What I Don't Want to Forget

This is Jay.

Two Fridays ago Jay was working on the roof of a warehouse at his dad’s peanut factory. He fell through a skylight and suffered irreversible brain trauma. He died the next day.

But that’s really not what I want to remember about Jay.

Here is what I want to remember.

Sophomore year in college. I was hanging out at the BSU as usual when Jay, who I knew but not really, gave an open invitation to anyone who was interested. “Hey, I’m running tonight. Anyone want to go with me?” In an atypical move that belied my constant fear of failure at trying ANYTHING new, I said, “I’ll go!” Jay looked like he didn’t really believe me. “Really??” “Well, I’ll go two miles with you. You can finish after that.”

And that was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

What I don’t want to forget about Jay is how we ran five miles together than night and it felt like only two. Or how he convinced me with his typical “Jay-logic” that since I ran five miles, I could definitely run 26.  I don’t want to forget those days and nights of marathon training, and how we always got Sonic milkshakes after our long weekend runs. I especially don’t want to forget the time I had to pee during a long run so we stopped at a stranger’s house between Americus and Plains and asked if I could use the restroom. I want to remember how Jay made me laugh constantly and simultaneously made me think about deep issues. How he stuck with me for the whole 26 miles that January even though I knew he could have finished that marathon in half the time. How neither of us could move after we ran but he had to drive the entire way back from Disney World in sheer exhaustion because I didn’t know how to drive a stick shift. You know, he straight up gave me that very same car less than 2 years later when he found out I was moving to New Orleans by myself in the old Eagle Summit with the duct-taped windows. And he took his life in his hands when he taught me to work a manual transmission. That’s what I don’t want to forget about Jay.

I don’t want to forget how he introduced me to baby back ribs, to the music of Sean McConnell and the game of spades, to tree-riding and camping with friends, to Elf and “Lime and the Coconut.” How he took me to see “Lord of the Dance” just because he knew it would make me smile. How he taught me to take life a little slower and enjoy the company. How he taught me to give joyfully and generously with no regrets.

And in the midst of grief over losing him way too soon, there is something else I don’t want to forget, something I don’t want his sweet girlfriend and precious family and friends to forget: hope.

Hope makes a difference. It makes a difference in life and in death. Hope is not wishful thinking but a confident expectation of good, rooted and grounded in the unfailing promises of God.

“Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope.” 1 Thessalonians 4:13

Our grief is different because of hope. Oh, we grieve. We grieve hard. How could we not? But here is the picture that the Lord has been painting in my mind over these last weeks.

Imagine this: Two ships are out on the sea when a sudden storm blows in. The wind and the waves quickly become furious and the two ships are rocked and thrown and blown about. One ship has an anchor that had already been let down; one does not. On board, the emotions are the same – fear of the wind and waves, a feeling of being out of control, even panic. But the difference is, the people on the anchored ship are not really in danger of being thrown too far off course, and if they can remember the truth that they have that anchor, then they will realize that they need not give in to despair. This will not change the effects of the storm around them, and many of their emotions will be the same as the ship that is truly out of control. But if they can just close their eyes and call to mind the truth, they will have hope.

Hebrews 6:19 describes hope as an anchor for our soul. Storms are an inevitability of living in a fallen world. Sometimes they roll in slowly, sometimes they pop up out of nowhere. Sometimes a sweet friend loses his life just shy of his 32^nd birthday. But in times like these, we have an anchor for our soul, and that is what makes our grief different. We still have the same emotions in common with all of humanity. We grieve with sadness, with questions, with shock, with anger even. We wonder how we will ever go on now that our lives have been altered so dramatically. But in the midst of everything, if we can just call to mind the hope that we have been given through Jesus Christ…

The hope that Jesus has conquered the grave for those of us who trust in Him…

The hope that the glories of heaven cannot even be compared to what we have experienced here on earth…

The hope that God is sovereign and good and wise…

The hope that He will work all things together for our good…

The hope that this life is not all that there is...

Then our grief will be different. We will not be floating aimlessly on the vast sea, tossed about by the waves and winds and driven far off course. We have an anchor. We have hope. We have Jesus.

That’s what I don’t want to forget.

When I Rise

These words, which I am commanding you today, shall be on your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your sons and shall talk of them when you sit in your house and when you walk by the way and when you lie down and when you rise up.

Deuteronomy 6:6-7

When I sit in my house…

There are little mouths to feed. The kitchen that was spotless before I went to bed last night is now cluttered with pots and bowls and spoons, fruit peels and vegetable ends, and random baby dolls and dominoes. We sit at the table…or, let’s face it, more often the kitchen floor…and eat our breakfast or our first, second, or third morning snack, or lunch, always followed by “Mommy? Well, I’m still hungry, so…”

When I sit in my house, it is not for long. I check my email and then jump up to turn the light on in the bathroom for a potty emergency. I look up a recipe and then run into the living room to rescue a baby who has rolled over onto her stomach and forgotten how to get back to the starting position.

When I sit in my house, it is to build a mouse house out of treasure rocks. It is to make train tracks out of dominoes. It is to color with magical markers that only write on magical paper. It is to change dirty diapers. To fold laundry. To wipe up spills. And change more diapers.

When I sit in my house, it is to nurse my sweet baby. I sit on the couch and send my 2 year old to the book basket to pick out some books to read together while I feed her sister. 

Oh God, will they see You in me? Let Your truth be in my heart and on my tongue and on my mind, when I sit in my house.

When I walk by the way…

There are little hands to hold. And when did Claire get so big that I had to force that issue, anyway? Wasn’t it yesterday that she couldn’t even walk without clinging to my hand for balance and strength?

There is a huge stroller to push. I strap my girls in and run. I’m going to have man-size forearms by the time they outgrow the double jogger. Along the way we always point out every squirrel we see and make sure to speak to other walkers, joggers, bikers, and dogs.

When I walk by the way, the destination cannot be the goal or else I will live in frustration, because wherever we go there are countless stops to make. “Mom! A flower!” “Mom! An ant!” “Mom! Look at that rock!” The smallest pieces of creation come alive for my girl.

Will they see You in me? Let Your truth be in my heart and on my tongue and on my mind, when I walk by the way.

When I lie down…

I never know how the night will go. Will I be getting up multiple times this night? For feeding a hungry baby, for comfort after a nightmare, for a drink of water for a thirsty child? And if they sleep through the night, surely I won’t. I will wake up and wonder why I haven’t been called out of my bed yet. 

Will they see You in me? Let Your truth be in my heart and on my tongue and on my mind, when I lie down.

When I rise…

When I rise, there are libraries, parks, and fountains to visit. There are groceries to buy, bills to pay, deposits to make, packages to mail.

When I rise, there is breakfast to make. There are songs to sing and stories to read and little hearts to teach. There are tantrums to handle but there is also laughter to enjoy.  There are so many sweet moments to absorb and remember and treasure. There are so many hard moments to teach me grace and humility and dependence. 

When I rise, I wonder if I will make it to the shower today. I try my best to savor my hot cup of tea before any of the littles begin to stir. I think about all the things I want to accomplish and sometimes remember that only a few of those things really matter.

Sweet Lord, will they see You in me? Let Your truth be in my heart and on my tongue and on my mind, when I rise.

 

Safe in His Love

My baby girl laughed for the first time last night.

Music to my ears.

I probably scared her to death with my reaction – my ridiculous yell of delight, thunderous clapping of hands, and my earnest attempts to get her to repeat that sweet sound for the next half hour.

Yesterday in the grocery store my 2 year old tried to boop me. What??? You don’t know what that means??? Well, I don’t completely understand it either but it involves poking and then a cry of “I booped you!!!” followed by hysterical laughter. I had to make a rule that no booping is allowed in the grocery store. Yes, I can actually keep a stern face and say, “You know you are not supposed to boop mommy in the grocery store.” I had to deliver this firm instruction yesterday, to which Little replied, “I’m not trying to boop you, I’m just trying to hug you.”

Melt my heart.

So we walked around the produce section with Little in the cart and me hunched over so she could reach her arms around me. I would walk around all day like that if I could.

The thing that I’m realizing in parenthood, is that my children do not have to go to great lengths to delight my heart. They don’t have to earn my favor. I bask in the simple, spontaneous actions that show that they know me, and that they know that I love them.

Hebrews 11:6 states that “Without faith it is impossible to please God, for anyone who comes to Him must believe that He exists and that He rewards those who earnestly seek Him.”

Could it be that the same things in my children that delight my heart, also please my heavenly Father?

My baby laughs at me because she knows me and on some level, she feels safe in my love.

My daughter hugs me because she knows that I love her and that her affections are safe with me.

They know me. They know who I am. They trust in me. And their actions flow out of their beliefs.

My dear Father doesn’t require me to earn His favor. He is most pleased with me when I believe. When I believe that He exists…when I trust that He is good…when I know that He will meet me and satisfy me and welcome me when I seek Him…

And if I fill my mind and my heart with these truths of His presence and His character, then the things that I do will flow out of that and reflect it.

And when I laugh, it will be because I am safe in His love.

And when I worship Him, it will be because I am safe in His love

And when I make sacrifices in my roles as wife and mother, it will be because I am safe in His love

And when I reach out to others, it will be because I am safe in His love.

And when I fail, and sin, and make a mess of things, I will run to the cross because I know that I am safe in His love.

And He will be pleased, not because of what I do, but because I know that I am safe in His love.

One Thursday Afternoon and Evening

3:16 – My 2 year old is asleep on the couch after a meltdown that said, “I’m too tired to function. Please make me lie down and have some quiet time.” My 2 month old is in her bouncy seat, sucking on her hand and hyperventilating, which she does when she gets excited or tired. I’ve got chicken cooking on the stove to make chicken spaghetti tonight. The house is a mess. I’m uploading pictures from the camera onto the computer and thinking about prayer and faith and sleep and my husband’s injured knee. 

4:52 – I have been pushing Claire in the swing for a while, and now we are playing ball in the backyard. I kick the ball and we have to go after it in a different style every time…sprint, hop, gallop, walk backwards. Claire’s laughter is one of my favorite sounds in the world. AK is in the bjorn, sleeping against my chest. I am thinking about how tired I am and how blessed I am and how I need to get supper ready before too long.

5:14 – I am talking with my neighbor Leigh, who is walking her dog. While we chat, Claire is pretending like she is driving an ice cream truck and keeps asking me what I want from her. I don’t mind the interruptions at all and I order a strawberry ice cream cone from her. I am thinking about whether Leigh knows the Lord, whether Claire is going to fall out of the playground equipment that she has claimed as her ice cream truck, and how I want so badly to be genuine in conversations with people.

5:31 – We have to go inside because Claire is having a tantrum. It started so small – she pulled away from me while I was trying to tell her something – and now it has turned into me carrying my screaming 2 year old inside, while my 2 month old is crying in the front carrier, and my neighbor Leigh is watching from her porch. I am thinking about how I have no idea what I am doing as a mother and I am praying for wisdom to share God’s love and truth with Claire when I discipline her in just a minute.And I'm pretty sure I forgot to buy crushed tomatoes at the store so now I'm going to have get pretty creative with our chicken spaghetti.

9:52 – The house is quiet. Coach is upstairs reading; Claire is asleep in her bed; and AK is asleep on the couch. I am thinking about how the dishwasher doesn’t sound too healthy; how nice it was to have help cleaning the kitchen tonight (and how the spaghetti actually turned out quite well after all); how I earnestly hope that AK will sleep through the night tonight; how I am ready to try my new menu planning idea; how I desperately need to spend some quiet time in the Word; how I am excited to go running in the morning with a friend; how thankful I am that I actually have a friend after feeling so lonely for so long; how inquisitive Claire is getting about the Bible stories that we read to her at night; and how I should really go to bed and get every ounce of sleep that I can.

In all of these moments, You are working. You are teaching me and changing me and challenging me. You are growing me and breaking me and molding me. You do not leave me in these moments. You use them. You are not absent from or indifferent to these moments. You are very present. These moments are not “in the meantime.” They are not meant to be wished away. They are real life and You have a purpose in them. They are beautiful and I thank You for them.

Psalm 90:12 – “Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”

Peace Like a River

Here is what my house sounded like on Sunday…

Littlest Little: “Aaaahhhh…” (Translation: 3 week old crying and passing gas)

Biggest Little: “Aaaahhhh…” (Translation: 2 year old tantrum)

Coach: “Aaaahhh…” (Translation: “What did we get ourselves into???”)

Me: “Aaaaahhhhhhhhhh…..” (Translation: Sleep deprived and overwhelmed mommy tantrum)

This weekend did not feel like much of a weekend. I woke up Monday morning, exhausted at the thought that it would be 5 more days until my next opportunity to take a nap. This parenting 2 kids stuff is not for the faint of heart. My house is a wreck, and in perfect irony my landlord will be popping by for annual apartment inspections sometime this week. My 2 year old is reverting to pre-potty trained days, only this time instead of wetting her pants she is peeing on objects in our house. WHAT????!!! Is she marking her territory? I thought one of the perks of having a GIRL was avoiding the obsession to pee on things. My baby lost her umbilical stump a week and a half ago and I haven't found it yet. There is a partial umbilical cord floating around somewhere in my house. True story. My landlord will probably find it on her inspection and banish us forever. I haven’t slept in three weeks, I can’t remember if I took a shower in the last 3 days, and sometimes I think my husband would rather just stay at work than come home to, well, this.

Now please understand, I know that this is a stage. That this will pass. That one day I will look back and laugh.

Today is not that day.

Today is the day that I want peace. Peace in my house. Peace in my heart.

Problem: When I was having my mommy tantrum on Sunday, some things came out of my mouth that were pretty revealing. Jesus said that out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks, and well, He pretty much knows what He’s talking about. As I was in the middle my tearful and very self-centered rage to my poor husband, I cried out, “All I want is a peaceful home. I do everything I know to do, and I still don’t have it!”

I do everything I know to do…

Hmmm. As soon as those words left my mouth, God gently but firmly brought to my mind the sermon I had heard just hours before. The one taken from Numbers 6:26, the one that undeniably claims that THE LORD (repeated 3 times in those verses for emphasis) is the One who grants us peace.

I have been desperately trying to create peace, as if it is up to me at all. But it’s not. Get it through your head, Jana. It’s not up to you.

Here is the truth about peace:

I will lie down and sleep in peace, for you alone, O LORD, make me dwell in safety. Psalm 4:8

The LORD gives strength to his people; the LORD blesses his people with peace. Psalm 29:11

You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in you. Isaiah 26:3

Maybe God is blessing me with chaos right now in order to teach me that I cannot create peace in my house; I cannot dictate my circumstances to provide peace for my family; and I cannot gird up my own strength enough to remain peaceful in my heart. When all of my best and worst efforts fall flat, what remains to be done?

Stop trying.

Instead, start trusting.

God gives peace. Trust in Him.

Abide in Him.

Love Him. Pursue Him. Seek Him. Because He Himself is our peace.

I can truly tell a difference on days when I let go of my circumstances and instead set my mind on things above…because while the mind set on the flesh is death, the mind set on the Spirit is life and peace. The days when I stop trying to create peace and instead simply experience the peace that comes from being justified by faith.

Because even when my infant is crying and my toddler is urinating on my wallet, I am still a beloved child of God, and if in that moment I can set my mind on what is true and honorable and right and pure, then there is a peace that passes comprehension, that I can never conjure up on my own, that will guard my heart and my mind in Christ Jesus.

“The Lord bless you and keep you;
the Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you;
the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace."