where waves grow sweet

Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. 2 Cor 4:16

I love getting older. I absolutely love it. I would not go back one day or a decade if I had the chance. It’s not just that life was hard and miserable way back when. Or even that things are so good now. It’s that in between the “then” and the “now,” even between yesterday and today, I’ve gotten to do life with the Lord. It’s been messy and I’ve often taken the long, stubborn route to learning things, but the process has yielded a friendship that I treasure more than anything – even a second chance at doing things better.

What is bugging me, though, is what aging looks like on the outside. I am repelled by the lines branching out from my eyes like crazed lightning, and the deepening creases on my forehead that seem to live a life of their own. Nor am I too keen on the wild gray hairs that defy both gravity and decorum, refusing to lay nicely with the blond(ish) ones. I find myself standing further away from the mirror each year, thinking – like a small child – that if I can’t see it, it isn’t there.

When I was pouting to John the other day, he jokingly asked me if I wanted my face lasered (is that even a thing?). Yes, I want my skin to have the resilient spring of a brand new trampoline. And, yes, I would like to see certain body parts raised up from the grave to resume life where they began their journey. But I am much more interested in having my mind lasered (by truth, that is) so that my entire perception is forever purged of these shallow, critical, lifeless observations.

If beauty is indeed in the eyes of the beholder, things are looking good for me! My creator sees through piercingly pure vision, with each glance beholding the beauty he created in me. His vision can’t be touched by a single thing this world considers an imperfection. I am, after all, a reflection of his perfection. It is the truth of who I am, which as Graham Cooke puts it, goes way beyond what may be “true” about me – like wrinkles, varicose veins, or sagging body parts. So all I have to do is start seeing like he does, beholding myself and others through his unyielding love.

But it isn’t always easy to believe what the Lord sees over the aging process unfolding in the mirror, or to listen to his quiet voice over what is shouted at me in Orange County, this ever-so-slightly vain place in which I live. It takes trust. But this wonderful God has been with me to hell and back. Our ties run deep. What he has told me has always been true. So I’m going to trust. And I’m going to be free. So get ready to go deep, you laugh lines!

See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? Isaiah 43:19a

While I realize that January 1st is technically considered the new year, it feels like an interruption to something already begun; an attempt to redirect an already-flowing current. For me, the beginning of the school year is when things are truly new. It is the time of year when routine gets established and the pace is set for the following 10 months, holding everything together until the structure has grown old, begins to crumble, and can’t help but give way to the refreshing free form of summer.

But this special nugget of time – right now – is possibly my favorite time of year. It is for me “a world between the woods.”* The party of summer has yielded to a certain quietness that draws me in and calms me down. Guests have gone, trips have ended, anticipation of sweet times has been fulfilled. Yet time is still free and easy; the days remain warm and playful. The crunch of real life and its list of demands hasn’t set back in. This is a time of reflection for me. To honestly evaluate what matters. To decide what should fall away and what should be pursued. To make new year’s resolutions. My version, anyway.

I don’t have any to offer up quite yet, apart from a longing for simplicity and focus. I’m thinking and praying about what that will look like. But I am excited about this new year and fully believe it will surpass all the ones that have gone before. I’ll keep you posted… assuming that makes my list of resolutions. 😉

*The “world between the woods” is a reference to a hushed place of trees, light, and pools of water from The Magician’s Nephew (one of the Chronicles of Narnia). It is not a world in itself, but a link from one world to another.

Every good thing given and every perfect gift is from above… James 1:17

I took Chase to the doctor when he was three months old. He seemed to be in so much pain, especially at night, making sleep elusive. No mom wants to see her child hurting, especially when her comfort proves short-lived or ineffectual. And, truly, no mom wants to wake up every hour and a half for months on end, particularly if there is some method, magic pill, incantation, or other path to rest and sanity.

Dr. Basu, our wonderful pediatrician, checked out Chase’s little body and noted his excellent health. She said, “Often what seems like pain is really a tired kid who doesn’t know how to get to sleep.” It struck me as the most profound thing I’d ever heard. Of course he was tired! He’d spent his life thus far without any considerable stretch of sleep. In the beginning, there was clearly tummy trouble and discomfort, but as I reflected on our doctor’s comment, I realized that those symptoms didn’t exist anymore. At this point, comforting him was just a habit based on what had been, and though a good thing in its rightful place, it was actually hindering him from getting what he needed now… which was sleep, not comfort.

Our outlook was changed that day. We realized that Chase had to experience discomfort for a short time in order to have what would bless him for a long, long time. It was rough on this mama’s heart. Fears arose that I would lose his trust or damage him or make things worse for both of us. But I kept going back to what I most wanted for our little guy – to give him what he needed. So I pressed on through my own discomfort, which was probably far greater than his, and got to experience the benefits. Though it took a little while, I’m happy to report that we now have a baby who falls asleep on his own, almost always sleeps through the night, and wakes up talking and laughing. He is healthy. He is happy. He is rested. And he is loved.

I know there will be many more opportunities that will test my inclination to give Chase what comforts or pleases him, rather than what is best for him. Having raised a 17 year old son, I know this all too well. But as I (hopefully) grow in wisdom and love, I will not only be able to better discern the actual needs of my kids, but I will be able to set aside my own emotions to act in their best interest – not just for the moment, when a “yes” would make us both feel good, but for the long haul as their character and habits are formed. And I will be better able to set aside my own desires as I allow my Father in heaven to discern what is best for me and act on my behalf. He hasn’t always given me what I’ve wanted, but he has always given me what I’ve needed. I am healthy. I am happy. I am rested. And I am loved.

We got a high-end vacuum as a wedding gift that was specifically designed to contend with animals, like our freakish fur factory of a dog. The vacuum was nice, no doubt about it, but it was finicky from the beginning. Sometimes it would start immediately, as you would expect of any vacuum (expensive or not), but usually it required a little coaxing – perhaps a few extra taps of the power button, a prayer, some begging, or the occasional harsh word. Spending so much time on my relationship with this household appliance did not bring me joy, but we were working things out.

Until it wouldn’t start at all. I stuck the useless betraying machine in the hall closet and hoped it would get into a better space. In the meantime, I redistributed the fur on the hardwood floors with a broom and pretended there were not untold things gathering on the carpets. Finally, I did what any sane person might have done at the first sign of trouble, and called the company that made the darn thing.

Within two minutes, a kind person had not only apologized for the inconvenience, but had submitted a request to a local shop where our vacuum – which was still under warranty – would be repaired for free. Two days later, my very nice vacuum was returned in perfect working order at no cost to me. It was a simple fix that was easily diagnosed. And I had waited a year because….?? Well, because I had assumptions that the issue was somehow normal. Or it would work itself out. Or maybe my warranty had expired. But not one of my assumptions was true. The serial number that verified my warranty was on my vacuum (albeit in a secret place that required genius to find), and the rest followed with incredible ease.

While this process clearly reveals my utter dysfunction as a housewife, it also points to the way I handle other things in my life that aren’t working quite right – bad habits, broken mindsets, and tweaked emotions. I make similar assumptions, like it’s just the way it is. Or it will work itself out in time. Or it’s not as bad as it could be. So I develop complicated relationships with my sin and hope for the best. After all, it’ll probably work itself out in time… and it’s really not as bad it could be.

But is it as good as it could be? Am I thinking and functioning and feeling the way I was designed to think and function and feel? If not, I have a couple of options. The first is to continue creating inconvenient and inconsistent work-arounds, like I did with my pain-in-the-butt vacuum. I’ve recently determined this to be a crappy approach. The other is to get fixed or, better yet, transformed so I’m able to live my life fluidly and freely, without encumbrances. Then I’ll be able to fulfill the purpose for which I was created, and God will be able to use me as easily as I now use my vacuum.

The second option is more easily accomplished than I sometimes anticipate. I already have my identity as a lovingly created child of God (which is as specific as a serial number but way more personal – and far simpler to find), and my lifetime warranty provided by the cross of Christ (which covers anything and everything I will ever encounter). My only responsibilities in the whole deal are to recognize that something is broken and to call on God to help me. He works out the rest or directs me how to do it. So many problems that I’ve magnified and dragged out have been quick fixes. I’ve kicked myself for not acting on them sooner. There have also been some major repairs that required the dismantling and rebuilding of my insides. I’ve kicked myself for not acting on those too. Because nothing has changed for the better by ignoring or managing it. And even when it’s not as bad as it could be, I’ve decided I’d rather have it as wildly good as it could be.

In everything I did, I showed you that by this kind of hard work we must help the weak, remembering the words the Lord Jesus himself said: ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive.’ Acts 20:35

I would like to announce (in a very belated fashion) the arrival of my beautiful baby boy, Chase William, born on a peaceful Sunday morning in September; the twenty-third to be exact. It hasn’t been easy, but love is funny that way. It doesn’t seem to mind too much. And, really, I was smitten from the start.

Sleeping peacefully on Christmas morn

The day after Christmas I called my Grandma, who was in the hospital bravely recovering from open heart surgery. She asked how Chase had enjoyed his first Christmas. He was clueless, I told her. We had excitedly opened each present for him, narrating the process with animated voices of the highest pitch while he sat in his Santa jammies, staring blankly at his new toys or nothing in particular. As I said, clueless.

Huh?

Grandma, always quick to see a deeper parallel, pointed out how similar we are as oblivious children of a generous God. I hung up the phone and continued to think about this for a while. What struck me is the natural progression of kids as they grow – from clueless to aware to greedy. At some point, every kid thinks Christmas is all about them. The interruption of meals or other people’s gifts are quite an annoyance. Unfortunately, some people get stuck there. But somewhere along the way – bit by bit – something will change for most. They will start to appreciate the thought behind the gift or think about the trouble someone went through to track it down. They may even come to realize that the real fun is in getting presents for others, delighting in the anticipation of someone else’s delight.

My sweet boy

Back to Gram’s parallel. Wow, how long I lived like a grown-up newborn, oblivious to the gifts God was unwrapping right in front of me! But he was patient with me as I got bigger in my faith… learning to say my ABC’s, tie my own shoes, and become aware that he wanted to give me great stuff. Admittedly I spent time spiritually stuck as a greedy ten-year old at Christmas time, making lengthy lists of all the things he should give me and keeping watch over the growing pile under the tree. All the while, he just kept on loving me and giving beautiful gifts, albeit not always the ones on my lists. Somewhere along the way, my eyes were opened to these gifts as tokens of his love and I could see beyond the gifts to the Giver (see Princess Bride clip below). His kindness toward me melted my heart and deepened my gratitude. And now, as I approach 40, I’m beginning – just beginning – to understand that it’s not about hoarding every benefit of this relationship for myself, but about taking thoughtfully considered pieces, wrapping them up with the most beautiful adornments, and giving them away with the sweetest abandon. This is, without question, the greater joy.

As you wish…  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gbX1U1tx9aw

The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul. He guides me along the right paths for his name’s sake. Psalm 23:1-3

I can’t even remember the last time I wrote a blog post. It has been several months, I know. But here I am, eight months pregnant with doctor’s orders to rest, a computer in my lap, and a happy heart for the somewhat forced opportunity to set aside all the things I would like to accomplish and write again.

That is not exactly what I felt yesterday when the “rest” portion of my orders was reiterated and it was clarified that brief respites in a busy day didn’t count. I got in the car and cried hard, overwhelmed at the impossibility of setting down my busyness. Throughout the rest of the day, every time it came to mind, the tears poured freely again. I know this sounds ridiculous. It did to me too, especially considering the absolute trust I felt when some bigger issues recently arose in my world. But there is clearly something the Lord wants to do here and I am so grateful.

What comes to mind is a statement made by Graham Cooke in a message I heard years ago. He said that God doesn’t want to give us strength; he wants to be our strength. If he were to give us strength, we would take it and run (most likely in our own direction) until we had exhausted it, and end up right back where we started. How very true that is of me – wanting both strength and autonomy, so often spending what the Lord has given me as I please, growing weary and sometimes lost in the process, and ending up back at his feet in desperation. It serves the purpose of coming to understand my dependence, but it’s not as the Lord intended it. He wants to be our strength so that we will always be led along right paths, through every dark valley into green pastures, spending our energies on what truly matters, and be perpetually replenished by his presence.

As we learn to trust more in him and less in ourselves, we will never need to return to his feet in desperation because we will never have left. How intimate a relationship; how deep a trust! We will continue to grow stronger and even the valley of weeping will become a place of refreshing springs (Psalm 84). It is a different kind of strength; one filled with joy and a sense of inner rest, despite any outward activity or even painful circumstances. I’ve tasted it before and it is… oh my, so simple and yet so beautiful.

So I enter this season of rest with joy as he refreshes my soul, lacking nothing because my good shepherd has provided all I need. And I pray that you also would be led to green pastures and into the deepest rest for your soul. I missed you!

“What joy for those whose strength comes from the Lord, who have set their minds on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. When they walk through the Valley of Weeping, it will become a place of refreshing springs. The autumn rains will clothe it with blessings. They will continue to grow stronger, and each of them will appear before God in Jerusalem.” Psalm 84:5-7

We love him, because he first loved us. 1 John 4:19

A passage follows from a book called Tattoos on the Heart by Gregory Boyle, a Jesuit priest with a big ol’ heart for the gangbangers of LA:

At three o’clock in the morning, the phone rings. It’s Cesar. He says what every homie says when they call in the middle of the night, “Did I wake you?”

I always think, “Why no, I was just waiting and hoping that you’d call.”

Cesar is sober, and it’s urgent that he talk to me.

I gotta ask you a question. You know how I’ve always seen you as my father – ever since I was a little kid? Well, I hafta ask you a question.

Now Cesar pauses, and the gravity of it all makes his voice waver and crumble, “Have I… been… your son?”

“Oh, hell yeah,” I say.

“Whew,” Cesar exhales, “I thought so.”

Now his voice becomes enmeshed in a cadence of gentle sobbing. “Then… I will be… your son. And you… will be my father. And nothing will separate us, right?”

“That’s right.”

In this early morning call, Cesar did not discover that he had a father. He discovered that he is a son worth having. The voice broke through the clouds of his terror and the crippling mess of his own history, and he felt himself beloved. God, wonderfully pleased in him, is where God wanted Cesar to reside.

I wept when I read this, both for Cesar and myself. You see, while I’m quick to identify God as my father, I relate to the hope – and the doubt – that he sees me as his very loved child. I often feel more like a student trying to please an admired teacher by shining in the knowledge he’s imparted. When it seems I’ve done well, I radiate with joy and lock twinkling eyes with him like we share some special bond. When it seems I’ve failed, my soul plummets and I try to hide, too ashamed to be in his presence or receive his attention.

But sonship came for Cesar, not because of his performance as a great kid or worthy student, but simply because the father loved him. That love was extended independently of Cesar’s life or choices. It continued, not because the kid – now a recipient of love – was able to measure up to the imagined demands of love, but because the father’s heart toward him was unchangeable. Cesar’s only role in this whole thing was accepting sonship. It was at this point that the relationship found true intimacy.

As I was sitting in church on Sunday, in a non-shining moment, I saw the face of the Lord draw close to me. My eyes, which had been avoiding his, couldn’t help but return the gaze. There was not a trace of disappointment in his expression. All I saw was love and kindness. It was like he was crushing every doubt about my place as his daughter with the gentlest, “oh, hell yeah” you’ve ever heard. All I wanted to do was put my hands on his cheeks, like a little girl does to her daddy, and be as close to him as he was to me. “And nothing will separate us, right?” “That’s right.”

Have nothing to do with godless myths and old wives’ tales; rather, train yourself to be godly. For physical training is of some value, but godliness has value for all things, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come. 1 Timothy 4:8

A peaceful pup

Cole always wanted a dog, but it never seemed possible in any of our living spaces so we had fish, mice, turtles, a hermit crab named Pinchy, and one exhausting night with a chinchilla. His desire was finally fulfilled when we moved in with John and Madison and became the proud co-owners of Alice, a sweet and highly energetic mix of border collie, terrier, and something speckled like a dalmatian. Maybe not not the german shepherd Cole would have chosen, but her charm won him over quickly. I was already smitten.

Everything was going pretty well for a while there. I took Alice on five mile walks most days, brought her on nearly ever errand I ran, and lavished her with attention. Then John and the kids would get home and the love would flow anew. It was a happy life for this people-loving puppy, and not too bad for us humans either. Then I got pregnant. My energy dwindled to the size of a pea and my patience quickly followed. The long walks became history and, after some exasperating outings, it just didn’t seem desirable to bring her everywhere I went. She still got attention from the rest of the family, but her behavior had changed and she just wasn’t as likeable anymore. The jumping and whining got worse. The clinginess was unbearable. Everywhere we turned, there she was… waiting and wanting and needing.

As the frustration mounted, I debated the benefits of having this dog for whom I’d once felt such fondness. But as the fog of pregnancy began to clear, I realized that my emotional reactions and resentment toward her were only making things worse… for the both of us. My own darn fault, of course. So I headed to the library for a book by Cesar Millan, aka the Dog Whisperer. This was only two days ago and I haven’t even finished reading the book but I can say that Alice and I have had a couple of delightful days together. I have also found some insight into managing the other attention hound: my soul.

You see, our souls can be pretty wonderful things, just like my sweet puppy or a chubby toddler. But, undirected and unchecked, they can turn into something akin to a whiny, needy animal or that monstrous child throwing a fit at the grocery store. Our souls, which are comprised of our will, emotions, and intellect, were never intended to run the show. They were meant to submit to a pack leader, in this case the Spirit of God living inside us, and be led into a more excellent way.

Based on my new dog-training expertise, I know that Alice and my soul both need three things: Exercise, Discipline, and Affection, in that order.

Now when I say exercise, I don’t want you to think of 45 tedious minutes of running on the treadmill because you know it’s good for you and you know you should. I want you to picture Alice, my wiry dog with the big black spot on her side, running down the concrete slope of the river bed to sprint through knee-deep water, chase the ducks lounging in the sun, and spring back up the slope to catch my eye and dash down again. Passersby make comments like, “What a great dog!,” “She looks so happy!,” and “Makes me want to run through the water!” I have to admit it is a joy to watch her, almost breathtaking, as I take in the speed of her muscular body releasing all that glorious energy. It is what she was made for. No wonder she’d been miserable all cooped up in the house with me and my frustration.

I really believe that exercise for our souls looks like that. It is an expenditure of energy on the good things we were created for. There are so many more yes’s than no’s in the kingdom of God, and we were meant to release ourselves and our energies through them. Think of Adam and Eve with the whole garden of Eden before them – every space, every plant, every animal, and perfect communion – all but one tree. In Isaiah it says, “Listen carefully to me and eat what is good, and let your soul delight itself in abundance.” What kind of food is good to your soul? What satisfies and fulfills it? It will different for everyone. And so very far from that which simply entertains or occupies your soul, but leaves it hungry. If you don’t know what fills you up, ask the Lord. He will show you. It doesn’t have to look all holy; I mean, hiking hits a reset button in my soul like nothing else can. If you know what is good but can’t seem to do it, ask and He’ll help you. I knew that writing would satisfy and delight my soul, but it took months of asking God for help before I finally started this blog. How worthwhile it’s been to ditch empty snacks to feast on this activity I love so much. So lesson number one is… chase the ducks, baby!

Exercise comes first because it is much easier to work with a soul (or animal) that has spent its energies and has little left to fight or resist. But exercise doesn’t do much to inform or develop character. This is where discipline comes in – an unpleasant word I know, conjuring up something harsh or closely tied to punishment – so let’s go with Webster’s definition: “training that corrects, molds, or perfects the mental faculties or moral character.” Yes, training. That’s all it is. It is not emotional. It is not shame-based or punitive. It is consistent. It corrects, molds, and perfects.

Like my experience with Alice, I think many of us tend to focus on our behavior, grow quickly frustrated, and start to react emotionally. We beat ourselves up and punish ourselves for our bad behavior, or find a way to blame someone else. But, as I can testify, it accomplishes nothing apart from worsening the situation. The right way is really quite simple, although not necessarily easy. Every time our soul wants to go a way that would not benefit it, we need to correct it with, as Cesar would say, “calm assertiveness.” We don’t need to flip out, flog ourselves, or plunge into despair. We just need to make consistent corrections, making sure our mind, will, and emotions know that they are not the boss; that they are under the authority of the Spirit and that it’s non-negotiable. Once they learn they are not going to get their way, they will submit and will enter into a place of peace. Not an overnight kind of thing, but once we realize our authority in the Spirit, I think we will be surprised how quickly we can see change.

This change, of course, is based on an understanding of what is right. There is no better discipline than absorbing the word of God… learning it, thinking on it, and letting our lives wrap around it. Not only does it communicate what to aim for and what to avoid, but it empowers us to do what it calls us to… “For these commands are a lamp, this teaching is a light, and the corrections of discipline are the way to life.” (Proverbs 6:23) Talking to the Lord and listening to his responses go hand-in-hand with learning his word. He is faithful to show us where we are missing the mark, faithful to show us how to step out of our sin, and faithful to love us through the process. So lesson number two is… submit to the pack leader and find peace!

According to the Dog Whisperer himself, the last need is for affection. He emphasizes how many dog owners (and, I would add, soul owners), particularly in the U.S., put this need first and create a very unstable situation for their pets. I think of how many of us coddle our souls and give them what feels good to us but does not benefit them – kind of like giving a dog the people food he loves so much, which delights us to do but will destroy the dog. Yet, when everything else is in its proper order, affection is a necessary component. The way I interpret this is cultivating kindness toward ourselves; allowing the great love and forgiveness of God to override the severe way we tend see our shortcomings. Unfortunately, Christians are notorious for condemning ourselves and others. Jesus says that we are to love our neighbor as ourselves, which is kind of tricky when we are so quick to disqualify ourselves from love. The great thing about dogs is that they don’t refuse affection based on the bad things they did yesterday or even five minutes ago; they respond to the here and now. So lesson three is…. lap up the affection!

As we are released into the joy, self-discipline, and love we were created for, I truly believe our lives will draw the attention of others and evoke comments like “Hey, I want to do that too!” Because, really, who wouldn’t?

Fix these words of mine in your hearts and minds; tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Teach them to your children, talking about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates… Deuteronomy 20:18-20

I can’t recall the specific context, but I remember hearing a story on NPR several years back in which a woman was describing her efforts to learn Italian. Though she was doing the hard work of studying vocabulary, sentence structure, and pronunciation, it continued to seem foreign to her mind and mouth. The frustration mounted, as did the doubt that she – an adult learning another language for the first time – would be capable of achieving this lifelong goal. Yet, with a trip to Italy approaching, she persisted in her studies.

I remember vividly the elation I felt when she explained that one day it finally “clicked” for her. It wasn’t because she had full faith in her ability or because she had conquered every doubt. It was because she had the desire and just enough belief to keep plugging away despite outward evidence that it just wasn’t working and maybe never would.

While praying with a friend recently, this story came to the forefront of my mind. I felt the Lord saying that my friend and I – and all who persist in learning His truth – will have breakthrough and find freedom. Not because of perfect faith or victory over every single doubt, but simply because there is a desire to know Him and just enough belief to keep pressing into truth despite outward evidence that it isn’t working. If we continue to put his word before us, listen to his voice, and seek his heart, things will eventually click. Understanding will come and this language of Love will no longer sound or feel so darn foreign.

It will be like many I know who have moved here from other countries. The initial mental work of translating each phrase and missing the meaning of much will be transformed into a process so natural that it becomes our default language; the one of thought, not just of word. What will take effort is our old language, which will have been replaced… not just by a new accent or vocabulary, but by a whole new understanding. This is freedom.