My goals lately seem to fall somewhere in the "getting it done" category. I know there are seasons in life when those are good goals to meet. Getting anything done well or right is a bonus. Just getting it done at all is good enough though. And being a homsechooling mom to 6 children 9 and younger, the youngest two both just babies, I've definitely found myself falling into that mode of just doing what works - even if it's not the best.
But as my Sweet Pea is hitting the four month mark (I know. It still shocks me to even say it out loud. Four months. Wow.) I find my little fog clearing just a bit and I can see that "good enough" isn't really good enough.
Much of this awareness has fallen on my house which is in a bit of a shambles. I've tried to soak up every moment of Sweet Pea's first weeks and months, and I know I won't regret that time one little bit! The clutter piled, the organization fell by the way side, and I'm so thankful school was out when it was or I don't know what I would have done! And all that's OK in my book. Messes will still be there to clean, books will still be there to read, but my baby won't be a baby for long, so I want to take as much time as possible to enjoy her as I can.
But - as I come out of my New Baby Fog - I am starting to see that my enjoyment of Sweet Pea has left me cutting corners in areas where I shouldn't be, and where I don't want to.
I guess over the past few days (maybe weeks) I've started to realize that my goals with my children have been much more behaviorally focused. Correcting bad behavior, reinforcing good behavior, the usual. And I do believe it is good to correct bad behavior and to encourage good behavior.
But the problem is that behavior has become the main focus.
And that is a big problem. Because we are all people - fallen, sinful people - young and old alike. And I don't want MY attention on behavior to be what my kids think it's all about. After all, isn't that why Jesus died? Because God knew our behavior would never be good enough? We could never earn our way to heaven. So that's why He chose the plan that He did - to show us just how much we need His grace.
So as of today, my goal will be my children's hearts. To see them. To know them. To win them. To keep them.
This has been a goal of mine before, but it's harder to stick to it than one might think. Getting stuff done often feels more important in any given moment. Changing their behavior rather than their inward heart is a lot easier, to be honest.
But as I write all this, and as I ponder these thoughts I believe God has revealed to me, it occurs to me that when I focus on their hearts as God does - focusing on the heart of a man rather than on his outward appearance the way men do (see 1 Samuel 16:7) then their behavior will likely improve anyway. I'm going about it all wrong by making that the focus. I'm too tired to bring to mind any vivid analogies, but there are many (even in the Bible there are many!) out there to make the point that painting over the surface does nothing if the inside is missed.
So I am praying for God's help to see my children's hearts, to know them and to keep them. I want to be close to them, not just in charge of them. And I know this will challenge me. And I know it'll make other goals (like getting the house in order, for one, or finding any down time for myself in the day) much harder to meet. But I really do feel that God is calling me to do this right now.
So there it is. My new goal as a mother. It's not really even new at all. I'm just seeing my same goals in a different light, and seeing how my actions have not been in line with my heart's desire for our family. And how in my efforts to help my children behave better, and encourage them in Christian ways, I might be driving them away from a relationship with Christ rather than towards one by putting too much focus on behavior and outward appearance. I just pray that it's not too late and that God in His wisdom and grace will help me to do better, and that my children will love me enough to forgive my mistakes. And that I can be the mom God wants me to be. And the mom my children want and need me to be, too. I haven't much idea how to get there myself. I keep doing it all backwards. So this one will most definitely take divine intervention!
I'm very thankful that God is still in the business of answering prayers. ;o)
Showing posts with label prayer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prayer. Show all posts
Monday, July 18, 2011
Monday, August 17, 2009
What are little girls made of?
Sugar and spice and everything nice.
... Oh, and ER visits, too.
So I got to spend my first day in an ER today - and it was not with one of my three sons. It was with my little Girly Pie. I've heard many a rumor that girls are docile, calm and still. But not my sweet Girly Pie. She is sweet for sure, and definitely has her daintier qualities. But she is not anywhere near still. She's been a climber since before she could walk, and has given me more than my fair share of scares over the past months of her increasing mobility.
But this morning when she fell and bumped her lip on a small child's bench we keep at our little kid's table, she hardly cried at all, and I never would have thought twice about such a simple stumble.
Except for the fact that there was blood everywhere and her lip had a nasty looking flap of skin hanging off of it.
Looking at it I suspected immediately that it would need something - stitches, skin glue, something like that. I called Mary Grace to confirm my suspicions (I didn't want to be too paranoid, after all lip wounds can look much worse than they really are) and then set to work trying to figure out just what to do.
The really cool thing was that God's hand was all over the day. For a start, my Hubby has Mondays off from field work and he works at home doing phone and office stuff, so I had the flexibility to just go with Girly Pie and not have to worry about who could watch my three boys, or about taking them along and dividing up the attention that I was sure a sad little girl would need fully. And from there, the little twists and turns of the day just led more and more directly to exactly where God knew we needed to go.
Our new insurance is apparently not accepted by our current doctor's office - a fact we just found out this morning when I called to find out if they could squeeze her in for a look. I have never much liked the whole office, and really the only reason we have remained is that it is only 25 minutes away and all the other docs are 40 minutes or more. But I always second guess their thoughts and we never have really been on the same wavelength. So I called my good friend E. who uses the same insurance and has always said wonderful things about their pediatrician. She quickly gave me the number, and off I drove with Girly Pie, waiting on hold on my cell as I headed that direction and going on faith that they would make room for her ASAP. Sure enough, even though the wonderful doc didn't have any openings until 5pm, they made room for Girly Pie right as we arrived at 10am. The new doc was WONDERFUL. I know that I would not have appreciated my old doc's advice as much as Dr. Wonderful's, and he was so sweet with Girly Pie, and so thorough with his exam. He was gentle with her and explained to me the severity of the injury.
Now I will pause in the story here to point out that Girly was not crying during all this time. The fall was minor, the bleeding had stopped, and aside from missing her morning nap, she was really not fazed at all by the whole ordeal of the actual injury. (another small miracle for the day!) So the doc told me all I needed to know, and said that since the cut was on the line between her actual lip and the skin below, and because it was so close to the crack where upper and lower lips meet, it was just a really hard place to stitch up. He saw she did indeed need stitches, but he knew his office was not equipped to do such a delicate job on such a small, and uncooperative, patient.
So we were sent to the Children's Hospital in Seattle, over an hour from our home. He said we could go to others nearer, but that Children’s would be the best equipped to do such a delicate procedure on one so young.
So off we went. Again, this doc's demeanor and his kindness and gentleness with both my girl and this worried momma were so comforting, and I really did trust his opinion. I really see God's hand in the insurance thing sending us away from our other office to this one.
So eventually (after so very much waiting and talking and looking and waiting…) Girly Pie was given a bit of a loopy drug, the name of which eludes me at the moment, to lessen her reaction to being messed with and to make her forget the whole ordeal when it was over. She was definitely happier after the drug - she had been horrified up to that point by anyone even looking at her or taking her pulse, let alone sticking needles in her face! But even with the happy juice, she fought like crazy when they tried to wrap her up in the blanket to do the procedure. She was numb and a little sedated, but still fully conscious - and fully ticked off to be so rudely messed with.
Poor thing.
So as if that wasn't bad enough, after I was finally able to hold her again and calm her down, while she was sucking on a popsicle BOTH of her stitches popped out.
So they had to do it AGAIN.
That is the point at which, as her Mommy, it really got hard for me. I had already told her we were all done, she was in my arms and ready to go. But that wound just opened right back up, and aside from just not wanting her to have a big scar on her face for the rest of her life, I just could not imagine how the healing process would go with such a big, floppy wound.
So I agreed to try it one more time, stating that if these new stitches failed that we were done and she was just meant to have a scar.
So they did it again. They used a heavier gauge suture, and did three stitches instead of two. And she fought even harder.
The hardest part for me though was not so much the fighting and crying. That was actually a good thing. I was glad to see her fighting and not just accepting such abuse. But when she plaintively called out "Mama! MAAAMAAA!" through that second procedure I just about lost it.
I just could not imagine how terrified she was in that moment, her head held down by strangers, bright lights in her face, her lip numb and her body reacting to a strange drug in her system that made her feel out of control. And when she called for the one person she trusts most in the world to help her - I couldn't. I couldn't help her, and I couldn’t stop the fear.
I just talked to her all through it and stroked and held what parts of her little body I could without disturbing the doctors, and I prayed like crazy. I prayed that God would give her peace and not let this be a scarring event in her life - emotionally, I mean. I could care less about the physical scar compared to that. And I prayed that she really would just forget the whole thing, and that it wouldn't be something that would really affect her as she grows.
So finally, long past when I ached to hold her, they finished the last stitch and I got to pick up my frightened, sweaty, exhausted little girl. And she really did calm down quickly. She did not like any of the hospital folks after that, though I can hardly blame her. But she was happy to be in my arms, and we went home shortly thereafter.
Girly Pie was asleep before we even got out of the parking lot, and slept like a rock for the whole hour + ride home. The poor girl had missed her usual naps and hadn't eaten since her very meager breakfast at 7:30 this morning. We left the ER at 3 in the afternoon.
But when she woke up, she was happy and snuggly and ready to get up and get to playing at home. She still wants to grab at her lip, which we of course are not supposed to let her do, but she is eating fine and as far as I can tell is not feeling any pain from the whole incident.
And though I can't tell for sure, I feel like my prayers really were answered, and Girly Pie seems to have forgotten the trauma of the ER today already. She has not been overly clingy or fearful, and she really has been her same old, adventurous self all evening. She has already given us several scares from climbing and trying to fall. I'm not super thrilled about the scares, but it's still a good sign that she's feeling like herself.
Sigh.
So that was my day. I had big plans for a mellow day at home, a bit of school and tidying up, maybe a trip to a park after her nap. But God had other plans for our day.
And really, aside from the pain of watching her through that second procedure as she called for me - and thinking about just how terrified and awful she was feeling in that moment - through the whole day I was so aware of God's gifts for the day. I never had those thoughts of "If only she hadn't fallen!" I was so focused on being thankful that God had everything under control. The day was crazy, there were such hard moments, and nothing went as smoothly as it could have. But the trouble with the doc's office ended up being a blessing. And the doc not being able to do the stitching was a blessing too. Can you imagine if they had tried in the office and failed? It would have been even more traumatic there, and then we would have had to go to the hospital in the end anyway, since the stitches clearly needed to be done in such a special way. And what if we had gone to our old doc and they had tried to do a less-than-the-best fix for her? I was just so thankful that God paved the whole day to get my girl, His girl, where she needed to go for the best care.
So today really was such a good reminder to me that stuff happens in life. There are no promises that we'll be protected from hardships. But God does make a way to get you through those hard times, and he makes sure you are carried safely to the other side.
Romans 8:28
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him... (emphasis mine)
So today was a much needed perspective check, and I feel firmly kicked out of my little cave of worry over the things to come. I've been stuck here in neutral for a few weeks, wondering how to do all that I have to do, and feeling overwhelmed by all I feel I must do. But in all that, I lost sight of God's power to carry me through any hard times to come, and I lost focus on the gifts and blessings he has blessed me with along the way.
As our pastor recently said powerfully in a message about the young David in the Bible before he was king - I was like the other Israelites, focusing on the Giant - unlike David, who put his focus on the Giant Killer - God.
So today I am happily, joyfully, thankfully back where I belong. My eyes are on my Giant Killer. The giants of my life - the duties, the fears, the sensory disorders, the responsibilities, the worries of failing those I love the most – will no longer receive my utmost attention. God, the defender of us all, the slayer of all of life's Giants, is where my eyes are pointed once again.
And I never would have thought He would remind me of that simple truth by walking me through a day of trauma and pain in my baby girl's life. But He does indeed work in mysterious ways. And my baby is safe and happy and sleeping soundly in her bed.
I have nothing in the whole world to complain about. I have only thanks to give this night.
... Oh, and ER visits, too.
So I got to spend my first day in an ER today - and it was not with one of my three sons. It was with my little Girly Pie. I've heard many a rumor that girls are docile, calm and still. But not my sweet Girly Pie. She is sweet for sure, and definitely has her daintier qualities. But she is not anywhere near still. She's been a climber since before she could walk, and has given me more than my fair share of scares over the past months of her increasing mobility.
But this morning when she fell and bumped her lip on a small child's bench we keep at our little kid's table, she hardly cried at all, and I never would have thought twice about such a simple stumble.
Except for the fact that there was blood everywhere and her lip had a nasty looking flap of skin hanging off of it.
Looking at it I suspected immediately that it would need something - stitches, skin glue, something like that. I called Mary Grace to confirm my suspicions (I didn't want to be too paranoid, after all lip wounds can look much worse than they really are) and then set to work trying to figure out just what to do.
The really cool thing was that God's hand was all over the day. For a start, my Hubby has Mondays off from field work and he works at home doing phone and office stuff, so I had the flexibility to just go with Girly Pie and not have to worry about who could watch my three boys, or about taking them along and dividing up the attention that I was sure a sad little girl would need fully. And from there, the little twists and turns of the day just led more and more directly to exactly where God knew we needed to go.
Our new insurance is apparently not accepted by our current doctor's office - a fact we just found out this morning when I called to find out if they could squeeze her in for a look. I have never much liked the whole office, and really the only reason we have remained is that it is only 25 minutes away and all the other docs are 40 minutes or more. But I always second guess their thoughts and we never have really been on the same wavelength. So I called my good friend E. who uses the same insurance and has always said wonderful things about their pediatrician. She quickly gave me the number, and off I drove with Girly Pie, waiting on hold on my cell as I headed that direction and going on faith that they would make room for her ASAP. Sure enough, even though the wonderful doc didn't have any openings until 5pm, they made room for Girly Pie right as we arrived at 10am. The new doc was WONDERFUL. I know that I would not have appreciated my old doc's advice as much as Dr. Wonderful's, and he was so sweet with Girly Pie, and so thorough with his exam. He was gentle with her and explained to me the severity of the injury.
Now I will pause in the story here to point out that Girly was not crying during all this time. The fall was minor, the bleeding had stopped, and aside from missing her morning nap, she was really not fazed at all by the whole ordeal of the actual injury. (another small miracle for the day!) So the doc told me all I needed to know, and said that since the cut was on the line between her actual lip and the skin below, and because it was so close to the crack where upper and lower lips meet, it was just a really hard place to stitch up. He saw she did indeed need stitches, but he knew his office was not equipped to do such a delicate job on such a small, and uncooperative, patient.
So we were sent to the Children's Hospital in Seattle, over an hour from our home. He said we could go to others nearer, but that Children’s would be the best equipped to do such a delicate procedure on one so young.
So off we went. Again, this doc's demeanor and his kindness and gentleness with both my girl and this worried momma were so comforting, and I really did trust his opinion. I really see God's hand in the insurance thing sending us away from our other office to this one.
So eventually (after so very much waiting and talking and looking and waiting…) Girly Pie was given a bit of a loopy drug, the name of which eludes me at the moment, to lessen her reaction to being messed with and to make her forget the whole ordeal when it was over. She was definitely happier after the drug - she had been horrified up to that point by anyone even looking at her or taking her pulse, let alone sticking needles in her face! But even with the happy juice, she fought like crazy when they tried to wrap her up in the blanket to do the procedure. She was numb and a little sedated, but still fully conscious - and fully ticked off to be so rudely messed with.
Poor thing.
So as if that wasn't bad enough, after I was finally able to hold her again and calm her down, while she was sucking on a popsicle BOTH of her stitches popped out.
So they had to do it AGAIN.
That is the point at which, as her Mommy, it really got hard for me. I had already told her we were all done, she was in my arms and ready to go. But that wound just opened right back up, and aside from just not wanting her to have a big scar on her face for the rest of her life, I just could not imagine how the healing process would go with such a big, floppy wound.
So I agreed to try it one more time, stating that if these new stitches failed that we were done and she was just meant to have a scar.
So they did it again. They used a heavier gauge suture, and did three stitches instead of two. And she fought even harder.
The hardest part for me though was not so much the fighting and crying. That was actually a good thing. I was glad to see her fighting and not just accepting such abuse. But when she plaintively called out "Mama! MAAAMAAA!" through that second procedure I just about lost it.
I just could not imagine how terrified she was in that moment, her head held down by strangers, bright lights in her face, her lip numb and her body reacting to a strange drug in her system that made her feel out of control. And when she called for the one person she trusts most in the world to help her - I couldn't. I couldn't help her, and I couldn’t stop the fear.
I just talked to her all through it and stroked and held what parts of her little body I could without disturbing the doctors, and I prayed like crazy. I prayed that God would give her peace and not let this be a scarring event in her life - emotionally, I mean. I could care less about the physical scar compared to that. And I prayed that she really would just forget the whole thing, and that it wouldn't be something that would really affect her as she grows.
So finally, long past when I ached to hold her, they finished the last stitch and I got to pick up my frightened, sweaty, exhausted little girl. And she really did calm down quickly. She did not like any of the hospital folks after that, though I can hardly blame her. But she was happy to be in my arms, and we went home shortly thereafter.
Girly Pie was asleep before we even got out of the parking lot, and slept like a rock for the whole hour + ride home. The poor girl had missed her usual naps and hadn't eaten since her very meager breakfast at 7:30 this morning. We left the ER at 3 in the afternoon.
But when she woke up, she was happy and snuggly and ready to get up and get to playing at home. She still wants to grab at her lip, which we of course are not supposed to let her do, but she is eating fine and as far as I can tell is not feeling any pain from the whole incident.
And though I can't tell for sure, I feel like my prayers really were answered, and Girly Pie seems to have forgotten the trauma of the ER today already. She has not been overly clingy or fearful, and she really has been her same old, adventurous self all evening. She has already given us several scares from climbing and trying to fall. I'm not super thrilled about the scares, but it's still a good sign that she's feeling like herself.
Sigh.
So that was my day. I had big plans for a mellow day at home, a bit of school and tidying up, maybe a trip to a park after her nap. But God had other plans for our day.
And really, aside from the pain of watching her through that second procedure as she called for me - and thinking about just how terrified and awful she was feeling in that moment - through the whole day I was so aware of God's gifts for the day. I never had those thoughts of "If only she hadn't fallen!" I was so focused on being thankful that God had everything under control. The day was crazy, there were such hard moments, and nothing went as smoothly as it could have. But the trouble with the doc's office ended up being a blessing. And the doc not being able to do the stitching was a blessing too. Can you imagine if they had tried in the office and failed? It would have been even more traumatic there, and then we would have had to go to the hospital in the end anyway, since the stitches clearly needed to be done in such a special way. And what if we had gone to our old doc and they had tried to do a less-than-the-best fix for her? I was just so thankful that God paved the whole day to get my girl, His girl, where she needed to go for the best care.
So today really was such a good reminder to me that stuff happens in life. There are no promises that we'll be protected from hardships. But God does make a way to get you through those hard times, and he makes sure you are carried safely to the other side.
Romans 8:28
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him... (emphasis mine)
So today was a much needed perspective check, and I feel firmly kicked out of my little cave of worry over the things to come. I've been stuck here in neutral for a few weeks, wondering how to do all that I have to do, and feeling overwhelmed by all I feel I must do. But in all that, I lost sight of God's power to carry me through any hard times to come, and I lost focus on the gifts and blessings he has blessed me with along the way.
As our pastor recently said powerfully in a message about the young David in the Bible before he was king - I was like the other Israelites, focusing on the Giant - unlike David, who put his focus on the Giant Killer - God.
So today I am happily, joyfully, thankfully back where I belong. My eyes are on my Giant Killer. The giants of my life - the duties, the fears, the sensory disorders, the responsibilities, the worries of failing those I love the most – will no longer receive my utmost attention. God, the defender of us all, the slayer of all of life's Giants, is where my eyes are pointed once again.
And I never would have thought He would remind me of that simple truth by walking me through a day of trauma and pain in my baby girl's life. But He does indeed work in mysterious ways. And my baby is safe and happy and sleeping soundly in her bed.
I have nothing in the whole world to complain about. I have only thanks to give this night.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Listening
I am trying to listen.
I want to hear.
I want to know.
I cannot shake the feeling that God is speaking to me. And for the life of me, I cannot seem to hear what it is He is trying to say to me.
Mary Grace once said something to me that she probably has long forgotten, but it has stuck with me for the past four years since she said it. It was when I was really searching God out (or He was searching for me, or both…) and feeling called to Christianity – but I was paralyzed by the fear of doing the wrong thing.
I was terrified to make the WRONG choice.
In my family, there seemed to be so many rules set up around how to believe and what to do for God. At that time, I really felt like if I went to a church, if I called God by the wrong name, if I did anything that wasn’t “just right” than He would reject me due to my own lack of understanding. My own wrongness, for lack of a better word.
Well, by this time Mary Grace and I were already pretty close friends and I went to her with these thoughts. I explained that I was praying constantly and wanting so badly for God to tell me what He wanted me to do. I wanted to know His “rules” for me, without the clutter in my mind of all the “family” rules for Him.
Mary Grace was quiet for just a moment before she responded. I remember that for some reason. And when she did, I was struck speechless (not a common thing for me, by the way).
Then she asked me, “But have you ever stopped to listen for His answer?”
Wow. Now, I admit that I am not the most stunningly intelligent person in the world, but I’m a pretty smart cookie. But to hear that calm, quiet, simple and obvious reply, well, I was just taken aback.
The answer you see, was “No.”
Praying, I was good at. Talking to God, that I had down. (Talking in general I'm pretty good at - but I digress) I asked question after question. Sheesh, I must have seemed like a tiresome 5 year old to God at times, always a new question, always wanting to know answers, even to things that really were none of my concern.
But listening? Truthfully, the thought had never before occurred to me.
But seriously. How on earth could I hear His answers to any of my questions when my entire brain was filled with the clutter of my own worries and thoughts?
Well, I won’t go into great detail, but that same day as I drove the twenty-odd minutes to the grocery store with my then three and one year old boys, I asked the Question that had been on my heart clearly and concisely one last time. Then I told God I’d not ask anything else, and I worked as hard as I possibly could to clear my mind of all the questions and clutter bouncing around in there. And then I waited.
And you know what? I had the most clear and perfect answer from God before I even hit the city limits of the town where our grocery store is. By the time I pulled into the parking lot, I was holding back tears and beaming a smile of sheer love and awe up the My Father in Heaven. I knew then and there that I was His child, and that He loved me – and that all He asked in return was that I love him back.
I do not throw this word around much – but the only way to describe it is to say that it was truly and awesome experience.
So, why do I throw all this old news out there at you? After all it was more than four years ago. I guess I just wanted to bring clarity to my struggles to listen. Still, after four years of following Christ’s lead in my life, of seeking His will first and of growing, changing, maturing, hurting, rejoicing, loving, living in Him… STILL I struggle to really hear His voice. Still I get so caught up in my own questions, my own busy little details, that I somehow don’t always leave room for God, Yahweh, the creator of heaven and earth, to tell me what it is He wants me to hear.
So as I sat down this evening to fold a couple of loads of laundry before heading up for the night, I was overcome with a weight that I cannot quite describe. I felt burdened, weary, worried and insufficient. So as I always do in moments like that, I began to pray.
And that’s when Mary Grace’s sage advice from years ago came flooding back to me. I know it well, and have revisited it more than a few times over the years. But it hit me like a ton of bricks this evening. As I sat there folding all those precious little articles of clothing that those I hold dearest to my heart fill each day, I felt the clutter closing in around me as I asked and asked and ASKED of the Lord all that I wanted to know.
Then her words rang clear in my head, and I stopped, and told God that I was sorry, and worked to clear away the clutter – trying oh-so-hard not to ask any more of Him as I did so. And then I just waited.
Well, I can’t say I got as clear of an answer as the one given to me on that glorious car ride. But a funny thing did happen. I couldn’t shake the tune in my head of a worship song from Church yesterday. It’s not even a song I am particularly drawn to, but there it was.
No great profound revelation. No amazing clarity. Just a simple song of praise.
La la, la-dee-da-dee-dah dah… My God is mighty to save, He is mighty to saaaaave…
So that’s all I got.
And really, it wasn’t until I sat down here to put it all in words that I really realized that maybe, just maybe, He was calling me back to the point. Back to that day in the car. Back to another song that first brought me to Him as a daughter to a Father. Maybe, He just wanted to remind me that in all that happens each day - through all the sick boys (poor Goose) and all the teething girls and all the happy smiles and busy chores and school schedules and serving and classes and friends and husbands and shopping and planning and cooking and researching and praying and reading – I still need to make time for just plain old LOVING HIM.
So it’s back to the basics for me, I guess. Time for me to seek Him out and Love him, praise Him, worship Him. I think it’s time to turn on the Christian radio stations again during the day and just be brought back to a place of just Loving him. I mean, I always love Him. But how much time in my day to I actually devote to just Him, and Him alone?
Sadly, not nearly enough.
So. There you go. I am still struggling to keep clear the clutter and to hear His whispers to me. But tonight, I am actually pretty excited to run upstairs and sit in bed and think of a few of my favorite praise songs. And I am just going to sing my heart out to the One who has loved me better than anyone else ever has or ever will.
Man, am I glad that God is patient with me. Sometimes I feel as dumb as a brick. But thankfully He is always willing to wait for the fog to clear and for me to hear His voice calling me.
Thank you Lord, for speaking to me in that gentle, loving way that You know soothes my heart. Thank you for leaving the harsh admonitions behind, the ones that I most surely deserve but that you still do not burden me with. I ask only to be a parent to my children in the same, gentle and loving way that you are to me.
Amen.
I want to hear.
I want to know.
I cannot shake the feeling that God is speaking to me. And for the life of me, I cannot seem to hear what it is He is trying to say to me.
Mary Grace once said something to me that she probably has long forgotten, but it has stuck with me for the past four years since she said it. It was when I was really searching God out (or He was searching for me, or both…) and feeling called to Christianity – but I was paralyzed by the fear of doing the wrong thing.
I was terrified to make the WRONG choice.
In my family, there seemed to be so many rules set up around how to believe and what to do for God. At that time, I really felt like if I went to a church, if I called God by the wrong name, if I did anything that wasn’t “just right” than He would reject me due to my own lack of understanding. My own wrongness, for lack of a better word.
Well, by this time Mary Grace and I were already pretty close friends and I went to her with these thoughts. I explained that I was praying constantly and wanting so badly for God to tell me what He wanted me to do. I wanted to know His “rules” for me, without the clutter in my mind of all the “family” rules for Him.
Mary Grace was quiet for just a moment before she responded. I remember that for some reason. And when she did, I was struck speechless (not a common thing for me, by the way).
Then she asked me, “But have you ever stopped to listen for His answer?”
Wow. Now, I admit that I am not the most stunningly intelligent person in the world, but I’m a pretty smart cookie. But to hear that calm, quiet, simple and obvious reply, well, I was just taken aback.
The answer you see, was “No.”
Praying, I was good at. Talking to God, that I had down. (Talking in general I'm pretty good at - but I digress) I asked question after question. Sheesh, I must have seemed like a tiresome 5 year old to God at times, always a new question, always wanting to know answers, even to things that really were none of my concern.
But listening? Truthfully, the thought had never before occurred to me.
But seriously. How on earth could I hear His answers to any of my questions when my entire brain was filled with the clutter of my own worries and thoughts?
Well, I won’t go into great detail, but that same day as I drove the twenty-odd minutes to the grocery store with my then three and one year old boys, I asked the Question that had been on my heart clearly and concisely one last time. Then I told God I’d not ask anything else, and I worked as hard as I possibly could to clear my mind of all the questions and clutter bouncing around in there. And then I waited.
And you know what? I had the most clear and perfect answer from God before I even hit the city limits of the town where our grocery store is. By the time I pulled into the parking lot, I was holding back tears and beaming a smile of sheer love and awe up the My Father in Heaven. I knew then and there that I was His child, and that He loved me – and that all He asked in return was that I love him back.
I do not throw this word around much – but the only way to describe it is to say that it was truly and awesome experience.
So, why do I throw all this old news out there at you? After all it was more than four years ago. I guess I just wanted to bring clarity to my struggles to listen. Still, after four years of following Christ’s lead in my life, of seeking His will first and of growing, changing, maturing, hurting, rejoicing, loving, living in Him… STILL I struggle to really hear His voice. Still I get so caught up in my own questions, my own busy little details, that I somehow don’t always leave room for God, Yahweh, the creator of heaven and earth, to tell me what it is He wants me to hear.
So as I sat down this evening to fold a couple of loads of laundry before heading up for the night, I was overcome with a weight that I cannot quite describe. I felt burdened, weary, worried and insufficient. So as I always do in moments like that, I began to pray.
And that’s when Mary Grace’s sage advice from years ago came flooding back to me. I know it well, and have revisited it more than a few times over the years. But it hit me like a ton of bricks this evening. As I sat there folding all those precious little articles of clothing that those I hold dearest to my heart fill each day, I felt the clutter closing in around me as I asked and asked and ASKED of the Lord all that I wanted to know.
Then her words rang clear in my head, and I stopped, and told God that I was sorry, and worked to clear away the clutter – trying oh-so-hard not to ask any more of Him as I did so. And then I just waited.
Well, I can’t say I got as clear of an answer as the one given to me on that glorious car ride. But a funny thing did happen. I couldn’t shake the tune in my head of a worship song from Church yesterday. It’s not even a song I am particularly drawn to, but there it was.
No great profound revelation. No amazing clarity. Just a simple song of praise.
La la, la-dee-da-dee-dah dah… My God is mighty to save, He is mighty to saaaaave…
So that’s all I got.
And really, it wasn’t until I sat down here to put it all in words that I really realized that maybe, just maybe, He was calling me back to the point. Back to that day in the car. Back to another song that first brought me to Him as a daughter to a Father. Maybe, He just wanted to remind me that in all that happens each day - through all the sick boys (poor Goose) and all the teething girls and all the happy smiles and busy chores and school schedules and serving and classes and friends and husbands and shopping and planning and cooking and researching and praying and reading – I still need to make time for just plain old LOVING HIM.
So it’s back to the basics for me, I guess. Time for me to seek Him out and Love him, praise Him, worship Him. I think it’s time to turn on the Christian radio stations again during the day and just be brought back to a place of just Loving him. I mean, I always love Him. But how much time in my day to I actually devote to just Him, and Him alone?
Sadly, not nearly enough.
So. There you go. I am still struggling to keep clear the clutter and to hear His whispers to me. But tonight, I am actually pretty excited to run upstairs and sit in bed and think of a few of my favorite praise songs. And I am just going to sing my heart out to the One who has loved me better than anyone else ever has or ever will.
Man, am I glad that God is patient with me. Sometimes I feel as dumb as a brick. But thankfully He is always willing to wait for the fog to clear and for me to hear His voice calling me.
Thank you Lord, for speaking to me in that gentle, loving way that You know soothes my heart. Thank you for leaving the harsh admonitions behind, the ones that I most surely deserve but that you still do not burden me with. I ask only to be a parent to my children in the same, gentle and loving way that you are to me.
Amen.
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