Sometimes, the smell of coffee reminds me of the summer…er, well, month…that I worked at Hardees in Roanoke, VA.  I took the job, knowing I could only do it for a month…thankful for an employer willing to hire me for just a month.  I started at 6am, and most days worked until 4pm, with a half-hour break somewhere in there, if I was lucky.  It was where I decided that I love bacon, egg and cheese biscuits with tomato and mayo (I later learned that you really can’t request tomato on breakfast sandwiches anywhere north of VA without getting strange looks).

Despite being long hours, I don’t remember it being incredibly stressful.  In part, I think that was because I knew there was an end in sight.  In part, it was because it was fast food and, in all honesty, it wasn’t hard to meet  expectations.  And in part, I was happy to be earning money…I was leaving for Guyana at the beginning of July and this was my only chance to get any income before going back to school in August.

And you know what?  God used even that month at Hardees.  He helped me see how important it is to be different.  He reminded me that I need to give my best effort even when I am exhausted by early mornings and long days.

And, though my time there was short, I have some memories that have stuck with me – the lady who brought her $1 burger back up to the counter, with the top bun taken off, and asked me “Does this look appetizing to you?”; the elderly man who insisted I had shorted him $.10 in change, thus prompting me to get my manager to give him $.10,  only to have him later acknowledge that he’d been mistaken, return the dime, and thank me for being gracious through it all; and the not-so-pleasant memory of a middle-aged man coming through the drive-thru 3 times during my shift one day and commenting on how pretty my hair was each time…kind of creepy. 

But anyway, I thought it was funny that coffee prompted those memories.  I think it’s amazing how the mind and memories work.  God is so creative.

A few weeks ago, I sat staring at Ava and thought, “she could be my last one”…and then, immediately following that, thought “God, please don’t let her be my last one”,  the latter thought startling me in what it revealed about my heart.  I hadn’t really gotten to the point of thinking about more children, yet.  We have sort of had a one-at-a-time mentality, but even with that, the decision to have more has always been stressful. There’s a lot that makes me want to run away from the thought.  There are things that make me question my motives.  But, in that moment, without any of the other stuff clouding my thoughts or making me second-guess myself, my position on “more” was clear.

Yet, even knowing that, it’s a hard decision to make.  Well, for us, anyway.  Because pregnancy and delivery are more stressful to me than anything else in life has ever been, by far.  Because we are alone here, and managing a large-ish family alone is scary.  Because we have a million things that need doing that would get put on the back burner, again.  Because my body is not back to pre-pregnancy shape and I dread the thought of sixty more pounds, again.  Because I feel like I’m failing with the five kids I have, why in the world would I consider having a sixth?…and I could probably go on.

But what it comes down to – what it always comes down to – is, are we going to trust God?  Honestly, in my last pregnancy and delivery, God lavished grace on me in every way…He answered prayers and made it easy.  So easy.  He proved His faithfulness to my ever doubting heart.

But, my heart still doubts.

Different circumstances mean things almost certainly couldn’t happen that same way again, and somehow, my mind has decided that He’s not resourceful enough to provide such an ideal outcome for me a second time (or, really, a fourth time).  And so I am left needing to bring it all to Him again.  I know He is able to speak peace into these thoughts that are, for me, anything but peaceful.  I know He is faithful and good.  I know I can trust Him.  I might just need Him to remind me sometimes.

Well, I am still sick – swollen glands and body aches still, plus congestion, fever, chills and an upset stomach.  I am really a baby when it comes to sickness, I know, and it will likely pass in a day or two…but could you pray for me if you read this?  Of biggest concern is the fact that Ava is still almost exclusively breastfed and I’m having a hard time keeping fluids down.  So far, she seems to be getting enough, but she also has had a non-stop runny nose, so she really needs fluids…and honestly? I really don’t want Tim to have to run to the store and leave me “on my own” if it can be helped.  Ugh.

This morning I woke up with a sore throat and a weary body.  As the day went on, sore turned to swollen and weariness turned to achiness.  Clearly, this isn’t just because Ava didn’t sleep well, again, last night.  I hate sickness, on so many levels.  I have dragged myself through the day today and as soon as Ava let me put her down for a nap this afternoon, I went down, too.  And when Ava woke up, Tim came and got her and let me continue to sleep (one of the HUGE perks of having a husband who works from home).  I’m not cooking dinner, and I am praying that Ava sleeps tonight, because I don’t think my body can handle more of the sleeplessness it’s gotten this past week.

I hesitate to admit to sickness.  It has been an area of much thought and questioning in my faith.  I see that God made our bodies to respond in certain ways to fend off viruses and bacteria(vomiting, fever, mucous production, etc)…but, there is obviously a point at which viruses and bacteria gain the upper hand for a time…and this is where I feel like it becomes something more than our bodies merely putting up a defense, and where I believe I should be able to stand on God’s promise to heal sickness.  What’s more, I tend to believe that God can strengthen and protect our bodies above and beyond our natural defenses, though I hesitate to claim the position of complete freedom from any weakness or need for the body to fight against sickness…I would be most likely to leave this in the realm of things God gives specific faith for at specific times.

And, in general?  we are a rather healthy lot.  Symptoms of sickness, when they do come, are mostly short-lived and rarely serious enough to take pause.  I think we made it through this winter with only one instance of “Mommy, can I lay down?  I’m tired”…words that never proceed from the mouths of any of my children unless they are really feeling under the weather.  Yes, there have been runny noses and coughs and occasional days filled with the blank stares of a foggy brain, but mostly, we have done our best to stand on God’s Word…to expect Him to heal our bodies when we pray…and He has been faithful.  It still leaves me with this gray area of how much to expect and how quickly to expect it, but I guess I can be okay with gray areas in this, for now.  And I’ll be thankful for the health and healing He does give.

I remember being a child and being left out.  I have vague recollections of other kids having their cliques and not wanting me to be a part.  The looks, the sudden silence, the sometimes outright rejection…those things leave a mark on a person, especially a child.  They forever changed how I interact with people.  They forever changed how I think other people see me.  As adults, most people have figured out how to hide their overt clique-ishness under a thin veil of politeness and propriety, but the lessons I learned as a child were effectively taught and the biggest lesson among them was that I’m not likeable. As much as people might try to tell me otherwise (which doesn’t actually happen very often, anyway), the bluntness of a child’s words and actions are generally more believable, even decades later.

So, when my kids are treated in that same way that left me with a permanent ache in my heart, I get angry…and, honestly, afraid.  I don’t want my kids to turn out like me.  I don’t want them to grow up convinced that nobody wants them around. I don’t want them to find their value in what someone else thinks of them and I don’t want them to be afraid of people.  But, I feel completely unable to effectively shape their perspective so that they turn out differently.

I know that there are a lot of things that complicate even how children treat one another, let alone adults.  I know it often doesn’t come down to simply liking or not liking someone.  And I know that, sometimes, it does come down to simply liking or not liking someone…sort of in the same way that someone might like or not like jazz music.  It doesn’t mean that there’s something about it that is inherently likeable or not.  It just means everyone’s different, and that’s okay.  Or at least, it’s okay as long as it’s not in reference to me, or my kids.  It’s hard to explain incompatibility to a longing heart, especially if it isn’t a mutual feeling.

So, I try to figure out what God says about it, and I find myself making a huge distinction between loving someone and liking someone, because loving can be just a chosen action, but liking means there’s a connection.  Jesus loved everyone, but chose only 12 to be by His side when the crowds left.  I’m not sure what that means, though.  Surely, there were others who would have wanted to be that close to Jesus.  Maybe even some who felt rejected or left out?  I don’t know.

But, I have to be able to say with certainty, that no mistakes were made.  God didn’t erroneously slight anyone.  He knew why He picked the men He did, and He knew why He didn’t pick others.  And it was the best plan for everyone.  It comes down to the same basic truth in our lives, too.  If I love God, He is working everything out for my good.  If my children love God, He will work everything out for their good.  But being true doesn’t make it easy to accept, and if it is often only with an aching heart and crying eyes that I am able to acknowledge God’s sovereignty in relationship, how can I convince my children?  And since I write to sort out my thoughts, I am just now reaching the conclusion that it’s not my job to convince them.  I can teach them what the Bible says.  I can pray for them.  I can do my best to believe and act according to what I know for certain to be true.  And then I can let God do a work in my children that is not for me to do.  Sometimes, though, that seems like the hardest thing to choose to do.

At 5:30 this morning, as I sat holding Ava after a combined total of about 3 hours of sleep, I felt slightly overwhelmed by the prospect of the morning.  Fridays are, generally, the only morning that I get up “early”, because it’s the only day the kids need to be anywhere.  I don’t like time constraints, and when they are first-thing-in-the-morning time constraints, I get stressed.

I thought, this morning, about how nice it will be when my kids are old enough to get up and get ready without my prodding and oversight; about how, at some point, I will be able to sleep in just a little bit more, because me kids will be more independent.  And it was at that thought that I felt the tears well up in my eyes.

I wouldn’t normally say that I want to hold onto these earliest years of my kids’ childhood for as long as possible.  I like sleep.  I don’t like playing with toys and watching cartoons, or reading the same two books day after day, or reminding for the fiftieth time how to properly do a chore.  But, for all the perks that the eventual independence of my children will bring, I don’t think those perks will ever quite replace the things that will be lost, or changed, with time.

The endless chatter that comes with any time away from me, because they can’t wait to tell me about everything that happened. 

The jostling that happens to try to sit in the spot right next to me. 

The goofy jokes and ready smiles and funny dancing. 

And while I know there is value and promise and destiny in what awaits them as they grow older, I decided this morning that I won’t long for those lost hours of sleep or wish away the childhood activities.  There is something priceless and irreplaceable about these kids in this moment that I wouldn’t trade for anything.  I just hope my sleep-deprived brain won’t forget it all.

I have been feeling overwhelmed a lot, lately.  I wish I could say that this is out of the ordinary, but it’s not.  I often end up feeling like I am a complete failure at life and wonder where God is in the midst my inadequacy.  During a moment of my wondering yesterday, I was reminded of the brief story of Jesus visiting the home of Martha.

Typically, I’ve heard it stated that Martha and her sister, Mary, were two different types of women…Martha being more of a “doer”, and Mary, more of a…worshiper?  And at first, yesterday, I wanted to think “okay, I’m just different…some people are a ‘Martha’ type, but I’m not…I would just rather sit at Jesus’ feet, which He said is better, anyway”.  But, I couldn’t quite accept that.  I mean, aren’t there things that need to be done?  Aren’t there people out there who are great at serving and doing, and bringing God glory in the process?  I can’t get away with just thinking that I can avoid responsibility and somehow have that be “better” in the eyes of the Lord.  So, I decided to read the passage.

38 Now it happened as they went that He entered a certain village; and a certain woman named Martha welcomed Him into her house. 39 And she had a sister called Mary, who also sat at Jesus’  feet and heard His word. 40 But Martha was distracted with much serving, and she approached Him and said, “Lord, do You not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Therefore tell her to help me.” 41 And Jesus  answered and said to her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and troubled about many things. 42 But one thing is needed, and Mary has chosen that good part, which will not be taken away from her.” — Luke 10:38-42

And after reading it, I was struck by how much I identified with Martha…not so much the doing part, but the “distracted” and “worried and troubled about many things” parts…and how much I yearn to be like Mary, able to sit at Jesus feet, not missing what He’s saying because I’m so concerned with other things that His words get lost in the shuffle.  It made me think that, maybe, Martha and Mary weren’t as dissimilar as I had always thought.  Maybe Mary’s choice to sit at Jesus’ feet was the better choice because the alternative wasn’t glad service, but distraction, worry and trouble.  When that is the choice, one thing is needed.  No matter what circumstance I find myself in, if I am missing what Jesus is saying, then nothing that I am doing qualifies as necessary.  If my focus is not on Him, it is better for me to drop everything and seek Him than to continue on with my tasks, no matter how important I think they are.

That can be a humbling thing, though, you know?  It means that what everyone else sees is not important.  I would guess that Martha wasn’t the only one who thought that the things she was doing were necessary things. I would guess that others may have thought that Mary was being a bit selfish and lazy.  But Jesus knew their hearts.  He knows my heart.  When I am trying my hardest to do everything right, He knows when that doing has pulled my eyes from Him.  And, when that happens, even if it ends up looking to the world like my efforts are just not enough, He knows that what I need is to stop and rest in His presence.  He makes it clear that He wants our ears and our hearts in every moment.  Compared to that, everything else pales in importance, to the point of Him saying that sitting at His feet is the only necessity.

But, oh, how easy it is to forget that!  How often I strive for order and peace in all of the external things, even to the detriment of my soul.  How often I fail to remember the only source of peace and hope and rest I have ever known.  I am so thankful for His word that reminds me…come to me all you that labor and are heavy laden…come, all you who are thirsty…seek ye first the kingdom of God.  I am thankful for His Spirit that beckons me to stop, and sit, and listen.  I am thankful for Him – this God, who knows my heart and wants… more than anything… for me to know His.

Sometimes, I have a day marked by small gifts that remind me that I have a God who is loving and generous and taking care of me.  Some of those gifts…

…my littlest boy, singing in church, singing at home, singing in the car.  Sweetness that melts this mama’s heart.

…playing a board game with my family, and enjoying it.  I am not normally a fan of board games, and usually even less so when children need to be taught, but today?  Today, I was more than content to sit around the table and spend a couple hours just being with them.

…reading a well-known verse and being unexpectedly overwhelmed by God’s goodness to me.  You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.  Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever. —Psalm 23:5-6  Doesn’t it just make you feel like your heart’s gonna explode with His wonderful-ness?

…a first-time-this-year family walk.

…tulips and daffodils pushing their way through the ground, bringing with them their annual reminder to me of how good God is, that He would grace my home with such beauty despite my ever deficient gardening abilities.  Oh, and there are chives growing, too.  I’m almost giddy.

…worshiping the Lord with my family, knowing they don’t mind me being loud and off-key.

I needed this today.  He is so good to meet me in my need.

Some days, I am so aware of my helplessness.  Without the Lord, everything in me and in life would be a lost cause.  Some days, my need for redemption is glaring and painful and completely impossible for me to remedy.

There is a gap, wide and deep and beyond my ability to cross .

By God’s grace, I may one day be able to look back at life and see a measure of sanctification that has taken place, but there will always be a gap; there will always be a distance I cannot cover in my pursuit of righteousness.

And on days like today, when my human frailty and selfish endeavors seem like too much to ever overcome, I am thankful for the reminder that I don’t have to find a way to bridge the impassable.  I am thankful that whether I am a million miles away, or so close I feel like I’m almost there, my need for a Redeemer is the same, and He fills that need completely, utterly, willingly, knowingly.

I am nothing without Him, even on my best day.

May I never think otherwise.