Lift Up Your Eyes

August 2005. New Orleans.

“Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all.” Psalm 34:19

I sat in a pew in the chapel and let those words roll over me. I heard power and confidence and promise in the voice of the big black preacher, as he emphasized every word. “Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all!” 

Amen. Yes. I agree with that.

I want to go to that man’s church, I thought. And I planned to, when my then-boyfriend came to visit from Georgia in just a couple of weeks, on Labor Day weekend. We would go together.

But Labor Day found me not there but in Georgia. Because my dorm room wasn’t dry anymore, it was under water. Because a hurricane swept through New Orleans and a hurricane swept through my life.

And the whole rest of that year becomes another story for a different day. But 8 years later I look back and I am still in awe of God’s providence in teaching us truth and then teaching us truth. In letting us hear something and say Amen, yes, I agree with that, and then in letting us live it and wrestle with it and get neck deep in it, until the very deepest part of us cries, Amen, yes, I agree with that.

Many are the afflictions of the righteous.

This is no prosperity gospel. This life that we live, it is dirty and messy. And sometimes the affliction is a hurricane. But sometimes it is a drought. Sometimes it is a tear-your-robe-and-put-ashes-on-your-head tragedy, and sometimes it is a bury-your-face-in-a-pillow-and-cry-because-you-just-stuck-your-bare-hand-in-a-poopy-toilet-to-retrieve-the-medicine-bottles-your-3-year-old-dropped-in-and-this-is-what-your-life-has-come-down-to moment. That might have actually happened. Yesterday.

These afflictions, they might be heavy or they might be mundane. But they are many.

BUT.

But the Lord delivers him out of them all.

When my Daddy left me in New Orleans by myself, all 22 years old and just a little girl, when he couldn’t say any more words for the lump in his throat and the tears in his eyes, he pressed a small wooden cross into my hand. I watched him walk away and then I turned the cross over, and through my own tears I saw in his handwriting, the reference Psalm 121.

I will lift up my eyes to the mountains;
From where shall my help come?
My help comes from the Lord,
Who made heaven and earth.
He will not allow your foot to slip;
He who keeps you will not slumber.
 Behold, He who keeps Israel Will neither slumber nor sleep.

The Lord is your keeper;
The Lord is your shade on your right hand.
The sun will not smite you by day,
Nor the moon by night.
The Lord will protect you from all evil; He will keep your soul. The Lord will guard your going out and your coming in From this time forth and forever.

Words that my daddy taught me in the car as he drove me to school when I was a little girl. Words that my Father taught me when He lovingly stripped me bare. Words that remind me that His presence is my portion. These afflictions, they are not forever. And they are not meaningless. 

Lift up your eyes.

Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all.

To My Girls

Claire, sometime last night between going-to-bed-time and waking-up-time you crept into my room. You so sweetly and gently patted my shoulder until I stirred, never uttering a word, just waiting for the invitation to crawl into bed beside me.  I moved over, half asleep still, and held out my hand to help you onto the bed and into your place of safety and security. And you drifted back to sleep, holding my hand. I’ll be honest here. I am terribly glad when I wake up in the morning and you have not come to our bed because it means that I was able to claim my rightful half of the bed all night and we probably all got a better night’s sleep. But you know, I wouldn’t trade those other nights for anything. The nights when you wake up from a bad dream and you know where to come for comfort. The ones when I can reach out and stroke your hair and you snuggle up and give me sweet little pats on the back whenever you wake up throughout the night. No, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Averi Kate, when I walked in to rescue you from your crib this morning, you were still bleary eyed and pointed straight toward the rocking chair. And I was more than happy to oblige, since Sissy was still deeply asleep in my own bed. So I carried you over to the rocker and sat down and your thumb went straight into your mouth and your other hand to your ear, and there we sat, time standing still for once in my life. I prayed out loud over you and for you and for all of us, and you just sank into me, content to feel my presence and hear my voice. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Daddy and I hear other grown-ups talking about how their kids who used to be little and full of little moments are now big and making big mistakes. And we see concern or frustration or grief or impatience on their faces, and we hear it in their voices. And we look at each other and for a moment we are afraid. “What if our girls make these big mistakes? What if they rebel? What if they reject the truth?” In those moments we want to keep you little forever, where you come crawl in our bed and sit in our lap and are safe.

But that’s not the way to live this journey. And the echoes of Scripture temper my pounding heart…

Perfect love casts out fear…Be anxious for nothing…Let the peace of God rule in your hearts…

 I know that a woman of faith smiles at the future (Pr 31:25). She is not afraid of it. She embraces it. Because she knows the God of a thousand tomorrows and she understands that we are just a part of a story that isn’t really about us at all. And so she can love freely with no strings attached, and she can look well after the ways of her household without an iron fist, and she can be clothed with strength and dignity and open her mouth with wisdom and kindness and not be anxious over the results.

God, I pray that you don’t have to live folly to prove its consequences. I hope that you love your Creator with every fiber of your being from the earliest time possible. But I also hope that when you grow big and make big mistakes, you will come to a deeper understanding of grace, and know that this is why Jesus came – because He knew that we always grow up into big kids that make big mistakes and we cannot redeem ourselves. He is not shocked. He became those mistakes that you will make, and He drank the wrath for them. And His arms are as open as mine have ever been, and He will never reject the one who comes to Him in faith. 

No, His love never fails. And my love will not diminish for you either. 

 And my bed and my lap will always be as open as they are now.

Gentle and Quiet Spirit

I remember sitting in a hallway with twenty-something other middle school girls on a youth retreat many years ago. 

If I stop with that sentence right there, I might have a mild panic attack just thinking about the awkwardness.

Anyway, everyone was supposed to go around and tell the group her favorite Bible verse. You could see alarm on some faces and hear a mad rush of turning pages to find some verse other than John 3:16, while others reflected a smug serene confidence because they could pull out any number of quotables from the Bible drill glory days.

There was this one girl. I don’t remember her name but I sure remember her presence. She was loud, in every sense of the word.  Her voice, her laugh, her personality. Just LOUD. Well, it came to be her turn in the group. And I’ll never forget what she said.

“My favorite verse is 1 Peter 3:3-4. ‘Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as braided hair and the wearing of gold jewelry and fine clothes.  Instead, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God's sight.’”

As soon as the words left her mouth, I could hear uncomfortable shifting and not-so-quiet snickering, and I could see looks of disbelief, rolling eyes, and just a couple of smiles or quiet nods around the circle.

And it really got me thinking.

I have two daughters. The one who talks…well, never really stops. She talks, she sings, she asks questions INCESSANTLY. She talks even when she is the only one in the room. She is not often…well…quiet. And the other one? Well, she may not talk yet, but she will certainly not be ignored. She will make her presence known in a heartbeat if she has the inclination.

I pray for my two girls to have a gentle and quiet spirit. But honestly, it’s not the ceaseless noise that prompts me to pray more diligently.

It is the 3 year old tantrum when things don’t go her way. It’s the yells of frustration when she can’t get the stinking shoe on her own foot. It’s the 1 year old biting attack on her sister who pushed her off the rocking horse, and the impatient kicks and screams during a diaper change. Those are the moments that drive me to my knees, praying for the Creator to develop a gentle and quiet spirit in my daughters.

Because those are the moments that are like a mirror to my own soul

And I realize now that having a gentle and quiet spirit has very little to do with our volume.

A synonym for the Greek word used for “gentle” in 1 Peter is “meek.”  John Piper describes those who are meek as people who “trust in God, commit their way to God, are quiet before God and wait for Him, and don’t fret over the wicked.” And how about the word “quiet”? Well, it means tranquil. Which means that the opposite of quiet in this case is not loud. It is agitated, restless, troubled, distressed.

So when my girls are throwing tantrums in the grocery store (and can I please kindly rebuke the person that invented the grocery cart that looks like a car but drives like a minivan on a single track bike trail? Can anyone actually make left-hand turns in those things without at least almost knocking down a display of Cheerios? Or a store employee?) and when they are looking me square in the eye and yelling “NO!” with all of their sad little hearts…

God, help them to trust in You. Bend their will to Your own. Grant them a peace that passes understanding. Give them a gentle and quiet spirit.

And when I find myself fretting about the future, or sighing out of weariness of the mundane, or giving in to every fear that crosses my mind…

God, help me to trust in You. Bend my will to Your own. Grant me a peace that passes understanding. Give me a gentle and quiet spirit.

And that sweet, loud girl at youth camp back in the last century? Well, it all makes sense now, honey. Thanks for that.

Maranatha

When I was younger, I had a secret prayer that went something like this:

“Jesus, I am excited about Your return, I really am…but…if You don’t mind…please don’t come back until after I get married…”

If you are a woman and you are reading this, don’t even pretend like you didn’t have that same desire. We were young. And sheltered. And naïve. And in love.

And then my wish came true, and my prayer morphed just a little into, “…and if You don’t mind, I’d really like to have a baby as well…and then You are more than welcome to come back…”

And Jesus tarried once again and I got my desire, a sweet baby girl, soon to be followed by her beautiful baby sister.

And then my prayer changed again. Because I suddenly realized something my younger self did not.

Last week 26 souls in Newtown, Connecticut were violently cut off in a schoolhouse, of all places. When I heard the news, my heart crumbled. And my very first, instinctive reaction was to whisper, “Come quickly, Lord Jesus.”

The fact that I had been missing in my younger, wistful days is that this world is no longer fitting for me or for you or for anyone. Because this world is ruled by a prince who has not come that we have life, but who has come to steal, kill, and destroy. A thief. Satan. This is his realm. And the irony for me is that the very reasons I prayed for Jesus to tarry, are the same reasons I now wish for Him to make haste and come back.

I have been given two precious souls to care for, to teach, to shepherd, to love. And along with the indescribable joy comes also a deeper awareness of the potential for evil in our world. 

Children and teachers are gunned down in the school…women and children are sold into the sex slave trade…untold numbers of babies are murdered before they are even given a chance to live…

Creation groans under the weight of the curse it was not meant to bear.

Rape…genocide…holocausts…abuse…

This is not our home.

Over two thousand years ago, on a not-so-silent night, to a frightened girl, in a bloody mess, the King of Kings entered the creation that He had set into motion and sustained since its birth. He humbled Himself to be born as a helpless, vulnerable baby in the hostile territory of His mortal enemy. He left the majesty of His heaven and clothed Himself with weak, lowly flesh. He identified with every broken soul so that He might eventually break the chains that weighed us down and kept us in Satan’s dominion. He would grow up and die so that we might live. It was a broken world when He came, but He delivered light and life and hope. He crushed Satan on the head when He came, when He lived, when He died, and when He rose again. One.blow.after.another.

And it’s not over yet.

Come, Lord Jesus. Come and deliver the final blow that will end the evil that never belonged in Your beautiful creation.

Come. Come and end the suffering that should not be so. For the same reason that You wept at Lazarus’ tomb – for the fact that death was not supposed to exist, and the suffering it causes was not Your plan – come and make it stop.

Come. Come and show Yourself as the victorious Warrior, the King to whom every knee shall bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord.

Come and avenge the innocent souls that are slaughtered. Come and take away our fear of the future. Come and bring us home. Until then, we will live in hope and delight in the blessings that You give, and we will bear witness to the good news of great joy that You brought at Your first advent. But as I see the evil mounting up around me, and realize the depth of creation’s groaning, and as I prepare my girls to live in the strength of Your might, my prayer these days more closely resembles that of the early Christians, who greeted one another with “Maranatha – Come, oh Lord.”

He who testifies to these things says, “Yes. I am coming soon.”

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.

Note to Self

On the mornings when you wake up and feel like you haven’t slept at all…or, wait, maybe that’s not just a feeling, but a reality…and the last thing you want to do is head downstairs to start that infernal pot of oat bran…and when instead of a sweet sleepy morning smile you are greeted with a whine…and when all of your attempts to snap little hearts out of grumpiness and into gladness are met with an epic FAIL…on those mornings…His grace is sufficient for you.

On the days when you feel like you can’t catch your breath…and when your sweet, precious girl asks “Why?” for the two hundred millionth time, and you just start humming loudly so you don’t have to answer…again…and when naptime is a joke and consequently, the emotional breakdowns start at 4:00 in the afternoon and you are wondering how you are going to make it until bedtime…and when you start to lose your patience, or are caught off-guard by the words and the tone coming out of your mouth, and you realize that you are no better than your two year old…on those days…His strength is perfected in your weakness.

On the nights when the going-to-bed routine stretches out for two hours and your screaming children take turns waking one another with their outrageous drama…and then you come downstairs and see your counters full of dirty dishes and scraps of vegetable peels and okay, maybe a few unidentified substances…and your floor is full of halfway-packed moving boxes and you can’t even walk through the room without tripping…and then after five minutes of relative peace the baby starts crying again, and you head upstairs and just hover in front of the door, praying that she would please stop crying and go to sleep so that you can just sit on the couch and stare at the wall and listen to the silence…and in the moment when you say, “I can’t do this anymore” and  you have lost all perspective…especially in that moment…draw near to the throne of grace with confidence and find grace to help in time of need.

And in the sweetest moments…the unprompted hugs and declarations of “I love you Mommy”…when you spin around the room with your girls or pause on the couch for a good book together…when you share an inside joke or have a little helper in the kitchen…and when you go to pick up your girls from anywhere and are greeted with the biggest, brightest smiles when they see you…and in those blessed moments when you are able to have deeper conversations than you thought possible, and you witness the Holy Spirit’s powerful work in the heart of a preschooler, and when you have eyes to see the slow awakening of faith and the soil of your child’s heart becoming softer and more fertile…in those moments…rejoice because His grace is still sufficient…rest in that grace because His power is still made perfect in your weakness…fall on your knees in gratitude before the throne of grace…because it was never about you at all…

Hear O Israel

Lately I have been in panic mode.

Maybe having the second little made me realize that this is actually happening. I am a mother. I have two little souls under my care who are totally dependent on me. I am a grown-up.

Really??? When did that happen???

Oh my. And so I have become a blog hopper. An online sermon enthusiast. An article searcher. A parenting book critic. Yes, even a Pinterest junkie. All in the name of figuring out what in the world I am doing, finding ideas on how to do it better, and hoping to goodness that I am not screwing up my kids forever.

And truthfully, at the end of the day I feel like I am drowning in a sea of helpful and not-so-helpful advice, techniques, and ideas. The ideal of perfect motherhood is out of my reach. My two year old is still throwing tantrums. My six month old is still not sleeping through the night. I must be the worst mother in the world.

But one recent, blessed day, for just a moment…I stopped. I stopped worrying about whether I should be more strict with our schedule, whether time-out or spanking or loss of possession is the best approach in which situation, whether I should feel guilty when Dora the Explorer allows me 25 minutes of tranquility. I stopped thinking about what everyone else is saying about what it means to be a godly parent, and I thought, what does God say about it?

And here is what He said.

Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength. These commandments that I give you today are to be on your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates.

The thing is, I have read this before, probably a gazillion times. Or at least 384 times, no joking. I could paraphrase it for you without even looking:

“Teach your children to love the Lord with all of their heart/soul/strength. Talk about the Lord all the time, throughout every day. The end.”

But wait.

As I read this passage in the middle of my one quiet moment, I realized that the “Love the Lord your God” part was not directed toward the children.

It was directed toward me.

(YOU) love the Lord your God with all YOUR heart and with all YOUR soul and with all YOUR strength. These commandments that I give to you today are to be on YOUR hearts.

I know this. I do. I absolutely know that the one goal in my Christian walk is to love the Lord with everything that I am and have.  I know this is the greatest commandment. But I had never seen it as it applied to my parenting before.

I have been so caught up in technique. How to discipline. How to teach. How to train. But it hit me that really, that is not where my focus needs to be.

My number one objective is not to figure out the most effective way to teach my children to love the Lord. No, my number one aim is to love the Lord my God.

And if I can accomplish that one goal, the rest will fall into place.

If I love the Lord my God with all of my heart, then I will begin to bear the fruits of the Spirit in my relationship with my children. I will be more patient, more loving, more kind. And maybe my children will be impressed by the mighty transforming work of the Spirit in my life.

If I love the Lord my God with all of my soul, then I will stop seeking fulfillment in my husband’s affection, my children’s performance, my community’s acknowledgement, and instead find my soul’s satisfaction in the Living Water. And maybe my children will be impressed by the great sufficiency of our Creator and Sustainer to give us our identity, our purpose, our peace.

If I love the Lord my God with all of my strength, then no sacrifice will be too great as I serve my children. And maybe my children will be impressed by the humility of Christ to reach down to us in our great need and lay His life down in a much more perfect way than I ever could for my children.

If I am loving the Lord and meditating on His commandments, then I will be able to impress those great commandments (which are summed up in the one commandment of love) on my children as we walk by the way, and as we sit and rise and lie down.

And at the end of the day, if I am loving the Lord my God with all that I am, the checklist that I started the day with may not be completed. The laundry may or may not be done. The table may or may not have been cleaned. But I can guarantee that I will have done more things that will matter in eternity, and my children will be more impressed with the greatness of God than with the “greatness” of a mother who appears to have it all together.

Will I still read the blogs and listen to the sermons? Of course. In a multitude of counselors there is great wisdom, and I certainly need as much wisdom as I can get. Will I still have to grapple with how to apply loving, gospel-centered discipline that will meet each of my kids individually where they are? Of course. But how freeing it is to know that when all is said and done, it all comes down to the same thing…the greatest commandment…the deepest joy. To love the Lord my God.