How He Loves Me

In the midst of digging through Christmas decorations, I found it.  A box I had forgotten even existed.  I spent about an hour pouring over its contents, piece by piece, memory upon memory, falling in my lap.  Each old photo, card, and letter told a story, held a glimpse of a part of my life long past.

The ones that meant the most to me included a letter from my Grandpa Harrison, written to me late in my college career while I was active in campus ministry, seeking after God with all my heart.  To my knowledge it is the only letter I have from him.  He is with Jesus now.  And then there was the one written by my father, after he helped me move into my very first apartment on the campus of Lexington Theological Seminary.  It was full of a father's encouragement, but more than that.  It held the blessing and prayers of one farther down the road, who had also followed God's call into ministry, speaking hope into the new journey of another just beginning.

There were pictures from my graduation from college, graduation from seminary, and all those adventures I had as a young associate pastor in my first church.

I looked at that young woman, so full of promise, so full of dreams.  And then I went and looked in the mirror.  I don't look so young anymore. 

I walked through the rest of yesterday with a faint sadness tugging at my heart. 

I've finally put my finger on it, that sting.  It is the question that I have trouble answering:  Did I live up to the letters?

This season is so hard.  I never dreamed that God would ask me to surrender everything.  I never dreamed that the Holy Fire I felt when I knew I was serving Him in the way I was created to, would make its way to the altar.  Nor did I reckon on having to surrender passion and purpose as well.  I sometimes wonder if I was mistaken all those years in campus ministry telling young people God had a purpose for their lives, something they were made for, something that would bring them great joy.  Was I lying and didn't even know it?

I wonder at my purpose now.  I see it in those three angel faces that call me "Mommy."  I know that I only have one chance to be their mother, to share with them my heart, to be the instrument God desires me to be in forming their hearts.  I only get one shot.  And it means the world to me to be here.  So I don't want to blow it. 

But at the same time I struggle with the thing I believe other mothers struggle with:  I just don't get over-the-top-excited about packing lunch boxes.  And I remember what it is like to live in the sweet spot where inward desire, meaningful purpose, and fulfilled calling meet.  I was there not so long ago.

Did I miss something?

Last night I lay in bed, silent tears tugging at the corners of my eyes, daring to spill.  Tim was saying such sweet words to me.  I interrupted him with my "But . . . ," telling him of the ways I no longer feel worthy of love.  He said to me simply, "You are telling me how you feel about yourself.   I'm telling you how I feel about you."

His love trumps my self-doubt.  Self-pity.  Self-concern.

Love wins.

I believe God was showing me something through him.  All those years of serving, I believed God loved me because my service made me worthy of love.  And the truth is . . .  Oh how He loves me.  And He chooses a plainspoken man to show me His kind of Unconditional Love, a man who adores me, who sees me as beautiful, who is proud to be my husband, who finds joy in in my arms.

Today was better, easier.  When I feel lost in the randomness of ordinary, understanding the why of it helps.  And sometimes locking us in ordinary is the only way God can get through to us, to get us to be still enough to understand His truth--that Love loves.  And it is His Love that makes us lovely.  Not because of what we do for Him or for anyone else.  Not because of what we accomplish.  We are beloved because He loves us.  Little ol' us, without the bells and whistles of anything noteworthy.  Learning this little Truth is horrible and wonderful all at the same time.  Oh, how He loves us so.

The Mystery of the Meantime

It's hard to know what to write about.  My daily experience repeats itself--I have no real sense of anticipation or direction.  I am just waiting.  And I can't even name the thing for which I'm waiting.  I mark days, noting how working days number themselves, melting into weekends, moving steadily towards the next season, holiday, bump or break in routine.  I am lost in the familiarity of it.  My life is this tick-tock progression.  And I wonder at God's plans for me.  Is this it?  Is there more?

So it's hard to write.  Usually the words flow from a deep place that has been kindled into Life, seeing a greater Meaning, and Opening, and Expansiveness that infuses my ordinary with something quite different--Other and Unknown.  And the Revelation thrills me, stirs up all kinds of joy within, making this living less daily, more amazing, each drop of life so unique and special and altogether Gift.

But something entirely different is happening now on the landscape of my soul.

Sheesh! This is hard. 

I'm watching my life tick away, each grain of sand floating through the narrow funnel of the present, so quickly becoming the past.  And I mourn the passage because I think I missed something somehow.  I want to be joyful and amazed again.  Joy and amazement escape me.

But the Faith part of me says there is value in the boredom of waiting.

Because the stretching out of this waiting time, this interim is really shaping something in me that cannot be shaped any other way.  In the innermost part of my character I am seeing those uglier parts of my being, that only come out when the more "spiritual" parts are not being entertained.  They come forth and show how far from Glory I really am.  The only reason Glory exists in my life is because Glory comes near.

My prayer has been, "O God, do so thoroughly what You have to do in me so that You only have to do it once."  Perhaps I shouldn't have prayed such a prayer.  Because the me I love most is lost in His thoroughness.  I wonder if I'll ever see her again. 

But the Faith part of me says there is a more substantial her coming.

The woman God is shaping in this meantime has more depth, more trust, more clarity, more knowing, more yieldedness, more real hope to share.  This peson God is shaping in me is less concerned about accomplishing and more concerned about getting out of the way of God's accomplishing.

I'm not there yet.  I'm not her yet. 

But this meantime refining is helping me to care less about what I do for God and more about just belonging to God.  It's who I am and nothing else matters.  I'm learning that.  The irony is that in the desperate boredom I'm learning more about God's Glory than any wonder He has ever shown me.  Because He absolutely will not bend to my will.  He is Holy.  Oh so Holy.  There is nothing to distract me from discovering how profoundly different I am from Him.

And this is the discovery in which I must rest, waiting for Him to lift me up.  Knowing He loves me.  Just as I am.  Imperfect. Waiting me.

Glory All Around

Every now and then I look through the pictures on my phone.  Often I get tickled at what I find, frame after frame of random snap-shots from the vantage point of a very small person.  I've begun to understand that when my little one says, "Mommy, me play your phone," it usually means I have a budding photographer in the making. 

What is it that he looks at?  What does the world look like from where he stands?  What does he take notice of?

Sure there are lots (and lots) of pictures of carpet. . . . or concrete.  But then I notice there are some great pictures in there too.  And I begin to realize that he sees the world in a completely different way than I do.

So often I am focused on accomplishing a goal, moving through a process, completing a task, just trying to finish something.  My mind is preoccupied with plans, problems, and possibilities.  And it is so impossible sometimes to just be in the moment.  To take in all that is available to me.  To taste and see in each moment that God really is good.

And when I see my littlest boy's pictures I realize that this is the only way he knows how to live.

I remember a time when I looked at grass.  I mean really looked at it.  Flopping a beach towel on the lawn in front of the chapel at seminary, I laid down on my belly, and from ground level I watched the grass grow.  I still remember the pain of that day.  I had left class feeling the weight of rejection and depression full upon me, so heavy I could barely breathe.  And Sweet Jesus I just needed to breathe.  So I went outside to watch the grass.  Somehow watching slender green blades reach toward the sky helped me forget the pain of my brokenness for a moment.  And I could sense God was there with me, Big and Enough to make grass grow.  Big and Enough to rescue me from my own sadness.

Oh that was so long ago.

I can't help but wonder what my little one sees when he looks at me. 

Does he see the woman who knows that God is Big and Enough or does he see the one who needs to spend some time watching the grass?  Does he see me living in faith?  Or does he see me as the one who wonders about God's faithfulness?

Maybe this is what it means to enter the Kingdom of Heaven as a child.  To have child-like faith that takes each moment as it comes, full of hope and love, ready for the next adventure, open to the Promise of the day because the Promiser can be trusted, eyes to see the Glory of God bursting out all around.

Amazing Grace how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.  I once was lost but now I'm found, was blind . . . .

But now I see.

Preacher Girl Revived

When I first felt called to ministry it had everything to do with the Word. 

I was in college, young, crazy enough to follow the passions stirred up within me.  I had gotten involved in the Wesley Foundation, our Methodist campus ministry.  We had something we called an outreach group that traveled to different churches singing, performing skits, dramatic readings, anything that could help a rag tag group of students share the Hope that was in them.

I always sang a song and introduced it with a story.

Singing was not new to me.  I had done that since I was a little girl.  But there was something about weaving the stories together:  God's Big Story, in and through and around my story.  It stirred up  within me a Fire that burned bright and whole and fresh and consuming.  I discovered God's Word reverberating against the walls of my own life; telling the story of how that happened, finding ways to show others how it happens for them too burned big inside my gut, that thing I could not get enough of.  I knew there was more to that experience than just singing occasionally with my college friends.

That was the beginning of my love for telling the old, old Story.  I used to tell others that God could call any kind of person into ministry, showing them my own life as example.  If God can use someone who tends to look like she belongs in junior high, someone who has a funny sounding voice, who is a bit on the "I'm just crazy enough to do it" side, who appreciates 6th grade boy humor, who can be scared of her own shadow, yet bouncing off the walls with just a single bite of chocolate, then God can use anybody to share His Word. 

I love that God brought me back to that same Wesley Foundation to be a minister where I first discovered my love for ministering His Word.  And when that season was over, God moved me to a place where I could minister to my family, three little boys and one great big handsome one to occupy my attentions.

He also brought me to our church's preschool to teach in the Pre-K classroom.  Everyday I am surrounded by a sea of four year olds.  Pre-schoolers are at home with my junior high looks, funny sounding voice, crazy personality, 6th grade boy humor, and timid sometimes, bouncing off the walls self.  I get told often, "Ms. Sami, you are so silly!"  I marvel at God's sense of humor.  When I was twenty-six and right out of seminary, He sent me to serve as an associate pastor in South Florida.  Our congregation was full of senior adults.  So much of my work there revolved around end of life issues.  And now that I'm . . . no longer twenty-six . . . my work focuses on beginning of life issues.  Given the patience and creativity and resourcefulness it takes to guide a room full of four-year-olds, this job requires the greater amount of experience.

Every week at preschool we go to chapel.  When I first began last year, there was already someone leading chapel.  Like me, she had a ministry background.  It was nice knowing someone knew my world, knew how crazy life and calling transitions can feel.  It was comforting to know I wasn't the only one figuring out how to share God's Word in a whole new way.  I began helping out with chapel once a month or so.  When this school year started we shared chapel responsibilities.

Several weeks ago my friend announced she was leaving to take a position as a children's minister at a church in her home state.  She would be returning to so many things that bring her deep joy.  I rejoiced with her when I heard her news.  It is bittersweet.  I will miss her companionship, her knowing those parts of this ministry journey that are so hard share in casual conversation.  As we hugged for the last time she whispered in my ear, "God brought you at just the right time."  God brought me, to fill a space that needed a preacher girl.

Last week Tim saw my old clergy robes hanging on the door.  He was a bit perplexed to see them.  I haven't had those things out since I was an associate pastor, over ten years ago.  I explained that they came in handy when telling the story of the Good Samaritan to four year olds.  Funny.  When I put them on during chapel that day, it felt like I was coming home to myself.  Chapel is home to me.  Being the girl who wraps God's Story up with words that connect it to the flesh that we are, well, that's the only girl I want to be.  Even when the flesh I'm wrapping with God's Word has only been on the planet so short a time.

I have no idea where this journey will end.  I just know that the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us.  And that Word keeps on dwelling and swelling in me, and I must keep sharing it wherever God gives me the opportunity.  I wonder at God's choice for me, in this calling.  I know that in His perspective it all makes sense, and I trust that there will come a day when it will make sense to me too.  My friend affirmed that truth as well.  "It all makes sense now," is what she said.  God had been preparing her for a Harvest she knew nothing about with a path that was out of her ordinary.  And it seems God is doing the same thing for me. 

All I can say is that as I'm waiting for my own land of Promise, it is so good to have a pulpit again.  Even if it is only a music stand.

Joy in the Journey

 

 

My little one wants so much to be big.

He already thinks he is.  If his brothers can do it, he believes he should be able to also.  This is especially true when we are playing outside.  For a months now he would climb up on the biggest bike he could find, helmut ready, waiting for the crazy thing to move, his little feet dangling above the ground.  Big brother's wheels have often proved too big.

So much like me.

I already think I'm ready for the plans God has for me, dreams to be more and do more, longings to fulfill a destiny, fulfilled by purpose, living out of a burning passion that is kindled every day.  I want to be further along than I am.  And I forget that God has plans.  More than one.  That those plans include a guide for what fills in the blank between now and the thing I was made for.  Some dreams are just too big now to live.  But there are some smaller ones that will do just fine.  For now.

In digging through the garage one day, Jeremiah found the littlest bike.  Over the last few weeks he has been trying to master it.  His feet stretch as far as they can to rest on the pedals, but they reach enough.  And his coordination lacks the strength to pedal with strength and speed, but he can still make the crazy thing go!  And and after days of practice, he can finally do it without me walking behind him giving him the big push.  I wish you could have seen him yesterday--the huge smile on his face, the light in his eyes, the thrill of accomplishment in his excited chatter--oh he was so proud!  It was like his whole body was begging me to see:  "Look Mommy!  I'm riding a bicycle!"

And so happy.

It makes me think that sometimes I have to relent and find the dream I fit. 

I've thought much about these in between times.  What exactly does one do when waiting for the Promise?  I mean, I love that verse that says God knows the plans He has for us to give us a future with hope (Jeremiah 29:11).  But what about the in-between-times?  What about those days, months, and yes, even years, when we are waiting for dream?  So while I love the stirring words of futures and hopes and plans, it can be depressing sometimes.  What I really need is something to get me through.  A smaller victory while I'm waiting to grow into my "big wheels."

And that's why I love Jeremiah 29:5-7.  I love its honesty, its gentleness, its matter-of-fact encouragement: 

Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat what they produce.  Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease.  But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the LORD on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare.
 

What are we supposed to do while we are living apart from the Promise?  We are called to live as a child of Promise.  We are called to grow, and multiply, and live well, seeking to know the One who is the Promiser.  And when we can do that, the Promise has a way of finding us.  We no longer have to spend ourselves finding it.

I love that Jeremiah could relinquish the desire to ride big brother's bike.  It was what enabled him to discover the joy of riding the bicycle that is all his own.  Able to make the thing go on his own. 

And this is where I am too.  Trying to find a way to pedal along.  Full of the joy of the journey. 

Even while I'm waiting to arrive at a greater destination.

I'm just so thankful for these sweet traveling companions.

Happy Feet

I wonder sometimes what it looked like when David danced before the Lord.  Then I had this moment the other day, listening to a song, its words a catalyst to the hope within me.  I couldn't help myself.  I danced.

It tickles me when I think about when first heard the song.  Can I just say it's not religious at all?  Nope.  Not one bit.  I think I first heard it while watching the Disney show "So Random."  I didn't think much of it then.  Then I heard it again set to old Disney cartoons featuring Goofy.  I just kept hearing the refrain, "You've gotta keep your head up, oh.  You gotta let your hair down, eh."  My curiosity was piqued.

Mostly because I was encouraged.

This week I downloaded the song.  As I stood in my kitchen listening to it, my heart felt uplifted.  What does one do when a song from the wrong station moves the heart to worship?  Well, one worships. 

Because it touched that tender spot in me that wonders how this is all going to turn out.  All the unanswered questions.  All the loose ends.  All the conundrums I can't solve right now.  The song said what I most needed to hear in that moment:  "You are gonna turn out fine," followed quickly by, "But you gotta keep your head up."

But.

There is always a "but" isn't there?  I am reminded of Psalm 121.  It begins:

I lift up my eyes to the hills--
from where will my help come?
My help comes from the LORD,
who made heaven and earth.
 

I seem to forget I have help when I look down.  There truly is something about raising my line of vision to what is higher than me that helps me move to higher ground.  I've exhausted possible sources of help in the low lands. None of them are really helpful.  Only God is inexhaustible.  I forget that I can look to Him sometimes.  I forget that He already knows I'm gonna turn out fine.  I forget that He's the only One who can convince me. 

So when I heard that silly pop song with upbeat words with an upbeat rhythm, I was reminded.  That life does not have to be determined by my present circumstances, but can be transformed by the One who is always Present within my circumstances. 

And when I remembered, I looked Up, heart full, head hopeful, feet happy.

In the middle of my kitchen I danced.

Birth Pains

I don't know quite how to explain what I've been feeling lately.  There is an ache inside of me that just plain hurts.  It is so strong it is almost a physical sensation. 

I have felt it before.

There was a season in my life when God called me to intercession, in a labor of love so personal, so raw, that my very being ached every time the Holy Spirit called me to pray.  I remember it felt like I was the instrument of the Holy Spirit praying, and I could feel in my flesh and bones the groans of God's Heart weeping over and with my friend.  Those kinds of prayers one doesn't forget.

But this ache that I now feel is so keenly personal.

It is my own. 

It is the ache of commencement, one journey over, the new one yet to begin.  I feel I am caught in the threshold of having left one life, waiting for a new one.  There is pain in what is left behind.  In a perfect world, that life would be over and done.  Yet there are constant reminders of what I used to be.  And people who knew me then seem to look at me with questions in their eyes:  "who are you now?"

What is hard is that the seeds of who I will be were planted firmly in the soil of my being way back then.  I carry them with me now as planted hopes, as yet, unrealized. But the questions people ask, and the only answers I can give right now, leave no room to even see her, that woman God created me to be. 

In the last few weeks a song I haven't thought of for a long time has come to mind.  It was my favorite song when my last child was born.  We were so thankful for his birth, because it seemed to go well for him.  After all, when the first baby wouldn't eat, and the second baby wouldn't breathe, we didn't know what to expect with baby number three.  He just seemed to arrive on the scene happy.  But my experience was difficult, for all kinds of reasons.  I would lay in the bathtub at night and listen to the words of that song over and over--

All who are thirsty
All who are weak
Come to the fountain
Dip your heart in the stream of life
Let the pain and the sorrow
Be washed away
In the waves of His mercy
As deep cries out to deep (we sing)
Come Lord Jesus Come
Come Lord Jesus Come

Today that song was in my heart, all over me.  My thirsty weakness washing through me in waves. 

Desperate for  answers and encouragement, I was so happy a few moments ago when I saw my favorite blog's title for today:  "What God Really Promises in Pain."  I click over, ready to drink in words of comfort and wisdom.  I'm astonished when I get there and see there are only 12 words on the page.  Twelve.  But here is what they say:  "God doesn't allow pain unless He's allowing something new to be born."  In smaller print, down the page is the scripture reference Isaiah 66:9 NCV.  How could I not look it up?  Here is what I found:

In the same way I will not cause pain without allowing something new to be born," says the lord.  "if I cause you the pain, I will not stop you from giving birth to your new nation," says your God.  "Jerusalem, rejoice.  All you people who love Jerusalem, be happy.  Those of you who felt sad for Jerusalem should now feel happy with her.  You will take comfort from her and be satisfied, as a child is nursed by its mother.  You will receive her good things and enjoy her wealth."  This is what the Lord says:  "I will give her peace that will flow to her like a river.  The wealth of the nations will come to her like a river overflowing its banks.  Like babies you will be nursed and held in my arms and bounced on my knees.  (Isaiah 66:9-12)
 

 The ache eases.  I read those words of scripture and they feel so personal, like the Holy Spirit has woven this story together in such a way that I know where the pain is coming from.  It's not about mourning a death  as much as it is the pains of something new being born.

 

 

Buried Treasure

It's not exactly how I mapped out my life when I was a young woman.  I thought for sure I would follow in my mother's footsteps, work full-time, be a professional, wear power suits and panty hose.  I had a plan.

And then God implemented His.

Again and again.

Because each time God changed the direction of my life I adjusted my plan to give His plan a well thought out trajectory.  I got real good at living into those.  But what I found is that each time I got comfortable, the Plan would change.  And now I am at a place I would not have recognized as mine twenty years ago.

I am 40.

I have three young sons.

I work part-time as a pre-school teacher, teaching 4 year old's about Jesus and their alphabet.

I come home and I am the domestic diva of my household.

In my pedigree wife and mother come first.  Holy cow!  When did that happen?  The headstrong young woman I was would have balked at that.  And now those titles are more dear to me than any I have ever had, any I could imagine having.  I still have dreams for myself, but being home and making home a place worth being is immensely important to me.

I'm the kind of girl that is riddled with self-doubts.  It was true when I was an associate pastor in a large South Florida church.  It was true when I was a campus minister.  And now as a mom who is home with her kids more than I ever imagined I woud be, I still have them.

I wonder if I'm a blessing to my kids.  I wonder if the good parts of my heart and character are rubbing off on them.  I wonder if the good parts wear too thin when we are together, and they are picking up my impatience and weariness instead.  I wonder if I am seeding their lives with enough of God's Goodness for them to grow into mighty oaks of righteousness, the kind that display His Glory every where they go.

There is something powerful in the wondering.  Because I know that I didn't get here, in this season, in this place, on purpose.  I got here by God's design.  If it had been my design, it would have looked so much different.  Yet here I am, and my heart is so wrapped up in the Work my Sweet Jesus has entrusted to my care. 

He led me here, knowing that this is a place where my questions outweigh my answers and my learning curves outweigh my aptitudes.  He positioned me in this time and place, for this moment, when my sons are young, when they are running full throttle with the delight of being a boy fresh in their veins, unharnessed energy and boundless enthusiasm loud in their ears and hearts and bodies.  And God positioned me here, to greet them and run with them and feed them and tend to them and wash them and teach them and train them and discipline them and play with them and rest with them.  These days are the most important ones.  God offers the opportunity to participate in laying the foundation of character and trust for their lives.  The one they will build everything else on, and eventually return to again and again.

I wonder about my role in the chaos.  It's the little things that I hope leave their mark, marking my love for them in ways they probably don't see.  Packing lunches, remembering snacks, making and baking, painting and biking.  Little "I Love You"'s floating gently, landing lightly, unnoticed in their lives.

Oh God I hope it is enough.

And I wouldn't want another doing this.

Thank You for the opportunity.  It is the buried treasure I found, when my plans turned upside down.

Re-Membering

What is it that makes you remember? 

Much of my life is spent as a pre-school teacher where each moment is an exercise in remembering:  where do we put our backpacks, how do we start the day, what are the letters in our name, what are the months in the year, what are the days of the week, how do I use scissors, how do I hold a pencil, what should I do in the hallway? 

To help our little ones remember, we get our whole bodies involved.  We sing, we dance, we move, we cheer.  Every part of our brains and bodies is activated in this remembering process.   Someday these processes will produces writers, readers, artists, singers, movers, shakers.  It is always a joy to see the child whose very being is illuminated by the process, to see her light up when a simple step melts into the wonder of accomplishment and the joy of being alive.  Oh sweet one, you've found it!  That thing that makes you feel alive!

It's so much easier I think to feel alive when your four.  There are no hindrances to singing the song that helps you remember.  And life is so much more fun when it is set to music.  Why is it when we grow up we forget to sing?  Or to play?  Or to dream?  Or to imagine?
 
We must ask ourselves that question:  where do I feel most alive?  Where do I melt into the wonder of accomplishment and the joy of living?  Why is that feeling so elusive? 

Last week I was with a small gathering of ladies and a couple of them shared about when they get that feeling.  For one it was riding horses.  For another it was being in her garden.  My first thought was about writing, that this is where it comes together for me.  And this is certainly true.  I love to play with words, or when the Word invites me to play, and something amazing comes forth that touches the truest part of me.  I love that.  And I would not be the same person if I didn't write.

But then something else stirs.

Okay, let's be real.  I was doing the stirring.  Literally.  Ten years ago if you told me I would find Sabbath in my kitchen, I would have laughed in your face.  However, it's true.  Last year when my life changed so radically, and dreams I thought I would have forever died overnight, I found solace in the simple process of chopping vegetables.  Today my favorite kind of Sabbath is stirring up something new in the kitchen.  Today I made an apple pie.  First time ever!  Yay!  Tim said it was really good.  Then he said I couldn't start making desserts all the time.  Our waistlines wouldn't be the same.

There is something so healing to me in making a black and white recipe come to life.  First I clean up my working space, washing down counters, putting clutter away.  Then I gather the ingredients, putting them out where I can see them easily, where they are readily accessible.  And then I begin to combine each one until it's ready for the oven.  I even enjoy cleaning up the mess.  Somehow it fills the time of anticipation, as I wait for the yumminess to emerge complete.  Following the steps from start to finish slows me down.  It builds expectation.  It helps me connect with a sense of accomplishment.  And the crowning moment is when one of my boys takes a bite and likes it. 

I don't mind that it takes time.  I believe it is time well-spent.  It is time that helps me to remember who I am and what matters most in my life.  It helps me think.  It's like the order of it orders me too.  I need it so much.  And the sweetest part is that it becomes a language of love as I feed my family.  I love it when the cranky boy sees me in kitchen and puts in a special request.  I don't really consider myself a cook.  But it lights up my whole world when that little man says something like, "Mom, you make the best __________!"  My heart does flip-flops.

I think of that scripture, "O taste and see that the Lord is good" (Psalm 34:8).  And I think of God's presence in my life.  Just like I'm tasting this creation, Lord, I taste the goodness of this life You've given me.  Oh sweet Father, You are so faithful!  You are goodness.  In the middle of my difficult moments You have given me a sweet passion that fills me up, even as I pour my own love out.  Only You can do that!

And so I find myself re-membered.  I come back to myself.  To remember who I am and Whose I am.  To remember that I don't really belong to myself, but that I must have some moments that belong only to me so that I can give myself away again.   In the middle of a loud, rambunctious house, I pull out the ingredients and get to stirring.  I can't help but think this is how God did it when He created the recipe for me.  For you.  For everyone of us.

How do you re-member?

Little Miracles

Miracles.  We all need reminders that they happen.  It's hard because life gets difficult in so many ways and creates in us a longing for miracles to happen, to lift us out of the heartache and misery.  God always finds a way for working through our circumstances, but it often takes us time to see that God was there in our difficulty helping and holding, just differently than what we imagined it would look like.  But miracles do happen.  I say it knowing full well there are those who are standing in grief, who are trying to reconcile the goodness of God with loss that defies description and cannot be contained.

So here is the story of mine.  I share it because there is a part of me that needs to be reminded too.  I need to remember because it changes how I live today.  I get so caught up in the ordinary hustle and bustle of my family's life that I forget how getting to our ordinary was extraordinary.

Those who remember my younger days would probably say that the desire to start a family was the original miracle.  I was totally focused on my career, very much steeped in the identity of the young professional.  But I remember the moment my heart changed.  It was as if a light came on in my soul, and I discovered a mother-love within that I had not recognized before.  The irony is that my greatest fear seemed to come true:  that I would put off having children so long until one day when I wanted them, I would be unable to have them.

Tim and I tried for three years.

During that time God moved me from being an Associate Pastor at a large church in South Florida to being a campus minister at a state university in a small Kentucky town.  As time passed, I began to believe God gave me the desire to be a mother so that I could be a better minister. But it still hurt so much every time I saw a baby baptism at church.  The desire never diminished; it never went away.

Then one day in September I went for a run.  I was also praying, remembering someone's words that God would do great things at the campus ministry I was serving.  In a Bible study I was involved in at the time, we were studying King Ahaz.  God offered King Ahaz the opportunity to name any sign he wanted to prove God's faithfulness.  Ahaz refused, so God gave the sign of "the virgin shall conceive and bear a son and name him Emmanuel."  I told God that if He offered me the opportunity to choose a sign of His faithfulness to the campus ministry I was serving, that's the one I would choose:  for my husband and I to have a baby.

These thoughts came towards the end of my run.  Soon I reached my stopping point, turned around, and began walking home.  I ran in a popular park where families often gathered, so I didn't think it unusual when I fell into step with a woman pushing a baby carriage.  I recognized her as one of the regulars.  Pretty soon she began a conversation with me. 

She asked me about running, commenting on how fast I was.  I told her I really wasn't that fast, but my husband was.  She asked me how long I had been married.  I said seven years.  She asked me if I had children.  I said no.  She asked me if we had been trying.  I hesitated.

No one knew we were trying.

We had been trying for three years.  Our hearts were raw with the hoping and the hurting, the monthly disappointment.  And our families just thought we didn't want children.  We had been struggling for so long, so alone.  This was a burden of the heart I just didn't share.

Except on this day there was this little nudge.

When I tell her we had been trying, the lady with the stroller asks me how long.  When I told her three years, she stops mid-stride, looks me in the eye, and says, "God sent me to you today." 

Really?  Is this really happening? 

She told me that I would be able to have a baby.  That the delay had to do with God's timing.  That the time had come to tell our family.  That God had sent her to me to give me hope. 

And then in the middle of that park she prayed for me.

That was in September.  On December 31st I found out I was pregnant with our first child, Noah Joseph.  He was born August 20, 2004.  And then on November 10, 2006, we had baby number two, Isaiah Wesley.  And we were a complete happy family.  I gave away all the baby furniture, baby clothes, baby paraphenalia.  And on December 1, 2009 we welcomed baby number three, Jeremiah Allen. 

God's sense of humor is that we now have a boy for each year of trying.  Three years of famine.  A lifetime of harvest.

Miracles each one.

Signs and wonders, and oh I need to remember how much God loves and listens and lavishes all His Goodness onto our barren lives.  I so needed to be reminded that this mothering busyness is Holy Work.  I am so thankful for the Invitation, and oh so needeful of Grace to help me fulfill it.

Miracles do still happen.