Sometimes, God tells me to let go of things I don’t want to let go of.

Sometimes, God tells me to do things I don’t want to do.

Sometimes, God tells me to trust Him and I question His trustworthiness.

Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, And whose hope is the Lord.  For he shall be like a tree planted by the waters, Which spreads out its roots by the river, And will not fear when heat comes; But its leaf will be green, And will not be anxious in the year of drought, Nor will cease from yielding fruit. The heart is deceitful above all things, And desperately wicked; Who can know it?      —Jeremiah 17:4-9

Before I post anything I have written, it has likely had hundreds of words deleted or changed or moved.  Sometimes the whole thing has been completely thrown out a few times before I decide it’s okay.  Most times, I never hit the “publish” button.  It’s not really because I am a perfectionist in my writing.  It’s because I have a hard time figuring out how to say what’s on my mind and heart.  Nevertheless, this is how I prefer to communicate because there’s no pressure to think quickly, or to sound intelligible the first time I try to express something.  Writing is safe.

Unfortunately for me, speaking does not come with the same luxury of being able to edit and delete, of being able to think long about what I want to say before actually saying it.  I don’t put thoughts together quickly, but most times, conversation does not come with a lot of time to sit in silence, formulating cohesive sentences.  This makes me nervous about social interaction, which only serves to slow my brain functioning and perpetuate my problem with speaking intelligibly.

I struggle with how I am supposed to manage this aspect of my nature.  It is easy for me to say it’s just who I am – and it honestly is…even when I put my best effort into conversation, I can’t make my thoughts come any faster so that I seem more engaged.

But it is also fear that ties my tongue and clouds my thoughts.

It is easy for me to think that there should be some middle ground, some leeway from others; that, somehow, people should recognize how difficult interactions can be for me, and maybe be a little bit more persistent in attempts at conversation…and, really, showing love to somebody should, in some measure, be about meeting them where they are.

But there is also a pride and selfishness that make it about me, and not about the other person…a refusal to die to self that makes me stubbornly dig in my heels and want to force “right” behavior from others when my own heart is no better.

It’s easy for me to ask God to change me – to make me eloquent, or gregarious, or able to think just a little bit faster – so that I don’t make a fool of myself when I speak…and it is okay to expect God to give me words when it will bring Him glory.

But, often, my desire to change is to bring me “glory” in some manner – that I could feel loved or accepted or esteemed – and really has no honorable intentions behind it.

More than anything, I feel like God is pounding it into my head and heart that my focus is off.  If my eyes were set on Him, I wouldn’t have fear.  I wouldn’t care how others were treating me.  It wouldn’t matter if people saw me as a blathering idiot or as an engaging conversationalist.  It’s a painful lesson, though.  I hope I learn it soon.

Life often doesn’t make sense to me.  I find myself confused and frustrated and hurt.  I want to be seen and heard and understood.  Sometimes I try to write about it. Most times I fail miserably.  The truth is, as much as I want others to know my heart, what I need is to know God’s heart.  As much as I want to be loved by others, what I need is to acknowledge that God’s love for me is enough.

Several weeks ago, as I struggled to see anything good about myself, I told God that I hate who He made me.  His rather stern and emphatic response was “I love who I made you”.

As I have gone through my days since then, those words have been resonating in my heart, mostly because of how often I question if He really does, or how He possibly could…but sometimes, too, because it seems like the person God made me isn’t good enough for others.  Sometimes it seems like “fearfully and wonderfully made” has to come in a certain form to be believed, and I don’t fit that form.  And I wonder if God didn’t mean that part of me when He gave me His response…if I need to change to fit the form.  Or did He know this is who I would be when He formed me in the womb?  And when I told Him I hate who He made me, did He know that this was one of the reasons why, yet still told me He loved my form?

I wrestle with these questions often, but especially on days when it is made clear that love from others depends on me changing.  And my soul is in turmoil, and my mind questions, and my heart breaks.  And all I hear Him say is “I love you.”

Maybe some day I will realize the sufficiency of that truth, but right now I wish it didn’t have to be enough.

Life around here looks like…

…a little boy riding his new birthday bike in circles around our downstairs all.day.long because the temperature and snow piles make doing so outside pretty much impossible for now.

…starting schoolwork again.  I think this is the first time I’ve actually been happy (relieved?) to do so.  There is definitely something to be said for the structure it provides.

…an attempt at making borscht.  I’ve never made it before.  I’ve never eaten it before.  But I had beets and cabbage, so I decided to try.  The result wasn’t bad, but I have no idea if it actually tasted like borscht.  I guess that doesn’t really matter though, right?

…doing this for our family devotions.  We are only a couple days into it, but I like it.  The writing is simple enough for kids to understand, but thought provoking, too.  Plus, it’s all about who God is, which I love.

…taking down Christmas decorations.  This is kind of early for us, but I like that it’s done.

…a baby girl often sleeping until 11 am, just waking once around 7am to nurse.  The trade-off is that she is never asleep before 10pm, often not before 11pm.  But that is hardly even noteworthy, is it?  I’m still a bit dumbfounded by how easy she is.

…starting a new routine of keeping one kid up late each night to have some one-on-one prayer time.  Our normal routine has just been praying together as a family at night, but we haven’t done a great job with giving our kids individual attention in prayer.  So far, it has been really good.

…trying to exercise more regularly.  Why is this always so hard to do?

…lots of legos.  Lots.

…attempts at teaching my big girl to knit.  I don’t really knit, so I bought a book to help.  She is the most interesting (and sometimes frustrating) combination of a really quick study and a complete ditz.  She caught on to everything right away, but can’t stay focused on it long enough to accomplish anything.  Maybe if I put her in an empty room with nothing that could possibly distract her?  I don’t know.

…a few new lights in some rooms that have been light-less for a while.  Aaah…progress.

…long conversations with my very best friend.

…worries and struggles brought, sometimes reluctantly, to the cross.

…bad moments and repentance.

…learning, more, that God is trustworthy in everything.

When I pray I don’t use big words.  When God teaches me things, they usually aren’t theologically heavy ideas.  When I read my Bible (or anything, for that matter), my understanding is generally limited to the words on the page.  And often I end up feeling like I must be missing something.  Because I hear other people praying or preaching or singing about ideas that just don’t make any sense to me.  There are metaphors and exhortations and petitions that sound lovely…but I just don’t understand what they mean.

What I do understand?  Some examples…

God is good and holy and powerful.

I am sinful and weak and selfish and lots of other one word descriptors that are easy to grasp.

I need Jesus.

God loves me.

God is bigger than any problem I could have.

God wants to be glorified.

I need to trust Him.

God’s Word is truth.

God is enough for me.

Every.single.one. of my sins were paid for on the cross.

God hears my prayers.

They are simple ideas, in a lot of ways.  Maybe others would express the same ideas with words that demonstrate a lot more thought or study or revelation.  Maybe my understanding of spiritual matters just doesn’t go very deep.  I honestly don’t know.  But, since God seems able and willing to find ways teach me in my simplicity, I will be content to let Him.

You are my breath, my life, my heartbeat

You are my strength, the rock beneath my feet

You are my hope and joy and perfect peace

You are the Giver of grace that covers me

You are the light to all my darkened paths

You are the One who holds my spirit fast

You are the Name I call out in my need

You are the voice that calms my stormy seas

You are the sacrifice that made me free

You are my vision when I cannot see

You are my healer, guide, Father and friend

And I love You, Lord.

That’s all. 

The end.

Today, Elijah is 3.

He is smart and silly and defiant and sensitive and helpful.

We have battles over meals and naps and fussing and clothes.

He struggled when Ava made her entrance into the family.

He loves to sit close and request (demand?) an “arm” (around him) and sing Jesus Loves Me.

When he gets hurt, or when he doesn’t feel good, he asks “pray it?”…and when someone else is hurt, he offers to pray for them.

He wants to be a big kid, but wants to still be the baby, too…I guess it’s the internal battle every 3 year old faces.

He loves his baby sister, telling me all the time how beautiful and adorable and precious she is, and how much he loves her.

He likes to randomly go visit his Daddy at work (aka, his office in the attic), and Daddy has a particular soft spot for this little boy.

When the big kids are at Friday school, we mostly snuggle and watch Scooby-Doo.

During our family devotions, his eager response to any question that is asked is always “Jesus came down and died on the cross”.  I’m glad he’s getting the basics figured out ;).

He often says “I love you, too, Mommy” out of the blue.

He is adored by his siblings.

He makes me laugh a lot.

There is so much tenderness and affection and zeal for life in Elijah.  And though he has occasionally corrected us lately, saying “I’m not buddy, I’m ‘wijah”, I’m not in any hurry to abandon his simple nickname that so aptly describes our favorite littlest boy.  And today we celebrated him and the joy he has been to our hearts and the life he has before him.  Happy Birthday, Buddy…we love you so, so much!

It occurred to me as I was rocking Ava this afternoon with tears streaming down my face, feeling alone and overwhelmed, that it was not an entirely unfamiliar feeling.  I remember, 3 months after Nathanael was born, having a complete meltdown because the Christmas cards I was making were not finished by the time I thought I needed them done.    If either of these instances had happened in the first few weeks postpartum, I would have immediately chalked it up to hormones…it’s happened after each birth (and miscarriage).  I sort of expect it and while it isn’t fun, at least I know why.

With Ava, I thought I somehow got out of the whole emotional mess that typically follows birth.  When my hair started coming out in handfuls a week or two ago, though, I should have realized what was coming.  My postpartum hair loss normally starts right away, too, so when it proved to have merely been delayed, rather than avoided altogether, I should have been prepared for what was to come. It seems that the baby blues have caught up with me.

So, with the realization that my tears and heartache might be just a teensy bit magnified, I determined to ignore them to the best of my ability, and set about fixing my thoughts on Jesus.  It’s certainly not the most fun, but I know it will pass and I’m thankful for a God who carries me through my weakness.

Lately…

…our washing machine is now in its permanent place next to our dryer.  This is very exciting for me.

…my attitude has been bad.  Sometimes I can’t seem to get my perspective right.  I wish I knew why.

…Christmas decorations are up, presents are purchased, wrapped, and under the tree…but I have little excitement about this season.  I just want it all over.  I don’t find joy in tradition or trappings or celebration.  This is a relatively new realization.  I’m still trying to sort out the good and bad of it.

…God is teaching me things.  I wish I could write about those things, but every time I try, my words sound hollow.  I wonder what that means…

…my children are unruly, restless, prone to foolishness.  It would be easier to address those issues in them if I didn’t possess them myself.  I lean heavily on God’s mercy these days.

…Ava has been very needy the last week or so.  Mostly just awake a lot and expecting to be held by me.  When I am already feeling like life is getting the best (or worst?) of me, this doesn’t help.  I just try to remind myself that most of the things that are not getting done are not really urgent anyway.  Sometimes the reminders help.

…I can’t imagine what my life would look like right now if Ava wasn’t generally a super easy baby.

…a year ago I could run 3-4 miles, now I can run about 1.5 miles.  I know having a new baby is a good reason, but it is easy to be discouraged nonetheless.

Though the fig tree may not blossom, Nor fruit be on the vines; Though the labor of the olive may fail, And the fields yield no food; Though the flock may be cut off from the fold, And there be no herd in the stalls– Yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation. The Lord God is my strength; He will make my feet like deer’s feet, And He will make me walk on my high hills.  —Habakkuk 3:17-19

What has God been teaching me lately?  Mostly, I think, that my perceptions don’t matter, that the perceptions of others don’t matter, that His is the only opinion, perception, perspective…whatever…that really matters.  When I think about this, it makes me want to raise a bit of a defense.  To my ears, it sounds a lot like saying that people don’t matter.  It sounds like an excuse to give in to my temptation to not care about people. But it isn’t.  Actually, it ends up being quite the opposite…perhaps to the chagrin of my carnal self.  It means that when God tells me to do something, I don’t get to care how someone else will see it.  I don’t get to over-analyze and come up with all of the ways that I could come out looking like a fool…or if I do the analysis, it can’t matter.  I had a conversation with God the other day that went something like this.

Me: “God, I did what you told me to do and it didn’t matter.”

God: “It did matter to me.”

That was it.  Not much of a conversation, but enough to make me think.  It reminded me of whose opinion is most important.  It reminded me how necessary it is that I recognize His voice.  It reminded me that my perceptions can be flawed.  I don’t know the end from the beginning of any situation.  I need to trust Him and only be concerned with how He sees me.