Slowing down.

I’ve had sick kids the last few days. Sick kids means kids at home, means time spent getting water and fixing blankets and cuddling up on the couch. It’s wonderful, but at the back of my mind I’m still aware of the chores and the to do lists and the things I had planned to get done that just don’t seem to happen when there are kids in the house.

I admit I don’t always make the best nurse in these times. I tend to get anxious about what isn’t happening. I feel frustrated and put upon and am constantly going through the lists in my head and trying to figure out how to shuffle things around so it will all get done.

I tried a different approach this time. I cleared my schedule. I sat on the couch with my daughter’s head in my lap. I nurtured her. I played games with my son and we laughed together. I took a breath, I let go of the lists and I experienced life as it was.

I’ve been reading more about slowing down. From blogs by busy moms to a book about worship to the story of Mary sitting at Jesus’ feet to Jesus himself taking time away from the crowds. Changing my mind from seeing “quiet time” as another thing to add to my list to realizing it means being in the moment, being present where I am and finding the quiet there, the lessons, the whispers of the Spirit, the refreshing of my soul.

Fresh

I’m tying to put together words to make sense of all of the things going on in my head. Generally this is an easy process for me, but today, it’s not. There’s too many ways of looking at it and I’m not sure just where this is going, so forgive me if it comes out a bit disjointed.

For most of my life I have believed things about myself that were not true. Those beliefs affected my actions and my relationships and the way I saw the world around me. Even with healing and therapy and good, strong, healthy connections to people I still struggled with this internal world. At my best I felt slightly less than that others thought I was. At my worst I felt….awful.

There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. Romans 8:1

No matter how many times I read that verse, I couldn’t believe it was true for me, because I kept proving to myself that it wasn’t. That I was still broken and marked and cursed and awful. I hoped that some day I could do better, or at the very least that the grace of God would stretch that far.

What can wash away my sin

Nothing but the blood of Jesus

What can make me whole again

Nothing but the blood of Jesus

When we think of washing, of being cleansed, there’s this sense of taking away what is bad and wrong, removing the corruption, But people don’t work like that. There’s consequences and effects and bits of us that change. As good as it is to think about instant cleansing and everything going back to perfection, that’s not how people work. We remember, we build habits and beliefs and hold on to things, even when we know better.

That’s why I like the imagery of the blood of Christ. It covers our sin. It doesn’t matter about the lingering marks because they are covered, filled in, owned and taken care of. There is no condemnation for me from God because God sees only the blood of Christ. There is no condemnation because I am filled in and made whole, and those bits of me that were wrong – the habits and thoughts and actions all influenced by years of holding onto lies – those are being changed. I am being made new, day by day, growing and getting better. Even in the process, even when I struggle and fall back on old habits, I am still covered and under the blood of Christ.

As the world turns

It’s a funny thing to think about live moving around me. A few years ago I was sick. Not quite bedridden for months. My husband was amazing and stepped in, taking responsibility for meals and groceries and laundry and bedtime routines for the kids. My biggest responsibility was to keep the kids fed and safe while he was at school every day, and to keep an eye on our finances to make sure everything got covered. I struggled a lot during that time realizing that he could do it without me – a realization that came back in a bad way a couple years ago. I was struggling with crippling depression and for a time I thought my family would do better without me. I trusted he could take care of them, of himself, of everything without the extra burden of dealing with my sadness and lethargy and needyness.

It’s hard to find your place in the world when confronted with the fact that it functions fine without you.

On the other extreme, I tend to have an overblown sense of responsibility. Generally I blame it on my mother, but really I know that’s a cop out. When I’m in charge of something to any degree, I get insecure. I want people to like me, and so if I am in any way able to make someone’s experience better and I don’t, then it’s on me and my fault. This leads to a lot of pressure I place on myself and a lot of guilt. It also makes it nearly impossible to take constructive criticism in the way it’s intended.

Yesterday my husband reminded me the extreme reaction I have is in part because of a position I was in years ago. One of those things I thought I’d moved past but apparently is still lingering in the background. He told me this after I called him home from work because I was crying and couldn’t stop and I knew I was over-reacting but couldn’t make it all make sense. I forget sometimes that there’s other things to consider – experiences and thoughts and habits and wounds and countless other bits and pieces that make me who I am.

So what’s to do then? Being involved and part of things is important. I need to be connected to stay healthy, to exercise my gifts and to serve the people around me. Part of things, but not too big a part, or the weight of it crushes me and I somehow believe it all comes down to me, that i am the most crucial element.

How quickly my pride moves from one extreme to the other.

I’m taking some time now to get some perspective. To step back and observe and see what happens. A reminder that the world still turns, and a chance to see where there’s a spot for me to fit into it. The right spot where I’ll fit and feel comfortable and not be crushed by my own expectations.

First response

I have this…trait. A habit? Not sure what category it falls into (although I’m sure “character flaw” would probably be on the list). I respond to things.

Almost any time an opportunity is given for me to react or voice my opinion, I’m there ready to give it. I like to think it’s because I was raised in a home where discussion and sharing one’s opinion was encouraged. I can even say it’s because I’ve got a wide range of topics that interest me and that I enjoy dialogue.

Really though, sometimes, it’s just because I want to have my say.

I’ve been feeling this pull lately toward silence and stillness and reflection. To not being the first voice, to giving pause before I speak or react or share. It’s not my natural tendency (not that my natural tendency always works in my favour).

Proverbs 29:11

A fool gives full vent to his spirit, but a wise man quietly holds it back

Sometimes I think I’m so wise. All this knowledge and understanding and reading and thinking that I’ve done gives me this sense of entitlement when it comes to sharing my thoughts and ideas and opinions. I want to change that. I want to listen. I want to reflect and understand. I want to feel comfortable in quiet contemplation. I want to stop this constant need to have my thoughts validated.

So writing here may seem like a bit of a contradiction.

I am going to try to learn the difference between sharing for growth and speaking in order to hear my own voice. I have a feeling I won’t always get it right, but that is my goal. I want to spend more time reading and reflecting and taking in the words and thoughts and experiences of those around me. This is a place for me to sort through those things and wrestle with my own thoughts, but also a place to show restraint – not filling the page with every word that runs through my head.

Weary

This morning I am not at my best. I’m tired. I’m frustrated. Despite my best efforts I didn’t get nearly enough sleep last night. There are things tugging at my thoughts that make me feel anxious and frustrated and confused. There are some conversations and decisions happening in my church that make me wonder where I fit and if I might be wrong about some issues that I feel very strongly on.

These things are hard to deal with. For years I was very hard on “the Church” and wanted no part in it. Finding a church – a group of people who regularly get together to discuss spirituality and share life together – was hard. It took a long time to feel comfortable there and to feel safe. Through a lot of changes I’ve seen a lot of growth and positive things, but right now there’s an issue and it’s just hard.

Community is hard sometimes. I try to teach my kids that. I try to remind them that when you live in a family, when you’re in family space, it means you can’t always have exactly what you want. It means I can’t have a clean, quiet home and it means they can’t drag in every bit of mud and grass from the yard. Church community is the same – we need to be willing to give a little and choose not to express our will for the better of the whole. I know it won’t be the ideal I picture in my head (and I even understand parts of my ideal are probably wrong), but times like this are hard.

Really this is an opportunity for us to grow, as a community. It’s a chance to discuss and share and learn together, and to make decisions that might stretch us and push us a bit. That’s not a bad thing. It’s just hard.

Especially when I have to admit that I might be the one who needs to be stretched.

As I sit

As I sit in my quiet house with my coffee, a thousand things tumble through my head. To-Do lists and reminders and things I want to do with the kids and things we could do as a family and people I need to call and emails I need to write. My world is quiet but inside is not.

Until I make a choice and take out my journal and find a thought to focus on, a thread, and it comes out through my pen onto paper and with the focus comes quiet and with the quiet comes peace.

And then I can listen.

I can listen to what’s deeper than the chatter and the to-do and the should and have to and regrets. There’s a stillness deep inside.

Prepare my heart to worship You, my only desire is to honour You, I’m weak and in need of something fresh. 

Something about music. Something about the sounds and the words sits deep in my soul and comes up just when I need to. It’s a beautiful thing, really. These are lyrics a song that I can’t even find online, a band that I listened to as a teen because they were local and it was something to do. Today, they are my prayer.

Search me today and make me new

Wisdom and hope I pray from you

Break up my selfish, stubborn will

No matter the cost, I’ll serve you still

Sometimes it feels like I don’t know what I’m doing

Yesterday I prayed with my daughter. I’m almost ashamed that such a simple thing is worth reflecting and writing on, but it is. Praying with my daughter is a rare thing. Praying for her or around her is normal. We talk about prayer together. Still there seemed to be some sort of disconnect, like going from “oh I love dancing” to “will you dance with me”.

I don’t know how to do this “raising kids in a Christian home” thing. I have enough trouble with the “raising kids part” and then the “Christian home” side…well, often it feels like I’m having to make things up as I go and hope for the best. We don’t do things the way my husband was raised (as much as he is a fantastic person and I completely adore my inlaws, it just doesn’t work for us), and things from my childhood are no help (in my family the closest we got to spiritual teachings was watching Jesus Christ Superstar). I watch the people around me but they all seem so natural at it, asking questions makes me feel awkward and uncomfortable. Like I should know how to do this. Like it should come naturally.

It doesn’t really. There’s so many things I want for my kids and I’m just not sure how to do it all. I want them to have a deep longing for a connection with the Divine, but I also want them to understand and respect other faith cultures. I want them to be sure of their place in the world but I don’t want them to forget there are others who need. I want them to have strength and courage and be a voice for the voiceless but I don’t want them to miss the point and feel superior to the people around them. I want them to know God and experience his love and grace, but I want them to have the opportunity to seek him out on their own terms.

So they come to church with us. They learn all the things they learn in their program (which I’m assuming is good quality stuff since husband and other people I love and respect are running things). They hear husband and I talk and discuss. They see me involved and participate with us. I don’t hide my faith, but at the same time it’s very much my faith and the problem comes with trying to share that with them.

So today was a big step. When the girl was frustrated and teary eyed, when I was replaying the scolding I’d given in my head, when I remembered that there is more to being good than acting good, I asked her if I could pray with her. Because she is my girl and keeps me on my toes and challenges me more than she’ll ever know, her response was “why?”

Why? 

Because you’re special and amazing and I love you. Because you’ve had a rough day. Because sometimes it feels like no matter how hard you try you can’t get it right. Because we need to remember we’re not in this alone. Because I know you can get past this. Because God loves you even more than I do. Because I get it wrong too and need to remember it’s not all up to me. Because we both need all the love we can get. Because God is good and wants good for us.

I don’t always do it right – as a parent or as a believer or as an example or any of the other things I am in the run of the day, but in that moment, by the grace of God, I think I did.

When it comes in a Whisper

This feels like an odd place to start, but everyone needs to start somewhere.

The short story was that there was a prayer retreat. A prayer retreat that took months of planning and thousands of emails and hundreds of conversations and gentle nudges and bit pushes and wondering if we had all gone nuts and how could this all really work.

Then it happened. And now it’s over.

For the last two days I’ve wrestled with my reflections, asking myself if it’s wrong to consider a prayer retreat anticlimactic.

In all the prep and all the prayer and all the journey it took to pull it together there was just so much new and exciting and possible. The things going on around it all seemed to tie in and this, this was going to be the moment where something clicked and something changed and all the other pieces came together and it happened.

Not really sure what I thought the it was. Not really sure what I thought would happen. It was just this idea that we’d all be together and focussed on God and available  that SOMETHING had to happen. Right?

Things did happen, of course. All of the feedback has been wonderful. I just didn’t feel it. Maybe it’s because I was sick or maybe it’s because I was distracted or maybe…maybe it wasn’t a moment.

Of course I’m reminded of Elijah in 1 Kings and how God wasn’t in the fire or the earthquake but in the whisper.

Why do I think God in the fire or God in the moment is better or more desirable than God in the whisper?

I look back over the time planning the retreat and I can’t deny God’s presence. God guiding us and leading us through conversations and prayer and situations. I can’t deny that God has changed me and healed me and helped me to grow so much over the last few months. All in a whisper. Instead of bowing down amazed that the God of all things, creator of heaven and earth has spoken to me and called me and taken me by the hand, I stomp my foot and pout because there wasn’t any fireworks.

I am thankful for the whisper. I am thankful for the change and the growth. I am thankful for the reminder that I don’t need to wait for a moment – for an eathquake or a fire or an event – to encounter the living God.

Growth happens so slowly. Cell by cell in layers building up, each one so small you almost can’t see it. I’m reminded of growth on an evergreen tree – so delicate and small and seemingly insignificant we forget that ever branch once started out like that.

(taken from words4it.com)

I want to grow. I want to see the people around me grow. I want the community as a whole to grow and I see signs of that growth, little glimpses of it here and there. God is leading us, just as He intends to, sometimes despite our own understanding of the situation.

Here I raise my Ebenezer, hither by Thy help I come

And I hope, by Thy good blessing, safely to arrive at home