where waves grow sweet

This summer, since we were anticipating several out-of-town guests, I got fixated on the idea of gracing our backyard with some new patio furniture – the comfy kind that makes you want to talk and linger while the sun goes down. I’m embarrassed to acknowledge how much time I spent searching for just the right set that appealed aesthetically, functionally and financially (FYI, the cost of some sets might require selling your soul or firstborn child). I had almost driven my husband mad and given up hope when I found my heart’s delight on Craigslist. We rented a truck from Home Depot, trekked down to Dana Point and returned as joyfully as if with a newborn babe.

The trick was figuring out where to put my lovely 8 foot sofa with chunky chairs, blocky tables and big umbrella. With every surface cluttered, I just didn’t have vision for it. So I dragged every chair, table, toy and BBQ off the concrete and stood back to survey what remained. The space was still broken up by several immovable obstacles: a built-in fire pit, the wood columns of the patio cover, the heightened deck area, and the baffling zigzag contour of the concrete. If I were the homeowner and had some cash, several of these items would be changed or removed. But I’m not and I don’t.

So I took stock of the space and suddenly… golden rays of sun shone down from heaven on just the spot. That perfect spot that receives gentle morning light filtered through our neighbor, Ruth’s, maple trees yet is protected from late day’s harsh heat. Where the breeze from the distant coast jumps over the weathered fence and rustles the leaves of the eucalyptus tree overhead. Where the warmth from the fire is close enough to embrace the family on a chilly eve. And so the furniture moved into its perfect new home. About two minutes later, our kids spread themselves out on it, followed quickly by me and John.

While all of this was going on, we were dealing with a very difficult someone in our lives. It was nothing new, really, but the increasing levels of entitlement and manipulation proved to be particularly exasperating and threatened another relationship dear to my heart. Attempts over the years to improve the situation only worsened things, and it wasn’t one of those optional people you can just choose to part ways with.

The Lord, so kind to enlighten my simple self, said that, like the recent experience with the patio furniture, I just couldn’t see clearly. The relationship was so cluttered by hurt and frustration that I couldn’t find a solitary square foot on which to rest. So He told me to clear off the movable items. Instead of toys or barbeques, it was resentment, bitterness and anger (okay, rage), as well as the accompanying judgment of this person’s choices and, well, their whole self. And then there was that whole pile of self pity, sitting there stinking up the place, making it known what victims we were.

If I’m honest, those things didn’t look like temporary pieces of clutter to be dragged off at will, requiring nothing more than a quick visit to the chiropractor afterwards. They had begun to feel as though they were eternal truths, secured deeply in the earth by my understanding of their injustice. So along with extending forgiveness for the hurts and offenses, there was an accompanying need to surrender my ideas of how things should look – you know, the fairness and generosity I deserve (oh wait, is that entitlement?) – and my attempts to control them.

After beginning to clear these things off the surface, a quick survey of the area showed a brutal truth. There are things that can’t be moved, by my own hand anyway – namely the free will of another and what they choose to do with it. How I wish I had some ownership of their life and could remodel it to my liking. But I don’t and I can’t. Like that zigzag concrete in my yard, it’s going to stay for the duration of the relationship.

But that’s okay because what is becoming clear is that God’s got this. He is actually using it for my benefit – to grow me up and show me just how capable He is. This is where the angels sing and the golden rays pour forth sunlight onto the perfect spot. With all else cleared away, I can now see not where to put a sofa, but where to put my trust. It is not in another person or in circumstances that go as they should, but in the Lord Almighty who lives to demonstrate His love. The truth is that He loves this other person as much as He does me (gasp) and wants freedom for both of us. As we trust Him to lead us, He is going to do the impossible. If they are not willing, then He will still make a way for me.

And let me tell you, He has. In the midst of the all the things that are still swirling and despite the fact that outward circumstances are technically “worse,” I am finding this joyful liberty to let go of what I can’t change and to love well – here and now. The relationship close to my heart that felt so threatened is becoming richer by the day as the walls created through the friction melt. It is truly a place of rest. And I am certain that, like the patio furniture, endless hours will be spent here greeting the morning sun in quiet thought or talking, laughing and lingering with loved ones as the sun goes down.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

Courage to change the things I can,

And wisdom to know the difference.

                                                                               -the serenity prayer

My son, Cole, enlisted in the Navy right out of high school. Having been a single mom for much of his life, we had a particular closeness and it was hard – good hard – to leave him at the recruiting office where he would ship off to boot camp in Illinois, then to South Carolina for two years of training (which is nearly finished), and then off to wherever he will be stationed before plunging down into the sea for months at a time in a sub.

It wasn’t an easy transition, especially since Cole is not much of a communicator. It’s not that he doesn’t love people. He just kind of absorbs himself in his current environment and doesn’t often reach out past it. I don’t guilt him on the issue. His program is intensive and his Navy life is full. Plus he’s an introvert. But you’d better believe if that whistle textone reaches my ears, my heart flutters like a schoolgirl. And if I hear the robot ringtone I’ve used for him since middle school, you’d best get out of my way.

Frankly, I don’t even care what he has to say. He could text to tell me he had spaghetti for lunch and I would be touched. It’s the fact that he is choosing to connect with me. I usually don’t hear from him about day-to-day stuff, but always when he has purchased a new vehicle, weapon or tattoo. He can chat endlessly about the technical aspects of a really fast motorcycle. His quirk comes out in the photos he sends of new purchases, like his 1952 Rambler or the ambulance he now owns (yes, an ambulance). And, goodness gracious, that boy is getting tattoos at breakneck speed. Other times, the calls aren’t so light-hearted. Like when he totalled his motorcycle and was able to limp away from it. Or when his friend totalled his and wasn’t so fortunate. Those are the times I am especially glad I am available, always listening for those ringtones that belong only to him.

Though it is hard to wrap my head around, especially since He has a few billion kids, this is how God feels about each of us. Every. Single. One. We each have a special ringtone and His heart is thrilled to hear it. Because He loves us and even likes us, despite whatever flaws we are riddled with. It is the connection that matters; the fact that whatever we are experiencing, we want to share it with Him. Not only is He the best listener, but if we will give Him an opportunity to respond, He can impart to us what we need at that moment – be it friendship, wisdom, comfort, or hope. We were made for this relationship, but He will never guilt us if we don’t show up. He will just keep loving us, sending care packages and always keeping an open ear for the voice of His kids.

“We love because he first loved us.” 1 John 4:19

Chase, our three year old, has been taking swimming lessons for several months. One of the first things done by his swim instructor, Robert, was to take him underwater to let him get a feel for it; particularly that point at which he could feel the water “hold” him. As Chase was learning to swim a few feet on his own, he would sometimes forego his calm, confident “push-arounds” for a frantic, flailing sort of motion. Robert would talk him through the stroke, reminding him how he had learned to push the water, and provide physical support as reassurance before letting him try solo again. At the end of such lessons, I recall Robert saying that the panic was a result of Chase forgetting how to let the water hold him.

At his lesson today, his newer instructor was joking about how little energy Chase likes to expend when he swims, adding “he just likes to be held by the water.” It is true. Sure, he can paddle and kick fairly well now, but what he loves most is to float just beneath the surface with very little movement. When I once asked him what he enjoys about that, he simply said “it’s peaceful.” While I would love to see him gaining some distance in the pool, I can think of no better starting point.

We hopped in the car and I couldn’t stop thinking about the Christian life in these terms. As we are taking our own strokes in whatever circumstances we find ourselves, it is so easy to panic and flail, feeling certain that we are going to sink like a rock to the bottom of the pool, never to be heard from again. But the Holy Spirit, our instructor in this thing called life, is ever present, ensuring our safety and teaching us to swim. Rather than panicking alongside us or yanking us out of the pool, he quiets us and draws us back into that place where we can again feel – and more importantly, know – that we are held. And at some point, we will, like Chase, come to say that not only are we unafraid, but we are at peace.

But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you. John 14:26

Several months back, God spoke to me that His will is stronger than mine. It wasn’t a challenge, as it might have seemed at other points in my life. Instead, it was an invitation to rest in the strength of another. Like a child who wants to feel the safety of boundaries; to know she is not in charge and cannot wrap authority around her will through intimidation, manipulation or sheer persistence. Because something deep inside knows she was not meant to bear the responsibility of calling the shots; that indeed she is lacking in the wisdom required – the understanding that stretches beyond self.

I have often revisited this revelation when my soul is pushing hard for its agenda and believes it to be pure and right. When I feel as though I must get my way because my wants are strong. And, further, that I can get my way because my will is strong. It’s not that my desires are evil or my will is corrupt; but that they are incapable of bringing about the life I’m seeking without passing through the wisdom of the Spirit.

Like a child, who has pleaded for her desires with the most earnest emotions and arguments, chooses to yield to the answer of her parent – not because she necessarily agrees, but because she perceives the perfect love, strength and understanding from which it is derived. It is from this beautifully yielded place of trust that she can rest from the weight of decision. And there she will find all she has ever been seeking.

“As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.” Isaiah 55:9

For as long as I can remember, I was going to adopt. Before I even understood the significance of our adoption into God’s family, it was just a very beautiful thing to me. I had Cole at 21 and wanted to have more of “my own,” but it was always a given that sooner or later, I would adopt. A baby or kid or maybe a few kids – I didn’t really know.

After many, many (many!) years of being single and raising Cole, God gifted me with my husband, John, and his daughter, Madison. We blended as a family quite miraculously and got pregnant with our little boy, Chase, almost immediately. We were a happy family with three wonderful kids. The question was whether to try for another. We talked and we prayed. Then I prayed and cried and wrestled my heart down. And prayed some more. It was clear. There was peace. We agreed to no more babies by my body, and then sealed the deal with surgery.

It was the right decision. But my heart didn’t feel done. There was this lingering longing. A sense that someone was missing from our family. With the pregnancy door closed, a husband who shared a heart for adoption, and several friends who had adopted through the foster system, the answer seemed obvious. When Cole shipped off to the Navy in October and left us with a free room, we applied to be foster parents, requesting a baby girl with the hopes of being able to eventually adopt. It would be hard, we knew – messy and maybe heartbreaking – but we agreed that we were willing to love and give freely whether it were longterm or not.

Speaking of messy, there was the issue of my past. It is a long-ago past. There have been 20 solid, fruitful years since then. But before those years, I was a broken, dysfunctional human being. The choices that resulted were not easy for a case worker to brush off. So what began with mere paperwork turned into long hours of interviews and follow-up interviews and counseling to make sure issues were dealt with… and a lot of space in between as my life and potential suitability as a foster parent were scrutinized. It was an emotionally grueling six months. Ironically, the denial we received in March wasn’t because of the craziness I had shared, but an event I had completely forgotten to share, added to the fact that this is John’s third marriage (and my second). Actually it wasn’t an outright denial; more of a “not yet.” We were told to wait another year or two to make sure I’ve dealt with the ‘forgotten’ event and when they have more confidence that our marriage is going to stick. They are protecting wounded kids. I get it.

It stung a little, but the Lord had prepared me. The intensity of the process pressed me into such relationship with Him that I walked away from it transformed; wanting His plans for us more than my own – even if it meant not getting what I have longed for. Because, really, if it’s not according to His way which is so much higher than my own, it won’t satisfy the longing. I’ve often latched onto specific expectations when God had far better timing or, sometimes, a completely different way of fulfilling a heart’s desire. He has never failed to execute each gift perfectly, imparting a piece of Himself in the giving – and always in the waiting. And it satisfies. Because He satisfies.

I can’t say the desire has evaporated but I’m holding it loosely. The case worker said we’d have better luck with another agency or we could try back with the same one in a year but honestly, neither option excites my heart. And since we don’t feel compelled to go through a private adoption agency at this point, I am left with a beautiful family for which I am deeply grateful… and a heart eager to be satisfied. In the right time and the right way. By the giver of every good and perfect gift.

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. James 1:17

For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts. Isaiah 55:9

First, I would like to apologize to the people I grossed out with my last blog post and particularly to my friend who is now afraid of flies. Sorry about that 🙂

Without any further reference to insects, I’d like to recap what I said in that post, which is that we have authority over our thoughts and can inhabit our warrior selves by claiming the ground of our minds for peace. But I want to add something. There will be times when it won’t go down with that kind of glory. Not because the truth has lost authority over darkness, but because the enemy has blurred the truth so we don’t even know who we are or what we are supposed to be standing for.

I had some days last month that looked a whole lot like that. Doubt suggested through perpetual harassment that I resided outside of the gospel of grace, with all its forgiveness and hope and restoration; that it wasn’t for a person such as myself. Accusation presented all my failures as evidence of doubt’s insinuations. I knew it wasn’t true or thought I should know it wasn’t true, but it all sounded so damned convincing. So instead of charging like Braveheart with a primal shout, I cowered in a fetal position on the battlefield, waiting to be trampled by horses and pierced by swords.

“Drinian’s hand shook on the tiller and a line of cold sweat ran down his face. The same idea was occurring to everyone on board. “We shall never get out, never get out,” moaned the rowers. “He’s steering us wrong. We’re going round and round in circles. We shall never get out.” The stranger, who had been lying in a huddled heap on the deck, sat up and burst out into a horrible screaming laugh. Never get out!” he yelled. “That’s it. Of course. We shall never get out. What a fool I was to have thought they would let me go as easily as that. No, no, we shall never get out.”

But in my weakness, I remembered that sometimes courage looks like whispering “Jesus” from a fetal position. He hears His name, even when it is spoken only in the heart and even when it is clouded by doubt.

Lucy leant her head on the edge of the fighting-top and whispered, “Aslan, Aslan, if ever you loved us at all, send us help now.”

And He answers. Without fail, He answers. Sometimes it is vivid and immediate, but so often it starts as a small, fragile sliver of light or a barely discernible breath of hope.

The darkness did not grow any less, but she began to feel a little—a very, very little—better.

He whispers back with a voice of quiet authority, gentle and true. He enters our darkness with us. He becomes our courage. And He leads the way. Out of darkness and fear, through circumstances that reach far beyond our ability and the mazes of self-destruction we have created.

[An albatross] called out in a strong sweet voice what seemed to be words though no one understood them. After that it spread its wings, rose, and began to fly slowly ahead, bearing a little to starboard. Drinian steered after it not doubting that it offered good guidance. But no one except Lucy knew that as it circled the mast it had whispered to her, “Courage, dear heart”, and the voice, she felt sure, was Aslan’s, and with the voice a delicious smell breathed in her face.

In a few moments the darkness turned into a greyness ahead, and then, almost before they dared to begin hoping, they had shot out into the sunlight and were in the warm, blue world again. And all at once everybody realised that there was nothing to be afraid of and never had been.

from The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by CS Lewis

I too heard my Lord say “Courage, dear heart.” Though the peace didn’t come all at once, the warmth of His love broke through the condemnation and His light swallowed the darkness surrounding me. As it turns out, there is nothing to be afraid of and there never was…. and there never will be. His love has made sure of that.

Hillsong’s You Never Fail: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nj7gFmdB3no

All summer, at least two flies were present in my kitchen. My blood pressure must have risen several points each evening as I attempted to cook dinner amidst their perpetual buzzing and stealthy attempts to land on my food. When particularly frustrated, I threatened them in vicious tones and flung my bony hand at their bodies. The motion (or maybe threats) sent them into frenzied flying patterns for all of a few seconds… before they landed in the exact same spot. The process was repeated and our dysfunctional relationship continued.

When John returned home from work each day, he would grab the fly swatter, nail the pesky buggers, and be done with it. If another dared to appear in his presence, it would not live long. After several months of witnessing this, a revelation occurred:

Why did I let these pests dwell in my home, rob my peace and pollute my food? I, yes I, had the power. A fly swatter, to be exact. And, I suspect, a superior intellect.

So I began to take up my rightful place as daytime fly hunter. Lacking the coordination and experience of my husband, who can kill a fly mid-air, it certainly took a bit of effort. But the payoff was fabulous. Along with the perpetual buzz, went the persistent frustration – and an insidious (and absurd) sense of victimhood.

So I was feeling mighty; warrior-like, even. Slaying the enemy and protecting my turf. Then we had a birthday party for Madison. Despite the heat of the day, it was a lovely evening. We lingered outside, devouring the tasty food my mom had graciously prepared. I tied up the outdoor trashbag that was beginning to attract flies (Take that you defeated creatures!) and left it next to the back door – where it was forgotten for four very long, 90 degree days.

When I finally picked up the trash bag to dispose of it… oh my good lord. Living beneath that black plastic on MY porch right by MY back door was a mountainous pile of pulsating white maggots. A steady stream of the foul creatures continued to pour out of a hole in the bottom of the bag. My body froze, followed quickly by a gag reflex, and then a desperate holler to Cole as I witnessed masses of squishy wiggling bodies dropping beneath the wood slats to safety a few inches below… where, no doubt, they would fulfill their maggot destinies and transform into millions, if not billions, of flies and conquer me with their sheer number.

My dear, dear son came running to my rescue and (without gagging once) calmly assessed the situation. Together, we gathered several cans of raid and liberally sprayed every maggot in site. With the cans wedged between the slats of the deck, we blasted those cowering below. And then we sprayed them again. And again. The wood became host to glistening pools of toxic substances, as maggots squirmed and writhed in the wet poison. It was an all-out war.

Believe you me, we took out the trash that day. I think we added a couple more layers of trash bags to contain the remaining maggots (sorry environment!), tied them thoroughly and closed that lid TIGHT. There was a slight influx of flies for a short while after that adventure – bionic bugs that survived our attack, but nothing this warrior mom couldn’t handle.

But oh my word, can I tell you what I learned about taking thoughts captive? I’m talking about those pesky little thoughts that fly around in our heads, robbing our peace and polluting our nourishment, not to mention reproducing more of themselves to do the same. Many aren’t world-ending (although some are), so we just let them buzz around while maintaining this strange, dysfunctional relationship with them… as if they belong.

Let me tell you straight-up: they do not belong! Oh yes, I know that we can justify the accusatory thoughts that fly in, often undetected at first, and land on our minds. And how there are scrolls of reasons to accommodate the constant droning of self-pity. And how much evidence we’ve accrued to think that fear and anxiety have a right to exist in our dwelling place – or that we don’t have the authority to kick them out. Comparison and envy? All I will say is that they are waaay more toxic than a little fly juice. Each of our minds were created for peace. Without exception. Anything that draws us away from peace and Godly order is a squatter on the holy ground of our minds.

So what the heck do we do? A few suggestions…

1. Use the fly swatter! The foundation of our understanding as to what has value and is true – and our authority to reject all else – is the Word of God. It is our fly swatter (or, as Paul calls it in Ephesians, “the sword of the Spirit”). Let’s use it and become the warriors that we are by annihilating anything that doesn’t line up with His word.
2. Close the door. Thoughts are either given access or they aren’t. There will be times when they sneak in as we open the door to get the mail, but there are also times when we are trying to kill them left and right, without realizing that we have left a door wide open. The Holy Spirit is there to help us discern what each area might be for us and give us the wisdom and courage to slam that thing shut.
3. Take out the trash. Some of the crud lingering in our minds and stinking up the place has been there so long we consider it to be part of ourselves. Maybe it’s a simple realization that we’ve been hoarders who need to reassess what has true value and what happens to be rotten food mistaken as treasure. Then toss anything that does not bear value. If you need motivation, picture the maggots.

“We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.” (2 Cor 10:5)

Oh the dilemma. A wedding dress of such elegance. Mine, in fact. It clothed me so beautifully that joyful day; its silky under-self brushing my legs beneath the embrace of delicate lace. I loved it from the start. Throughout my wedding day, I was followed by its understated train – walking down the grass aisle to marry my best friend; dancing on hardwood floors, and taking photographs as man and wife on train tracks and sand; dashing across blackened pavement to be whisked off on our glorious honeymoon.

Having no further need for my beautiful gown, I wanted to share it with another bride. But having been dragged along every earthly surface, the dress was dirty; pig-pen dirty. I knew it should be professionally cleaned, but there was the cost. And the hassle. And, as time went on, a diminishing hope of the dirt coming out. So it remained in a garment bag amidst winter coats, suitcases and toilet paper. Every few months, it would be recovered from the closet, briefly contemplated and, since no one in their right mind would want a filthy wedding dress, returned to its home in the closet.

A few days ago, after nearly three years of marriage, I once again retrieved the dress. And once again I felt the shame of not having cleaned it. I could not bring myself to sell it or even give it away in that condition. So I prayed a simple prayer for wisdom and inspected the offending section yet again. With little to lose by a feeble attempt to clean the darn thing myself, I pooled the fabric in my hands beneath a slim stream of water.

To my great surprise and delight, without an ounce of effort, three-year old dirt yielded immediately to the water and filled the sink with its murky brownness. A few spots demanded gentle scrubbing. And the wee bit on the lace required an especially gentle touch. But it came clean. Beautifully clean. I cannot stop looking at its loveliness as it hangs in my room. My heart is glad to know that I can now grace someone else with this dress I love so much.

The experience demonstrated so tangibly how we, created for such beauty and glory, get sullied when we walk on this earth. At times our minds will be dragged along the pavement, darkening our understanding. Our hearts will get bumped along train tracks, leaving them bruised and battered. Sand will become embedded in our circumstances, causing friction and frustration. Splinters will enter our relationships, creating division and, if left, festering resentment. It is easy to accept these things as permanent damage, like a stain on who we are, especially when “too much” time has passed or when the dirt is “too deep” to remove. The temptation is to throw it all back into a dark closet and get on with life. After all, you can’t just throw a tormented mind or broken heart into the washer with some Tide.

But we will find that God is not daunted by a little dirt. Or a lot. As we lay our lives before the water of His word and the purity of His love, what seems to be irreversible damage will be washed away. With gentle kindness, he will tend to every part until we are perfectly cleansed and restored. Not only will we regard ourselves with delight as we radiate with His beauty, but we will bless others with what He has done for us and invite them to shower in His goodness.

“…just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless.” Ephesians 5:26-27