I don't like change. I like having changed.
You’d think after doing this 13 times I would have figured this out:
Moving is hard.
I hadn’t anticipated this one being hard. I mean, we’ve moved across states, moved with less than a few day’s notice, moved into other people’s houses (with them not living there), moved into other people’s houses (with them living there!), moved into a windowless cave and a creepy dive apartment, and even moved just a few weeks after giving birth to our babygirl.
In other words, I kind of get the moving thing.
But, for whatever reason, this one knocked the wind out of me. We hadn’t been in the house but a few minutes when Heidi cruised around the corner and cracked her head on countertop.
And then we all basically spent our whole first week bumping into stuff. We bumped into each other as we learned to house-share, kitchen-share, bathroom-share, as we tried (and failed) to give each other grace and exercise patience and why did it take all my energy just to get our family to function on the most basic level??
But, as any rationally-minded person could have predicted, exactly a week into life at our new house, we finally found our groove. The kids finally remembered where the bathroom was in the middle of the night. I finally found that one box I’d been looking for. We finally figured out how to take a shower in our funny claw-foot tub. And by God’s grace, on that week-anniversary of life in our home, we all gave a collective sigh and said, Ahh…we’re home.
It just takes time.
This last weekend, I joined a dear group of women for a retreat entitled Changed. I’d never thought about the fact that the title is changed, past tense. I’ve always been passionate about being changed. I’m writing a book right now that’s passionately pleading with women to embrace the holy revolution for ordinary days, the sacred mundane way of life that produces a changed life from the inside out. But, like many things, I like the past tense form and not so much the present.
I don’t like change. I like having changed.
Do I love writing? I love having written. Do I love speaking? I love having spoken. Do I love running? I love having run.
Isn’t that the truth with almost anything worthwhile? I love having changed. I love when I can look back and truly see that God has made me new. He’s transformed my heart and habits. He’s filed away my rough edges and made me more like His Son.
But I don’t necessarily like the present-tense part. Change. I don’t like the part where I’m running into things, where I can’t figure out my routine and where it takes all my energy just to function on the most basic level.
But I, we, have to remember: it just takes time.
Whatever resolutions you have made for 2013, whatever changes you’re earnestly attempting, you may be in the season right now where you’re just bumping around. Knocking your head on the countertop and trying to figure out just how to take a shower. It takes an enormous amount of energy to establish new habits. And I pray that however frustrated you may feel–keep on keeping on. Keep getting up to read God’s Word. Keep making healthy choices for your body. Keep getting down on your knees in prayer. Keep loving that person who challenges you so much.
Keep on making those new grooves, beating down those new paths so your feet will eventually go that way without a thought. It just takes time. And in the meantime, in the struggle, we need extra doses of grace.
Grace from God that fills all the gaps and gives us the courage to keep going.
Here’s to grace for you this week as you keep on keeping on. Thanks for reading.
Just saying hi.
Hey Sacred Mundane family,
I’ve been hit with a cold, and I’m taking off in a few hours to speak at a women’s retreat, so I apologize for no scheduled post today but I’ve been snuggling with the Littles, sleeping, making ahead meals, and drinking OJ like nobody’s business.
But I thought it’d be fun to step away from the scheduled posts and just say, Hi.
Hi.
And, Thanks. Thanks for visiting this place each day and thanks for reading. Thanks for commenting and letting me know your thoughts, ideas, frustrations, and dreams. Thanks for making yourselves vulnerable as I make myself vulnerable, and thanks for sharing all this redeeemed-mess with those God has placed in your path. YOU are what make this place so much fun … it’d be so lonely without you!
As I mentioned, I’m leaving in a few hours for a women’s retreat. As much as I love writing, I love connecting with you women in person even more! It’s so hard to really convey God’s heart, love, and truth behind the screen, but in person He adds such color and warmth and life–a three-dimensional experience is such a gift! So, if you have a women’s event at your church and are looking for a speaker, I’d love to join you! Many of you have already checked out the speaking page, but if you haven’t, check out 2013’s retreat offering, and maybe there would be a fit. I’m also excited to share we’ll be developing a Sacred Mundane retreat this year, so stay tuned for that.
That’s all for today. Would you also consider lifting me up in prayer, that God would heal this cold today and give me strength and vitality to speak His word with passion, boldness, and conviction? Thank you so much. I pray your weekend is full of His presence as you seek Him in the sacred mundane.
Love,
Kari
When something stinks
What is that smell?
The kids and I climbed in the car for church, five minutes late as usual, and the odor was nauseating. What was that? I’d noticed a little smell the days before, but we don’t drive much, so it’d been a few days and it was most definitely worse. What could it be?
I leaned in to buckle Heid’s seatbelt and glanced over her seat into the back of the car.
No. Oh no.
A two-pound package of ground beef, wrapped in paper not plastic, was wedged in the back of the car next to a bag of giveaway toys. I could see blood had oozed out all over the carpet and soaked the bottom of the bag.
No. I wonder how long …
I thought back. I had got it from my parents’ house since they store my beef supply in their garage freezer — so it must have been …
a week. A WEEK this meat had been rotting, blood oozing down between the folded down seats, soaking the bag of toys.
This was three weeks ago — needless to say we’ve been working on it ever since.
I wish my car was the only thing that smelled. Since we’re heralding honesty around here, I had to say my life has smelled a bit as well. I kept noticing it, a little odor here and there. But this last week I found the rancid meat and could finally see how it seeped into everything around.
Pride.
Perhaps that word has lost its punch — we use it a lot. But it’s the only one that will do because it’s the one God uses and it’s the only one that truly accurately describes the rancid meat I too often discover wedged into some corner of my life, making the whole thing smell.
Yesterday I listened as Jeff counseled someone over the phone. He said this,
“We say someone hurt our “feelings” but the truth is that feelings are just feelings, they can’t be hurt. What we really mean is that someone hurt our ego. Egos can be injured … they are all the time.”
Aha. That was it. Like a glance into the backseat, I’d found my meat.
Ego. It makes everything stink. It repulses others, pushes them away, repels God, keeps at arm’s length. And, the kicker:
It taints our thanks.
Consider the proud Pharisee’s prayer in Luke 18:11:
The Pharisee stood up and prayed about himself: ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other men—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.’
I’ve always read this struck by His pride, of course, but never noticed how he begins his prayer:
With thanks.
The Pharisee actually uses thanksgiving as a cloak for pride. He uses words of gratitude but all he’s really doing is boasting.
True thanksgiving is always the product of humility; counterfeit thanksgiving is always the product of pride.
Pride, like rotten meat oozing everywhere, can taint our thanks and turn it into boasting.
Do you see why God hates pride? Why sin ruins everything. Why egos destroy the work of God. Why self stifles our growth and sabotages the Spirit’s labor in us?
I had smelled it for a few weeks but didn’t know exactly what it was.
Now what? Praise be to God that when we name it and ditch it, God is faithful and just to forgive us. The good news is this — this horrible discovery in the back seat of my life, so to speak, has made me soul mates with the tax collector. Without thought or intention, His prayer has been mine this week:
“But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’
Have you ever felt that way? Where the tears stream down your face and you bury your head and plead with God, “Have mercy on me, a sinner.”
I hate finding rancid meat but would rather find it and toss it then let stay and continue to stink.
Confession is just like that. See it, pick it up, oozing blood and stinking, toss it out. Spend the next few weeks with the baking soda of God’s Spirit, letting Him deodorize and make us clean and new.
And you know what? This morning I climbed in the car.
It didn’t smell at all.
When we confess our sins He is faithful and just to forgive us our sin and cleanse us of all unrighteousness. (1 John 1:9)
That’s what I’m thankful for.
{Revisiting this story just because I love it and need it! Thank you so much for reading.}
Because you don't need to hide
Where was Heidi?
One afternoon before Christmas the kids were playing when I realized Heidi wasn’t in the room. I peeked in the kitchen, not there, then pushed open our bedroom door. I heard a slight rustle so I silently tiptoed along the side of the bed and peered over the footboard.
She was peeking at a particular pink gift tucked into a gift-bag.
Startled, she looked up at me, eyes-wide, and her face froze. I knew what would happen. I was her 29 years ago. Her lower lip began to quiver and for several moments her face slowly contorted as she tried to hold it in — but it gushed out.
Wail. Sob. Hysterical crying. Caught guilty she melted in a heap of tears. I can remember exactly the same feeling.
I held out my arms to Heidi and she ran into them. Tears streaming down her face, burying her face in my neck, refusing to look up. Jeff, who had followed me in and seen the whole thing, began to talk to her. She hid her face deep in my neck, wouldn’t look up, wouldn’t look at him.
She sobbed, took a breath, “I wan’ go to bed.”
“It’s not bedtime — you want to go to bed now?”
“Yes! Pease I need go to bed!”
“Do you want to go to bed because you know you did naughty?”
She just broke down again, dug her face deeper in my neck, wouldn’t answer. Oh sweet girl I understand.
“Heidi, I know you want to go to bed and hide because you did naughty, but Mommy is not mad. I just want you to tell mommy you’re sorry for looking at things you shouldn’t, and ask mommy to forgive you.”
I thought it would take coaxing but it came quick. I remember that feeling too — tormented by guilt is a terrible place to be.
“Mommy, I suhwey for looking at thing I shouldn’t. You please ‘uhgive me?”
I smiled wide, nuzzled her nose, make sure she sees my smile all the way through my eyes.
“Yes, baby-girl. I forgive you. Thank you for telling me. Mommy loves you.” Then she asks if we can get a blanket and snuggle together. Of course I find the softest one — the one from the foot of our bed — and we snuggle up together. Inhale each other’s breath.
“Mommy, I wan’ keep you forever.”
“I wan’ keep you forever too babygirl.”
–
Oh sweet girl, I remember being you. I remember sneaking into mom’s closet one December day 28 years ago. Seeing the brown stuffed teddybear with the homemade sweater mom had knit for it. I saw it, then was plagued with guilt. Overwhelmed. It ruined all the joy.
It made me want to hide.
Because that’s what sin does. Every time. From humanity’s first sin we’ve done it. What did Adam and Eve do right after eating the fruit? They hid from God.
Humanity’s been hiding ever since. From God and from each other.
But once again I will sing this same song: There is freedom in repentance. As my son says it, “When we say sorry, Jesus forgives.” He does, when we confess our sin He is faithful and just to forgive us our sin and cleanse us of all unrighteousness. He pulls us close, looks us in the eyes, smiles a smile that warms our souls and heals all that’s broken.
Remembering this from a few years back. Is there anything that’s making you hide, dear friend? That shame and guilt need not be yours! Hide no more. Go quick to confession — He’s waiting to hold you near. Thanks for reading.