Falling on Grace

What am I afraid of???

2009-09-10T10:41:00.006-04:00

Fear. Oooooh, that word again. I have a really good answer when anyone asks me what I struggle with. Fear. One word, succinct, and yet when I’m asked to elaborate the answer is anything but that. It’s not as if I walk around quaking in my boots. I might even be able to convince myself that I’m NOT afraid (and have for periods of time), except that any time something in my very tightly clenched fists falls apart, I fall apart. I end up in tears, convinced that this is just one of the cliffs I will collide with during the huge fall off of the tightrope I've been walking my whole adult life. My reaction to this, and my frantic fussing (list-writing, checking, re-checking) the rest of the time are the little windows into the desperate way in which I avoid those moments.

So, what AM I afraid of? That’s the million dollar question. That’s what the next question always is when I share these feelings. That’s when I pause… because it’s not always clear to me. I start to say all kinds of things, like… “Oh, that the kids will get hurt, or I'll disappoint someone, or I’ll get in trouble, or Beau will be mad at me or….” you get the drift. Really, though, that’s not it. I think my deep seated fear is that God will not be trustworthy. I KNOW I’m not. I know that I cannot do everything, and my faith tells me that I should be OK with that, because God IS trustworthy. I don’t have to be, because He is ultimately in control… but I’m pretty sure I don’t believe that. Now, don’t freak out on me, here. I know it’s true. I’m not debating that it’s true, I’m simply saying that when the rubber meets the road it’s apparent that I don’t act on that belief.

I've heard the analogy that faith is what you have when you sit in a chair. You have faith that that structure will hold you. When was the last time you tested your chair before you sat? Unless a chair is obviously broken, you don’t pick up a chair and inspect its construction, test it with a pinky toe, place an object of equal weight on it first… yada yada yada. You just sit. I don’t just sit with God. I’m constantly probing, and frankly, the amount of weight I’m willing to place in His hands is pathetic. [Right now, I’m picturing a huge God and a little me, I've got a big platform over my head with lots of stuff on it, my family, my job, my home, etc. God is helping me hold it up, but I’m only giving him the corner to support. I’m straining under the weight, my knees are shaking, and he’s over there saying, “Hel-OH-oh! Need some help with that?”]

Last week, my sister-in-law, who has been watching my children 5 days a week, came to me, in tears, saying that she was overwhelmed and needed to back off to two days a week. In the scope of things, this was really unsurprising. The woman has 5 children. 4 of them are school aged, but one of them is 1 month older than my infant son, and my daughter could be a full time job in and of herself. It was a lot to bite off! While I completely understood the reasons behind her need to make the change, I was devastated. Beau called me as I was leaving work, warning me that she was going to talk to me about this when I picked up the kids that night. Keeping myself in control through the trip to her house and that conversation was one of the hardest things I've had to do. I didn't want to dissolve into tears and make her feel guilty for being honest with me, and I didn't want the kids to worry because of my emotional state, so I needed to keep myself under control, but I was shaky and teary eyed and hovering on the edge of a breakdown. My Mom called right after I talked to Beau, and I had to tell her I’d call her back because when I started to talk about it, I realized I would lose it if I kept going. I did keep some semblance of control all the way through picking up the kids, and until I got home and Beau prayed with me, at which point I became a slobbering fool. Poor Charis kept giving me hugs and wiping my face with wide eyes.

Thanks to my wonderful parents’ example, and perhaps some understanding of my own helplessness, I do understand that when my feet get knocked out from under me, there is nowhere to turn, but God. So, in my desperation I prayed a lot of “Desperate prayer.” I put that in quotes (for those of you who are not UnionCenterites) because of one of the statements in our church's covenant value of prayer. It reads “God doesn't answer prayer; He answers desperate prayer.” I don’t love the wording on that (Sorry, Pastor John!), but I can connect with its spirit, particularly right now. Almost immediately I was aware how closely the situation lined up with my fear-struggle. This situation was exactly what I fear. I am afraid to be in that kind of vulnerable position, where I need to rely on God to sustain me. Because my mind is clear on the fact that God is trustworthy, and it is my gut that is unconvinced, I am always looking for a way to convince myself. I’m looking for examples, for things that will do the work of moving this belief to a gut level. It occurred to me that since I didn't have a choice about the position I was put in, instead of wallowing in my fear, I could use this to prove to myself His faithfulness. All I had to do was consciously choose to watch for His provision.

Well, long story short, I posted a status on Facebook asking for prayer and suggestions, and within hours several people suggested the same option, which turned out to be the solution I needed. Not only is this a family from our church, but it is someone who does this professionally (and has for 19 years). She comes highly recommended and sets her own rates (a blessing for me because I hate negotiation – a consequence of the need to be both thrifty and considerate). It’s a good situation for all sorts of reasons, and a clear evidence of the provision of the Lord. I'm sure you're not surprised, and honestly, I'm pleased to say that I wasn't either. It must be that I'm making inroads in small ways.

In conclusion, while I can’t say that I’m over my struggle, or that I won’t find myself in a similar situation on another front, I can say this… "All signs point to a God 'Who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine.'"(1) Dare I ask Him to provide me with MORE evidence of His faithfulness? [I admit it occurs to me this is one of those prayers I ought to be careful in praying!] Well, I do dare. Lord, please show me your faithfulness. You know I am delicate and fearful, but I decide to trust you to sustain me. “I do believe, help me overcome my unbelief!"(2)

1 Ephesians 3:20 NIV
2 Mark 9:22-25 NIV

Community

2009-05-01T07:43:00.004-04:00

Well, well well... yes, here I am again! Who would have thought I'd ever come back after such a long absence, right? Well, I won't bore you with the details, but I got super busy and then I was indulging in a little recuperation, and now I'm finally starting to have some things brewing again that I actually want to toss out into the dialogue.

As the title suggests, my mind is full of thoughts of community.

I think that I finally have an inkling of what community is supposed to be. I knew that UCCC (our home church for those of you who don't know) was a good place for Beau and I, but in the last 6 months or so, I think we've begun to really enter in to a process of learning to live in authentic community and it's been the catalyst for some real change in our lives.

I think it all began with a breakthrough in my husband's life. He had been struggling for a long time with something, and, through a purely generous act of our Lord, was granted freedom from it. We've talked about it, and Beau is not able to explain why, now, after all the times he asked for the Lord to free him, his request was granted. I'm starting to believe I understand why. I think the Lord knew that right now the conditions were perfect for us to launch onto a new plane, and that this would let the genie out of the bottle, so to speak.

Beau was wise enough (or perhaps granted wisdom enough) to know that having experienced this freedom, he needed to seal it into his life. He confessed his struggles and sought out prayer and support, and ended up joining a group of men to meet weekly for prayer and community - there is that word again. It just so happens that these men are truly Godly men. It so happens that they are men who are strong enough to take my husband right where he is, with all the bumps and rough edges, and love him authentically.

These men listen to what he has to say, and from what he shares with me, he really does lay it out there, and they take the ugly and the beautiful and dialogue with him about it. They don't judge him when his feelings and reactions are sinful, but instead try to find the root behind it, and guide him through the work of bringing that to the cross. Perhaps more importantly, they are also authentic. They share their own "junk." They admit to their own sinful tendencies and allow the same to be done for them.

As a part of this process, Beau was encouraged to go through Cross-Current. I'd been interested in the process since I first heard of it, but wanted to do it with Beau and wasn't sure how he felt about it. I definitely did not want to do drag him along with me, and now here he was suggesting we do it together. "Praise God," I thought! My second thought was something like... "Oooh, I hope I don't feel really uncomfortable since my problems are so mundane!" Hah!

Cross-Current was wonderful. I can't say enough good things about it. I dealt with some very deeply rooted issues in my life, as I know many do, but in all honesty, that's not the biggest dividend that I received. The biggest dividend that I received was an eye-opening window into true community. From what I'd heard, I knew that this was a valuable experience, and I was determined to experience it fully, so I went in determined to be genuine, but I thought it would be really hard. Instead, on the very first day, so many of the women in my group were so very candid that I immediately felt safe. When I heard that we would spend 90 minutes in prayer each week, I was sure it would be awkward, but instead we were politely jockeying for space to lay down our burdens and be healed.

As you may have guessed from my earlier guffaw, I found that my issues were far from mundane. I discovered assumptions that had been underlying my struggles for years, and am now able to identify them when they begin to creep into my life. I have claimed freedom from attitudes and beliefs that have been coloring my perceptions for far too long, and even considering all of that, I still find the lesson in community to be the most valuable.

I grew up in a decent church. They believed and taught the Bible, and there were good friends and real love. There was a place, though, called Peniel, that held a deeper place in my life. It was a camp, one my family was very involved in, and I heard real teaching there, richer than at my home church. More than that, there was something so attractive there, a feeling of safety and love that I always thought was just a special element of blessing on that place. I still believe there is something special there, but now I think I understand that element. I was watching real community played out. I was seeing a community of people who loved each other for their real authentic selves. People came with their baggage and were enfolded into a community that was not afraid of it. As a child and young person, I didn't have that many walls up yet, and so I didn't recognize what I was being attracted to in it's fullest sense. I simply sensed the realness in the people around me and the fact that it was missing in other environments.

I remember my sister becoming involved in the Mennonite church during her studies. We kind of snickered at her because it sounded so dowdy. I knew very little about the denomination and frankly I have never cared much FOR denomination so it didn't matter to us much except that it conjured up images of her in long black dresses with aprons. In reality, she belongs to the "New Order" of the Mennonite church, who look just like you and I, but it gave us some good fodder to tease. I bring this up because one of the things she started talking about when she joined this group of believers was community. Mentally, I always agreed with her appreciation of it. It's lovely to trust each other, it's Biblically based, it's an all around good thing. What I think I'm beginning to understand is that she made this transition as a part of her own revelation. I think she has had for longer than I, an understanding of this living, breathing phenomenon of community.

That's really what it is, I think. It's not a dart board target you aim for, it's more like a big sphere that you jump into. I don't think we ever achieve it, truly, but the journey, the process of becoming a community... IS community. It's why my friends always loved my family, only it turns out you don't need blood relation for it. It's approaching people with your skin peeled back and trusting them and more importantly - GOD - to keep your guts from falling on the floor and getting trampled beyond repair. It's being willing to take the chance that people will let you down, and understanding that it's a REALLY REAL chance (even in real community), and STILL walking into the fray.

The amazing thing is that the more vulnerable I am, the less people do let me down. It happens, please don't think I'm suggesting it's safe... it's not. But vulnerability attracts itself. True repentance is irresistible. True honestly is beautiful. The movies that are the most poignant are the ones that SHOW the flaws and foibles. They let us inside someone's head to show us their thoughts and motivations and they invite us to connect because they know we can. The creators of these movies know that we will identify with the themes because we are all broken.

When people "let it all hang out" we see ourselves in them. We see our desperate attemps to connect and our own failures and we mourn them in ourselves while we mourn them in others. This is the image of God in us. I'm not suggesting that God is broken, but that he connects with our pain. It seems to me that he is strong in our weakness because it is Truth. Our "strength" is a farce. It's weakness masked, and God does not deal in deception.

I've longed for this, unaware, for a very long time. I mentioned Peniel. I used to spend the school year wishing I were there, and the summers wishing it would never end. There was a connection that I couldn't reproduce elsewhere. In my longing to achieve this, I made some incorrect assumptions. It led me to put up a picture of the me that I thought would be in this place. Instead of bringing me to a place of authenticity, it led me to put a picture of an authentic me out there. It had real elements. The things I talked about sounded deep and real, but they were the smokescreen. I found safe ways to say things so that even true confessions held caveats and were placed in frames that made them no longer dangerous. I was making little stabs at community while keeping myself safely locked away in case it didn't work.

Unfortunately that is the death of community. Holding ourselves back, even in little ways, is the work of the Devil to counteract this desire we have to connect. It's chocolate flavoring instead of chocolate. It's enough to fool us into satisfaction when the real thing is so much sweeter, so much richer, so much purer. Suddenly, for me, it's not enough!

Praise God for courageous people, and for people who have been so broken down that they were willing to try anything. Praise God for a church that is stepping into this wild, uncontrolled, unpredictable sphere of community and inviting others to join them. I can't wait to see what happens next.

Come Home!

2008-09-26T16:14:00.003-04:00

I am sitting at Wendy’s, taking a late lunch, and I think my eyes are FINALLY finished being red from holding back tears.

I listened to Focus on the Family today as I drove over here, and ended up sitting in the parking lot, franticly searching for fast food restaurant napkins in my glove compartment by the time the speaker got about ½ way through his talk. I can’t remember the name of the man who was talking. I know he had a British accent… helpful, I know.

BUT, the important thing was what he had to say. He was talking about the prodigal, and about how we can draw the prodigal back to the church. He had several points, most of which are fuzzy in my memory now, but one of them was love… he said when God’s churches are filled with love, the prodigals will come home.

As an illustration he told a story from Philip Yancy about a prodigal daughter. In this story a young woman leaves home after the kind of fight you might expect… some piercing or tattoo, or poor choice of dress. As the story progresses, she becomes a kept woman, and for a while it is intoxicating. Then the drugs get to her. She gets sick, strung out, and she is tossed out on the street. After a while of this, she starts to remember the comforts of home, apple blossoms, a happy brown dog, and her family.

She leaves a message on her parents’ machine (I’m tearing up again, folks… I may never stop crying about this one!) that says “I want to come home.” She says “I’m taking the bus and I’ll arrive at 2:00. If no one is there to greet me, I’ll understand, and I’ll get back on and you won’t hear from me again.”

SO, the day arrives, and she is awoken by the bus driver saying the name of her town, and that they would only be there for 15 minutes (15 minutes to decide the rest of her life)! She cleans up as best she can, and walks off the bus hoping to see someone to meet her, but she can’t possibly be prepared for what awaits! 30-40 people, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends… people are crowding together in the small bus station clamoring to welcome her home!

Then her Dad runs up and folds her in his arms. When he finally steps back, she says “Daddy, I’m so sorry!” He responds (hear this!) “We don’t have TIME For that right now. We’re going to be late for the party!!!” Here it is, again, tears in Wendy’s. Have I no shame (Yes, I have shame, just not self-control)?

I’m not done crying yet… The speaker goes on to talk about the parents, about parents who have persevered, always hoping and praying for their children through periods of prodigality (I’m sure that’s not a word, but it should be). Building on that, he entreats us to pray for our children. Feeling convicted that I don’t do that enough, I walked into Wendy’s (after doing as much damage control as I could with my swollen eyes), got my food and sat down with my Bible and bowed my head.

As I prayed, I realized, again, how much I love my little girl. It takes me by surprise again and again. She has so much power over me. When she dances to the music, or gives me her toothy giggle for some antic I’ve performed, I have a visceral reaction. I can actually feel the endorphins releasing in my body. As I’m marveling about this, and praying that my God would give my little girl all the things she needs to live a truly blessed life, I am feeling grateful that my Lord loves her more than even I do, amazing! And then it hits me… He loves ME that way. Insert pregnant pause… This would be an appropriate time for someone from the V8 commercial to hit me on the head… except that I am so choked up I can’t even find that funny.

I think about how I would feel if Charis suddenly stopped giving me those smiles, the giggles, if I came home one day and instead of squealing with delight, she ignored me and turned the other way. It would hurt. I have come to look forward to the moment I get home every day as the highlight of my day! Nothing is quite as satisfying as feeling her bury her head in my chest and her little bottom bouncing as she kicks her legs in pure joy while I squeeze her. I think it would almost be like getting the wind knocked out of me to lose those things…

But I do that to God. I fail on a regular basis to meet with my Savior. I fail to show my love for Him. I choose a clean house or a full refrigerator over the opportunity to cause joy to the one who created me, who loves me so much more than I love my little girl that I can’t even begin to comprehend it. Maybe that’s been my problem… maybe I haven’t been able to internalize that because I couldn’t relate. It’s hard to imagine the love a parent has for a child until you’ve become one.

I’m so sorry, Lord. I listened to this talk thinking about how I needed to learn to be more loving so that Your prodigal children could feel compelled to come home, and instead I found myself in the role of the prodigal. I’m coming home, Lord. Today, I am home, right now, I am so glad to be Your little girl, right where You’ve put me, loved by an amazing God. Holy Spirit, keep this fresh. Let me never again take for granted that I am loved. Amen.

Threatening Art

2008-09-23T09:47:00.004-04:00

I'm both pleased and apologetic to be responding again to LivingPalm. I love this dialogue, and the thinking is causing me to do, but I almost feel like I'm cheating because I've not had an original topic on which to expound of late. I'm sure I'll get back to that, but in the meantime, please check out LivingPalms's recent post: Transforming Culture Symposium #4: THE ARTIST. It's a really engaging read.

There's a lot to digest, but a few things things lingering in my mind right now:

Precious Moments.

Those crosses... wow. I feel mean to say so, because I'm sure their creators are well-meaning, but, to me, they are really disgusting. I loved Barbara Nicolosi's description of what art is not. It's a thought I have had many times and never put to paper.

She says about art:

It’s not cute.
It’s not easy.
It’s not banal.
It’s not silly.
It’s not facile.
It’s not sweet.
It’s not non-threatening.

Sometimes I'm listening to the radio and I hear a song written about picking up girls at a bar, or some Christian music with a message that basically says: "be nice to people, cause what goes around comes around." I feel like they are using something very valuable - in this case, music - to say something of very little value. I know I'm not the gatekeeper of what is valuable, and I note with distaste that my reaction has a bit of hubris in it. Be that as it may, my reaction is is not unfounded.

Music is so important to me. It effects me, it has real power to communicate, to enrich, to, as Nicolosi has described, communicate God's own heart. She doesn't put it exactly that way, but I believe I am following the spirit of her thoughts as she describes the artist straining to hear from God in the creative process. If something can, in one setting, communicate something so extremely weighty, can I be blamed for feeling disgust at it's use for stroking one's ego in regard to sexual exploits, or in a somewhat stealthier perversion, using it to assert bumper-sticker slogans as theology?

The second thing I loved was the letter. I have long lamented the church's fall from patron of the arts to refugee of the media. It speaks of that loss that I find myself often in the place to educate people about the fact that the majority of music and art in our history was commissioned by the church! It's understandable that a culture who has seen the church forbid movies and TV and many types of music to be surprised to know that this same church was major force in art for most of our history.

I have long lamented that about-face. I too feel strongly the absence of true representation of the church in our culture. I love this line from Nicolosi: "We are sorry for allowing the entire Christian community to be defined in the popular culture from the outside, by those who do not understand us, or who disdain the Gospel message. From those who might be Christians now, had we presented ourselves and what we believe in a powerful way, we ask forgiveness." How true!!! Has God not gifted his own chosen people to represent ourselves? We have squandered our gifts, and we have oppressed those who tried to make use of theirs. This is shameful.

I'm pleased to be at a church where I believe, while not yet having achieved the ideal, there is a sincere attempt to be a part of the solution to this problem. I too want to claim my own responsibility for this problem. I'm sorry for the state of art in the church, and I'm sorry for my role in it, both actively and passively.

Lastly, I was interested in her description of artists and our responsibility toward them. I'm not sure I buy into it entirely... I haven't processed it yet. Please feel free to weigh in. She talks about the difficulty of the life of an artist. I have artistic tendencies... I'm musical, and I have a bit of that detail obsession - particularly when it comes to communication, which, while not often considered art, feels like art to me. Still, I don't think I'm an artist. I would consider myself an interpreter of sorts... someone who can take art and help to bring it to someone else. I do a similar thing with ideas when I communicate. Perhaps, that is why I have trouble accepting her understanding of this artist/other relationship. I was interested in her research about individuals paired with great artists. Perhaps I need to have more generosity for a person with the "artistic temperament." Perhaps the gruelling process does bring out this traditionally difficult personality. If her points bear out, then, in all honesty, I think I've been impatient, dismissive, ungracious. This one I'll have to mull over.

Imago Dei

2008-09-16T12:06:00.000-04:00

This post was inspired by one posted by LivingPalm entitled "stirring up some Dust with Rob Bell". It began as a comment, and then, as I saw the way it was evolving, and the LENGTH of it, it became apparent there might be better ways to share what was tumbling through my brain. Some comments may make sense only in light of this post, so I suggest it might be a good place to start if you plan to continue. I should also assert, in fairness, that I have not seen the video, and that any description of Bell's thoughts or comments are secondhand.

I was thinking, as I read the description of popular culture toward the bottom of this post, of a commercial that floored me. The final phrase in the rather enchanting commercial, which I was watching on the big screen before a movie, was "Do what feels good." I'm sure you've heard the phrase as it's Coca-Cola's trademark phrase, but this was it's first debut, or, since I can't say I'm an avid commercial viewer, my first exposure to it. It's another blatant example of our self-centric culture. We are constantly pushed to be "true to ourselves" because we "deserve it;" because we're "better than [insert bad thing]." It feels so satisfying, but no one seems to take the time to examine the fact that it's absurd on it's face! "Do what feels good?" Do we really want a culture that operates that way? Thankfully, we are not quite there. I'd say, right now, that we are at the place where we expect others to Do what feels good... unless society has made the decision that we corporately disdain the act. In other words, the society is all-powerful. Popular opinion, politics, the media, Hollywood, these are our gods. No wonder we are plagued with so many social ills. If these things are the firmest footing we can hope for, we are in for a monumental spill.

The next thought that came to me, somewhat in counterpoint to my first, was a concept that CS Lewis talks about in "The weight of Glory." He suggests that if we could see each other in light of our potential, we would see creatures of such weight that they would beg worship or terror. I think that even though Bell's method may not be correct, and his conclusion may be flawed, he does serve to bring up a somewhat uncomfortable concept for Christians. We are far more significant than we might suspect.

We can be drawn into a cultural trap of seeing ourselves as some sort of mini-divinity. But, I think that trap is so effective because of the truth hidden within. We, in our true selves, are, as reflections of God, objects of supreme beauty, or, as corruptions of the same, objects of filth! (Please excuse the comma-mania... I had very definite feelings of delivery there.)

It's often hard from Christians to come to that place, because it makes us feel haughty or perhaps because it denies us the ability to excuse ourselves from living in a fashion worthy of that inheritance. I often eat in a lazy fashion, but when I became pregnant, and now that I am still breastfeeding, I pay much more attention to what I put in my body, because I know that I am affecting something far more important than my waistline. When I can remember that each of my choices has eternal significance, I am much more careful how I make them. Taking that a step further, if I can remember that I have eternal significance, then who I am - even beyond my actions - bears weight.

I think that last statement failed to convey my feeling. Let me restate: I said before that we might be objects of filth. The understanding of my ultimate value, my ultimate potential, makes the idea that I could distort that gift one of distaste. I conjure up images of souring, of degredation. It's a feeling similar to the one that is brought on by incest or rape... both situations in which something which ought to be one of the most beautiful human interactions is made dirty and shameful.

I'm sure this is taken in an entirely different direction than Bell intended, but while LivingPalm's point about Bell's failure to mention the Holy Spirit is well taken, it might be pointed out that for some reason, God allows me to turn down the advice of the Holy Spirit! Perhaps Bell should have said "...he must have faith in us because he leaves it [partially] in the hands of these disciples." As LivingPalm says "Words matter." I don't excuse his carelessness (I'll not assign malice) but in gleaning what truth may exist behind his words, even that tidbit should floor us. That we, like Moses in Exodus 32, might actually effect the actions of God, is astounding.

The moral of the story? What do I take away from this? My goal should always be to see myself as God sees me, but perhaps I am reminded both by CS Lewis and by Bell that I matter, that I am significant, that I am capable - and, I add (at least to Bell's comments), all because of my Creator; because of whose image I bear. Thank goodness that this is so. Thank goodness that my footing is firmer than that placed on the gods of society. Perhaps by keeping in front of me the image of the glory I was created for, I will be unwilling to compromise it.

Faith like a child

2008-09-08T19:41:00.000-04:00

I spend so much of my life these days trying to figure out my little girl, that I figure I ought to put this to use...

I think to myself, "What can I learn from watching this little, amazing person?"

Well, lets see...

She can't walk or talk. She tries, haltingly, of late... never successfully making even one step, or much in the way of communication. but she is standing on her own for longer and longer periods of time, and she is SOOOO proud of herself. Once in a blue moon she looks at me and clearly says Momma, or Beau and says Dadda. I have to admit, I get pretty darn excited too. Watching her get excited is pretty awesome all in itself, without the extra measure of pride I feel at her accomplishment.

So, how can I learn from this? Well, there are a few things that stand out. One is that, she is trying all of the time. She makes it her business to learn. She is single determined, and most impressive of all, she is completely unphased by failure. She almost delights in it. She tries to take a step and falls and then looks at me as if to say "Look, when I do *that* I end up on my bottom! or "Look, Mom, I tried to take a step!" She is simply experiencing everything. Granted, some things hurt, but when that happens, she just crawls over to me or puts out her arms to me, and I pick her up, and snuggle her and then point out something else even more fun to play with. Wouldn't it be great if we lived our lives that way? Wouldn't it be freeing to try something and be OK with failure? Wouldn't it be wonderful to be able to simply allow ourselves to grieve when we are hurt, and then allow God to hold us and then point us to the place we should go next?

She relies on me for EVERYTHING. Lately, she has taken to striking on solid foods, meaning she's back to nearly all breast milk... a daunting task for a working mommy of a 23 lb. baby.

This one is pretty self-explanatory. If my daughter can trust ME to take care of her, can't I trust my All-powerful God? It would only seem like the logical thing to do... but who said I was logical?

She loves me and she shows it. I feel like I'm bragging to write that, but it's true. Every time I walk in the room or the house, or pick her up, she shows me that she wants to be with me... either it's the hugomungous smile, or the shriek of joy (That's her expression of choice right now), or just putting her hands out to me, or burying her face in my shoulder... that's my favorite, however short lived!

Praise! Of course, more praise! I spend half of my commute home picturing the smile that I will see on my little girl's face when I get to pick her up. My Heavenly Father has told me in his word how much He longs for to me to praise Him. I guess, knowing how much *I* love that, makes it a little sadder for Me to realize all of them moments that I have NOT chosen that.

She trusts me. She will dive off of my lap, SURE that I will catch her and laugh with maniacal glee. She lets me run all OVER the place bouncing her up and down, throw her over my shoulder, and the second, occasionally, when *I* am worried I might lose hold, she doesn't sweat for a second. She is perfectly comfortable in the knowledge that I've GOT her.

Again, I'm feeling sad and a bit ashamed. My daughter is willing to blindly trust me... a woman, who I happen to know is far from perfect, and sometimes hangs onto sanity by her fingernails, and I choose not to put that sort of trust in my perfectly capable God... PERFECTLY capable... not in the way we use that word, but in the true meaning of it, as in without flaw?

Matthew 7:9-11 "Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!"

The Floodgates

2008-08-11T21:52:00.000-04:00

It turns out I'm very sad. I'm a little ashamed, and I'm seriously afraid.

Why all of these things? Why do I feel all of these ways, when I live, what I consider to be extremely idyllic life? It's because I'm a working mom.

Wow, writing that... it sounds so jarring, so unpoetic. Something that has the ability to carry such weight in my heart ought to have a more weighty sound. I kept reading it over and over again, trying to find a way to write it that reads like it feels. There's no way to write that or say it that will contain the weight of emotion that it creates in me...

I desperately want to be home with my baby girl. I grew up planning to be a full time mom. I can remember having conversations in which I sagely described the selfishness of people who did not make the decision to stay home with their children full time. I thought them at best, deluded, and at worst, uncaring.

Now, I'm here... I'm a mother, and I'm working full time. I spend 8-10 hours a day doing something that is SO much less important than raising my beautiful daughter.

I've realized today (and perhaps earlier if I'd let myself finish an emotional thought...) that I'm so terrified to examine my feelings about it that I've sliced the mind/heart connection that is so essential to a growing spiritual life. In doing so, I've allowed some things to fester that need to come into the light.

You, dear reader, are about to be the light to shine on my fears. I figure that as I write them here, and pray through them, they will lose some measure of power over me. It's my first step in turning them over to a truly capable God.

I'm afraid:
That there is some part of me that is making this choice just for selfish reasons
That I will never forgive myself for missing this much of my daughter's life.
That my daughter will grow up more like her aunt and grandmother than me.
That I'll miss her first steps and words and her cutest moments
That I'll be judged by other women who think they know my situation
That those same women will truly know my situation and still judge me
That I will be unable to pass along to my daughter everything I want her to know in the time I have with her.

Finally, I found myself wondering, as I was journaling, whether God would leave me in this place so that I'd cling to him for support.. I wanted to cry out, "Lord, I'll cling, I'll cling, even so!" and yet, I am not clinging now. How can I say that? But, to think that is painful. To think that my God would allow something like this to teach me a lesson seems crass.

So, there you have it. That is what keeps me awake at night... that's what makes me tear up when I hear "focus on the family" come on the radio during my lunch break because I'm afraid they will, again, emphasize the importance of a mother who stays home with her children and I will, again, feel like I've failed my daughter.

I wrote my very first blog-like entry on the guilt that comes with motherhood, and how I was not going to participate in it. Well, here I am, bearing a "mother-load." Guilt, shame, they are not helpful here. What I need to do, what I'm determined to do is to open my heart up to my heavenly Father, and to allow him to shine His light on those sore places. How amazing, that my Lord will not look away, no matter how dirty the corners... that even if He finds - and of course He will - things truly worthy of shame, He will not be surprised, or repulsed, and he will not judge me.

Tears run down my face right now as I remember that instead of judging me, as He alone is purely right to do, Jesus WAS judged in my place.

Praise God from whom all blessings flow!
Praise Him all creatures here below!
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host!
Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost!

Amen.

White noise

2008-08-11T21:33:00.000-04:00

Yes, it's been a while. I'm sorry. I kept sitting down to put something together and it never was right... my heart was never in it. I suppose it's a little bit like writers' block... only it's like thinkers' block. The problem is that when I can't write deep thoughts it's usually because I'm not thinking enough deep thoughts, and since I'm generally a pretty deep thinker, it's likely a symptom of something else. I go through these phases where I surround myself with a sort of emotional white noise. It's a bit like the air conditioner I run in the baby's room. I run it even on cool nights and bundle her up... because if I don't run it, then all of the noises around the house make it into her room, and wake her from her slumber. When I'm hurting for something, especially something I don't want to think about, I find myself filling my world with noise, tv, plans, chores, anything to keep my busy... I'll read novels and listen to music, and all sorts of great things, that, when shoved together without margin, serve to enable me to never address my real problems.

Even my devotions become tasks. I read the bibe... like a textbook, then I pray... like a laundry list, then I quit my devotions when I find I've been thinking about something ELSE for the last 5 minutes anyhow. This is not good.

So, my husband, who, historically, is never as good as I at sitting down and disciplining himself to have a quiet time, has been putting me to shame, carving out time in his day to read and pray and even journal, and I find myself guiltily buried in a book (But, it's a story about a MISSIONARY, my childish self is arguing!!!) That SOOO doesn't count, and when my husband asked for one of my empty journals (the most masculine I could find) to use as his own, I found myself reading some of the old entries... and longing to write again. So, I did. I wrote in my own private journal, and as I was writing, and praying, the floodgates began to open.

I hope, that, THIS time, I've learned my lesson.

Two Poems About Love

2008-04-26T22:08:00.000-04:00

Holy Love

When you look at me
My foolish pride melts away
For the difference
Of whom I am
And who you see in me
Is so great that I can hardly breath

Then I see
That in your eyes
Compassion reigns supreme
There shines from all you are, a love that covers even me.

--Lael Stimers

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Untitled

Sometimes... I live by you unaware as by the beating of my heart,

Suddenly you flare in my sight, a wild rose blooming at the edge of a thicket...

And once again I am blessed, choosing again what I chose before

--Wendell Berry

Puddle-like Oceans

2008-04-09T10:26:00.000-04:00

I have at times struggled with a very odd sense of wistlessness, not regret, just a sad film that covers my memories, as if I have somehow lost something by moving forward in life, by allowing the passage of time to to dull some of the glaring brightness of my experiences. The me that thinks and reasons doesn't get this, but the me that feels independently of what I think sometimes doesn't care. I wrote this poem in an attempt to put into words that odd sense of loss.

Thievery

Time is a thief
He steals my priceless moments and sticks them in a file drawer
A photo album
A storage bin
He turns first love into a memory and heartbreak into a past experience
But He leaves behind these drippings
Oceans that look like puddles until you step in them
The scorn of unfulfilled dreams
The shame of forgotten friendships
The sting of unfinished plans
Sometimes the Thief hides behind a pile of old photos
A song on the radio
A balmy breeze
Always my heart aches with the memories
Sometimes for ones I have
Sometimes for ones I never will
Sometimes for ones I wish I didn’t
It’s not that I’m not happy, I love my Present.
She’s better every day
Twice as tangible as our Future
She’ll never leave you
It’s just that sometimes my Past gets jealous and sends in his henchman, Time,

who is also a thief

Discipline

2008-04-01T21:36:00.000-04:00

Once again my Savior woos me. I’m surprised, as always, that He keeps trying. After all of the creative ways I find to drown out His voice in my life, you’d think He’d give up. You’d think He’d get the point – that I’m far more important to myself than He is - and let me settle for the best I can do, instead of reaching for the best He can do.

As a child and young person I was extremely aware of the presence of God. Relationships have always been of paramount importance to me, and my relationship with God was no exception. As if often the case, however, that good trait has a flip side. As I grew and started to have deeper relationships – particularly those of a romantic nature, I found myself more focused on them than on my Lord. When some of the relationships came into conflict with what I knew my Lord wanted, I chose to stop listening to that inner voice so that I wouldn’t have to hear the truth I already knew.

I have spent the greater part of my adult life trying to break down those barriers that I so painstakingly surrounded myself with. I have been trying to reestablish the habit of His presence in my life. It seems to be taking so much longer to get it back than it took to lose it.

I describe the last few months as being wooed because the Lord has been so gentle with me. I’ve realized the same thing over and over again and yet every time someone ELSE says something that leads me back to this place, it’s in a kind and comforting way. So many people/books/songs have been the voice of God in my life over this period of time, that I finally have come to a place where I cannot ignore Him any longer.

This Truth that has become so clear to me is about discipline.

Discipline.

What a loaded word.

I found this definition…

Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1)
dis·ci·pline /ˈdɪs ə plɪn/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[dis-uh-plin] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation noun, verb, -plined, -plin·ing.
–noun
1. training to act in accordance with rules; drill: military discipline.
2. activity, exercise, or a regimen that develops or improves a skill; training: A daily stint at the typewriter is excellent discipline for a writer.
3. punishment inflicted by way of correction and training.
4. the rigor or training effect of experience, adversity, etc.: the harsh discipline of poverty.
5. behavior in accord with rules of conduct; behavior and order maintained by training and control: good discipline in an army.
6. a set or system of rules and regulations.
7. Ecclesiastical. the system of government regulating the practice of a church as distinguished from its doctrine.
8. an instrument of punishment, esp. a whip or scourge, used in the practice of self-mortification or as an instrument of chastisement in certain religious communities.
9. a branch of instruction or learning: the disciplines of history and economics.
–verb (used with object)
10. to train by instruction and exercise; drill.
11. to bring to a state of order and obedience by training and control.
12. to punish or penalize in order to train and control; correct; chastise.

That is an awfully long list, and it can’t even convey the connotation that the word carries. We talk about church discipline, disciplining children, self-discpline, and the list goes on. What I am discovering is about spiritual discipline.

I have asked myself time and time again how to get back that closeness; how to gain more faith, how to fall in love with my Savior in a deeper way. Again and again, I’m being reminded that it’s a matter of discipline. I need to spend time. I need to devote my energy and my focus onto my Lord.

I used to wonder at the great pillars of the church, who spent time in fasting, in meditation, in focused prayer, among other things, and really fail to understand the goal. As I’ve pushed for intimacy with God lately, I’ve really seen again and again, how important it is to PRACTICE. What a novel idea! We practice piano, practice sports. I am an excellent typist because I do it ALL day long. Why would it not follow that if I prayed all day long I would become and expert prayer? Why, if I spent all day listening for God’s voice would I not become so in tune with it that I begin to think His thoughts as my own (glorious!)?

I’ve determined that the waiting period is over. I have now successfully received the message loud and clear. I’ve made at least one small step in His direction. I’ve managed to carve out small portions of each day to read a little and pray a little, and I’ve already seen a difference. I’ve remembered prayers I promised to send. I’ve begun to enjoy a bit of divine insight into my daily activities. Suddenly, playtime with my 5 month old has begun an opportunity to delight in the gift I have received in her, instead of something to keep her from crying until I see the telltale signs of sleepiness.

I’m deciding now, that this is just the first step of many. With the grace of God I will add more and more ways to reconnect with Him into my daily routine. For today, I will be content to sit at my laptop and feel (what joy!) the love of the Father and to echo back to him my gratitude.

Stan Shaw Died on Saturday Morning

2008-02-26T10:53:00.001-05:00

Stan Shaw died on Saturday morning.

I talked to Stan on Friday afternoon. He called to give me updates on the projects he was working and to answer some questions I’d emailed to him. He asked me how I like my new job and told me he was sure I’d do a great job at it. He wished me a good weekend and we said goodbye. The next day he died.

I didn’t know Stan very well, and in fact, until more recently, he wasn’t always the most pleasant person to deal with. Now, he’s dead. I’m struggling this morning with how to feel. I don’t know if Stan knew Jesus. If I’m honest with myself, I suspect he did not. I might hope that his more pleasant demeanor of late came because he’d met the savior, but I have no indication that’s true.

So, now I have a picture in my head of Stan in a place of eternal torment, and I realize that I may bear some responsibility for that. I’m well aware that nothing good comes from blame and guilt, but what is necessary is some serious evaluation. It never occurred to me to share my faith with Stan. It never even crossed my mind until now, when it is very definitely too late. Why didn’t it cross my mind? Am I afraid of talking about my faith? Yes. That’s an easy one. I absolutely am. I have come up with this very comfortable philosophy of witnessing. I feel responsible to live consistent with my faith and be willing to answer questions. CHECK. I’ve got that down. But, Stan didn’t ask questions. People rarely do. I’m not saying that that is not a good way to witness to someone, but it seems to me, in the face of my fears, that it is also awfully convenient. If I’d shared my faith and made Stan uncomfortable or angry, would I be regretting it now? I think not.

So, this is all good and well. I have asked some tough questions of myself, but I think I owe it to Stan not to let it stop at that. Too often, that’s the salve to my conscience… thinking about tough questions, leaving open ended thoughts, never coming to conclusions that require action. What if another co-worker dies tomorrow? Will this blog have made a difference in their life? How do I do this? I’m so afraid, I’m so inept, I’m so very faithless when it comes to telling others about this God-man that I worship.

I’ve done this before, this struggle, this debate with myself, and as I said, I let the fact that it matters to me be enough, I let myself off of the hook without actually changing anything. I don’t want to be satisfied with that anymore. I need to do something differently. I am going to start by inviting my coworkers to the Good Friday presentation that I’m helping to assemble at church. Hopefully the church will produce invitations, but if not, I can produce my own. It’s not the answer, but it’s a start.

Beyond that… Jesus, I beg You to make me bold. You know so well my inadequacies. You know that I get tongue tied and that I feel embarrassed of something I am NOT ashamed of. You know that I fear alienating someone and that I often assume that the other person will be offended or feel awkward, sometimes a self-fulfilling prophecy. You know that I am really good at rationalizing things so that I don’t have to share my faith in You. Please teach me to trust You. Help me to feel confident in Your ability to use me and in Your desire to reach these people whom I interact with. Help me to remember that what You are is a loving God who is SO worthy of their love, no matter what they believe, and that knowing You is the absolute best for them.

Amen

Sacred Wound

2008-01-31T08:32:00.000-05:00

Perhaps it’s because of the phase of life my husband and I have entered or perhaps it’s just coincidence, but sometimes it feels like there is more and more pain around us lately. I’ve seen Beau’s parents’ marriage fall apart mainly due to infidelity, along with the marriage of a good set of friends from college. My college roommate’s father, a pastor, gave in to a pornography addiction, started an affair and left her mom. Recently another set of good friends have separated. My college roommate’s parents are reconciling, thank goodness, but it took nearly two years of pain for the whole family to get to this point.

I list all of those things in a dispassionate voice, like backup to my opening statement, but that’s not a true reflection of my heart. The truth is that these events touch me deeply. This is true partially because they all happened to people who I love. The other reason is that it is the greatest evidence I know for a fallen world.

I’m not trying to lay blame upon the individuals involved. Whatever responsibility anyone carries is not at issue here. What I’m referencing is the simple wrongness of the situations. Can you resonate with me? Can you identify with the feeling that this should not be? Why would we feel this way, this intense discomfort, if we did not have a clear vision, intuitively, of what SHOULD be?

Natalie Grant writes a song entitled “Held.” The entire song is inspired, so, at the risk of becoming too predictable, I’ve included the lyrics at the end of this post, but I wanted to reference my favorite lines here.

“This is what it means to be held. How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life And you survive. “

Isn’t that a poignant way to describe this wrongness? It’s as if we have a wound that will never heal completely. It sometimes feels like there is a sort of ghost left behind of that missing piece, a bit like amputees who can still experience sensation in a missing limb. How else can we feel when we see child abuse and rape and murder? How can we see innocence trampled and not wonder what has gone wrong?

But, as Natalie says, so eloquently:

“Who told us we’d be rescued? What has changed and why should we be saved from nightmares? We’re asking why this happens to us who have died to live?”

The Gospel never promises that we will live happy, easy lives. It’s that sacred ghost that still expects peace. Unfortunately, we screwed that up. So, we yearn for what we’ve lost. The more truly aware we are, the more we weep over the loss of it. Unfortunately, we all respond to this wrongness in different ways. Some of us are swallowed in self pity, some of us feel defeated, some of us throw ourselves into an attempt to affect change, and some of us try to pretend it isn’t there. I suspect that a great many of us resonate with Natalie when she says, “It’s unfair!” But, what she goes on to say, and what I feel challenged by, is,

“If hope is born of suffering. If this is only the beginning. Can we not wait for one hour watching for our Savior?”

If we are promised eternity with Him, the one who is the epitome of all that we have lost, “can we not wait for one hour?” Can we not weep with those who suffer, and weep for our own suffering, knowing that this is all temporary? Can we not endure this unhealed wound for a Savior who gladly was wounded for us? Let us revel in the knowledge that when we finally enter into eternity with our God, all the missing pieces will be filled and our wounds will be healed in the most complete way. Let us take comfort in the meantime, knowing that we are

Held.

Two months is too little.
They let him go. They had no sudden healing.
To think that providence would
Take a child from his mother while she prays
Is appalling.

Who told us we’d be rescued?
What has changed and why should we be saved from nightmares?
We’re asking why this happens
To us who have died to live?
It’s unfair.

Chorus:
This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we’d be held.

This hand is bitterness.
We want to taste it, let the hatred numb our sorrow.
The wise hands opens slowly
To lilies of the valley and
Tomorrow.

(Chorus)
This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we’d be held.

Bridge:
If hope is born of suffering.
If this is only the beginning.
Can we not wait for one hour watching for our Savior?

(Chorus)
This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive. This is what it is to be loved.
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we’d be held.

Mommy Guilt (From my Facebook note)

2008-01-25T18:01:00.000-05:00

This is the note which I posted on facebook a while ago that made me think I might enjoy blogging:

My daughter, Charis is almost 11 weeks old, and my husband and I are still coming to terms with the fact that we have been tasked with helping this new person learn to live in the world in which she was born. What a task! I am proud to say that while I had no idea what it would be like to have a child, I KNEW I had no idea what it would be like. Things I did know: I knew that I would sometimes be afraid, that I would have moments where I wanted to tear my hair out. I knew I would be emotional after she was born. I knew that there would be moments where I was amazed, overcome by joy, immensely thankful. I knew how to change a diaper, how to mix a bottle, how to rock a baby to sleep, what things to try when she cries. I knew that going back to work was likely to be one of the hardest things I've ever done.Things I did not know: That I would be one of those women who took a while to fall in love with her child. That I would cry more than my child some days. I did not know that I would sometimes feel truly resentful to watch my husband use the bathroom without finding a way to keep the baby happy while he does it even though I realize it's irrational. That while going back to work would, indeed, be one of the hardest things I'd ever done, that there were some days I would yearn for it, and feel very guilty about that. That even though it is not nice, the day I'd pick her up from my sister-in-law to hear she's cried all day and watch her fall asleep immediately in my arms would be one of my favorite memories. Of course, that's just a VERY short list of the things I did not know. Basically, being a parent is a constant learning experience, and you just hope and pray (a lot) that you are up to the task at any given moment. That's why one of the most important things I have learned is about guilt. Parents feel a lot of guilt when they have children. Mom's are particularly susceptible because they tend to carry more child-rearing tasks. They have it put on them, they put it on themselves, and they put it on other moms. There are SOOOO many rules for babies, and children. There is a right way to do everything, and even when there is not, you have a friend who thinks there is. Because of this, I've made a decision. Unless my friend is doing something that constitutes child abuse, or puts her kid in real danger, I’m keeping my guilt to myself. I believe, for example, that breast feeding is best. It is good for baby, good for Mom, and just over-all great, once you get going (that's a big caveat, by the way). BUT, I will never lecture a friend about not doing it. Not once. I remember dissolving into a pile of tears on the nursery floor and praying that no one would notice how long I'd been upstairs and come check on me because I was such a mess. I felt like a failure. Even though I knew it was irrational, at that moment I felt like the worst Mom in history because I had to feed my newborn formula and I was sure my milk would dry up and it was all over. When my Mom did come up to find me, I tried SO hard to pretend I hadn’t been crying because for some reason, hearing her tell me it would all be fine made me feel worse… like I’d failed for needing encouragement. Breastfeeding is only ONE of the issues that get people all riled up. People have very strong opinions about whether you can let your baby cry or whether you can sleep in the same bed with them, or whether you can use regular detergent to wash the baby's clothes among many other things. I actually received a mini-lecture about the fact that I planned to (and now DO) eat deli meat while breast feeding. Apparently, the lack of nutritional value alone should have disqualified that! I'm not sure when deli meat became the enemy, but I was apparently out of school that day. I have not really reached this phase yet, but they tell me that when your kid starts hitting milestones you’re likely to have a lot of comparing going on… “Well, My Jimmy started rolling over at 2 days old!!” So, apparently, there is more guilt to come. In summary, I stand today for all the moms out there who are not raising their children perfectly. I’m not going to say that I’ll agree with every decision you make in rearing your child, and I suspect that you will not agree with all of mine, but I promise not to ever try to make you feel guilty about the choices you do make (or the speed of your child’s development or anything else I have yet to imagine) and I hope you’ll do the same for me.

What can I say?

2008-01-25T15:17:00.001-05:00

So, as I’m starting out on this blogging thing, I realize that I am still sort of foreign to the idea. I’ve been ruminating over what to write next time ever since I posted my first entry… and nothing momentous has presented itself. So, I say to myself, “How do people write interesting and engaging things all of the time?” and it occurs to me that they probably don’t. I understand that this is supposed to be a place to express just, well, anything. It’s for whatever is on your mind, which is really why the concept appeals to me (as a person who always has a lot to say).

I think I’ve been treating this blog a bit like I treat the beautiful leather journal my husband bought me for Christmas just before we were married. It’s a beautiful, soft, leather journal with a feather stamped into the cover. It feels rich. It has nice, thick, lined pages, and a ribbon sash to hold your place. I love that journal… but I hate to write in it. I feel like I’m marring it. After having it for at LEAST a year, I finally came up with a good use. Every New Year I plan to write out a monthly summary of the year that has passed, a small look into what we’ve spent the last 12 months doing. I’ve so far done that once. It’s not just because I’ve not gotten around to it. In fact, I have written out the information for the last 3 years on loose leaf and stuck it inside the cover. The thing is… the year I wrote in it I messed up. I wrote in pen and had to put footnotes and write in tiny script to add things… you know how it goes… but as I said, I love that journal. I don’t want to have those sorts of things in this beautiful journal.

So, I have this romantic idea of a blog, and I don’t want to write dumb things, because it will mar my lovely concept. I guess I’m going to have to give that up… but, well, I like this entry, so not yet.

Falling on Grace

2008-01-22T21:29:00.000-05:00

Well, here I am, blogging. I never thought this would be me. I never thought I'd have an interest in doing this. It's not that I don't like putting my thoughts down... it's that I never thought anyone would want to read them... and then it ocurred to me that it doesn't matter. I'll be writing this for me, and if someone reads it or profits from it... that's great.

Some of you may know the great song by Rich Mullins called "If I Stand." This is a reference to my favorite part of an amazingly well written set of lyrics (written out below this). It's an amazing and incomprehensible thing that we can fall on grace. How loving a Father we have that would put a soft, forgiving net under us to catch us when we least deserve it. I want to live in that knowledge every moment.

There’s more that rises in the morning than the sun
And more that shines in the night than just the moon
It’s more than just this fire here that keeps me warm
In a shelter that is larger than this room
And there’s a loyalty that’s deeper than mere sentiments
And a music higher than the songs that I can sing
The stuff of Earth competes For the allegiance
I owe only to the Giver Of all good things

So if I stand let me stand on the promise that you will pull me through
And if I can’t, let me fall on the grace that first brought me to You
And if I sing let me sing for the joy that has born in me these songs
And if I weep let it be as a man who is longing for his home

There’s more that dances on the prairies than the wind
More that pulses in the ocean than the tide
There’s a love that is fiercer than the love between friends
More gentle than a mother’s when her baby’s at her side
And there’s a loyalty that’s deeper than mere sentiments
And a music higher than the songs that I can sing
The stuff of Earth competes for the allegence
I owe only to the Giver of all good things