Are You Willing?

It's Friday. Where hundreds of writers come together every week over at the lovely Lisa-Jo Baker's blog to spend five minutes writing about one thing. One word. No hyper-editing. No getting in your own way. Just writing, flat out. The most important rule: encourage the writer who linked up before you. Won't you join us?

GO:

The question was starkly clear. I tried to dilute it with conditions. Ifs, ands, buts. However hard I tried to evade giving an answer, I knew it was pointless. Are you willing? I kept hearing the question pulsating over and over in my head. Are you willing to put your trust in Me?

As I thought about all of the times in my past when He was faithful, my confidence grew. I remembered His promises. That it is impossible for Him to fail. Impossible for him to go against his word.

With my entire body trembling, I put one foot over the boat, then the other. Perhaps that was the easy part, because I realized once both feet were on the water that a thousand distractions were begging me to take my eyes off Him. The wind, the waves, the darkness. But the more focused my gaze became, the less my doubts threatened to overtake me. I continued to move forward.

Sometimes the water and the waves overtake me. I divert my eyes for a moment. That's all it takes. But he never lets me stay beneath the surface. With steady hands, he lifts me up. Time and time again.

STOP.

Never Enough Time?

There is a phrase I often hear come out of the mouths of moms. "I wish there were more hours in the day." Or, "I wish I had more time…" I've muttered something similar more times than I can count, and often find myself looking at the clock wondering where the day has gone. Sometimes I am delighted at the fact that it is almost eight-o-clock, because I know that the kids will soon be in bed and I'll get a few minutes to unwind and talk to my husband before laying my exhausted head on the pillow. Other times I wonder how I'm going to get everything I need to get done before eventually passing out.

Time. It is a precious commodity. And yet so often we feel as though we waste it or wonder where it all went. As a stay-at-home mom, time is the resource I have the most difficult time managing. Or am I just being too hard on myself? Over the course of the past several years since having children, I've pondered this question and there are a few things I've learned.

Make a to-do list if it helps you, but don't let it define you. Often I get half way through my day and feel as though I've accomplished nothing, when in fact I've gotten a lot done. I've made my kids' breakfast, helped them get dressed, packed my oldest son's lunch, started a load of laundry, and so on, but somehow I think I should have done more. Having a list, even if simply for the sake of checking things off, can give me a visual picture of everything I've achieved. However, if I beat myself up because I haven't finished all the items listed at the end of the day, I need a reminder that raising kids requires grace, both for myself and my children. Spending a few extra minutes to help my child understand his homework is more important than the dirty dishes in the sink.

Making memories is more valuable than having a spotless house. I am a tad OCD when it comes to clutter. But having kids has loosened me up and made me realize that my kids need a space to have their toys strewn everywhere without me interfering with their fun. And when my son asks me to play Legos with him? That is more important than the clothes which need to be folded. These days are limited, and there will come a time when he's not asking me to play with him anymore. Legos may not be my favorite pastime, but I can do a pretty mean Lego Batman voice and make my son giggle until my heart swells.

There are moments in your day you don't want to rush. Time with God. Time with you kids. Time with people who matter. There was a recent quote from a blog I follow that really stuck with me. God doesn't ever say, "Hurry up and come to me." He doesn't speak to me when I'm rushed or constantly looking at the clock. He speaks to me when I'm quiet. When I'm still. In the same way, my son often needs a few minutes to collect his thoughts and tell me what he needs to say. If my attitude is rushed and anxious, I will not hear it. And if I don't listen to my son at five, he's less likely to talk to me at ten or twelve or sixteen.

I also relish the hours I spend with my husband, extended family, and friends as well, and never want them to feel as though the time I spend with them is unimportant. If needed, I schedule it. I am intentional about clearing a space when, even if my kids are with me, I can enjoy their company without worrying about the need to do something or be somewhere else.

A busy life does not equal a fulfilled life. The older my children get, the more packed our schedule becomes. Between church and school activities and sports and extra curricular interests, the calendar is often filled before the month even begins. However, I've learned that we need at least a day here and there to simply do nothing. Sometimes "nothing" may mean watching movies all day with my family. Or playing at the park. But the schedule is clear for whatever we decide to do on that given day. I've met families who barely have time to breathe before their next dinner or outing or event. And they are not happy. They are exhausted.

As I look back on the years I've spent on this earth, the glimpses that stand out the most are the ones where I was loving the people I've been blessed to have in my life, and loving them well. Responsibilities and deadlines will never cease in this lifetime, but I don't want to forget to make memories that pass beyond the present. God, help me to remember the things that last. To look ahead.

To embrace the eternal.

A Constant Struggle

It's Friday.  Where hundreds of writers come together every week over at the lovely Lisa-Jo Baker's blog to spend five minutes writing about one thing.  One word.  No hyper-editing.  No getting in your own way.  Just writing, flat out.  The most important rule: encourage the writer who linked up before you.  Won't you join us?

Today's word: choose

GO:

Each day, we are given a new beginning. A new mercy, a hope that rises over the horizon with a constant rhythm. We have the ability to choose. To immediately turn to the demands of our day- the emails, the text messages, and the endless list of chores, or to take a moment, and let our souls feel gratitude. Send up a prayer. Bask ourselves in our Father's truth. Equip ourselves for the circumstances of our day.

Hundreds of choices inundate us and we progress through our day. Will I let my emotions dictate how I respond to a snarky remark? Will I let my hormones prevent me from showing my husband how much I appreciate him? Let my patience crumble at the twentieth repeat of the same question from my five-year-old? Each point an opportunity. To show grace or indulge my own nature.

He loves us enough to give us these choices. He gave Himself so that we might have the ultimate choice to follow the Light or stay in the dark. Embracing life or death. 

It is so simple, and yet a constant struggle. Lord, my skin tingles with the knowledge of your thoughts toward me. My desire is to abide in you. May I forever be your humble servant. May I choose Jesus. Each day. Every day.

STOP.

Doing "A New Thing" When You're Proud and Scared

I want to share a little secret with you, my readers. My friends who I receive so much encouragement from day in and day out. I've stated before that one of the main reasons I waited so long to start a blog was fear. And this is painfully true. But it was also pride. You see, I had this notion in my head that blogging was a cliche thing for an aspiring writer to do. That it cheapened it somehow. Because let's face it. Anyone can start a blog. In much the same way photography has become a saturated market, you don't have to have a degree in Journalism or be a college professor or have any list of credentials behind your name to have a website on the big, endless world of social media. It seemed the predictable, stereotypical next step after becoming a stay-at-home mom. And those of you who know me know I loathe stereotypes.

Another deterrent was that I knew if I started a blog, it would not be a typical mom or family blog. Although I love reading friends' posts sharing their kids latest antics and funny stories, I knew that if I wrote something for the internet it would be deeply personal, vulnerable and real. Because I think women have a deep seeded desire, both in mothering and day to day life, to know they are not alone. I wanted it to be a ministry of sorts. And as I stated before, that terrified me.

After resisting what I sensed was God's urging for several months, he spoke to me through a friend who I'd shared some of my writing with. Her advice? Start a blog.

You know what I've discovered? God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble. I am no better than anyone else, but He chose to love me. His plans are bigger than my own. Far exceeding anything I could hope or imagine. And when I bare myself, when I lay out my heart and words for everyone to see, whether it be with scrutiny or judgement or gentleness and kindness, He gives me grace. He opens my eyes to places I never knew existed.

Although this blog is still a baby, in the eight short months since I put my tiny stamp on the internet I've become aware of an entire community I never knew existed. They have loved me without ever having met me or seen me and put aside all sense of entitlement for the sake of support and motivation. Because that's what encouragement does. It abandons all sense of worthiness or self pride for the sake of another living, breathing, God-created soul.

Through this site, my writing has gone places I may never go. I am amazed. It has skipped over continents, time zones and seasons and given an uplifting start to someone else's day. And that, dear readers, is my desire. To shine a little light into someone else's world, whatever they may be going through at that particular time in their life.

In the blogging world, I know I've barely touched the tip of the iceberg. There is so much to learn and so little time at this point in my life to absorb it. But I know that if I entrust it to God's hands, my writing will continue to take me places I've never dreamed possible.

Writing is meant to be shared. Your story is meant to be shared. Never underestimate the power of it.


"See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland." Isaiah 43:19

Small Glimpses of His Glory

It's Friday.  Where hundreds of writers come together every week over at the lovely Lisa-Jo Baker's blog to spend five minutes writing about one thing.  One word.  No hyper-editing.  No getting in your own way.  Just writing, flat out.  The most important rule: encourage the writer who linked up before you.  Won't you join us?

Today's word: small

GO:

It is a lie that so many mothers feel victim to believing. That our efforts are small. Our work, our day to day life, the difference we make in the bigger picture of this world we call home. Our wiping of baby bottoms, drying up tears, cleaning messes and preparing lunches. Does anyone notice? Is what we're doing making an impact?

Somewhere, in the moments between getting my son on the bus and chasing my two-year-old away from another dog bowl mess, I find a piece of quiet. And it is in those cleansing moments that I sense the Spirit speaking to me in that still voice. So gentle, so patient. Never rushed. Never weary. 

It all matters. I am shaping tiny souls for Him, through Him. With his grace.

It matters because of the Love I hold deep within me, that I pray everyday radiates through the clay that God is shaping day by day, hour by hour. Sometimes in ways I don't understand just yet. Other times with revelation I didn't know possible. 

But each step toward Him, toward my ultimate destination is one of glory. His glory. Not my own. He keeps me from knowing the full extent to which I reflect Him at times to keep me humble. 

May His essence radiate from me more fully each day. May the small light that is my life  shine more and more.

STOP.

Toward the Light

Darkness. It is a setting which existed even before the formation of the earth. Before there was light to oppose it, to shine into it. Before the two entities were separate, there was only dark. 

It only takes the tiniest bit of light to penetrate the dark. A candle, a flashlight. A kind word or an unexpected smile. But sometimes, we simply cannot see it. Our vision is obscured by negative thoughts, the seemingly futile circumstances surrounding us, and self condemnation. Our glass isn't just half empty. It is bone dry.

For over a year after having my first child by means of an emergency c-section and losing my grandmother the following day, I lived in the dark. Although I'd battled a cycle of depression for most of my life, the events surrounding the birth of my son sent me into a pit so deep I thought I would never clamber out of it. I had a loving husband who treated me with the utmost respect and a beautiful child who was healthy and the most flawless thing I'd ever done, but none of it could permeate the desolation that followed me everywhere. We lived in a gorgeous area of Northern Utah surrounded by majestic mountains and vistas through every window of our home, but I felt as though I was living in a black hole.

Mental illness is not a subject which many people like to discuss. Some people shirk around it, try to make jokes and belittle the matter, and others simply ignore it. But it is real. It affects people in various ways and the symptoms are vast, but a chemical imbalance in the brain is not a condition you can simply snap out of or escape by just trying harder. No amount of busyness could improve my mood, and when caring for a newborn, there is plenty to do. 

At my six week check-up, I told my doctor about my emotional state and was prescribed an anti-depressant. Although I have heard of many success stories from people who take one regularly, it did not work for me. My state of depression progressed to nearly suicidal. I couldn't sleep, I barely wanted to eat, and was dismally attempting to care for an infant in my zombie-like state. 

A year after my six-week check-up I had a regular OBGYN visit and my doctor noticed I was still suffering from PPD. He prescribed another pill, which gave similar results, and at that point I decided to see a therapist. For me, making the decision to talk to someone I didn't know about my emotional and mental state was more scary that taking a medication which altered my brain. I was terrified. There was pain which I had buried so deep for so long that I was convinced that if it was brought to the surface I would crumple right there on the sofa in the patient room. But admitting you need help is not a sign of weakness. It shows strength. A faith in something you may not be able to see just yet.

I would be lying if I said it was easy. There were some fervent tears shed on that couch, but I can honestly say that seeking professional help was one of the first steps I took toward seeing the light again. I was able to cope with issues I kept hidden for most of my adult life and receive objective advice and perspective from someone who was not involved. Other steps forward were finding a supportive group of moms and reaching out to the community around me, becoming involved in our church and serving others. Each of these actions opened my eyes to the big, bright world around me. But the biggest step was surrendering all of my burdens to a God who is greater than my fears, anxiety, or self-loathing. He is a God of peace, love, and mercy.

For several years, I never shared this experience with anyone except for my closest friends and family. Now, I share with anyone who asks. I want people who feel as though the light will forever elude them to know there is hope. Even when you don't see the light, it is still there.

I believe in a God who often uses medication and science to heal, but this method clearly didn't work for me. Sometimes the most difficult step toward healing is admitting you need help. Saying no, I'm not fine, and being okay with that. The worst reaction you can have to depression or mental illness is to ignore it. Restoration begins with admission that there is a problem.

Acknowledging the dark is the first step toward seeing the light.


"'I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.'” John  8:12

It Lies Beneath

It's Friday.  Where hundreds of writers come together every week over at the lovely Lisa-Jo Baker's blog to spend five minutes writing about one thing.  One word.  No hyper-editing.  No getting in your own way.  Just writing, flat out.  The most important rule: encourage the writer who linked up before you.  Won't you join us?

Today's word: garden

GO:

It is that time of year when I have to remind myself that the garden is still there. Beneath the many inches of snow and cold, there is the root of the rose. A daffodil here, a bleeding heart there. Though I can't see them, though they remain dormant for a season, they will return. The warm air and the longer days are so near I can almost see the fireflies flitting through the air.

So it is in life. A time and a season for everything. Sometimes I feel as though God is so close I could almost reach out and touch him, and other days he seems silent. But he is always there, always within my reach. I need only call on his Name. He will never leave.

Oh God, help me to remember when life is dark, you are the ever present light. There is no darkness in you. Even when I can't see the light, sometimes, after penetrating deeper, I see it lies beneath.

STOP.