Seeking Beauty in...Monotony

Back when my boys were tiny I felt like I was getting a repetitive motion injury to my brain.  Every day was the same to the point of absolute monotony.  I could count on diapers, laundry, and tears.  The highlight of my day, people, was getting the mail.  Bless it.  It’s not that I didn’t enjoy being home with my babies—oh my goodness, it was a blessing and an honor.  However, the sameness of every day was extremely difficult for me. 

These days, as a stay-at-home mom to school-aged children, every day is wildly different.  There is a pattern to my weeks, certainly, but my days are pretty varied.  Between volunteering, Bible Study, working from home, being with friends, working out, blogging and shuttling kids to their activities, the days are a whirlwind and each one is different. 

I was thinking about this change recently as I headed out for yet another walk with my oh-so-energetic puppy.  He needs a minimum of 45 minutes a day walking and at times it has felt like a burden to get him out each. and. every. day.  Yet it’s been dawning on me that there is beauty to be found in the repetition of this act—dare I say, in the monotony of it.

You know where I am going with this, right?  These days, I’m finding that a little monotony is good for me.

It’s not just that my daily walk gets me out into the natural world (that might be a post for another day).  It’s the actual repetition that is so beautiful.  By engaging my body in an activity I could do automatically, I’m giving my mind some space.  As I head out each day my thoughts turn first to deciding on a route.  Then, the route settled on and the dog into his good trot, my mind just…settles.  It settles in a way that is hard to explain.  It’s like coming back to myself. 

So, my mind can settle and turn toward what’s important.  Sometimes it’s planning blog posts.  Oftentimes, it’s praying for people or asking God what he would like to show me that day.  Occasionally, it’s just enjoying some silence.  My body is busy but my mind is at rest.  Rest in an almost sanctified space which I can rarely find without the monotony of the walk.  The repetition of familiar sights, the repetition of step after step after step, the sameness of it all--it is all just incredibly soothing.  I guess you could say it’s a form of meditation.      

This feels really personal to me, so why am I sharing it?  It’s because I hope to encourage you to seek beauty, even in monotony.  Perhaps especially in monotony.  If you have a long commute, turn off the radio and let that repetitive drive become an opportunity for your mind to turn toward what’s important.  If you are home with a couple of tiny things, folding your seventh load of laundry, try making that your time to pray, to focus on what’s important and lovely, to meditate.  

So what do you do every day, over and over?  Whatever it is, let that be your moment to seek God’s face.  If you consistently carve out those moments, I promise he will show up.  And that is beautiful.

Inspiration for Those who Mess Up. Repeatedly.

“People who know better, do better.”  Have you heard this saying?  It’s from Maya Angelou, who was a sage among us mere mortals, and it was popularized by Oprah.  I think it means that in any given area of life, people won’t do better until they’re educated in that area.  We can forgive ourselves for mistakes we’ve made when we realize we just didn’t know how to act right. 

But what happens when we do know better, and we still don’t do better?  I’ve been asking myself that question a lot lately, as I struggle with some familiar shortcomings.  I’ll just look up one day and think, “My God, haven’t I already conquered this?!?”  If you are even remotely self-aware, you might begin to notice that when you go astray it’s down a very familiar road.  There are the same stumbling blocks, the same places you’ve been bruised before.  Possibly, you too find yourself walking that dark and dreary road in spite of believing that you’ve already conquered this area of struggle in your life, that God has enabled you to move past this issue or temptation.  For me, I can get so discouraged when I realize that my negative attitude is repeatedly an issue for me.  Maybe for you it’s relational drama, food, anger, or a sexual sin.  What I have noticed is that we don’t all just “do better” even after we struggle, go to God, learn how to behave better, and move on.  Sometimes we find ourselves, against our better judgment, repeating the same old stuff, different day.

I’m not immune from discouragement here, but I do have a few thoughts and I wanted to share them in case you ever find yourself in this scenario.  First, I know God works with us through our issues, even when we repeat them time and time again.  Just as he doesn’t always offer immediate cures for physical illness, he doesn’t always heal our psychological hang-ups after our first bout either.  Sometimes, he is allowing us to continue to grow by showing us there is more work to be done.  Sometimes, he is humbling us and preventing pride from leading to a greater fall.  Sometimes, we haven’t genuinely asked for healing.  Sometimes, he wants us to seek him more, or teach us about a specific type of prayer, or show us any number of truths.  I’m not advocating dwelling on past issues if you are truly over them (if you are, great!  Praise God!)  but I am saying this: you are not alone in repeating yourself.

A second thought here: perhaps, in the places where we struggle most, it isn’t so much about knowing as it is about doing.  Do you struggle with envy?  With attitude? With pride?  Be intentional about asking God to give you contentment, to soften your harsh mindset, to make you humble.  Your shortfalls are guideposts to where your character needs work; use them to direct your prayers for God’s intervention in your life.  Then simply do.  Once you have done better once, it becomes something you can practice and it gets easier over time.  And once you have done better, you can know better because the truth will play out in your own life and give you wisdom. 

I’m reading a study right now by Dick Woodward called A Spiritual Compass.  Woodward points out that Jesus himself advised us to first do and then to know.  In John 7:17 Jesus tells us to obey the instructions of the word of God, and then see if by obeying we can tell whether they are true.  That’s shorthand for letting your actions lead you to faith.  Don’t stop trying, because each small victory makes it easier to grasp, deep in your heart where change “sticks,” that the path of righteousness is superior to our chosen path of sin.

Finally, please don’t be discouraged when you try and fail.  I say when, not if.  You are a person, and this is a process.  When I was working as a child advocate I had to learn to meet parents where they are.  I couldn’t meet with a single mom who hadn’t even graduated from high school, who lived in public housing and struggled with addiction, and expect her to be the role model her kids needed.  It was enough to just make sure the kids were safe at home; I couldn’t expect her to have deep insight into why they were acting out or to recognize the importance of curfews or tutor them in algebra.

Similarly, I believe God meets us where we are when we earnestly seek him.  And because we are human (meaning flawed) we may have to earnestly seek him from the same sinful place over and over, broken in self-disgust, humbled by our inability to “do better” this time.  The good news?  He meets us there.  I know, because he has met me here, time and again.  I hope that you can be encouraged to know you’re not alone and no one is perfect: don’t give up!  Seek him, and keep on doing better.

Draw Near

It is truly amazing how quickly the scenery changes, when you let God do the driving.  Remember how two years ago my husband took a job out of town, worked there for five months, we tried to sell our house, and in the end he came back, we kept our house, and resolved to live here and love it?  Well, we'd been trucking along that way, and had even decided to refinance.  Then came the refining fire of January, and little things started happening which awakened my desire to sell again (let's face it, its not that hard.  I obsessively house-hunt online even when I'm not in the market).

Anyhoo, this could become a very long story, but to make it somewhat shorter: God sent us buyers for our home. They are wonderful people who God prompted me to email while I was praying (in the middle of the night) about listing the house.  People we had no reason to think would be in the market.  When we emailed them out of the blue the next day, they said they'd recently been told they had to get out of their rental.  It's been a couple of weeks, and we've arrived at this: in a market that's better but far from recovered, we sold our house for the price we needed without even listing it.  This happens approximately never.  Everyone I tell the story to is just flabbergasted by it.  But the thing is, God does all kinds of things we can't predict or imagine or expect.  And what has happened to us, I am positive, wouldn't have happened without His intimate involvement.

So how to get God intimately involved?  This is where that refining fire comes in, the one where I felt God literally (and painfully) change my approach to life.  Since January, God has blessed me with a longing for Him.  A thirst that He keeps quenching and nothing else can.  A longing not only to read a daily devotional, but to crave it and prioritize it (before, I might have easily gone a few days or a week without remembering it).  A longing to read books which challenge me to see God's work and His kingdom in new ways.  A longing to seek out and  nurture friendships with women who are also walking with Him.  A longing to show non-believers what He can mean in their lives.  Most of all, a longing to pray and not just by reciting words, but by asking questions, listening quietly for answers, and obeying confidently when they come.  I think I had become somewhat settled in my walk with God, but He shook me up, made me thirsty again, and made all these things the water I want to drink.

All these things, prompted by God and certainly not out of my own abilities or inclinations.  The result has been a rich harvest of blessings, but not in a "you obeyed and now you will be blessed" sort of way.  No, please hear me on this, I can't emphasize enough that this is how it has worked for me: when I draw near to God, He will work in my life.  Draw near, and He will respond.  Draw near by reading His Word, studying with discernment, surrounding yourself with godly friends, giving your testimony to others, and praying without ceasing.

Then get ready to be blown away.

Pain.

It’s been almost a year since I saw a doctor for fatigue, which led me to a diagnosis of chronic migraines and treatment using Topamax, an anti-seizure medication.  For almost a year I have been tracking my pain on a calendar: red for pain, yellow for fatigue, green for “Hallelujah I actually feel good!”  There have been woefully few greens.  Finally I got tired of the side-effects of Topamax (mostly the inability to focus, which was becoming a true impairment), and I am almost completely weaned off and trying to cope with my migraines without medication.  Lifestyle changes, less stress, that sort of thing.

All this to say, I feel pretty intimate with pain.  I have given it a lot of thought in the last year, read a lot about it, and have been trying to understand it.  Why does God allow pain?  Why do some of us suffer a lot—some every day—and other people seem to just coast through?  Really, it’s the same question people have been asking forever: why is there suffering?  The same question Siddhartha wondered about.  The same question non-Christians ask about God.  Why would a loving, all-knowing, all-powerful God allow suffering and pain?

The main argument here is that God loved us so much that he gave us free will; free will leads to choice; choices lead to pain and suffering.  God’s creation, which could have been perfect had we just left well enough alone, is not perfect because we have exercised free will.  We have chosen to exclude God.  We think we can do better without Him.  We have historically and continually pushed Him away, and He has honored that choice, the same way that He also honors the choice to welcome Him with mercy and grace and forgiveness.  We come to Him freely, and He returns love freely to us.  Without this ability to choose, we wouldn't have been the beings He longed for.  Because God longed for us to love Him freely, He needed to create free will, and therefore the possibility of pain, suffering and evil.  C.S. Lewis says it this way: “Try to exclude the possibility of suffering which the order of nature and the existence of free wills involve, and you find that you have excluded life itself.”  C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain.

If you have a hard time with the logic of that argument, watch this little video which makes it super easy to understand:

But what about pain not arising out of free will?  What about my migraines?  Childhood illnesses?  Famine?  What about losing a loved one?  What about a healthy man I know who was suddenly struck down with three life-threatening illnesses at the same time?  I struggle with this question, and some of the “pat” answers have always seemed a little empty to me.  But I was totally floored recently when I read this, and I need to share it with you:

“The problem of reconciling human suffering with the existence of a God who loves, is only insoluble so long as we attach a trivial meaning to the word ‘love’, and look on things as if man were the centre of them.  Man is not the centre.  God does not exist for the sake of man.  Man does not exist for his own sake. “Thou hast created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created.”  Rev. 4:11.  We were made not primarily that we may love God (though we were made for that too) but that God may love us, that we may become objects in which the Divine love may rest “well pleased.”  The Problem of Pain, 40-41.  (Emphasis mine). 

This was a new perspective for me, and while it doesn't answer the question of why God allows suffering, it gave me a new perspective on suffering itself.  In our culture which celebrates everything “Me,” including documenting every movement on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram, and in our evangelical culture which celebrates how I love God, how I need him, how I come to him to worship, the idea of me being beside the point is a little...different.  Yes, I believe how I approach God is important.  But to take me out of it a little, and remember that I am also the object of His love...well, that changes everything.

So what does it mean (when I am on Day Six of a crushing migraine and would sooner drive a pickaxe into my forehead than look at this computer) that I was made for God to love me, and not (primarily) vice versa?  It means that my pain is beside the point.  Or rather, it means that I need to continue to worship him, even when in pain. Continue to allow Him to love me, by inviting Him in.  In the face of His magnificent, overwhelming, tender love for me, I find that my suffering truly pales.  I suspect that response is what He’s after.  When we are at our most physically strained, when we are at our most emotionally drained, when we have been beaten down by a world that is fallen and falling around us, the positioning of my soul toward God as it says, “yes, God, you are holy,” that is the fulfillment of His love for us. 

I was praying recently, about coming down off of my medication.  Worried about an onslaught of headaches, I asked, “God, please will you cure me?”  God told me no, that I will still sometimes have pain.  But He asked me, in the infinitely patient way He has with my stubborn self, to keep my eyes on Him anyway.  I don’t know how to always do that, but if I try, and manage it even part of the time, I trust that the effort alone will bear enough fruit to nourish me as I suffer. 

On Easter, this glorious holiday celebrating the resurrection of Christ, it’s worth it to mention that God knows our pain.  He experienced every ounce of it on the cross.  You are not alone, no matter what you suffer, for Christ has already experienced it with you.  In fact, God had to become man in order to experience pain in the first place, and He chose to do so facing the pain not only of whipping and crucifixion but also of every human sin and anguish.  He did it in order to know you, the one He truly loves.  He created you to love you, and then He joined you in your sufferings as well.  He is with you now, loving you and wanting nothing more than your love, freely given, in all circumstances.

A Refining Fire

I am going on Thursday for an MRI.  The neurologist wants to rule out Multiple Sclerosis and possible other brain issues, as I continue to struggle with horrible migraine headaches and weird other symptoms.  When your doctor sends you for a major test to rule out horrible diseases, it does very unfriendly things to your thinking.  I have been up and down, riding waves of emotion and dealing almost constantly with thoughts of my own mortality. 

I know everyone eventually dies.  But it's different when you think it might be coming any day, maybe any minute.  Or that you will be diagnosed with something that will rob you of your quality of life, or shorten your time with your precious children.  And that’s what gets me the most…just wanting to see them through to adulthood, and know they are okay.  That’s what breaks me up, not the idea of going to see Jesus myself, although I admit I'm most definitely not ready.  But the idea of leaving my children motherless?  No, no, no.  Not right.

Yet God is working in me.  I am coming to a place, if not of peace, than of acceptance of the test results.   I'm hearing God’s instructions for how to think, behave, and be if I get the worst imaginable news.  And I'm trying to accept whatever cup He gives me to drink.  And I am working toward acceptance of His will for every member of my family, including my boys. 

No, I don’t believe every horrible thing in the world is of God.  But this, if it ends with my early demise, I feel like this will be His will working.  Would I fight a disease with every ounce of energy I have?  Yes, I promise you I am a hell of a fighter.  Would I also strive like crazy to make God’s will my own?  Yes, that too.

Now…to conquer the worry.  The worry that eats at my brain and stomach and makes me a cranky, irritable mess.  The worry that has me not listening to my boys and snapping at my husband and ignoring calls and emails from my friends.  The worry that I might die.  The worry over the money the MRI is costing us.  The worry over my ongoing headaches in the meantime.  More of the same: I have always worried.  So God is showing me again, in His infinite patience with me, to pray continually and “take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.”  2 Cor. 10:5. Because if all my thoughts are obedient to Christ, there will be no worry.  There will be peace, come what may.  And for now, I've gotten there.  The prayer, the meditation on Christ, the focus on His word.  The worry has disappeared, just for this little moment.

This is the refining fire going on in me right now: for the first time in my life, I am praising God in the storm.  In, not after.  And for this one little moment, I get it.  And man, it’s beautiful. 

I am not sharing this to brag on myself.  In fact I am more than a little ashamed that it’s taken me this long to "get it."  I am sharing it for one reason only: God has been repeatedly laying it on my heart to put this private journal entry out there for the world.  Maybe you are living through something painful?  Guess what?  God wants to meet you there, right there in the middle of your pain, and give you peace.

UPDATE and confession: I wrote this journal entry two weeks ago, and found out last Tuesday that my brain is normal (my husband somewhat disagrees).  Hallelujah!  My brain has some “white spots” from prior migraines but is otherwise healthy.  I waited to post this until I could share the results; I wanted to spare you the suspense.  In the meantime, I found this from John Eldredge, who sums up living through a painful experience this way:

“On a soul level, when I love God in this place, it opens my heart and soul back up to him right where I need him most, right in the center of the pain. Too often what we cry out for is understanding - "why, God?" But I've learned over the years that when you are in the midst of the suffering, you don't often get understanding, and frankly, you don't need understanding - you need God.”

~John Eldredge, via his blog

Amen.

Sunday Thoughts

I'm putting Sunday Funnies on hold for today.

I learned yesterday that a friend from school passed away on Friday. She was an incredibly smart, beautiful and accomplished woman who lit up every room she entered.  And she was so young.  My heart is just aching for her family and loved ones.

So I am filled with sadness today. I wish there were words adequate for moments like this, but there just aren't any.  I am just praying for God's peace for her loved ones.

"And the peace of God, which surpasses all comprehension, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."  Philippians 4:7

Thanks for hanging in there with me.

Sick and Sicker

We've been sick, and by "we" I mean my children.  I have been fine so far, but we all know what that means.  I am not really fine, because no one is fine when their children are suffering.  The worry, the sleeplessness, the hard work (yeah, I have changed one boy's sheets 5 times in two days).  Fun.

We've had snot, fever, vomit, and now strep.  Fortunately, one day on antibiotics and things are looking up again. And it gets me thinking about how my mood, my attitude, my perspective on everything is so affected by what is happening with them.  If they're happy and healthy, life is great.  If they aren't, life sucks.

This up-and-down roller-coaster over which I have no control is my least favorite thing about motherhood.  I have deep issues surrounding loss and fear of loss, and every little sniffle taps into those.  It's brutal, but it's what we all go through all the time.  I would like to think I am pretty spiritually mature, but going through a rocky patch like this one show me I've got some growing to do.  Because God gives me each day, even the days we find ourselves at Urgent Care.  (Someone please tell me why we are always sickest on Sundays?  Why???)

I know there are moms and dads out there who have problems so much bigger than strep throat.  I am friends with a few of them, and knowing what they go through makes me feel ridiculous for panicking over a sore throat.  I just wonder if I will ever be able to keep my perspective, even on those days when my children are feverish and hurting. Will I be able to feel God's love in those moments, just as I do when I feel blessed?  I am reminded of the Serenity Prayer, which I learned a long time ago but seem to "forget" a lot:

God, grant me the serenity

to accept the things I cannot change, 

the courage to change the things I can, 

and the wisdom to know the difference.

Have you ever heard that one?  How do you keep perspective when your kids get sick?

Urgent Caring

On the heels of my life getting super-sidetracked last week, I found myself yesterday face-to-face with one of my most dreaded foes: Urgent Care.  Oh, sickness, why?  Why must you always raise your ugly head on Friday afternoon or Saturday night, or (worst of all) Sunday morning?

Short story: runny nose escalating to fever, leads me to seek advice from our after-hours phone nurse.  Her assessment: he needs to be seen.  On a Sunday.  And they can't see him at their office.  So off we go to Hell on Earth Urgent Care.  Hey, I don't want to give the impression that I don't appreciate the people there.  They are keeping me out of the ER, and that's great.  But one poor doctor for all us sickies means a cranky waiting room and waaaay too many episodes of iCarly for a 3-year-old.  My child was watching that craziness in a weepy daze and all he kept saying was, "that wasn't very nice," every time somebody got shoved (at least every minute or so).  I have taught you well, young Skywalker.

Two and a half hours later we left with the diagnosis that "its probably something viral."  Again, I'm glad to know he doesn't have an ear infection, but seriously!?!  2.5 miserable hours and a hefty co-pay to tell me that!  I was exhausted beyond belief, frustrated, and feeling helpless.

And then...something happened.  The child came home and took a long nap, and when he woke up he was his old self.  If he had a fever it was tiny.  No headache.  No tears.  No lethargy. Not even a runny nose.  And as he went out for a walk with Daddy I thought back over our morning--the worry, the craziness, the calling of doctors.  The iCarly.  And I remembered the prayer that his Daddy and I prayed over him at the height of his fever:

"Isaiah tells us that 'Your light shall break forth like the morning, your healing shall spring forth, speedily, and your righteousness shall go before you; the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard.' (Isaiah 58:8).  Lord, be with our Biggest, and fight for him against this sickness. Heal him, Lord."  Am I surprised that our prayer was answered?  I confess--a little.  Because not every prayer is answered right when I want it to be.  But this one was, and what a blessing to be reminded of God's power in this and all things.  

Oh, and one other thing I wanted to say.  I really, really hate it when my boys get sick.  But there is this tiny silver lining: I am reminded at times like this how desperately, how urgently, I care for them. A mother's love is such a fierce love.  Such a powerful, protective love.  I'd do anything for my boys, go to the ends of the Earth for them.  But when I am not enough, I can pray to a God who is.  I was reminded of that yesterday.  And I just wanted to share it with you.