knocking on Mercy's door

I woke this morning feeling weary, tired and not at all ready to face the day. There is an achy tightness between my shoulders formed by the feeling of helplessness coupled with hours upon hours of holding a baby on my hip. I stumbled downstairs, quickly tried to make semblance of a breakfast and lunch for my knight, poured a cup of coffee and crumpled into a chair.

It has been ten days, the recent five most arduous, of having a sick babe. First a cold, then croup, now our doctor says viral pneumonia. It isn't the carrying, the holding, the uncertainty of the next moment that weighs most on me but the helplessness--my absolute inability to provide any comfort to her. It isn't the helping that causes my weariness but the not being able to help--seeing and hearing her discomfort but not being able to relieve her, watching her older sisters try to fend for themselves but knowing that they need me as well. My arms full of a baby that doesn't want to be held or to be put down.

Cracking open my Bible, I pleaded with the Lord to meet with me this morning knowing that in my own strength, I wasn't going to make it through breakfast. I read in Matthew 7

“Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened. Or which one of you, if his son asks him for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a serpent? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!" 

I was reminded that all I really need is met by merely knocking at mercy's door.

And so in Spurgeon's words my soul knocked hard this morning. I sat there in my chair gripping my coffee cup, holding on to scripture, clinging to His grace. There with two little girls at my feet beneath the twinkling lights of our Christmas tree reading their own Bibles, I sat still before His throne of grace and I did not move. I stayed there until my heart was spread before the Lord and I knew, that I knew, that I knew, He was and would continue to be faithful to keep His promise of giving good things to those who ask Him.

And boy did I ask Him.

While ultimately I'd love spontaneous healing for her, and I believe He is more than capable, I also know that many times His mercy is found in the not-healing of bodies because what ultimately needs healing is our hearts.  It isn't a matter of trusting that God can heal the small body He created but not trusting that He can and will give me the grace I need to make it through another day with a sick baby.

I knocked hard.

In the moment after I surrendered and tension between my shoulders gave way as my Father's arm of grace settled around me, the moment of peace was broken by that little cough barking through the monitor. Before my confidence could wane I reminded myself that mercy's door was open fully regardless of Charis' health.

With my heart laid open before my good Father, I knew that whatever was to be given to me today was not going to be a snake.

She coughed again.

I retrieved our little one from her crib and she snuggled into my chest quietly. Her silence a telltale sign that she still felt terribly. For a moment, the tension returned to my shoulders. Oh how my flesh so quickly forgets God's promises. I can't even make it upstairs and back down without forgetting He is good.

Yet He is faithful though I am not.

Suddenly our morning changed gears and a dearest of friends appeared to "kidnap" the older girls to give them attention and a place to play and their mama a respite as well. She came bearing Starbucks. And then told me she was returning my children this afternoon accompanied by our dinner for this evening. I bit my lip to keep the tears from flowing.

No snakes here--only mercy.

After a brief nap, Charis awoke and couldn't be consoled so I bundled her up and took her outside, the one place she is always happy. The two of us circled our neighborhood in the bright sunlight, our noses turned pink from the cold and she smiled. And then she giggled.  As we walked drinking in the lung-opening cold air and blinding Vitamin D, my mind got stuck on repeat and over and over again I sang the old song

I cry out
For your hand of mercy to heal me
I am weak
I need your love to free me
O Lord, my rock
My strength in weakness
Come rescue me oh Lord

You are my hope
Your promise never fails me
And my desire
Is to follow You forever
For You are good
For You are good
For You are good to me

More than likely it will be a long few weeks but I'll keep knocking because I know that mercy's door is always wide open. And I know that on the days when I don't feel the strength to knock, He will remind me that mercy has already come.

In the midst of sickness, we celebrate Advent which simply means coming. Mercy coming. Grace coming. Truth coming. His coming. Christ came once as a humble babe for the purpose of living the perfect life that we cannot, so that He could be the perfect sacrifice we could never offer. He came to bear the weight of sin and absorb the fullness of God's wrath for His people's sin, so that we might live. For while we were yet sinners, Christ died. There swaddled in the manger and later hanging on the cross, Jesus is God's grace to us--the gift we cannot earn and do not deserve and the one who opens mercy's door.

Our Father who is the giver of all good things did not withhold His own son.

Mercy's door is wide open. Knock.

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose. For those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be the firstborn among many brothers. And those whom he predestined he also called, and those whom he called he also justified, and those whom he justified he also glorified. What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things? ~ Romans 8:28-32 ESV

rest

At the end of a long day, a long week, in the midst of what seems so long a season we now call it a stage, I read these words last night...

Christ says ‘Come, and I will give you rest.’ I will not show you rest, nor merely tell you of rest, but I will give you rest. Jesus has the greatest power to give it, the greatest will to give it, and the greatest right to give it. Rest is the most desirable good, the most suitable good, and to you the greatest good. Christ gives peace with God, and peace with conscience. He will turn your storms into an everlasting calm, and will give such rest that the world cannot take from you.”

- Thomas Brooks

We're leaving our little zoo home today to a place where we can unplug, unwind and Lord willing, laugh and play and be given Rest.  For rest is not a location or a season but a loving Father that gives an everlasting calm regardless of where we physically reside.  But this week we take time to slip away and find Him be found.

 

Photos from our last venture to Priest Lake make my heart quicken with anticipation...

"Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” ~Matthew 11:28-30

always room enough

Once upon a time, oh, a decade or so ago...

I found myself living in the nation's capital and it was there that the Lord really found me.  There is story after story I could tell about how so many of my ideas about this life were challenged and turned upside down, but for today, I'll pick one.

In a home at the end of a dead end street where vagabond young people like myself intersect with the leaders of the world today, I discovered what living in community really looks like. There were 15-25 of us women at any time from countries scattered across the globe, the chasms of language and culture bridged only by the common denominator of God's grace.  We laughed, we labored, we fought, we loved.

And then we road-tripped.

Let's just say that locking 10 women, half of which speak English as a second language, in an 11 passenger van, in the middle of the summer, in the south,  is perhaps not the brightest idea. It is a bit like putting live lobsters in a pot of boiling sanctification.  There was a lot of screaming. But in the end, we all had learned a lot and loved each other more fiercely.

It was on this road trip that we encountered a precious community in Lookout Mountain, Georgia.  My heart to this day aches with longing to see the families we met there, the tiny one room church we squeezed into one rainy Sunday, the open doors of families committed to walking through life together.  The couples we met lived out a depth of community and accountability like I had never seen before. They welcomed not only each other into their homes but they welcomed us strangers and weekly opened their homes for anyone who needed a meal: the gas attendant, the store clerk, the postman, the people traveling through town.  All were welcome.

I left Lookout Mountain and eventually the east coast with my entire view of community altered. I knew I wanted to live near people who were committed to walking with one another, holding one other accountable, raising each others' children, feeding people, loving people, laying down their lives for one another.  I believe that this is what the church is called to and yet so many churches are full of people who fill the seats on Sunday and have no relationship outside of that come Monday. Not with their church family, not with their neighbors.  The idea of church is so much like American suburbia where people wave from the safety of their cars, drive into their neat garages and close the door to life outside. We choose the comfort of lazy boys, televisions and PS3's, and close the door on conversation, fellowship and community. We close the door on real life.

We joke that subconsciously that's why we bought a home without a garage.  (Occasionally when our cars need to be worked on or we want to hide our garbage cans, we second guess this decision.)

We have a little home, with little rooms and a detached garage-turned apartment in our backyard to house vagabonds like I was once. In our first years here I was nervous to host thinking people needed a giant bonus room or spacious living room with actual seating.  But then the people started coming and apparently they didn't need a lot of space-- just an invitation, open hearts and an open door. We have been known to pack 20 plus people in our tiny living room during the week for small group, sharing elbow room and our hearts. Along the way, I've learned that the state of my soul is much more important than the cleanliness of my floors and the openness of my heart is much more important than the size of my living room.

Since our gracious Lord broke down the walls of my pride and my misconceptions about what I "need" in order to make people feel comfortable, we've had the privilege of opening our home regularly whether it be for a meal, for a night or even a couple years! Which leads me to the primary reason that my memories of Lookout Mountain surfaced.

Two of the vagabonds in our backyard had a baby last weekend!  Ok, they aren't exactly nomads, rather a sweet brother by love and his adorable wife who have been living in what we so affectionately call "the barn" (our detached-garage-turned studio/loft apartment) for a couple years now.  We love having them so close. Especially now. Can't you see why?

They welcomed a precious little girl (that makes four little girls on the property!) into their family last weekend and when she's older we will tease her lovingly with "what, were you born in a barn?"  What a joy it is to share such a precious season of life with such dear people.

We've also adopted a straggler who is in the Air Force and will be deployed to Afghanistan next month. We love that he, and his fantastic girlfriend who lives not too far from us, can often be found pushing little girls on the swings, being an extra set of arms, or entertainment at the dinner table.  They're pretty cute too.

It is a bit like living in a circus, or a zoo, and I will confess it isn't always easy in our little home but in the body of Christ, there should always be room in our hearts, or in a corner of our basements, for vagabonds. 

I know that there are seasons, especially with young children, where it seems like everything you've got to make your own family dinner or even change out of your pajamas and it seems overwhelming to think of hosting others.  The secret though is that it truly is easier to make dinner when there is an extra set of hands to entertain children, chop vegetables or wash dishes.

We have been blessed tremendously by the people whose lives have intersected with ours at the dinner table. In fact, the joy has really been ours.  May I encourage you to roll down your window, slow your car, take a risk in opening your home and heart and ask...

Dinner anyone?

And they devoted themselves to the apostles' teaching and the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. And awe came upon every soul, and many wonders and signs were being done through the apostles. And all who believed were together and had all things in common. And they were selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all, as any had need. And day by day, attending the temple together and breaking bread in their homes, they received their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having favor with all the people. And the Lord added to their number day by day those who were being saved. ~ Acts 2:42-47

almond sliver of grace

Sweet Charis,

I have been weaving this letter with my heart strings for weeks now and no matter how many times I've started it, the result has been a pile of tangled thread. I know now that my block was simply that God hadn't finished weaving the tapestry of His sovereignty in my own heart...so I couldn't finish weaving it for yours.

Three weeks ago we celebrated the gift of one whole year with you; what a precious year it has been. This past year has been such a joy watching you grow--almost quadruple your birth weight!, learn to crawl, wave at your sisters before you even enter the room they're in because you delight so much in being near them. You have spent so many hours with your little body buried in my chest just snuggling, your head tucked in the crook of my neck, sharing with us a laugh that makes us all giggle. In the midst of pain or frustration you have been so calm, so content.  As you grow, we pray that the peace you exhibit will be evidence of God's grace in your life, fruit of His Spirit.

Since your birthday, we have listened as friend's and loved one's lives were changed forever, all without much forewarning.

Two parents left the hospital with empty arms as complications from croup claimed their two-year-old boy,

a beloved wife and mother of two small boys who battled uterine cancer not too long ago, underwent surgery once more for the removal of more of the cancer, and a third of her lung,

a newlywed said goodbye to his bride of less than a year when her heart gave up as she awaited new lungs,

our extended family mourned a man called great grandpa, grandpa and dad whose heart beat its last with no warning,

the list goes on...

babies in the NICU,

loved ones of loved ones who passed away,

and finally, on Sunday afternoon I held the shoulders of a dear woman as she held her husband of 40 year's hand and God called him home.

In the midst of the past few weeks and this past year since bringing your tiny four-and-a-half-pound-almond-sliver-self  home from the hospital (you weren't quite big enough to be called a 'peanut'), we have held you tight, whispered prayers of thanksgiving, counted each moment with gratitude for your little life and thriving health. But know with certainty, that not you, nor we, are guaranteed a tomorrow.  So with this breath I'm given, in this first birthday letter, I've been trying to weave out on these keys the words I want you share most with you. Now I see, that this letter could only be knit together with the story of last Sunday.

Just like many a Sunday before, I was getting you three girls ready for church when your papa called and asked if I could go to the hospital to sit with our friend Marilyn and her husband Don (who by the grace of God in the body of Christ we call family) at the hospital. Don had taken a turn for the worse and they were unsure of how long he had left to live.

With the three of you in good hands, I found my way to a room in CCU that bed a weak man and a wife who loved fiercely.  In the hours that would follow there were tears of joy and sorrow as we waited for our sovereign God to call Don home.  And though I wept for the wife he was leaving, and I wept for the suffering he was enduring, it was a dying man's words that opened the floodgates of my heart.

With as much energy and as many words as he had left, he was proclaiming the sovereignty of God to the point that the doctors thought he was delirious.  But we know different.  We know that in all clarity he was pleading with the doctors to understand that it was God's will that would prevail.  He wanted them to hear the gospel and when the doctor proclaimed "God isn't going to talk to me" in the mumbled response of a weak man beneath an oxygen mask, I made out the word "repent."

I chuckled a bit.  God is always speaking whether the doctor had ears for listening or not.  Don knew this.

In the first hours that would follow, Don labored to finish each passage of scripture that our pastor read to him, words he had faithfully written on his heart. He proclaimed himself the chief of sinners and nodded with agreement as our pastor reminded him that soon he would be standing before God, with Christ interceding, clothed in Christ's righteousness and not his own.  And he repeated to his wife, 'don't cry, no tears.'  He wanted us to celebrate that he was going home.

His breathing became more and more labored, his words became few and then after we were questioning why God wasn't letting Don leave this world, he slowly, peacefully, drifted off to sleep and his heart slowed to a stop.  I'm certain that he awoke fully satisfied for he was face to face with his only hope, a God who had called Don, His own.

It might seem strange to share this memory in your birthday letter but the prayer of my heart is that I will live and die with the same fervency for the gospel, and love for my Savior as Don did. I pray that you will also.

Charis, what you think about God is the most important thing about you. It isn't how musical or athletic you will be, how many children you'll have or vocation you choose. The most important thing in your life will be your relationship with the One who gave you life. On your death bed I'm most certain you won't be thinking about how you should have lost those last 5 pounds or bettered your golf game, mastered a trade, lived in your dream house, or traveled the world. Rather, I pray that what will press on your heart, like Don's, is that the people around you may not know the truth.  I pray that you will love Christ so much that even as you take your last breath you will long for those around you to know Him too.

I want you to understand that you, like your mother and father, like Don, are the chief of sinners.  There is no righteousness in you apart from Christ's righteousness, and you cannot, no matter how hard you strive, save yourself. Because

[we] were dead in the trespasses and sins in which [we] once walked, following the course of this world... among whom we all once lived in the passions of our flesh, carrying out the desires of the body and the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind. But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved—and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. For by grace [we] have been saved through faith. And this is not our own doing; it is the gift of God not a result of works, so that no one may boast.  ~Ephesians 2:1-9

Like Don, I pray that you will have absolute assurance that because of Christ's death for your sin on the cross, that Christ will and has interceded for you before the Father and that by Jesus' stripes alone you are healed.

God knit you in my womb and you are fearfully and wonderfully made.

He knows the hairs on your head, He has the tears you'll shed in this lifetime in a bottle and He has already numbered your days.

He gives. He takes away.

And our prayer for you is that as you walk through this life whether in rain or sunshine, sickness or health you will be able to proclaim "Blessed be His name."  That in all things you will have a heart of gratitude because you have been given the greatest gift.

Life will not always be easy. In fact, you will suffer. People you love will get sick, be taken from you suddenly, you may get sick, be taken from us suddenly. Know that God is good and His ways are not our own.  What you believe about Him matters.  Your view of God and your relationship with Him will be what sustains you, helps you navigate raging waters and will be what will lead you through the valley of the shadow of death.

His promise in Romans is clear that all things work together for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose. It doesn't mean that we will have perfect understanding now, or that if we love Him more He promises us a BMW. Rather, the promise that all things work together for the good of those who love Him is rooted in what He has already done, what Christ has already done. For once He has called you His own

neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate you from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord... For those whom he predestined he also called, and those whom he called he also justified, and those whom he justified he also glorified. ~Romans 8:38-39, 30

Our desire more than anything else in this world is that you, sweet Charis, will be called His own. We plead with the Lord for this and trust Him for it.  We pray that you will desire to love Him with all your heart, soul, mind and strength, realize that it isn't possible apart from His grace, and trust Him all the more.

May your hope be in the One who formed your inward parts, who knitted you together in my womb. May you praise Him, for you are fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are His works; may your soul know it very well.

We love you, Charis, and thank God for you--our little almond sliver--who reminds me that while a mustard seed of faith can move mountains, a little almond sliver of God's grace can change hearts.

Happy 1st birthday!

So teach us to number our days

that we may get a heart of wisdom.

Return, O Lord! How long?

Have pity on your servants!

Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love,

that we may rejoice and be glad all our days.

Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us,

and for as many years as we have seen evil. 

Let your work be shown to your servants,

and your glorious power to their children.

Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us,

and establish the work of our hands upon us;

yes, establish the work of our hands!

~Psalm 90:12-17

Daddy's Hands

Many a father's day has come and gone without even a card from me to him, a simple phone call at most.  He isn't the type to like fanfare, to be made much of, and truth be told he can't stand his picture being taken.  We have many with his face hidden behind his ever-present coffee mug.

They say you are what you eat. In my father's case, he is what he drinks.  Strong, steady, full of depth, like the black coffee that fills his cup always half full not empty.  And while at first glance he may come across a little stiff like black coffee, those of us that know and love him, know that what's inside is laced with a smidgen of raw honey.  Soft, yielding, smoothing the potential bitter edge.

There are many things I love about my dad but one of my very favorite things are his leathered hands that evidence 70 years of hard work.  I read these words the other day

Do men speak better with their hands, muscles expressing the heart better than tongue?

And I knew the words were written to describe my own dad.  Decade after decade after decade of waking before the sun and working the ground, the cattle, the horses, even a desk, refereeing the games, chauffeuring children and horses, and always working.  Often growing up I wondered if  he ever would or even could stop working.  Now I know the answer is no.  Those hands don't stop working.

Ann penned so perfectly

I want to grab your dirt-crusted hands. I know what you are made of. I know how you’ve never, ever, stopped planting. Do I know what you have tried to say with all these years?

Us saying all the work was about getting and you trying to say all the work was about giving. Us saying that you succeeded well, and you trying to say you served well...

I watch your hands, Dad — try to read between the lines.

Read the love between everything, the way all the wrinkles unfold the quiet gestures of your soul …

As I get older I begin to not just read the lines, the wrinkles, the scars but comprehend the heart that keeps his hands from idleness. I comprehend the way his wrinkles unfold the quiet gestures of his soul.

I read a love story in those hands.

The lyrics to Holly Dunn's Daddy's Hands remind me of my childhood and my daddy:

I remember Daddy´s hands, folded silently in prayer.
And reaching out to hold me, when I had a nightmare.
You could read quite a story, in the callouses and lines.
Years of work and worry had left their mark behind.
I remember Daddy´s hands, how they held my Mama tight,
And patted my back, for something done right.
There are things that I´ve forgotten, that I loved about the man,
But I´ll always remember the love in Daddy´s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I´d done wrong.
Daddy´s hands, weren´t always gentle
But I´ve come to understand.
There was always love in Daddy´s hands.

I remember Daddy´s hands, working 'til they bled.
Sacrificed unselfishly, just to keep us all fed.
If I could do things over, I´d live my life again.
And never take for granted the love in Daddy´s hands.

While those hands labor endlessly I cherish the times they have:

stopped to hold a baby

taught a little girl to drive a tractor

lead a granddaughter to incessant giggles

 

left the chickens out long enough to dance with his daughter on her wedding day...

served relentlessly, worked unceasingly and loved all the more fiercely.

Happy Father's Day, daddy.  I love you. And your hands.



...

When Life Interrupts Living

A month has once again elapsed without so much as a finger-tap on these keys and what a whirlwind this month has been.  While most our days, weeks, and months are spent seeing God inside the rooms of our home, in a fenced-in-yard, in the laundry, in the dishes, in snuggles on the couch, in routine, the past few weeks have had us finding Him far beyond these walls.

Ta-Da!!

Breathtaking, awe-inspiring, simply amazing.

We're settling back in, finding Him once again in the little, remembering just how the heaven's declare the glory of God and the sky above proclaims His handiwork. And, I'm praying that I can be just as inspired by His grace in the mountain of laundry I'm about to tackle as I have been by seeing all He created for His good pleasure.

We are grateful.  

But in the words of Ann Voskamp:

The counting of all blessings is ultimately summed up in One.  

All gratitude is ultimately gratitude for Christ, all remembering a remembrance of Him. For in Him all things were created, are sustained, have their being.  Thus Christ is all there is to give thanks for; Christ is all there is to remember...the radical wonder of it all stuns me happy, hushes me still: it's all Christ. Every moment, every event, every happening...

Christ.

And I give thanks that it isn't me finding Him, but He who found me.

*****

Giving thanks for rain (and my mama)

I drink in the sound of them singing from the other room, a symphony of little voices. One little girl who knows every word to every song, another that can nail every note of every melody and a third who though she hasn't grown into words, her little grunts and squeaks chiming in give evidence to the song God has put in her heart.  Between episodes of nose blowing and incessant coughing, they make music for these mama's ears.

It has been a season of Sunday mornings at home, as the cold and flu season claims one after another Sabbath away from our church family.  To be honest, I can't remember how many days now turned weeks it has been since I slept more than two consecutive nights without multiple interruptions. The glimpse of sunshine we had yesterday is now once again covered by the grey of another eminent rain storm.  There is part of me that is weary of this season, the continuous drizzle from clouds and noses.

And it's Mother's Day.

But in the midst of this drizzle,God has so graciously rained down truth and each day there has been a reminder, or two, of His grace, His compassion, His mercy.  I read His words:

So teach us to number our days
that we may get a heart of wisdom.
Return, O Lord! How long?
Have pity on your servants!
Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love,
that we may rejoice and be glad all our days.
Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us,
and for as many years as we have seen evil.
Let your work be shown to your servants,
and your glorious power to their children.

Psalm 90:12-16

In those Words I find my charge as a mother to my girls but also my charge as daughter of the King.

Number my days that I might have a heart of wisdom. In all things giving thanks. Cherishing the rain and the runny noses and the sickness and the pain and the loneliness knowing that our Sovereign God is compassionate, wise, just and is love. And that these days that I'm called to number are all ordained. Each. And. Every. One. Ordained. It isn't just for the beauty of the flowers to come that I give thanks for the rain but I give thanks for the rain itself for it was sent by a loving Father who knows what His children need.

Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love, that we may rejoice and be glad all our days. To begin each day in His presence, knowing that my anxious heart can not be calmed with the completion of all the laundry in the world, by spotless floors or the perfect behavior of little children.  My longing for more will never be satisfied by a husband (however wonderful he may be) or by another human being. It can not be satisfied by a successful career or by a perfectly ordered home.  Only He can satisfy and by starting each day with Him in mind, I can truly rejoice and be glad all my days.

Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us, and for as many years as we have seen evil. Knowing that the end goal my life is the glory of God in my conformity to Christ,  that in the process of being made like Christ, being made holy, I must be refined and pressed and molded and it will not be easy. Knowing that His power is made perfect in my weakness, that His grace is sufficient in all things, that in the end of this life I will only be able to stand before God, with Christ interceding, my penalty paid in full on the cross.

Let your work be shown to your servants, and your glorious power to their children. As a mother and as His daughter my eyes cannot be focused downward and get distracted by the mundane but rather my eyes must be focused heavenward, with my view on only those things that will last: God, His Word and people. He is always at work, always drawing. always wooing, always disciplining by grace and always showing Himself to His people. And I fall short if I fail to help my children see His glory in the rain and in the runny noses.  The gifts I have been given are not for me to hoard but to pass on through each nose I wipe and dish I wash.

Almost a decade and a half ago my family went through a period of deep pain. And in that time I have such vivid, vivid memories of my mother at church, hands raised, tears streaming down her face singing a song from Psalm 13

You are my hope,
Your promise never fails me.
And my desire is to follow You forever.

For You are good,
For You are good,
For You are good to me

I learned from her to trust in the goodness of God, to number my days and give thanks.

I'm thanking God for the rain today, for the drizzle from tiny noses, for being confined inside the walls of this messy, noisy home.  And I'm thanking Him for my mother who let Him satisfy her in the morning, who numbers her days and lets her children see her give thanks even for the rain.

But I have trusted in your steadfast love;
my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.
I will sing to the Lord,
because he has dealt bountifully with me . Psalm 13:5-6
 

Happy Mother's Day, mama. I love you!

.

riding camels in Mauritania

Actual soundbites from our lunch today from Addy & Anna:

"What is your favorite animal in South Africa?"

"Can we go to Kazakhstan and tell people about Jesus?"

"Are there people in jail on the equator?"

"Mama, it's time to pray for Qatar!?

"Hmm, maybe someday I'll go to Mauritania and ride a camel."

Now don't think I tell you this to brag about what brilliant children we have (yes, they are intelligent, but Anna still only gets her colors right 70% of the time and Addy NEVER puts the right shoe on the right foot the first time.)  Rather, I share this for a few reasons:

First, because I love that the girls have a "category" in their brains, and Lord-willing their hearts, developing for people outside our little street, church, city and even country.  We want them to understand what a big, creative God we have and part of loving Him, is loving the beautiful people he created all over the globe.

Second, because I didn't even know that there were camels in Mauritania until lunch today. Did you?

While Addy has always had a desire to know where animals live and has loved looking at maps, it wasn't until this past Christmas, when she received a Leapfrog Tag Map from her grandparents that her knowledge of the globe really grew. Paired with the hanging of our prayer wall and specifically the map from Voice of the Martyrs, her passion for people and places worldwide has really flourished.  And she's bringing Anna right along with her.  In fact, it's Anna that is so concerned with Kazakhstan.

 

While I don't endorse all of the Leapfrog "books" (most I don't consider literature) we LOVE the Tag Maps, both US and World, and both girls spend part of their quiet time each day exploring the world.  So, if you have the need to buy or request a present, I recommend the maps. You have to buy the pen too which is where most of the cost comes in but for you grandparents out there...they make great gifts! (Please note, apparently some of the islands in the lesser Antilles are inaccurately labeled. Should the girls learn them incorrectly, I am sure we will be able to remedy it as they grow older. I just didn't want you to find out later and think I mislead you.)

While it certainly isn't the solution to teaching your children geography, I think the maps are a fantastic, fun way for our girls learn.  And I thought you might want to know about them too.

So if you hear Addy talking about camels in Mauritania or Anna yell Bismark! if you mention North Dakota, don't be alarmed or too impressed. They're just children who happen to love maps and who can't be bothered with things like colors and numbers.  We aren't very conventional.

let the little children come...

My attempt to sneak out of bed and start my day before three girls started their own day was thwarted when in excitement the dog leaped up to follow me. Scratching, thumping, skidding across the hardwood, the racket broke the silence and my joyful heart.  Stiffening I paused, praying the noise wouldn't waken the girls.  After a few still moments, I continued downstairs, the beast bounding after me shaking the stairwell.  Within moments, the pattering of pairs of little feet echoed on the same stairs and giggling girls ran into the kitchen to greet us. The monitor began to wail as the third awoke and I hid.

In defeat, I hid from them. Behind the closed door of the bathroom I hid, not speaking, letting my knight greet his daughters. Hopes for quiet dashed, the coffee still unmade, grey skies still drizzling, noses still drizzling, I hid unwilling to greet the day, to greet them. And in that moment I never wanted to be found.

Sooner than I would have liked, still unready I emerged, and slowly we began this day.  Hours later as I finally sat to crack open the book I so longed to start my day with, I looked into the living room, two girls playing, building a giant nest of blankets and towels with babies, animals tucked in like chicks in a robin's nest. I watched them smile, listened to their soft words and melted, ashamed that rather than calling them to me, letting them come to me, in my selfishness, I hid from them this morning.

As I opened my Bible I happened to read

Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.”

In repentance I see that my selfishness not only hinders them from coming to me, it can hinder them from coming to Him. My heart hurts at how often I send them away, try to steal moments for myself, keep them at arms length and I forget that in this childlike state, when they see me, it is the only picture of Him that they have.  And if they picture me, in my selfish state this morning, they won't see God for who He really is, a patient, loving father who draws His children, woos those He loves to Himself.

As they finish up tidying their room, I sit and happen (do you see that there is no thing as "just so happened?" but all is providence?) to read these words from Sally

Greater love has no one than this, that a man lay down his life for his friend.

Let the little children come unto me, for of such is the kingdom of heaven.

I keep thinking about these verses. We want so much to give our lives to the “bigger” cause. We want to invest our lives for what is important. And yet, is there anything more important than the building of a righteous soul?

The laying down of our lives is not just about moving to the most impoverished country or preaching to thousands. But right in front of us, the child who would long to have our comforting touch and gentle voice of life-giving words, that he may imagine the voice and touch of God when He ponders faith as a young adult and chooses to believe because the reality of God was in his home.

The child who needs one more song to be comforted before sleeping, so that he might  be able  in adulthood to believe in a God who is patient and willing to answer prayer and hear our voice when we as his children cry out in faith.

The child who is lonely, confused, hormonal, who will feel the touch of God, the sacrifice of God as we give up the rights to our time and comfort to befriend and listen and show compassion and sympathy for what is on his heart.

Love is given through a candle lit and a special breakfast served one more time on Sunday before church as we open the gospel together, that the reality and beauty of God’s creativity is validated in how we live.  It is shown with the sacrificial life of giving up what we wanted to do, or the job we hoped to have, in order to build a soul through the attention of ourselves. A looking into the eyes with true interest and compassion instead of looking at a screen while half-heartedly listening. These are the sacrifices of our love, the moment by moment giving up of ourselves, the constant, year end year out practice of worship as we serve those in our home in order to please His heart.

It is for Him, for His kingdom that we serve with willing, generous, life-giving hearts, as the building of His kingdom is one heart at a time.

Jesus could have done the big thing, and reached leaders all over the world and brought kings to their knees. But He gave his life to the personal, the love, encouragement, instruction, service of his twelve, the common people, those entrusted into his hands, that they might know and feel the love of God, the touch of God, hear the words of God. He laid down His life in the daily that they might live a life of faith and invest in His kingdom for eternity.

Your loving touch, patient service, sacrifice of time today, this week, is not in vain. It is a service of worship to the one who laid down His own life in moments of time, that we could imagine what God was really like by viewing the incarnate, servant king, providing Father...

In gratitude I thank Him for beckoning me--in my selfishness, in my sin--beckoning me, drawing this little child to Himself.  I look up and whisper Abba and turn to the little ones He has entrusted to me and I restart our day calling out, beckoning them to come to me.

Silly Songs

There is never a dull moment in our home and even the eating of morning toast is typically filled with silliness.  To brighten your day, here are Addy & Anna singing the Veggie Tales "SUV song." 

We have never actually seen this video but were given the CD and on our family sledding adventure this winter we listened to it for the first time.  Since then, they beg for it each time we get in the car and we play it because well, it makes us giggle to listen to them sing it.  And much to my dismay, their first duet is about sport utility vehicles and not a riveting Sound of Music performance. It is perhaps appropriate that the daughters of a man who rebuilt his first car with his dad would sing about suspension and chrome. 

May I repeat, much to my dismay.

So Grandpa Stobie, this is for you. Happy day-after-your birthday.



Larry- I like your car
Girl- I like Yours too
Larry- Is It a Jeep?
Girl- A Subaru
Larry- I like your tires
Girl- You've got nice chrome
Larry- A trailer Hitch ?
Girl- Left Mine at Home
Larry- Oh your suspension it suspends me over heights I've never known
Girl- And your roll bar is to die for by the way I like your chrome
Larry-You already said that
Girl- did I ?
Larry-yeah
Girl- oh
Both- oh you and me in out sport utility vehicles crusin to Dunkin Donuts for a cup of steaming Joe
oh-oh, you and me in our sport utility vehicles we'll slam into 4-wheel drive for a scoop of rocky road ...

another page has turned

I began this post on our sweet Addy's birthday in November, and as I waded today through posts started and never finished, I discovered this, her birthday letter. In the midst of holidays and trips away,  I never hit "publish" and in my list of drafts it has sat unfinished.  

Addy-girl, your mama is just that, unfinished, far from perfect, a work in progress, so there are things in my life yet unfinished.  So please forgive me for not posting this sooner. It may have been incomplete, I may be incomplete but He who promised is faithful "and I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you [in me] will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ"  He who begins, always finishes. I trust that in my own life and I trust it in yours as well.

Addy,

My fingers can't seem to find a rhythm, my heart containment or my words definition.  Another page has turned and a chapter closed...the third year of your life has ended and the fourth just begun.  Sweet Addy-girl, you turned four today!  Four.  I don't know how it can go so quickly, how you can change so much and I know for mothers like mine whose baby is thirty-something, they may laugh that I am struck by the number 4, but I am none-the-less.

Addy, you are a remarkable little girl. God has given you so many gifts and as your mama, I pray that He will teach me how to teach you to use them for His glory.  You are a very smart-little cookie.  You have countless facts and Bible verses stored up in your head, you remember everything you see and hear--everything. Right now you are so frustrated with me because you can't read for yourself and you want to so badly to learn on your own. Like me, you long to snuggle up with a good book and read for hours. I love that you challenge us, bringing to us the "chapter" books you find on the shelves, day after day wanting to read another chapter in "Laura"  We've made it through the Little House in the Big Woods and have moved on to the prairie. 

You love to tell "jokes" and sing and dance and since your birthday last year, our home has become a perpetual grand ball with twirling and dancing and shimmering dresses and sparkling shoes. You live in an alternate reality and we are never really sure who you are--Cinderella? Truly Scrumptious? Sacajawea? Belle? Maria? But what I love is that in whatever world you are in and whoever the antagonist may be, your answer is always to tell them about Jesus.  In fact you want to tell everyone about Jesus. Whether it is our adult catholic neighbor and you wanting me to explain Reformation Day and Martin Luther and the reason we aren't Catholic or your neighbor-friend who asks you if your parents yell at each other and you answer "no, Jesus wants us to be kind, do you know Jesus?" you want to tell everyone about Him. You grow me, challenge me, and truly help me to see our street and our home as a mission field.

Addy, David said in Psalms "On you was I cast from my birth, and from my mother's womb you have been my God" and we know that at all ages God can quicken hearts to trust Him, so we pray that this fruit we see in your life is truly evidence of saving grace.  We trust Him in this work He is beginning... 

Last month after arriving home from our monthly communion Sunday at church you asked "Mama, when is there going to be kiddo-communion?"

I explained to you what we believe communion represents, the reminder of Christ's body broken for us, the remembering of blood shed for the sins of His people. I gently said that once you trust God and believe that the cross was Christ's finished work and that there is nothing in us, but in Christ alone that makes us acceptable before our Heavenly Father, then, then you can take communion with us.

With hands in the air, exasperation in your voice, you pleaded "But, Mama, I do believe!"

And so Addy, just a couple weeks ago, with solemness in your demeanor and quivering hands you took your first communion and afterward in worship you went crazy--singing, dancing, laughing.  In those moments you reminded me how we should all approach the Lord's table, with great solemness, in all seriousness, and you taught me how we should leave the table, with great joy, hearts bursting in song, rejoicing in Christ's finished work. While there is no saving work in the act of taking communion, we trust God that when you exclaimed "Mama, I do believe," that He has indeed begun a good work in you and Addy, we pray and trust that He who began a good work is faithful and He will see it to completion.

You are so precious to us dear one. We love you and are so blessed to be your parents.  Your intellectual astuteness keeps me on my toes and your desire to know Christ keeps me on my knees. Your laughter brings such joy to this mama's heart and I am privileged to watch as God grows you into the woman He created you to be.

We love you, Addy.  Happy Birthday!

Please note that Addy loves Angel food cake and rainbows.  And well, she loved my attempt at rainbow glaze even though it looked just as "interesting" in person as it does in this picture.

A Very Merry Un-3rd-birthday to you...

Sweet Anna,

Another birthday has not yet come and is already gone and in the blink of an eye, you turned three.  I'm already planning for next year, what a Leap Day we will celebrate!  You have changed so much since last year; it has been a remarkable year of growth for you. You talk, you sing, you climb, you dance, you aren't a baby anymore. We love your deep, hearty, soulful laugh, the way you are always brushing away your unruly blonde curls from your face, the way your inner opera singer belts out every tune, the way you throw your arms back and run in circles singing as loudly as you can, the way you wake up cuddly and rosy cheeked, the way you'll share your last chip or tear off a piece of your own sandwich to share with someone who dropped their own on the floor. 

The year began with only a few words and now your endless chatter matches your older sister's.  My favorite phrase of yours is "oh mama, it is beau-ful, kind and wise."  You said it once about the dress you were wearing and now it pops up often in regard to all sorts of things.



I love the way you and Addy have become such friends. The two of you will disappear for hours and while you used to follow Addy into her own world, this year your imagination didn't just spark...it sparked, ignited and runs wild in places that we cannot go.  

Since Charis' birth, you have stepped into your role as big sister with joy and we delight in watching you care for your baby sister.  Anna, you can bring out a smile, squeak and laugh in Charis unlike anyone else.  We pray that in time, the two of you will be great friends as you and Addy are now; that you two will welcome Charis with open arms into the world you've created as sisters.


 
Your first two years we joked about how you dance to the beat of different drum.  We are now convinced of it.  You are most unconventional.  Most days I actually think you're color blind, but days like today where you nail every color perfectly, I am reminded that your independence is a bit like your imagination--running wild.  When asked to fold your hands, you obey but you fold them behind your back.  When asked to look at me in the eye, your eyes stay locked with mine but you turn your head the other way.  For months I thought you didn't hear a thing in our morning Circle Time but not too long ago you started quoting Bible verse after Bible verse, one after another, and my heart soared knowing that you were actually listening because dear girl, you really gave me no inclination that you were ever listening. I've learned this past year that with you, I must be consistent, every. single. time.  If given an inch, sweet Anna, you'll run a marathon.


But I hope you know that by God's grace we never, ever want to break that strong will of yours, just bend it toward Him.  We pray that your determination, stubbornness and passion will turn into great conviction and that God would use it for His own glory.  Just as we were reading this morning, Anna, we pray that your delight will be in the law of the Lord, that you will be like a tree, planted by streams of water, that yields its fruit in its season, and its leaf does not wither. He knit you perfectly, unconventionally, exactly the free-spirit you are and we are so blessed to be able to unwrap the gift you are each and every day.


Anna, it is a privilege to be your mama, and I thank God each day for you. I pray that even on the days I fall short, fail to savor each one of your giggles, forget to listen to every word you're trying to tell me, say "no" more than "yes," that you'll remember that I am humbled, honored and overjoyed to be your mother.  You, my sweet and spicy little girl, are loved.


Happy un-birthday, Anna, I couldn't say it any better than you...

Being People of Prayer

I wept and struggled to read aloud the words

Musa described a visit by representatives of the U.S. and Italian Embassies offering him asylum. According to the letter, after the foreign representatives left the room, Musa was visited by three Afghan officials who told him that he would be released within twenty-four hours if he wrote a statement declaring that he regretted his conversion to Christianity. “I laughed and replied, ‘I can’t deny my Savior’s name,’” Musa wrote. “Because my life is just service to Jesus Christ and my death is going to heaven [where] Jesus Christ is. I am a hundred percent ready to die. They pushed me much and much. I refused their demands.”

Initially the tears caught me off guard as I choked out the words "I laughed and replied 'I can't deny my Savior's name.'  But by the time I finished the brief article announcing that 'Said Musa, an Afghan Christian who was arrested in May and threatened with execution for his conversion to Christianity, was released from prison last week,' and Addy clapped, the reason for my tears was so clear.

I wept because I wonder and I pray that if faced with such persecution that I too could with the joy of such conviction and assurance laugh at the thought of denying my Savior. 

I wept because a month or so ago we made a prayer wall with pictures of those we pray for: our church pastors and their families, the families we love who are full time missionaries here or abroad, our friends and family who we long for to know saving grace, and for the persecuted church worldwide.

I wept because we have been praying for Said.

I wept because Addy and Anna are witnessing God's power and grace and experiencing the gift of prayer.

I wept because last week when Egyptian masses were congregated and shouting for change, the country that was next in line for us to pray for was Egypt.  And because I believe in the sovereignty of God, I know that He cherishes the prayers of two tiny girls and orchestrated for us to pray for President Mubarak on the day he didn't step down and that Addy wanted to pray for him the next day as well, on the day he did step down.  She prayed that God would change his heart and that God's glory would shine through.  Clearly, we have no idea of what God is doing but we know that

...there is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God...For the Scripture says to Pharaoh, “For this very purpose I have raised you up, that I might show my power in you, and that my name might be proclaimed in all the earth."(Romans 13:1, 9:17)

Addy saw that God answers prayer.  And I got to teach her that

The reason that a just and holy God is free to bless us with answers to prayer, even though we are sinners who deserve condemnation, is that Jesus Christ died for our sins and turned away the wrath of God from us. Everything beneficial, which fallen human beings have ever experienced, was purchased at Calvary. And therefore, all answers to prayer are free gifts based on God's mercy. We do not purchase answers to prayer by anything we say or do; we only plead for the overflow of mercy already purchased by the sacrifice of our Lord. ~ John Piper

Granted I simplified it a bit--that because Jesus died for the sins of His people we have the privilege of praying and not only do we get to pray but God hears us and as an overflow of mercy, He answers.

And we take hands in a circle here and pray, pray to YHWH — the One whose very name sounds like our breathing, the One with the name YHWH that means
Y = yod — Hand
H = heh — window of breath, Behold
W = vav — Nail
H = heh — window of breath, Behold
We pray to YHWH whose name embodies suffering, Who takes our hand with His nail scarred one and we behold the Wounded Healer, the One in Whom is our window of breath in a world suffocating with pain and ache.
We come up for Breath… We Behold… and The Nailed Hand holds our prayers. ~ Ann Voscamp

And so in faith, we keep praying.  We pray for the persecuted, for those who don't yet believe, for our family, for our friends, for you. We pray because His nailed hand holds our prayers. We pray because His nailed hand purchased our prayers. We pray because His nailed hand is the answer to our prayers.


**A note about our prayer wall-- I was convicted a year ago to start a prayer wall when a dear friend mentioned that their family had one of our extended family members actually on their prayer board.  Not only did her husband tell mine that he would pray, he went home and his family prayed. No flippant or even at-the-time sincere "we'll pray for him," discarded later with out a second thought.  He went home and actually prayed.  We were convicted.

Now let me tell you that sometimes even though I have a strong conviction, I fail to act because I am sinful.  The real reason we just put our 'prayer wall' up a month ago--I couldn't find or afford the perfect bulletin / white board combo for our wall that was cute.  No really, we haven't been praying because I couldn't find a cute enough method.  (This is where I stop and repent and thank God for grace.)  

For the holidays to keep Christmas card photos off my refrigerator or the top of my microwave, I threw up some raffia with clear tacks to hang Christmas cards. I realized when I went to take them down that I had made a prayer wall without even knowing it.

We added a map from Voice of the Martyrs,

requested photos from our church elders, kept Christmas photos of missionaries we support (dear friends on staff with Campus Crusade and Younglife) and others we want to pray for and cut out strips of paper to write new requests on when we get them!

It took 15 minutes and has been such a blessing for our family.

And because Addy loves it so much, I couldn't skip praying for a country at lunchtime if I tried.

Pearl #3 Mastering the Snack Time Conundrum

A couple years ago I was inspired by this dear Kingdom-sister-friend to get a grip on snack time at our house.  There are days, mainly those I enter with little forethought, that leave me tired, overwhelmed and feeling like my lot in life is to stand at attention at my kitchen sink washing. And washing. And washing some more.

My children not only have the gall to want to eat breakfast, lunch AND dinner, they need snacks as well. And to top it all off, I have some strong convictions about what goes in their little bodies--we as mothers are called to look well to the way of our households which includes the health of our husbands and children, yes?

Until I read her post with snack ideas, I had fallen into a pattern of leaving my post at the sink only to stand with an open refrigerator door or open pantry to stare endlessly into the I have no idea what to make you abyss. Her words gave me just to hope and encouragement I needed to master snack time.

I started simple, and we always have at least three of these five items in our house as well as fresh fruit:

Morning Glory or Banana Muffins
Homemade Granola Bars
Yogurt & Granola
Cheese & Crackers
Pita Chips & Hummus

When I bake muffins or granola bars, I immediately freeze half so we have enough for a couple weeks.  If I'm really on top of it, I have both kinds of muffins in the freezer so we have variety.  I've previously posted my Morning Glory Muffin recipe and below are recipes for granola bars and banana muffins.



Banana Muffins
2 c. whole wheat pastry flour (I use soft white whole wheat)
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1 T espresso powder (optional)
Combine above ingredients

In another bowl (I use my kitchenaid bowl for this)
6 T softened butter
3/4 c. sugar
2 eggs
1 c yogurt (I use plain or but vanilla works as well)
1 1/2 c mashed bananas (I use four over-ripe and then frozen bananas)
Cream the wet ingredients.

Stir in the dry ingredients just until everything is mixed--do not over-mix. You can add chocolate chips if you'd like! Pour into muffin tins.

Bake at 375° 20-25 minutes (Makes about 1 dozen)

Voila! Yummy, moist banana muffins

And  for my personal favorite:  Homemade Granola Bars. Why make them, you ask? For three reasons: store bought granola bars are expensive, who really knows what goes in them, and these homemade bars  are scrumptious!

Homemade Granola Bars
Mix thoroughly (I cream these together in the KitchenAid, but if your butter is soft you can do it by hand):
2/3 C softened butter (also good using coconut oil)
1/2 C honey
1/3 C brown sugar
1 tsp vanilla
(Optional: if you want peanut butter granola bars, add 1/2 C peanut butter here)

Add:
1 C whole wheat flour
1 tsp baking soda
4 1/2 C rolled oats
AND any fillers (chocolate chips, dried fruit, nuts, coconut, etc.)

Our favorite combination is dried papaya chunk, craisin. raisin, chocolate chip, crushed cashew, toasted coconut



Press firmly into 9X13 pan. Bake at 325 for 20 mins. Let cool 10 mins and cut into bars. Wait until completely cooled before removing from pan or they will fall apart.

I intended to have a photo of the finished product but I forgot and we ate the last ones this morning.  My only real tip in making the granola bars is to stick to the recipe pretty exactly.  Most of the time I cook "a little of this and a little of that and oops that was a few extra tablespoons" and it works out ok. My approximating does not work for the granola bars. If the wet & dry ingredients aren't measured properly, the bars will fall apart and you'll have delicious snack crumbles instead of bars.  If they are too crumbly, never fear, the result is called granola and is equally delicious served in yogurt or with milk.

There you have it--Pearl #3 Mastering the Snack Time Conundrum.  And I must be honest, both of the recipes are not my own but ones I gleaned from a very wise friend who has taught me much about how to look well to the ways of my household (especially their bellies!)  So we can thank her together. 

 
Isn't she cute?

And I can assure you, that with all these baking pearls going around, she wouldn't want you to forget the most sacred pearl.  And neither do I.