FOCUS: Surrender
Tuesday’s Reading: Matthew 21:23 – 26:3, Mark 11:27 – 13:37, Luke 20 – 21:36 (today’s are longer than the rest, perhaps break up into two sittings…)
“And He saw a poor widow put in two small copper coins.” Luke 21:3
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Most days I am gaga over my kids. I love their smell, their voices, their hilarious stories and wild imaginations. But some days I do not. Some days I want them to go away. Far away. And it’s usually because of this:
Me: Dutch, please pick up your toys.
Dutch: All of the toys? Or just my toys? What about Heidi’s toys? Do I have to pick up her toys too?
Me: Just pick them all up.
Dutch: What about Max? Can I leave him out?
Me: Whatever. Just pick up!
Dutch: What about the papers and coloring stuff? Do I have to pick up the coloring stuff?
[Insert me leaving the room so I don’t say, “I don’t give a rip what you do just STOP TALKING AND MAKE ALL THIS STUFF GO AWAY!!!!”]
Now, I understand it’s important for me to clarify exactly what I’m asking Dutch to do. But often (OFTEN) he’s only asking questions so that he can do the least amount of work possible.
His questions are thinly-veiled attempts to keep his own discomfort to a minimum.
Over and over and over in Tuesdays’s passages we see the Scribes, Pharisees, chief priests and Sadducees approaching Jesus with “questions.” But their questions had nothing to do with wanting to gain knowledge, wisdom or understanding, their questions were challenges of authority and thinly-veiled attempts to keep their own discomfort to a minimum.
One in particular stands out: The chief priests and scribes ask Jesus about paying taxes, crafting their question in a way that might easily entangle a lesser man than Christ. But Jesus cuts to the heart of the issue:
“Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and to God the things that are God’s.”
Done. The response: “Marveling at his answer, they became silent.”
See, our world is full of people who are “questioning” the faith. Often these “questions” are nothing more than an attempt to be let “off the hook” of worshiping Christ and bowing before Him in humble obedience. They are thinly veiled attempts to keep their own discomfort to a minimum. Do you know what I mean? There is absolutely a place for humble, honest, sincere questions–but we are wise to recognize when our “questioning” is nothing more than an attempt to slip away from surrender.
Right after this story, a woman comes on the scene. She does no questioning. In fact, she doesn’t even speak:
“And Jesus looked up and saw … a poor widow put in two small copper coins. And He said, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all of them. For they all contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty put in all she had to live on.”
She easily could have questioned the tithe. She could have tried some similarly-slippery Scribe-like reasoning to weasel her way out of worship:
“Jesus, do I really have to tithe? I mean technically it’s impossible to tithe off of two coins, an amount that can’t be divided by 10, right?”
She saves her words and just obeys. She gives all she had. Instead of arguing, questioning, and trying to “figure it out” she just goes ahead and gives all she has. No calculating or scheming.
Just surrendering. So today we:
FOCUS on simply surrendering everything to Him.
Reflection for today: Is there any area of your life you’re struggling to trust God? Are you peppering Him with questions instead of simply obeying? Is there any portion of your heart, your time, your finances, or your family, where you sense you’re still fighting for white-knuckled control? Spend time quietly with Him and ask Him if there’s anywhere He wants you to simply surrender this week. Thanks for reading.
FOCUS: On the sacred celebration
Monday’s Reading: Matthew 21:12-22, Mark 11:12-19, Luke 19:45-46, Luke 21:37-38
“Jesus entered the temple and drove out all who sold and bought in the temple, and he overturned the tables of the money-changers and the seats of those who sold pigeons. He said to them, “It is written, My house shall be called a house of prayer, but you make it a den of robbers.” Matthew 21:12-13
After the Triumphal Entry, after the crowds are shouting Hosanna, the following day (Monday) Jesus arrived in Jerusalem and entered the temple. It is not a sweet and peaceful scene. This is kind of a scary one. Jesus only openly demonstrates outrage one time in Scripture and this is the time. Even when He’s beaten, scourged, and hung on a cross He is in complete composure, but this, this scene in the temple sets Him off, holy anger consumes Him and He’s enraged, overturning tables and chairs, driving out the peddlers, refusing to let anyone carry anything through the temple. Why? Because, as He said, “My house shall be called a house of prayer, but you make it a den of robbers.”
God intended the temple to be a sacred place where man and God commune, but people had turned a holy ritual it into a money-making venture.
Let’s think about this: They had turned a holy ritual into a money-making venture.
When we look to Jesus we see Him ticked off about letting sacred celebrations turn into crass commercialism, turn into a money-changing event.
FOCUS on the sacred celebration, not the Easter items to buy.
I’m always surprised at how strong the pull is to buy the latest seasonal items. Just last night I was looking at pastel-colored tops. For Easter, right?! Pretty sure I can still honor Jesus’ raising from the dead even if I’m not wearing pastel! 😉 Not saying seasonal shopping is bad, but it’s interesting how easily we are pulled into whatever the “must have” item is. This Easter, our church community is taking time to fast, a simple sacrifice to purposefully dis-engage from all the self-centered aspects of the holiday, and focus our hearts and minds on the incredible sacrifice Christ made for us.
What about you? What material items are most important to you during this season? Is there anything perhaps you could go without this year, for the same of simplifying and keeping the focus on the sacred celebration? Not saying every purchase is forbidden, or that a fast is required, but consider which purchases and indulgences are really necessary to help your family, and those around you, FOCUS on Christ. {Thanks for reading.}
FOCUS: A gospel gaze in a Peeps culture
{I shared last week that things are a bit cray-cray at my house as we move on Saturday (tucked in between the Good Friday evening service and Easter morning service). My house looks like a bomb went off, and my to-do list is as long as my leg, BUT in the midst of this I want to FOCUS my gaze on Him. This week is the perfect opportunity to FOCUS on His face in the midst of the crazy-mundane. So I’m revisiting these thoughts from a few years ago, and I hope perhaps some tidbit from them can be encouraging for you too as we celebrate Passion Week, and what our glorious Savior accomplished for us on the cross. Thanks so much for joining me this week as we look to Him.}
~
I took my kids to Winco last week. I know, I’m not sure which is worse, going to the mall on Christmas Eve or going to Winco at noon during flu season with two small children. No matter what precautions I take it’s inevitable that at some point I look down and one of them is resting his or her mouth on the edge of the cart. I turn into psycho-mom: “STOP! DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING!!”
Now, keep in mind I am a very focused shopper. I have my list (that’s short) and I maneuver strategically through the store to cross off said items and exit as quickly as possible. Obviously shopping alone is the best way to achieve this, but I thought I’d be fun to take my kids with me. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
I was masterfully weaving through the aisles, and was just about to head into the shortest line when I made my one fatal mis-step. The last item on my list was hairspray and I needed to pass by the Easter display in order to reach the toiletry aisle. I should have skipped it. (Who needs hairspray?) But I did and so I risked it.
Big mistake. As soon as we turned a corner the ENORMOUS pink bunnies stared at us, along with 8-foot high wall-displays of Peeps in every color and chocolate bunnies as tall as my daughter, and pastel baskets and eggs and purple Cadbury packages as far as the eye could see.
“WOW!! Mommy, look! Look!!!”
And then there was no stopping the commotion of excitement and what are these and can we have them and maybe next year and when I’m older and just a bite and I wonder what they taste like and can I use my Christmas money to get some??? PLEASE???”
We came out of it fine, without any pastel-purchases AND without tears, so that was no small victory, but my sweet children were such a picture of ME so often, of us, of our culture. And of course I adore my children so I make this application with affection because the same way I bear with and understand (and even find humor in) their something-shiny nano-second attention spans, I believe God looks at us with affection (and perhaps humor) when we demonstrate that same sort of focus. Hopefully, however, we grow up just a bit.
That’s my prayer for us this coming week. That we would have a gospel-gaze in a Peeps-culture.
First off, don’t worry—I’m not here to rant and rave about how evil the Easter bunny is. I find that a teaspoon of inspiration is worth a truckload of brow-beating, so my hope for this week is that as we simply look at the Easter story, we will be so captivated by its beauty that we get a gospel-gaze. A fixed FOCUS on Christ that carries us through the distraction of shiny-objects and the commotion and chaos of not just the Easter season but LIFE.
See, life here in this culture can be distracting, yes? We live in a Peeps culture. And I don’t just mean the hideous marshmallowy things, although they do a pretty good job representing what we typically seek after—bright colors, instant sugar-high, long-term headache, lethargy and craving for more. Right? But even the name Peeps — by definition “peep” is to “look quickly and furtively at something.”
We are, as a culture, constantly peeping from one thing to the next. Always the next newest shiny thing, the next fad, the next quick fix. But Scripture draws us to leave the peeping life of distraction and fix our focus on Christ. With a gospel-gaze we intentionally choose to turn out the distracting cacophony of competing voices and noises, and we choose to zero in on the cross and filter all of life through the lens of the gospel. The only way to do this is to look — often — at Jesus. The more we focus on Him, the light of the world, the more we’ll be able to see the rest of our lives in their true light. So that’s what we’re doing this coming week, looking at Jesus through the events of Passion Week.
Letting His life bring FOCUS to our own.
Thanks for reading.
Jan Hagels. Flowers. Parsnips. Hope.
{The next part of our journey getting to know Ernie…}
~
Something inside said, “Take him the Jan Hagels.”
These are Dutch cookies–a cinnamon flavored shortbread my mom always made growing up.
Heidi dumped in the flour and ate half the chopped walnuts before we could sprinkle them on top. Dutch supervised and asked (repeatedly) when they’d be done. We baked, cut, cooled, and plated the beautiful nut-covered squares. Then we headed over, up the statue-lined driveway. There were even more than I remembered. Stone frogs and bears, several deer (including Bambi), butterflies and squirrels, a tall madonna holding the baby Jesus.
I rang the doorbell.
We waited, and waited. No answer. I knocked. No answer. I knocked again, louder. No answer. Really? Was he not even going to open his door for us? The kids were getting impatient, “Let’s just leave the cookies on the step.” I leaned in and could hear the TV on. I could just leave them …
I glanced down at the mail-box mounted by the front door. “The Gerksons.” I reached over and touched the etched name. The metal was so cold. I looked at the statues, all lined up like graves.
One more try: Pound, pound, pound.
Then, a sound. A shuffling, scratching sound. A click at the door. Ever so slowly, it opened.
I don’t know what I expected, but he wasn’t it. Grumpy Guy was bent over a walker: frail, weak. Gray, several-day stubble covered his cheeks; his hands shook slightly as he gripped his walker for support. For just a moment I hated myself: Why didn’t I come over here months ago??? The inside of the house was dark behind him and he squinted, holding his hand across his forehead, as his eyes adjusted to the bright sunshine streaming in.
“Hello there. We live next door … We, um, made you some cookies.” For a second he just took it in.
Then he smiled.
“Yes. I know Jeff. He’s come over here a few times.”
“Yes, well I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to come over.”
He returned to Jeff. “I always see your husband outside, playing with the kids. Those other people who lived there never had any G** d*** time for their kids. Never any time. Always workin’, always busy. Their kids died, you know that?”
I nodded. I had heard the unthinkably tragic story.
“Well they never spent time with ’em. Shoulda been put in G** d** jail, that’s what I think.”
I shifted a little and glanced back at the kids. They were picking dandelions, oblivious. I looked back at him and he was watching the kids too. A shadow of sadness covered his face.
“I’m so sorry. I hope we can be good neighbors for you. Do you need anything?”
“Nah. I’m ok. I see you have a good garden going.”
“Yes! I’m trying. I don’t know much, but we have a few things growing. Do you garden?”
He looked out at the yard, but farther away, like he was seeing what it all used to be.
“I had flowers. So many flowers. Fifty rose bushes. I had fuchsias all along here, and an arbor out back with clematis climbing all over it.” He paused, still lost in thought, and smiled to himself. “I had a garden too. Big garden. Tomatos and cucumbers, and parsnips. I love parsnips, I’d leave ’em out there all winter, you know, that’s what you do. And they’d get so big. I love parsnips. Can’t buy ’em really. They’re expensive.”
I made a mental note.
“Yeah, not many flowers here anymore…” his voice trailed off, looking out over his land, looking for flowers.
“Can I plant some?”
His eyes snapped back to me. “What?!”
“Can I plant some flowers? I was noticing you have that empty flower bed right by the fence. I could reach it without even coming through your gate. The kids and I were going to plant sunflowers … could we plant some seeds there, for you?”
“Sunflowers …” He went back to his faraway world, then told a story of the sunflowers he planted once upon a time. He looked down at Dutch, “They were 104 inches tall!” Dutch’s eyes were wide.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I smiled and patted his shoulder. “Well, I’m sorry you had such a hard time with your old neighbors. We’ll try …”
He interrupted me and looked me straight in the eye: “We’ll get along great.”
“Yes sir, I believe we will. Would you come over for dinner sometime?”
He started to fuss, “Ah, I can’t get around that well…”
“We’ll bring it over here!”
“No, no. Yeah … I’ll come over.”
Just as we were saying goodbye, he looked out and saw an enormous purple dahlia opening right beside the porch.
“Well, I’ll be. A flower.” He inched his walker slowly over the threshold, and shuffled, carefully, outside. The screen door and the darkness closed behind him.
We stood, in the sun, in silence, looking at the flower, both breathing in beauty, life, hope.
We said goodbye and he went back in the house. We piled in the car, ready to tackle our long list of errands. Grabbing my grocery list, I jotted down one last item:
Parsnips.
~
The next morning I looked out the window:
His blinds were pulled open wide.
And that afternoon, in the bright sunshine, to my everlasting amazement, he was outside, looking at his yard, pointing and cursing and hollering at two workers as they spread barkdust around. I was so overjoyed I didn’t care a bit when the f-bomb floated our way. He even shuffled down the long length of sidewalk and greeted us by name.
“Just sprucin’ the place up a bit,” he said.
Indeed. God is doing just that.
{Praying you find–and share–beauty in whatever everyday situations you find yourself in today. Thanks so much for reading.}
Remembering Ernie
We found out yesterday that Ernie, our next-door neighbor, passed away. I’m sad that I don’t know whether or not he received Christ, BUT I’m so grateful God gave us 3 years with him and the opportunity to share the gospel with him several times. I’ve been remembering our journey getting to know him, and it all began with his blinds:
~
I pulled down hard on the cord—it had been a while. The large, heavy blinds heaved upward, disturbing the dust and clicking, one against the other, slapping together at the top.
The room filled with light. I looked down the street—our house is taller than all the others—and took in the bird’s eye view. The hospital at the very end, the incongruous dumpy duplex with a new Hummer and a Mustang out front, the 100-year-old bungalows, like ours.
The small ranch next door with statues lining the front yard.
Nothing ever moves over there. We’ve been here almost four months and I’ve never seen the owner. (That’s mostly an indictment of me.) Jeff went over straight away, discovering an 80-something-year-old man who drops F-bombs with alarming frequency. (Partly why the kids and I haven’t taken cookies.) His first words to Jeff were, “Hey! I keep getting’ all your f-in’ mail!” Awesome; great to meet you too.
But the statues stumped me. Old grumpy guys are no anomaly, to be sure. But the statues. Why the statues? One of Snow White and several little dwarfs. A few Dutch-children and two little frogs. Their color has worn and faded, the edges chipped.
They sit at slight angles, settled in the soil like ancient tombstones.
The door on this toolshed always hangs open. The day we moved I took this as a sign that he’d be back and forth, active, at work. But the door never closed. It just hangs open, slack, still, every day. I can see tools inside. A small tractor is parked just outside. Many signs of a life once lived.
The blinds are always closed. The back of his house has large picture windows—they’re beautiful, really. But never once, in all our time here, have I ever seen the blind slits open wide, or pulled up to the top.
Blinds. Such an odd thing.
It was on Jeff’s third or fourth visit that he found out:
She had died.
Of course. The statues, the tools, the signs of once-life, all sifted into place.
And now the blinds are sealed tight, a tomb.
Debra, our housemate, had said it just that morning. “When we share our stories with each other we give the gift of a glimpse into redemption.” God is always redeeming. Always taking broken things, broken lives, and making them new. When we isolate, seeking to protect, we close the blinds and become just that—blind. We lose sight of hope. CS Lewis’ words came to mind:
“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket–safe, dark, motionless, airless–it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.”
I turned from the window, resolving to open the blinds more often, and called for the kids to follow me into the kitchen. I plugged in the Kitchenaid as they pulled stools up to the counter.
“Who wants to make cookies for the neighbor?!”
“ME!” both hands shoot up.
“Good,” I glanced out the window. “I do too.”
{Thanks for reading.}
No manna on Saturday
Yes! A free Saturday. I wrote “WRITE” in caps across the square (Yes, I still use a paper planner) and looked forward with anticipation to the first free Saturday I’d had in months.
When the day arrived, I realized it wasn’t entirely free, as I’d forgotten Jeff had a fundraising race in the morning. So we loaded up, cheered him on, the littles and I ran the kids funrun, and we arrived home by lunchtime. I went for a quick run, got lunch prepped, served, and cleaned up, then took a quick shower and relished the fact I still had 4 free hours left in the day. Plenty of time to crank out some pages.
I sat down at my desk. Ahh…here we go.
Nothing. I read and re-read what I’d written before, but I suddenly realized how mentally tired I was. I’d been speaking the past 5 weekends straight, and had several other items on back burners that required mental space. I realized that it wasn’t necessarily that my body was exhausted, but my mind was. I laid my head down on the desk and prayed, asking the Father to lead me and show me what to write.
All I heard was: Rest.
Rest? Then it occurred to me as I lay there reveling in how good it felt to rest my head and close my eyes, that it was Saturday.
Sabbath.
Hm…
I quickly protested. But this is the ONLY FREE DAY I have to write! Have you noticed that ALL my other free time is spent serving other people??? I have to use this time to work. So could you please just give me some words to write?
I waited. I prayed. I waited and prayed and waited and prayed. I scribbled out some sentences that were terrible, deleted them all, and went back to waiting and praying.
Rest.
And then thought occurred to me: There’s no manna on Saturday.
Oh. You mean, that’s a thing?!
Here’s what I mean: Jesus told us clearly that the Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath. This rest-thing wasn’t something God dreamed up just to keep us under His thumb. He created it for our good. The whole point is that we need rest. Physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. We were created to need rest.
And He illustrated this clearly for the nation of Israel by telling them to gather bread (from heaven!) 6 days a week, but the 7th day they were to rest. And just to make it clear, on the Sabbath He said:
“Today you will not find it in the field. Six days you shall gather it, but on the seventh day, which is a Sabbath, there will be none” (Ex. 16:26).
There will be none.
No manna on Saturday.
He’s telling them, “Don’t waste your time going out and trying to scrape up more than you need. Just rest. I’ll give you plenty on the other 6 days. Trust me.”
But some of them didn’t. I can relate to these funny folks who just had to go out into the field to see for themselves. Maybe there was some left behind they could scrape up and save for later? Maybe there was extra they could sell to the neighbors? They carry their baskets out to the fields on the Sabbath, but there was none.
“On the seventh day some of the people went out to gather, but they found none” (v. 27).
God makes it clear: Don’t bother. There’s no manna on Saturday.
God will not provide the strength to do something He hasn’t called us to do. He won’t energize efforts of the flesh. He won’t give me a single measly word if He knows I need to rest. Why? Because He loves me.
Because Sabbath was made for me.
Because the whole point isn’t which day we do it or whether it’s sundown to sundown or whether it’s ok to drive to the store or bake bread or blah blah blah. The whole point is, when the Father says Rest we’re wise to obey and not waste our time out in the field looking for manna that’s not there.
Manna is simply the stuff we regularly need — it can be different for each of us. For me, most often it’s words. Words to speak, teach, write. I don’t worry much about money, but I desperately need words on a regular basis. That’s my manna.
What is your manna? What are you scraping for in your own strength instead of resting in the Father’s good plan and trusting at the right time He’ll rain it down? Has He been whispering Rest to your soul too? He loves you so much … let’s listen to Him.
{Thank you for reading.}
When your life is a little different from your list…
The chatting and the chicken dying weren’t on my list. Early that morning I’d numbered it neatly in my planner:
- Baking
- Homeschool
- Finish Romans study
- Blog Post
- Work on book
I was still in my jammies when I began the baking, following my familiar weekly ritual of letting the yeast foam for the first loaf of bread, chopping onions for roasted veggies, pulling up Pinterest for the cake recipe. We watch 2-year-old Grace on Tuesdays, so she woke up shortly thereafter and I gathered her sleepy-eyed sweetness in my arms and finished making breakfast, sipping a second cup of coffee, savoring the thought of a domestic day at home.
For the most part, all was well. Chores were done without argument, school began without tears. Then I could feel the tension begin just a bit as math frustrations arose, focus slipped, mishaps happened. By lunch time I had yet to brush my teeth but school was done and baking was done and no one was injured — win!
“Let’s go outside!” I announced cheerfully, figuring once I got them out and happily occupied, I could sit on the porch and get the rest of my work done–studying and writing. But I soon discovered a toddler had tossed something into the chicken coop and it needed immediate retrieval, so I donned my mud boots and headed out to the rescue.
I looked for that one little feathered friend, Checkers, the sickly one, and there she was: Standing sadly right inside the gate. I saved the tossed-in toy, fed the girls, fetched the eggs, and was heading out when the kids gathered ‘round: “Mommy, let’s let Checkers out in the yard for awhile.”
So I nudged Checkers gently with the gate, to urge her out of the coop, but she took one slow step to the side, keeled over into the mud, and as three poor wide-eyed children watched, died.
Oh no.
“Guys, go play over there!” I try to say it cheerfully but Grace points and begins repeating, “Chick’n dead! Chick’n dead!” Heidi’s eyes spring up with tears and Dutch runs to the other corner of the yard and stares into the sky.
And just like that, I watch everything unravel. Thankfully, Jeff zips home to dispose of the dead chicken, but now the oven timer is chiming, Grace is peeing her pants, Dutch is protesting our impending Nature Walk, and Heidi’s sad that Daddy has to go back to work and isn’t here to play. I plate up a big lunch for Jeff, with fresh-made bread and roasted veggies, a special feast to thank him, then set it on the porch railing for him, and within moments it’s bumped over by a certain small person and it splats on the ground.
I can’t help but think it: None of this was on my list.
Right? Of course it wasn’t, because lists are helpful but ridiculously tidy. Life isn’t anything like that.
LIFE looks like this: Tears and peed pants and chickens dying and attitudes needing adjusting and timers chiming and if we have the idea that victory is a day without mishaps, we’re sunk before we start.
Right? Repeat after me: Lists are tidy. Life isn’t.
So when I finally sit down to write in my impossibly narrow window of time and there’s a knock on the door, and it’s someone who just swung by to chat (can you believe it?!), I smile to myself and choose to embrace this moment because this person is more important than my page-count and this life is more important than my list.
By the time she leaves, I can see so much clearer. And so my kitchen’s still a mess but I’ve scratched out these thoughts and will choose my children now instead of the last list-item and we’ll curl up together and I’ll listen and love and hold and smile and ask the Father for grace afresh to live well this impossibly untidy life. I’ll pray that same grace for you too, because I’m guessing your life is also a little different from your list. Thanks for reading.
Exciting News!
Hello friends. First off, I wanted to say I’m sorry that my posts have been a bit scattered lately. It’s been all I could manage to just keep dinner on the table and clean clothes in the drawers, life has been FULL. I try really hard to make my first priority protecting my kids from feeling the effects of bustle and busyness, so they are happy but it’s the blog that gets neglected!
But there’s news. Good news. Great news. Some of you have already heard, but … we finally have a publisher. Last night, in a hurried moment between dinner dishes and women’s Bible study, I signed a book contract. Sacred Mundane: Let your days transform your life comes out in 2017 and I’m thrilled.
There are probably a few of you, ol’ faithful friends, who have followed this long journey all along the way. I won’t bore you with too many details (I’ll save those for the book ;), but about 15 years ago a vision was birthed into my heart and I first wrote the words in my journal:
Sacred Mundane.
I knew, somehow, at that moment, that this was to be the manifesto of my life. And, I sensed strongly, that I was to write a book with this title. This vision came before Jeff, before kids, before speaking or blogging or any of that. This vision has been part of my whole adult life.
For ten years, I just tried to learn about it. I wasn’t actively writing, I just knew I wanted to learn more about how to see God’s power and providence in the details of life, and learn how to grow in glorifying Him in the midst of the mundane.
Nearly five years ago, Jeff lovingly shoved me out of my comfort zone. 😉 He insisted I sign up for a Writer’s Conference (“But I’m not a writer!!”), and even insisted that I schedule a meeting with a literary agent and pitch my book idea. It isn’t the least bit of an exaggeration to say that I was scared out of my mind. I lay in bed the night before, terrified. I didn’t know what to say, I hadn’t the foggiest idea what the book proposal was, let alone how to write one. And worst of all, my meeting was with “the scary guy.” I sent out desperate texts to friends asking them to pray that I didn’t throw up and that no one laughed out loud at me.
To my everlasting amazement, I loved the writer’s conference. I still remember the keynote speaker saying, “If you can do anything else, do it. But if you cannot help but write, if you cannot keep quiet about your message … then write.” I knew then, I had to write. I couldn’t not. And this message was in my bones. To my amazement, the literary agent was hugely encouraging. He told me to write a proposal, and go from there.
I was so thrilled. I remember thinking it might take a few months to find a publisher. (hahahahahahahaha!!!!)
FIVE YEARS LATER.
Almost 3 years ago, I sensed God leading me to let the dream die. Even though it was from Him, I sensed clearly I was supposed to bury it. He showed me that planting and burying look exactly the same in the moment. You dig a grave, bury the dream … and wait.
One year later, I received an email, out of the blue, from an amazing, godly, experienced, wonderful literary agent named David Sanford from Credo Communications. He wanted to represent my book and help me find a publisher. I was actually going to respond no, saying that I had let the book die and needed to let it be dead. But gratefully Jeff (blessed man!) intervened and spoke truth: This IS God bringing it to life!
And by His amazing grace, He did. One year to the day after “burying” the idea, He birthed a new vision for Sacred Mundane. He gave me fresh ideas and showed me missing parts I had missed before. And David began faithfully helping me and pitching the project before publishers.
It still took almost 2 years of that. I wanted to quit so many times. It was SO DISCOURAGING. In November, he left me a message asking me to call. I remember thinking, “I hope he’s telling me that he’s ready to quit. He probably realizes this will never happen, and is going to let me down gently and tell me he’s through.” Quite the opposite. He is amazing. So incredibly full of faith, always hopeful, joyful, upbeat, and believing God for doing what seems impossible to us.
There’s another interesting part of the story, but I’ll save that for later.
For now, I just wanted to share that I am thrilled to be partnering with Kregel to publish Sacred Mundane. I also want to ask for your patience these next 5 months as I finish the manuscript. My priority is making sure that MY mundane is still sacred; that is, I want my man and my kids to still get plenty of mama and not feel neglected. So, there may be times that blog posts are less regular. Thank you for grace.
And thank you for reading! I’m so grateful for YOU, faithful wonderful friends and fellow sojourners along this faith journey. You are such a gift to me.
And now I’m off to fold laundry. 🙂
#sacredmundane
New dream, new dream-come-true
We’ve all had Joseph’s dream, one way or another.
Right? That dream where all the haters bow?
Sorry for the slang. What I mean is, those other people, the ones who put you down, who didn’t believe you could, or who disliked you in one way or another–haven’t we all daydreamed at one time or another that those naysayers would bow to us in the end?
Maybe it’s only me. Sometimes, even our “godly” dreams are really just a crazy-strong underlying drive for some sort of validation. If xyz happens and our dream comes true, we’ll know deep down that we’re ok. And with pretend humility and secret inner self-satisfaction, we’ll watch those people bow, figuratively, to our success.
See!
I re-read through the story of Joseph (Gen.37) this week and saw Joseph’s dream in a whole new light. Now, before you block this blog and flag it for heresy, hear my out: I do think that Joseph’s dream was from the Lord. The dream does come true, in a strange and completely unexpected sense, but the original dream (which, interestingly, isn’t clearly given by God in the text) is really just, in essence, all the haters bowing.
Right? This is clear, verse 4: “They hated him.”
They hated him, Joseph no doubt knew it, and he conveniently dreams that they all bow down to him someday.
Hm. Suddenly Joseph’s dream doesn’t seem all that supernatural.
Again, hear my heart: I’m not saying Joseph’s dream wasn’t prophetic. It was, in a sense.
But it was also human.
All our dreams are.
All our dreams are a mess of mixed motives. Of God-dreams and self-dreams comingled. This is why, as Joseph learned the hard way, we are wise to keep them to ourselves. *smile*
Six years ago I had a dream. At the time, it seemed like a good and godly one. In some sense it was. And … it came true. But as I walked through the daily of this dream, it proved to be not as I expected.
I’m sure Joseph felt the same. As he walked the road of his dream he found himself sold as a slave, imprisoned, falsely convicted, forgotten.
But somewhere along the line, that incomplete dream gave way to something infinitely greater.
A new dream brought a new dream-come-true.
Four and a half years ago, God shattered that old, incomplete dream, the one I had, like Joseph’s, that was really nothing more than a lot of self-validation and included a few fun details like maybe a few haters bowing down.
Something like that.
He shattered that dream by shattering me. He did that to Joseph too.
And He gave me a new dream.
There’s no chapter and verse for this, but I’d dare to venture that God gave Joseph a new dream too.
No more was Joseph’s dream to simply have the haters bow. No more did he just long for validation and a sort of self-elevation that proved success.
As he suffered, served, grew, his dream shifted from seeing others bow to seeing others live.
He wound up giving his life for saving lives. His genius, his intellect, his energy, all of it became poured out to wisely stewarding Egypt’s resources to save the lives of many (Gen 45:5).
I think this became his new dream and his new dream-come-true.
The new dream that God birthed 4 1/2 years ago … just came true this week. And let me just say: It’s so much better than the first one!
What if, instead of dreaming of gaining we dream of giving?
Instead of seeing others bow, we dream to see others live.
{What are your dreams? Honestly? How are we tempted to “settle” for simple dreams like seeing ourselves validated or seeing the haters bow? How might God want to birth a new dream, and a new dream-come-true? Happy, happy weekend friends. Thank you for reading!}
*This is from almost exactly a year ago, and now it’s so fun to see God birthing new dreams, and new dreams-come-true.
Habits: The Mother’s Secret to Success
I was a bit in awe as I wandered through her house, admiring artistic evidence of order, creativity, educational excellence. I silently read through their simple schedule, written on the wall. I noted the chores, the tidy spaces, the books stacked. Of course I know people clean before guests come, but there was nothing fake about this. It wasn’t pretentious or Pinteresty, just a simple picture of an ordered, lovely life.
Not a word was needed, immediately I knew what was missing, why I was feeling so hopelessly overwhelmed, so unmotivated and lethargic.
I laid it out for her, plain and simple, and asked for help: We needed structure, we need purpose. The go-with-the-flow thing is great on the days when everything’s falling into place, when I’m energized and happy and feeling creative and spontaneous. But what about the other 359 days of the year? I feel like I’m a slave to whim and feelings, I feel like our days are too aimless, I find myself bouncing from thing to thing, based on the kids’ passing fancy. I need a renewed passion and purpose for disciplining, nurturing, and educating our kids.
She listened thoughtfully.
“Have you read anything by Charlotte Mason?”
I was embarrassed to admit I had not. There are so many educational methods out there, it all makes my head spin and the last thing I wanted was another book telling me to scrap everything and go a whole new way. But I was ready to read anything, especially after seeing my friend’s infectious joy and experiencing the peace of her ordered, lovely home. She encouraged me to just pick one, and give it a shot. She assured me that I was probably doing “Charlotte Mason” I just didn’t know it. We already spend tons of time outside and read a lot of books. This wasn’t going to be anything entirely new or foreign. It just might give me some inspiration.
Since I’m hopelessly frugal, I skimmed through the Charlotte Mason materials on Amazon until I found a 99-cent volume simply called, Habits.
Okay. Habits. Here we go.
Well within minutes I was reading aloud to Jeff, interjecting, “YES! Yes, this is IT! This is what I’ve been missing. THIS is why I’ve felt hopeless. YES!”
Put quite simply: Life is overwhelming. Homeschooling is overwhelming. Parenting is overwhelming. The Christian life is overwhelming. There are so many options, things to do, things to read, places to go, people to see. My phone’s blowing up with notifications and there’s a bazillion things I should be doing right now, and quite frankly I’m not doing very well at anything, I’m not very good at anything, and neither are my kids and so let’s just QUIT.
*sigh*
Of course I wouldn’t have said that, but there was a bit of that in my heart. Just overwhelm. But Charlotte Mason’s words from the 1800s cut through the cacophony of this crazy culture (and my crazy mind!) and flowed like a soothing balm for my harried soul. She spoke such wisdom, straight to my heart.
My overwhelm came from decision-fatigue. Where we have poor habits, we are forcing our minds to constantly re-decide something. This haphazard, undisciplined mind is exhausted. So many options. So much to do. So little discipline. So few good habits. Where to begin?
Focus. Focus on one and only one habit (virtue) for 4-6 weeks and master that one thing. Reward for character and conduct, not cleverness. Except exact and immediate obedience in the one habit and work tirelessly on that area until it is mastered.
By the time I finished the short volume, I had a clear vision of what we needed. I could see where I’d been lax, I could see what virtues and character qualities we’d failed to live out and failed to instill in our kids. It was painfully obvious but profoundly encouraging, because I felt for the first time in ages, that there was hope. I had a plan, a purpose, a passion and vision for my children, our home, my writing life and homeschool life. I could see how these habits would touch every bit of life because everything’s connected.
I had so much fun dreaming up ideas, plans, and ways to reinforce our new simple habits. I wrote little songs for the kids to help them remember important things. They were thrilled because I cut out everything unnecessary in order to focus in on just a few crucial things. The result was, instead of feeling mildly disappointed by them because I was expecting many different things but not really reinforcing any of them, I was only expecting a few things and was enthusiastically enforcing them every single time. This meant I was basically happy with them way more often. Hooray!
So I share this not as an “I’ve arrived” thing, I think you probably understand that. But I share this because at about 2 1/2 weeks in, it has profoundly affected our days, it’s given me fresh hope and purpose, it’s helped us tackle things that have felt overwhelming for months. It’s brought new joy into our home, and it’s brought back the joy and zeal for life I’d been lacking recently.
Habits. Who knew? The tiny decisions, made faithfully over and over and over (and over and over) — this is what transforms our lives. And now, if you’ll excuse me, my writing time is over (one of my new habits!) so I’m off to read aloud to my kids. 😉
{Thank you for reading.}