Tag: seen by god

Surprising joy when you feel you’ve lost your life -(words for Holy Week – Repost!)

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As I reflect on the meaning of the week ahead- this Holy Week- I am struck by the abundance that can only be found in letting go. The filling that we only receive when we’re first emptied out. The power that can only be found in weakness. The righteousness that can only be found in knowing our brokenness. The resurrection that we never would have known without the crucifixion. 

Reposting this one because I needed to be reminded to go ahead and die the million deaths to myself on purpose – to find joy on the other side of surrender…
A seed falls, and we do not weep for the death…but rejoice for the promise of life to come.

There’s a beauty and a trust as we witness a dying that brings life. This is, perhaps, one of those sweet hints in nature that points to a deep truth that echoes throughout the earth and reverberates in our very souls. Nature gives way and, each year as the winter chill sets in, the death holds a promise. We wait. We eagerly expect. We anticipate with full confidence that new life will spring forth in due time. And we know that without the death, the life would be cut short, cheapened, lost. As nature sways with the secret winds of the One who made it, we watch and celebrate it’s majestic beauty.

Life from death.

In the same way, I walk in the hope that Jesus not only died to pay the penalty for my sin, but that he rose and is alive. And because he died, I have life. He came to serve and not to be served, and He leaves an example of a life of sacrifice that brings life.

Research has shown time and time again that the happiest people are the ones giving their lives and resources away to serve others.

But if I’m honest, I think I have had an idealized sense of what a life of service looks like. I’ve imagined that the kind of dying to self that makes us feel like we’re really living can only happen in the big things.

I’ve dreamed of missions and living among the poor. I’ve partnered with beautiful organizations doing beautiful world-changing things. I’ve grieved that I don’t have more capacity to serve now that I’m home with young kids. I still deeply treasure these opportunities to serve the poor and needy, and celebrate all those doing this significant work.

But I have thought less of life as a mom. It often feels small and insignificant. I have fought against the way it shrinks and simplifies my life, and I have sometimes been frustrated by the way it fills all of the spaces and leaves no room.  As we fight against it, and wish for bigger better things, we allow seeds of resentment and bitterness to be sown.

But, in the last couple years, the truth of the life I’m living as a mom has slapped me right across the face. Sometimes, quite literally. The truth is that mamas die a million small deaths all day long. Perhaps the life of service and sacrifice that I’ve dreamed about is right in front of my face. Perhaps leaning in and reconciling with the dying that fills my days could be the key to unlock the life I sometimes feel I’m missing.

Friends, we mamas might have all the worldly comforts that make us feel like our days should be easy.  We might enjoy the comforts of beautiful homes, and minivans, and organic meals, and Starbucks stops. But, there is no peace for the mama who won’t die a thousand times, on a thousand days.

As we are willing to die in every corner of ourselves, we open ourselves up to new and better and fuller life.

Perhaps not whipping my body into shape after giving birth is not a failure, but an opportunity to discover life and joy in the death of my vanity. Dying to self is giving your very body to be stretched and scarred and changed. I give my body.

Perhaps I’m not less-than because motherhood has killed brain cells. I have frantically looked for a child who I’m holding on my hip. True story. But perhaps my distraction and preoccupation is not a sign that I’m now less worthy. Dying to self is giving your mind to organize and facilitate seeing that the needs of everyone else in your home are met before your own. I give my mind.

Dying to self is cleaning the messes that threaten your basic human dignity – the ones that leave you looking for the emergency biohazard hotline.  I give my dignity.

A place in me that once cared about some respectable thing now holds the lyrics to the Wild Kratts theme song. Dying to self is giving yourself to care about the little things…the names of all the dinosaurs, the microscopic boo-boos, the math homework. I give my interest.

I can feel embarrassed by my swift tears or sudden panic when it comes to my children. But dying to self is giving your heart to care about the big things…the illnesses and injuries that make our heart stop, the heartbreak and the grief of watching your children suffer or be in danger. It’s the giving of your heart in a way that you can never take back. The giving to a love that makes your heart beat right out of your chest, and makes you feel wildly alive and wildly in danger of being crushed. I give my heart.

The daily grind of chores doesn’t make my life small. Dying to self is giving all of the in-between moments to launder and clean and feed. I give my hands.

Dying to self is letting your family change and shape your goals and dreams, whether you are working tirelessly juggling work and home, or you’ve given up a hard-earned career to stay home.   I give my dreams.

Dying to self is being the rock against which my children can crash the wild waves of growing up. Dying to self is keeping steady for their uninhabited and unfiltered and underdeveloped BIG feelings to find their boundaries in the safety of my arms. I give my comfort.

Dying to self is looking with grace-filled eyes after being slapped across the face by a tiny person. It’s shepherding in love after being yelled at for some horror like offering the wrong lollipop color. I give my pride.

Only as I lean in and give myself away can I find peace and freedom. If God sees me, and I’m within his call to the life of sacrifice, I don’t need to fight to be seen. I don’t need to resent my husband for his freedom to leave the house, or my children for their ingratitude. There is a harmony in the song I’m singing.

And it all feels like worship.

My spirit gives a resounding “Yes!” to overseas missions and living among the poor. But I long to see us mamas shout a similar “Yes!” over the life of sacrifice that lies before us as we simply open our eyes in the morning (or in the night), with a willingness to do another day.

Nature points to this deep truth that we only find our life by giving it up. I long to see us fall each day like the seed, treasuring the promise that our death will bring new life.

As I talk with my mom friends, we still find ourselves feeling like being a mom is supposed to be easy and fun. The words of little old ladies who tell us with screaming toddler in grocery store line to “cherish every minute” echo in our heads. But I’ve watched my friends give up careers, and hobbies, and personal space, and clean shirts, and the last brownie. I’ve seen them die a million deaths. We get dirty with it.

And yet, somehow the world has us convinced that we’re doing it all wrong. Somehow we feel it doesn’t matter. We feel we need to do more, and better. And get out and serve in a way that counts.

Stepping into motherhood is risky in a ultimate sense. We allow the Lord to rip our heart out and give it legs. Ladies, this thing requires faith! I don’t say any of this out of pride, but to proclaim out loud that the devil, the Enemy of our hearts, has no right to steal the joy that comes from motherhood being a service unto the Lord.

If we are willing to lean into the life of self-sacrifice that is laid out before us, mamas, we can spend our lives in the sweetness of those feet-washing moments. You have an opportunity at every moment of the day to give your life away. And sister, your Father in heaven sees you!

The world fights against this motherhood thing with a force of self-indulgence and self- advancement. While some positions come with power, influence, lofty titles, impressive salaries, something to say at a cocktail party. Motherhood comes mostly with messes, failures and invisibleness. I think this is no surprise to God.

So, let’s let the seed fall. Let’s die the million deaths, on purpose. And let’s watch and wait as new life and joy spring up in your days.

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My dining room table is under there somewhere.
Backyard camping
My happy little blogging buddy

Freedom to be invisible when you’re screaming to be seen

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Friend, you know those deep down places of your soul where the light doesn’t dare shine? Do you ever find yourself screaming from those places just for someone to see you? I know I do. I drive myself crazy with it.

I sometimes wonder if I’m the only one, but I have this feeling that you’ve felt it too.

I find these odd boasts or complaints coming out of my mouth. Boasts about things that didn’t make me proud. Or complaints about things that didn’t actually feel difficult. I make excuses or justifications for things I chose not to prioritize. I become shameful about decisions I made on purpose and with confidence. These things come out of my mouth, and leave a strange taste behind. I find myself wondering what I’m trying to prove, and to whom.
I have shamefully murmured to my husband that I actually swept 12 times today, even though the floor is covered with crumbs.

I have found myself inadvertently landing in the middle of a one-upping match with a mom friend, over who got less sleep or who has the more “spirited” child. I actually feel greatly blessed and deeply privileged to be chosen to shepherd my little flock. And in truth, I do not feel sorry for myself in the least. So I find myself wondering why I would make it sound like I do.

I’ve been known to compare horrors of labor and birth that I actually count as the most miraculous and magical experiences of my life.

I have complained about being up all night with a sick child when, in the moment, I actually treasured the opportunity to hold her.

When I’m out with a couple children, I find myself wanting to tell everyone that I actually have five, just so they know how hard I’m working.

I see a hunger in the dark, ugly places in me for everyone to see and praise me for all the things I do or all the things I am sorting out in my head.

I have asked a guest to please excuse the full hampers. I do laundry every day, it’s just that the baby has been spitting up a lot, and we’ve both been wearing three or four outfits a day.

I’m pretty sure I’ve never met someone who cared about my full hampers, and yet I keep explaining them away.

I have blamed things on my children, saying that I cleaned the basement, but they wrecked it again and we had to run out the door to do carpool before we had a chance to clean it up.

 

I have heard myself say that I just got behind. But don’t be fooled, my friend. The truth is that I live in those “behind” places.

 

And the really strange thing is that I don’t think I ever needed you to think I had the perfect house, or that I was the perfect housekeeper. Something else in me – something deeper – cries out with these excuses and justifications.

There are layers and layers of things that mamas do, think, juggle, pray that leave a part of us invisible to the world.

Deep down in the hidden places, there is the web of thoughts that organize and balance and coordinate all of the schedules and needs, all the appetites and nutrition, all the connecting and reconciling, all the papers and treasures, all the preferences and feelings, all the tending to ailments of body and soul, all the education, the driving, the coaching, the shepherding, the guiding. This is the part of us we grow to hold so dear, the part of us that is most refined by the flames, and holds us closest to the heart of God. This is the part that could scream our worth out loud to the world. But the world around can’t see it, or understand it.
And so we try to explain our worth in simpler terms – with things like cleanliness and good behavior and punctuality and beautiful family portraits and school or sport success.

But every time we let the excuses and justifications grab at something visible to show for being a mama, we cheapen this most precious part of it all…the most precious invisible part. Every time we try to scream how much we do, we miss the joy of doing the invisible thing before a God who delights in invisible work.

This part where we know the heart of motherhood rests, is the most invisible, most quiet, most meek, and most exquisitely beautiful.

The world doesn’t have eyes, or even language, for this job. Often the world around us is blind to the unique thing that we Do, Think, Are as mothers…the care and attention, stability and guidance, perception and intuition about each one’s needs.

I’ve begged with my excuses and justifications for someone to know what it’s like to have my mind, body, soul. Sometimes I want to explain that I swept while I held a child on my hip, and consoled another about a playground tussle, and quizzed another on spelling words, and kept an eye on the dinner on the stove, and kept my phone close by in case the doctor called back. I want to explain that I may not have much to show for the work of today, but being mama all day made me tired and also made me feel so very alive.

At the end of the day, you can’t see how I stopped folding the laundry to read a book to a child bidding for my attention. Or how I walked the siblings down the road to forgiveness and peace instead of sending them to their rooms. You can’t see how I patiently persuaded the baby with a cold to keep trying for milk. Or how I remade the lunch that had a cup full of water and fiery boundary-testing will poured all over it. You can’t see that I got up and did the work of holding them accountable for their actions (almost) every one of the 200 times someone made a wrong choice. You can’t see the soul bruises I sustained today as I let them throw the punches of their big feelings that had nowhere else to go.

But that’s the good stuff of parenting. We talk all about the diapers and the laundry and the Cheerios that end up everywhere. But you can’t quantify the work of being mom any more than you can catch the wind.

That deep down part of me that carries the weight of the world on behalf of my children – with joy and on purpose – it sometimes screams to be seen. At times, I have tried to quantify and be appreciated for it, but it only causes me to feel less known and understood.

And it feels so silly that I’ve tried to explain the work of the day because, the truth is, I didn’t question for an instant that the invisible things were worth it.  Connection after a day of bickering felt like victory on the battlefield. Hearing the prayers of my children for a hurting friend at school felt like changing the world.

The good stuff. I know it matters.

That sweet invisible part of being a mother can truly only be seen by God Himself. And perhaps allowing it to be so would give us the opportunity to experience communion with an invisible God who knows how it feels.

Being a mama is not having a clean floor or a well-organized schedule. Being a mother is not making gourmet meals or serving on the PTA. Being a mom is not keeping up with all the activities and all the sports, or all the play dates, or all the birthday parties. Yes, we do many of these things, but we know it doesn’t sum it up.

Being a mama is providing the invisible nest from which our children can fly.

Being a mama is lifting up the invisible prayers to an invisible God who does invisible things in their hearts, and sends invisible angels to protect them from invisible dangers.

Being a mama is being the invisible rock on which your children stand, and slowly moving out of the way so that they can stand on the Invisible Rock of Christ alone.

Being a mama is getting out of the way for God to move before the eyes of our children. It’s getting out of the way for our children to grow. Or getting out of the way for our children to fall, and being ready to scoop them up when they do. (And being a mama is making sure our “I told you so’s” remain invisible, too.)  

Being a mama is providing the invisible safety that allows for a sense of belonging, and a confidence in becoming.

There is enough to do in my home and family – and yours – to keep at least two or three people busy all day. And whether you are spending your days at home, or trying to squeeze all of the mom things in around another full-time job, or something in between…the truth is we will never be done with All. The. Things, so we will always have choices to make.

I know we have to figure out a way to do the laundry and the dishes and the cooking and the driving and the soccer practice and the homework.  But when it’s time to choose the truly invisible things, choose them with the confidence that you are seen by God. Cast off the shame that says it’s not worth doing if the world can’t see or applaud it. All the hidden things that happen in your mind and heart because God made you mama – hold onto those like a precious jewel that only you and the Almighty can enjoy.   And the light of God’s love that sees and knows you in all the invisible places– it shines the brightest through that most hidden jewel , onto your family, and out to the world.

Mama, you’re a hero. Chosen. Equipped. Fully known. And deeply loved.

 

Surprising joy when you feel you’ve lost your life

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My in-home expert on surprising joy

A seed falls, and we do not weep for the death…but rejoice for the promise of life to come.

There’s a beauty and a trust as we witness a dying that brings life. This is, perhaps, one of those sweet hints in nature that points to a deep truth that echoes throughout the earth and reverberates in our very souls. Nature gives way and, each year as the winter chill sets in, the death holds a promise. We wait. We eagerly expect. We anticipate with full confidence that new life will spring forth in due time. And we know that without the death, the life would be cut short, cheapened, lost. As nature sways with the secret winds of the One who made it, we watch and celebrate it’s majestic beauty.

Life from death.

In the same way, I walk in the hope that Jesus not only died to pay the penalty for my sin, but that he rose and is alive. And because he died, I have life. He came to serve and not to be served, and He leaves an example of a life of sacrifice that brings life.

Research has shown time and time again that the happiest people are the ones giving their lives and resources away to serve others.

But if I’m honest, I think I have had an idealized sense of what a life of service looks like. I’ve imagined that the kind of dying to self that makes us feel like we’re really living can only happen in the big things.

I’ve dreamed of missions and living among the poor. I’ve partnered with beautiful organizations doing beautiful world-changing things. I’ve grieved that I don’t have more capacity to serve now that I’m home with young kids. I still deeply treasure these opportunities to serve the poor and needy, and celebrate all those doing this significant work.

But I have thought less of life as a mom. It often feels small and insignificant. I have fought against the way it shrinks and simplifies my life, and I have sometimes been frustrated by the way it fills all of the spaces and leaves no room.  As we fight against it, and wish for bigger better things, we allow seeds of resentment and bitterness to be sown.

But, in the last couple years, the truth of the life I’m living as a mom has slapped me right across the face. Sometimes, quite literally. The truth is that mamas die a million small deaths all day long. Perhaps the life of service and sacrifice that I’ve dreamed about is right in front of my face. Perhaps leaning in and reconciling with the dying that fills my days could be the key to unlock the life I sometimes feel I’m missing.

Friends, we mamas might have all the worldly comforts that make us feel like our days should be easy.  We might enjoy the comforts of beautiful homes, and minivans, and organic meals, and Starbucks stops. But, there is no peace for the mama who won’t die a thousand times, on a thousand days.

As we are willing to die in every corner of ourselves, we open ourselves up to new and better and fuller life.

Perhaps not whipping my body into shape after giving birth is not a failure, but an opportunity to discover life and joy in the death of my vanity. Dying to self is giving your very body to be stretched and scarred and changed. I give my body.

Perhaps I’m not less-than because motherhood has killed brain cells. I have frantically looked for a child who I’m holding on my hip. True story. But perhaps my distraction and preoccupation is not a sign that I’m now less worthy. Dying to self is giving your mind to organize and facilitate seeing that the needs of everyone else in your home are met before your own. I give my mind.

Dying to self is cleaning the messes that threaten your basic human dignity – the ones that leave you looking for the emergency biohazard hotline.  I give my dignity.

A place in me that once cared about some respectable thing now holds the lyrics to the Wild Kratts theme song. Dying to self is giving yourself to care about the little things…the names of all the dinosaurs, the microscopic boo-boos, the math homework. I give my interest.

I can feel embarrassed by my swift tears or sudden panic when it comes to my children. But dying to self is giving your heart to care about the big things…the illnesses and injuries that make our heart stop, the heartbreak and the grief of watching your children suffer or be in danger. It’s the giving of your heart in a way that you can never take back. The giving to a love that makes your heart beat right out of your chest, and makes you feel wildly alive and wildly in danger of being crushed. I give my heart.

The daily grind of chores doesn’t make my life small. Dying to self is giving all of the in-between moments to launder and clean and feed. I give my hands.

Dying to self is letting your family change and shape your goals and dreams, whether you are working tirelessly juggling work and home, or you’ve given up a hard-earned career to stay home.   I give my dreams.

Dying to self is being the rock against which my children can crash the wild waves of growing up. Dying to self is keeping steady for their uninhabited and unfiltered and underdeveloped BIG feelings to find their boundaries in the safety of my arms. I give my comfort.

Dying to self is looking with grace-filled eyes after being slapped across the face by a tiny person. It’s shepherding in love after being yelled at for some horror like offering the wrong lollipop color. I give my pride.

Only as I lean in and give myself away can I find peace and freedom. If God sees me, and I’m within his call to the life of sacrifice, I don’t need to fight to be seen. I don’t need to resent my husband for his freedom to leave the house, or my children for their ingratitude. There is a harmony in the song I’m singing.

And it all feels like worship.

My spirit gives a resounding “Yes!” to overseas missions and living among the poor. But I long to see us mamas shout a similar “Yes!” over the life of sacrifice that lies before us as we simply open our eyes in the morning (or in the night), with a willingness to do another day.

Nature points to this deep truth that we only find our life by giving it up. I long to see us fall each day like the seed, treasuring the promise that our death will bring new life.

As I talk with my mom friends, we still find ourselves feeling like being a mom is supposed to be easy and fun. The words of little old ladies who tell us with screaming toddler in grocery store line to “cherish every minute” echo in our heads. But I’ve watched my friends give up careers, and hobbies, and personal space, and clean shirts, and the last brownie. I’ve seen them die a million deaths. We get dirty with it.

And yet, somehow the world has us convinced that we’re doing it all wrong. Somehow we feel it doesn’t matter. We feel we need to do more, and better. And get out and serve in a way that counts.

Stepping into motherhood is risky in a ultimate sense. We allow the Lord to rip our heart out and give it legs. Ladies, this thing requires faith! I don’t say any of this out of pride, but to proclaim out loud that the devil, the Enemy of our hearts, has no right to steal the joy that comes from motherhood being a service unto the Lord.

If we are willing to lean into the life of self-sacrifice that is laid out before us, mamas, we can spend our lives in the sweetness of those feet-washing moments. You have an opportunity at every moment of the day to give your life away. And sister, your Father in heaven sees you!

The world fights against this motherhood thing with a force of self-indulgence and self- advancement. While some positions come with power, influence, lofty titles, impressive salaries, something to say at a cocktail party. Motherhood comes mostly with messes, failures and invisibleness. I think this is no surprise to God.

So, let’s let the seed fall. Let’s die the million deaths, on purpose. And let’s watch and wait as new life and joy spring up in your days.

Backyard camping
My happy little blogging buddy
fullsizerender-6
My dining room table is under there somewhere