Finally! Summer vacation time is here! We have waited all year, back breaking work, brain draining school work and finally it is time. Drum roll please.
Standing in my bathroom this morning, wondering what I would share with you all. Thick, in the midst of my own struggles. Struggles so strenuous, at times, it feels they are winning. This morning, thinking…what could I possible write to encourage someone else, when I am fighting so hard? It was then, in that moment; I heard myself whispering the tune that have been nagging at me, like a fly buzzing in my ear.
Light in the darkness,
That is who you are.
For days, the lyrics of this song, have circled round like a carousel in my mind…
Over and over again. Echoed loudly. Echoed softly. Recited like an anthem. If I am not singing it out loud, I am humming it. If not humming it, then it is on silent repeat internally. At moments, I catch myself stomping, with authority, as I declare the words. Affirming, with boldness their truth. Yet, this morning, while searching for the words to share, it was in the whisper. As I quietly chanted under my breath, “way maker, miracle worker, promise keeper, light in the darkness, my God, that is who you are”, His still small voice spoke, THIS. Share THIS.
Suddenly, I realized, THIS is not just the words of song. They are the declaration of a battle cry! They are a revelation of an intended purpose. THIS purpose packaged as a reminder. Reminded; not because God needs to be reminded of who He is, but because WE and every struggle mounted up as an obstacle; need to be reminded of WHO HE IS.
He is the way maker. Not just when there seems to be no way. When there is absolutely no way possible. Like EVER.
He is the creator, sustainer, authority of the miracle that you, your family, so desperately need.
Every promise He has given to you, He will keep. He knows no other way. He has never broken a promise. He will not start now.
He is the light in every corner of your darkness. There is no place that his light cannot reach.
He declares of himself “I am who I am” meaning He is EVERYTHING you need Him to be. And get his…when what you need Him to be today changes, He will be what you need tomorrow. And the day after that.
Play this anthem on repeat in your mind. Use THIS as your chant, when wading knee deep in your struggle. Declare THIS boldly.
Glue is any variation of STRONG, ADHESIVE, SUBSTANCE. It is what binds together.
In my house of 7 kids, (5 of which are still in elementary school), glue is a hot commodity. Actually…any type of adhesive material for that matter. There also, is no discrimination of these product types. Yesterday; as I was disassembling the remains (which is my nice way of saying cleaning up the mess) of my epic Mother’s Day party (a party thrown every year- planned and decorated by my youngest daughter and catered by my eldest), I noticed that the décor, was elegantly hung with none other than…blue painter’s tape. If it has any adhering properties, whatsoever; it is a viable solution to ANY present predicament.
For sure, glue (definitely duct tape lol) serves as the universal problem solver. Even as it morphs from the liquid substance we are familiar with, into a theoretical attribute of a person. AKA- a metaphor. (In some English class in 9th grade, undoubtedly, while suffering through one of Shakespeare’s many eclectic literature pieces; we were taught the idea of a metaphor. However; since most of us were most likely, haphazardly, paying attention during that space in time; let’s review. A metaphor is a noun, meaning something used, or regarded as being used, to represent something else.) And a profound metaphor, dropped like a seedling, during an oh too brief, phone call with my mom, is the thought serving as the protagonist to this short tale.
I am positive what is true for me as a woman, almost assuredly, holds true for every one of you. During any given day, a woman can play the part of various complex roles. Roles portrayed with experience ranging from expert to novice. But portrayed nonetheless. Just yesterday, I served as a housekeeper, nurse, seamstress, judge, referee, coach, cook, techy, mechanic, repair man, and teacher. Your list is as endless as mine. For every role performed, there were probably 3 that we didn’t have the time or capacity to fill. Some days while preforming, we run out of daylight, others…energy. When days seem to disappear like a vapor, what becomes our first concern? Which role is allotted more priority than the other? Among exchanging Mother’s Day well wishes and recapping the events of our mom holiday; my mother inadvertently, sparked the thought, that has nagged at me for days. The thought I needed to share with you. A simple statement, posed as the sun set, in the last moments of our conversation, “You’re the glue that holds them together”.
In a society plagued with families broken beyond natural repair. Be the glue. Of all the roles presented to you, grant this role priority. Not in your strength alone but your strength, forged with the strength freely given by the Holy Spirit. For His strength is stronger than ANY other substance. It can bind what is shattered. Mend what is torn. Find what seems lost forever.
Colossians 1:16-17 New International Version (NIV)
16 For in him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things have been created through him and for him. 17 He is before all things, and in him all things hold together.
It was a beautiful, sunny, South Florida day. My aunt and cousins had come to visit from Georgia, and we were spending the time swimming in the backyard. Our pool was of modest size; above ground, circular, deck built around, and at its deepest, 4.5’ to bottom. Various pool games had been played that day; the famed Marco/Polo, fish out of water, ring diving and some sort of jaws reenactment (which, to children who have never been attacked by a shark, always seems like an appropriate game lol).
The sun had begun its daily bow into the distant horizon, and we, with our chlorinated eyes, sun kissed faces, scrambled to think of just one last game, as the grand finale to a perfect day. “I know! Let’s make a whirl pool!” shouted one cousin. The idea seemed perfect. With so many of us in the water, moving simultaneously, we were sure to create the ultimate vortex. So, we began. Moving around and around, each of us driving the current. Each loop causing the spin to become faster and more powerful. Then, amid the laughter and excitement, my aunt, infant cousin in arm, lost her footing. In an instant, laughter turned to panic. With my cousin in tow, she began to sink, flailing her arms and dragging anyone under who attempted to get close. The vortex, which moments ago brought such joy, now served as the vice to her demise.
“Just stand up”, “It’s shallow Aunt Elaine”, “Put your feet down and stand”, “You are tall enough to just stand”!!!!!!! We could all see what was happening. We were standing on the outside of the vortex, looking in. The truths we were shouting made logical sense, yet she could not grasp them. Her perspective of the reality she currently faced drowned out all reason. It wasn’t until she grabbed a hold of the truth (that she could stand because the pool was only 4.5’ deep), that her perspective changed. When her perspective changed, her reality shifted. Eminent death became live another day. All by grabbing a hold of the truth.
Each of us have our own reality and we each cling to our perspective of it. Realities like, debt, failing marriages, lost children, singleness=loneliness, addictions, abuse are endless. Just as endless are the perspectives birthed, when the absence of truth is evident. Perhaps, the reality wasn’t always so hopeless. All didn’t always seem lost. But somewhere, we lost our footing and in an instant, our vision became so muddied by the conditions of our present situation, that hopelessness and contempt ravage our souls. Oh! but there is hope in TRUTH, if we will only choose to see it. If, like my aunt, in the midst of drowning, we will but listen to the truth being shouted.
Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross so long ago, provides assurance that there is TRUTH. Truth that we can grasp tightly to when all else is crumbling to pieces around us. Truth that can be our rock, our resting place, our answer. Truth that is not just a word or a hope, but is manifest in a God who adores us. Jesus said, “I am the way, the TRUTH and the life…”. Clutching to Him and the truth He affords, breathes life into what was considered dead. What our perspective perceives as ruin, He can transform into restoration. Only if we will let Him.
Reach out and grab His truth. Let him clear the cloudy vision of this current situation and show you His reality.
For weeks I heard the nagging voice of my past, whispering accusations and memories in my ear. Reminding me so eagerly of all the things I longed to forget. After all, “Regret can be a hard taskmaster”. It was a whisper so quiet, no one else could possibly hear, yet for me, so incredibly loud, it was all I could seem to hear.
One early morning, in the quiet; sleep barely out of my eyes, I was desperate for relief. Fiercely seeking a word, a calm, a peace-be-still for the swells that ravaged my mind. Not knowing what else to do, I began reading.
“While I can’t change the past, I am left with clear choices going forward. I can feel bad and the sadness will stay with me, or I can flip my mistakes into lessons for others.
You see, once you own a mistake, it no longer owns you.
God is a redeemer, and His redemptive nature extends into the deep caverns of our regrets and failures. When we bring our failures and regrets into the light, we find God’s redemptive love brings something beautiful out of the ashes.”
As I read the final words of this passage, I heard the still, small voice I had been longing to hear. Spoken directly to the deep caverns of my regret and failure. A word so profound, but even more simple.
For years, I had been focusing on obtaining the forgiveness of others. Recompense for the after effects of my past and its foul decisions. And yes, while this step is very important to the healing process, it is not the only step. That fact, I had forgotten, perhaps, never been taught. That morning, over coffee, the Holy Spirit pulled up a chair and in an instant, drowned the boisterous whisper of condemnation in my mind. By simply asking a question- peace settled into my soul…”Daughter, have you forgiven yourself?”
Ask God’s forgiveness. Seek forgiveness from others. Forgive yourself.
“Be kind and helpful to one another, tender-hearted [compassionate, understanding], forgiving one another [readily and freely], just as God in Christ also forgave you.”
EPHESIANS 4:32 AMP
Life. What do you do when it literally knocks the breath out of you? A blow so hard, it rocks you to your core. It leaves you on your back- gasping for just one, one, single breath? Seemingly hopeless. Lost for words to speak, let alone how to get up or go on.
Grew up a PK (pastors kid for those unfamiliar to the churchy slang lol). First at church, last to leave, alto in every choir, perfect attendance award for every single event, and at 22- found myself unmarried and pregnant. Blunt force blow. Faced with the choice. Adoption or raise this child support-less. Blow. No job, in college, no plan. Adoption seemed inevitable. Adoption seemed the last hope, in my world of none.
8 weeks after the birth of this beautiful baby girl, I found myself haunted by the ghost of her. A ghost, that kept me sleepless, joyless and hopeless. A ghost, I decided, I could no longer live with. After several scary moments. Phone calls. Life changing words spoken. I pulled away from the adoption agency, my precious baby in tow, no idea where to place my next step. Driving in circles. Sobbing. Crying out to God from my heart because I had no words to utter. Faintly, I recalled the words of a familiar hymn.
“When peace like a river, attendeth my way, When sorrows like sea billows roll. Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say It is well, it is well, with my soul It is well, with my soul It is well, it is well with my soul.
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, Let this blest assurance control, That Christ has regarded my helpless estate, And hath shed His own blood for my soul It is well (it is well) With my soul (with my soul) It is well, it is well with my soul.”
The words to this hymn have been my comfort for a lot of years now. Through the many blows knocking me to my knees, planning to keep me there, I continued to say, with greater assurance “it is well with my soul”.
I don’t know what your “blow” is today. I don’t know the weight of the burden scavenging all of your breath; but I do know, you have a Jesus, who loves you dearly. I know, that without a shadow of a doubt, you are the apple of his eye. And I know, with great assurance that, this too shall pass. Because of Jesus and the price He paid, you can also say, with unwavering assurance- it is well with my soul- because He is by your side. He longs to carry your burden.
“Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you.”
1 Peter 5:7 KJV
The days, these days, seem to zoom by in a flash. Not enough hours in the day to get it all done. I often resemble a grown woman-sized, outward personification, of the rabbit from Alice and Wonderland. Scurrying around, muttering wildly under my breath, “I’m late, I’m late, for a very important date.” Always, I seem to be late (or in fear I will be late) for something. Trying to cram a size 8 curvy fit day, into a size 6 super skinny jean day (y’all know exactly what I’m trying to say).
Yet somehow, when the sun sets, and I finally plop down, it feels as though it has been weeks since that 5 am alarm buzzed. As I attempt to recount the various tasks, deadlines and activities of the day, it seems impossible that only a few hours has passed since, I so begrudgingly, parted ways with my fuzzy slippers. How does that even happen lol? I literally feel as though I never stop, but at the end of the day, feel like I accomplished nothing…how about y’all?
In my devotion time this week, I stumbled across a passage that struck me to my core. Words so eloquently written from the perspective of a busy woman, mom, wife, student, employee…just like me. A call to “begin again”. Despite the many challenges facing me today- I get to begin again. I knew immediately, I must share this prospect of new beginnings with you ladies.
One last thing before I share this little treasure with you- a promise…
“He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High, Shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.” Psalms 91:1
Without further adieu…
“Always we begin again.”—St. Benedict
I am longing for ordinary, perhaps even experiencing a call to the ordinary.
We have lived in extraordinary for so long—twins, moves overseas, a baby born in the Middle East, moves back to the States, deployments.
I have always been drawn to big and dramatic and loud and exciting. And I have never been more ready for ordinary.
In the Christian liturgical calendar, there are two periods called “Ordinary Time”—a span leading up to Lent and then another span, which I am in as I write, that stretches from Easter to Advent. This second stretch is called “Trinitytide.”
Ordinary Time calls us back to our simple practices, our roots, all our tending that tethers us to the present.
Ordinary time is where we begin again.
Not New Year’s Resolutions or Lenten Commitments or Advent Waiting.
Not the big stuff. Just the ordinary.
Feeding the cat. Washing my face. Opening the mail. Reading a poem. Sending a card. Making the meal. Witnessing and being witnessed. Holding. Nourishing and nurturing.
I love the idea of the everyday-extraordinary happening in the Ordinary, the periodic elements of this dying-living we are all doing.
Taking our meds. Confessing to friends. Breathing. Beginning again. Opening our hands and letting the wilderness— the unknown—be the wild place where new life begins.
This morning, I am back at my kitchen table, in the dark, hot coffee in hand. The heater is cutting through the morning chill.
I am reminded, as I type, sip, type, sip, of an idea my friend gave me: that any flat surface can be an altar.
She told me that wiping down a countertop or clearing the edge of a bathtub or tidying a desk . . . all of this creates a bit of space that becomes an altar if we will see it that way.
A place to commemorate and receive. A place to say thank you and to be loved. A place to surrender.
My prayer at the altar-table is this: God, give me only what I need for today.
I never want this part of my day to end, since starting to practice it. I go to bed looking forward to the heat and the coffee and the darkness. I have worshiped sleep in the past. Wanting rest more than I have wanted anything.
Now, rest is coming. And I am so very held and met in these dark minutes, maybe an hour. I want to harness it, stave off the light, but it comes. The sky begins to change. A child has forgotten to latch the chicken run tightly and the chickens begin moving in my peripheral vision. Important business, those chickens seem to always have, with the ground.
I’m never not surrounded by a stack of books, voices who meet me in this dark pocket. I see how I must get in bed earlier. I must turn the TV off the night before. I must take better care of myself if I am to get up and listen each and every morning.
The decisions to honor this time begin far before 5 a.m., and something about that feels right.
Feels congruent. Sacrificial and rewarding, like all worthy things in life. Now on to the altar of the countertop—lunch packing, breakfast making, dish clearing.
Every step an arrival, as the poet Denise Levertov wrote. An arrival into the present, which is always waiting for me to join it.
When I was minutes out of graduate school and brand-newly twenty-four years old, I drove from West Virginia where I had been in school, down to Virginia to pick up my little brother from college, home to San Diego, and then I slept for an entire day.
When I woke up, I found a book my mom left on my nightstand. A gift. Twilight Comes Twice. It’s a children’s book about dawn and dusk, a simple reminder that the sun goes down and the sun comes up. Every day. And twice, in between, we get the gift of these golden hours, these pockets of waking up and winding down.
No matter how beautiful and epic and glorious life is right now, the sun goes down.
And no matter how ugly and rejecting and hurtful life is right now, the sun comes up.
Something about this kind of saved me then and saves me now.
I was young and starting over geographically and professionally and relationally.
But more than that, the very rhythm of creation was reminding me that it wasn’t all up to me. Something was going on that was beyond me, behind me, below me, beside me.
And I just needed to join it, fall into it, beginning again and again and again.
I could join or I could resist.
But either way, the sun would set and the sun would rise—with or without me.
I could try to outrun the sun with my superhuman striving.
I could try to hide in the dark with my subhuman shame.
But the invitation, then and now, was to join the rhythm of creation, which is to be what we were simply and profoundly created to be . . . human.
Human. In all its extraordinary everyday ordinary.
If I am failing, stuck, and paralyzed, I always have the opportunity to begin again.
And if I am winning, elated, and propelled, I still must begin again.
None of us is too far gone, in the same way that none of us has arrived.
Could you and I join the rhythm of twice-a-day twilight that reminds us there are gifts in both the light and dark—illumination and stillness? If you’re in the dark, you can begin again.
And if you’re in the broad side of the light, you will still need to begin again. This is how we practice being human.
Twilight comes twice.
Yesterday afternoon, as dusk arrived, we were all in the pool, kids climbing on Steve’s back and jumping off the diving board in tandem, which I’m absolutely sure is illegal. The kids were screaming their heads off and the water sloshed up and over the sides of the pool from the aftershocks of their dual entries.
The setting sun made the pool water glitter like our own personal ocean. And it’s hard to imagine a sweeter moment.
But the sun goes down and we come inside and we rest.
And this morning I was up early, and the golden light was back again, the mountains out beyond the kitchen sink window backlit in blush.
And I was reminded anew . . .
Whether we are in crisis or chaos or calm, hope or disappointment, burial or resurrection, ordinary or extraordinary, we can—
because of the inexhaustible grace of God — begin again.
Thanks for joining me!
Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton