A New Beginning

I don't know anyone who doesn't like new beginnings.  Things that are fresh and real. Even the most die-hard Christmas decorator loves to takes down her tree and reveal the fresh, new, uncluttered look that was commonplace just 6 weeks ago.

We love to begin afresh, embrace the new and breathe in redemption.  This is, after all, the very essence of the longing that brings us to the place of surrender.

The Lord, so gracious and revealing, has placed new beginnings in our paths as we live these broken lives.  A quiet sunrise speaks to the power of a God to make all things new. The fact that the same sun goes down every night speaks to His power to remove the struggles and sins of that day...as far as the east is from the west.  The mistakes, the pride, the outbursts, the hardships are erased as the sun rises.  If we only we will see and be cleansed.

And now...this day...another picture of a new beginning.  A brand new year.

Many people will make resolutions that will only be broken.  They will commit to try harder, wake up earlier, be more productive.  But what we all really need?  Not to make a promise we can't keep or a goal that will ultimately lead to failure.

We need the new beginning.  We need the promise that comes with January 1.  The promise that says...no matter what kind of year you've had, or what kind of day you have tomorrow, or what happens to you this week, or what in the world plagues you and keeps you up at night...the sun will rise again.  

No matter how you've been hurt, no matter how you've been failed, no matter how hard or how far you have fallen...take heart...for your redemption is nigh.

Time passes and it plagues us.  It causes us to look backwards and lament its passing.  It forces us to remember the temporal state of our world.  It begs us to walk the path of regret and remorse.  If only...

If only...

If only we will look forward instead of backwards.  If only we will receive the promises of a Loving God.  If only we will count our blessings instead of our failures.  If only we will choose...yes choose...to see the hope that looms ahead of us.

The new year begins...the old one ends...and the Lord speaks silently in this spinning orb He has created.  He speaks of brand new.

He reveals Himself through creation and every year and He begs us to see the Glory in the redemptive power of new beginnings.

If you've had a good year, a great year, or a horrid year...you get to start over.  And not just on January 1...but every day.  He makes beautiful things out of the wondrously miraculous, the nothing special and the resolutely abhorrent.

Beauty for ashes.  It's why He came. And it's why the sun rises.  Every. Single. Day.

A Gift From Our Savior

We always bake cookies this time of year.  It's crazy messy, dirty and lots of work...but the kids love it and are able to relish in the baking without a single thought to the cleanup.  So we bake and clean and eat too much sugar.

This year, we wrapped up some cookies for a few of our neighbors.  I mentioned to the girls that our next door neighbors worship a different God than we do...that it would be a good witness to give them some cookies.

My five-year-old daughter...the one who hits her sister but cries about the orphans...the one who asked that I please stop talking to her about Africa because it's too sad...the child who requested that we all fly to China to hand out Bibles.  That child.  She states the obvious.  "Then we should give them a Bible."

I cringe inward...just a little...and her sister pipes in and agrees wholeheartedly.  "Yes! What a great idea!"

I am no religion scholar.  I know a lot about what God is teaching me...but not very much about the ins and outs of the Godless religions that mislead His creation.  Will they be offended?  Maybe they'll be upset with us?  Isn't this a little pushy?  

I end up at Wal-Mart that week and decide to stroll through the books.  Maybe I should buy a book...a Bible is a little much...maybe a good Max Lucado book about the Savior. 

I become frustrated with myself and wonder why in the world I am hesitant to give someone an unsolicited Bible?  I know the transformative power of these words.  I understand the love story contained.  Why the uncertainty?

Because I know the world hates the Bible.  I know Jesus is hated because He is love.  He is hated because He is just.  He is hated because He is radical. 

The world hates Him for the same reasons I love Him.

I buy the Bible and bring it home.

The girls painstakingly wrap their gift, full of excitement and anticipation.



I get one of our Christmas cards and, at the advice of my knitting mentor...a beloved woman and lover of Christ, I write a note.



We wrap a bow around it and the cookies and leave it on their front porch.



The next day, the neighbor marches over and hands me this:



"Thank you for the cookies...but we cannot accept your Bible.  We are Hindu and cannot accept this gift."

Dumbfounded, I mumble something that might resemble an apology and close the door. The girls ask who was at the door...I (again) mumble something to the effect of, "It was the neighbor thanking us for the cookies..."

I still haven't told them.

As this plagued me, I found it was tempting to shake my head, and mutter, "What do you expect from the world?"  But I couldn't go there.  What I'm learning...through this journey called motherhood...is that the lesson I think someone else should be learning is usually mine.

Then, it happened.  The Lord...never willing to let me perish in the bowels of self-contemplation, revealed a truth and put me in my place hours later.

I was filing up a sippy cup tonight for about the...I don't know...10,000th time over the last 7 years?  And I muttered, "Lord, I'm really tired of filling up sippy cups."

And just like that, the image of the Bible amidst torn up paper flashes bright.

My complaints over the years tumble forth and the truth paralyzes me.

"I'm tired of never sleeping all night.  I'm tired of cooking meals.  I'm tired of teaching math.  I'm tired of being touched all day.  I'm tired of holding children.  I'm tired of finding shoes...zipping coats...sacrificing...self-denying...loving unconditionally...serving...fighting for my kids' hearts...

Why don't I just say what I really mean?

This gift, Lord?  The one you've given me to become more like you?  This holy life of sacrifice You've given to me to live?  I don't want it...you see, my religion is self and I cannot accept this gift of becoming more like You every day.  It's offensive to my god...she trembles beneath all of this and is waning away.  This life I live...daily sacrificing all...it's killing her.

The Lord smiles. "Exactly."

To sacrifice daily...self-deny completely...love unconditionally...hug freely...fill sippy cups endlessly...it kills self.  And isn't that our goal?

His gifts are sometimes (usually?) wrapped up differently than we might expect.  A Savior in a trough...a King at the thief's table...a Redeemer on a cross...the Murdered among the living.

This gift?  This one He's given us?  It's Life wrapped up in a whole lot of giving.  The peace for which we long...the Christ-likeness we strive so hard to achieve...it's buried deep in the trenches of self-sacrifice.  In the well of motherhood, there is Living Water.

We can refuse His gift.  We can lament, complain, dig in our heels and renounce it.  Or we can abandon our lifeless god and dive deep into the mire...into the well...wade in the trenches of self-denial and give thanks all the while.  Then...and only then...will we, mothers on a path toward holiness, be set free.

The Humble Spirit Magnifies the King

I was looking through pictures of our trip to Colorado this summer.  I adore our trips to Colorado.  I spent a month there as a new believer and nothing...NOTHING...reveals the majesty of Jesus like the mountains.  At the end of my month, my now-husband-then-boyfriend-of-3-months drove out to propose to me.  This place...the place where earth meets sky and the valleys speak wonders...it's special to me.

As I was scrolling through the pictures, I began to wonder why I am so enthralled with mountains.  What is it about the high peaks that cause my head to spin and my knee to bend?  Then it hit me...

Because they make me feel small.



The mountains put me in my place. In a flesh-ridden body that is continually self-seeking, self-fulfilling and self-worshipping, I am pushed low.

Have you ever tried to take a picture of something enormously amazing, but in your camera it continues to look insignificant?  I have countless pictures of mountains...but it isn't until you take one with a person in the shot that you see the enormity of God's creation.

Perhaps it is the same with God's redeemed and their Redeemer.

Could it be that the height of God's glory can't be known until it's revealed through the lives of tiny, insignificant us?  That perhaps the full weight of His majesty isn't clear until a picture is taken with us standing alongside?

Next to this Landscape so Wondrous, we look tiny and...dare I say it...insignificant?  Isn't that the point of a Christ-centered life?

Now, don't get me wrong.  He doesn't need us.  To be sure it is we who need Him.

It is I who need to embrace this God who was made low for my sake.  This God who created the mountains that reach toward the heavens and the valleys that cascade down deep. This God who traded His crown of Glory for one of thorns.  It is I who need the God whose tomb is empty and who has made me whole.

Could it be, however, that His glory is only truly manifest in the lowliness of His creation?

And just as I walk alongside the mountain, highlighting the glory of its heights...so, too, I walk hand in hand with a Savior...my humility magnifying this God-Man come down.

And there it is...one more reason to bow low, self-deny, and take up our cross.  To take part in the glorification of this God of creation...the God who created these peaks that caress the heavens...it's the pinnacle of all our reasons.

Life in the Stillness

The sun rises over the horizon and I stop to gaze…in the midst of the rush that is my day, I pause.  I grab my camera, capture the beauty and it occurs to me…it’s here every morning. 



Every morning, the sun rises.  Every evening, it sets.  And most days I miss both in this mad rush to live life…and live it on time.  A counter-productive race that ignores the Bearer of Life for the sake of living it.

Camera to my eye, I ponder why the stillness eludes me.  The Light of the World brings me a sunrise every morning and every day I cry out for stillness…while the color-filled sky is hung by the Master like a canvas backdrop to my morning.  And I fail to pause.

The elusive pause...

True life exists in the glorious moments of pause.  The sunrise.  The lone robin on a limb.  The eyes of a child.

Serving Jesus…denying ourselves…means stopping.  It means, bending down and looking into eyes of an expressive child, chattering away.  It means stopping to notice the bird and his song.  It means admiring the sunset…capturing the beauty and tucking it away to help carry us through the less-beautiful moments of our day.

I turn from the window and catch a glimpse of the laundry piled up...the evidence of a week spent rushing about, succeeding at half-tasks.

I hold my camera and smile.

Suddenly the tasks at hand seems less daunting.  Suddenly I feel like a bird in flight, a woman...a mother...prepared to tackle the day.  And not because I'm worthy or capable. Not because I suddenly have it all figured out.  And definitely not because the tasks are less work that they were 10 minutes ago.  But because in my hand, I hold the evidence of a sacred moment.  A moment I chose to pause and receive the beauty handed to me every morning by a Savior who longs to see us find life in the stillness.

 

 

Mother First

Time stands still.  They all look to me and I, unsure of how to respond, stare at them silently and feel...defeated.  

The three-year old is crying.  The seven-year old needs help with math and the five-year old wants to read me a story.  Who am I in this moment?  To whom do I respond and with what hat?  Mother?  Teacher?  Listener?

Failure. 

If I fail to be one, I fail to be...for which one of these things exists outside of myself?

How do I exist in an environment where I seek to be so much to small beings who need me to be all?  How do I lay my head down at night feeling as though I did not, in fact, fail to be everything they need...everything God has called me to be?

As I struggle through this complex issue in this chaotic, redeemed life I have grown to love, I feel the Lord pressing upon my heart a simple truth that can set me free if I choose to embrace it.  If I choose to ignore the world and exist in a moment to moment life of clinging to the very heart of a Savior.

Mother first.  Everything else follows.

As I strive to be mother first, the all of whom I am created to be, the rest follows with a great amount of order.  Any day I strive to be a teacher first, or cleaner, or cook, and choose to ignore, even for a moment, the call of mother, it all falls apart.

In the chaos that seeks to consume, it's easy to forget my first love and tear through the day with my list and my books and my food.  The child sits, math completed and phonics accomplished, with a heart hungry.  The three-year old weeps for the mother while she remains vacant in this foolish race.

Race for what?  For what and whom am I rushing?  Through my precious moments? Through this precious life, redeemed by the Father and blessed with His mercy of small, smiling faces?

I think...I have to think...there is enough time to be mother first and teacher second. Because, in the end, the mothering is what facilitates the teaching.  Without a comforting, loving heart that is turned toward my children, their hearts are not open to instruction.  As I mother my children and feed their souls, the rest of the pieces start to fall into place.  More teaching is done.  The meals are prepared.  The house is cleaned as we work together...mother and child.  Isn't the essence of this very truth the miracle that led me to homeschool in the first place?  The fact that the mother holds the heart?

When I comfort the small child and the others remain patient.  When I help with math...a smaller child on my hip.  When I listen to a story...the little one snacking on my lap. When I hug the math student for a job well done and praise the reader for all she has learned. When history gets postponed for a moment or even (gasp!) a day while I read to the smaller child, hungry for a mother.  Will not God honor these more than a curriculum completed perfectly or a checklist marked off completely?  Will not God fill in my gaps when I honor Him by being mother to my children?  Is not God's grace sufficient?

I have years to teach them and they have a lifetime to learn.  A child on my lap is fleeting and the picture books fade fast.  I want to never miss a chance to mother my children.  I never want to discount the mothering for a lesson completed more quickly or a house a little cleaner.  And as I feed their souls and hold their hearts, I teach them the most important lesson of their childhood...the lesson of sacrificing all for the sake of the little ones.  The lesson of pouring out a life for the least of these and of wearily holding a child, with a still heart, in the midst of chaos.

A still heart in the midst of chaos is a gift that can only be given by a mother who hears her call and embraces it completely.  Wholly. Putting aside the pressing matters of now to invest in what is eternal.

 

 

 

 

Musings About a Murderer

I just finished reading Crime and Punishment and have a mind full of circular, drifting ramblings.  I recorded them here for the sake of preserving my sanity.  I want to caution you that the ending of the book is evident in my musings, so if you would rather not know how it ends...don't read this post.  :)

 

"The candle-end had long been burning out in the bent candlestick, casting a dim light in this destitute room upon the murderer and the harlot strangely come together over the reading of the eternal book."

The murderer, in his attempt to alleviate discomfort...or perhaps in an effort to bring another being into his suffering, seeks out the good-hearted harlot and confesses.  He then asks her to read to him from the book of John...the story of Lazarus.

She reads.  The candle burns.  He confesses.  She weeps.

She enters into his suffering and he, not yet able to fully connect, is shocked by her empathy.

This scene stands out in my mind as the catalyst of the rest of the book.  Following this moment are many encounters and a myriad of emotions that border on insanity.  He breaks from reality...deep in his thoughts...but always comes back to the most forceful thought of his existence:  He...unlike the great men of history and war...is not able to kill and forget.  He is incapable of murdering and counting it to the greater good of society. While regret does not border on the forefront of his mind, a certain kind of discomfort seeks to consume him.

It's hard to know what type of discomfort he is experiencing.  I took him for a criminal...an anti-social man who is not truly able to enter into the arena of sympathy, regret or even deep contemplation centering around the well-being of another.  His entire existence is centers around himself and the angst of his soul.  The angst, being more at the frustration at his inability to kill and exist free of inner-turmoil than being from the regret at taking a human life, is not exactly an angst of nobility.  Human life, to him, is nothing but existence...and his existence, if he is able to kill a "louse" of a woman and move on, unheeded by social norms and conformity, is more important and noble than that of any common person.  Just like Napoleon and all great men.

So the discomfort...the inner turmoil...what is it exactly, if not a full-fledged regret for his crime?  What is this inner turmoil and from where does it stem?  It's all rather ambiguous and it quickly becomes circular.  A man free of convictions exists in a world of torment after a crime he committed...a crime he does not regret!  My head spins and I am torn and I am taken to a place of deep contemplation.  And I relish in it.

The story continues.  He confesses.  Truly confesses to authorities and he is shipped to Siberia.  An existence, less noble than any common person, complete with cockroaches in his soup.

The harlot follows him to Siberia.  She no longer exists under the crushing empathy and responsibility of her younger siblings...so she leaves her lifestyle which was always for the sake of providing for those weaker than she.  She becomes a seamstress and spends her days sewing and investing in the murderer who chose her.  She visits him.  She withstands his contempt and trusts her meek, quiet, loving spirit will redeem him.

And just when I think he is beyond redemption...when it becomes clear he is incapable of love and connection...he is resurrected.  The author uses this term to describe his transformation...or the beginning of what would become his transformation.

They sit on the bank...and he falls at her feet and weeps.  And...in that moment...it's as if someone has called him forth just as Jesus called Lazarus that day the candle burned in the dirty, barren apartment.

The history of his soul...the selfishness of his spirit. The incessant rambling of his mind that bordered on insanity and took him to places of egotism amidst self-loathing. All of it was, in fact, representative of a spirit, an existence, that was...dead.  Without life.  He was not living...merely existing...and for what, he knew not.

Until the hour he killed, confessed and was resurrected.

Did he ever learn to truly regret his deed?  Will he always be a man who wanders and wonders?  Will he ever feel love for anyone, other than the harlot who so selflessly beseeched his devotion?  Is he capable of killing again or will his transformation become complete?

As I ask these questions internally and turn the last pages of this thought-provoking narrative, the words stare at back me:

"But here begs a new account, the account of a man's gradual renewal, the account of his gradual regeneration, his gradual transition from one world to another, his acquaintance with a new, hitherto, completely unknown reality.  It might make the subject of a new story-but our present story is ended."

And so it ends...with the hope of a new beginning.

 

 

A Servant's Life

"It's not about you." 

It's become my mantra. 

"I don't feel like doing laundry."  It's not about you.  "I REALLY don't want to cook dinner tonight."  It's not about you.  "I don't want to be a teacher today."  It's not about you. 

Selfishness.  We live in a world that esteems self and stresses the importance of "taking care of you."  Even Christian leaders today fuel the idea that you must take time to invest in yourself.  I simply cannot find this advice anywhere in scripture.  The world says to take care of yourself.  Jesus says to take care of the orphans and widows.  The world says you are entitled to down time.  Jesus says lay down your life.  The world says to follow your heart.  The Bible says to take every thought captive.  The world says live for yourself.  The Bible says you have been crucified with Christ.  The world tells you your children are a burden.  The Bible says they are a blessing.  The kings of this world sit in a palace and are protected by servants.  Our King washed dirty feet, dined with thieves, touched lepers and healed prostitutes. 

Selfishness rears its ugly head in all of us.  It's the pride of self...the voice that tells us we are entitled to something.  It's easy to see it in someone else...a little harder to pinpoint in ourselves. 

My daughter yelled at her little sister today...over a lost toy she let her borrow.  My response? "What's more important: the toy or your sister's heart?" 

Ouch.

"I've told you a hundred times not to do that!"  What's more important?  "Why don't you listen to me?" Making your point? "Stop touching that!"  Demanding blind obedience? "Come here right now!"  Or their hearts?

Speak kindly.  Serve wholly.  Admonish gently.  Shepherd lovingly.  This is the life of a servant.  A life modeled after a King who came to show us what selflessness really looks like. 

We serve our families...and thus serve Jesus.  This is what turns our children's hearts toward the Savior.  This is what opens their soul to the loving, corrective wisdom that comes from the heart of God. 

Harsh words and selfish desire never won anyone to the Kingdom.

I pray God will bless me with a lap that is open, ears that are keen, eyes that are loving, and a smile that is turned toward the blessings in my home.  I pray for tireless hands, a selfless spirit, a pure heart, bent knees and raised hands.  

Thank goodness it's not about me.  I am sin and I forget all too often the call of selflessness.  I never want to forget the way it feels to look into the eyes of my Savior and say, "I will."  I will teach these children what it means to follow you.  I will love them every day.  I will lay down my life for the least of these.  I will work tirelessly doing Your work until You come back.  Because none of this is about me.  It's about You.  Redeemer.  King.  Messiah.  Servant.