And somewhere in the symphony of heaven, you hear me chime in.
A squeak
A song
A note
An utterance through the noise of it all
I’m a speck of dust in the wind
Yet I perk your ears to listen and you still call me a friend.
These are the things that write the words unfathomable.
Moments of time when dust calls to infinite and I am undone.
If I were a song,
I would call to the heavens and search for your voice
If I were me in the moments I don’t know who I am, I would search for your words because you speak them over me daily.
Who am I that the highest king would see me?
I am the dust bowl embodied, yet you reach for me
And I bow down and revel in your faithfulness because if anyone knew who you are, and what I’ve been through, and who you are to me now, they wouldn’t be able to comprehend…
I had a recurring dream for years when I was a child. It was always the same. I was on a small boat in the middle of the ocean with my grandfather. For context, my grandfather passed away before my second birthday, so I don’t really remember him. I do have a memory that is surreal and, honestly, a little crazy, of him holding me when I was a baby. I remember looking at his face and him smiling back at me and that’s it. So, add that to the fact that I was raised in Southern Ohio, nowhere even remotely close to an ocean, and this dream is just strange. I never did understand it. We’re on a boat and a storm is raging all around us, and he smiles and tells me it’s going to be okay. End scene.
I’m not a therapist, but I would imagine that my subconscious self has conflated my grandpa with security or even possibly, a representation of God in my psyche. I can so vividly remember that boat, those waves, the look on his face…
I didn’t realize back then that my life would be as turbulent as it has been. I didn’t know how many storms I would end up encountering, but I do know that regardless of the obstacles and challenges I’ve faced, I’m okay. God has provided for me time and time again, when I couldn’t see the shoreline anymore. When I’ve been in deep waters, quoting Dory to myself on repeat, (“just keep swimming”) he didn’t even ask me to swim, he held me in his hands and kept my head above water.
Don’t misunderstand, some of the time, I was convinced I was going to drown. I made so many mistakes flailing and clawing for the surface. I’m sure I’ll have some moments of similar humiliation again. But those are moments that form us. Those are the moments we look back on and see the changes he’s so skillfully wrought in us and the grace he’s so faithfully extended.
I didn’t know my grandpa, but I’m grateful for the opportunity to ride on the waves and see his face in my dreams. I know the one who can make the waves stand still and he’s called me out of the boat time and time again. I’ve walked, I’ve sunk like a stone, but the only thing that matters is, I get to see his face some day. In the meantime, he’s faithful all the time!!!
We recently moved to a new home in a new state. I say to myself that we needed a fresh start, a new beginning. While that’s true, I don’t think we ever start completely fresh. We bring with us the experiences and the lessons learned through hard-fought battles, victories won through many tears, strengths gained by learning to stop relying on our own strength to save us. I wouldn’t trade the struggle in for a different story. My story is beautiful. In every chapter, there was purpose. But, that’s not really the point of this story.
One thing I’ve grown to love about our new home is the fence in my backyard. It may sound silly, but I have dogs who, historically, have been prone to wander. They are notorious for finding that one moment when the door isn’t quite closed all the way and they find opportunity to escape and go on an adventure that forces us to comb the neighborhood, worried sick, trying to find them. I used to agonize about this. I beat myself up repeatedly because what responsible dog owner could allow this to happen? Why couldn’t I successfully train my children and my husband to double check the door when they go in or out? Why couldn’t I train my dogs to behave properly? I know I’m not the only one with this problem as I see all of the “lost pet finder posts” on social media. Still, I always felt so guilty when they would pull a fast one and find the one area of weakness and exploit it into an escapade through the neighborhood.
Now, we finally have a fenced in backyard where they can run and play. It’s a gift! Still, I have to watch for the weak spots. Once they tried to dig underneath the fence and only succeeded in coating themselves in red clay dirt. Once, the gate blew open and I found them in the front yard, outside the safety of their perimeter. (At least they didn’t run for it.) Once, after a wind storm, a plank in the fence had broken loose and was leaning over exposing the neighbor’s yard behind us. It was his fence and he repaired it promptly.
The thing about fences is they have to be maintained.
I can be a lot like my dogs. I am prone to wander from the safety and security of a life hidden in Christ. He’s given me everything I need. He is altogether sufficient. Yet, I’m so often like the old hymn describes,
“Prone to wander, Lord I feel it, prone to leave the God I love.”
I’m not talking about fences that keep us captive like a prisoner or walls we’ve built around our hearts to keep others (or even God) out. The fence in my yard protects my dogs. It keeps them safe. It keeps them home so they can have water, food, shelter, provision, and love. It gives them the freedom to run and play and enjoy life, without danger. The fences I build in my spiritual life offer protection for me as well. I have learned that I don’t need anything apart from Christ. My heart is safe with him. When I discipline myself to guard my heart as scripture teaches (Proverbs 4:23), I can safely trust in him.
Fences require maintenance. The planks will sometimes need to be reinforced occasionally like my neighbor’s loose board that broke away. There are gaps that sneak up on us when we’re not paying attention. Lack of attention and maintenance allows decay. My spiritual life will not magically improve without nurture and care. I have learned to be committed and intentional about nurturing my relationship with God. I’m learning to discipline myself to read the Bible consistently, to spend time in prayer, to commune with the Father daily. I’m learning to keep an eye on my fences, to be conscientious about what I watch, what I listen to, what I read. I’m learning to be mindful, to realize when I’m being distracted from the things that actually matter. I’m learning to guard my time, to guard my heart.
So, my mornings are always morning before morning should be allowed
I’m not a morning person…working on this…
But in anticipation of tomorrow, I plan.
I pack lunchboxes and clean and lie clean clothes on racks and hooks, and find shoes lost by minions (small people I’m charged to raise)
But, unfortunately, sometimes I dread the day ahead.
I’m not proud of it.
And I think if His mercies new every morning and the blessing of parenthood and employment and a life well lived.
But in reality, I go to bed knowing my alarm will sound the horror bell of having to wake up when I want to sleep.
Still, there’s a blessing when the coffee and the day kick in.
When sunlight brings possibilities that I haven’t imagined.
So I ride before the sun and do it again and again.
This life doesn’t have to be brilliant or awesome in the light of day but it has to continue to bring meaning.
So today leads to tomorrow and every moment, even the mundane, leads to greatness.
Will I be remembered for the lunches I pack and the jokes I wrote in sharpie on ziplock? Probably not. But will I be remembered for my perseverance and strength? I hope so.
Wake up tomorrow and do it again.
Just go!
One foot in front of the next, in excellence. It’s all anyone can ask and it’s more than enough.
I have a hearing loss. I like to blame it on being a musician and years of in-ear monitors blasting a “click” (metronome) in my ears at volumes far louder than recommended because that sounds cooler than “I have a hearing loss”. The reality is, my dad had a significant hearing loss, my mother has hearing loss, my brother has hearing loss, and my daughter was born with a moderate hearing loss, so odds are, it runs in the family. Either way, listening with understanding can be difficult for me at times.
My husband often gets frustrated with me as I respond with confusion and “huh” more often than either of us would like. Or I think he’s saying something that isn’t even close to what he’s actually saying and react in a manner totally inappropriate to the reality before me. My kids have to repeat themselves time and time again which most likely drives them crazy. I long for the day when I can afford hearing aids so I don’t frustrate those closest to me so frequently. But for now…
I pray that my ears work a little better than my mouth. I hope to be the kind of person who really listens to what others are saying to me (even when I can’t hear them fully). I may not always understand their perspective and I may often disagree but that doesn’t negate the responsibility to listen. When we find ourselves so enamored with our own opinions that ours is the only viewpoint we can see, we might be guilty of this.
There is such a thing as fundamental truth. I do not subscribe to the notion that all things are relative and your truth is different than mine. Some things are black and white without a grey area to smudge and blur the dividing lines. Don’t misunderstand me.
Yet, how can we espouse the truth we hold so dear, and positively influence the life of another person, if we can’t take the time to sit in community with them and hear what they are saying? I think we will find that often times, the things we are getting so angry and upset about “the other side” saying, aren’t really what they are saying at all. We are so quick to polarize. We are so quick to speak before we hear.
I get myself in trouble all the time when I hear (or think I hear) someone say something to me but in my impairment, I think they are saying something completely bizarre and I couldn’t be farther from the truth. It’s become a comedy of sorts with my kids because I will quote back to them what I heard which will be something completely off the wall like, “a band of monkeys invaded Pearl Harbor”, and they’ll laugh and tell me they actually said, “there are ants in the tree in the backyard”. Feel free to donate to that hearing aid fund :).
I think we all do that in life all the time. Maybe not literally like I do, but when we jump to conclusions about another person’s intentions, life experiences, perspectives. When we forget that, “Love bears all things [regardless of what comes], believes all things [looking for the best in each one].” I Corinthians 13:7 AMP. Slow down and listen! And if you don’t understand, ask questions, and LISTEN to the answer. You might be surprised that your enemy isn’t really an enemy and even if they are, they might be won over with a small amount of kindness.
Our anger will never produce the righteousness of God. Our kindness and patience might shine the light of his glory and truth to generations. We will never win an argument we are fighting against ourselves, but we can learn to listen and speak out of the abundance of a life turned towards Jesus and the goodness of the Holy Spirit. Sometimes, that may mean speaking a word of correction and a good dose of disagreement, but that doesn’t mean an angry tirade against the masses. Slow down!
I may not have physical hearing aids yet and my kids will still laugh at me when I think they are saying they want to “dance with piglets” instead of “have some Cheez-its”. But I hope my spiritual hearing aids are tuned to hear everything through the redemptive love of Jesus Christ and a desire to see him shine! Those are the messages I want my big mouth to shout to the ends of the earth.
I confess, if I were the author of my story, I might have written a few of the chapters differently. I might have cleaned up some of the rough edges and plot lines. I might have skipped a trauma or two, or three, or a million and seven.
When I was seven or eight years old, I had an encounter with God. I’d been raised in church. I’d heard about him almost my entire life. I would have been able to tell you all about the Bible stories and the gospel. I sang hymns louder than anyone around me (anyone who knows me in person can attest to the fact that I sing louder than most). I knew of him. But that night I MET him.
I remember being surrounded by people in that little country church in Southern Ohio and it being just Jesus and me. I remember him softly speaking to my heart that he had a plan for my life. I remember knowing more than I’ve ever known anything (to this day) that he was real, he loved me, and I am his and he is mine. No matter what I’ve been through since, everything comes back to that one night when he called me his own.
What I’m realizing now, so many years later, is that I’ve spent most of my time trying to live up to the calling I felt that night. Every mistake I’ve made felt like the annihilation of everything for me. Every trauma felt like disqualification. I can’t say my life has been a rose-garden. From a ‘Christian-ese’ perspective, I probably should have been disqualified. I’ve had a baby out of wedlock. I’ve been divorced and remarried. I’ve made some grade-A messes throughout my life. How could he possibly still use me now?
But one thing remains, the redemptive love of God. I’ve never stopped asking him to pick me back up and help me to keep on walking. Sure, many times, I’ve tried to scoop myself up off the floor and fix everything broken in my life. Sure, many times, I’ve whined and cried to the heavens because a lot of my messes weren’t my own doing, and it just didn’t seem fair. I’m sure I’m not the only one who can say that.
Still, he didn’t call me because of my qualifications or my abilities. I wouldn’t have been the right choice. He called me by his mercy, knowing I would mess it all up a thousand times and keep coming back. Maybe the biggest part of my testimony is that through it all and despite of me, I still love him deeply. I feel everything deeply and I’m not afraid to be real. Maybe my weaknesses are part of why he chooses me. If his strength is made perfect in weakness (2 Cor 12:9) then I have spent a lifetime proving him strong. I’m like a weeble-wobble who keeps popping back up ready for battle no matter how many times I’ve been knocked down.
The past few years have been probably the hardest few years of my life. I’ve cried more and, honestly, lost my wobble more, in that season that anytime I can remember. It’s been ROUGH, y’all! But I’ve kept on fighting and getting up every morning, sometimes begrudgingly, lacing up my running shoes, and walking forward. Now, I’m seeing God answer prayers I wasn’t sure he would. I’m seeing him perfect, despite how weak I had been. I’m so incredibly grateful!
Through the Lord’s mercies we are not consumed, Because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness. “The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, “Therefore I hope in Him!”
The Lord is good to those who wait for Him, To the soul who seeks Him. It is good that one should hope and wait quietly For the salvation of the Lord.
Lamentations 3:22-26
I feel like I’d reached the bottom of myself and all the striving and trying to be enough was finally able to give way to a profound and staggering desire for him. Suddenly, I want him to be glorified, not to prove myself worthy of him reaching out to me so many years ago, but because I feel the weight of his glory. I would have never thought I was making the focus about me. I would have denied it if you’d accused me of it. I wasn’t outwardly. I wasn’t making a show or doing good works and ministry to look good to others. I think I was, however, trying to look good to me. I thought I was a bad investment.
I’ve always prayed the Psalm I began this with. It’s been a mantra of mine for years. Yet now, I feel it to my bones!
My heart is overflowing with a good theme; I recite my composition concerning the King; My tongue is the pen of a ready writer.
Psalm 45:1
He has been so good and so faithful to me; I cannot help but tell of his goodness. I yield my life to be a pen in his capable hands. His story is being written on my heart and walked out by my feet. My heart is overflowing.
I know this isn’t the kind of thing I typically write here, but I pray that you who have been patient enough to read this so far, would realize that every step, even the rough and unsteady ones, will bring you closer if you just keep walking towards him. I pray that his love would so permeate your spirit, that you can’t help but write, create, sing, dance, whistle, whittle, play air-guitar, whatever it is that you do . Overflow! Don’t allow the scars of this life to rob you of the beauty he’s writing for you. Just keep walking. Every step is worth it if we are walking towards Jesus. He isn’t going to run away. He’s right there with you always!
INSPIRED BY THE COMFORTER 