My Soul’s Water
I crawl under the covers late, and pull my laptop onto the bed.
I can’t write another post about feeling sluggish and lethargic … Can I?
I look at the temperature (again) just to confirm what I feel. It’s HOT.
Outside the window, the hydrangeas are scorched, the blueberries are shriveled, and the chickens have dug dirt pits in the coop to try to stay cool.
The pool water keeps evaporating.
Everything’s thirsty.
I stare at the screen, stuck.
Must. Produce. Something.
The well’s dry.
Thirst strikes suddenly, and I look to my nightstand. So thirsty. There is no water but there is the Word. I open to the paperclip bookmark, my daily spot.
And there it is, my drink.
*O God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you;
My soul thirsts for you, as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.
Yes, I do. Yes, it does.
A dry and weary land: That’s it.
And here it is. My soul’s water.
Because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you. So I will bless you as long as I live; in your name I will lift up my hands. My soul will be satisfied as with fat and rich food, and my mouth will praise you with joyful lips …
I smile to myself, inwardly translating my own equivalent: I will praise you! I will bless you! I will lift up my hands! My soul will be satisfied as with a large icy cold DQ cookie-dough Blizzard! 😉 I will praise you with JOY!
… when I remember you upon my bed, and meditate on you in the watches of the night; for you have been my help, and in the shadow of your wings I will sing for joy. My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.
My soul clings to you, O God.
Because you are my soul’s water.
In my heart’s drought, my discouragement, my lethargy and listlessness, in my withered waiting and frequent faithlessness …
… it only takes an instant to return to the Well.
To my soul’s water.
Therefore repent and return, so that your sins may be wiped away, in order that times of refreshing may come from the presence of the Lord. (Acts 3:19)
{Thanks for reading.}
When He’s taking FOREVER to show up…
I shifted positions on the sand, looking over my shoulder again. Where was he?
The tops of my thighs were definitely red--that sad white space above the shorts-line exposed in early summer when we bravely (and a bit reluctantly) don bathing suits. I tried to hold my small paperback strategically to block the sun, glancing back again. Where WAS he?
We were having a fabulous anniversary weekend. The book Touching Godliness had deeply stirred my heart, and I knew the word submit was to be my banner for the next season of life. But, I’d asked God, Submit to what?
In a half-second He spoke to my heart:
- Submit to embracing the role of wife and homeschooling mama.
- Submit to serving the people right in front of you.
- Submit to obedience in the small, silent stuff, where no one sees but God.
- Submit to joyfully serve, honor, and respect Jeff, believing the best about him above all other human relationships.
Oh, that’s all? (ha!) Ok, ok, I get it. I’m taking notes.
And of course, every lecture needs a lab. God’s sanctification school is no different. So I figured this weekend was a good place to start practicing.
So, we were lounging on the sandy beach beside the Deschutes River. It was hot. Really, really hot. Dozens of people were walking by with inner-tubes, putting in to float down the river to the Old Mill district. We thought it’d be fun to do the same, and Jeff knew his mom (in whose house we were staying) had tubes. So he, seeking to bless and serve me, said that he would take all our stuff to the car, leave me to relax on my towel, and he’d drive to her house, grab the tubes, then come back so we could float down river.
Perfect. Even though he’d already run a half-marathon that morning he was still willing to run the errand so I could relax. Good man. So I handed him everything, including my phone.
It was 12:30pm, and she just lived a few miles away so it would be a quick trip.
“If I’m not back in an hour then I’m in wreck somewhere,” he jokingly added as he walked away.
I settled in on my towel, happy to relax. I wasn’t sure how much time went by but it seemed he was gone quite a while. I swam in the river to cool off. Then sat back down, glancing back periodically to see when he’d arrive.
People came. People went. No Jeff. I heard someone say it was 1:30pm as they packed their kids up to go home.
People came. People went. No Jeff. I heard someone hollar, “Hey, it’s 2pm, let’s get home!”
That’s when my thighs started getting red. I shifted on my towel. Adjusted my book to shade different body parts on rotation, pulling corners of the small towel up and around my legs. The family next to me called to their kids, “It’s 2:30, we better get going.”
No Jeff.
I laid down and closed my eyes. Where WAS he?
All of us wives are prone to react in different ways:
::Some assume catastophe: “He must be dead!”
::Some assume irresponsibility: “What is that idiot doing now?”
::But some believe the best: “I bet whatever has happened, he must be doing something awesome on my behalf.”
By the grace of God, on this particular day, I believed the best. Though I couldn’t figure out what on earth would take him so long (and didn’t hear any sirens so I wasn’t concerned about safety), I figured something worthwhile was happening, and asked God to protect me from skin cancer.
So I sat and waited. And waited. And waited. And kept glancing back over my shoulder, looking for a glimpse of inner tubes.
And then, to my everlasting surprise, as I sat gazing out at the river, my eye caught something strange:
What? There’s a man kayaking UPstream, towing a paddleboard behind him! I squinted and looked longer …
It was JEFF!
I stood up, and I must say, it was kind of “scene-from-a-movie-ish.” He was dripping sweat towing this paddle board upstream and I jumped off the beach and ran into the water.
I yelled, “What are you DOING?!” (But I was smiling when I said it.) He told me the story. He thought he’d surprise me with an awesome adventure–bringing a kayak and a paddleboard so we could each paddle our way up and down the river together. He loaded both huge items by himself, but when he arrived back at the beach, there were no parking spaces, and he couldn’t get close enough to leave the car and alert me. So he had to drive all the way to the end of the river run, downstream, haul both the kayak and the paddleboard himself, tie them together, and paddle all the way upstream hauling the paddleboard, in order to rescue me from the beach.
He finished his story, breathless, and handed me a water bottle, “And I made you a limeade slushy to drink.”
I slurped the icy goodness and shook my head, smiling. “You’re amazing. Thank you so much.”
We pushed off from the shore, and paddled up and down the river in the slanting afternoon sun. In the quiet float downstream, I leaned back, reflecting:
When God is taking a long time to “show up” in my life, how do I respond?
::Do I assume catastrophe? God must not here! He must not be real! He must not love me! Everything must be falling apart!
::Do I assume irresponsibility? God must not know what He’s doing. I better take care of things. How dare He treat me like this? Poor me, having to wait all this time while God goofs off.
::Or do I believe best? I have no idea what’s taking so long, but I know the character of my God. I know His Word. And I know that whatever is going on, He must doing something awesome on my behalf.
With tears welling up in my eyes, I looked up into the blue sky, “Lord, when You’re taking forever to show up, help me to believe the best.”
{God loves you and is working up a crazy sweat doing awesome things on your behalf. Thank you for reading!}
*Originally published July 2013
What flag will we fly this weekend?
On this eve of our nation’s great holiday, my heart is so heavy.
Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful I was born here. I am grateful for our “independence.”
But I don’t feel like waving an American flag right now.
There are other flags waving too.
I’ve been on a social media fast for awhile now, but I know the rainbow flags are flying, by many who consider themselves followers of Christ. I’m not angry at them, or angry at those who practice homosexuality, or at those who have worked tirelessly to bring this new ruling to pass.
I’m just sad. And it’s not really about this new ruling, it’s that this has revealed that throngs of “Christians” do not believe the love of God as revealed in His perfect, precious Word.
It’s so much bigger than gay marriage. It’s that we believe we can live independent from our Creator, our Dada God and His Word and His truth, and can make up our own way, live our own way, have our own way.
It’s that we wave our SELF flags all day long, every single day.
The SELF flag only leads to death.
And the only flag that can free from the SELF flag, is the Gospel flag.
It is the soul’s white flag of surrender.
It is the flag that says,
“I surrender to You, Jesus. To Your Word, Your authority, and Your loving rule in my life. I give all to know You and make You known. Take my life.”
I don’t wish to debate here. I don’t think these issues are best settled online. Jesus confronted people eye-to-eye, with gentle words that sliced through self and cut straight to the core. I do think these two articles by Jonathan Parnell (Why Homosexuality is not like other sins) and Kevin DeYoung (40 Questions for Christians Now Waving Rainbow Flags) are incredibly helpful in helping Christians navigate these waters. I encourage you to read both.
But above all, I plead with you, wave the white flag of surrender to Jesus Christ. He is full of grace and truth. Surrender to His Word, His lordship …
His love.
{Thank you for reading.}
Overcoming anger in your homeschool
“I‘m concerned about Luke,” she confessed.
We leaned in to listen, and she shared her struggle honestly. Of course we could relate. The three of us have 12 kids among us, all home-schooled, and we each juggle other various responsibilities as well. (I’m sure you can relate too!) Her concern was about anger. She’d seen her 8-year-old son angry often, and also recognized her own tendency toward anger.
I assured her she wasn’t alone. In fact, in the past 4-5 conversations I’d had with homeschool moms, all recognized their struggle with anger in their own personal lives. I’ve even heard moms say they quit homeschooling, because they found they became too angry and felt that they couldn’t enjoy their kids and educate them too.
What is it about homeschooling that makes us so mad?
Of course there are myriad reasons. We’re with our precious cherubs ALL DAY (forced smile) and we’re solely responsible for ALL of their needs with no BREAK WHATSOEVER AND NO ONE ELSE TO TURN TO! (Whoa! Sorry, got carried away there.)
How can we overcome anger and model patience, calm, and joy for our children? Read the rest here…thank you!