I was watching the kids trying to catch fireflies and it occurred to me that following God can be a lot like that.

To catch a firefly you have to chase the occasional flickers of light you see. You follow his trail, standing in the last place you saw the light until you see another flash. Then you move to that spot – this dot-to-dot kind of game continues until you’ve finally caught up to the bug.

In the same way, in life, we follow the little flickers of illumination God gives us. Sometimes they are frequent, sometimes not. When we don’t have any light, so to speak, the thing to do is to stay in the last place you saw it, until the next step is illuminated.

We must be patient to catch fireflies and we must be patient when following God. There’s really no rush to get anywhere (He’s more interested in building a person than a life plan), and part of the fun is the chase, the adventure.

Just enjoy it.

But really.

In my defense today was kind of a surprise adult day. I forgot the kids had dentist appointments and I didn’t realize I was going to have to go inside their school, so I didn’t plan accordingly.

The only jeans that were clean [and that also worked with my Converse, which I had to wear because, a. it was raining and, b. to cover my toes, which need attention] were the ones with the gaping hole in the knee.

In some situations I feel fine wearing them, but when I interrupted the cheer/dance duet at the second grade talent show to check Corban out, wearing those and a sweatshirt, I felt extra conspicuous.

That feeling was also due to the fact that my hair needs washing, so I had thrown it into a ponytail this morning with the plan to shower later. That plan was aborted for an extra errand and said dentist appointment.

Generally, I want to look like a grown up who tried when we have such appointments, but since I hit the ground running this morning there wasn’t time to try.

We’re preparing for end of the year stuff for the young kids, graduation for the big kid and my parents are coming into town tomorrow.

That means shopping. And cleaning. And balancing. And providing peanut-free replacement snacks for my food dye/gluten sensitive kids. And more cleaning. And an end of school playdate/party for our amazing kindergarten teacher who is retiring after this year.

All that to say, I caught a few looks from moms who had tried today [not the fabulous half-day kindergarten moms]. Or at least, I interpreted the looks that way. I could be totally wrong and simply be projecting my self-judgment.

Days like this when I feel overwhelmed with the to-do list and don’t feel like I have my stuff together, I’m tempted to be really hard on myself.

Not having my laundry done, forgetting appointments, looking gross and spinning my wheels when I’ve got a long list of things to do makes me feel like I’m a mess.

That’s the disclaimer I used to throw out: Hey listen, you just need to know, I’m a mess. It was my way to let people know what to expect, in advance.

But really I’m not such a mess. I’m just normal. This is something I’ve finally learned. We’re all a little bit messy in one way or another, we just don’t talk about it much because we are supposed to have our crap together.

Or so we think. We just keep putting lipstick on the pig.

I don’t know why we set the bar so high for ourselves (and our kids) in areas that, on the average day, don’t matter that much. I’m laughing a little at the idea that doing laundry and washing my hair was just classified as setting the bar high.

But, when you have young children, making it through the day with everyone safe and fed can be a real accomplishment. Having the house somewhat clean, too, is a huge accomplishment.

Nobody tells you that when you have babies. I’m telling you: If you’re pregnant or expecting a child via adoption or whatever, listen to what I’m saying.

I used to show up at church on a regular basis with our four kids in tow – after fighting through diaper changes, feedings and bottles, getting them all dressed and strapped into their carseats, tantrums and someone having to poop at the last minute, all by myself (Dave had to be at church early), because by gosh this is my one hour and a half this week to get some peace – and deliver the kids to their rooms, then promptly break down crying on my friend, Melaine’s, shoulders in the Highlands cafe.

That was my normal.

I’ve actually got a lot more freedom now to get things done. I’ve just had a busy few weeks that are giving me flashbacks to more difficult days.

Maybe if we cut ourselves some slack in the secondary things, we’d do better in the big issues, the heart issues – because when we get down on ourselves, every area of our lives suffers. It’s the hearts of our children that really matter and that can get lost in the to-do list and perfectionism.

When I feel free and secure I’m a better wife and mom. I’m a better listener and just generally more fun and relaxed. Everybody benefits.

Now, I’m off to attempt to take a shower. Because everybody will benefit from That, too.

This has kind of become my personal motto – well, motto is a bad way to describe it; maybe it’s like a mini pep talk. It’s slightly sarcastic, but that’s me (sorry if you peaked early).

I realized yesterday that I had been saying this to myself as an encouragement – because, yes, I do talk to myself. And today I thought I might not be the only late bloomer out there. Of course, I’m not.

I was a late bloomer in my early years. Tall, skinny and built like a boy til my late teens. I hated it.

Lately I’ve been thinking that I might still be a late bloomer. That feeling I’ve talked about where I don’t feel like I’m really excellent in any area of life, or just not great at any one thing?

It might be that I’m blooming late again. Maybe it’s just taking me longer than others to find my groove.

I think it’s a fun thought because who knows what’s ahead? It could be anything.

This is a short and sweet post – I just wanted to share for my late bloomer friends.

It’s never too late to become who you are.

That sounds like psycho babble, doesn’t it? But I’m serious…we try to be so many things in life that sometimes we are never ourselves.

God wants to use you, not some version of you that you or others crafted. It requires us to lose our self-consciousness.

I don’t think it’s even supposed to be all that complicated – not some deep thing we have to figure out.

You never know what might happen. If you haven’t bloomed yet, be comforted – at least you didn’t peak early.

 

**this post is not a statement about the value I place on being a mother. I haven’t fully bloomed in motherhood either – I’d love to, though 😉 It’s not about vocation, specifically. Loving God and loving people are the highest goods a person can do.

When I first started blogging several years ago, it was at the suggestion of friends. I was told I should blog because I’d be hilarious.

I don’t think I’ve ever once been hilarious. I tried to do funny but I couldn’t. It never worked – I would go blank. Hilarious mommy blogger isn’t my genre.

I can’t write anything that isn’t related to my faith. And somehow I’m really attracted to the topics of suffering and pain. Delightful, yes? It’s the very opposite of hilarity.

Basically I’ve figured out that I can’t do anything here for anybody else, or be what anyone else wants me to be. Not because I’m stubbornly secure, but because my mind goes blank. I can’t write unless I actually have something to say. I’ve tried that, too.

Putting my thoughts out here can be a little nerve wracking, at times. I think I’m too Jesus-y for some people and not Jesus-y enough for others.

I can tell by the loss of interaction on social media after I say certain things (like the time I wrote about Planned Parenthood). A few people who had been very interactive with me suddenly stopped communicating at all. Other people stopped when I became less preachy and more personal and touchy feely.

Some people don’t think I have any business writing for the public eye at all.

That’s okay. But sometimes I wonder if my skin is thick enough, because if I keep going, negative comments are bound to come, eventually. People are probably just holding out on me now.

There’s a song by Anna Nalick that contains these lines:

I feel like I’m naked in front of the crowd
Cause these words are my diary, screaming out loud
And I know that you’ll use them, however you want to

That’s a decent way to explain how I feel sometimes. I release my words and who knows how they’ll be heard or interpreted. Or misinterpreted. Or judged.

But I do it anyway because I’m driven to do so. It’s certainly not because I think I’m a great writer, though I’d love to be one, one day. It’s more that I have words that are burning a hole inside me to get out.

I don’t even think the things I say are that unusual or earth-shaking. They aren’t new thoughts, but they’re my thoughts, from my heart, from my story of walking with God. In that sense they are new and for some reason they want to land here.

I write in order to relate to you. To maybe make somebody feel not so alone. To offer hope. To share joy. To tell the truth and to encourage others to do the same. To sort out what I even think about things – to process life.

I appreciate you taking the time to read my thoughts, even if you completely disagree with the things I say, or wish I said them differently. But, go easy on me, okay?!

And I’m sorry I’m not hilarious. I tried.

When we moved in January, three years ago, there was a lot going on. In many ways the move was the unraveling of my soul.

I was barely recovered from the hysterectomy I had in the Fall, which is not much more than a blur in my memory, because it was overshadowed by the sickness and eventual death of a close friend (Summer Kempfer, for those of you who don’t know).

Two things keep the memory of my surgery alive. One is that it coincided with the Auburn Early Ed. lice outbreak from hell. Riley fell victim and it took weeks to finally get rid of the little demon bugs. I remember bending my freshly stitched up belly over her head, treating and picking through her hair.

Also, Summer had an emergency situation while I was in surgery and when I came out of anesthesia I heard that she had gone into the ICU. I was trapped in a bed, unable to get there, and it was awful.

In addition to that, I was homeschooling Caeley for her 9th grade year. With all the distractions, I did a pretty terrible job as a homeschool mom. Our relationship grew, though, so I count it a win.

In late October, Summer passed away. Watching a loved one suffer and then take her last breath does something to you. I wasn’t the one who had to endure the suffering, but I was deeply impacted and changed. I’m still sorting through all of that.

In November and December we celebrated the holidays and packed up our home in Auburn. January 19, 2013 we left for Kansas City.

It’s difficult to explain some things to a person who has no grid for hearing God, or who has been told God doesn’t communicate with us. So, if that’s you just try to take my word for this: I believe God led me to agree to move to Kansas City. I didn’t feel called to any particular thing, just to go. I felt it was for the good of our family. It also wasn’t something I wanted to do, at all.

I felt like I was setting out for the wilderness – the Biblical kind of wilderness, not the Bear Grylls adventure kind of wilderness. This was not a positive thing, in my mind.

I’ve found, however, that being alone, separated from family, friends, and my church – all the familiar things that I can too easily lean upon – has driven me to know Him in a deeper way.

As I got here and began to unravel, the grief, the guilt, the loneliness, the difficulties of motherhood, the relational difficulties, the questions, all gushed out.

I’m not exaggerating when I say I felt like I had PTSD. Between what happened with Summer and a long, really difficult season of parenting one of our kids, I was not in good shape. I didn’t have any human around that I felt safe to talk to about all of it.

But (this is the important part)…

God was there. The Holy Spirit was a very present help in my trouble. When He leads you somewhere, He doesn’t abandon you when you get there.

Isaiah 26:3 says of God, “You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you.”

The “stayed” mind isn’t simply the mind that stays focused on Him. No, it’s the mind that is supported, upheld and sustained by Him. It’s the mind propped up by Him, by His character. It’s the mind that chooses to lean itself upon Him for support.

It’s why I am unashamed to say, yes, I do need a crutch. Yes, I am weak. Yes, I need help.

I couldn’t always stay focused on Him in a conscious way, because my thoughts were often overwhelming. It can be difficult to forcefully redirect painful thoughts. But I was very dependent upon Him and was aware of His presence.

He is the reason I’m sane (some of you may argue that!). He is my peace. He has sustained me through many things. He has guided me, taught me, protected me, sent people to me, and He has changed me.

When we think of Jesus spending forty days in the Wilderness, fasting and praying, we often assume He was weak at the end of it. When He was tempted by satan we imagine it was because He was tired out.

Dallas Willard pointed out that, in reality, He would have been spiritually strong by the end of forty days of fasting and prayer. He may have been physically weak and hungry, but the inner man was fully equipped for the fight.

I think in a sense that’s what happens to us when we go through difficulties, if our minds are stayed on Him.

Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. Romans 5

Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. James 1

We don’t become strong without some resistance. We don’t become mature without time and experience.

We don’t really know God until we experience Him. And often, that doesn’t happen outside of difficulty.

I don’t claim to be strong or mature, yet, but I’m stronger and more mature than I was three and a half years ago. I trust Him more. I lean on Him more. I love Him more. I am more peaceful.

If you’re in a hard place, look to Him. Trust Him. Lean on Him for support. Your circumstance might not change but you will.

 

A quick thought at bedtime…

I’ve noticed that I have this struggle. On the one hand I’ve spent years trying to shed labels people have given me (mostly negative ones, obviously). My desire is not to live according to labels or comparisons with others.

At the same time, I’m spinning my wheels and burning mental energy trying to figure out what I’m good at. Is there any area in which I excel? And I come up empty and frustrated because I don’t have that one thing.

I think about it this way:

When I die people will say, wow she was a really great _______________.

We’ll miss her _______________.

And I can’t think of one thing to fill in. It has frustrated me for years. I know many people who are amazing at particular things, but I’m just kind of okay at a few things. Some days I feel like I’m not cutting it in any area – as a mom, wife, homemaker, friend, etc.

What’s funny is that I realized that I was frustrated because I don’t have a label. So, while I say I’m shedding labels, and refusing to be defined that way, here I am trying to find another label – something to let me know I’m doing okay or making a positive mark.

I can’t choose not to let others define me in the negative sense, and then give them permission in the positive. It’s not secure on either side. Only God can truly define me. Even Paul said,

But with me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you or by any human court. In fact, I do not even judge myself. For I am not aware of anything against myself, but I am not thereby acquitted. It is the Lord who judges me. Therefore do not pronounce judgment before the time, before the Lord comes, who will bring to light the things now hidden in darkness and will disclose the purposes of the heart. Then each one will receive his commendation from God.

We ourselves, and certainly other people, can’t know for sure our own motives. We are likely succeeding in ways we can’t see and failing in other ways to which we are blind.

This thing is a crazy cycle, sometimes. It’s hard to just be and take one day at a time, one moment at a time. It’s a battle to be content with the process.

I share this because I’m certain I’m not the only one who feels mediocre sometimes. I don’t know if that’s all bad, either. Many of the ways we love and serve people well are small and repetitive. They add up over years.

We live in a world that says everything has to be extraordinary and spectacular and a lot of times life is just normal.

And that’s okay. Normal is beautiful. Basic is nice, right?

It helps us stay humble.

This will likely be the first of two or three thoughts on finding God in the low places.

I grew up in the church and I’m so thankful that I did. But, one of the challenges about growing up in the church, for me, was that I was introduced to, and inducted into, the gospel before I knew I needed it.

I’m not saying Christians shouldn’t raise our children in the church. I think it’s wonderful and right and necessary to do so, please don’t get me wrong. I’m just saying that somehow I didn’t really get it. I grew up thinking I was basically okay. I was a good person.

I didn’t understand my need for Jesus or for the empowerment of the Holy Spirit. I remember telling God as a young adult that I could not relate to Paul when he said, “For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out.”

I honestly did not think I was so bad.

I knew enough to know that was probably not true, but I was honest with God about where I was.

After having been out of church for most of my college years, I came back shortly after Dave and I got married, when I was 22. A couple of years later I got involved with a Bible study where we sang “contemporary” Christian music, not hymns. Many of the other people there were more demonstrative in their worship (they clapped, raised their hands, etc.). I observed them closely, because that was not what I was used to at all.

They seemed genuinely happy and seemed to feel actual love for God. That was different. I began to feel like I was hitting a wall, so to speak, because I wanted to understand what was going on with them and if it was real, I wanted it, too. However, I couldn’t seem to make that happen.

I can’t remember now what song it was, but one of the ones we sang a lot said something about being overwhelmed with God’s love for us.

I told God more than once that something was wrong with me, because I did not feel overhwelmed. I wasn’t even whelmed. In fact, I might be underwhelmed. That’s grammatically redundant, I realize, but whatever.

This is how I always talk to God – I pick everything apart and analyze it.

If He loved me that much then I was missing something because I wasn’t aware of it or able to respond to it.

In retrospect I believe I know what part of my problem was.

It’s related to what Jesus said about the “woman who lived a sinful life,” who anointed His feet with oil.

In the Message paraphrase it reads this way:

She was forgiven many, many sins, and so she is very, very grateful. If the forgiveness is minimal, the gratitude is minimal. Luke 7:43‭-‬47

My lack of affection was tied to my lack of understanding of how much I had been forgiven. And how much I needed to be forgiven. There are many ways I have failed to love God and love my neighbor.

In God’s great kindness, and in answer to my prayers, however, He has shown me over time just how much I am in need of Him. Seriously, it’s laughable now that I couldn’t see it back then, but, honestly, I was headed for disaster.

Actually, I was already a disaster.

I can relate to the woman at the well when she ran through the city saying, “He told me everything I ever did!” and was happy about it.

Seeing myself for what I am, or was, put the love of God into perspective. I’ve found that He is gentle in exposing and restoring me, never harsh. My heart is tender toward Him, and seeks to know Him, so if something is being exposed in a very harsh way, it’s probably not Him.  

When I was talking to God about all this in my younger days, I wanted instant results. What I got was a process. It seems that His way for me has been to find Him in the low places – in suffering, humiliation, difficulty and moments of humility, I have sensed His love the most. And now I can’t help but respond.

*There wasn’t necessarily anything wrong with my church upbringing at all. I think it was a matter of maturity. Some of our kids might have a good understanding of faith from early on, but most will likely have to go through some sort of process of coming into the fullness of faith for themselves. Nobody ever rode in on the coattails of another person. They weren’t pushed, pulled or dragged, either. Each person walks into the Kingdom on his or her own two feet.

Well, it’s happened.

I’ve turned into That Mom. The one who sits and goes through old pictures, crying, because my baby is graduating.

This is the one that got to me this morning:

I remember when I took this picture. Caeley used to love to go see the ducks that hung out at the nursing home across the pond from us when we lived in our apartment in Auburn. I thought they were so cute sitting there together.

What got me was remembering her chubby cheeks and legs and her little hands that I know are folded in her lap. She’s so little here.

Now she looks like this…

And this…

She has grown into a beautiful young woman. She’s smart, funny, kind, fierce, adventurous and fearless. Those last two make me nervous…and will surely cause my prayer life to grow!

She is finishing up her senior year and will be headed to William Jewell in August to begin the Oxbridge Honors program. She’ll be a Literature and Theory major and will also study Physics. It remains to be seen whether that will be a major or a minor.

Jewell is only 45 minutes away, so we’ll still be able to see her often. That is, except for her junior year, which she will spend at Oxford University. I’m excited for that opportunity and for the freedom she will have to travel throughout Europe while she’s there.

She’ll gain a lot of valuable experience that way. And I’m pretty sure I’m going to need to help her move in and make sure everything is up to par. It’s the only right thing to do.

Caeley is a gifted writer, a deep thinker and has a passion for truth and justice (I just made her sound like a superhero with a keyboard). I can’t wait to see how all of that comes together.

Mamas, if you’ve got a little girl at home that is strong-willed, independent and too big for her britches, take heart! I know it has its challenges, but hang on and keep pointing her in the right direction.

This child was all of those things, at times – and still is, to a degree. It has settled into focus, discipline and drive. I am not concerned whether she will lead or follow – she will stand alone to stand for what’s right, if necessary.

I am beyond proud to be your mom, Caeley. You challenge me in the best ways. You’ve got a beautiful heart. Keep turning it towards the Lord and keep asking the hard questions. Never stop laughing and never stop being you.

I love you and can’t wait to see your future unfold.

Always and forever.

If anyone needs me, I’ll be on the couch with my box of kleenex and powdered doughnuts.

In a recent post I made a subtle connection between self-consciousness and self-centeredness. I’d like to expound on what that has looked like in my own life – or where I really began to see it clearly.

If I’m not mistaken it was May, 2010. I had jumped in last minute to go on a beach trip with 9 other women, because one of them had to back out. I took her spot.

I knew half of them from church and the others I either knew in passing or not at all. I had been leading LIFE small groups with a couple of them (Lori and Summer) and was also deep in the throes of a battle against insecurity.

I kind of had a come-closer-go-away approach to people. I wanted friendship but it was so awkward and difficult for me that I would always back off. I never knew how to engage or initiate things, so I didn’t. Because of that I think people assumed I was disinterested; therefore, I might not be called or invited to do things. Then I’d be upset. It was a terrible cycle of awkward dysfunction.

In addition I’d had relationships in my growing up years that left me believing people didn’t actually like me. I usually assumed people talked to me, or hung out with me, out of a sense of obligation or some ulterior motive.

This made me a delight to try to get to know.

I was actively growing in this area, though, and really wanted to live in an open-hearted way.

Now, back to the beach trip: we piled in our cars and headed down to Destin. The very first night I was involved in an interaction which led to some stress and irritation between me and another person. There were a few sarcastic exchanges which kicked my insecurity into high gear.

What happened next was like nothing I had experienced before and has happened only one other time since. I had what I can only describe as an anxiety attack from hell.

For a solid 24 hours I couldn’t control my thoughts. Every thought was,

I don’t belong here.
I don’t fit in.
They don’t really like me.
I am such a loser.
Why am I here?
I’m in the way.
I wish I could go home.
They hate me.
I’m just a tag along.
I’m so high maintenance.

I couldn’t go to sleep, I couldn’t eat and I absolutely couldn’t reroute my thoughts or distract myself. I wanted to talk about it, but couldn’t bring myself to expose how pathetic I was. I felt like I was a lot of work to be around, already.

Even writing about it now, I feel completely ridiculous. But it is what it is.

We were on the beach the afternoon of the second day and I was listening to worship music, trying to get some peace.

As I sat there, talking to God silently, I kept saying, “I can’t live like this. I can’t be open-hearted if it’s like this. I won’t survive.”

Finally, I asked, “How can I survive this? How can I do it?”

Clear as day I heard the following (in my mind, of course):

Become a servant.

I thought, “What?! What the heck is that? What does that have to do with anything?”

I was looking for a pat on the head not a revolution in perspective.

As I sat there and thought about it, clarity came. (It seems obvious now, but at the time it wasn’t.)

Essentially, it was a call to stop focusing on me and start focusing on others. It was a call to stop looking inward and turn my eyes outward to the people around me.

It was a call to live like Jesus, who came not to be served, but to serve.

It was a call to true humility, which puts others first.

It was a call not to be concerned with my own position or reputation.

It was a call to meet other people’s needs instead of wanting mine met.

It was a call to begin reaching out rather than waiting for someone to reach out to me – to notice instead of wishing to be noticed.

I didn’t immediately snap out of my funk – that happened later, at dinner. It was weird, too. I was just sitting there looking at the menu and all of a sudden I felt it lift. It was like night and day. I said, out loud, to Summer, “Whatever was on me just left!” and she just said, “Well, thank God.” Apparently, insecure people having anxiety attacks aren’t fun to be around, or something (haha). From that point on the vacation was beautiful.

I go back to that moment on the beach often. I haven’t fully mastered the art of servanthood, but it was a pivotal moment, because of the clarity it brought. It’s been a process and I still have a long way to go, but that’s where I chose to yield to the Spirit’s work in my heart.

To be self-conscious is to be SELF conscious – primarily thinking about oneself. And that’s in opposition to the life of Christ in me.

It was a hard pill to swallow, initially, but it has brought, and continues to bring, freedom.

“But whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be slave of all. For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” Mark 10