Out of place, lost, with no light around

Aimless, alone, desperate to be found

Looking up, I see my only certainty

So, I’ll just stand, on this dark and foreign ground

And let You have every piece of me.

Wanting to run to some place that feels safe

Not knowing how to just trust in Your grace

Though I can’t see how these days fit in Your plan

I’ll set my gaze always upon Your face

And take all that falls from Your hand.

For I know You are good and holy, alone

My heartache’s not too much to lay at Your throne

and even in this storm, Your promise is peace

if I’ll give You each dream that I own

and believe You have better for me.

So, please hold me tightly, and free me from fear

Only Your presence brings hope through these tears

though I don’t seem to have much of value to give

I offer it all to You here

Lord,  take it and help me to live.

If you’ve ever heard me sing,  it’s likely you’ve realized a couple of things about me.  One is that I often sing loudly.  The other is that I probably shouldn’t be singing loudly.  I know my singing can sometimes sound painful.  I have been laughed at.  Sometimes, I hear how badly I sound and I can’t help but laugh at myself.  I have been told “wow, God must really love you to want you to sing to Him”.  Yeah…ouch.

Most times if I sing around other people [during worship], I tell myself that God only cares if it is a joyful noise and I try to ignore what someone else might think. But, sometimes, when I think about how it must sound to the people around me, I become self-conscious.  I sing more softly.  I tip my face down, thinking maybe my voice won’t be as audible.  And I wonder what I’m supposed to be doing.  As much as I love to sing my heart out to the Lord, am I ruining worship for someone else?  Is it selfish to think that God should be my only concern when others are around?  I’m sure nobody would ever tell me to be quiet, but I can’t help but feel that it would be the considerate thing to do sometimes.

I’m not quite sure how to reconcile this within myself.  I love singing, and as silly as it might sound, my “natural” volume when singing is loud.  Can I worship softly?  Yes.  Is it worshiping with my whole heart?  Usually, no.  But, is there a greater good?  Maybe.  I wish I knew for sure.

Since I wrote about being offended, I thought I should write about getting over it.  I wish I could say that I made a concerted effort to not be offended, but really, it was one of those things I laid at God’s feet and asked Him to work out in my heart because I didn’t know how.  And He did.  I think I was offended for less than a day.  The sting I felt didn’t leave, but the feeling of being slighted did.

It may seem strange that I’m writing about this as though it is a novel thing, but the reality is that I don’t get offended very easily (or maybe it’s weird that I got offended at all?  I don’t know… I don’t hear much said about offenses).  As critical as I can be of others, it is rare for me to perceive anything as a personal affront.  On the flip side, though, when I am offended, a part of me wants to hold on to the offense.  I don’t like being hurt, and I tend to be afraid that forgiving and letting go will just put me in the position to be hurt again.  Hence, why it got left in God’s hands.

It can be hard to want to do the right thing, but sometimes I think wanting to want to do the right thing is enough.  Not that I would necessarily be comfortable arguing that as biblically sound…I really haven’t looked into it enough, but I think it’s fair to say that God knows our heart, as well as our weaknesses and need for His strength to carry us.  He does for us what we can’t do for ourselves.  I’m so thankful I don’t have to manage life on my own.

I am offended.  I know I shouldn’t take offense (Ps. 119:165).  And I know I should be quick to forgive when I am.  This one may take some time, though.  I’m sure the person who caused the offense has no idea.  I’m sure they wouldn’t understand even if they did.  But I feel like less than nothing.  That hurts, you know?  There really is no way for the “wrong” to be righted in my eyes.  I need to just accept that humanity fails, repeatedly…and towards me, always in the same way, it seems.  I need to somehow have a perspective that it doesn’t matter, that God will work this for my good, that I need to figure out how to love and forgive even while my heart  still aches with hurt…and then how to do so again, and again, and again.

Tim is putting up two, heavy LVL’s [laminated veneered lumber] on two makeshift posts so he can jack up the ceiling so he can take out a wall so he can put up two permanent LVL’s on two permanent posts so he can level the ceiling so he can put up walls so he can start making a bathroom.

In other words, progress is being made, even if the end goal gets a bit muddled by the details.  There’s a life lesson in there somewhere.

:: Pink paper hearts that said “I love you”, a handwritten note with a sweet [cheesy] poem, a box of turtle chocolates, and a made bed from my husband

:: wearing a skirt for my husband (his preference which isn’t very often heeded)

:: homemade valentine’s, heart-shaped boxes of chocolates and heart-covered napkins waiting at the breakfast table for my kids

:: a dish of homemade chocolate truffles and a simple note for the love of my life

:: french toast and sausage on festive [not-needing-to-be-washed paper] plates

:: reading I Corinthans 13

:: schoolwork that consisted of learning about the history of Valentine’s Day, how chocolate is made, how the human heart works, and art-time with hearts and glitter

:: some impromptu valentines from kids

:: a baby girl left in her pink, heart-festooned sleeper that says “I love you” just because it seemed too perfect for the day to take off her this morning

:: grilled cheese and salad for kids’ dinner (I love it that the foods they love tend to be super easy!)

:: after kids were in bed, Thai takeout, molten lava cakes with vanilla ice cream, and a movie

:: thankfulness for the blessing of family, a husband who loves me, and a God who is beyond good to me

Sometimes, I feel hopeless.  Sometimes, I think we’ve made a wrong turn somewhere and ended up in a place we were never intended to be.  Sometimes, disillusionment causes me to be tempted by apathy and retreat.

That’s how I was feeling this morning.  I sat down with my Bible with what could hardly be described as a heart of expectation.  But God is faithful to me.  When my gaze falls and my heart fails, He answers my cry.  When I choose to not believe His goodness, He goes out of His way to convince me again.

As I read my “scheduled” chapters for today…a story I’ve read dozens of times and which I was sure contained nothing to bring hope in this moment…He lifted my eyes up to Him.  He reminded me that He is holding my life in His hands, and that He works everything for my good, even when I can’t see how.

I’ve gotten this same reminder from Him countless times before.  I sometimes feel like I’ve reached the limit of His patience when it comes to how easily my faith falters, yet He remains always gentle, always kind, always understanding.  I am so undeserving of His love.  But I am so thankful.

At five months old, Ava is…

…still not very long (tall?), but is very solid and strong

…scooting across the floor

…rolling from front to back, but not back to front…and she really does not like being on her back

…saying “mama” enough for me to not think it’s entirely accidental any more

…not interested in being put down to sleep before 11pm most nights

…a noisy sleeper

…still wanting to be held most of the time

…putting everything in her mouth

…sometimes, a spitting image of my dad (but more baby-girl-like)

…still mostly bald.  We have yet to have a child with much hair early on.

…as Elijah would say, beautiful, adorable and precious.

It might seem that I wear my heart on my sleeve.  I try to be honest in my writing…and I write about my heart a lot.  I’m not good at maintaining my composure in difficult conversations.  I turn beet red if I am even a little bit embarrassed or nervous.  I cry very easily.

But, I’ve realized, there are things I tend to keep very guarded.  As backwards as it might seem, sharing my struggles, my failings, my questions, my criticisms and my fears is much easier than sharing my joys, my victories, my hopes, my appreciation, and my interests.  Somehow, letting others see the “shallow” side of me makes me feel vulnerable.  It is easier for me to have a really serious discussion about the condition of my heart than to tell someone that I like to dance around my living room to old DC Talk songs.  Just writing that makes me uncomfortable.

I worry that who I am apart from my sin nature will be judged, if that makes any sense.  I’m not so concerned with how people will view my sin and weakness and frustration, because I find it unlikely that I could be perceived worse by someone else than I see myself.  But when I like something, or am encouraged by something, or see God working in something, I’m afraid that it will be devalued by others…that I will be ridiculed or made to feel stupid for finding enjoyment or importance in something that doesn’t matter to anyone else.

I don’t often offer encouragement or thanks, in part, because it means letting a person see what I value and that scares me.  I don’t really know why this is.  I’m sure it is not the best way to be, and I do try to not let it always dictate my behavior.  But, if I come across as only ever focusing on “deep” things, or negative things, or struggles…this is at least part of the reason why.  I hope it doesn’t seem like it is the whole of who I am.

Today, my first ever baby turns 9.  I guess it’s the normal thing to say that the time has flown by, but really, 9 years does feel about right.  What takes me aback though, is that he is halfway to “adulthood” – halfway to independence, halfway to [possibly] not being safely tucked into his bed just down the hall from me every night.  I know there’s the potential for an extra year or two of him being “home”, but the eventuality can’t be ignored – he’s going to be a man, and these days, these years – whether they seem to drag on or fly by – matter to what kind of man he will be.

I look at him now and see glimmers of responsibility, ambition, thoughtfulness, choosing right when wrong is easier, learning to pursue God for himself and desiring for God to work in others…but I also am so aware of the fragility of the years to come, the desperate need for the Holy Spirit to direct and convict, empower and protect.

Caedmon is a thinker, he weighs and evaluates and doesn’t like to accept “because I said so” as a reason for anything.  There is tension as he walks that line between little boy and young man…he likes to play, but at the same time, he wants to distance himself from some of the childish ways he sees in his younger siblings.  He likes to be able to figure things out for himself, but he’s learning that not everything is as black and white as his way of thinking might prefer. The Lord is working in his heart, though I often am left to wonder at the specifics.  He has taken to keeping his deeper thoughts to himself, and I find myself hoping and praying and encouraging him that he can share his heart with us.

To say that I never worry that we are somehow failing him would be, well, a lie.  But he has claimed Jesus as his savior.  We trust that God hears our prayers for him, even in the midst of our failings.  And the more I learn about who Caedmon is, the more blessed I am to have him for a son and the more I look forward – albeit with a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes – to watching him grow into a man.  We love you Caedmon.  Happy Birthday.