It’s happening again.  This feeling of abandonment.  This searching and not finding.  This longing for something to help me see God, but being disappointed over and over again.  And I wonder what I’m doing wrong.  I’m so far from perfect, I know.  But I honestly feel like I’m trying to seek Him, I’m trying to find Him, I’m trying to know Him more.  Why doesn’t He answer?

It’s always this time of year that I feel more…pressure?… to be seeing Him more clearly, too.  We are celebrating this defining moment of Christianity – of human history – after all.  But, despite my best efforts to focus on the cross and to gain a deeper appreciation of this salvation I so easily take for granted, I come away from my Bible and prayer times underwhelmed.  I want to scream.  I want to cry.  I want life to have some sense of eternal purpose.  I want all of the things that fill my vision and cloud my heart and make life seem pointless to fade into the background of the joy of knowing Him and having fellowship with Him in my days.

I just want to see Him.  That’s all.

Tomorrow, I turn 36.  I have kind of a love/hate attitude toward my birthdays.  If I’m being honest, I have to admit that I like the thought of having a day when I get to feel special.  I like gifts, and not having to cook, and my family doing extra little things for me that they might not normally do.

But, as much as I try to not have high expectations of my birthday, I tend to have vain hopes of extravagant gestures that never quite get met.  And then, usually, my day heads south pretty quickly.  Because at some point, I get disappointed at others not really seeming to care much that they’re supposed to be celebrating me, and then I feel guilty because I realize just how much I don’t deserve to be celebrated anyway, and I often end up wishing that there was no such thing as a birthday observance. This generally results in Tim feeling like he has dropped the ball in some gigantic way, and I’m left trying to explain my irrationality to him in a way that won’t insult his always eminently practical, but still completely selfless and loving approach to making my day special.

So, I’m trying to prepare myself for tomorrow.  I’m trying to set reasonable expectations.  I’m trying to adjust my perspective to look for good in the simple things and not really care about the rest.  And maybe this year, I will be able to demonstrate that I have, indeed, reached a maturity level beyond that of a ten year old.

Bethany is nine years old today.  She is beautiful and I love her.  There are so many things about her that are remarkable.  She is strong – both physically and in conviction.  She is brilliant, even though spelling still confounds her.  She is so capable…just really a quick learner, when she wants to be learning.  Her memory is astounding – she can reiterate something she has read almost word for word without having put any effort into memorizing.  She is affectionate and exuberant and always optimistic.  She is full of ideas and full of hope and full of zeal for life.  She is quick to forgive and keeps no record of wrongs.

She looks for beauty in everything and has the heart of a rescuer – a salvager.  In her eyes, there is nothing that is beyond fixing up or cleaning up or restoring to usefulness.  In this, I most clearly see in her the likeness of her Savior.  She looks past the dirt and the brokenness and sees what could be…maybe what once was, or what was hoped for, or what transforming might do, and she values and finds purpose.

She is moving past little girl years and there is maturing and refining happening in her.  I miss it a lot.  Though I worry that I’m going to fail her, I am so very thankful that she has a God who never will.  He has a plan for her life that even I can’t mess up.  And the more time passes- the more I see the foundation that is forming in her – the more excited I get to see how His plan unfolds in her life.  She is an exceptional and precious girl.  Happy Birthday, Miss Bethany.

I’ve been doubting my ability to hear from the Lord, lately.  It’s not that I don’t think He’s speaking to me.  I just question if what I think I’m hearing is Him.  I wonder sometimes if my heart gets in the way, if my unintentional biases color what I think He’s saying.

I’m guessing it’s not supposed to work that way.  It’s supposed to be about knowing His voice, right?  Being able to tell when something is only me, or when something is Him, or when something is just nothing at all – isn’t that what it means?

But there are things that I desperately want Him to be saying.  There are areas where I fear I might choose to not listen if He was trying to tell me something other than what I think should be said.  So, I hesitate to put stock in what I think I’m hearing.  Because I don’t want my hopes to be misplaced, and I don’t want to stubbornly cling to something that will prove wrong in the end.  And when circumstances don’t seem to support what my heart says He’s speaking, I become more convinced that those words I thought for sure were Him were really not, after all.

I don’t know how to be certain, or even confident.  I want to hear clearly, and then be able to trust His voice when the rest of life seems to be against it.  But I also want to be able to just trust His goodness and sovereignty when I’m not hearing anything at all.  I falter there, too.  Really, that’s probably what this comes down to in the end, anyway.  It seems like that’s always what it comes down to.  In all of it, I obviously need to know Him more. 

God, help me know You more.

Isabelle is ten months old today.  Her newest nickname aptly describes much of life with her these days.  While all babies tend to some destructive tendencies, and are generally not known for being especially gentle at this age, Isabelle has demonstrated aptitude in both taking advantage of every opportunity to get into something she shouldn’t, and in being adept at behaviors that can best be described as vicious.  Biting, hair pulling, scratching, hitting, grabbing and mauling are all common occurrences.

And, as much as is possible for a not-quite-one-year-old, she can take it as well as she dishes it out.  With so many older siblings, and a less than gentle closest-in-age sister specifically, there are many bumps and tumbles, accidental and not, that come her way.  Except for the times when she has decided she is wanting the attention that comes with being the injured baby, she is only rarely phased by any of it.

I would be concerned if it weren’t for the fact that her personality seems to be an inherited trait.  I can’t count the number of times throughout my childhood that I was told of the attitudes and actions that I displayed as a baby, which seem remarkably similar to those I’m seeing in my girl.  It gives me a particular affinity for her, and makes it easier to extend grace when I think she might rip the nose off my face.  It also makes me acutely aware of the need to purpose to teach her about compassion and gentleness early and often as she grows, so that she doesn’t follow in my footsteps and reach adulthood before recognizing the need for such things.

Not that she is anything other than her own person, and she has a cheerfulness and tenacity that are definitely not qualities that I’ve ever possessed.  She smiles easily, plays happily, and loves clapping (really, it’s her favorite thing to do).  Her usually unflappable nature fits perfectly in our house of sometimes more… flappable?…others.

Brutish-ness, mayhem, growls and all, we love our Izzazilla.

I have dark circles under my eyes.  Various under-used muscles are sore from exercising them yesterday.  Sleep last night was poor because of a baby girl waking up her customary 3 times through the night, and because the aforementioned sore muscles made me uncomfortable.  My house is less than neat and tidy.  There are items on my to-do list that I kind of wish were just done already.

But, there is joy in my heart today.  I have a thankfulness for my children and my home and my life that tends to be hard for me to come by, most days.  I have peace about this day.  There is a renewed awareness of the impossibly bankrupt state of my soul, and of the great redemption that God has miraculously worked on my behalf – this truth that makes my heart ache with gratitude and awe.

He makes life worth living, in so many ways.  I just thought I’d take a moment to say so.

I hear the whisper, lay it down

– to count the cost and follow hard

I think about the sacrifice

not Yours, but mine, and raise my guard

sometimes it seems too much to give,

these treasures grasped with stubborn hands

trinkets though they may just be

I doubt Your right to make demands

I want to say, then promise me

– to make my will of highest aim

that hurt and loss won’t be my end

nor dreams abandoned for Your fame

I know You work all things for good

but, still, You promise troubles, too

my gaze that’s set on self and now

I struggle to lift up to You

for though I claim to know Your gift

is worth more than my very life

it’s what I see that drives my heart

and makes me shrink from any strife

I make it all about my life

my heart, my wants, my lessons learned

when, really, my life’s not my own

and grace and love are not deserved

these gifts You give, though free and many

pour only from Your kindness deep

if life undone be to Your glory

then there I should, in gladness, sleep

for though You bless, and though You comfort,

and though each breath proves mercy true

still, I was made to serve You only

may all of me be all for You.