I am almost finished reading The Knowledge of the Holy by A.W. Tozer.  Truthfully, I have been reading it for about 2 years.  I think I even started over because I went so long without reading it at one point.  But, I love it.  I actually think it may even top my all-time favorite, Mere Christianity. 

It is rare for me to read a book and actually feel uplifted and encouraged by it.  Often, “Christian” books leave me feeling condemned, not good enough, and like I am an utter failure.  So, why is this book so different? I wondered.  But I didn’t wonder for long, because the answer was really very clear.  This book was about God, not about me.  Instead of telling me about all of the things I should or should not be doing to be a “good Christian”, this book reminded me, over and over, and in great detail and forcefulness, of who God is.

See, I have learned something about myself over the past few years, and it is this: the thing that will best affect change for the better in my life is a closer relationship with the Lord.  It probably sounds simplistic, but it is a truth that has anchored my soul when my head is sent spinning by all of the advice and suggestions and implications that come from other well-intentioned Christians.

I’ve begun to read most books and listen to most ideas with one thought underpinning my response: is it Bible?   Not, is it unbiblical?…because I have found that there is a vast sea of thought that is not unbiblical that still does not have the right to stand next to the Bible, or even anywhere near, in my heart.  Yet, somehow, we as Christians (maybe we as people?) tend to elevate certain ideas to a place of being above reproach when, really, that spot should be reserved for God and His Word alone.  We can read a book, or hear someone share, or observe a method and think that anything short of complete conformity is failure.

It’s not that the ideas are bad, but I am not the same as the person for whom some practice worked wonders.  I am not called to necessarily speak the same, minister the same, raise my children the same, interact the same, love my husband the same, keep my home the same, worship the same, prioritize the same, fellowship the same as anyone else…unless the Bible clearly says so.

So, how do I decide what God has called me to in a given area?  I get to know Him – more deeply, more certainly, more personally.  I seek His face.  I meditate on Him.  I read His Word.  And I find life.  Such LIFE!  His Spirit renews and reveals and reminds.  He convicts and strengthens and guides.  I feel like words fail me when I try to describe the difference that drawing near to the Lord makes in my heart and mind.  When I draw near to Him, He draws near to me…and that intimacy fills me with such love for Him that it feels like I will burst.  He is an amazing God.  Incomprehensibly good and holy and faithful and powerful.

So, tell me about Him.  Tell me how awesome He is.  Remind me over and over again of what the Bible says.  Help me to see Him more clearly.  Direct my gaze to Him and His perfection, instead of to myself and my ever woefully imperfect efforts to be anything good.  Trust me, keeping my focus on Him will make more of a difference in my life than anything else ever could.

His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of Him who called us by His own glory and goodness.—2 Peter 1:3 (emphasis mine)

…this morning I looked up the lyrics for, and sang to my children, “I Lost My Poor Meatball”.  As you can see, I am giving my kids a very cultured upbringing ;).

…I have started drinking coffee almost daily this past month or so.  I never thought I would see this day, and I’m thinking that once warm weather hits, it will become mere history…but for now, a hot cup of coffee with copious amounts of sugar is very appealing on cold, gray mornings after what have often been less-than-restful nights.

…the room that houses my treadmill is a work-zone at the moment, so exercise has become much more sporadic.  Okay, so my lack of energy may also have something to do with it.  The temperature outside today is pretty well perfect for running, though, so maybe I can find motivation for that.  We’ll see.

…When I painted the master bedroom more than 2 years ago, I missed a spot (well actually, I did a spot poorly and there are white spots showing through).  I am determined to rectify that this week.  Better late than never, right?

…I have started ironing clothes.  I was never taught to iron and it honestly always seemed like so much effort for so little reward.  But wrinkled collars and hems started to bother me, so I convinced Tim that I needed an ironing board (which was a longer process than one might think, due to personality differences) and set it up in my bedroom.  It’s not the most aesthetically pleasing possibility, but it’s convenient, which is the difference between success and failure at this point.  Maybe someday it will become enough of a habit that I can tuck it away in an unseen corner and still get it done.  But that day is not yet here.  Baby steps, I guess.

…I love Ava’s blue eyes and long, dark eyelashes.  I have always wished God had given me blue eyes instead of  brown, but I guess getting to admire my daughter’s is the next best thing.  And I think she’s already figuring out how to use it to her advantage.

…My children are learning to wash dishes.  Some people may think that this is a task that could have been taught before now.  But since we have no dishwasher, and really, really clean dishes is one thing that I am semi-neurotic about, I am even now having a difficult time trusting that they can be as careful and attentive as I would like.  So, I have a learning curve here, too…learning to be consistent in inspecting, learning to be patient in correcting, learning to discern the line between carelessness and honest mistakes.  Not my favorite lessons, honestly, but necessary, I suppose.

And that is some of the randomness of life these days.  Nothing short of riveting, right?

For weeks my kids have been playing “restaurant” – imagining menus, practicing with play food, setting up blankets and laundry baskets in their room to be their dining room.  This past week, they even made a menu on the computer and printed it out.  Tim and I have been the recipients of many “do you want to try this?” requests of their imaginary creations, and “do you want to come to our restaurant?” pleas, when…honestly?…playing pretend is about the furthest thing from enjoyable for me.  But, I have half-heartedly given in, sort of secretly hoping that the end of this phase would come sooner rather than later.

Yesterday, though?  Yesterday I didn’t want to play. Yesterday, after watching my kids excitedly running around setting up their restaurant yet again, when I was asked I said no.  I can be pretty heartless, I know.  I saw their dejected faces as they left the room and I sighed.  I thought about how much I don’t like this part of being a parent.  You know…the part when I need to sacrifice what I prefer for the much greater good of showing my kids that they are valued and loved.  More times than not, after seeing their disappointment, I would have shrugged it off with some lame excuse of them needing to learn that things can’t always go their way…which is true, but it should never be because their mom’s being selfish.

This time, though, I was convicted.

I asked them how they would like to play restaurant with real food.  I saw the giddiness such a simple thought brought them.  And I proceeded to instruct them in how to prepare dinner for Tim and me (and them, too, but they were just eating at home…not at “The Ruehle’s Italian Restaurant”).

(I suppose this would have been a great time to instruct in utensil placement, but I guess that will have to happen another day)

Since Italian was not on my menu for the evening, some improvisation was necessary.  What we ended up with?  Our version of chicken parmesan…dino chicken nuggets with homemade marinara sauce and a combination of cheddar and parmesan cheese…served over spaghetti, with salad and garlic bread.

They set the table with candles and cloth napkins.

They pretended to be waiters, gave us menus and took our orders.  They served our food and cleared our dishes.  We “tipped” them with Hershey’s kisses.

It made their day.  And it was a small victory for me…over selfishness, over laziness, over heartlessness.  These kids are so precious to me, but I sometimes forget that they need me to show them.  Still, I will trust in God’s faithfulness to continue the work He’s begun in me…and to work in my kids’ lives in spite of my imperfections.  He is a good God, and these kids are an amazing gift.

My baby is 6 months old today.  Half a year.

:: She is officially crawling as of a few days ago, though I anticipate her inch-worm technique will be favored for a while still.

:: She has short stints of happily exploring or playing, but as has been the case for all of her short life so far, her preferred place to be is in my arms.  This is at once very endearing and extremely tiring, since she thinks that she can go anywhere and do anything while being held…and though she is petite in appearance, she is built like a brick and it honestly requires great effort to keep her from diving head-first over my shoulder or from doing a back-flip out of my arms.

:: What little hair she has is all growing at the crown of her head, and all three inches of it is almost always sticking straight up.  I love it.

:: She will stare at a person until they look at her and smile, then (and usually only then) she smiles back.  It seems to be a fun game for her.

:: She still can’t roll from her back to her front.  She really won’t even try.  I’m not worried (actually, I appreciate that I can still lay her down and know she won’t go anywhere), but I do wonder what it will take for her to finally make a real effort.

:: She laughs a lot, cries a little, and has a firm grasp on everyone’s heart strings around here.  I am so blessed by my baby girl.

Today I am going on about 2 hours of sleep.  Yesterday, it was about 4 hours.  Ava wouldn’t let me put her down for very long either night.  She has been congested and teething and, at night, will only sleep in my arms…and restlessly at that.

But God has been merciful to me.  Despite the lack of sleep, my sore throat and congestion that had been threatening to become a full-blown cold have instead begun to fade away.  The mornings that greeted me with dizziness and a body aching with exhaustion (have I mentioned that I do not handle lack of sleep well?) have given way to days of slow, but consistent productivity.

As is often the case in my life, I have found that, when my strength fails, God reminds me that in my weakness He is made strong.  He renews and upholds and breathes life in a very real and tangible way.  I am so thankful that this day matters to Him, that He sees my need and responds with a grace that only becomes more glorious as I reach the end of myself.  His goodness still takes me by surprise.

I want to say that life lately has been hard, but I worry that I would be misunderstood.  I mean, it has been hard, but anyone who reads this blog would likely think that not at all unusual for me to be saying.  The thing is, though, when I say hard this time, I don’t mean quite the same thing…I just can’t really think of a better word at the moment.

What’s been hard?  Well, a lot of things…the same things, mostly…persistent baby blues, erratic sleep thanks to a little girl who just won’t settle on a routine, feelings of constantly failing, frustrations with feeling alone and misunderstood, struggles with child training and chore charts and self-control, wondering why God made me the way I am, times of hopelessness and aimlessness and uncertainty.

But there is a difference.  Despite the muck and mire of circumstances, some things have been very clear that never were clear before.  The biggest thing?  In every moment, I have had confidence in God’s love for me.  When I feel like nothing in life makes sense, there is peace because I know, more certainly than I know anything else in life, that God loves me…and not just generically, but zealously, completely, steadfastly, personally.  And it has become an abiding knowledge where once it was a fleeting recognition.  Instead of being the first thing to get blown away by the storms of life, it has become the bedrock that shows itself to be secure and enduring when everything else flails.

I think that has helped me to see my hard moments differently, too.  Because I trust God’s love, I also trust that every circumstance will work out for my good, I trust that He hasn’t abandoned me, I trust that He will be faithful even when I fail.  Though I complain and question and despair at times, instead of blaming God, I turn to Him for comfort and strength and hope.  I am learning that when I have Him, I have all I need.  He has become my sufficiency.  And I guess if it takes frustrations in life to cement that truth in my soul then I will be thankful for them.

Out of place, lost, with no light around

Aimless, alone, desperate to be found

Looking up, I see my only certainty

So, I’ll just stand, on this dark and foreign ground

And let You have every piece of me.

Wanting to run to some place that feels safe

Not knowing how to just trust in Your grace

Though I can’t see how these days fit in Your plan

I’ll set my gaze always upon Your face

And take all that falls from Your hand.

For I know You are good and holy, alone

My heartache’s not too much to lay at Your throne

and even in this storm, Your promise is peace

if I’ll give You each dream that I own

and believe You have better for me.

So, please hold me tightly, and free me from fear

Only Your presence brings hope through these tears

though I don’t seem to have much of value to give

I offer it all to You here

Lord,  take it and help me to live.

If you’ve ever heard me sing,  it’s likely you’ve realized a couple of things about me.  One is that I often sing loudly.  The other is that I probably shouldn’t be singing loudly.  I know my singing can sometimes sound painful.  I have been laughed at.  Sometimes, I hear how badly I sound and I can’t help but laugh at myself.  I have been told “wow, God must really love you to want you to sing to Him”.  Yeah…ouch.

Most times if I sing around other people [during worship], I tell myself that God only cares if it is a joyful noise and I try to ignore what someone else might think. But, sometimes, when I think about how it must sound to the people around me, I become self-conscious.  I sing more softly.  I tip my face down, thinking maybe my voice won’t be as audible.  And I wonder what I’m supposed to be doing.  As much as I love to sing my heart out to the Lord, am I ruining worship for someone else?  Is it selfish to think that God should be my only concern when others are around?  I’m sure nobody would ever tell me to be quiet, but I can’t help but feel that it would be the considerate thing to do sometimes.

I’m not quite sure how to reconcile this within myself.  I love singing, and as silly as it might sound, my “natural” volume when singing is loud.  Can I worship softly?  Yes.  Is it worshiping with my whole heart?  Usually, no.  But, is there a greater good?  Maybe.  I wish I knew for sure.

Since I wrote about being offended, I thought I should write about getting over it.  I wish I could say that I made a concerted effort to not be offended, but really, it was one of those things I laid at God’s feet and asked Him to work out in my heart because I didn’t know how.  And He did.  I think I was offended for less than a day.  The sting I felt didn’t leave, but the feeling of being slighted did.

It may seem strange that I’m writing about this as though it is a novel thing, but the reality is that I don’t get offended very easily (or maybe it’s weird that I got offended at all?  I don’t know… I don’t hear much said about offenses).  As critical as I can be of others, it is rare for me to perceive anything as a personal affront.  On the flip side, though, when I am offended, a part of me wants to hold on to the offense.  I don’t like being hurt, and I tend to be afraid that forgiving and letting go will just put me in the position to be hurt again.  Hence, why it got left in God’s hands.

It can be hard to want to do the right thing, but sometimes I think wanting to want to do the right thing is enough.  Not that I would necessarily be comfortable arguing that as biblically sound…I really haven’t looked into it enough, but I think it’s fair to say that God knows our heart, as well as our weaknesses and need for His strength to carry us.  He does for us what we can’t do for ourselves.  I’m so thankful I don’t have to manage life on my own.

I am offended.  I know I shouldn’t take offense (Ps. 119:165).  And I know I should be quick to forgive when I am.  This one may take some time, though.  I’m sure the person who caused the offense has no idea.  I’m sure they wouldn’t understand even if they did.  But I feel like less than nothing.  That hurts, you know?  There really is no way for the “wrong” to be righted in my eyes.  I need to just accept that humanity fails, repeatedly…and towards me, always in the same way, it seems.  I need to somehow have a perspective that it doesn’t matter, that God will work this for my good, that I need to figure out how to love and forgive even while my heart  still aches with hurt…and then how to do so again, and again, and again.