Puddles

How does a heart survive a storm?  I certainly don’t know how.  A storm can stomp a heart, shatter it even, but it is possible for a heart to break and still survive. This I know with every thread of my soul. This I know.

This is not a post about God picking up the pieces and making something beautiful from the wreckage; He does, oh, He does. But when you are holding shards of your shattered-to-pieces heart in the palm of your hand, you can’t see past the hot, red mess of it all to the place where Beauty is born. You can’t see. You are blind to beauty because your dreams are covered in death’s cloak.  Covered, invisible, gone.  And that is often where the Lie begins to speak. 

I am covered in this mess. 

I am invisible to God. 

My entire being… is gone.

And whether it’s a slow, agonizing death or sudden and tragic, all of life gets tipped upside down as you attempt to sort it out. And in the searching and seeking, you realize that you can’t see.

I took the kids on a walk this morning since it finally stopped raining and the sun showed up after a long vacation.  Flanking either side of the road, ripples of standing water reminded us that there had been a storm. Some were deep and ran like rivers. Others were shallow and still.  My first thought was to classify each one as proof- hard evidence- that a storm had ripped through this place.  But the more I let it collide with the question how, the more it occurred to me that perhaps I was looking at this upside down. 

Puddles aren’t just proof; they’re collections. 

And puddles can be pools of blessing.

Read the rest over at Part of the Miracle.  
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HOW not WHY

It was next to the sidewalk in a mangled clump.  I might have walked right by without recognizing the damage had it not been for my own kids. Buckets in hand, they raced off to pluck flowers from the soft ground and gather pine cones to take home as treasures. My boy was searching for sticks and when he spotted the forgotten mess, I told him to back away.  It didn’t take me long to figure out what it was.  Next to the pile of sticks lay the eggs, smashed open and abandoned. The branch nearby and the sound from above confirmed the tragedy.  Birds were shrieking instead of singing.  My heart broke for that momma bird, helpless against the ferocious wind that ripped her precious family out of her grasp.  Somewhere in the chaos I heard my logical self ask, “Why?” 

We continued our walk, but my eyes went upward, searching for the birds that wailed. I wondered if they were all momma birds, because when someone’s nest is in danger, mommas are the ones who gather round with their prayers and their casseroles and their texts that say “This is hard.” Just this week a group of mommas circled in huddles around my kitchen, loving on each other and packing lunches for some precious kids whose mommas just can’t because life isn’t always fair. The focus is usually on the kids whose names are written on lunch bags with care. But as I thought about that bird, a different set of names came to mind- the mommas. And that's when I realized how important it is that we ask a different question.  

My natural reaction to tragedy is “Why,” but there is no answer to that question and it gnaws at my heart and leaves me raw.  Since I can’t answer the whys, I’ve found a question that has an answer- a really, really good answer. The question is, “How?” This is where one momma can do her part in a world full of unanswered whys. Instead of asking “Why,” I wonder what would happen if we all gathered up our momma friends and asked, “How can we help?” When we left the park and headed home, I knew that momma bird was going to be ok, and my logical self was silenced by the power of a momma’s love. 

This is a precious story about a momma and her boy that I’ve watched at least a thousand times this week. It’s a beautiful thing to let Jesus show us how. 

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Take Me Back

It’s been with me ever since I snapped these pictures of them in their rocket-ship last week. Rocking back and forth in the over-sized recliner in the corner of my bedroom, his imaginative voice boomed, “Ready for take off!” She echoed the same and their squeals of excitement made me turn around and smile big. Decked out in headphones which every astronaut needs in order to listen, they urged each other to hang on in case the ride got bumpy. As I pushed the button, capturing this moment, I uttered a simple prayer in the middle of my crazy busy life. Take me back.

They were completely unaware that their pretending had been transferred to my camera, and as I watched them play, a similar snapshot came to mind.  It was taken almost four years ago in the very same spot in the very same chair.  It was my resting place, where I sat and listened, where I talked to Jesus.  The leather had been broken in during the last months of my pregnancy when sleeping had become a chore. I rocked them together in this chair the day we brought them home, tiny bundles of answered prayer.  I held them in this chair and I held on for dear life in this chair because the ride was certainly bumpy.  

What they don’t know is that this chair, over-sized yet ordinary, is so much more than a rocket-ship.  They pretend it can take them somewhere far away into space, but I’ve come to believe that this chair is more like a time machine. It’s the place I go when I really need to remember. Take me back, has been my prayer lately. Sitting with my bible open, Jesus is taking me back.  He is helping me remember.  It’s more than bringing memories to mind by flipping through old photographs. 

Remembering is looking back through the lens of Truth in order to move forward.  

My mind is renewed and my heart is revived as it sinks in that this Truth has the same power today as it did yesterday and way back in the beginning.  Being refreshed with then compels me to move forward now, confident that His promises for tomorrow are filled with the same love. Remembering always begins with sitting. The feet of Jesus is the place I go when I need to remember, and today I really need to remember.

The concept seems so glorious and holy and appropriate, but it also screams cliché and if I’m completely honest for just a moment, it sounds pretty unproductive to sit when there is a to-do list a mile long that grows every night when I turn off the light. I desperately need to know how this beautiful picture of sitting at my Savior’s feet connects to my everyday-crazy-busy-jammed-packed life.  So as Jesus takes me back and invites me to remember, a new question crops up in my heart.

How do I sit and remember, Jesus? What does that even mean?

I’m asking in between folding laundry, driving through the carpool line and making dinner; I’m listening while vacuuming; I’m watching for it to unfold at the same time I’m watching the kids run and play, wondering why this concept is so stinking hard for me to wrap my head around.  I’m waiting every morning with my bible open, eager for Him to show me what it looks like to sit at His feet. And this woman named Mary teaches me a thing or two.

Mary was one of those women who got it.  She was the one who sat and listened to Jesus’ teaching, hanging on His every word while her sister, Martha, was left with all the dishes and preparations.  At first glance it seems to me like Mary was just trying to get out of helping.  Martha thought so too, because she tried real hard to get Jesus to direct Mary to the kitchen to serve.  But His answer astounded Martha and it catches my attention too.

“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better and it will not be taken away from her.” Luke 10:41-42

Mary sat and listened.  Mary wasn’t just sitting doing nothing.  She was at Jesus’ feet listening to what He said. Martha was probably listening, too, from the kitchen.  But this kind of listening was focused listening.  It was focusing head and heart on one thing.  And this one thing was what Jesus said would never be taken away. I’m starting to see that the watching, the waiting, and the wondering are all part of listening, too.  It’s not a fast-and-furious-drive-by kind of conversation. It’s daily with a whole lot of waiting so that the good stuff has time to really sink in.

I read about these same sisters again in John. They called for Jesus when their brother, Lazarus, was sick. When He didn't come right away, questions started brewing and their faith was pressed. When reasoning begins to crumble, hope is easily lost in the wreckage. I have no doubt that Mary and Martha wanted an answer, an explanation from Jesus when He showed up four days after Lazarus had passed away.  Today I notice that these women spoke the same words, yet something was very different.

When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went out to meet him, but Mary stayed at home. “Lord,” Martha said to Jesus, “if you had been here, my brother would not have died. John 11:20-21

When Mary reached the place where Jesus was and saw him, she fell at his feet and said, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. John 11:32-33

Their heads were full of everything that would have been different if Jesus had been there.  These sisters shared the same words and the same crushing heartache, yet their postures were revealing.  Martha may have reached Jesus first, but Mary was the one who fell at His feet in adoration.  I’ve always thought that seeing Mary’s sorrow was what deeply moved Jesus, but I wonder if her posture of worship even in the midst of heart break moved Him as well.

Mary’s posture revealed her love for Jesus.  

And here, I notice how head and heart meet at Jesus’ feet, how thinking is realigned and posture readjusted. I read one last time about these two sisters, the one who served and the one who sat, and I start to question what qualifies as serving.

Here a dinner was given in Jesus’ honor. Martha served, while Lazarus was among those reclining at the table with him.  Then Mary took about a pint of pure nard, an expensive perfume; she poured it on Jesus’ feet and wiped his feet with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. John 12:2-3

Mary served Jesus. Martha may have been the one serving the meal, but Mary was serving, too. The truth of this jolts me as I consider that whatever I serve is also what I worship.  It is evident that Mary served Jesus. He was the center of her life and even when her life was turned upside down, she worshiped Him. 

Jesus is the center of my life, too. He was in the center when the fog convinced me He wasn’t there, when I had to strain with everything in me just to hear His voice.  He was in the center then and He is in the center now, not because I have put Him there but because that is His position.  He is the only constant in my life and He is worthy of every single bit of my praise and honor. 

Jesus’ position as King prompts a posture of praise.

Sitting at His feet has nothing to do with the words I speak; it's listening to His Word and letting it change me.  It's not about how much or how little time I have; it's recognizing that my time is His and believing that my life will be fuller when He directs how I spend it. It's not about how well I understand my life; it's worshiping Him regardless of my circumstances.

Jesus, take me back today because I really need to remember. Take me back to your precious blood that was spilled for my sake. Take me back to the anguish felt at the foot of the cross. Take me back to the sky turning dark, the curtain tearing in two, and the silence that followed. Take me back to those three agonizing days when all were at a loss for what had happened.  Take me back to the trembling of the earthquake that rolled that stone right out of the way. Take me back to the empty tomb where angels proclaimed that you are the Living God and your Kingdom will never end. Take me back to your victory over sin and death, so that I remember I can live victoriously in you.  Take me back today and then again tomorrow, because I need to remember every day.  

Jesus, take me back so that my posture reflects Your Glory always.  Amen.