house of cards

I've been hiding in a house made of cards.

I've mentioned before, I believe, how much I dread fellowship meals:  crowds are not my thing.  Yesterday we had another one at church.  We stayed; there was a meeting afterward that we wanted to be part of.  And things went fine, mostly, until the food was finished and I started to look around .... at the people talking, laughing, enjoying each other's company ...

... and all I could think was "no one's talking to me."

I'm ashamed, of course.  So "poor me" I blush to write it.  But since I know I'm not the only one, I take a risk and publish my awkwardness for both of you - the ones who feel it, too, and the ones who can't imagine.

A friend and I were talking recently about high school, and how lonely it was for us, and how startled we've been, sometimes, to find out that others were lonely, too - even some we thought so self-assured.  We all hide, maybe.  At the fellowship meal, my inner ache tells me I'm unwanted, superfluous, unseen.  Look at all the others, talking to each other, laughing, sought-out.  And on the periphery (where I usually choose to sit), alone stand I.

So many things you could say to me, to convince me that I'm wrong.  I've heard it all.  It does not penetrate my armor of alone-ness.

But yesterday, a gift:

At the meeting (again sitting at the fringes), I looked at all the heads in front of me, and like Paul's light on the road to Damascus, epiphany struck:  this is my family.  These are my people, and they love me.  Hardly a soul there that hasn't said a kind word to me at one time or another, exchanged a smile.  They are for me.  We are one.

As a group, they overwhelm me to the point of intimidation, yes; but one by one - I love them, too.

Fear fled, as the house of cards crumbled.

I am safe.  I am loved.

This is my Body.

[now, let's see if I can remember that at next month's fellowship meal....]

"so in Christ we who are many form one body,
and each member belongs to all the others."

Romans 12:5

a way out

If you've read many of my posts, you know by now that I do not consider motherhood to be for the faint of heart.  If you're a mother who finds her job a breeze, you will probably want to just move along, go check out Pinterest or read the Post or something, because this one will just make no sense to you.  For the rest of us . . .

 : : :

I know no one really enjoys having sick children (and if you do - I really, really don't want to hear about it), but the last couple of years I'm embarrassed to say I have become downright fearful about it.

Having grown up on granola and garden veggies (thank you, Mom & Dad!), I've always been interested in God-made, health-promoting nutrition and remedies for sickness.  My "medicine cabinet" has included ginger, elderberry, aloe, prunes, honey, lemon, vinegar, garlic, chicken broth, and Vitamin D (and, yes, Band-Aids & Tylenol).

I guess I kind of got to thinking I had the sickness thing covered.  My insurance was starting to look pretty tight. . . . until the fear started.

I would hear a friend mention her sick child, or read on facebook about a bug going around, and begin to scrutinize my children for symptoms.  Were their cheeks overly rosy?  Did they seem lethargic?  Was anyone's appetite suspect?

I'd go to bed fighting images of my children, sick in the night - literally battling the anxious thoughts parachuting into my mind like trained stealth invaders.  I'd pray.  Sing.  Recite scripture.  I'd visualize each child healthily sleeping, dreaming of rainbows and kittycats.

Eventually, I'd go to sleep.

It was exhausting, to say the least.  And it didn't always work, for long.  And even when it was working, the fears just seemed to come along all the more frequently, as if to make up for lost ground.

I knew it was no way to live for a Christian professing faith in God.  But I didn't know of any way to deal with it other than battle.

And then - a book.  I am always humbled that God, who knows my love for reading, is willing to speak to me through other people's books.  Hinds' Feet on High Places was on my reading stack, and was teaching me about living a life of faith.  At one point in the allegory, Much-Afraid, the protagonist with whom I could  identify all too well, was in the desert of suffering and slavery.  In all the barren landscape, she spotted a single flower, called Acceptance-with-Joy.  She realized that since she could trust the Shepherd, she could trust whatever he offered her:  even suffering.

Not long after reading that, I had another night of fear.  I was waging my usual mental battle when I remembered Much-Afraid and her little flower.

What if ... ?

Like a shaft of sunlight entering a dark room I saw the way out.  Acceptance-with-Joy!  If God wants to give me sick children to take care of, then I will accept that with (eventually, I hope) joy.

Immediately Fear vanished like a bogeyman falling through a hidden trapdoor.  Gone!  I was free!  I could hardly believe it could be so simple.

 : : :

As long as I insisted on having healthy children, Fear always had an entrance:  "what if your children get sick?!?!"  And as long as I panicked in response ("oh, no!!  what if they get sick?!"), Fear had a place to stay.

When I could respond to Fear's "what if - ?!" with a trusting, "Then I accept that with joy", it took the wind right out of Fear's sails - and left me submitted and secure.  This yoke I've put on is easy; His burden is light.

I kind of like submitted and secure; it sure beats anxious and fearful.

I still have my "medicine cabinet" for preventing and treating real illnesses as they may arise, but that particular Fear is dead and buried, and I am beautifully free at last - to trust my Shepherd, and to enjoy my children without worrying unduly about tomorrow.

git 'er done

I did it - that terribly little thing - and now I'm free!

                                                               [and so, perhaps, is a child]

fleshing out faith

I've always been a pragmatist.  An optimistic realist, I'd say.  Love the lofty, absolutely, but if it doesn't work, out it goes.

I would say I believed in prayer, believed in a healing God, a God who hears and loves to answer.  When I prayed and got an immediate answer, I was thrilled.  My faith, I thought, was bolstered and increased.

When I prayed and nothing happened, I'd chalk it up to some mistake I'd made in praying or in hearing God, and forget about it.

Rarely did I persevere in prayer.  Somehow I figured that if God wanted to grant my request, he'd do it right then. ...  I wonder how many answers I've missed seeing because I'd lost sight of the prayer I prayed?



Then the other day I got a shock.

I read in Hebrews chapter 11 about people who believed God and clung to faith even though they never saw fulfillment of the promises they were given.  I've read it before, of course, but it never really struck me:  they died, believing without seeing.  A whole lifetime of faith, passed down to children:  "What our God has said, He will surely do."

Nothing happened, but "nothing" didn't shake them.


They believed anyway.


Suddenly my faith looks tiny.  Microscopic.  Nonexistent?

I rejoice in stories of God's faithful provision for others, but when he asks me  to step out in faith and do something that makes me vulnerable and completely dependent on him .... I hesitate.  "Did I really hear you, God?  But that doesn't make sense.  What if ....?"

Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding.  In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will direct your path.  Proverbs 3:5-6

 I want to pray for boldness, courage, an increase of faith ... but I hear him ask me to trust him with what I have, now.  Trust him through my fear - obey without comprehension.

It's no more than what I ask of my own children.  And I, the far-from-perfect parent, frustrate myself with wondering why they disobey, why they hesitate, why they don't trust.

Oh, humanity!  Oh, the patient mercy of our God!

He is perfect.  He is loving.  He is trustworthy.  His plans for me are not to harm me, but to prosper me, to give me a future and a hope  (Jeremiah 29:11).

If I can't trust God, who can I trust?  

And if I trust no one but myself .... my record does not recommend itself, frankly.  Do I really want to forge my own way?  Depend on my own frailty for sustenance?  And if I don't trust him, why should he uphold me?

I am at an impasse.  Will I listen to fear?  


Or to love?


[and oh, if you only knew the tiny thing he asks of me ... !]

an ounce of prevention .... yet again

Am I preventing Joy?

"A common but futile strategy for achieving joy is trying to eliminate things that hurt:  get rid of pain by numbing the nerve ends, get rid of insecurity by eliminating risks, get rid of disappointments by depersonalizing your relationships.  And then try to lighten the boredom of such a life by buying joy in the form of vacations and entertainment."  Eugene Peterson, A Long Obedience in the Same Direction.

Oh, he cuts us so close.  We try to achieve joy by eliminating (or preventing?) pain, and then, Prozacked to dullness, we resort to buying disposable thrills.   To prevent dirty clothes, we miss the joy of playing in the puddles.  Empty, then - lacking the natural joys of life (messy though they sometimes be) - we turn to entertainment:  novels, movies, shopping, facebook.  We listen to music instead of making it, watch sports instead of playing, tune in to sitcoms instead of living, text instead of talking, :lol: instead of laughing.  

We give ourselves lousy gifts when we turn down those our Father offers.

"Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone?  Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake?  If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!"  Matthew 7:9-11

Our Father gives us life, from the air we breathe and the sun that lights our days to the landmark joys of life, and what He gives is good.  Joy comes not because of our circumstances, but in the midst of them.  It would be a small god indeed who could only make us happy by making us comfortable.  It takes a God who named the stars and threw them singing into place, the ultimate Source of Love, to well up joy in a cancer patient, an amputee, a sleep-deprived mom, a work-weary father. 

"Ask and you will receive, and your joy will be complete."  John 16:24

 "I am coming to [the Father] now, but I say these things while I am still in the world, so that they may have the full measure of my joy within them."  John 17:13 

Before Jesus goes to his death, he has a final heartfelt talk with his twelve closest followers, and prays for them.  What does he want to tell them one last time?  To abide in him, obeying his commands by loving each other.  How?  By the strength of his Spirit, who Jesus will send after his return to the Father.  Why?  For the completion of their joy.

"I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete.  My command is this:  Love each other as I have loved you."  John 15:11-12

The key to our joy is our interactions with each other.  Perhaps this is the messiest gift our Father offers us.  Loving each other is dangerous, and often appears to blow up in our faces.  "Love is patient, love is kind..." and we are none of that!  Love anyway, because no matter what it looks like, "love never fails."

What it comes down to is this:  do I want to prevent pain ....?

Or .... (oh risky love) jump into joy?

(first two posts on this subject here and here)

an ounce of prevention .... again

Two nights in a row now, I've stayed up late doing unnecessary things (sitting in a parking lot with friends, painting a suncatcher, and watching a movie, if you must know).  I just felt like it.

Not that I want to base my life on what I feel like doing, but for someone who lives largely (or, more accurately, "small-ly") within the confines of her children's needs, staying up late was oddly liberating for me.  Normally I go to bed in good time to prevent feeling sleepy the next day.  A good habit and one I heartily recommend breaking from time to time.

Maybe conscientiousness is like exercise - if you do the same routine too frequently, your body falls into a rut and stops being trained by it, sort of develops an immunity.

In my post yesterday, I quoted The Princess Diaries' Eduard Christoff Philippe Gerard Renaldi, Crown Prince of Genovia:  "Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something is more important than fear.  The brave may not live forever, but the cautious do not live at all."  In this recent season of my life, I have been living in the ranks of the cautious.  

What, then, is more important than prevention, that can propel me out of caution and into liberty living?

Letting the baby explore, no matter the dirt and (unlikely, after all) disease.
Staying up late sometimes, to see an eclipse, fireworks, or just the magic of lightening bugs.
On special occasions, serving sugar with enthusiasm!!
Allowing a margin for liberality in the spending plan.  Then, being liberal!
And sometimes, daring something big.  Pray, then leap!

(original post on this subject here; follow-up post here)

an ounce of prevention ....

.... is worth a pound of cure.  Right?

So I put rugs down by every major entrance into the farmhouse to catch the dirt as it comes in on our feet - before it gets to the carpets.  We walk shoeless inside and my Farmer brushes weedbits off his clothes after he's been taming the wilds with the string-trimmer.  We rinse each meal's dishes before stacking them so the food doesn't dry on.  Train the children from the first whine to use a nice voice.  Keep flora and fauna out of the baby's mouth in case of mysteriously transmitted feline diseases.  No waving sticks around in case you hit someone.  Wash your hands before meals.

Strict bedtimes avoid meltdowns.  Ration sweets for healthy teeth.  No running in the house.  Censor books to build good taste in literature.  Dose with elderberry when flu rumors start to fly.  Ginger before a road trip prevents motion headaches.

Budget strictly to avoid financial tension.  "Tell your money where to go."  Wait to launch the home business until the plan is detailed out on paper.  Dream big but start small.

Trust God, but have a backup plan.

Wait a minute.  Back up.  Somewhere in the continuum something valuable has been lost.  "Prevention" turns so quickly into "fear" and "control."

"An ounce of prevention..." but also "nothing ventured, nothing gained."

And how about that more important Proverb by far:  "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will direct your paths."  (Proverbs 3:5-6)

Reminders of truth come in the unlikeliest of places.  Last night I laughed through "The Princess Diaries" and watched a 15-year-old learn a lesson I lack.  To quote her father, Eduard Christoff Philippe Gerard Renaldi, Crown Prince of Genovia, "Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something is more important than fear.  The brave may not live forever, but the cautious do not live at all."  (part of this quote may have better-known origins, either Albert Einstein or Mark Twain; sources disagree)

It's one thing to "look before you leap" - it's a very sad, entirely different thing to never leap at all.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

[And that, my dear readers, is my string of platitudes for the day.  Truth lives even in the trite.]


(follow-up posts here and here)

whistle, don't crawl

(from More Little Visits With God by Allan Hart Jahsmann and Martin P. Simon, ©1961)

The weather was very cold, and the ice on the river was frozen clear down to the bottom. A man came walking down to the river. He wanted to cross where there was no bridge. “I wonder if this ice will hold me?” he said.

For a long time he looked at it and thought it would, but he wasn't sure. Then he said to himself, “If I crawl over, it won't break so easily.” So he crawled over the ice on his stomach. The ice held him, but he was worried all the while.

On the other side the man saw a big truck coming down to the river. Without stopping, the truck drove on the ice and over the river. In the truck was a little boy riding along with his father. The boy never worried a bit that the ice would break. He was whistling a happy song all the while.

Which one was safer on the ice, the happy little boy or the scared little man? They were both safe. But there was a great difference between them. The boy who trusted his father was safe and happy. The man who did not trust the ice was safe but worried.

Some Christians are like the boy; others are like the man. Some trust that God will bring them across the way to heaven. They are happy with God and do not worry. Others are worried that they will lose their faith or that their faith isn't strong enough. So they crawl when they could ride and whistle.

You have Jesus, your Savior, with you every day. So trust Him. Be happy. Don't worry. Don't crawl. Ask Him to take care of you on your way to heaven. Then trust Him to get you there safely.

The Bible says, “You are kept by the power of God.” So do what the psalm writer said, “Trust in the Lord.” Then you'll feel like whistling.

Are you the scared little man or the happy little boy? I would love to say that I'm the happy, trusting little boy. But it would be a bald-faced lie. I am the scared little man in that story, no contest.

Jesus tells me in the Bible not to worry (Matthew 6). I want to intellectualize this and write about how to trust God, what steps to take, what formula to follow, and so on and on ad nauseum. Know why? Because I am a procrastinator. As long as I am talking about “how”, I don't have to actually do it, do I.

Trust is not a 12-step program. That would be a nice, gradual thing. Unfortunately, trust is just action. I don't get to first “feel” trust and then wait for an opportunity to act it out. Nope, trust happens in the very acting.

If I'm stuck on a ledge and my husband offers to catch me and I trust him, I'll jump. I can't trust him and stay on the ledge. This has some very scary implications for my Christian life.

I'd have to give up worry.

Oh, no biggie, right? I mean, who likes to worry? Ummmmm …. a lot of us, I think. But speaking just for me, I can make myself about sick worrying over my children, but the thought of not worrying makes me feel …. guilty. As if my worry were proof of my love ….

And what about finances? What responsible, spiritually mature person doesn't worry about their finances? Naturally we call it “planning” or “budgeting” or something else …. but can you plan for the “what-ifs” of the future without any worrying? Really?

Then there's knowing God's will for my life – you know, all the lifestyle choices from career or family size to tonight's supper menu and tomorrow's social calendar. Does God want me to eat only organic vegetables and whole grains or is it okay to serve frozen pizza and french fries? Does God want me to homeschool my children or should I send them to the local school? Does God want me to serve in the positions at church that I am asked to do or does he want me to say “no” to them and dedicate myself to prayer? Just in case I run out of things to worry about for my children or our finances, I can always worry about whether or not I'm hearing God's will correctly.

This is starting to sound ridiculous, even to me.

But it's my reality. I'm the scared little man, crawling on my stomach over the ice, wondering whether it will hold me or crack and plunge me to a frozen, suffocating death.

What would it be like to whistle on the seat beside my Father, trusting Him to carry me where I need to go? It feels a little irresponsible ..... a little child-like ….

What would it look like for me? What would I do differently in a life of trust?

Eat inorganically. Send my children to school. Read novels instead of nonfiction. Lie in the hammock instead of searching the online parenting forum for ideas and solutions. Invite friends over even though their kids might wreck my house and lose pieces to my children's toys. Work in my flowerbeds regardless of the pollen count. Give up on being thin, fit, and fashionable. Play. Laugh. Love. Dare.

What would trust look like for you?

Psalm 91

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High

will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress,

my God, in whom I trust.”

Surely He will save you from the fowler's snare

and from deadly pestilence.

He will cover you with His feathers,

and under His wings you will find refuge;

His faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

You will not fear the terror of night,

nor the arrow that flies by day,

nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness,

nor the plague that destroys at midday.

A thousand may fall at your side,

ten thousand at your right hand,

but it will not come near you.

You will only observe with your eyes

and see the punishment of the wicked.

If you make the Most High your dwelling –

even the Lord, who is my refuge –

then no harm will befall you,

no disaster will come near your tent.

For He will command His angels concerning you

to guard you in all your ways;

they will lift you up in their hands,

so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.

You will tread upon the lion and the cobra;

you will trample the great lion and the serpant.

“Because he loves me,” says the Lord, “I will rescue him.

I will protect him, for he acknowledges My Name.

He will call upon Me, and I will answer him;

I will be with him in trouble,

I will deliver him and honor him.

With long life will I satisfy him

and show him my salvation.”