The Lie I Almost Bought

My eyes were brimming and I had nothing to catch the slow motion cascade that was coming.  I’ve never been more thankful for sunglasses that know just how to hide the hurt. As I drove home, this unexpected release was evidence of a storm on the inside. A shaky “help,” escaped my lips as the downpour threatened to take over. 

The morning had gotten away from me.  The bickering, procrastinating, whining, and flat-out ignoring had all taken turns whittling away my resolve.  The conversation from the day before was set on repeat in my head, pausing every now and again so I could gather up my assumptions.  As I pulled up to a stoplight, it rose to the tip top of my meltdown: You are not heard.

Of course.

The light turned green and the faster I drove, the deeper these words traveled into my heart until at last I came to the conclusion that they must be true. I agreed and in a split second and that hurt twisted itself into an angry ball of pain. 

You are not heard, so just be quiet.

As I pulled into the driveway, I became strangely aware of a familiar pattern unfolding like a bad case of déjà vu.  It reminded me of the other conclusions I’d accepted over the years. I’d collected them and lined them up on the shelf of my heart, but all they did was mock me.

You are not accepted, so just stay out.

You are not worthy, so just walk away.

You are not enough, so just quit trying.

Be quiet. Stay out. Walk away. Quit trying.  Stunned as the truth of it slapped me in the face, I recognized the enemy behind this lie.  God doesn’t speak that way.  Those words clash 100% with His character; they contradict who He is. When He speaks, it sounds more like this:

You are heard, so ask, seek, knock.

You are accepted, so reach out in love.

You are worthy, so come close to Me.

You are enough, so accept this free gift I’ve given.

Ask. Reach out. Come close. Accept this. That’s Love full of truth.  Jesus did not die to save us and forgive us and make us whole again so we would be silent, absent, neutral or defeated.  When He gave His life and rose from the grave, sin and death were conquered.  And so was our enemy... forever.

Because of Jesus, you are heard.

Because of Jesus, you are accepted.

Because of Jesus, you are enough.

And because of Jesus and His victory, the enemy will always try to get you to believe otherwise.

When Mother's Day Is Bittersweet

Mother’s Day is such a precious day, but for so many of us, it is bittersweet.  

I’ve wondered about this lately,

 how one day can be packed with such conflicting emotions.    

I’ve come to the conclusion that a mother- who she is and all she represents-

is a beautiful picture of God’s unconditional love for us.  
Which is why we experience joy when it’s there and sadness when it’s missing. 

  

Whether Mother's Day is bitter or whether it's sweet, 
soak up the love of Jesus right where you are.  
 His love is the same no matter what day it is.

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.  
(And while you're there, like POTM on Facebook!)

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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