Do the Wise Thing

Read 2 Chronicles 1



I started reading the biography of one of my favorite people this morning. He’s a likeable character—flawed, but well intentioned, always moving, always seeking, often stumbling. I love the stuff he has written and his life story completely fascinates me.



He grew up in a terrifically dysfunctional family. The love-child (basically) of a beloved king and a beautiful widow, he assumed the throne upon his father’s death by default. His older brothers pretty much killed each other off or fled the country for their lives. He led his people with heart, passion and wisdom.

Letting Go and Learning

Read Psalm 119,

"I have chosen the way of faithfulness; I have set my heart on your laws. 

I hold fast to your statutes, LORD; do not let me be put to shame. 

I run in the path of your commands, for you have broadened my understanding." 

(Verse. 30-32).

I didn't want to be there. I was at a conference for Christian women and well, I am a Christian woman. It is where I was supposed to be and needed to be. The entire event was designed to teach, enrich, and encourage. A world-class worship leader led the huge group of women in a song designed to woo us to a place of surrender before our Lord.



And I resisted.



My chest felt tight and I crossed my arms. The sights and sounds were penetrating and my mind started listening to the words. I knew once I opened my mouth to the melody of these praises that I would start down a difficult path.

Read Hebrews 11—The Hall of Super Heroes Faith



By Angela Nazworth as published on (in)courage.me

As soon as the blue mask slides down his forehead and covers three-quarters of his face, my son disappears and before me stands Batman. Batman eats my son’s food, cuddles my son’s favorite blanket and plays with my son’s sister. But he will not answer when my son’s name is called. Or if he does respond, it is only to remind me that he is Batman.


I play along. But he doesn’t fool me.


He’s my boy.


It takes just one clock’s hand tick for me to pick him out in a crowd. I know every single cowlick perched in his tousled blond head. I know when his aqua-marine eyes hold mischief, delight or a mixture of each. I know his laugh, his gait, and his voice (even when it is disguised).


He can call himself Batman. He can fight bad guys and save damsels like Batman. He can stand erect with his hands on his hips and his cape floating around him, but still, he doesn't fool me. I know him.

She Had a Great Fall

Look up the word FRIENDS in Proverbs for your reading today.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Couldn't put Humpty together again.


Once upon a time, life was normal. Until everything toppled. She fell. Or she was pushed. In either case, she was shattered in tiny, jagged pieces. Her friends came along side her.


“How terrible!” They exclaimed.
“Poor thing!” They lamented.
“Just look at all those pieces!” They observed.
“So small and sharp!”
“He did this to you. He is an idiot. A fiend. An antagonist.”
“Time heals all wounds. Just give it time, dear friend.” They advised.
And they stood by her, broken.

Encouraging Words

Sometimes good advice takes awhile to sink in. I can hear something valuable and nod my head in agreement, "Yes, yes, that's right." Good advice means nothing unless practiced. And that's where life found me when I heard the same good advice again:



Speak kindly about your children to their father and he will be encouraged. Speak harshly in frustration and their father will be frustrated with them.




I first read that nugget of wisdom about 5 years ago in a book on being a good wife (Created To Be His Help Meet, Pearl). Sure, it made sense. I usually unloaded my frustrations on my husband and he in turn would be irritated, especially at our challenging toddler (at the time we had one child who caused me lots of angst all day long). I thought the advice was good, but I didn't change my behavior.



For years, I've followed the same pattern. My kids were behaving terribly (now 3 of them causing me angst), I got frustrated and I called my husband to tell him all about it. Or he wasn't available and I fed my frustrations until he got home and then I really piled the heavy load of my day on to his capable shoulders. It kinda made me feel better to throw all that nasty irritation at him.



I called it "sharing." Shouldn't a father hear about every terrible thing his children did that day? I justified my frustrated venting by thinking I was enlightening him to his offspring's behavior. And I was. He was enlightened... and frustrated.

Running on Empty

Read Revelation 3


There was a time in my life that I ran on empty. Invisible fumes of sheer will kept me going. My firstborn put all other colicky babies to shame. He screamed for the first six months of his life. He spit up constantly, and that’s a polite way of putting it. And he didn’t sleep at night for more than three hours at a time until he was almost a year old.


I bounced, walked, swung and drove. I sang, sleep trained, fed, medicated, and begged his pediatrician for answers. All I got was a shrug and a prescription that sort of helped a little with the vomit. I got to stay in bed two nights a week. The nights before my husband’s day off he would take the bouncing/swinging/mopping up spit shift, and I would lay in bed and listen to the baby cry.


I barely had the energy to put together a cohesive sentence, so while my friends blogged about their little darlings rolling over and sitting up, I wondered what was wrong with us that we couldn’t pull it together.
I didn’t feel connected to the baby who demanded so much from me. So much more than I had to give. I begged God to help me. At times, my crying for help almost drowned out my baby’s. But I stayed empty.
Why? Why didn’t God answer such earnest pleas for help? Why didn’t he fill me up?


As much as I begged for help, I stubbornly held on to the belief that I needed to figure out mothering. That I should be doing this better. That I could do it if I had enough sleep, enough support from my husband, enough time in the day…


It turns out, I didn’t need any of those things to function. But it never occurred to me then. I needed to step aside and let God fill me up. But instead, while he stood at the door and knocked, I stood in the doorway, blocking his entrance, and ranted at him that He wasn’t helping. Talk about counter productive!
If anyone had a right to block the doorway and shout at God, it was a guy named Job. You remember him. Satan came whining to God one day, and God, knowing his servant Job well decided to let Satan have his way with him. Not because he didn’t love Job, but because he knew the man’s heart.


(Did you ever notice Satan killed off Job’s children, livestock and servants. He covered the him in sores and removed his home and income. But he left him his wife. The wife who told him at one point, “Curse God and die.” What a joy she must have been to live with, right?)


Job spends chapter after chapter defending God’s right to do this to him, reminding himself of how big God is, and defending his own character to really inconsiderate people, wishing he had never been born and begging to die.


Job stands at the doorway and rants. Who wouldn’t in his shoes? And God takes it. He waits, knowing the whole story--including the ending, while Job laments and argues with his friends. Then he gets Job’s attention.


          "Then the Lord answered Job out of the storm. He said: “Who is this that darkens my council with                 words without knowledge? Brace yourself like a man; I will question you, and you shall answer me.”


God knocked loud enough for Job to hear. God spends the next three chapters going over his own resume. The really impressive parts about the laying of the earth’s foundations, giving orders to the morning, and knowing the directions to the abode of light. Finally, God gets around to his question for Job:


          “Will the one who contends with the Almighty correct him? Let him who accuses God answer him!”


I’m glad Job’s reply was more appropriate to put in print than mine would have been.


          “I am unworthy--how can I reply to you? I put my hand over my mouth.”


So God keeps going. But there is a difference this time. Not so much in what God is saying, but in what Job is doing. He’s shrinking. He is stepping out of the doorway and allowing God all access.


          “I know that you can do all things, no plan of yours can be thwarted…Surely I spoke of things I did   not understand, things to wonderful for me to know… My ears had heard of you, but now my eyes have seen you. Therefore, I despise myself and repent in dust and ashes.”


Job has removed himself. The door is open, and Job is outside. And God fills him up.


          “After Job prayed for his friends, the Lord made him prosperous again and gave him twice as much as he had before.”


Maybe if I wasn’t so sleep deprived, I would have seen the truth sooner, but I didn’t. I cried, begged, and as time passed, by baby grew out of the sickness that made my life so dark for about six months. He’s a gentle little boy now, easy to laugh, eager to love and hug and talk and sleep. We moved past that phase, and I didn’t need God to sustain me so much on a day to day basis. Once things calmed down, I stepped back inside, closed the door, and just did life knowing that Jesus was right out there within shouting distance.


Let me tell you, that is no way to live! I can’t help but wish I’d just let him come on in when my heart was so empty. He would have had a blank slate. Now, we must purge and remodel. Everything takes longer and hurts more when there’s so much of me to move out.


If you’re running on empty, I challenge you to step aside and invite Jesus in. Things work so much better when He is in charge. And if you’re not running on empty, I challenge you to, along with me, do whatever you have to do to make room for Him.

Choose My Own Adventure.

The reader is in control of the plot in a "Choose Your Own Adventure" book. I loved reading those when I was a kid.  What's not to love? Bobby is stuck on the edge of a cliff. Turn to page 39 if you want him to use a rope to repel down. Turn to page 56 if you want him to pole vault across the ravine. Or turn to page 92 if you want him to construct a zip-line out of dental floss and a tube sock. 



If I get to choose, I want life at its best.  It is easy to wave a "thankful" flag when everything is going right. Children are giggling, the sun is shining, my man's loving arms are wrapped around me tight, I'm wearing skinny jeans, my home is beautiful, I'm getting plenty of sleep, my fridge is full, my friends are close, my family is healthy. Blessings. Blessings. Blessings. I'm so thankful for my blessings.



Many of life's choices are in my grasp. What college should I go to? What man should I marry? What should I name my baby? I made those choices with a little prayer, but I was in charge. I chose my own adventure.



Then there are plenty of things I don't have any control over. When a curve, twist or a difficult change comes I think, "this is NOT how I would have the story go!" A miscarriage or a friend who died too young. Those are the big things. A rainy day or kids who cry in the car. Those are the little ones. But all of them, through my whole life, I've said "No!" Give me the good stuff, NOT the bad.

Give and Take

Written by Jen Koop. Borrowed from ChristianWomenOnline.com.



One Sunday not too long ago, a friend of ours approached me and gave me a hug. She said she had been thinking of us often and wondered how we were doing. This dear Sister has been privy to some of the heavy things on our proverbial “plate” of life. So in response, I immediately set about telling her all that was going on, never once really coming up for air. You know what I mean, monologue style, rehashing every last uncomfortable detail.



My husband, likely noticing my friend’s eyes glazing over, stepped into the conversation and asked her how things were going for her at school (she has gone back to take some college courses). I was immediately embarrassed, realizing how focused I was on my own problems. I had chosen to forget that those around me have their own lives and things to work through. She gratefully smiled in response to his concern and said that she loved her classes and so the long commute was worth it. However, the day before, as she was driving to school, she had been in a pretty bad car accident. UGH! She had suffered a significant scare and set back. If my husband hadn’t asked, I would have continued on about myself, never knowing what she had been through. Even more convicting was her faith. There was no complaint of, “Why me?” or fear of, “What shall I do?” She was trusting God in the details and sincerely grateful that she was not injured or worse.

Giants

Read Psalm 95:1-7, 98, 100


I feel like a giant sometimes, dominating my world. I am bigger, smarter, stronger and faster than the little people I live with. While running the business of this household and handling everything from budgets to decorating to menus to shuttle services to vehicle maintenance to primary educator to personal secretary to escort services (one client only), it’s easy to feel large in my world.



Even on those days when I don’t do any of my various jobs well, I still consume my world. There’s a reason they say, “if mamma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.” I like to think I rule my kingdom benevolently, but more often than not, my subjects approach me with fear and trembling. On my insecure days I suck in space like a black hole and while I feel insignificant, I act like a raging monster.


I am even a giant in my own home. There is not enough space here. It’s tiny. Clutter seems bound and determined to take over what I have left, but I beat it back with a garbage pail and Rubbermaid totes and I dream of weapons to acquire like a label maker. (Where would I store it when not in use)?


Every now and then, I get a dose of perspective. My grandma recently told me about when Grandad’s family first moved to Oregon from Kansas. Ten of them lived in a one bedroom house. Three teenage girls shared the only bedroom; two boys slept on a mattress in room the size of the mattress. Two more boys shared a couch. Mom and dad slept on a mattress on the floor and shared it with a baby. And the bathroom? It was out back. Running water? Nope. And I feel smaller for a little while.


I think Alysun and I have both mentioned the book One Thousand Gifts: Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are by Ann VosKamp. The whole premise of the book is how gratitude shifts your perspective in a lasting way. In a way that makes you appropriately small in your world. Gratitude requires humility before God and encourages a right relationship with him. A relationship where we acknowledge every blessing and he just turns around and lavishes us with more.

Last night, I thanked God for a partially inflated red heart shaped balloon. It was a leftover from Valentine’s day, stringless and hovering uncertainly. My three boys (husband included) played with that thing, chased with that thing, wrestled over that thing, and laughed over that thing. My husband would collapse next to me saying he couldn’t take any more, and two seconds later, he was back in the fray, instigating, teasing and running circles in the living room being chased by his hysterical children.


I sat and watched and felt my space growing. Or rather, felt myself shrinking. The thousand or so square feet we have felt massive as I watched them taking up every bit of the space with their play. And I felt dainty, petite and lavished upon as I thanked my God for the red balloon, the sound of laughter, a gleeful husband and a super comfy couch to sit on and enjoy it from.


This large feeling I’m talking about is not necessarily having head swelled with pride over the things I do for this family. It’s more like that feeling you get in your stomach after you ate too much Thanksgiving dinner. It was good stuff, but in the wrong proportion, it leaves you feeling bloated. Feeling large is a byproduct of discontent. It is a filling up of things—necessary, even good things—without an emptying out of Thanks.


Instead of just doing this job of motherhood, I need to be thankful in each and every moment for the opportunity to have it. In everything give thanks, Paul says. Not just the big things or the good things, or at breakfast, lunch and dinner, but in everything.

• Red balloons
• Typing with my head resting on the head of the boy squirming in my lap
• The first hugs of the morning
• The heater blowing the curtains around in a crazy dance (Usually this drives me crazy; today, I see it and feel warm)
• And this yucky, cold rain—that I don’t have to be out in it, that it cleans and washes away, that it so tangibly shows God’s creativity: sun evaporates water turning it to vapor, vapor forming clouds, clouds becoming so full that they must empty their collected water on the earth. They empty their over-fullness like an outpouring of thanks watering the ground with praise that will certainly be returned in another form in an endless, ageless cycle.
• Unexpected analogies.

By Andrea

Emptying the Sink

By Angie Smith from Bring the Rain (Angie is the proud wife of Todd Smith of Selah, and the blessed mommy to Abby, Ellie, Kate, Charlotte, and Audrey Caroline, who passed away the day she was born). Borrowed from (in)courage.me.





A few nights ago I enlisted my daughter Ellie’s help with the dishes. As usual, the dishwasher was jammed full and there was still a sink-full left. I asked her to be my dryer and she grabbed a rag, rolling her eyes the way any eight-year old would when asked to help. I don’t take it personally. I think she does it more because she thinks she’s supposed to be annoyed, and missing playtime to help with chores is decidedly uncool.


It’s quiet when we start, and my fingers are red before I realize the water is too hot. Ellie stands still, rag in hand, waiting for me to pass.


“Ellie, did you know that when I was a little girl…” I start.


“You and mamanaun (my grandma) used to do dishes together.” She forced a monotone “been there, done that” voice, saying, “ and she would wash them and you would dry them.”


I looked at her.


“You’ve told me that like a million times, mommy.”