It can be hard for me to focus on Jesus at Christmastime.  Sounds ridiculous, huh?  But with so many other things demanding attention, or at least making me think my attention is required, and with the added stress that I always feel at this time of year (somehow, for all of the preparation I think I get done in early October, all organization and preparedness seems to fall apart right about now), any attempts to adjust my focus to the Lord usually just make me feel so distant from where I should be in my time, attention and affections.

I wonder if I’m failing my kids because I can’t seem able to adequately convey the magnitude of what that first Christmas morning meant for us, for humanity.  I find myself thinking that, maybe, God’s not going to be too interested in showing up to our less-than-perfectly-thought-through celebration.  Or that He’ll find our invitation for Him to draw near perhaps not entirely sincere when it inadvertently gets relegated to a to-do list…not because it isn’t most important, but simply because I know my tendency to sometimes fumble my priorities when life gets hectic.

So in the midst of the foggy chaos that has been my brain the past few weeks (or maybe longer, if I’m being honest) God has been drawing my attention to the nativity story.  More specifically to the stable.  And even more specifically, to Mary in the stable.  I imagine that when Gabriel visited Mary and told her that she would give birth to “the Son of the Most High”, it probably never entered her mind that the birth would happen amidst the dirt and straw and smells of a stable.  Did she have a thought, as she realized that the time for giving birth had come, that she should have been more prepared?  It couldn’t have been completely unexpected…did she ever worry that she was failing God by not having made reservations at the inn, or anywhere, just in case?  Did she wonder whether God would think that she had made this great responsibility an afterthought to the more immediate, tangible cares of life?

I don’t know what she thought.  But I know this: God came near – in the stable, in the dirt and straw, in the middle of life’s other responsibilities.  He wasn’t waiting for Mary to be perfectly prepared.  He had no expectations of pomp and fanfare, pristine surroundings or a life put on hold.  And he wasn’t ashamed of the humble surroundings into which He came.  Angels celebrated His entrance, a star spotlighted His presence in that stable.  Whether or not Mary found it acceptable to welcome the Son of God into the mess of life, God made it clear that He was okay with it.

And, I think, He’s okay coming into my mess, too.  I mean, I guess it should be obvious.  He came because life is a mess.  He came because even my best efforts can’t make my heart pure enough, or my life clean enough, or my world perfect enough.  And maybe that’s part of the reason He came to the stable in the first place – to let Mary and mankind know that He’s not put off by messes and inadequacy and real life.

At the very least, that stable has been a welcome reminder to me lately.  I know I shouldn’t be surprised by His goodness, His irreproachable character, and His limitless love.  But I still am.  What an amazing God.

I have a lot of thoughts going through my head these days.  Thoughts about how to love and communicate worth to someone, thoughts about being a part of a body, thoughts about prayer and seeing God’s face and hearing His voice, thoughts about where the balance might be between being the analytical person God made me, and being someone who sees good in spite of flaws.  These thoughts are all going through my head because they are topics that leave me unsettled.  Sometimes, reality doesn’t match up with explanation and I need to figure out where the breakdown is.

I have strong opinions on most of these things, without a doubt.  But, honestly?  Having something make sense is so much more important to me than holding tightly to my opinions.  It’s funny, though, how easily an attempt to find understanding can be misconstrued as stubbornness, or as some prideful ploy to not be proven wrong. 

Of course, my starting point is always going to be where I am at in my opinions or beliefs at a certain moment.  And, of course, there needs to be a compelling reason to draw me away from my position.  That’s common sense, isn’t it?  I mean, even when I know I’m not entirely right (or even at all right), there’s no logical reason to start heading down a different path until I know it is the right one, otherwise I might just get farther from the truth.

So, I won’t just accept someone’s word that something works.  I won’t be okay with a cursory explanation, or a Bible verse applied  too generically, or too specifically.  I’ll ask questions – not to disprove someone else’s argument, but to get them to really prove it to me.  It might seem hard-headed of me, but I need to be really convinced of something to believe it and walk in that belief.

That makes sense, right?

:: Many (maybe most?) early mornings (well, actually, I still consider it the middle of the night) the past couple weeks I have awakened between 3 and 5 am with a splitting headache, or overwhelming nausea.  Usually, I end up taking a very long shower, throwing up some, and finding enough relief to eventually go back to sleep for a little while.  Even so, on the days when the headache doesn’t stick around, I have had a bit more energy lately, and a bit less nausea.  This is about the extent of my second trimester reprieve, I think, but it’s better than nothing, at least I know how to take medication in a safely way, thanks to lizzardco.com.

:: I am thankful for Little House on the Prairie; documentaries on the history of baseball, Ellis Island, and food production; and, occasionally, cooking shows, that count as schoolwork on bad days.

:: This year I am actually excited about the coming holidays, which is a major switch from the past couple years.  I attribute it to hormones.  But, whatever the reason, I find myself wanting to decorate, light candles and watch Christmas movies while snuggled under a blanket, hot chocolate in hand.  And I’m looking forward to cooking, even in spite of my nausea and fatigue.  That never happens.  The odds and ends shopping, and gift wrapping, and mailing packages, though?  I don’t think I will ever look forward to those.  Oh well, I’ll take what I can get.

:: We have a functional new bathroom, and a so-close-to-functional family room.  It is, however, going from functional to finished that can be the hardest part, especially when there are so many other projects on the to-do list.

:: I am in that awkward stage of pregnancy when my belly no longer fits into my normal clothes, but maternity clothes still look kind of ridiculous.  Plus, I’ve gained 15 pounds already.  That never helps with the clothing issues.

:: Slowly pondering things that God is teaching me, feeling like I am such a slow learner, wondering how I got to this point in life without having some of the basics figured out.

:: Thinking that maybe, possibly, Ava is getting closer to sleeping through the night.  The past couple nights, she has only awakened on time.  After about 10 months of regularly waking up 3+ times a night, this is such a relief.  Such a relief.

:: I feel like I’m dropping a lot of balls these days.  I’ve never been good at organization or motivation, but there are times in life when it seems like I can’t even handle the bare minimum.  And I get discouraged and feel like a failure and feel guilty for the extra strain on my husband, and the lack of structure for my kids, and it is so easy to become histrionic and think that I am just ruining everything.  But, sometimes, when I am throwing up at 4 in the morning, God reminds me that whatever I do or don’t get done right now is enough, not because I’ve checked the right things off my to-do list, but because there is grace enough to cover all the things that aren’t getting checked off.

This morning, the aroma of baked oatmeal filled the house.  The kitchen was completely clean (which, honestly, isn’t it’s normal state first thing in the morning).  Three older kids were diligently getting ready for the day.  There was a freshly washed tablecloth on the table.  Our baby girl was happily playing.

And none of it was my doing.

Sometimes I wonder if I ever give the impression of being on top of things.  I don’t think I possibly could.  I really hope I don’t.  Because the reality of my life is that my husband takes care of me, and so many things that one might assume are on my plate.  It’s not always quite as apparent as this morning.  I felt particularly icky last night, so Tim took more of my tasks on himself (willingly, lovingly, diligently)…but I get the feeling that the everyday things he does for me are more than what’s considered normal.  He regularly gets the kids up and going in the morning.  He makes dinner when I’m not feeling well and he cleans up after (with help from kids).  He puts laundry away and lets me go for walks and manages our garden and helps with grocery shopping and gets up with kids in the middle of the night and makes Friday school lunches.  Plus so much more.

And it isn’t because I am incapable or unwilling (though, admittedly, I can be less than thrilled about some tasks…especially when nauseous), but rather simply that he loves me and wants to serve me however he can.  He keeps our home running smoothly, and as much as I know that isn’t really how it’s “supposed” to be (or, at least, not how I imagine it should be), I am so thankful for my reality that is a daily reminder to me of how blessed I am to have my husband.

I’ve felt a little apathetic lately; a little stagnant; a little bit like I just have no idea what the point of some circumstances is, and I’m tired of staring at a cloudy, muddy mess, so why bother any more?  I try to tell myself that there’s a reason for everything – that God has a plan that will work out for good.  And I believe it.  But, I just want to see the end already.

Patience is not one of my strong suits, and neither is being okay with not understanding and not being understood.  I pray with, I admit, a fair amount of doubt.  Maybe I’m just wrong…it’s been known to happen.  But, honestly, I think that might make life easier.  I’m okay being wrong.  I can admit it and move on.

The problem – the thing that makes my faith falter – is trying to figure out how things work out if I’m not wrong.  If that’s the case, then it means someone else is wrong, and I don’t have the same confidence in others’ abilities to accept, admit, and move on.  Does that sound prideful?  I suppose it could…but, in reality, admitting fault is one of few areas of my life that I have no difficulty with…and is an area in which I’ve often seen others struggle.  Add to that – incomplete communication, deeply ingrained philosophies which lack clear biblical backing, and staunchly held negative perceptions, and I am prone to think that even prayer is not an effective enough recourse.

I know I am making God small in my eyes, and perhaps turning a molehill into a mountain, but there is a part of me, too, that thinks there are deeper issues here – that perhaps there are reasons this is so difficult that extend beyond what I can see and understand.  So, I pray for circumstances, but then I pray for faith, too.  Faith to believe that God can work in any situation; faith to believe that when I can’t see, God still sees; faith to believe that He honors my prayers lifted to Him with a sincere heart, even when I don’t know exactly what it is I’m praying for.  Because He knows – He knows – so I don’t need to know.

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.