Ladies By Design

Stuck on Still

A couple weeks back, Bekah wrote a beautiful post on being still and finding much needed rest in the presence of the Lord. Truth be told, even though I invited Bekah to write such things, I didn't read her post. I just couldn't slow down. When I finally did, I really didn't identify with her. In a very snobby way, I silently dismissed her refection. After all, what could I identify with? When would I (the so-called working mom) have time to sit on a grassy slope? And enjoy healing winds? In Texas! Nope, it couldn't be. Not for me. Not now. Not yet. I just don't have the time. I'm just not that girl. But then I was stuck on still. I was stuck on knowing I wanted-needed to be still.

When you are stuck, where do you start? Here's what worked for me: Ask for help. It's that simple and sounds like—God, I'm stuck. How do I get unstuck? Immediately I was reminded—Be thankful.

Oh. What happened to that girl who was so thankful-—so full of worship-—because her life had been restored? Where did that girl go? The one that pulled over on a dirt road because she was worshipping her heart out? I would sing, "I will search for you and I will find you, I will find you with my whole heart. I will lift my hands to you and worship, with all my heart."

But—I justify my portioned heart—I was single then. Now? Now, I share my heart with a husband and a child and parents and brother and boss and coworkers and work and...

And?

I can do nothing without God. I cannot love. I cannot believe. I cannot give grace. I cannot be anything other than stuck. So, help me be unstuck.

My God hears, and He's been reminding me and showing me and teaching me to be thankful again. I'm not sitting on a grassy slopes yet. But I am sitting outside on the patio (never mind that I only made it out here to escape a fight brewing between me and the hubby). The sunset was fiercely warm and golden. And though the daylight has retreated, I'm being treated to a beautiful light show as thunderstorm clouds roll into the night sky. The leaves on the tree sound like ocean waves to me and I'm struck by how flexible tree limbs are, and how still tree truck are.

Perhaps you might think, how silly this girl is! Mooning over such things. Who has the time? Like you, I don't but I do. Take a moment and read Psalm 103. Then read it again. And again if you have to. Bless the Lord, Oh my soul..." There is something beautiful that happens when we offer thanksgiving. Like Bekah and I, your steps will be different but The Way will be found through thanksgiving. It's a fail-proof way to be unstuck.

(A wise coworker shared this tool with me, Acts: adoration, confession, thanksgiving, supplication. It worked for me! Thank you, Lindsey! And, if you really want to go deeper still, let Ann Voskamp challenge you!)

Where do I begin? I adore you because...

 

Be Still

Oh, day of rest, 

How beautiful, how fair!

~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

 

Today I long for green- cucumbers and spinach leaves to feed the body, and  slender blades of grass to feed my soul. Oh, to lay in a clover green meadow and breathe in the breeze, the sky, the voice quietly whispering my name. 

What is stopping me? The urge is strong, yet I work, still. I push through to gain a prize whose name I do not know. The whisper beckons me out into mid- morning. Persistently. I stop working and take off shoes and socks, stepping onto  the grassy slope behind our home. 

The ground is cool, as I knew it would be; verdant, and pliable, warming to my touch. I lean back, relaxing, supported by soft spikes. I feel the breeze and hear a gentle song lilt from the shadow of wings. Pages flap and I wonder:  Why is it so hard to be still?

I stay, cloaked in green, while my eyes adjust to the light. In the distance, cars hum, people rushing through busy lives- and still I wonder. When did I forget to let in that which feeds my soul? 

I've been separated from the peace of this place by the whirl of life. While trying to catch my breath, I forgot what it is to breathe deep. 

Sleepless nights and sick kids may deplete the body, but it is this busy-ness that steals true rest. Now, the habit of getting out into creation takes determination and self discipline. So I sit, and I breathe, and I rest.

 A lady bug glides across wildflowers that sprung up in my absence. Clouds silently swirl across a pure blue expanse. They know how to be silent, to keep pace with time peacefully, without hurry. 

When I've been rubbed raw by life's sanding, I realize I am still learning to rest in the One who sustains and holds, comforting me through rough patches. It is equally important to draw apart when days are filled with activity and the good work of life. To make a habit of being filled with living water before I am run dry with thirst.

I now recognize soul-thirst, and so I stay, drinking in the wildness that has swept down this hill. Luxuriating in birdsong and inviting the breeze to dance on my cheeks, twirling my hair, drawing me into radiant goodness. Dandelions sway, fuzzy tops nodding in agreement to be silent before the Creative One.  I drink deep of  beauty and peace until I am satiated with healing wind and soothing grasses.

Grace floods my soul, simply because I obeyed that still quiet voice that beckoned me to the place of wellness.  I am refreshed, washed in gratitude. In awe of the One who crafted greens and blues and softness and joy which restores my soul. This is healing in it's simplest form.

 

 

The Nourished Life

In my life, there always seems to be someone who needs something. And with all the medical issues I deal with, sometimes I feel as if I carry everything alone. Self-care is necessary for survival, as is making a habit of refueling body and soul. Sometimes this means time out with friends to relax and unwind, and sometimes it requires making arrangements to have times of quiet. Rest is mandatory. Nourishment, essential. We take better care of those we love when we take care of ourselves, too.

 

I have to cultivate the habit of stepping away to see that my needs are met. It may seem daunting, but it's necessary. Sometimes I feel isolated, or believe there are no resources. But the truth is there is a way to self care- if I am willing to commit to it, to work towards it. Wellness takes work. It takes planning ahead- and sometimes, a willingness to step into the unknown. To put my needs out there and ask for help. It's risky, and sometimes I don’t want to ask. But the benefits are worth the risk. 

 

Sometimes it's an issue of “want to”. What keeps me from drawing aside, what do I gain from over-working? Does it help me forget? Does it make me feel better about everything that seems wrong in my life?

 

Everything I commit to fills a need in me. The need to be a good wife and mother. The need to feel valued, like my work matters. Do I deny my needs because I have to be a martyr to feel acceptable? Do I believe that I do not have the right to take care of me, too?

 

It’s time to give permission to have needs. To take care of me- in a healthy way. Chocolate cake may taste good for a moment, but it won’t heal the gash in my soul, nor will it placate the troubles in my heart.

 

Exercise, movement, is healing. I walk and pour out, and sometimes I want to run. I don’t do it well (or for very long), but I need the physical reminder of what I am carrying emotionally. I run, a block, maybe two, and at the bottom of the hill my chest heaves and I sputter and breathe jagged breaths and it feels like my life. I have to train for the long haul and I have to rest before I am spent. 

 

Jesus did said to serve others, just as He did. And He served with His whole heart- but he also set the example of drawing apart regularly and seeking rest. If we want be like Jesus, we have to balance pouring out and finding rest.

 

Isaiah 55:2 says:

Why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on what does not satisfy?
Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good, and you will delight in the richest of fare.

The Message puts it this way: “Pay attention, come close now, listen carefully to my life-giving, life-nourishing words. I’m making a lasting covenant with you, the same that I made with David: sure, solid, enduring love.”

 

We have to make time to let God’s love wash over us, healing, restoring, giving rest in spirit, soul, and body. Don’t take this for granted. We need fuel not filler. We need to pursue that which nourishes, that which truly fills. We can chase after what leaves us empty, running on fumes- or we can plan time to rest and recover. Self control is not only self denial.  Self control is seeking that which gives lasting nourishment- in spirit, soul and body. It’s making time to find daily abundance in the heart of God.

 

 

When More Becomes Too Much

My little man knows how to sign the word "more" and he certainly wants more. More cookies. More songs. More balls. He's a little learner, like his mama, and he can't get enough of this life. I loved watching his little wheels turning until he figured out how to slurp the last bit of cereal from his bowl. This week he was delighted to realize he could reach higher by standing on his tippy-toes and his little feet are dancing faster by the day.

Reaching higher and moving faster delights me as well. I love to excel. I prefer to be efficient. I want to squeeze as much as I can out of this life. But, like my son, all too often I reach beyond my limits and I am reduced to tears when more becomes too much.

By chance, perhaps by design, I found myself in the book of Ecclesiastes this weekend. It's a must read for visionary dreamers and serious strategists. We tend to over-think and outpace ourselves. There is always more to do, more to read, and more to want. But, Scripture reminds us that "all vanishes like a vapor; everything is a great vanity."

That puts a damper on my never-ending need for more. It all comes down to self-control. Learning, experiencing, and discovering are all good things—in moderation. But, when you haven't been living the moderate life, where do you start?

Naturally, I started with a Google search. Sure, I found great time-management advice and organization tips. But, the more I searched, the more it all became too much. The writer of Ecclesiastes felt the same way.

In the end, the best way to develop self-control is through prayer. At least, this is my theory as based on Galatians 5:22-23. After all, self-control is a fruit of the Spirit. This fruit is grown by God, and for His glory. He is more invested in my growth than I am—just like I am more invested in my son's well-being than he is.

We are all God's children. And we all struggle when more becomes too much. But, because we belong to Him, we begin by resting in Him. In His wisdom, care, and authority. In the coming weeks, I will be praying for the fruits of the Holy Spirit to be grown in me and specifically for self-control. Two of my best girlfriends, Jo and Bekah, have taken the challenge as well. I'm excited about what the Lord will reveal as we surrender together. After all: "As the saying goes, "A rope made of three strands is not quickly broken." You are welcome to join us! 

Loving By Default

When I started writing for Ladies By Design, little men didn't register on my radar. I was oblivious to children. Now, as a new mommy, I see the world through my son's eyes—sometimes because I try, but mostly by default.

When we are at the park, I can't help but notice how oblivious adults consumed with busy thoughts rush past us—never seeing his small hand waving hello. Oblivious adults like myself don't often look down but this morning was different. I didn't just look down—I got down on my knees.

Little man seemed to wake up in a foul mood today. Usually, he's such the chum, the good natured happy boy. Today was different. His schedule was different. Life has been different lately. I'm sure he's been absorbing the tension we felt since my husband was laid-off. Toddler or not, he knows.

I wasn't thinking about his feelings this morning. As I pulled into my parent's driveway, I'd determined to do a drop and dash. I was looking up and ahead, past my child, and into my busy thoughts. Oblivious, I asked for a kiss and little man responded with a slap.

Of course, I immediately scolded him, even punished him, but I didn't dash as planned. Instead I lingered by default. I waited by default. I stalled by default. A few unhurried minutes passed as I studied the back of his little hoodie. Then, he turned and lunged at me with a bear hug. By default, I was waiting for his heart to soften. Not just for my sake, but for his.

In the moment, it was tempting to walk away. I knew he would be in good hands. I had a full day of work waiting for me but God had a work to do in me first. Often, I think of God as a hurried parent, impatient with my petulance and mistakes—"I'll be back when you are ready to behave." That's not who He is though. I am not a theologian but I think He waits on us. He waits for our hardened heart to soften. He waits for our unreasonable emotions and contemptuous attitudes to be still. He waits for us.

Had I simply rushed off—I may have gained a hurried minute but I would have lost a defining moment. May we all spend more time on our knees, being still, and loving our children as Ladies By Design.

The Goal Set Before Us

 When life presses down on me until I feel my heart buckle, I've learned to get outside and walk. Behind our neighborhood is an undeveloped area, and I love to position myself where I have a clear view of the trees and the hills beyond. I walk quickly, reciting Psalm 121:

I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
    where does my help come from?
² My help comes from the Lord,
    the Maker of heaven and earth.

Sometimes I speak the refrain over and over, until I can truly take a deep, lingering breath.

The many responsibilities I carry and the frailties of my gaping humanness can convince me to see life as a mountain I must climb, with towering obstacles to overcome along the way. The challenges are daunting, discouraging, and heartbreaking. And my mindset has been this: once I've reached the top, I will have figured out how to "get it right". But the goal is NOT reaching the top of the mountain- for that will happen when I see Jesus face to face. If I re-frame my thinking to embrace climbing the mountain in moment by moment closeness with God- taking the journey in and through him, then I will understand the true purpose of the mountain I call life; to know Him, to let Him draw me deeper still. Part of the journey is learning when to walk with him, and when to let him carry me, for there are steep inclines which this mortal frame was never meant to struggle upon. The key is to let Him do the work, for there are some places that are for His hands and feet only. Aloneness is a choice, and when I choose instead to rest in him completely, rather than holding him at arm's length-- it's in those times when I experience the gift of his presence, his arms gathering me up, sustaining me, giving me rest, healing the wounds in my heart, preparing me for the continuation of the journey. The mountain top is not the goal. Rather, I fix my eyes on Jesus, the author and finisher of my faith- whose joy is day to day relationship with me. He is the goal, his presence the greatest summit of all.   

Held

It has been a difficult season. In the past weeks and months, I've felt the need to draw aside and refill, often. The harshness of holding onto life wears on me. I feel the urge to seek out that soothing Voice which hammers out what tears at my soul. I love that he dances over me, yet most often, I need to be held, to seek out quiet moments, to allow the silence to be filled with reassurance and rest. 

Today I began reading in Zephaniah chapter three. Zephaniah often spoke of catastrophe and destruction, of judgement for a rebellious people. Yet, when I read carefully, I find the book is not as depressing as it might, at first, appear.  Chapter three speaks of punishment for oppressors, and their removal from places of power. Nestled within these pages is a declaration of the Lord's great love for his daughters.  

Zephaniah 3:17 declares, 

"The Lord your God is with you, he is mighty to save.

He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love,

He will rejoice over you with singing. 

I love this image of the all powerful Lord God wrapping me in his arms and quieting me with his love. Anyone who's perused my personal blog knows that since November, my family has been walking through the metaphorical fire, medically. As a new year dawned, my oldest son, who has type one diabetes, had two separate life threatening experiences within a few weeks of each other, and only a few weeks ago my husband ended up in the ICU after routine surgery due to a bad reaction to morphine.It is not, by any stretch of the imagination, normal to see a loved one laying on a hospital bed turning gray, as medical personnel surround, trying to sustain life. Nor is it normal for people in scrubs to be running down halls calling out that a precious life is in danger. It tears at my heart just to speak it. No matter how many times this happens it never becomes normal. But what I am grasping despite all of this is that regardless of my circumstances, God has already seen to my needs.

When there is stress, or fear, or grief- and I've know each repeatedly this year- God provides in a myriad of ways. One of which is through the biological design of our bodies. Most notably, our tear ducts, designed as a conduit of release. Surviving trauma of any sort requires the release that comes through the cleansing, salty, stress releasing gift of our tears. When we don't cry, our bodies suffer. In his great love for us, God has provided a way for us to pour out our burdens emotionally and physically. We don't have to hold it in. He designed us to have a way of natural release. No detoxifying spa methods needed. He's already given us what we need, through gifts he created in us from the beginning.

When my son lay in the hospital as "diabetic  emergency" was being shouted through the halls, I leaned over him, fighting back the tears, assuring him that "Mommy is here", taking that comforting stance because he was awake and afraid. When my husband was unable to stay awake, and having difficulty breathing, I was forced out of the tiny hospital room so that medical equipment could be moved in. I was, for the moment, no longer in the role of caregiver. I took a break to relieve myself, and found that instead what came was the relief of tears. 

I sobbed. I wept, I cried out. Release overtook me, and for a few minutes, I simply surrendered to the tears. And then, as suddenly as the flood surged, it ceased. I stood, speaking out loud, words unplanned springing forth, "God, here I am- use me." And the healer of my soul stepped in, equipping me. I returned to the room, and with the removal of the x ray machine, I was able to enter in again. This time, surrounded by the strength of the Lord, filled with his wisdom, and ready to do battle. For the first time in my natural life, I was able to pray over my loved one fighting for life, rather than be consumed by fear and grief. I was able to stay emotionally present in the moment, rather than simply survive.

I placed my hands on my husband and prayed as I'd never prayed before in such a moment- calling down God's healing hands, asking for restoration of breath and life. I spoke the words given to me in the moment- that God is not finished yet, that my husband's time here on this earth is not yet complete. I prayed until the words no longer came, and then, I rested, in quiet peace, knowing I'd prayed in partnership with the Spirit, not grasping my own way. The life struggle continued, and I was held.  Like the daughters of zion, I knew what it was to be quieted by his love. And I am convinced that the conduit which connected me to his strength was my tears.  As the tears removed the toxins in my body (built up through stress), both my body and my spirit found release. I was bouyed up emotionally as I cried out and connected to the One who holds me through the madness. 

In times of stress, fear, and even loss, we have a choice. As daughters of the King we have the privelege to seek out his comfort, his help. When we are hurting we can hold him at a distance and try to survive. Or we can seek the sweet release that comes from a good cry on his shoulders. When I reach out to him, he gathers me in, holding me close. As I cry out, he listens, he sooths, and I find that he is my strength. He is indeed Mighty to Save.  

~Bekah

Shadows or Light?

I lay still, blinking out light. Lenses focus on the fan, blowing shadows across the ceiling. But wait. As slumber recedes I find the gift. If I watch purposely, I see not shadows, but prisms of light. Perspective shifts as I reframe the gutteral response to the coming of day. My life too, holds this promise. I must seek new meaning, letting go of the language of death and learning the tongue of life.  Words are powerful; what I tell myself shapes how I interpret what is real. This is not merely determining whether the glass is half full or half empty. I must shake off emotional slumber, retrain my critical eye to grasp new understandings. Will I choose to focus the lens of my life on loss or on gifts? As I seek healing I understand that now is the time to lay down disappointment, ways I feel wronged. It's time to determine to see the good. I need not look far, for there is much goodness to behold. For every shortcoming surrendered there is life and goodnes to be found in abundance. 

Determination is the key. If I determine to reframe, to focus now on the good, new life will well up within me. It's time to push past the old tapes that play in my head, and turn away from negativity. It's imperative to turn a deaf ear to the enemy of my soul. As I seek to stamp out the old way, he whispers only lies from before. New eyes will seek truth, focus on moving forward, not wallowing in woundedness. What has shriveled in me can grow anew-when I invite grace to rain down. Hope and healing are found in the well watered place, but to see, I must watch for the light. No excuses. Do I want to walk in truth? 

Learning the lifestyle of gratitude requires practice-- a conscious decision to focus not on shadows, but on light. It's not yet second nature, but it can be, through time and determination. And then,then my life holds promise, transformation of mind and heart begun through gratefulness. It's time to move out of the shadows and embrace the prism of Light.

~Bekah

A Time for Everything

I wake to the morning light, feeling as if I am under a weighted cloud. I’ve walked this road long enough to know that what haunts me is not clinical depression. No, there are other diagnoses that name the heaviness in my heart, and I realize that this is very much a place of grieving. My son is no longer growing, and I am afraid. Diabetes is a complicating factor; the treatment is as difficult as the condition. The load I bear increases, and PTSD often keeps my husband huddled in a place I cannot reach. I am lonely, weary of this life of consistent medical deluge. I want to stay in bed, snuggled under soft sheets, blanketed by fear and grief. I push through. Past anger to the sadness. Sometimes life is very, very hard. This is where I am, a place where medical terms crash into real life. I want to learn to live thanksgiving in the midst of the storm.

New life is manifested through conscious commitments to create a new pattern. My journey will involve healthy grieving paired with the giving of thanks. I tug against the process. I do not like how I feel while doing the work. I dread fleshing out what our culture often sees as weakness. Yet, there's another tugging at my heart and I know the truth. I will not heal if I do not grieve.

I remember a story I've known since childhood, from the book of John. Jesus escapes arrest only to have word come, "The one you love so very much is sick." I know this story well. "...oddly he stays where he is for two more days." (MSG) The God-man chooses to stay, so belief within those who follow him can grow. Four days past death Jesus arrives in Bethany. He knows his mission; to raise the dead. Yet he sees the flow of grief, and steps in. Anger and sadness wash over him, marks of the cycle. The Son of Man chose to grieve. Why was there a need to weep when He knew that God had given him authority to raise the dead? To set the standard for healthy grieving.

Our culture often sees strength as resisting tears, yet Jesus' power was shown through them. He continued to allow the cycle of grief as he approached the tomb, instructing, "Roll away the stone." Sisters protested the stench, but Jesus stood firm. "Didn't I tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?" The stone was removed, and standing before the tomb, Jesus gave thanks. "Father I'm grateful that you have listened to me. I know you always do listen." Even in death and loss Jesus found gratitude. An then, in the wake of decay, Jesus called forth new life. On a word and a prayer and a grateful heart, a miracle was borne. 

 Ecclesiastes 3:1 tells us, "For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven." New life comes as I learn to balance grief with gratitude. There is a time to stand at the tomb and work through the loss, and there is a time to be grateful for what been given. Healing and gratitude are entwined with the rememberance that we are never alone. There is One who listens, and One who knows, for He chose to walk through grief to new life-- and more than once. Remember, the tomb is empty!!

~Bekah

 

 

Finding Freedom

I have only just begun this journey towards a lifestyle of Thanksgiving, starting to feel the rhythm of this God awareness in all I see, all I do, and those I hold dear. And then, a day like this... a window slammed shut, not on fingers, but on my heart. Today is a day that no matter how hard I try, I cannot forget the losses and challenges that define the life of a family of four with six diagnoses between us. (Yes, there are now two more.) Diabetes bellows and PTSD hammers at my soul, and I snap. Five years of stress and struggle and spiritual warfare pour out of my mouth, long hidden anger reaches a crescendo.

In One Thousand Gifts, Ann speaks of salvation from angry, bitter, and resentful lives. And this I have learned over time: Anger is a natural cue that something wrong has happened. It's a God given alert to something that needs to be dealt with. Women are taught that anger detracts from loveliness, and when it is repressed until we explode, or carried as a satchel, it does. But the first stirrings, the recognition that harm has been done, that is akin to what Jesus felt when he defended the oppressed and chased the money changers out of God's holy temple. Where we get into trouble is when we hold on to our anger, trying to use it as power over those who've hurt us. Scarring deepens as we chew on anger, turning it over and over in our minds and hearts until that bitter taste has permeated our souls. Bitterness can turn us into resentful, poisonous, death walkers.

What is the cure for this diseased cycle? I know- I remember this lesson, the first learning which began with giving thanks, my own heart cry to him:

I give thanks to You, Jesus, that you chose to hold the nails, to bear my mark, my shame, my loss. You took the weight of my own sin, my every imperfection, and you stayed. You tarried in the place of anguish- so I could have release.

And the refrain that follows, rejoicing, choosing, echoes hope; "Because you forgive me still, I choose to extend that same forgiveness to one who hurt me."

This forgiveness is not an excusing of the offense, such as "He could not help it"... Nor is it pretending I am not angry at the wounding. For I am. And I have good reason. Yet what frees me, what leads me to "Sozo"--salvation, and wholeness-- what looses my shackles is admitting where I am, what I feel, what I judged, and why. And the choice is mine- to be like Jesus or to be like those who crucified him: angry, sullen, sin-sick and clenching hatefulness.

I name this gift aloud, the gift of Jesus... Even on the cross he forgave his tormentors. Not after He rose again, but from the midst of his greatest torment. I am washed in awe at human flesh mangled into a bloody mess, yet crying out, "Father, Forgive them, for they know not what they do!"

This "Sozo" salvation begins with gratitude for what Jesus bore for me. The next step is forgiveness. Faith without forgiveness leaves us still shackled to the oppressor. Not one of us deserves forgiveness. It is a gift. It's been offered. We can choose to do the work to break the chains.

Healing, which I know I still need in hidden places, is worth the work. A ball like tangled string may be buried deep, but my Healer tenderly unearths each strand, unwinding what has knotted my soul. Soothing, covering, restoring. Healing hands are firm, but gentle, rebuilding what was broken, breathing newness and life. Setting the order, the how and the why and the when. Asking me to bend and not remain frozen.

I speak my choice, "I submit to the removing", I pray out each offense, each wound, as He leads. And I choose to walk free.

~Bekah