Reminders

We all appreciate a note of encouragement. A reminder that we’re loved. Proof that someone was thinking about us. I was blessed to receive a couple of these recently – from my husband! Talk about making someone’s day!

I found one said note first thing in the morning when I stumbled into the bathroom, eyes half open, to splash some water on my reluctant-to-awake face. I glanced in the mirror, ready to make my regular groan at my reflection, and I saw a note: about how beautiful I am to him. Well…then I really couldn’t see! The tears flowed and I couldn’t wait for him to get home so I could hug him.

The next morning, I had just made it to the kitchen with four children who were all begging for their breakfast. I reached for the coffee pot to make some liquid energy, and discovered another note: this time thanking me for what I do each day. That did it; I probably looked like a crying mop propped up in front of the coffee pot, due to my morning hair and humbled posture.

Later, as I was re-reading the notes and thinking how blessed I was, Jesus whispered something to me: “You know why that means so much to you? You know why those “little” gestures make you feel like you are safe, that you can face anything, that you aren’t alone? Because it is like Me. It’s an earthly picture of what I do for you – all the time. Your husband put those reminders of his love in places he knew you would look; where and at the times it would mean the most to your heart. That’s Me. It’s what I do…you just have to look. What if you hadn’t looked in the mirror? What if you hadn’t made coffee that morning? You would have missed the reminders of his love. Just like if you’re not looking for the reminders of My love all around you, all the time, you’ll miss them. You have to choose to see.”

This was such a beautiful realization. And as I thought about it, it became even more special. See, I know my husband’s handwriting; so I knew the notes were from him. (That and the fact that he’s the only one in my house that can spell yet.) Likewise, if I’m going to recognize my Lord’s “love notes” in my everyday life, I have to know His “handwriting.” I have to include Him in every moment, keep an ongoing conversation with Him, truly abide with Him. And choose: choose to see the beauty, choose to see His working, choose to acknowledge His love. Cause it’s always there. And He’s constantly “writing us notes” to tell us. His desire, delight, protection, provision, guidance and strength are ours.

We just have to look for the reminders.

Legos In My Sanctuary

I went to bed last night feeling frustrated over the same thing that frustrates me many nights: the condition of our bedroom. I cynically think of my naive vow as a single girl to "make our bedroom the most beautiful, neat place in the house when I'm married; a sanctuary for us as a couple."
HA!! "That was a nice dream," I think to myself, as I step on Legos and stub my toes on toy trucks - hidden under the bedspread my two year old pulled half-way off the bed. I look tiredly at the laundry basket full of clean socks to be matched. I divert my eyes only to see the overflowing hamper with clothes to be washed. With a sigh I decide sleep is a better way of dealing with this mess at midnight, and pull the covers over my head. After all, the little munchkins whose laundry takes precedence and whose endless trail of toys cause my bruised feet, will be up in a few short hours, at best.


Today I was reading another chapter in a book I began (at least three months ago): Francis Chan's book, "Forgotten God." It's about our neglect of the Holy Spirit in our lives as Believers; an issue that weighs heavily on my heart these days and something I'm praying for Him to change in my life.

One passage stood out at me as I read, and brought to mind my lamenting from last night:

"But consider this truly amazing fact: Because the Spirit is holy and dwells in us, our bodies are holy sanctuaries from God's vantage point. Too often we disdain our bodies as the source of sin and fallenness; yet they are precisely where God the Spirit chooses to dwell!"

Goodness! So...it's Who and what takes place in us that makes us holy. Not what "else" is there. And it's a good thing! Because my heart is often a jumbled, messy, unsightly place! It's never going to be a sanctuary on its own, not even on my best day and after a "thorough cleaning"; cause I'll just quickly mess it up again. But because of the choice God makes to dwell there, it IS holy. His beauty outshines the "clutter," like the pure, bright whiteness of snow on a sunny day blinds our eyes.

Now maybe it's far-fetched to make a comparison of this to our messy bedroom. But if nothing else, it gives me a daily reminder of the Sanctuary I need to be most concerned about. I'm so easily distracted with cleaning up the appearance - of my room, my house, my self. When what matters is what goes on there, who lives there, and what is on the inside, respectively.

Our bedroom is where my babies like to play - this hardly defiles the space. What is "clutter" to me, is the scattered pieces of what was their creative, imaginary world at a particular moment. Or the results of an incredible football play or superhero battle - not exactly good reason to be frustrated.
No, the bed is rarely made. The walls need paint touch-ups and decor. But this doesn't hinder us from loving each other well. It doesn't keep romance from happening. And it doesn't inhibit our desire for each other. It may not be a sanctuary in terms of appearance - but appearance is not what creates a sanctuary.

Sure, I still want our room to be pretty and laundry-free. I want toys to be in their designated places in the play room. But tonight, when I find a matchbox car under the covers, I can laugh and remember that it doesn't alter what matters. Just like (thankfully) God is not afraid of the "clutter" in my heart. It's the fact that He lives there that makes it holy. And it's the fact that my husband and I share this room and love - and the little ones that ransack it - that makes it our sanctuary.
Toys and all.

Not Mine

Not just "follow Me" - "TAKE UP YOUR CROSS....and follow Me."
And the word we often forget (that I think is key): "Take up your cross DAILY and follow Me."


It's one of those Scriptures that says so much in such few words. But each little word holds much weight.
What is our cross? What does our "daily" look like? And most importantly, do we feel burdened by this passage because we're forgetting that the second command in it ("follow Me") is also an incredible privilege?


It's not an easy task; not fun. Criminals were often forced to carry their own cross to what end? Death. They were forced to carry the very thing they would die on.

This isn't one of Jesus' most pleasant metaphors, to say the least. Dying to our self is an agonizing process. We fight it instinctually. We're rather fond of Self. But the verse following, says: "...but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it."


Last night at our small group meeting was one of those times where God convicted, comforted, revealed, shocked, and loved me...all at the same time. My heart was completely overwhelmed. I knew if I tried to talk I wouldn't be able to; I'm not one of those people who can talk and cry at the same time. I don't know why I thought I could pray aloud either -- I sounded like a blubbering frog.
The day had been the final straw on the structured mess I had been building in my heart without even realizing it. And it all came crashing down. I heard others talking and sharing as if from a distance. All I could do was cry because I knew - I KNEW - it was my Father speaking directly to my heart.


Just the other day I made a comment to a friend on Facebook about the phase of life we are both in and the challenges it holds. I surprised myself with what I typed, as it was so revealing of my heart. And I haven't been able to forget it. I said "I'm realizing my life is not my own." Now really, as a mother of four children, should I just be realizing this?! And how selfish it sounds! But sadly, it's true. And it goes deeper than that...


My life is not my own...nor is it going to play out the way I've always pictured.

I've always wanted children; but I want to be super-mom and for it to be easy to do everything I want to do and be.

I've prayed and waited for my husband since I was 12 (maybe a slight exaggeration...but not much); and though he is perfect for me and I love him more than I can describe, marriage isn't a fairy tale. It is beautiful, but not always pretty.

I always planned to have my daddy here to enjoy his grandchildren and to continue to be the encourager and source of wisdom, comfort and fun that he'd always been; but he's gone.


The latter was what hit me hardest last night - because I thought I had "dealt with that." I thought I had moved to the next phase and let go of the anger in my heart over the fact that He went Home before it was (my) time. But I haven't. God showed me clearly that deep down I am still holding that against Him. I'm still struggling to completely trust Him, the telling symptom being that I'm fighting fear more than ever. The result: I'm living on the edge of a complete meltdown. It doesn't take much - just another small instance of my expectations not being fulfilled - and I'm a pathetic mess.


"My life is not my own." Not my own to control, predict, or live easily. I am told to die to myself. If I were truly doing that, would I be holding onto anger at my unmet expectations? No, because it's not my life.
Would I be feeling fear on a regular basis? No, because the One whose life mine is, is worthy of my trust. Would I be clinging to my day-to-day activities being/looking the perfect way? No, because my daily dying should trump any other activity or wishes.


This is hard to admit. I have never considered myself to be as selfish as what I am seeing in my heart right now. I see a little child wanting what she wants, when she wants it...and screaming when she doesn't get it. And I'm supposed to be raising children who (outwardly) do this?! Some role model I am!

But even as I think and write this, I hear Him whisper "there's grace." I know what I must do - what I've been doing since last night and will, I'm sure, have to continue: repent. Thankfully, there's a huge "ocean of grace," as my husband reminded us, waiting on the other side of repentance.


It's painful, but it's comforting at the same time. I want to be at the place of willingly losing my life...in order to find it. The Life I'm meant to live. Not the one where it looks the way I want it to look, do everything I want to do, be everything I want to be...but the one where Jesus truly is King.


I told my husband yesterday (in a dramatic moment of desperation) that I am dying inside. Well...good. That's a start. Ok, not the way I meant it right then, but "dying" is indeed the beginning...


But it can't stop there. That cross is nothing more than a hindrance and a burden if we don't follow Him. He promises that His "yoke is easy" and His "burden is light." So does that not mean that if we are following Him with our daily cross - losing our life to find it - that the weight is lightened? That if we stop fighting for control and looking for contentment elsewhere, we will find relief and unspeakable joy in the Life He gives?


I think so. And we can say with excitement and freedom, "this life is not my own!"