Katie Elizabeth

Today is Katie Beth’s birthday.  It has been quite a journey.  Katie is my 4^th child (yes, you read that correctly).  When I found out that I was pregnant with her, it was probably the most inopportune time to have a baby.  Our family had just left a thriving ministry just two months earlier.  If you happen to be in church ministry, you can hopefully relate to having an experience where you feel a leading to move on…a strong, in your gut conviction that God has a next step in your journey.  Desiring to be obedient to the spirit’s leading in our lives, we left.  We weren’t exactly sure what the next step would be, but we had a little savings, and at the time, a whole lot of faith.  We set out from that town with our three oldest children on an experience that would forever change us.

The very month we found out that our family would be increasing in size, just so happened to be the exact month we would no longer have health insurance.  Coupled with no “full-time” income, and the awareness that we already had THREE children, we were overwhelmed to say the least.  There was an immediate threat of miscarriage in the early weeks of pregnancy, which began a process of the enemy continually planting seeds of fear in me. These deposits of doubt were met with a constant inner battle to walk in the Spirit and believe God is who He says. The next few months included three cross-country moves and the burning of a number of relational bridges.  It was not our intention or desire to see closure come to so many friendships, I honestly grieved them as a deep loss.  There were some wounds that I felt personally that would later prove to be moments of God’s using harm for good.  I had seasons where I felt significant isolation and to say it frankly, forgotten.  I felt emotionally injured by people who I had once greatly trusted.  Many conversations and prayers later allowed me to see that some of these deep cuts were committed unknowingly by others. In the end, the Lord brought healing and drew me closer to Him. 

God put some dearly loved friends along the way to stand by our side, even silently at times, and walk us through some of the darkest days of our lives.  Let me stop right there and say, our baby was born completely healthy and beautiful.  The darkness I am referring to is that of inner turmoil- confusion. It was a process of refinement.  I have never felt like I walked “through the fire” as I did the months during my pregnancy with Katie.  We were divinely placed in the middle of rural Missouri, population 1,600.  This was vastly different than our previous town of 60,000.  The nearest Wal-Mart was almost 60 miles away, Target, 90.  But, somewhere in the midst of the cows and the corn fields, I found a piece of myself.

 I began my very first year of homeschooling my twin daughters who were now big first graders.  I completely loved them being home with me all day and even began to do some preschool activities with my son.  As our savings rapidly dwindled, I was so grateful to be able to order an entire homeschool kit for each of my girls, and have enough left over to do craft projects and lots of baking. My husband was working as a sort of lumberjack at the time so he was close by and always home for lunch. The few months that we lived in Missouri were filled many tears, deep reflection, and spiritual revelation.  I have such a fondness and love for our friends there that patiently intervened in our lives when God directed them and gently abstained when He did the same.  I don’t know if you have many people in your life that you feel eternally bonded to, but these are those kinds of friends.

As the months passed, we found ourselves in a new state with new challenges.  We were only 45 minutes from New York City which was exciting to say the least.  We were walking distance from a Starbucks, Wal-Mart, and most thrilling to me, the hospital! Most parents understand the desire for a professional medical center and a trustworthy physician during a pregnancy.  Because we were in yet another new state and not yet residents, we were told it would be some time before our insurance paperwork could be processed.  My pregnancy was considered high-risk due to previous complications which caused me to feel pressure for regular check-ups all the more.   I have known many women who have a faith so deep that they truly do not worry through their pregnancies; they know that God created the life inside them and completely trust Him to tend to them and their child.  These women are motivated and driven by faith. I have always struggled with fear, particularly since I first became a mother, and this was no exception.  I could go on and on about the ups and downs of doctors and forms and dates, but in a nutshell: I met my doctor three weeks before Katie was born. 

Due to the previous complications that I mentioned earlier, all involved thought it wisest that Katie be delivered via scheduled caesarian.  We originally planned this for mid-March which was when she was due.  She was born January 31. 

The day Katie was born, my husband dropped me off at the hospital just to make sure we were on schedule, because I had been contracting for two days prior.  He dropped me off, I went upstairs to the high-risk neonatal unit, and she was born an hour later.  The doctor told me to call my husband to get back there quickly, this baby needed to be delivered immediately for not only her safety, but for mine as well.  Again, I was enveloped in fear.  Thankfully, the fear I felt was accompanied by the excitement of knowing that I was about to meet my daughter and see her sweet face.  As I was waiting for Jerry in the operating room, I saw a tray of what seemed like hundreds of scissors and scalpels and other shiny objects. While I was uneducated in regards to their function, the appearance alone was terrifying.  I was flooded with emotion and concern, and a sadness that neither of our parents would be sitting in the waiting room when we got out.  A nurse, whom I believe the Lord divinely placed specifically for my delivery, held me, prayed over me, and gave me a physical representation of my Heavenly Father.  It was beautiful. 

It seemed like an hour went by before I finally heard the most breathtaking sound I believe one can hear this side of eternity.  She cried.  My baby girl was out safely.  I was safe. We were okay. 

I was moved to recovery (after they stitched me up of course), and I was able to lie in a bed with heated blankets beside the very nurse who had been praying with me only minutes before.  The next few days were difficult as we were very far away from our parents and Jerry had to be at home caring for our three big kids.  They came to see me occasionally but only for short periods of time.  I spent a lot of time by myself with a beautiful miracle, a great big incision, and some more heartache.  I felt very lonely and scared for what was to come for our family.  I prayed and cried and slept. And then I would do it all over again while looking at this physical expression of God’s faithfulness.  He kept showing me how in all of my fear, all my worry, all my doubt, He never stopped caring.  He never left me, He never failed me, He never ceased to proclaim His provision over our lives.

When Katie Beth was finally discharged, her little premie clothes swallowed her whole.  We had three outfits, four blankets, and a pack-and-play.  We had given away most of the belongings from our oldest children and the few items we did have were in storage in another state.  My sister-in-law had a basket waiting for us when we got home with bottles and all of the necessary toiletry items.  It was divine. 

My mom and only sister were able to get flights out for the next week so we had something else to look forward to and a great deal of comfort, even if it was temporary.  Our final months up north were quiet and still, full of unanswered questions, and God’s great big lessons. 

When the time was right-when we were ready, the Lord finally allowed our family to re-enter full-time church ministry.  More than a year had passed since this crazy part of our lives had begun.  We loaded up our mini-van with our four children, as many of our belongings as we could carry, and a deeper outlook on life. Our new church home was nothing like we had ever experienced but EVERYTHING we had dreamt of for years before.  As the months passed, we began to feel like our new “small town” was home.  Our church family has demonstrated love to us in ways we have never before known outside of our biological families and closest friends.

I can look back over our journey-the season of pregnancy, multiple moves, and minimum wage jobs-and see God’s sovereign grace.  He is so good. His faithfulness is never ending. He was for us all along and had life in mind always.  He gave us life in our sweet Katie Beth, and he gave us life as His children.  He walked us down some dark roads and exposed some areas in us that desperately needed to be extracted.  He showed us what it truly means to believe His promises, and what it means to be His children.

The name Katie is derived from Katherine which means “pure.” We gave her the middle name “Elizabeth” meaning “God fulfills His promises.”  We have always believed firmly in the biblical significance of a child’s name as a prayer and defining promise over their life.  We could think of nothing more fitting. We call her “Katie Beth” for short because we think that it’s adorable. She’s adorable.  And she is a walking manifestation of the faithfulness of our God-the God who met us in the middle of the corn fields, who works everything for our good.

HAPPILY EVER AFTER?

I love movies.  All kinds.  I have a few favorite genres like most people I guess:  comedies, action films, and definitely war movies, which I believe deserve a category all to themselves.  Like most hopeless romantics, I use to thoroughly enjoy the ideal sappy, mushy, they lived happily ever after chick flick.  There is just something about a rugged looking man who storms in to declare his endless love for a beauty who thought she was destined to be alone. Have you ever seen a Jane Eyre movie?  Inspired by her books, they are the epitome of the ultimate happily ever after love story.  They tend to sweep me away to a time of innocence and romance, arranged marriages and forbidden loves.  I could get lost in the dream of it all. 

I use to think that life was always like a fairy tale movie, complete with deep passion and unending romance.  I suppose it has been in some ways.  I mean, my husband is romantic and now as I look back over our story there are PLENTY of things that could’ve come out of a movie, especially if it were a comedy.  Somehow, it’s just different than I had expected.  I think that no matter how wonderful or hard our life is, we all get to a point where we realize that relationships hardly ever play out like they do on the TV screen and that life is nowhere close.  Over the years, my desires have certainly changed and I have had many moments where my bubble was burst so to speak.  This was not necessarily caused by any person in particular, but just by the reality of life.  I have seen that it is incredibly messy and doesn’t always have a happy ending.  In fact, I would venture to say that most of the time the ending is far different than what we had hoped or expected. I think that if we are honest, all of us could say that at some point we have felt the heartache and pain of unmet expectations.  As small children, we have these dreams about life and how wonderful and perfect ours will be.  Sure there will be ups and downs, but there will always be happy music playing in the background and everything will turn out just fine.  As the years come our way, we start to realize that our version of happiness usually doesn’t exist, and often there is pain, and sometimes extreme suffering in relationships.

  This got me thinking about something a girlfriend of mine shared with me a few weeks ago.  Audra (who is my dear friend from college) and I try to talk fairly regularly.  Recently in one of our conversations she  brought to my attention the phrase “faithfully ever after.”  I believe it was from a book she was reading and was intended to take the place of “happily ever after.”  These words got my wheels turning.  

How would things be if we weren’t waiting our whole life for some happily ever after that would never come?  How would my life be? What if I changed the anthem of this journey from happily ever after to faithfully ever after?  

I have considered this for some time and what follows is my response- actually my prayer over my life and yours for that matter.  Thank you for reading.  Blessings over your home, blessings over your marriage.

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FAITHFULLY EVER AFTER

While the theme to live faithfully ever after could potentially be life changing in every respect, I am drawn to consider how it applies specifically to marriage. Marriage is absolutely the most lovely, yet painful human relationship there is.  To put it plainly, it is the ultimate call to die.  The whole concept puts the emphasis on being the one doing the loving, even if it comes at a cost.  It removes the opportunity to soak through the kleenex from the realization that you didn’t actually marry Russell Crowe or Channing Tatum’s character from Dear John (by the way I cried for three days after watching that stupid movie, it was ridiculous).  So what does it mean to intentionally focus on being faithful rather than experiencing Hollywood’s version of happy?  

 I acknowledge when we hear the term faithful when speaking about relationships, we think toward the sense of fidelity.  While this is undeniably applicable in a marriage, I would like to elaborate on how it pertains to being steadfast.  

To be steadfast means to be true, loyal, devoted or constant.  My prayer is that you may show mercy to your husband when your love tank feels empty.  May you be his loyal friend when you feel betrayed.  May you go to the altar of God and intercede on his behalf, even in times of anger.  May you release any expectations of an unrealistic fairy tale and trade them for a life of true devotion.  May you be a woman who remains gentle in times of disappointment.  A woman who willingly denies herself her own desires to be a peacemaker in times of conflict.  A woman who gives out of the depths of her inner being because the lover of her soul has filled her up in such a way that her ability to love is unstoppable.  May you be such a woman.  May I be such a woman.  

 To live faithfully ever after is a call to die to our flesh to serve a purpose that is 

beyond us, beyond this life. 

When things don’t go our way, when temptation is fierce, when our flesh cries out in anguish, the spirit of God that lives within us gives us the strength to be faithful.  When we force our flesh to be in submission to our spirit, this is a manner of being faithful to the One who gives us life.  And then He comes in and pours His mercy over us.  When we fail or when there are days that as a couple we just can’t seem to get on the same page, or somehow we just keep hurting one another over and again, our Savior allows us to redeem the day and begin anew.  

   We are able to begin again and again and again.  We do not lose sight of his goodness and his strength in us.  He is strength in our weakness.  2 Timothy 2:11-13 declares, “If we have died with him, we will also live with him; if we endure, we will also reign with him; if we deny him, he also will deny us; if we are faithless, he remains faithful- for he cannot deny himself.”  He is the missing piece to our faithfully ever after. 

The mysteries of God are truly glorious.  It takes faith to believe in him for our faithfulness.  We are told in the scriptures that we have the mind of Christ and the Spirit who intercedes on our behalf.  We have the power of the cross of Christ with whom nothing is impossible.  “His divine power has granted to us all things that pertain to life and godliness, through the knowledge of him who called us to his own glory and excellence,” (2 Peter 1:3).  Christ is our faithfully ever after...

   Precious, loving Father, I am humbled by your goodness. I am in awe of your perfect plans for my life, by your sovereignty.  I know that you do all things well and that since the beginning of time you have intended that your children live with a steadfast perseverance.  Thank you for giving me a husband to love and serve, a man with whom I can pursue the cross, whom you have chosen to use to make me more like Jesus.

My heart overflows knowing that you give all things needed to accomplish your purposes for my life.  You sing over me with joy and give to me everything I need to serve others as if I were serving you.  Would you allow the fruits of the spirit to blossom and unfold in my life and make it one of service to my husband, my children, my family and friends.  You are my faithfully ever after which truly is the happiest of endings.

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So this week while I was working on this post, something quite interesting occurred.  My husband has been on a juice cleanse which means mostly no food, and absolutely no caffeine or drink other than water.  If you spend time with him on a regular basis, you know that he is incredibly laid back and super friendly.  Because of his diet, he has been somewhat irritable (I am not judging, I am cranky if I don’t get a coke!).  As an emotionally sensitive person who never wants anyone to be upset with me, especially my husband, I have been tested.  God has this awesome way of making us put our money where our mouth is.  I have had to recognize that its not about me and not let myself take it personally.  I am thankful for the grace that has allowed me to smile, offer a hug and supportive word rather than get angry and say something unkind.  I don’t always do this well, but was challenged this week after my whole faithfully ever after epiphany.  

I share all this to exhort you to think about your own relationship and how you can pursue faithfulness to your spouse even when it hurts.  I hope there is some practical way that we can take the initiative to offer grace and some loving act rather than waiting around to receive one first. Thank you again for taking the time to read this LONG post and for pondering my thoughts.  I am so thankful that God has given me a love for writing and has used this blog as a tender outlet of His work in me.  Shalom.

Bootstraps

I hesitated in making this post, I suppose out of fear.  Fear of what others may think or say.  Fear of judgement.  Fear of regret.  My mom encouraged me that all of my posts have been raw and that is what makes them "so neat" as she says.  So I'm posting.  Sharing what God is doing in my life and getting a grip on reality.  I told myself in  the beginning that I was going to be as transparent as I possibly could be and with that comes a harsh reality- we are all broken.  We all have our stuff.  We all need the beautiful redemption of being made whole.  I pray this post encourages you in knowing wherever you are, you are not alone.  Undoubtedly, someone in your own town is struggling with something that you are wrestling through as well.  Beyond that, you have a Heavenly Creator who longs to carry you through the desert and overwhelm you with His rest.  Be blessed my friends.  

June 1, 2012

  Today was one of those days I just woke up feeling blue. "Why?" you may ask?  Beats me.  But that's what happens with bouts of depression.  Floods of emotion that are irrational.  Sometimes no emotion at all.  Well, today I feel overcome with sadness. Sadness without despair.  I suppose if I think about it, I woke up thinking I had nowhere to go, and no one to see and nothing to do and that made me feel sad.  There was a time, only a few short weeks ago, when all of that sadness would be joined by guilt.  Its strange how that works.  I believe that's the enemy.  He likes to see God's children throwing pity parties.  He loves a "woe is me" event and likes to bring gifts:  guilt, shame, regret, despair, hopelessness.  He is such a good liar. 

Anyway, it's just one of those days.  It is one of those days where I feel lonely even though my children are around me.  It is one of those days where I feel without purpose and like I have nothing to offer the world.  One of those days that I would love to stuff my face in front of long movies while burying myself under blankets on the couch.  One of those days where I wonder how a redeemed, forgiven, beloved child of God could ever feel this way.  I hate these days. I loathe them. They are unproductive and disappointing and sad.  

And yet, there is hope.

I make a choice.  I choose to put on my big girl panties on and rebuke all of those lies the enemy wants me to believe.  I choose to get dressed (not in pajamas) and bury myself in truth.  I choose to move forward and call upon my Jesus to rescue me and love me through this day.  I choose to love on my children and cling to the Word.   I choose to pull out my teeny tiny fraction of a mustard seed that tells me that God will comfort me and strengthen me and give me life.  That He is able to move this mountain and bury it beneath the sea.  I choose to run into His fortress and let Him save me, (He's pretty good at it by the way).  And I choose to share my struggle, what so often feels like a thorn in the flesh, to break free from it.  I choose to share because I know that I am not the only girl who has this mile marker on her journey.  I choose to share in an effort to cry out from the depths of my soul and expose the darkness.  I choose to walk in the light.   I cling to it.  I cling so tightly in hopes and even faith that days like today will cease to exist for me. 

 The bible says that the truth will set you free.  I realize there must be extremely deep theological explanations for that statement, but as a simpleton, I think that if I am honest about my mess it opens the door to freedom. I think if we are aware of the weight of the chains we are carrying around,  the release will be that much more glorious.  I am aware that the enemy tries to shackle us. He is on a mission to steal, kill, and destroy. I imagine he takes great satisfaction in wounded warriors, those who have let their light burn out or are weary from battle.  I assume there are some that get so weary they choose to give up.  I don't know about you, but I want to be the kind of warrior that is untouchable for the enemy, the kind that he doesn't even mess with anymore because he knows he will never win.  I want to be faithful and fierce and immune to his attacks.  I choose to believe that I can put on my armor, pull up my bootstraps and  swing my heart out.  I choose to submit myself to the authority of the Lord, claim His promises over my home, and I most certainly choose to fight. 

Bring on the Neosporin

"By his wounds you have been healed."  1 Peter 2:24

My daughter, Hannah, recently had her very first little injury.  She was running on a hardwood floor with socks on, slipped, and grazed her leg on a wooden ledge.  At first she was limping around and a little upset because of the pain, but seemed like she could shake it off.  It was not until she was able to remove her clothing and actually look at her leg that she had a moment.  The sight of torn skin and a tiny bit of blood had her panicking.  She cried, she whimpered, and then came the neosporin.  As her mom, I carefully cleaned it, creamed it, and bandaged it-ever so carefully.  I was intentional about reassuring her and being incredibly gentle so as to be a source of comfort to her.  In that moment, I wanted to steward well the assignment of being a mommy.  I wanted to nurture and comfort my daughter who was hurting and afraid. 

This got me thinking about all of my wounds that I carry deep inside.  I thought how if we will allow Him, our great big God will pull us up in His lap and slather on the antibiotic ointment.  Sometimes we like to throw a band-aid on things and forget they exist.  We just carry it around with us and pretend not to notice it's there. 

I have four children. My first two children are twins so I have been pregnant three times.  That's three deliveries.  All three times I had a caesarean section.  I wish I could say that I had knew what it was like to experience labor and the natural birth of a child, but  I don't.  For many years after my twin daughters were born I really struggled with this fact.  I felt inadequate somehow.  I later realized that it didn't matter.  My body held them, nurtured them and allowed them to grow until they were healthy enough to burst into this world.  And yes, there was pain.  If you have had a c-section you know what I am talking about.  Feeling like you have had your insides ripped out isn't pleasant.  And yes, I have a scar.  A six inch wide scar that is a daily reminder of the pain I experienced, but more importantly, the life it brought. 

Jesus still has his scars.  The scars that gave the whole world life.  They are a symbol of his death-and resurrection.  It is only after experiencing the excruciating pain of being wounded in the flesh that he was able to live, that we were able to live.  These scars are a physical manifestation of beauty for ashes.  

People want to hide their emotional scars.  I know I do.  Sometimes I want to pretend I don't even have any.  I feel like we should expose them somehow.  Like badges of honor.  We tend to focus on the offense rather than the healing that can take place because of it.  I feel like instead of bringing shame and guilt, our scars should be ....a shouting testimony of what we have experienced-the pain, the suffering, the anguish, the healing, and then, the life.  It is by these scars we can prove we have a Healer.  We can say we had a heavenly Father walk with us through the fire, carry us even, and bind up all the brokenness.  We can say He came along with His tenderness and gently cleaned us up, spread out the ointment and reassured us that we would be alright. 

Sometimes I wonder if we are already healed, we just don't know how to receive it.  Our flesh cries out because it doesn't like to be uncomfortable.  We usually don't want to hurt.  Sometimes we do and we wallow in our misery.  Nonetheless, there is healing.  There is a Comforter who gives us His word so we can make it through the journey and His Holy Spirit so we can know which way to go.  Once the sting wears off and the bandages are removed, the Lord tends to our broken hearts and binds them all up again.   He gives us strength and clarity and a new song to sing. He gives us hope in knowing we can make it to the next day and slowly, but surely, the days seem to get a little easier. Then, as time passes, our scars begin to fade.  They slowly shrink down until we are almost unable to remember them anymore.  They are always there, but they no longer hurt when we see them.  They no longer bring the bitter sting of the awareness that we have been wounded.  They no longer require regular bandaging or care.  They simply serve as a reminder that we serve a gracious God who is loving enough to meet us where we are and bring healing to the depths of our soul.  They remind us of all the places we have been and the new mercies that we have received day by day.  

They remind us that we survived.

Father, thank you that you see right through me even when no one else does.  Thank you for loving me enough not to let me abide in my sorrow. That you call to me out of my brokenness, out of my pain to receive healing.  Your mercies are indeed new every morning and bring such hope.  I know that you can redeem all my yesterdays and make this day into something glorious, into something new.  You ARE my healer, you give only life and you give each of us something worth living for.  

Adoption

"He predestined us for adoption as sons through Jesus Christ."  Ephesians 1:5

I always wanted a brother.  I thought that it would be really neat to have an older brother who was bigger and tougher than everybody else who was looking out for me.  You know, to keep the bad dates away in high school.  The kind of guy that others knew not to mess with his little sister or else.  I was fortunate to have a great older sister who looked out for me pretty well, but somehow with girls the whole intimidation factor is missing.  

Recently I heard the phrase "Christ, our brother" in a Casting Crowns song.  Honestly, I have never even considered him being my brother until then.  I'm not sure why.  I have always thought of him as Savior, Lord, Redeemer, King, and yes, God's son.  I don't know why my brain didn't make the connection.  If Jesus is God's son, which he in fact is, then I am told that as a follower of Christ I am "adopted as a son (or daughter)."   Through this adoption, if Christ is God's son and I am adopted as His daughter, then Jesus would be...yes, you guessed it, my brother.  

My dear friend, Audra, currently has six children under her precious wings.  Three of them were God's gifts in her womb, one is there temporarily until he can be reunited with his family, and that leaves two girls.  Two cherished little girls who will hopefully be a permanent addition to her family.  As she and her husband have cared for these girls over the past year in hopes of being their forever family, we have discussed many times how earthly adoption is a tangible and glorious picture of our adoption as God's children.  We have spoken time and again about the beauty of it all- how they will have pursued these children, chosen these children, overcome mountains to keep them, paid a price for them.   By adopting these girls, they are redeeming them from a life of brokenness and abandonment.  They are giving them a new life that will in no way resemble the one from which they came.  They will have a new name that visibly bonds them together and declares the redemption of the Lord over their lives.

This is what God does for us.  

He chases after us.  He chose us before the foundation of the world.  Nothing in all of heaven or earth could keep Him from getting to us.  And He paid the ultimate price.  He gave His son, our brother, over to death in order to adopt us.  And He gives us a breathtaking new name, "daughter," "redeemed," "beloved." 

He calls us "child."

"But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God."  John 1:12

I love that my brother is a king.  That he loves me so much he was willing to give himself in my place.  I love that he stands before our heavenly Father interceding on my behalf. I love that he prays over me and rejoices in my new name.  I love that one day I will get to see him and hold him and dance with him for all eternity.  I love that he is mine and yet there is enough of him to go around. I love that he knew I was not able of looking out for myself so he chose to defeat all the bad guys long ago.  Most of all, I love that because he was looking out for me, the God of all creation calls me by name.  It is "daughter."

Give Us This Day Our Daily Bread

When Jesus teaches the disciples how to pray in Luke chapter 11 he says, "Give us each day our daily bread."  I have always thought of that in a very literal sense, asking God for the daily needs this flesh requires-mainly food.  A thought occurred to me though.  Jesus also says referring to himself, "I am the bread of life," (John 6:35).  Could this prayer then be interpreted, "give us our daily Jesus?" or  "give me the portion of Jesus I need to face all that this day holds for me?"  I wish I knew Greek.

It is profound to me that this flesh of ours rages against our spirit-constantly.  There is an ongoing battle between this shell we reside in or "outer tent" as the Bible calls it, and the spirit within.  I think regarding the battle, we are required be aware.  We must recognize the war between our flesh and spirit and that one will inevitably be in submission to the other.  And so, for this battle, I wonder...need we ask God for our daily Jesus?

In church world we often speak of "taking up our crosses daily" to follow after Christ.  How can we "take up a cross" without Jesus' help?  How can we place ourselves on the altar, laying down our flesh, our weakness, our imperfections and walk away without filling up our vessel with Jesus?

Sometimes, I need Jesus just to crawl out of bed in the morning.  I need Him to guide me as I school my kids and change dirty diapers and do laundry for the thousandth time.  I need His life to come alive inside me so that there is dancing rather than mourning and joy in place of sorrow.  I need my portion so I can do the things that He has called me to do.  Sometimes I don't want to.  If I am being honest, sometimes I just want to crawl under my covers and not come out for a few months.

I need that daily bread so that this life of mine, which is so not glamourous, actually means something. I want it to be defined by Him and His presence in it, His work in it, His glory in it.  I want my flesh to be left behind on that altar and His Spirit to overtake me in such a way that I don't exist.  He is our portion.  He is our life.  He is our joy, our hope, our promise.

A friend of mine once told me that her family defines provision as having exactly what you need to accomplish what God has called you to do.  He has called me out to look like Him and I need His provision in order to do that.  I need Him to bind my wounds, heal my scars, and transform this heart of mine.  He makes all things new.  He makes all things whole.

Thank you, Jesus, that today you are my daily bread.  Thank you that your grace truly is sufficient and that your pursuit of your people goes far beyond our running. Thank you that you chase after us with such  abandon and passion, that you not only gave all for us, you continue to give us all hour by hour, minute by minute so that we are able to glorify the Father in spite of this wretched flesh of ours.  You are lovely and you are MY daily bread.

Faith Like a Mustard Seed

I've always loved writing.  I even thought about a degree in Journalism because I loved it so much.  I've never been a verbally articulate person, one who could voice their thoughts appropriately...it seems like when I try to say something important it just comes out all jumbled.  Writing just seems easier.  When you write, you have the time to actually think about what you would like to say without people staring at you uncomfortably wishing you would just spit it out.  And then there is always the delete button.  So "why am  I writing?" you might ask.  For me. To write.  I guess as an outlet of sorts.  To flesh out all that swirls around in my head (which is alot!) so I don't have to stew over it any longer.
I find myself at a time in life that seems more difficult than ever.  At a place of familiar, yet unfamiliar territory, figuring out who I really am and the difference between who my Jesus says I am and what I actually believe.  Trying to find my way back to when I longed for him alone to be the holder and fulfiller of my dreams and I wasn't afraid to just be me.  I have always been a people pleaser and longed for the approval of others.  Not managed well, overtime, that can lead one into a place where they forget how to really thrive in their own existence, afraid of letting others down.  I find myself in that place,  really longing to be the woman God intended me to be and knowing who that woman is.  This may be of no interest to anyone else, or you may be thinking, "that is something you needn't share" but in the words of Amy March in Little Women,  "I'm exhaustified."
Perhaps you have walked through a similar time in your life so you can relate. I hope that in being transparent, really transparent, that God would see fit to use my journey to encourage someone else.  I think we all long to know that we are not alone.  Not in the sense of God never leaving or forsaking us, but that we are not alone in our struggles. In our mess. In the deep trenches that we dig for ourselves or on some occasions have been dug by others. I know we have a very real enemy who is crafty at whispering lies to us. He tells us to keep hidden our hurts, our struggles, that we should be ashamed of them and that no one would accept us if they really knew us.  We allow ourselves to believe that we have to have it all together while never expecting that of anyone else.  There are times in my life when I felt together and that was prideful, and untrue.  This is not one of those times though.  I am a mess.  But life is messy.  It is for all of us.  However, there are promises that hold true in spite of our stuff, promises in Christ that He died to give to us.  Promises that redefine the messiness in our lives.  Promises that give us beauty in place of ashes and hope in place of despair. I am on a mission to really know these promises and proclaim them over my life. They are ours for the taking but we must choose to receive them, choose to believe them, and choose to walk in them.
The thing about the Christian life is that it is a life of faith.  It is easy to acknowledge that it takes faith to accept the call to follow Christ, to believe that a man we have never seen, God in human form in fact, came to earth, died on a cross, and came back to life after three days- for us. That takes a leap of faith for anyone.  I think what we often don't realize is the journey takes faith. Every day.  Many of us can easily believe in heaven and are happy to do it, but faith is also required of us to experience the life God intended while we are on earth, on this side of the veil.  Matthew 17:20 states the if we have faith like a grain of mustard seed, nothing will be impossible for us.  A mustard seed? That seems so little.  I wish I had the faith of thousands of mustard seeds, but the bible says one will do. It makes me realize that we have to really believe.  So here I am crying out the Lord to "help my unbelief!"  So join me on along the journey if you would as I seek out the promises that are ours in Christ and choose to believe they are meant for his children-they are meant for me.