There is a God. And He likes me.

I was in the final moments of copyediting a lengthy document when the unthinkable happened: I somehow lost part of the document. Or the computer ate it. Or whatever.

It was bad.

I checked my files again with no luck: the endnotes were gone. And if the endnotes were gone, I had to wonder what else was gone. I considered cutting and pasting the endnotes from the original document, but quickly scrapped that plan. My reputation as a freelance editor depends on accuracy. Every. Single. Time.

I walked away from my computer and said a prayer while I crawled into bed for a nap. Because I’m spiritual that way.

I had been looking forward to a weekend with my family. A few games of UNO, a family movie, maybe some leaf raking if the weather cooperated. Now all of that was in jeopardy. I needed to keep working in order to make my deadline, and all of my fantasies about free time dissolved like the first sort-of snow of the year.

I printed out my edited document, planning to go through the whole thing again and make the changes on the original, just to be safe. And, what do you know, there were the missing endnotes. Maybe the computer hand’t eaten my document after all.
I consulted with Llama Papa, and with a few clicks, my beautiful copyedited document was there. All of it.

A few more changes, and it would be done. And I would be free for the weekend.

My first response? There is a God. And He likes me.

And yet even if the document hadn’t been recovered, I know the same thing is true. Even if I spent my weekend behind a computer screen, it’s true.

It’s easy to lose sight of God’s goodness when life feels hard, but it’s more true than any feelings we have: there is a God. And He loves us.

mine

The preschooler has a problem.

He thinks everything in this house belongs to him. He walks around and gathers things up, saying, “Hey! Do you like my new ball/guitar/flashlight?”

There’s only one problem.

None of this stuff is his.

Twin B. is most aggravated by this new development. With a strong sense of fairness and a very black and white approach to justice, this pushes him over the edge. “I just bought that game last week with my own money. Now he’s saying it’s his!”

We remind the preschooler who really owns the stuff he’s pocketing, but he just laughs. In his mind, I think, everything in this house belongs to him. He’s on the receiving end of so many hand-me-downs, he probably figures eventually it will be his.

And I remind Twin B. that his frustration at his little brother might be how God feels sometimes. He gives us so much. Everything we need! A home, plenty of food, clothes, and even some of the stuff we want, like toys and games and vacations. And sometimes we forget it’s all a gift, and we walk around like the preschooler, just grabbing onto it, insisting it’s ours; refusing to share.

And God watches. He’s full of grace. He just wants us to get it.

It’s all His.

life lessons

“Dear God,” Twin A. prayed, “Please help *Susie…” He paused and turned to me, “I don’t know what to say.”

“I know. Me neither,” I told him. “But God knows how much you care about your friend. He hears you and understands your heart, even when you don’t know what to pray.”

As a mother, I want to have all of the answers for my children. When they hurt, I want to make it all better. But sometimes we can’t, and I believe the important thing in those moments is to teach them—show them—how to handle those moments when they come. Because they will come.

We can’t fix things for our neighbors, who are grieving the loss of a wonderful husband and father. But we can be a friend and build snow forts and play. We can make them a meal. We can make a donation. We can pray.

And in doing these things, we teach our children that people and relationships are important.

We’re holding each other tighter this Christmas season, savoring each moment. Because truly, none of us has any guarantee of tomorrow.

Enjoy your family. In the midst of the chaos and the errands and the wrapping, savor the moments when you’re together. Forget the mess and turn on some music. Dance. Hug.

We only get one life. Enjoy it to the fullest.

**name has been changed to protect privacy**

canned carrots

What possessed me to buy these? I must have had some recipe in mind, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it was. That’s how long these have been sitting on my shelves. Going through the pantry today, I scooted them over to the side—after all, they’ve been there forever. I’m used to seeing them every time I put away groceries. But today I stop and think: why am I keeping these?

I collect things in my heart, too. Grudges, ways of coping, reactions to people. Some of these served a purpose for a time—it’s the way I got by. But now, today, they’re useless. I don’t need them anymore. So why keep them?

It’s time to throw out the carrots.

pain

One day at a time. This is our motto around here. Along with, this will not last forever.

Twin A. is still uncomfortable whenever he moves. We’re managing the pain as well as we can, and doing lots of deep breathing to try to relax. Last night he told me the fear of the pain is actually worse than the pain itself. He has been through so much.

The Llama Papa took our other two boys on to the family reunion campout in Michigan. (God bless him.) A. is sad to miss it, but has no desire to drive 3+ hours, even if we stay in a hotel. We’ve promised him a campout when he recovers.

And today is the toddler’s third birthday. For the last six months, he’s been talking about his “birthday party on the camping trip.” So I loaded him down with Elmo partyware and wrapped presents, and expect that he’ll fully enjoy his special day today. And, of course, we’ll have another party at home sometime next week. But in the quiet of this morning, can I just admit to you all that I’m hating this? Those of you who know The Toddler personally know that he is a bundle of energy and personality, and absolutely delightful. I hate missing his camping birthday party. Happy birthday, little buddy. Mommy can’t wait to throw you another birthday bash and watch your face light up with each new surprise.

The hardest part of this whole thing has been watching Twin A. in pain and being unable to fully take it away. Or worse, actually causing the pain. A few times a day, I need to help A. elevate his arm. It hurts to get in this position, but is essential for his healing. Moving him around while he cries for me to stop is the hardest thing I’ve had to do as a mom.

I’ve thought more than once about how God must feel with me at times, pushing me to look at places that are painful while I scream “stop!” And yet He knows what’s best for me. I believe this. And just like my heart skips a beat when A. chooses to trust me, even though it’s going to hurt, I have to believe God is thrilled when we choose to trust Him just a little bit more.

One of the things I’m most thankful for are the seeds of faith planted in A.’s heart. In the most difficult moments, he says, “I want to pray.” He told me he wishes God would just magically heal his arm, even though he knows that’s not how it usually works. We’ve talked about what God HAS promised us: that He’ll always be with us, no matter what.

So be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid and do not panic before them. For the Lord your God will personally go ahead of you. He will neither fail you nor abandon you. (Deuteronomy 31:6)

I’m also thankful for incredible friends and neighbors, who keep sending cards and dropping by with goodies and movies and games. And I’m incredibly thankful for my friend, S., who has some downtime before her classes start, and offered to come stay with us for a few days. I can’t imagine this past few days without her, honestly.

God is good. God is faithful. God is trustworthy.

This is what we’re learning over here…well, that and that malt chip blizzards from DQ are really, really good.

Rest: Living in Sabbath Simplicity

All week I’ve been blogging about Keri Wyatt Kent’s new book, Rest: Living in Sabbath Simplicity. I jumped at the chance to review the book because, a) I love free books, and b) I love Keri Wyatt Kent.

I’ve read numerous books on Sabbath and rest, and they’ve all contributed to my desire to observe the Sabbath. Keri’s book stirred the desire again with the reminder that, truly, God designed us to work hard, and then take a day to rest.

Stay-at-home moms, I can hear you clamoring in my head, “But I’ve got four children under the age of six! How can I possibly rest!”

Relax. Take a deep breath. God is not asking you to neglect your kids. But if you’re exhausted, and I know you are, I want you to read this book. If you’re local, I’ll loan it to you.

The thing I love about this book is the complete absence of guilt. I read it cover to cover and have a renewed desire to take my Sabbath observance a bit further—not because I think I should, but because I desire to experience all that God has for me. And it’s not just about the Sabbath—it’s about creating a life of sanity and balance, where we make room for relationships with God and others. We stop in order to connect with the people we love most.

I’m a fickle observer of the Sabbath. We usually attend church in the morning, and take naps in the afternoon, so the rhythm of the day feels different from the average weekday. Sometimes we invite friends over for dinner on Sunday night, and sometimes I go grocery shopping. Ahem. (Notice I said “fickle observer”?)

I’m wondering what it would be like to take this further. To work together to pick up our house early on Saturday, get the grocery shopping done if I need to, whatever needs to get done. To enjoy a leisurely dinner on Saturday night, turn the television off and play a game or go for a bike ride or a walk. Put the kids to bed and just be with my spouse, with no distractions.

Sunday would be for worship, rest, and fun. After church, we have a simple lunch, take our naps (the big kids can watch TV or read), then we enjoy family time together. Maybe we go swimming or biking. Maybe we have friends over. Maybe we play a game.

This sounds wonderful, doesn’t it?

And now I’m asking myself what it requires of me: being willing to work hard on Saturday to make preparations for Sunday, being disciplined to keep the computer off for a full 24-hours, and being fully present to my family. For me, those are the big ones. No doubt the list looks different for you.

One of the things Keri stresses in her book is to simply start somewhere. If you’ve never observed the Sabbath before, maybe just giving yourself permission to leave the laundry and read a book instead is the place to start. Wherever you’re at on your spiritual journey, Keri’s book will encourage and inspire you. It’s like taking a huge breath of crisp, fresh air.

If you’d like to purchase Keri’s book, Rest. A group study guide is included at the back of the book, making this a great “book club” choice!

I’d love to hear from you in the comments section. Do you observe the Sabbath? What has been the greatest reward to you, personally, from this observance? What are the biggest obstacles you face?

naked and unashamed

According to my husband, a good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast can fix just about anything. Well, not really, but it can give a person the needed perspective to simply deal with what is.

After a great night’s sleep in my quiet hotel room and a hot breakfast prepared by someone else, I enjoy a leisurely morning of writing, reading and email.

Then as I get ready to climb into the shower, I glance at my reflection in the mirror. (For the record, there are good reasons I don’t have a very large mirror in my bathroom.) As I climb into the shower, I begin to beat myself up. You really need to tone up that flab, lose some weight. And where did those wrinkles around your eyes come from? Is there cream for that? You should pay more attention to these things.

And then I hear myself and stop. Because, really, why do I need to beat myself up when I’m on a desperately needed getaway? What does God want for me today? Surely He’s not looking down at me thinking, “Wow. She’d be great if only she’d drop a few pounds and work out more.”

How can I see myself the way God sees me? Can I see the woman in the mirror, in need of rest, and just curl up and take a nap? Can I see the wrinkles around my eyes with gratitude, for the years and laughter He’s blessed me with? Can I see my chipped nails and chapped hands and acknowledge my own hard work caring for my family each day? Can I look at a body that has had the privilege of hosting life, and respect myself for that sacrifice? Can I see a woman who nurtures her children day in and day out, remembering all that I do, not all that I don’t do?

I stand in the shower and let the water wash over me. I remember grace, and breathe a prayer of thanks. Yes. Grace. It’s the only way I can stand before God. The only way any of us can stand.

How does God see you today? How do you see yourself?

Cantaloupe

The toddler and I went grocery shopping on Monday. He loves cantaloupe, so I was thrilled that they were on sale for only $1.79 each. As soon as I put it in the cart, he started asking, “CANLOPE NOW?

Cantaloupe isn’t really a good “shopping snack,” so I explained that we’d have to eat it at home—after it ripened.

After we got home and unloaded the groceries, he went into full meltdown mode. “CANLOPE NOW! CANLOPE READY NOW!”

But it wasn’t ready. It needed to ripen. I tried to explain that the cantaloupe would be yucky if we ate it now, but he kept insisting, “NO! FINE!”

Toddlers and waiting patiently don’t go together very well.

I can relate. I hate waiting. We’re in a season of waiting right now, and it’s driving me up a wall. And yet God knows what’s best for us. He knows what we need, and He knows when we need it.

(Incidentally, the next morning Llama Papa fed the kids breakfast and sliced into the cantaloupe, much to the toddlers delight. When I walked into the kitchen he smiled and said, “CANLOPE NOW! DADDY SAID YES!” He ate almost the whole thing.)

Supermom is a figment of my imagination

My alarm went off at 5:30 this morning. I jumped out of bed, started the coffee, and went right down my to-do list. Lunches—check! Breakfast—check! Crock pot scrambled eggs for MOPS group later this morning—check! The toddler’s diaper bag packed and ready to go—check! Kids up and dressed and fed—check!

By the time we walked to school, I was feeling pretty good about myself. For about five minutes, I entertained thoughts like, “I’ve got this mothering three thing down. The toddler’s on a nice schedule, the noisy boys are getting their homework down and going to bed early. Look at me! I’m amazing!”

Right.

On our way to school, I noticed a few kids on bikes looked kind of dressed up. As the noisy boys joined their classmates in line at school, I noticed everyone looked nice today. That's when it dawned on me: it’s picture day.

And my boys are dressed in old t-shirts and army shorts.

Yeah, I’ve got this mothering thing down all right. When I remember to look at my calendar.

And the toddler with the nice schedule? Yeah. He’s been jabbering for the last two hours instead of sleeping. And now it’s almost time to walk back to school and get the noisy boys. No nap today.

Any illusions that I’ve got it going on over here are just that: illusions. I was reminded of that this morning at our MOPS kickoff meeting. If I try to do this motherhood thing on my own, it just doesn’t work. I need to rely on God and reach out to friends and family for support.

Supermom doesn't exist. At least not at my house!

building community

It was a little thing. Spaghetti pie, actually. With bread and salad and ice cream bars for dessert.

She’s a friend from the neighborhood, so I brought the food over hot, right at dinnertime. She brought her beautiful baby girl, their third child, home just a few hours before.

“Thank you so much,” she said as I laid the food out on the counter and tucked the ice cream bars into her freezer. “This is amazing. Have people done this for you before?”

“They have,” I responded.

“Wow. Nobody has ever brought me a meal before.”

Let that sink in. Nobody has ever brought me a meal before.

When I told Llama Papa, he said, “Well, our church does something right.”

“Or, we, The Church, are doing something wrong,” I responded.

(I know. Ask him how much he appreciates my optimism…)

Are we so busy in our churches reaching out to one another that we miss opportunities to serve others in our community? Our own neighbors? Don’t get me wrong, the serving of one another in Christian community is a beautiful thing. Beautiful.

Let it spill over, friends. And not because it’s one more thing you should do. If it’s just another obligation, then don’t bother. But as you build community with your neighbors and the people in your life, as you become friends and care for people, really care for them, let it spill over. Let the beauty of Christian community spill over and touch the people around you.

made for grace

I cried the first time I read Ann's blog, Holy Experience. Her beautiful writing captures something about God's grace that resonates with the deep places of my soul. She finds words for things when there are no words.

In a culture of church shopping for what will meet my needs best, for leaving a church every time we become uncomfortable or feel like we don't fit, this post was a breath of fresh air.

Not again!

“How was school today, B?” I asked.

“Good.”

“What was your special thing?”

“Learning Stations.”

“How fun! Who were the helping Moms?”

He rattled off two names then shrugged his shoulders. “But there was one Mom who didn’t show up.”

You know that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach? I had that. And then I found my volunteer schedule, and sure enough: It was me.

This happened a few weeks ago, and actually it turned into a really good teaching moment with my boys. “Nobody’s perfect,” I told them, “not even me. We all need grace.” Twin A. especially was struck by this not being perfect concept. He tries really, really hard and he really wants that to be good enough. It’s hard to accept grace when it means acknowledging your own failings.

So I chalked the whole thing up to another Kindergarten Mom Moment, apologized to the teacher, combed through my calendar and regrouped my organizational efforts, and moved on.

Until Monday.

It happened again, people.

And once again, the teacher extended sweet mercy to this tired Mom. She was so kind, I cried on my way home from school. And when I think of all the times it’s me on the other end of inconvenience, I’m ashamed. Because while I talk a lot about grace and forgiveness, the truth is, I expect people to tow the line. I tend to be critical, not gracious, when I’m on the other end of inconvenience.

Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. (1 Peter 4:8)

silence = community

One of the biggest surprises from my five day silent retreat was how much the spiritual discipline of silence has to do with community. At first glance, five days alone seems selfish and self serving, doesn’t it?

And yet.

How many times do I turn to people––to my husband, my church, my friends––desperate for them to meet my needs? Oh, it may not come across as desperate. But it is.

Don’t get me wrong. Many times it’s appropriate to turn to friends and spouses and our faith community for support. It’s a good and healthy thing to reach out for help when we need it. But sometimes the loneliness of my heart is so deep that only God Himself can satisfy it. To go from person to person hoping for them to fill me up enough will only leave me hungering for more. And more. And more. And more. I’m never satisfied.

And so I am learning to go to Jesus. To sit with Him. To listen. To share the truth about my neediness with Him. To open up the deep places of my soul and allow Him to fill me.

And in that filled up place, community is richer.

empty

Empty.
Barren.
All of my striving
comes up short.

All of it.

What now, Lord?
I offer you what is:

Me.
Empty.

Are you really enough?
Enough to fill in all of these cracks
without my help?

Really?

Lord I believe.
Help me with my unbelief.

the truth

I went on this retreat of silence in search of God. And in the silence, as distractions and noise began to fall away, I was left with myself. And God. And what is real and true between us. Not what I want to be real and true, but what actually is.

Here are my reflections from day two:

The day is slipping away; my mind wanders. Have I been attentive enough? I want measurable results. I want to come away from this week and say, “God did this,” or “God said this.” I want to sit for five minutes or five hours or five days and have something to show for it.

But the truth is, I’m coming up empty. The truth is, I’m exhausted. The truth is, I’m distracted. The truth is, I don’t even know what my soul feels like. The truth is, I’m afraid I won’t even recognize God’s voice if He does speak.

an invitation

“What brings you here?” Ruth asks. And so I spend the next hour talking about my life, my restlessness of soul, my deep hunger for God, my fears, my busyness.

“I don’t know where to begin with God,” I confess.

She smiles. We sit quietly for a time, and then she opens her Bible and reads,  

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light" (Matthew 11:28-30).

She smiles again. “What would it look like for you to accept God’s invitation to rest today? To trust Him with all of the things we’ve talked about, and just lie down and take a nap?”

"A nap?" I think. "That doesn’t sound very spiritual." Later, I walk over to the cafeteria, and take a bowl of lentil soup. Homemade. As I sit with my soup and salad, I marvel at this gift of food that someone else has prepared. I want to go into the kitchen and hug the women who made it. "When is the last time I sat through an entire meal?" I wonder to myself.

After lunch, I go to my room to complete my only assignment of the day: rest.

It’s harder than I expect it to be. I open my journal and make a list of all of my distractions and concerns. It’s two pages long.

And I find myself back in this familiar place with God: do I trust Him? Can I stop and simply be for an afternoon? Can that really be enough?

I read the verses in Matthew again and thank God for His invitation. The truth is, I am tired.

And so I begin this first afternoon of my journey into solitude and silence with a long nap.

beginning

I’m not exactly sure why I’m here. A simple note to the author, a question really, resulted in this invitation to spend five days in solitude and silence, meeting with Ruth in the mornings for prayer, devotions, and spiritual direction.

I don’t know how many people have been invited, but only two of us are here––me and a young worship leader from San Francisco.

I feel intimidated. Who am I to be here, sitting across from this woman, whose books have challenged the very soul of my being? Why should she invest this time in me?

It’s surreal. She shares a devotion with us and I wonder that she shouldn’t be standing in front of thousands, sharing these great insights into scripture.

I wonder again, what am I doing here?

I’m surprised by how quickly the ego fades in this setting, how deeply we connect, soul to soul, in spiritual friendship.

She’s no longer a famous author and speaker. She’s simply Ruth.

“It’s no coincidence that you’re here,” she smiles.

This truth resonates with me, and I know that for whatever reason, God has brought me here.

And so I begin my journey.

retreat

After a week without words, I’m not sure how to describe the experience using them. This past five days have been the truest I have ever known. Difficult. Hard. But also true and real.

And God showed up, friends.

Not in the ways I thought He might, or even the ways I wanted Him to. But He showed up.

I’ll share slices of this week over time, but the whole experience feels so sacred, I’m not sure how much to say or how to say it. Be patient with me as I process and consider what the Lord has done.

It’s good to be home with the noisy boys again. Twin B. greeted me with, “Dad let us eat 26 marshmallows!”

Llama Papa assures me it was only 14.

In any case, they all survived.

It is good to be home.

unplugged

I leave on my silent retreat early tomorrow morning.

I’ll be away all week.

I’m still apprehensive, but I’m more excited than nervous. I’m really looking forward to uninterrupted time to pray and simply be.

As my friend Ed has said before, this blog is like a hungry farm animal. Heck, my whole life is like a hungry farm animal. It will be good to step away for a time.

apprehensive

I’m registered for a silent retreat next week. Five days of solitude and silence, prayer, and spiritual direction. I leave on Monday.

I’ve gone on silent retreats before, but never for this long.

I’m nervous.

No computer.
No phone.
No distractions.

Just me and God.

In her book Wilderness Time, Emilie Griffin observes:

“When we go on retreat we clear space for God’s action in our calendar… Making a retreat requires a certain kind of trust. We need to trust the Spirit. In contrast to vacations or holidays in which activities – planned sight-seeing, sports, entertainment, or events – are within our control, retreat leads us into a less predictable situation. We don’t know what God has in store for us, but we are willing to risk what we will find out.”

Trust. Yes. This is where the apprehension is coming from. I am a Planner with a capital P. I don’t like leaving things up in the air or even up to other people––I like to take care of things myself. The ugly term for this, I believe, is––ahem––control freak.

But this retreat isn’t about my agenda. It’s about making space for God to work in my heart and life.