Coffee With Your Cream?!

I don’t like coffee.  

Before you cast me off let me try to win you over with this: I do like iced coffee.  Although, that may not be entirely true because what I like is hazelnut creamer with a little iced coffee added to it.  I probably only add the iced coffee to remain somewhat acceptable in a world of “you don’t drink coffee?!” die-hard, need it to live, coffee in your veins people.

Another thing I don’t like is a messy refrigerator.  I’m a little OCD when it comes to our fridge – “our” being the one in our home.  I have three kids and two labs so my OCD takes a forced back seat most of the time.  But give me hazelnut creamer and iced coffee in a clean fridge and I’m a happy gal. 

Which leads me to the day I opened the refrigerator door to find that my hazelnut creamer spilled all over shelves, through the vegetable holder and was now laying in a puddle below.  To make matters worse, I found it as we were rushing out the door with no time to clean it up.   Deep down inside I didn’t even want to clean it up.  I hoped it wasn’t as bad as I knew it was…but we all know how that goes.

The next day, I unloaded the fridge intending to sop up the creamer, possibly cry a little, and then open the brand new hazelnut creamer that now sat safely in the back of the shelf.  But, the more I scrubbed, the more I realized that my “clean-for-a-family-of-5” fridge was anything but.   I was slightly horrified at the smear of A1 Sauce and the several other unrecognizable things I had uncovered.  Until this moment I really didn’t think it was all that bad, it could have been way worse, it has been worse, but it certainly wasn’t as cleaned up as I thought it was before this disaster happened.  I began wiping down every bottle, spraying sanitizer and scrubbing every corner. 

As I did these things, I remembered a time when the “hazelnut creamer” in my life spilled out.  The one thing I treasured and cared for the most had turned upside down and spilled all over everything else that I thought was well.   At the time, life seemed pretty good, acceptable, clean enough, until God used this one thing that would get my attention and let it nearly unravel so that I would see more clearly.  Those moments of emptying the shelves of my heart were some of the hardest.  It took days, months and in some areas years to clean the grime of what had built up. 

Was it convenient?  Not at all.

Did I believe I’d survive it?  Honestly, no.

But was it worth it?  Absolutely. 

That doesn’t mean it stays sparkling clean after one good scrubbing.  It still takes work of deciding what is worth space on the shelves and what there is no room for, what will provide nourishment and what will be spoiled or cause clutter.  It takes consistency and time to slow down, to clean up the corners, to check every hidden place.  And the figurative “hazelnut creamer” of my life that had once spilled out because of my disregard is now regarded as something even more valuable, worth protecting, and highly treasured.   

If your “creamer” has spilled, don’t leave the door closed hoping it will clean up itself.  What you face may be horrifying, but what matters is that you’re willing to bravely take it on knowing God will see you through it. 

Open the door, get on your knees and begin.  

"Create in me a pure heart, O God,

                     and renew a steadfast spirit within me."  Psalm 51:10

WalMart, Pajamas and Grace

I’m outnumbered every day.  When my husband leaves for work, there’s three tiny bodies with big, big lives filling up our home and one mama trying to keep up. This season, of having little ones that depend on you for most everything, is a rough one.  Yes, it is extremely rewarding with hugs and snuggles and being wanted, with seeing them grow and their personalities shine, but it is extremely exhausting.               

I used to be brave enough to take my kids along for grocery trips, but since having our third it doesn’t happen much anymore.  My husband and I loaded the kids up and went to WalMart.  They were worn out from the holiday and so were we but it was a trip we needed to take and for the most part everything was going smoothly.  We were on our way to check out, anxious to leave, and we forgot cereal.  My husband walked to the back of the store to pick it up while the kids and I continued on.  There we were, men’s clothing on one side and what seemed to be one-thousand-tempting-displays-of-sweets on the other.  I felt like a walking circus, as though the store hired me to be their customers’ source of entertainment for the evening.  It was ten minutes of out-numbering that seemed like an eternity.  Our youngest was protesting about being confined to the cart, he wanted Daddy back and he wasn’t going to wait.  Now we were wrestling.  Our oldest was admiring the sweets, laughing as he said “what about this one mom?”  He knew I was stressed and was trying to relieve me but it was having the opposite effect.  Then there was our little girl, she was dancing in her own world, carefree of who was watching, what was surrounding her or of anything else.  She twirled down the aisle as I directed her each time a cart needed to pass.  Her dancing was sweet but I couldn’t play the role of traffic director for much longer.  Ahead of us were two elderly women looking at pajamas right in the middle of the aisle.  They were unsteady on their feet and I surely didn’t want to risk squeezing pass them in what little room we had.  At the sound of my “traveling circus” they both looked up and watched us draw closer.  I rounded the kids close to the cart, which was more like corralling chickens and we stepped off to the side.  The ladies watched and to my surprise, smiles spread across their faces. 

 Grace. 

They walked on by, and as pleased as could be one turned to me and said “How are you doing Mom?!”  My heart was instantly relieved at their free giving of understanding, of kindness, of patience in two simple smiles and a few kind words.   I wanted to remember their glistening eyes, wide smiles and the one woman’s gentle voice.  I wanted to remember the grace that she passed to me in one quick exchange.  Because one day, when my kids aren’t so small, I will pass a mama with her hands and heart full.  I don’t want to treat her and her children as an inconvenience to me and my schedule, as so many do.  Because you see, us mamas of little ones do have our hands full and we are often outnumbered.  

You may wonder why she brought the kids along or why she doesn’t have help.  I have a loving and more-than-helpful husband but that other mama you may pass may be going it alone.  Maybe her and her husband work different shifts to help with the cost of childcare.  Maybe she doesn’t have a reliable support system.  She may be silently wishing she could have come shopping alone because it would be so much easier and faster that way.  I’ve done it before.

You may wonder why the kids aren’t in bed, but maybe this is the only opportunity she has to shop.  Maybe, just maybe, she chose to go late to avoid the glares of inconvenienced shoppers.  I’ve done it before. 

You think she could have at least got out of her pajamas but maybe she hasn’t had time to do laundry.  Maybe she chose to spend time helping with homework or singing a lullaby instead of bent over a washer.  Maybe she wore all her decent clothes earlier that week and spends little on herself in order to care for her kids.  Maybe she has had a week of sleepless nights and literally forgot to get dressed before leaving the house.  I’ve done it before. 

You judge her parenting because her kids are whining and loud but maybe it’s been a hard day for all of them.  Maybe they are well-behaved children who are simply having a bad day.  Maybe mama did appear a little more like a raging bull instead of the tender-hearted parent she is, maybe she’s stressed and exhausted.  I’ve done it before.

I’ve been “that” mama so many times, because it’s part of being a mama.  My kids have been “those kids” so many times, because it’s part of being a kid.  Whether it’s a mama or a dad – us parents are far from perfect.  And I don’t ever want to forget it.  Whether it’s a boy or a girl, an only child or a “quiver full” – those kiddos are far from perfect.  And I don’t ever want to forget it. 

Maybe that parent and those kids are everything you assume they may be – maybe they don’t mind that they haven’t showered in a week and wear their pajamas out of the house.  Maybe they do spend their money on habits when it would be more wisely spent on childcare.  Maybe they wouldn’t come close to receiving a “parent-of-the-year” award and possibly not even come close to the running.  Maybe their kids haven’t been taught respect and manners.  But even then, does this give us reason to judge them, dismiss them, to insist they should have never had children?  But we do.  And these are the parents who need us to rise above the most.

Parents of little ones don’t need our judgmental attitudes, our gossiping tongue, or our inconvenienced glares.  They need gentleness, reassurance, a little bit (no, a lot) of encouragement and more than anything, a tangible Jesus.   They need us to be like Him, to reach them in their worst and through the ugly, mess of it all to lend a hand and help a heart.

The next time you see that pajama-mama, give her a smile, lend her a hand, hold a door, return her cart, let her know she’s doing a good job, please find a way to extend grace.  Your choice of grace just may change her day, change her heart, change that families world. 

"Generous hands are blessed hands."  Proverbs 22:9

"Therefore, encourage one another and build each other up."  1 Thessalonians 5:11

The Grace In Grief

It’s been months of turning and bending and some days of breaking.  There’s been plenty going on, plenty of good things, a huge harvest to be preserved physically, but what about spiritually?  I’ve been wrestling God for weeks because in the midst of everything else has been this grieving process that has left such a scar on my heart. 

I’ve received more calls over the years than I can count telling me he was in the hospital.  But the call that came that cold spring day as we stood in line for the parade was different.  I knew. 

I’ve been through gut-wrenching loss before and there’s a similar pattern, a way we survive it and make it through.  Each time bitter weeping followed the news, a moment when emotions overwhelmed and sorrow sank deep. 

               It happened when my Dad called unusually early and told me my brother was gone. 

It happened with one word from my midwife.  “Miscarriage.”

               And it happened when I knew deep down that my dear uncle’s time was drawing near.

But we can’t stay weeping.  The weeping turns to shock as we take a moment to breathe and realize the reality of our lives being changed by a dying we did not ask for, plan for and frankly weren't ready to face.  It doesn’t matter how much “planning” or “readying” we do, nothing prepares us for death.  We were not created for it.  The shock is a sort of anesthetic to the soul that helps us put one foot in front of the other and keep moving after our world seems to come to a crashing halt.

We can easily be numbed by the shock, we can become detached and distant.  This period is where the enemy sets a trap and we most often fall into his lies and whispers of darkness.  We must know truth through the shock.  Truth that tells us we are not alone, that this is not something God has done to punish us, that His love for us in constant and never-changing, that there will be new mercies and joy again.   We must push through and find divine strength to be present.  Because those moments are some of the most sacred – moments when we soak it in, when we understand our humanness, when we allow ourselves to be carried. 

     "It is of the LORD's mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. 

          They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness."  Lamentations 3:22-23

A period of guilt often follows when the could-have-been’s and should-have-been’s seem to linger.  Somehow we think we could have done something different and the sting would not be so harsh.  We turn over ways we could have relieved the ache before it ever occurred.  It’s a small way we cling to try to control the sovereign, as though we could have changed something, anything that would’ve offered relief or eased our minds.  Soon enough it’s realized there’s nothing we could have done differently.

The sorrow we once felt gives way, at times, to anger as we wrestle to understand why and to let go of the illusion of control that we can’t grasp.  We question God and His ways, possibly His existence.  Faith is shaken and it’s a critical time when most turn away from their Father who is ready and waiting with open arms.  We must turn toward Him, go to Him with our questions and our doubts, our fears and the burdens we bear.  It’s at the foot of the cross where we find this gift we are desperately seeking yet know not to ask for.   Our hearts crave it in every way, more so through the desperation of days marked by grief:

Grace.

After the death of my brother, I sought to find peace of mind.  The guilt of could-have-been’s weighed on my heart like a burden too heavy to bear.

There are days, and likely will always be days where I once again need to turn it over.   Where healing is found in the continued process of laying it down at the cross every time I pick it up again. 

When we do our best with our days given, shining a light for Him and standing firm in our faith as we live in the truth of our belief in His Son – He is pleased, it is enough. 

His grace covers where we fall short. 

After the death of my babies, I questioned God for years, I sought healing where it could not be found and I pushed my hurt hard away as I tried to move on. 

When I turned it over to a God who understood the loss of a child, whose only Son bears the scars for my very existence, that’s when it changed for me.  I no longer needed answers because I was walking with the Answer.  

When we turn to Him through our deepest sorrows a peace floods our soul, our longings turn away from the need to understand and turn to a longing for Christ. 

His grace fills the areas that were left empty, His grace heals the brokenhearted.

And now, after the death of my uncle, a man who was a constant pillar of my faith and my life, I have wrestled with God.  In His loving ways, He has allowed it.  Much within me wants to cling to the present, to selfishly want him back, to pluck him out of the arms of His Savior. Although my life is changed by this man’s passing – God’s love is unchanging, His promise holds true through the fleeting days of our lives on earth. 

As I wrestle and pick up to push through, His grace comes like a flood to my soul.  He speaks in ways that only a Sovereign God who is All-Knowing and All-Loving could do.  Every doubt covered by His words, every longing filled by His presence, pushing me forward and into what I know and what I love.

His grace allows us to embrace the change that comes after loss.  Because of His constant love and tender mercy toward His children, we are able to fall apart and find our way back again.  His grace covers our short-comings as we walk out our faith and wrestle with all that is Christ within us.

His grace draws us near to be held by the One who carries us through.

Grief is not something you get over, it is not something that time heals.  Grief is something Christ only can heal and it is something that by His grace we can get through.  Grief has many stages, and although the stages are harmful if we linger in them, they have the seeds that when sown can one day becoming a bountiful harvest.   While grief has a way of changing and shifting, God is the Great I Am who does not dwell in stages but in a light that penetrates all the darkness of what death brings.  It is He who overcame death once and for all who causes us to hope, who floods our souls with peace and who covers us with His grace.

Jesus.

“The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me, because the LORD has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor.  He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted…to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion- to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.”  Isaiah 61:1-3

The Name above all Names that removes our grief:

                                     the poorness,

                                            the breaking of our hearts,

                                                   the mourning, the ashes

                                                          and every spirit of despair whose desire is to take us out.

 

 

The One who overcame so that we could live fully alive in Him:

                        who brought good news,

                                   who binds up our wounds,

                                         who comes close to comfort our aching hearts,

                           and who provides for those of us who grieve –

                                            bestowing beauty,

                                                   filling us with joy unspeakable

                                                          and giving us strength and desire to praise through life's storms.

Jesus.

He is the grace within our grief.

"He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” Psalm 147:3

“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are – yet did not sin.  Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may received mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.”  Hebrews 4:15-16   

Bath Time For Kitty

Peyton’s favorite toy is a small white kitty in which I think he believes is real.  He does everything with the kitty that we do with our real kitty, including giving it a bath. Almost daily he says “Mom, my kitty is dirty, can I give him a bath?” and usually he’s allowed. The last time the kitty got a bath with him, I gave Jayden her small pink puppy to bath. 

Which bring us to the day her kitty got a bath.

It was another Wednesday which meant Peyton had Cubbies at church.  That morning I sat down with him to go over his lesson while Jayden finished up her oatmeal in the kitchen. As we were going over his Bible verse, she walked in the room and I quickly realized she was not finishing her oatmeal as I had thought. There she was, in her nightgown, holding her soaking wet black kitty which was dripping all over the floor. She was as proud as could be having bathed her kitty just like her big brother!

“Uh oh! He’s dripping all over, let’s get a towel and dry him off,” I said.

Conveniently enough there lie a dish towel beside us on the floor. She picked up the towel, wrapped up the kitty, sat him on a stool and scrubbed him up. Not seeing this as much of a big deal, I let her go and went back to Peyton’s Cubbies lesson. She finished drying her kitty then sat near us to listen in.

When we were all finished, I figured I better go tackle the mess of water that I had assumed was all over the bathroom.

If only it were that simple.

I followed a trail of wetness through the kitchen, into the bathroom, and right up to what I expected to be the sink.  Instead, my eyes stopped at the toilet. 

The toilet.

A toilet that also happened to be filled with pee, wet toilet paper in and out, and surrounded by a drenched floor. This is the dreaded moment when I realized that little black kitten had gotten a bath in the toilet and my little girl, all this time, had been covered in water and pee. 

Into the bathroom she came, carrying her kitty, proud and ready to show Mama just how she bathed it all by herself.

“Jayden….did you bath your kitty in the potty?” I asked.

She shook her head yes without a care in the world.  It was now bath time for both a little girl and her kitty.  So I got her in the tub, put the kitty in basket with a load of laundry, and cleaned up the mess. 

I find myself relating to my girl.

Times when I felt I had a good idea, went ahead with it, did it on my own and when finished, looked at what I had done with pride.  Haven't you? 

Thinking, "Look what I've done!  What an accomplishment!"

Then, just like when Jayden brought me the kitty, we decide to let our Father in on what we've done.  We go to Him full of pride, ready to receive His blessing.  What we usually find out is that we've made a mess.  Our idea, as good as it seemed at the time, created a mess that ultimately He, Our Father, will have to clean up.  What we didn't realize at the time was our good idea was just that - our good idea.  We acted before we sought council from our Father.  

Our ideas, no matter how great, will soon turn into another mess without prayerful consideration and His guidance.  We need to seek Him first, spend time in prayer, receive His blessings before jumping into our "good idea."  

Because our "good idea" may not be such a good idea after all. 

Thank God for his grace and infinite love for us.  He helps clean up the messes we've made of our lives.  He washes us of our sins.  He gently wipes away our guilt and makes us new, only asking that we seek forgiveness and turn our hearts toward Him. 

Now when you ask Jayden, "Did you wash your kitty in the potty?" she shakes her head yes.  

But if you ask her, "Are you allowed to bath your kitty in the potty?" she will tell you no, understanding the potty isn't the best choice for a good bathing.    

Let us learn to seek God first, trusting that His ways are best.  Just as parents want only the best for our children, God, our Heavenly Father, wants only the best for us.

"'For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,' declares the LORD." Isaiah 55:8

"Guide me in Your truth and faithfulness and teach me, for You are the God of my salvation; for You I wait expectantly all day long." Psalm 25:5