other upholds.
Let me explain. Let's say I was holding one of my boys, and he was clinging to me. If I let go, just let my arms go jelly, no matter how tightly he clung, he wouldn't be able to hold himself up for long. He'd slide right down to the ground pretty quickly. But if I was willing and able to wrap my arms around him, no matter how skilled or strong his clinging was, if I held him, he'd be held up.
What comfort this is to me in my relationship with my Jesus!
He is both willing and able to uphold me when I cling. "My soul clings to You; Your right hand upholds me." (Psalm 63:8) And how well I cling doesn't matter; He'll still uphold me! Psalm 94 says that even should my foot slip (or my clinging arms loosen their grip), still He will hold me up!
Oh, thank You, Lord! Because I don't always cling like I should....
Like the other morning. I determined to get up early enough to start my day with some proper clinging--to start it out with some alone time with Him. But CJ woke up 15 minutes before my alarm went off (15 minutes earlier than my getting-up-early; that's too early!). After trying for half an hour to get him to go back to sleep, I gave up, got him some milk and something to keep him occupied, and finally sat down with my coffee and my Bible. Just a few short minutes later, I heard Moses in his crib. Got him up, got him some milk and sat back down again. Then a few minutes later he needed a diaper change...then wanted breakfast...then needed another diaper change...then got bored with his toys and needed some entertaining...and you get the picture.
I wanted to cling. I wanted to start out my day with a sweet exchange of whispers with my Jesus.
But I couldn't.
Or sometimes, I know I should cling...but I just don't want to.
Like when it's just one of those days, and my mind creates a rut with my thoughts...an oft-rehashed "poor-me list" (a recounting of all the things that have gone wrong or are less-than-perfect that give me good reason to feel sorry for myself; a list that grows every time I mentally review it). I know I need to get out of that rut...like by coming up with a "thank-You"list instead ("Gratitude diffuses attitude." --Lysa TerKuerst; love that quote!). But...I just don't feel like it. I know that to cling, I should think on what is true and lovely and pure, and I try to...but I don't really try that hard. My thoughts linger on thank-You's for a few seconds...then slide back into that "poor-me" rut.
I know I should cling...but my efforts are only half-hearted.
But even when my foot slips...even when my clinging arms weaken...
STILL HE UPHOLDS ME!
"Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence? If I ascend into heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there. If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there Your hand shall lead me and YOUR RIGHT HAND SHALL HOLD ME." Psalm 139:7-10
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Roosters and Thunder and a Busy Momma: A Picture of Clinging
"My soul clings to You; Your right hand upholds me." Psalm 63:8
A couple of weeks ago, CJ, Moses, and I went to visit the chickens next door. CJ loved it--noticing the colors of their feathers; inquiring if those chickens had batteries; helping Matt, our next door neighbor, feed the chickens (which meant throwing feed at the chickens, which he found quite hysterical); etc.
Moses, however, didn't like it so much. He would have been fine if one of the roosters hadn't kept crowing at us. He was perfectly happy looking at those strange creatures in the pen...until...COCK-A-DOOLE-DOO! He jumped with his whole body, then grabbed at me and my clothes with his hands and arms and squeezed me as tightly as he could with his little legs, turning his face into my shoulder. Just as quickly he settled down and was happy again...then another crow, another hold-on-for-dear-life.
Then I got the brilliant but not-so-kind idea to see what would happen if I set him down. So I put him in the grass at my feet. He sat happily enjoying the outdoors...then...COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO! He whirled around with a cry and frantically tried to climb up my legs. I scooped him up...and instantly, he was happy again.
He was scared. So he clung. And he was comforted.
*************
A few days after that, I was rushing to get the boys ready and out the door for Wednesday night prayer meeting. I sat on the floor in front of CJ, wrestling socks and shoes onto his feet. Moses, who had just been woken up by a loud storm outside, was cranky and wanted me. He stood at my side, then behind me, then at my other side, then behind me, pulling at my shirt and my shoulders and even my hair and fussing. He continued to make his unhappiness quite clear as I filled sippy cups and grabbed diapers and wet wipes and Cheerios; he crawled around after me, fussing and grasping at my pant legs anytime he got close enough.
Figuring he was cranky from being woken up too early, I sighed and tried my best to persevere through the inconvenient interruptions, lest we be late for church (being on time is so much more important than taking the time to suck in a slow breath and calm the frenzy...right?). Just then, Micah appeared, and I begged him to take Moses so I could finish getting ready.
Then, in the car on the way to church, I finally took the time to take that slow breath...and realized that poor Moses had been scared of the booming thunder and whipping wind outside. He wasn't simply cranky. He was scared. He wanted his mommy.
He wanted to cling. But I was too busy.
*************
Moses knows what clinging looks like. Every so often, he models it for me--grabbing onto me, or whatever part of me he can reach (legs, clothes, hair, etc.), with any and all parts of his body he can use (hands, arms, legs....), and as persistently as the situation calls for (like when I pull away and rush off to grab those Cheerios...and then a pair of tiny Crocs...oh, yeah, and better slap on a little makeup...and try not to trip over the baby!).
I'm supposed to cling like that...to my Savior. When I'm scared...or hurt...or struggling...or lonely...or longing...or even happy. My soul is to cling to my sweet Jesus. In any and every way I can. As persistently and continuously as I can.
When Moses clings (or wants to cling), I don't always uphold him like he wants me to. Sometimes my "right hand" is too busy with other things.
But my Jesus is never too busy. He'll never push me away (or set me down at His feet just to amuse Himself at my reaction the next time the rooster crows). He is always there. Any and every time I cling, for as long as I cling, His mighty right hand will always uphold me.
"[Jesus] being the brightness of His glory and the express image of His person, and UPHOLDING ALL THINGS [including me!] by the word of His power..." (Hebrews 1:3)
More thoughts on clinging tomorrow.
A couple of weeks ago, CJ, Moses, and I went to visit the chickens next door. CJ loved it--noticing the colors of their feathers; inquiring if those chickens had batteries; helping Matt, our next door neighbor, feed the chickens (which meant throwing feed at the chickens, which he found quite hysterical); etc.
Moses, however, didn't like it so much. He would have been fine if one of the roosters hadn't kept crowing at us. He was perfectly happy looking at those strange creatures in the pen...until...COCK-A-DOOLE-DOO! He jumped with his whole body, then grabbed at me and my clothes with his hands and arms and squeezed me as tightly as he could with his little legs, turning his face into my shoulder. Just as quickly he settled down and was happy again...then another crow, another hold-on-for-dear-life.
Then I got the brilliant but not-so-kind idea to see what would happen if I set him down. So I put him in the grass at my feet. He sat happily enjoying the outdoors...then...COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO! He whirled around with a cry and frantically tried to climb up my legs. I scooped him up...and instantly, he was happy again.
He was scared. So he clung. And he was comforted.
*************
A few days after that, I was rushing to get the boys ready and out the door for Wednesday night prayer meeting. I sat on the floor in front of CJ, wrestling socks and shoes onto his feet. Moses, who had just been woken up by a loud storm outside, was cranky and wanted me. He stood at my side, then behind me, then at my other side, then behind me, pulling at my shirt and my shoulders and even my hair and fussing. He continued to make his unhappiness quite clear as I filled sippy cups and grabbed diapers and wet wipes and Cheerios; he crawled around after me, fussing and grasping at my pant legs anytime he got close enough.
Figuring he was cranky from being woken up too early, I sighed and tried my best to persevere through the inconvenient interruptions, lest we be late for church (being on time is so much more important than taking the time to suck in a slow breath and calm the frenzy...right?). Just then, Micah appeared, and I begged him to take Moses so I could finish getting ready.
Then, in the car on the way to church, I finally took the time to take that slow breath...and realized that poor Moses had been scared of the booming thunder and whipping wind outside. He wasn't simply cranky. He was scared. He wanted his mommy.
He wanted to cling. But I was too busy.
*************
Moses knows what clinging looks like. Every so often, he models it for me--grabbing onto me, or whatever part of me he can reach (legs, clothes, hair, etc.), with any and all parts of his body he can use (hands, arms, legs....), and as persistently as the situation calls for (like when I pull away and rush off to grab those Cheerios...and then a pair of tiny Crocs...oh, yeah, and better slap on a little makeup...and try not to trip over the baby!).
I'm supposed to cling like that...to my Savior. When I'm scared...or hurt...or struggling...or lonely...or longing...or even happy. My soul is to cling to my sweet Jesus. In any and every way I can. As persistently and continuously as I can.
When Moses clings (or wants to cling), I don't always uphold him like he wants me to. Sometimes my "right hand" is too busy with other things.
But my Jesus is never too busy. He'll never push me away (or set me down at His feet just to amuse Himself at my reaction the next time the rooster crows). He is always there. Any and every time I cling, for as long as I cling, His mighty right hand will always uphold me.
"[Jesus] being the brightness of His glory and the express image of His person, and UPHOLDING ALL THINGS [including me!] by the word of His power..." (Hebrews 1:3)
More thoughts on clinging tomorrow.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Eyes On Me
Our sweet Moses is such a happy little guy.
Sometimes I feel like he's smiling as big as he is, simply because he can't smile any bigger. Just last night, he was practicing his newest feat--walking--and was cackling to himself as he toddled around. Plump cheeks split wide by a one-toothed grin (he's had one tooth, and only one tooth, for almost two months!), while giggles gurgled up from inside--one chubby foot in froth of the other, wibbling and wobbling and catching his balance again as he explored the house and explored his new ability.
But he wasn't always this way.
His first six months were pretty rough. He had gastric reflux--which means that the acid in his stomach that was meant to break down his food escaped "upstream" and instead attacked his esophagus. Not a pleasant feeling. Yet it took his nurse-mommy six months to put the pieces together, figure out what the problem was, and get him started on the God-sent medicine that turned poor Moses into a whole different baby once he finally had relief.
But before the medicine, he seemed like he was always hurting. No, he wasn't one of those babies who cry for hours upon hours. But he was fussy. He spit up an awful lot. He didn't sleep well. He squirmed and arched his back while he ate, as if he was starving and yet didn't want to eat, all at the same time.
Mostly, though, he just wasn't...happy.We had to work so hard to get a smile out of him, and those we got were short-lived. He hardly laughed.
It was so sad.
One thing that sticks out the most when I look back is the way he refused to take his eyes off me. No matter where he was in the room, I knew that if I looked at him, he'd be intently looking back. From Mema's (my mom's) arms. From G's (my husband's mom's) arms. From his high chair. From his play mat. If I set him down with his toys, he wasn't interested; he didn't play. He just looked at me with his big, unblinking brown eyes, with this heart-breaking look that silently cried, "Help me!"
He wanted me.
He had to have known that being in my arms wouldn't take away the burning pain. He knew that my nearness wouldn't dissolve the physical hurt. But he wanted me anyway. He wanted to be as near as he could to the one who loved him and brought him into this world. He knew my voice, my smell, the sway he would feel as I walked and held him. And all these things, familiar things, would be comforting to him. My nearness brought comfort. Comfort in the midst of the pain.
Have you ever had a pain like that?
An ever-present pain. One you just can't shake. You don't need anything to remind you of it because it's always there. Maybe a physical pain. Or maybe...a soul-pain. A heaviness, an ache, a heartbreak that won't heal.
Funny thing about pain. It reminds you of a need. A need for comfort...for a nearness to a Comforter. That's the good thing about constant pain. It constantly reminds you of your need for God. I know that the times in my life when I've been hurting the most are the times that I keep my eyes most steadily on my God. All day long, under my breath, I'll be praying...usually nothing much more profound than "Help me, God! Help me!" But it's the kind of cry that comes from deep, deep inside, growing out of a breaking heart. It's times like these that I long for God most consistently, most incessantly, most all-day-long, than any other. I don't know what else to do. I just know I want to be near to God.
I want God.
I know, mostly likely, He won't magically, instantly cure the hurt. I know He probably won't dissolve the pain. But I want Him anyway. His love, His promises, His gentle whisper. His nearness. I know without a doubt that His nearness may not solve my problem, but His nearness will bring comfort.
Comfort in the midst of the pain.
"We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on You." --2 Chronicles 20:12
Sometimes I feel like he's smiling as big as he is, simply because he can't smile any bigger. Just last night, he was practicing his newest feat--walking--and was cackling to himself as he toddled around. Plump cheeks split wide by a one-toothed grin (he's had one tooth, and only one tooth, for almost two months!), while giggles gurgled up from inside--one chubby foot in froth of the other, wibbling and wobbling and catching his balance again as he explored the house and explored his new ability.
But he wasn't always this way.
His first six months were pretty rough. He had gastric reflux--which means that the acid in his stomach that was meant to break down his food escaped "upstream" and instead attacked his esophagus. Not a pleasant feeling. Yet it took his nurse-mommy six months to put the pieces together, figure out what the problem was, and get him started on the God-sent medicine that turned poor Moses into a whole different baby once he finally had relief.
But before the medicine, he seemed like he was always hurting. No, he wasn't one of those babies who cry for hours upon hours. But he was fussy. He spit up an awful lot. He didn't sleep well. He squirmed and arched his back while he ate, as if he was starving and yet didn't want to eat, all at the same time.
Mostly, though, he just wasn't...happy.We had to work so hard to get a smile out of him, and those we got were short-lived. He hardly laughed.
It was so sad.
One thing that sticks out the most when I look back is the way he refused to take his eyes off me. No matter where he was in the room, I knew that if I looked at him, he'd be intently looking back. From Mema's (my mom's) arms. From G's (my husband's mom's) arms. From his high chair. From his play mat. If I set him down with his toys, he wasn't interested; he didn't play. He just looked at me with his big, unblinking brown eyes, with this heart-breaking look that silently cried, "Help me!"
He wanted me.
He had to have known that being in my arms wouldn't take away the burning pain. He knew that my nearness wouldn't dissolve the physical hurt. But he wanted me anyway. He wanted to be as near as he could to the one who loved him and brought him into this world. He knew my voice, my smell, the sway he would feel as I walked and held him. And all these things, familiar things, would be comforting to him. My nearness brought comfort. Comfort in the midst of the pain.
Have you ever had a pain like that?
An ever-present pain. One you just can't shake. You don't need anything to remind you of it because it's always there. Maybe a physical pain. Or maybe...a soul-pain. A heaviness, an ache, a heartbreak that won't heal.
Funny thing about pain. It reminds you of a need. A need for comfort...for a nearness to a Comforter. That's the good thing about constant pain. It constantly reminds you of your need for God. I know that the times in my life when I've been hurting the most are the times that I keep my eyes most steadily on my God. All day long, under my breath, I'll be praying...usually nothing much more profound than "Help me, God! Help me!" But it's the kind of cry that comes from deep, deep inside, growing out of a breaking heart. It's times like these that I long for God most consistently, most incessantly, most all-day-long, than any other. I don't know what else to do. I just know I want to be near to God.
I want God.
I know, mostly likely, He won't magically, instantly cure the hurt. I know He probably won't dissolve the pain. But I want Him anyway. His love, His promises, His gentle whisper. His nearness. I know without a doubt that His nearness may not solve my problem, but His nearness will bring comfort.
Comfort in the midst of the pain.
"We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on You." --2 Chronicles 20:12
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Babies' Cries and Clean Underwear and Life Lessons
I want to know God.
I'm convinced that there is no greater goal in life than to know the God who created us, who saved us, and who longs for us to know Him intimately.
I want to dig deep into God's Word, uncovering the precious gems I know are hiding there, just waiting for me to discover them. I want to dive in and pick it apart and understand the meanings and the pictures and the mysteries. I want to be able to say, "Oh, the book of Zephaniah? Yep, I know what that's about. Great little book. There are some awesome truths about God in that book. Let me break it down for you." I want to know God's Word backward and forward. I want to know God.
But...I can't seem to find the time to start digging in. I'm barely able to squeeze out a few uninterrupted minutes each day to sit at Jesus' feet and put my day in His hands (the key word here being "uninterrupted"!). And I don't think I'll find much more time in the foreseeable future.
But I'm learning...that I don't need hours upon hours of coffee-fueled, lamplit studying; or textbooks and notebooks and outlines and Greek meanings; or college-level classes with complicated-sounding names.
All I need is to keep my eyes open. The lessons are right before me. The classrooms are my home, my back yard, the playground, my car...every place I normally go.
And the teachers?
A blue-eyed, curly-haired almost-three-year-old. And his brother, a brown-eyed, all-but-bald just-turned-one-year-old.
And the lessons?
Life-changing.
***********
God wants to be known. Isaiah tells us that "The whole earth is full of His glory." (Isaiah 6:3) He's plastered truths about Himself everywhere! I like to think of looking for these truths as looking for His fingerprints. Most thieves try to hide their identities, stepping gingerly so as to leave no clues, wearing gloves, carefully concealing their actions and purposes. But the Lord, Thief-God who wants to steal my heart, has left His fingerprints everywhere! He's dropped clues in strategic places for me to find, all pointing to who He is and what He has done--truths about Himself.
All I need to do is keep my eyes open.
And to help me keep my eyes open, I'm going to keeping track of some of the clues and fingerprints I'm finding. Truths that come to light day by day, pointed out my two adorable little boys...
Like when my younger son was so very tiny and I fed him and changed him and swaddled him and rocked him and sang to him, and still he cried and cried and I cried and cried...and I wished I could understand his heart and know how I could comfort him. And I was reminded that I have a heavenly Father who "understand[s] my thoughts from afar," who understands me better than I understand my own often-confused thoughts and longings and feelings. This God knows better than anyone else how to comfort me...because He really understands. And I was comforted.
Like when I stepped in a tell-tale warm, wet spot in the carpet, and looked up to see a corresponding wet spot in my two-year-old's pants...after months and months of frustrating potty-training. And I held my breath in an attempt to hold my tongue and hold back the frustration boiling up in my chest and trying to escape from my mouth in sharp words. Then came clean underwear and clean pants and a few less-than-gentle words and carpet cleaner and paper towels. Then, a little later than ideal, I stopped to look for clues about God...and then I remembered my God's grace and His gentleness time after time in my own life, when I'd made yet another unforgivable mess of my life...and how again He forgave me, cleaned me up, and helped me learn how to do better the next time. And my frustration fizzled...and I was humbled. And grateful.
So I learn...about me. About my kids. About my God.
Will you join me in my journey? You'll laugh at the crazy cute things my kids say and do, and maybe sigh and nod with me at those fall-apart days and unglued moments. Maybe you'll learn something along the way.
And maybe...maybe you'll be encouraged to look for clues a little more often, too. To look for lessons about God...taught by the most unexpected teachers.
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