Through the Stillness

A few years back as I was scrolling through Facebook, I came across a video of my grandpa. His church, my childhood church, did a series of interviews from some of their members. They were all focused on connecting their stories with Jesus’ story. My grandpa spoke a lot about my grandma and the life they built together. He mentioned a verse they relied on throughout their life together. “And we know that all things work together for the good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose” (Romans 8:28). His eyes were tear-filled as he recalled their past and his pain of her death. It was powerful. I never imagined though, the twist his story would take after that interview.

He met someone in a bible study and remarried. His new wife is a very kind lady and they seem to balance each other. It is weird and yet it makes me happy at the same time. He has a new life, a different life. Last summer he showed up to a cookout wearing a shirt I would’ve never seen him in before. I know it is just a shirt, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. After my grandma’s death watching his pain was almost unbearable. I thought he had completely given up. Now, he is living again and even sporting a new style of shirt.

When I think of my story and all the plot twists that have brought me to where I am right now, I see how He is and has always been working to bring me closer to Him. I see how struggles and weaknesses that pull me to draw from His strength and not my own often tend to bring out my authentic self. I know who I am and whose I am now. When I was a teenager I searched inside myself only to find happiness is fleeting. It took pain and heartache to realize I’ll never find contentment in myself or this world. I needed those years of nullity because without them I wouldn’t have the dependence on God that I do today. I wouldn’t have the ability to lean into His presence in my darkest hours like I do today.

When I was a child, I thought praying should yield some sort of magical Jesus dust to instantly fall upon me and take my troubles away. When that didn’t occur, I assumed I was just doing something wrong. I wasn’t trying hard enough. I wasn’t worthy enough. No one taught me to think this way…it was my own misunderstanding. I do not even wish someone would have told me otherwise. Without that misunderstanding, my moment of revelation wouldn’t have been so powerful.

Today, I see Jesus and His story through my kids and their struggles and weaknesses. Through homeschooling Luke and helping him through all that has been happened, I see his true personality beginning to shine through once again. I see how his weaknesses are helping to shape him into the man he will someday be. Homeschooling has also pulled me into a natural rhythm I never thought possible.

With Luke doing better and being calmer, Oliver has been able to relax into his own self better as well. I’ve had more time and energy to hang with Oliver. Last night we worked on some Algebra problems and he lit up with joy. Oliver loves math. He just may reach his goal of learning Calculus by third grade…as long as his momma can brush up on her math skills in the next couple of years!

Matt and I have created this life together (with God’s help). The more we grow as one, the more our faith deepens, and the more we recognize His hand in everything we see and appreciate the beauty in our simple life. So much has changed from our younger days and I never imagined the struggles we would face and yet I wouldn’t change a thing.

Stories don’t need to be perfect or big and profound to matter. We don’t need to wait until things become smoother to share what Jesus has done or is doing for us. Even in the midst of our mess, He is working. We need to remember during hard times that He has an eternity mindset. Eternity, not today. He really is working for the good of those who love Him. Thank you, Lord.

As we drove down the snow-covered highway, I watched out my window as the scenery slipped by. Some of the trees had a few brown leaves still hanging on the branches. I wondered how the brittle leaves survived the ice, snow, and wind this winter has inflicted on them. There were large powerful looking trees that lost their fight to the wintry forces. What was helping those brittle leaves hang on? Maybe the leaf stalk? Pure luck? I’m not sure why I found it so amazing and why I spent any time trying to figure it out.

I knew there’s surely some scientific reason, but those sort of things tend to put my metaphorical-thinking brain into overdrive. My curiosity into finding the real reason quickly dwindled and turned into a pondering of strength and resilience.

I recently celebrated my fortieth birthday. There are many things I could share about my life and things I’ve learned. Strength, though, is one thing I feel I know something about and is something that can change someone’s perspective on everything.

When I was younger, I never felt like I was tough enough for this world. I tried, I pretended, but eventually I realized there really is no such thing as a strong person. There are only those who act strong. Once I accepted this I saw the power of weakness and it helped deepen my faith. It became more understandable to me, I guess is the best way to describe it. There was no longer a need to even try to be strong anymore. I no longer needed to pretend to be something I never could authentically be. I could just rely on God’s strength: the only real strength there is.

God’s strength gives me, a brittle leaf, the power to withstand anything. How amazing is that? 

It’s 11am on a Sunday morning and we should be sitting in church. I want to be in church. Instead, we are home. It has been a rough weekend. It began Friday evening when Luke couldn’t fall asleep. We stayed up late because we were at someone’s house enjoying ourselves. We were doing what “normal” people do. The kids were playing and the adults were talking. Time passed quickly. Looking back, I feel like I should have known better. Luke’s tics become almost violent in nature when he’s too tired. But then, it feels good to have moments to feel “normal”…and so it didn’t cross my mind until I was lying in bed with Luke trying to help him relax in between his tics.

Yesterday was just hard because he didn’t get enough sleep. It carried on all day and even into the night. We tried to get him to bed at 8pm, his regular bedtime, but it didn’t work. We ended up playing cards so he could get his mind off the tics. This morning, we allowed him to get the sleep he needed and so it was too late to make it to church.

A couple years ago, I don’t think we missed one day of Sunday school or church (unless we were sick or out of town). Our church life looks much different now and it makes me sad…yet this is our life. All of it has me thinking of how different life and church is for families with kids who have struggles. I don’t have the energy to say anything else right now except that it is hard and I can’t beat myself up over missing a couple weeks.

Certain people’s voices have a way of calming and carrying away my troubles. It is as though I can feel it on a cellular level. I mean, maybe not that much…or maybe so? Hmm. Yesterday it was my dad’s voice. Somedays it is the last voicemail from my grandma that I cannot seem to erase. I have one of my other grandma from her old work voicemail greeting as well that I cherish. My mom’s voice, my husband’s voice, and my kids voice ignite the same. Last week, my son had to call me from school. The sound of his voice, although I had just seen him a couple hours before, pulled me out of my worries and into a feeling of something I can’t quite describe.

A feeling of something I can’t quite describe. I bet as you read those words, you knew exactly what I meant. I bet you pictured one or more people in your life, past or present, whose voice does the same.

There are many times I have wished to pick up my phone to hear God’s voice in the same manner. I wonder what it would sound like? Strong but yet gentle and soothing, I imagine. What would I say to Him? Better yet, what would He say to me?  I would hope to hear Him simply say, “I love you and keep up the good work.” Yes, that would be enough for me. Those are the words I long to hear from people close to me. (Can you guess one of my love languages?) God designed me as such––to be the type who feels most at peace when I try to keep doing better at whatever it is I am doing in life. Yep, that pretty much sums me up.

So, what simple words would you like to hear from God?

“His master replied, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!”

~Matthew 25:23

I felt God as I watched Luke, tired and worn, with his head down walking up to me after school. His arm jerked up to his chest and his opposite leg jerked up immediately after. He glanced around with fear in his eyes. The tics growing ever worse and his anxiety over the fear of people noticing sent a twinge of sadness through every part of me. God was still there though. His loving presence reminded me of the hope we carry in the trials of life.

I heard God through Luke as his fingers danced along the piano keys. Joy traveled from his heart to his fingers to the keys and then to the hearts of all who heard. God was unmistakably there.

I saw God as Oliver listened intently as I explained why Luke struggles with life due to his vision problems, his ADHD, his tics, his anxiety, and all the ripple effects they cause. He nodded, he understood, he cared, and then we prayed. I saw God ever more clearly as I witnessed Oliver caring for his brother the days after our conversation. God stood in the midst of Oliver’s patience, his love, and his words.

Life, our life, is not an easy one…especially as of late. Some days I feel as though I alone carry Luke’s, Oliver’s, Matt’s, and my own weight. I feel alone and unsupported as though I may topple over at any given moment. Then, I cry out. I pick up the phone and hear my mom or dad’s voice. I receive a text from a caring friend. My husband embraces me. My kids smile. I remember that God is there, He is always there. He’s always been there. Through the pain and the joys of our simple little life God alone carries us through. It isn’t me. It never has been. It is God through me and with me. I am never alone. Praise God (insert happy dance)!

The old familiar feeling under my fingertips as I type these words has brought with it the peace I have been longing for this past two months since my last post. My apologies ahead of time. I’m sure this one will be full of rambling as my writing brain is a bit rusty. Oh well…

Two months ago, our renovations began in our home and I decided to put my blog on hold as well. It isn’t easy to focus on much of anything other than the chaos that surrounds me. As I look around at the beautiful progress, I know it is all worth it.

I remember the first time I stepped foot in this house. At first glance we saw the 1990’s glaring us in the face with all the beige carpet and brass galore. I walked around the house. Then we walked outside and the beautiful trees pulled me in. I thought of the other houses we had walked through, the other neighborhoods that were bare of any character. It was different here. Every house had its own personality. We stepped back inside and I looked around again. The layout of this house was different than most in this area. I also remembered my childhood and our old wooden boats. The joy of watching them transform into whatever we wanted to make them swept over me. I then pictured what the house could be.

Right now, it is finally becoming what I pictured. It is becoming more than what I pictured. (Insert giddy dance.) We could have sold our home and built a new one. We almost did a year ago. Boy, I’m glad we didn’t. There’s nothing better than taking what you already have and renewing it…

It is funny how the pounding of hammers, the buzz of power tools, and loud talking has become all too familiar. So familiar, I imagine I may feel my house is too quiet once it is all gone. We are nearing the end of the long list of to-dos on the remodeling. Eight weeks have passed without a kitchen. One of our bathrooms has been out-of-order as well. There are random lights without power and I cannot for the life of me remember there is no power in my usual plug-in spot for the central vacuum.

There have been stressful and disappointing moments. We’ve not exactly been pleased with the entire process and have had to speak up on a few different occasions. This has led to an unease in both me and my husband. Neither of us like conflict, nor do we feel it necessary to complain or pick apart a person or his/her work. We like to trust people and we like to trust that they are doing the best they can. What we have learned is that sometimes people cross the line and you have to stand up––and that’s okay.

With that being said, what we have also learned is that behind the people who cross the line are others who are well aware and work hard to make up for it. They are the fixers. They are the ones who assure you the work will be done right. They clean up messes. They go above and beyond what is expected of them. Those are, of course, the type of people who don’t get the credit they deserve. Those are also the type of people I try to point out to my kids as an example of what they should become.

I could care less about my kids being highly educated or wealthy. I try to teach them to aim for more love and the opportunity to serve others. Be the cleaner uppers and fixers. You know, like Jesus, who led by serving others. Yep, I want my boys to want to be feet washers. That is what this world really needs.

There was a situation with one of my boys that left him feeling insecure, hurt, and a bit angry. The words he used, the expressions on his face, and his slumped shoulders unsettled some past dust in my own life. Feeling his pain and my own, I embraced him and prayed for guidance before I spoke. The first thing I could think to say was that I knew exactly how he felt. He straightened up and looked me in the eyes. I nodded and repeated my sentence. I spoke about not feeling like your enough for some people. His head plopped down and rested on my shoulder. We talked a little bit more, but it was one of those moments where I felt he needed my quiet presence more than my words. It was one of those moments where I felt my husband, his dad, needed to do the guiding. Boy, that’s not easy to do as a mom.  It worked though. Dad to the rescue!

The feeling of not being enough for someone hurts. It hurts more than I like to admit out loud. No matter how far I’ve come in my life, no matter how much I’ve come to accept my weaknesses and limits I struggle with this still. I know with full confidence that I cannot be enough for everyone all the time and yet I wish I could be.

Maybe it is natural to feel this way, maybe we all feel this from time to time. I know it is okay to be hurt and embrace hurt feelings. I think it leads to becoming more sensitive in the treatment of others. I just don’t want it to paralyze my kids like it has me in the past. I guess this can be where I try to shift their thinking or at least teach them to be aware of the instability of self-confidence.

Our weaknesses will inevitably come to the surface at times. Trying to rely on our fickle feelings or the opinions of others can lead to more pain. Learning to lean into pure confidence in Christ, into His steady arms, is what I want for my kids. Heck, it is what I want for myself as well. You know, no matter how far I’ve come in my faith journey there’s always moments that remind me of how much further I can still go. Hmm…thank God for that.