Breathe

Sometimes I forget to breathe.

Breathing is important.  Breath brings life.

Or maybe life brings breath.

My mind has been set on the name YHWH.  Somehow, in some mysterious way, it brings calm when I speak it.  When I say the name YHWH it sounds like I am breathing.

It reminds me to breathe.  Slow down.  Breathe.  Pause.  Breathe.

Stop struggling to heave in giant gulps of air.

It's ok to sit down and pause.  And it's ok to sit for a season.

Breathe in YHWH and allow Him to breathe into you.

I am a good mom.

Mom Guilt.  It creeps up without any warning and all too often it gets the best of me.

Prime example occurred one night last week.

Took me 3 hours to get all 3 girls into bed after much whining, crying, and rolling around wildly on the floor.  And that was just me.

I was exhausted to say the least.  Hubby has been working nights the past few weeks and I'd be lying if I said it was easy.  I am so thankful that he has a job, and a job that he loves nonetheless.  But that doesn't mean much when I'm sitting on my 3 year old's bedroom floor for 2 hours straight pleading with her to go to sleep while she pleads with me to sleep with her.  Simultaneously, my 2 year old cries in the room next door for mommy to rock her, and my 5 year old waits impatiently for the cup of hot cocoa that I promised her 2 hours ago.

Heidi (2 year old) is my baby who is growing up way too fast.  I cherish the moments when we cuddle in her rocking chair.  Guilt when we don't.

Ava (5 year old) told me earlier in the day that her favorite part of the day was when she and I cuddled on the couch and drank hot cocoa together.  Guilt.

London (3 year old) is sweet and ridiculously funny and seems to always get caught in the middle and I feel enormous guilt about that.

Who do I choose?  There's no right answer.

Finally, everyone is tucked into bed and sleeping soundly.  And I'm alone.  Just me and my cup of hot tea on the couch, on the verge of tears.

And suddenly I knew ... He was there too.

I looked up, so sure that I would see Him sitting next to me.  I could feel His warm eyes looking at me with compassion and understanding.  I felt Him whisper that I am a good mom.  And I knew it was going to be ok.

I may not always get it right, but I am going to try my best.  I may not win the "most organized" award, but I will drop what I'm doing at a moment's notice and have a dance party in the kitchen with my little rockers/gangsters/popstars (depending upon our mood).  I might lose my temper, but I will always make it right with a late night chat, hugs and prayers.

I made my way upstairs, snuck into each of the girls rooms, wiped the hair from their faces and kissed their sweet little foreheads.  I crawled into bed and fell asleep, in awe of the peace He provided and excited about the opportunity tomorrow to love on them and try again to be the mom He knows I can be.

Totally Rad!

I've been in a slump lately.  Not feeling too passionate about life outside of my comfy, secure, four walls.  There are too many contributing factors (excuses) to mention.  And that's not really the point anyway.

I want to be radical.  I want to do something big.  I want to be full of passion and personal investment in the areas where I serve, live, and lead.

So I prayed.  I prayed for direction.  I prayed for open doors.  I prayed for blessing and favor.

And I was so busy praying (daydreaming) that I didn't commit.  I was so busy searching for radical opportunities that I missed the obvious ones.

Jesus was a pretty radical guy.  Water into wine?  Talk about the life of the party. Raising people from the dead?  Yeah, I'd say that would draw a crowd.  Precedent setting?  Yep, that was Him.

But he didn't perform the radical until he lived out the faithful.

Jesus served, lived and led for over 3 decades and did not perform a single miracle.

Surely at some point He had a neighbor who was sick or a family member who was dying.  On a daily basis, I am sure He interacted with people who needed healing, blessing, and miracles.  What about the days when His mom had a headache?  Or when His younger brother fell and skinned his knee?  The neighbor whose baby was on the brink of death, the storekeeper who was about to lose all he had, or the friend who was abused.  Why didn't He do anything?  He was fully capable.  Yet this portion of His life is often glossed over with no big fanfare or attention.  We don't get to see the real action until His final days.

I am learning that the faithful is necessary before the radical can be revealed.  Not because we need to prove ourselves to God.  But because I need to prove myself, to myself.  Going back to my previous blog post, Scarecrow or the Tin Man, I need to learn to decipher and prioritize the foundational truths from the emotional experiences.   I need to learn discipline, compassion, faith, and joy.  I need to learn submission, not just to people in authority, but to Him.  I need to let go of my perspective and begin to see through His eyes.  I need to learn to trust again.

You know, I hesitate to publish this post.  I am fearful that I am going to have another emotional slump in a few months and feel, well, stupid.  I cringe at the thought of being wishy washy and unreliable.  Guess that's kind of the point though, about the whole faithful thing.  I need to start somewhere.

Life is hard.  Bad things will happen.  You might lose your job, your home, or your mom.  Your marriage, your children, or your ministry might not turn out as you expected.  There will be days when you feel lonely, left out, and overlooked.  You will be falsely accused, talked about, and unfairly judged.  You will face misunderstandings, miscommunications and mistakes.

Still, we must be faithful.

So continue teaching your classroom of children on Sunday mornings.  Continue leading your small group.  Continue reading your Bible.  Continue praying every day.  Continue teaching your children how to live a Godly life.  Give to those in need. Give your tithes and offerings.   Give of yourself until it's no longer comfortable.  Be honest.  Be kind.  Be ethical.  Be dependable.  Be a friend.  Practice love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness and temperance.

Be faithful. Then be ready for the radical.

Scarecrow or The Tin Man?

I wear my heart on my sleeve. What you see is what you get. Disney commercials, military dads surprising their kids at school on Youtube, Extreme Makeover Home Edition, weddings, babies, elderly couples holding hands ... they all produce the same result: tears. Lots and lots of tears.
  
Last month I was looking for joy and I found it in abundance. And it felt good. I like feeling good.


I like feeling. I like knowing that there is a place, deep within me, that connects on a level beyond the tangible. But I also know that I have a tendency to let my emotions guide me. It is a slow process, but I am learning that I cannot look to my emotions to determine truth. Truth must control my emotions.  


Emotions change. Sometimes the change happens so fast that I can't keep up.  


Emotions are biased and have limited perspective. They focus on here and now.


Truth stands on it's own. It is never changing. 


I also know that God created me. He made me this way. He handcrafted my tears to flow on a whim. He held my heart in His hands at it's first beat. Every emotion that I feel, He breathed into me. Psalms 139 verse 13 reminds me that He "created my inmost being" and "knit me together" when I was still in my mother's womb.


I think the real challenge, at least for me, is balance. Not necessarily balancing enough of one and not so much of the other; but more about balancing the two together, completely whole. I want to embrace my emotions, assured that they are intricately woven in wisdom and truth. I need to temper my feelings with prayer.  I need to reign in my emotional whims by spending time in His Word. I need to submit to Him and trust that He will guide my heart and mind. After all, He does have plans for me.


The emotional girl who has yet to get it all together - He has plans for me.