On understanding...

I don't understand.

Something I've been saying in my mind a lot lately. It's difficult to get around.

Life goes on, but it doesn't erase. It keeps moving but it doesn't have the capacity to make it go away.

You go through the moments and you do what you can. You laugh sometimes and you cry just as often. You still shower, make dinner, clean the house. You have beautiful moments where you see the love of God come shining through and redeem the brokenness around you.

But the moments of heartache, you can't avoid. Something happens. Some trigger. And your mind starts replaying what has been. And then come the questions. And you have no answers. Or inadequate ones at best. So then comes the inevitable: I don't understand.

Exasperation. And frustration. And more than anything, brokenness. And then it comes: I don't understand. God, I don't understand.

And I still don't. I've found some good. I know Him, the One I have believed in. I trust Him. And He's teaching me to trust Him more and more.

And I find truth every day as I watch my amazing loved ones walk through this.

Yet I don't understand. And it bothers me. I want to tie it with a bow, lend it meaning and be free to move on with full assurance of purpose. But it doesn't come. It's clouded with ambiguity and for every certainty, a thousand uncertanties come crowding in.

I don't understand.

And it bothers me.

Yet when I consider some of the other things that baffle me, I'm reminded how limited my own understanding is. I cannot conceive of a reality unbounded by time. My mind lurches at the proposition of numbering the sand on the shore or the stars in the sky. And to my finite understanding, the premise of a million galaxies stretching out into infinite space is beyond all comprehension.

This is certainly not the only case in which I simply do not understand. There is far more to this life that I don't know than what I do know.

And to the many things of this life that I do not understand. For once, it is comforting to add another.

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

There are an endless number of beauties and horrors that defy my capacity for comprehension.

But one stands out most exceedingly incomprehensible of all.

Him.

Who He is.

How He brings peace even in the midst of turmoil.

Once more: I don't understand.

I still don't.

And for now, that's ok. It has to be.

A beautiful disaster...

Walking out into our living room today, there was only one phrase that sprang to mind: a beautiful disaster.

It is strewn all about with piles of gifts meant to be taken to one place or another, as well as all the trappings of a pretty gift: scissors and bows, scotch tape and shiny tags, wrapping paper and ribbon.

A lot of love goes into the way that our family does the holidays. True, we trek around from place to place and have our least favorite little idiosyncrasies for each spot. 7 AM is my resounding least favorite part of this whole process. But what child can be asked to wait any later than that when there's a glimmering pile of presents to be discovered? Certainly not I at their age.

But beyond all the hustle and the bustle, the buying and the baking resonates something profoundly good. A pause in the full-tilt pursuit of the ever elusive something we're all running after, just to be with one another, as we find ourselves in this moment.

For me, that is some of the greatest magic of Christmas. A sudden, cinnamon dusted moment that beckons us back to the deeper truth of what this life really is.

We sing songs, we decorate trees, we [alright, alright: I] drape white twinkle lights over everything that will stand still. We bake sweets and then eat them with reckless abandon. And we exchange gifts. In short, we celebrate.

We take a moment to savor the sweet and to embrace the beautiful. To remember that life is very good and traced throughout with wonders like peace, hope and joy.

God created the world and it was good. God wrought us from the dust and we were good.

But then we broke it.

So God sent His Son in the form of a sleeping baby, with all the bright hope and newness of unspoilt life that that image carries, to restore the goodness and to rekindle the light and to set us free to live God-ward in a whole new way.

And there is beauty in that. Redemptive loveliness scattered lavishly over this whole season. And I'm grateful for the chance to stop and see what is good.

The truth is, there's been a lot of seeming disaster in these days we've been walking through. To the naked eye, there's dust and ash laid over everything from all of the breaking that's occurred. And as much as I hate to admit it, there are some moments when my eyes grow cold and that is all that I see.

But my God is kind and rich in mercy and He awakens my soul to perceive His goodness again and again. He wipes a tear and lifts my head and at the perfect moment reveals again that despite all the brokenness I carry, He has come to again make all things beautiful. The world is traced through with His glorious, redemptive fingerprints. And that work continues in me. And in you.

And that, that God-breathed beauty rising from the brokenness, that is something to celebrate.

So Merry Christmas to one and all.

May He bless our eyes to see, in this season and always, the surpassing beauty His love can bring.

Here...

All the loves are here. The talking, the planning, the processing, the quiet certainty of our little family. It's here. And I feel like I should write. I feel the need to make words happen. To put ink on paper and to mine out the meaning from all this mess.

But nothing makes sense. Even with all of us here. Even with a few days and a million, million tears. Nothing makes sense. And I have no truth to offer yet.

But I'm here. And I'll be here. And I love you so.

Mothers...

All of the young mothers who've come to visit us have been so sensitive. They've all been so careful to ask about bringing their little ones along. So many young loves guarding your heart.

I find it really amazing that you've wanted every one of them here. That you've invited them in and held their little hands and kissed their little cheeks and smiled at their precious laughs. How you've loved them and opened your heart to the beauty of them; I think it's a testament to the mother that you are. To the loving, nurturing wonder of you. You've been a mother from the start. A little two year old, big sister mom to me. And you are a mother still. And you are a mother always. It's signed into who you are and you still have so much love and nurturing to give, even in this moment. And the heart of you amazes me, as always.

And speaking of mothers, we've got a really great one, you and I.

Silly confession #27...

Admittedly, I look in the rearview mirror more than any driver has the right to. Probably more than any other driver you've ever met. What can I say? I'm an addict. This is usually because I’m speeding. By quite a lot. And I’m constantly on the lookout for a cop to appear and write me a very painful ticket. Hence the preoccupation with glancing behind me.

But I've come to realize that I live my life that way too. Way too fast, like I'm rushing somewhere. And way too distracted by what's in the rearview. I'm in a hurry to get to wherever I’m going; some abstract perfect future in which I feel like I have it together more than I do now. And I'm constantly analyzing the thing that I’ve just done and wishing that I’d done it better; constantly worried that I’ve just done something that’s going to hinder me from getting wherever it is I’m headed just as fast as anyone else. I'm preoccupied with reaching the destination just when I should. I'm preoccupied with what's behind me. And, thus, I'm somewhat absent from where I am. Because somehow I've convinced myself that paying attention to those two aspects of this journey is the key to winding up where I want to be.

But frankly, by the time there’s a cop in my rearview mirror, that painful ticket is as good as written. And by the time I can analyze it, the moment’s gone and its effect has already been had on whatever this future is that I’m rushing toward.

So forgive me for making such an entirely un-youthful and un-dangerous statement. But all I can really do to avoid the cop in the rearview is to slow down and drive more carefully. On the road and off of it.

All I can do is to be present in each moment; engaging with my life as it is and taking responsibility for living in such a way that I become the person I want to be. I’ll never get there in a state of permanent distraction with both the past (that I cannot change) and the future (that I feel must measure up, and measure up fast).

I can’t drive my car looking only at the rearview mirror. And I can’t drive my life that way, either. Intentionality is squandered when we apply it to the past, re-scripting and re-scripting in our minds. Once the moment is gone, our mind is the only place that script will ever play out. And it will only serve to frustrate us with actions that we can’t fix now. What a waste!

I have to learn to be intentional with today, because who I am in this moment is the only me I can change. The future is still there waiting for me and the only way I have to shape it is with a series of seemingly small, present-tense choices. And it's time I set my eyes on those.

So all you go-getters can go for it. Because the race for the win doesn’t work for me trying to become someone of substance. Instead I’m slowing down and fixing my gaze on what’s right in front of me. Because all I really need to do well today, is today.

Like Frankie said...

And now, the end is here

And so I face the final curtain

My friend, I'll say it clear

I'll state my case, of which I'm certain

I've lived a life that's full

I traveled each and every highway

And more, much more than this, I did it my way

Regrets, I've had a few

But then again, too few to mention

I did what I had to do

And saw it through without exemption

I planned each charted course,

Each careful step along the byway

And more, much more than this, I did it my way

Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew

When I bit off more than I could chew

But through it all, when there was doubt

I ate it up and spit it out

I faced it all and I stood tall and did it my way

I've loved, I've laughed and cried

I've had my fill, my share of losing

And now, as tears subside, I find it all so amusing

To think I did all that

And may I say, not in a shy way

Oh no, oh no, not me, I did it my way

For what is a man? What has he got?

If not himself, then he has naught

To say the things he truly feels

And not the words of one who kneels

The record shows I took the blows and did it my way

Yes, it was my way

On the significance of the sacraments...

One of the most challenging seasons I have ever experienced in ministry came when the fellow and I stepped in to meet a need in the children's ministry of our church. I love and enjoy kids, but I don't really know what to do with them. Suffice it to say, it was a rocky couple of months.

That said, it was a season full of learning. I learned so much about joy and beauty and innocence. And I learned so much about patience and discipline and trusting God when you are certain you have nothing left to give.

One moment in which what I learned caught me by surprise came when I was trying to teach the kids why we get baptized and why we take communion. Trying to give expression in the simplest terms of something that is often described in a very complex manner proved to be no easy feat.

But in the weeks and months following that experience, and in light of all of the experiences that this season has brought us, suddenly simplicity has become far less difficult to attain.

It's fascinating to think about all of the things that Jesus never told us to do. He never told us to read ten chapters of the Bible each day. He never told us to pray long, loud, eloquent prayers. He never told us to build buildings with pristine carpet and tastefully selected pews or padded chairs. He never said dress clothes. Or three fast songs followed by three slow songs.

There's nothing wrong with these things in and of themselves. Quite the contrary, I have to believe that church traditions have been established for a reason. Over the years, these things have become traditional because they've been seen as aids in helping people to approach God and each other.

But at the end of the day, we so often forget to differentiate between the mechanisms or vehicles that we use in our pursuit and the pursuit itself.

Approaching God. Approaching each other as we approach Him together. That's it. That's the whole point. That's why we're here.

And when squabbles about the mechanisms and vehicles of that approach create distance between us, then I think it's safe to say that we've lost our focus.

That's what I've come to love most about the simplicity of the sacraments. All theological debates aside, they take us right back to the center of our faith.

In baptism the old, tormented, sin-riddled version of ourselves is laid to rest in a watery grave. And we are lifted up clean, a new creation. We die to self and to this world. We rise to Christ and to His people. Completely forgiven.

In communion, we share a meal and we remember. We remember that Christ lived. That He walked with us, that He ate with us and that He taught us of His Father. And we remember that Christ died. That He poured out His blood and that His body was broken. All to rescue us. To reconcile us to God. And, an unexpected side effect, to reconcile us to one another.

The reminders that Jesus left us of Himself take us immediately back to the heart of God and the heart of our faith: forgiveness. Forgiveness is the heart of who we are. We are a tribe that bears a simple, humble name: the redeemed. Forgiveness is our identity.

And forgiveness is also at the heart of the sacraments.

So perhaps if we practiced them more often and made a point to take note of their meaning, we wouldn't forget who we are. Perhaps if we spent more time remembering that the central reality of Christianity is that God forgives each of us and reconciles us to Himself, then we wouldn't have so much trouble reconciling to those who have wronged us. Perhaps if we remembered forgiveness and restoration to be the heart of God both for us and our competition, for our friends and our enemies, then we would have less contention and more community. Perhaps.

Perhaps if we got back to the basics, we as a people could be more united and less divided. Perhaps we could set aside our petty differences and get about the business of letting a world of broken hearts know about the redeeming love of the Healer. Perhaps the Church could be a more accurate reflection of the heart of God.

So today, I am grateful for the sacraments and for the reminder they bring to this stubborn heart. God's forgiveness has changed my entire world. And He stands at the ready to love and to forgive every single person on earth.

May He make my heart the same.

That atrocious thing - independence...

Dependency. It is not something that we like to entertain in day to day life. We have learned to stand on our own two feet, to rely on our own abilities and understanding and to make our own choices.

We go through the grind. We bark our orders. We rack up our regrets. And we try to change the lives of others with our own limited means. I have seen and I have been this ugly side of leadership. To those who I have wounded struggling to do the work of God relying only on the resources of man, I apologize. I am wholeheartedly sorry. Please forgive me. It was such a mistake.

But for my own heart and for the hearts of every leader, a simple question: why would we ever choose to lead this way?

It must be because we see no alternative option. Because who would ever elect to lead in such a painful, counter-productive fashion if there were another way?

Far too often, I forget that Jesus' instructions to the early church about how to reach the world never left us lacking His assistance. He promised to send us a Comforter, to be with us until the end of the age, to write His law upon our hearts, to fill us with His Spirit and to give us the words to speak. In His comissioning of His followers, there is not a trace of abandonment.

Jesus promises to be present.

While we strive to lead, to speak, to love and to do what He's called us to in this world, we have the full and unmistakable promise of our Savior that He will be with us. He invites us into a state of complete dependency. He never expects us to "make it;" to arrive at a place where we are no longer in need of Him.

Rather, He invites and wholeheartedly encourages us to lean on Him in every moment. To rely on His wisdom, His grace and His leading is the mark of a follower of Him. It is the life that we sign on for.

I am unashamed of my need of Him. I must have Him every moment and I make catastrophic mistakes when I am without His aid. I am not independent. And standing on my own two feet is unwise because far too often they lead me in the wrong direction. Many people have been hurt by those wrong turns in the past and I openly repent. I repent also to myself, for foolishly forcing myself to do what I was never created to: to live and to lead without relying on the Lord.

It is too great a burden for me to bear. And it is not a burden He ever asked me to bear. And I willingly and joyful lay it down at His feet and am met with such sudden relief.

With all of my imperfections and foolishness, I will not posture myself as a perfect example to follow. I will not establish myself as the one you should look to for a model of living for God.

I am broken and imperfect. But my Father loves me. And He is leading me. And I will do my best to follow Him. And the best I can hope is that we can follow Him together, depending on Him to help us do all the things that we alone cannot.

Dependency. The beauty of a God whose love matters in my living; who delights to accompany me in my living. This beauty I cannot contain in words.

It is my joy to need Him.

Find a Voice...

All creatures of our God and King
Lift up your voice and with us sing,
Alleluia! Alleluia!
Thou burning sun with golden beam,
Thou silver moon with softer gleam!
O praise him! O praise Him!
Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

Thou rushing wind that art so strong
Ye clouds that sail in Heaven along,
O praise Him! Alleluia!
Thou rising moon, in praise rejoice,
Ye lights of evening, find a voice!
O praise Him! O praise Him!
Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

...

Creation... Carriers of beauty... Bearers of the image of majesty... Go ahead...

Speak.

Tell the story that we have forgotten.

Speak.

Remind us of the Hands, the brushstrokes of Eternity that gave you your shape, your color, your light. Trace the image of Eternity in the eyes of those drowning in the stale weight of now.

Awaken in weary hearts the love of beauty and the hope for truth. Remind us that we live in a place still infused with the magic spark of heaven. A place shaped by the Everlasting God. A place that bears the beauty of His heart.

As we gaze up at last in childlike wonder, come right along and fulfill your purpose.

Measure the days. Indicate the changing of the moments.

Remind our hearts that we did not just happen, that we were knit together by skilled Hands. That the very Breath of eternity quickens who we are. That we are our Father's children. And that Him in us never fades.

Remind us that we were made... Made by the same God who made you.

In all your breathtaking beauty, speak.

And tell us to look up. To turn our eyes heavenward and remember that our Father is never absent from even the smallest moment. The He lives. That we live.

And that though you and all the heavens should grow old like a garment and though He should change you like a cloak, He stands forever and His years will have no end.

Listen.

The heavens are speaking. Hearts of men, hear the wisdom of the ages.

Hear them as they whisper: He is God Forever. God before we began. God long to outlive our simple light. He is the Everlasting One. He is the Eternal Beauty, Unfading.

Men of earth, incline your ears, life up the eyes of your hearts.

And Ye lights of evening, find a voice. Oh praise Him!

Psalm 102:25-27

Alleluia!

To The Place Where I Am Known...

Take me to the place where I am known.
I want to go where I am no mystery.
I want to be free of all that is false,
And be clothed instead with simplicity.

Take me to the place where I am known,
Where the patches fall and the makeup runs.
I want to be where I cannot impress.
I want to feel whole when completely undone.

Take me to the place where I am known
Where there is no fear, no urge to hide.
It is the place I most look like Him,
Where both our arms are open wide.

Take me to the place where I am known
And there may I be ever found.
The only place where I belong
Is the place where only He's renowned.

Take me to the place where I am known.
One thing I ask; just this I seek.
Take me to the place where I am known,
And a knower of Him is all I must be.

Time to Be...

Sitting by the window and soaking up the Sunday sun, it's a beautiful moment to be.

Perhaps I am the only one who is still whisked away into foreign lands by the simple turning of a page. Perhaps I am the only one who can find fulfillment in something so simple as a pen and a few blank sheets of paper. Perhaps I am the only one who feels quite entirely beautiful in a pair of pajamas, with bare feet, curled up on the floor.

But I doubt it.

I think that we have all been there and I think we all know the secret: that sweet simplicity tends to bring out the best version of ourselves.

When all the hustle stops and there's a break from all the running; when there's a moment of quiet, a moment to rest and be still; I find myself so much closer to the person I want to be.

Now, to be clear, I'm not talking about the person I want to be in the sense of the woman I see through ambition's eyes. I'm referring to the person I want to be in the sense that who I am when I am still is the person I enjoy being.

When I am allowed to be still and my heart finds some calm, I find myself more like... well, myself. When there is no competition to face and no expectations to meet, I can suddenly find myself laying on the carpet in my room, legs flat against the wall staring up at the ceiling until my feet are hopelessly asleep. Or I can find myself concocting some odd creation in the kitchen with the very glamorous foundation of an Eggo waffle. Or sneaking out in the yard in the middle of the night to sit on the concrete and stare up at the sky.

And somehow, in these silly, simple, sweet little moments that will never be spoken of as any defining greatness in my existence, I find my soul set free. When there is time just to be, and I'm able to shake off some of the monotony that rests like a fine dust on this thing they call adulthood, the oddest thing happens...

Today I celebrate how, in some of the smallest and most unimpressive moments I know, I find myself at the most satisfied with my existence.

So cheers to Sunday afternoon and midnight breakfasts and finding shapes in the stucco on the ceiling. Cheers to pajamas and loose hair and bare feet.

Here's to a moment to stop all the doing and instead to that most beautiful blessing: time to be.

LeChaim.

Why worry?

Driving home today was a moment of perfection.

Little one was in the passenger seat, hiding windswept under her coat and looking quite a lot like Cousin It.

We both had our big sunglasses on that make us look like glamorous starlets incognito out among the people (or like overgrown grasshoppers, depending on which opinion you consult).

The windows were down and brown curls were blowing everywhere.

Golden sunlight and fresh driving-over-the-water wind was streaming in.

The sky and the water were all aglow with the deep honey rays of the just dying day.

It was one of those moments that forms the seams in the fabric of my heart. Those recurring sweet dreams that knit together all the other pieces like a golden thread that frames even the unbearable in beauty.

And as we drove, Carrie Underwood sang a song that has caught my wondering lately. "Temporary Home." Used to describe alternately a foster home, a halfway house and finally all of life as we know it. "Windows and rooms, that I'm passing through."

It's interesting. It's sweet and soothing. There's peace in remembering that this is not all there is. That there is some other destination; a reality behind the longing that whispers in our souls.

And as we drove, we rode in silence and I smiled gently as I turned the wheel, changing lanes to continue our perfect journey unhindered by slow movers.

And then we almost crashed.

...

"Almost" here is a very subjective phrase. As I slanted into the lane to my right, the car in the lane beyond seemed just a little too close. A second glance found him (a middle aged man with brown hair and a startled but not unkind face) in the middle of the lane into which I was slowly moving. An easy turn of the wheel in the other direction moved us safely away with hardly a jolt. We never came closer than four or five feet.

Still, it was an interruption to the serenity; to our smooth, sunlit passage home.

And yet, contrary to all other such "almosts," my heart didn't skip a beat. And, at that precise moment, as we glided back into our lane and Carrie continued to sing, I heard God whisper something so simple and more distinctly than I've heard Him in a long time...

"Why worry?"

I don't know that I can even contain in words what it did for my heart to hear those words in my Father's voice. It was as though the entire situation were hand painted by the Lord; just a scene for Him to speak so clearly exactly what I needed to know. I am overcome with gratitude.

One thing I know of my God: He is mighty to save. His eye is yet on the sparrow and I know He watches me. He guards me and is far greater than any trial or fear I've ever known. If the worst I can imagine were to come to be, the cross has already conquered it.

And though the world shattered around me... Though every thing of beauty and strength that has ever brought me comfort were to melt before my eyes... If everything really did fade to black...

Yet the Lord would be seated on the throne. And yet the end of days would find me on another sunlit passage home; full speed into the arms of He who has loved me ever.

"This is my temporary home, it's not where I belong.
Windows and rooms that I'm passing through.
This is just a stop on the way to where I'm going;
And I'm not afraid because I know
This is my temporary home."

Love Himself is our eternal end. Why should we fear?

And if forever finds me with Him, why worry about the simple signposts that lead me there?

Sunglasses on. Radio playing sweet songs. Windows down and wind blowing. Let the sunlight pour in. Let the miles fly by. Let's melt into the highways and the golden rays that warm our souls.

Let's fly fearless.

After all, why worry?