I tried to think of some clever or cute way of saying it, but honestly, if ever my words could come out as clever or cute, I’m sure it would require much more brainpower than I possess at the moment.

So here it is:  baby number six is on the way. 

I think I’m somewhere between nine and ten weeks along.  I’m nauseous and tired and gaining weight way too quickly…pretty standard as far as pregnancy goes for me.  Labor looms larger in my mind than it has in the past, and worries about prenatal care and getting a larger vehicle and the potential for 7 more months of not feeling good threaten to overwhelm me.

The thought of a sixth little one, though?  That is joy to my heart.

This might be long.  It might be boring.  But I’ve thought a lot over the last few months about how God worked in my heart to bring me to a place where I could believe in His love for me, and so I thought I would write it out.

For as long as I can remember, I believed, and would even say, that God loved me by default – that He loved the world, and since I was a part of the world, He had to love me.  I’m honestly not sure why I believed that.  I could probably go into some analysis of my childhood to try to figure out the answer, but I am content for now to say it was a lie of the enemy that had a very firm grasp on my heart.  And somehow, I never really recognized it as a problem until a few years ago.

I think it came to the surface because, over and over again, I found myself getting angry with God when people failed me.  I had tied my perception of how much God did or didn’t love me with how much people loved me.  If I felt particularly unloved by a person, I felt abandoned by God.  If I felt loved and accepted by a person, I was more likely to think I mattered to God.  Looking back, this is where I think God started His work in my heart.  He brought conviction over the fact that I was putting people in His place.  He took me to His Word, and reminded me (or, maybe, really revealed to me for the first time) that He alone is perfect and holy and infallible.  No person was going to give me an accurate picture of God’s love for me.  His Word needed to be that authority in my heart.  And over the course of a few months, God was just continually impressing upon my heart the fact that He is holy.  Completely set-apart.  Always above reproach.  Never changing.  Without even a hint of any imperfection in character.

Once that was straightened out, God began working on another misperception I had.  This time, it was a belief, I think more subconscious than anything else, that God would be disappointed, angry, frustrated, impatient with me if I sinned or failed or just didn’t do something as well as someone else.  I would tell myself how I thought God must see me, rather than listening for His voice.  Yes, there would be moments when I would listen, and be struck by His gracious response to my obvious ineptitude, but those weren’t the moments that I chose to remember.  So, He began to bombard me with the simple truth that He is good.  Even when rational thinking would completely justify rejection or condemnation for my failure, God would never respond to me with anything other than kindness and gentleness and patience.  Because His nature is good.  Wholly and completely.  It isn’t circumstantial or changeable.  Again, over and over, He opened my eyes to really see that I couldn’t do anything that would make Him turn me away, or harm me, or ignore me.  I learned to trust His goodness to me.  Maybe that doesn’t seem like a big thing.  It certainly doesn’t seem too impressive in writing.  But I am not a trusting person, in any capacity, and to be free from the burden of constantly trying to analyze where I stand with God made a huge difference in my heart.  There is freedom in trusting.

At this point, I had gotten my perceptions about God’s character in line (at least, for the purposes of this particular work in my life), but I still didn’t believe He loved me.  I saw myself pretty clearly.  I knew how unlovely I was (am?).  Surely, God saw me the same way.  Why would He love me…how could He love me…when I was just not who I was supposed to be?  It felt like a daily, sometimes moment-by-moment wrestling match that went on inside me – trying to be the person that the rest of the world says is acceptable and beautiful and worthy – a wrestling match that always left me defeated and convinced that there was nothing about me worth loving.  Until, one day, when I told God that I hated who He made me, He responded with a forcefulness that stunned me.  I love who I made You.  For weeks and weeks I came back to that statement countless times, not understanding how it could be true, not wanting to let myself believe it, but knowing with a certainty that it was the voice of the Lord speaking to my heart.  No matter what else in life might be telling me otherwise, the truth is that God made me who He wanted me to be, and He did so because He found something about my form lovely and precious and worth creating.  Yes, this form is marred by sin, but the form is still me, and not someone else.  It was the last piece of truth that I needed to be convinced.

I still can’t say I fully understand.  Really, I think the whole truth of it is beyond comprehension.  But I know God loves me.  On my worst days, I know God loves me.  When life doesn’t make sense, I know God loves me.  When I feel unlovable to and unloved by the rest of the world, I know God loves me.  And He faithfully, patiently, knowingly moved in my heart to bring me to this place.  I’m at a loss for words to say how thankful I am.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.  He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside quiet waters, He restores my soul.

The Lord is the one who leads me, guides me, protects me and cares for me, though I am, by nature, ignorant and foolish and incapable – and because of this I can be content, I can trust that my needs will be met.  When I am surrounded by good things that I might be tempted to think I need, I can remember the provision He has already supplied, and find rest for my soul, instead of a striving to obtain those good things that won’t actually benefit me.  When I have need of refreshing or sustaining, He is faithful to direct me to that which will accomplish this for me.  He knows me well enough to know what my soul is lacking, and what will fill it completely…and He loves me enough to not only know, but to also do whatever is necessary to bring me peace.

He guides me in paths of righteousness, for His Name’s sake.

When I am following Him, the direction will always be toward holiness, toward Christ-likeness, toward sanctification.  Even if the way seems difficult or painful, I can trust that His leading is always bringing me closer to Him, and ultimately, He should be obviously glorified through my life.  If I am unable to see Him being lifted up through any of my words, attitudes, or actions, I need to check myself and make sure I am being led by Him.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.

In the midst of life’s worst and most hopeless circumstances, I have hope, I have peace, I have confidence because You are with me.  There is nothing that could possibly come against me that can remove me from Your care.  And though, at times, Your discipline and guidance and searching of my heart can be painful and humbling and confusing, they remind me that You are with me, and will faithfully and gently keep me in all my ways.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.

You are my provider.  No matter what may come against me in life, You are able to meet my needs.  And You aren’t inconspicuous about it.  You are fully confident in Your ability to protect me from danger, and perhaps, even take joy in the opportunity to remind the enemy of my soul that a life submitted to Your care cannot be undone.

You anoint my head with oil;

You take care of me.  You see any hurts that I may have and You care for them, carefully, personally, gently.  My healing comes by Your hands, not my own.

my cup overflows.

I have so much more than I could ever need.  You are continually pouring Your life into me.  You are generous beyond what I can hold or comprehend.

Surely, goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life

I don’t have to chase after You, You are pursuing me – certainly, constantly, faithfully.  You look for ways to bless me and remind me of how much You love me – and that will never, ever change.

and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

The only holy, perfect, all-powerful, Creator of the universe, Lord of lords, King of kings, Almighty God has invited me to spend eternity with Him.  Unfathomable.

These days have been marked by…

…a nine-year old who loves cooking.  Who am I to stop him if he wants to make the eggs, or pancakes, or oatmeal for breakfast?  It’s one of those scenarios that has given me a new realization of the very practical nature that “children are a blessing” can have.

…a seven-year old who, when trying to come up with something fun to do yesterday, decided that she would gather her brothers together to do a Bible study.  They each read a chapter of their choosing and commented on some part of it.  Conceived, organized, and carried out all on their own.  This is particularly encouraging to me because this same seven-year old is often my greatest challenge, and I worry that my failings are standing in the way of God working in her life.  I’m thankful that He is bigger than my failings.

…a six-year old who has a new-found love of climbing trees.  He is proving to be more fearless than his siblings (in this and other potentially fear-inducing endeavors).  A part of me wishes he was just a little bit more scared than he is, but another part of me is glad for this character trait that I know can work to his benefit in years to come.

…a three-year old determinedly trying to learn how to whistle.  Every day, he demonstrates how he can almost do it…and he is actually improving quite significantly.  There is such a depth to this little boy, and I am regularly startled by how much thought he puts into things.

…a one-year old who seems unable to eat without making “mmm-mmm” noises all the while.  She clearly enjoys food a whole lot, and for now at least, it is incredibly cute.

There are song lyrics going through my head this week.  Words reminding me that all of my aspirations, all that I hope to ever be, all that I measure myself against, should be wrapped up in Him.

My heart wrestles with that truth, and hurts even, when considering what it means.  I am prone to wanting to be acceptable to others, to wanting to change myself to be like someone else, because a part of me is convinced that who I am will never be acceptable, or good enough, unless my life meets someone else’s standards.  I make things necessary that aren’t necessary, and I put words in God’s mouth about who He wants me to be, forgetting that who He wants me to be is not someone else, but me, just walking closer to Him.

On the flip side, there is this stubborn, selfish, wanting-to-be-right, not-wanting-to-be-vulnerable part of me that doesn’t want to love people when people don’t love me.  I try to persuade God that they just.don’t.deserve.it, and I cringe when He reminds me that I don’t either.  I know that it’s an argument I can’t win, but – and likely it’s because this is even an issue to begin with – I feel like something is being ripped out of my heart every time it comes up.  It reminds me of how very much not-like-Jesus I am, and how desperately I need to get my heart in line with His, and learn to love what He loves, and continually lift my eyes above my circumstances to see only Him.

And then there are other song lyrics going through my head.  These words reminding me to let God speak to my heart, to remember His Word, His promises, His faithfulness.  Because when faced with the reality of how far I am from perfect, it’s easy to tell myself things about what God thinks of me, or what others think of me, or what I think of me that, at best, shouldn’t matter to me, and at worst, are lies that rob life and joy and peace, and cause me to forget to listen for His voice when I most need to hear it.

I’m thankful for reminders to keep my perspective right, to remember the one thing that needs to matter above all else.  He is faithful to me.

Sometimes, life reminds me that I’ll never get it all right.  I focus on the wrong things, say the wrong things, do the wrong things.  Somehow, I seem able to justify wrong things pretty easily in the moment of decision.  It can be humbling to realize how easily.  And then, sometimes, I think about something I wrote years ago, that is still all-too-applicable to life today.  I wish it wasn’t.  I wish I could say I finally figured something out.  I haven’t.  All I have figured out is the same thing I had figured out then.  Luckily for me, it’s the most important thing.

I broke again today,

said things I should never say,

proved I don’t deserve Your grace,

yet, here I am, fallen on my face

crying out to You.

All these blessings You’ve given me,

so much more than I’d ever need.

Why is it so hard to see

except when I am down on my knees,

crying out to You?

Break me.

Shatter this pride that I hide behind.

Break me.

Undo this life, take all You can find.

Break me.

Refine my heart and renew my mind,

til I am gone, and all that’s left is You.

…

I see the scarred hands now

and the blood upon His brow

I’ll never really know how

it makes me clean

but I hear it loud.

It’s crying out to You.

For me, it’s crying out to You –

to heal me, to free me,

to love me, to see me

not for who I am, but who You are.

I’ll never understand why saving me

was in Your plan.

Today is Ava’s first birthday.

Wow.  Really??

It makes my heart ache just a bit.  Or a lot.

She has been such a blessing to our family in her one year…and not just in the generic, every-baby-is-a-blessing kind of way (not to knock that, though – it is itself absolutely amazing), but in a way that is unique to her.  It’s the way she can wake me up multiple times a night and still be endearing.  It’s the way she wraps her arms around my neck when I pick her up.  It’s the way she gets a huge smile on her face when she first sees her Daddy in the morning, and the way she giggles with excitement when I start reading her a book she has brought me.

It’s the way I always want to hold her for just a few more minutes when she’s asleep in my arms, and the way tears come to my eyes when I realize how fleeting these baby-days are.  It’s the way she has reminded me of the joy of being loved by my children, and the way she helps me see the difference that gentleness makes.

And along with being a blessing, there are obviously other qualities about her that are special and noteworthy.  She loves tomatoes and potatoes and chocolate and bananas.  She has been walking for almost 2 months and, unlike at least a couple of our other children, has not really given crawling a second thought since then.  She wants to be a big kid, and she never sees them crawling, so she won’t either.  She loves bathtime, but hates encountering large amounts of water in any other environment (beaches, sprinklers, pools,etc.).  She’s loud when she’s excited, and loopy when she’s tired.  She still wakes up often at night (we’re working on that) and does not like to nap.  She loves the piano and occasionally sings to herself.  There are so many quirks and personality traits that make her distinctly Ava.

She is loved lavishly and, even now, pours that love back out in her hugs and snuggles and smiles.  She is treasured, and though I might feel like these past twelve months have passed too quickly, it is nonetheless a joyful thing to be taking this day to mark the first year of life.  Happy Birthday, Ava Grace.

Six years ago today, we welcomed our fair-haired, blue-eyed little boy into our family.  He was an easy baby, cried little, and eventually, played peacefully on his own for long stretches of time.  He has always been his own person.  Rarely does he follow the crowd (the crowd, in most cases, being his older siblings).  He is the child who will turn down more dessert if he’s full, who asks to do extra math work, who volunteers to help Tim with projects.

He is very much a boy in his interests (at least, stereotypically).  He is happy to do anything physical.  He would rather weed a garden than read a book.  He can run farther and faster than his older brother and sister (and without once complaining about how tired he is).  He is fascinated by electrical and plumbing and tools and projects.  He is (sometimes impatiently) waiting for the day when he can play baseball, and has a general love for sports.  There is a bull-in-a-china-shop quality to him which, when combined with an insatiable I-wonder-what-will-happen-if… kind of curiosity, has resulted in a long string of broken or damaged objects and countless reminders about gentleness and not throwing in the house and just.don’t.touch.

On the flip side of all the masculinity, though, is an incredibly sensitive and thoughtful and attentive little boy.  From the very beginning, he has been our child who thinks long and speaks little; the one whose ability to notice details is remarkable; the one for whom every word or action sinks in deeply and is long-remembered…whether good or bad.

He is quick to put others before himself, even when it’s a struggle.  There are times when he is visibly wrestling with the choice to be selfish or giving, and he almost always chooses to sacrifice his wants to bless someone else.  It amazes me how consistently this is the case, and each time, I am reminded anew of the precious heart God has given this little boy of mine.  I am certain that this heart is integral to God’s plan for his life and we pray often for a refining and shaping and strengthening to take place – that the love of God would be poured out through him; that he would be a willing vessel, submitted to Christ in all things.

It is a joy to be Nathanael’s mom.  I love seeing and thinking on the things that make him unique and special and wonderful.  We are blessed to be celebrating his life today.  Happy Birthday, Bug!

At lunch today, one of the younger kids spilled a cup of milk.  Even while I was struggling to control my own response, Caedmon immediately began cleaning up the mess – calmly, thoroughly, cheerfully.  It wasn’t his mess and he wasn’t told to clean it up.

At that moment I found a renewed thankfulness for my husband well up in my heart.  Yes, I was thankful for Caedmon and his servant heart and willing hands…but he’s learned primarily through the example he sees in Tim.  While I regularly flip out over such messes  (I have never quite agreed with the old saying that there’s no use crying over spilled milk) Tim always – always – stops whatever he’s doing and begins to clean it up – calmly, thoroughly, cheerfully.  Even if I start to clean it up, he will often take over for me, simply because he knows that it is a more stressful thing for me than for him.

I’m learning to insist to him that I’m okay dealing with messes when they arise, but I know that it takes restraint for him to let me.  His heart is to serve me, and our children, and really, anyone and in any way that he sees a need.  Serving, for me, is an exercise in bringing my flesh into submission to Christ…I am selfish and lazy by nature, and all too often, that is what comes out when I should choose service.

So I am thankful that I am not the only example my kids get.  I’m thankful that my husband is so faithful to lay down his life for me.  I’m thankful that Caedmon has figured out the better response to emulate.

When life doesn’t go as I expect, I don’t often respond well.  I want explanations when there are none to be had.  I hold onto hurt and easily come up with all kinds of ways in which my circumstances prove that I am a failure and unloved and unlovable.  I’m scared to be hopeful…scared that I will only be more disappointed in the long run, scared that I will let myself be deceived by impossible expectations.  I have convinced myself that I would rather just believe the worst.

This week, though – as I found myself clinging to grief that was threatening to slip away – I felt the Lord challenging me to rejoice.  There was peace and joy and hope right there – so close that I felt it pressing me, so tangible that I was forced to make a conscious choice.  I tried to find rationale that would allow me to hurt just a little longer, but I found none.  What I found, instead, was an overarching belief in God’s goodness to me, and His sovereignty in all things.  I didn’t have answers, but I realized I didn’t need them.  Knowing that my life is in His hands is all I need.  It was sort of a revelation to me.  I have a hard time willingly abdicating control of my life.  I’ve never trusted enough.  Once again, God is proving Himself faithful to continue His work in me, though.  I am so thankful.

For you did not receive the spirit of bondage again to fear, but you received the Spirit of adoption by whom we cry out, “Abba, Father.” — Romans 8:15