I don’t like broken.

I turn from broken.  I avoid it, ignore it, run from it.  Every single time.

I like neat.  I like clean.  I like pretty and healthy and easy and safe.

Broken scares me.  Broken makes me feel out of control and insufficient and completely and utterly vulnerable.  If I’m honest, and it really hurts to think this, let alone write it . . . I’m pretty sure the reason people sometimes turn away from me, is because I turn away from their broken.

And so, I think what blows my mind about the week of Easter, about the whole Easter season, is that Jesus went to be broken.

He knew exactly what was coming.  He knew he would be betrayed.  He knew he would be forsaken by his own.  He knew he would be accused and arrested and beaten and battered and bloodied and broken.

And y’all . . .

He went anyway.

He walked towards it, into it, right through the ugly, painful, frightening mess without ever looking back.

Jesus was broken, my friends, so you and I could be whole.

Whole in Him and wholly for Him.

He broke and the whole world broke and as he died on that cross, he broke the chains of our sin forever.

Thank you, Jesus.

I hope you all had a wonderful Easter.  I hope you enjoyed family and friends and egg hunts.  I hope you ate jelly beans and chocolate bunnies.  I hope you sat in the sunshine and admired the tulips opening their petals to the light.  And I hope you felt the undeniable, unimaginable, indescribable love of our risen Savior - the only one who can take the broken . . . and make it beautiful.

He is not here, for He has risen, just as He said.

Matthew 28:6a

'Twas The Night Before Christmas

It’s Christmas Eve . . .  

Don’t be the innkeeper.

Make room for him, my friends.

Don’t tell him no and don’t shut him out and don’t send him away.

Open the door to your heart and let him in.

He just wants to come, like any baby waiting so long inside a mother’s womb.  He simply longs to enter your world, to stay with you always, to be present in every moment of your life.

His light is shining all over the world tonight and it is too bright to ignore.  Hear him knocking on your soul and understand that He is enough for you.  His forgiveness overshadows every failure.  His grace overcomes all guilt.  His glory abounds forever.  He alone provides hope and peace and comfort and salvation, and his great, unfailing love for us KNOWS NO END.

So please, don’t be the innkeeper. 

Let that baby king come in.  Draw him close to you, place him on your heart as you would any other tiny child, and breathe in the incredible goodness of him, our Emmanuel.

Our Savior.

Our Jesus.

Emmanuel

It’s December 13^th.   Twelve days until Christmas. 

Plenty of time.

Plenty of time to get the shopping done.  Plenty of time to wrap the gifts.  Plenty of time to trim the tree and mail the cards and bake the cookies. 

Don’t panic, my friends.  There is plenty of time.

I know how it goes.  We hustle and bustle all month long.  We rush around in a flurry, here, there, and everywhere.  Our minds race with all that must be done.  The commitments pile up and the lists grow longer and we wake up in a cold sweat fretting about whether we’re on track to accomplish all that we need to accomplish to pull this thing off. 

Did we remember to move the elf?  Did we remember to read the Jesse tree devotional?  Did we remember to put a treat in the advent calendar?  Did we actually order that gift for our mother-in-law, or did we just dream that we did?

It’s okay.  Christmas is busy.  We try to get things done early, but it’s tough to put much of a dent in the responsibilities that go along with making this much magic in a single month.  There are expectations this time of year – BIG ones – and most of them fall on us moms.

In addition to the myriad of roles we play every other day of the year - you know the ones – nurse, cook, housekeeper, chauffer, psychologist, rule enforcer, wife (that usually does seem to come in last, doesn’t it?), in December, we add a slew of duties to this mama position that can make our heads spin.

We do the planning and the decorating and the shopping and the baking and the surprising.  We create the cards and order the cards and stuff the cards and address the cards and stamp the cards and mail the cards.  We rack our brains to come up with the perfect gifts for everyone in the family and fuss about how much money we’ve spent to make everyone we love feel equally special.  We plan school celebrations and ornament exchanges and tacky sweater parties.  We cut and tape and tie and hide packages in places we might never find them again, and y’all, at six o’clock this morning I was using the tip of my pinky finger to spread Nutella on the tiny mouth of our elf, because, ya know, that sneaky little fella got into the candy jar last night while we are all sleeping lying awake trying to think of new elf tricks.

It’s okay.

Christmas is hard and I’m tired too.  My body shifted into overdrive the second we put away the pumpkin pie and my brain is turning to eggnog as I try to fulfill all the requests and requirements that go along with the biggest holiday of the year. 

But it’s okay.  I won’t get it all done and I won’t get it all right.  I will forget to send someone a card.  I will burn a batch of gingerbread cookies.  I will get him the wrong color and her the wrong size and I will worry about presents when the whole thing . . . the whole month . . . our whole life . . . is all about His presence.

I will screw up this Christmas because I am a mess, and isn’t it funny how He came?  Not in a royal palace, surrounded by the splendid majesty he deserved.  No.  He came in a barn.  He came in the middle of the dirt and the muck and the animals and the mess.

He came to be human, and the barn was the perfect place for him to enter the world, because it wasn’t perfect.  A king born in a messy barn was exactly the right setting, because he wants to settle himself in our mess.  He wants to settle in our messy hearts and stay forever.

So don’t panic, my friends.  Enjoy this Advent season.  Enjoy the hustling and the bustling and the extra obligations.  Enjoy the rushing and the racing and the added commitments.  Amid your shopping and wrapping and celebrating, feel the comfort he provides.  Feel the peace he brings.  Feel the hope he offers.  Feel his light and love envelop your soul as he settles deep within, content to stay as long as you let him.


There is plenty of time to get ready for Christmas. 


There is plenty of time to get ready for His coming. 

Because He’s already here.

If It's Not One Thing, It's Another

Can we chat a little about this ‘thing’ everyone keeps bringing up?  Is this a phenomenon in your life as a parent, because it seems to be coming up a lot lately in mine?


“So, your daughter does gymnastics ten hours a week – I guess that’s her ‘thing’ huh?” 


“So, your son played basketball, lacrosse, and baseball this year.  I like the diversity, but which one of those is his ‘thing?’”


“So, my child really loves singing, but she’s much better at acting, and I’ve been trying to convince her that theatre should really be her ‘thing.’"


Now really people, isn’t this parenting gig perplexing enough without adding another ‘thing’ to worry about?


The truth is, I can see the importance of a child having a ‘thing’ in his or her life – a sport, activity or academic ability that encourages him to practice hard, set goals, and master skills; something that builds her confidence while promoting her determination to improve; a focus that affords a growing boy or girl the opportunity for vital childhood experiences like participating on a team, respecting authority, competing for a prize, supporting others, taking criticism, failing, succeeding, sacrificing. 


Honestly, I’ve spent some sleepless nights wondering when my own children would find their ‘thing,’ and whether or not I should play a more serious role in helping them find it.  A ‘thing’ could keep them out of trouble, after all.  It could give them the chance for character building encounters and, who knows, maybe even the possibility for an exciting future based on their abilities or experience – a championship, a scholarship, a career.  Extremely unlikely on all three accounts, but hey, you never know.   Maybe there is something to this idea of forcing their hand. 


Perhaps I should be telling my children to “Pick one and go all in.”


After all, a childhood and adolescence spent on a driving range might not lead to crystal trophies and millions in endorsements, but it might lead to a job as a sports writer or a golf cart salesman or a putting instructor.  Countless hours spent on a piano bench might not lead to a sold-out audience at Carnegie Hall, but it might lead to a career as a music teacher or a score writer or a recording engineer.


I believe a passion for a game, sport, activity or subject can absolutely provide a child with the chance at a future utilizing the knowledge gained from the time they’ve invested in such endeavors.  And in a world where our focus tends to last as long as it takes to send a text message, maybe it would be beneficial to ask my kids to stop all their dabbling and choose something . . . one thing . . . to make a top priority.


But . . .


What if my child doesn’t have a ‘thing?’  What if my son tries every sport in the book, enjoys each for different reasons, does fairly well at all of them, but doesn’t ever find a favorite?  What if he never gets any better than average at tennis and golf and basketball and playing the trumpet?  What if my daughter spends the next six years of her life (and half of our life savings) in a gymnasium, only to realize at age fourteen that she no longer wants to compete on the vault, bars, beam and floor?  What if she wakes up one morning and wants to try cheerleading or softball or crocheting instead?


I think we’ve become so fixated on making sure our children have a thing to focus on that we’ve completely lost focus.  We’re allowing doubts about the future to blind us, and the blur has become more than just concern about our where our children are headed down the road.  It has become worry about where they are right now, and if we're not careful, I'm afraid it might turn into words and actions that make them wonder if they should be worried too.


Our children should not be worrying about their futures. 


Not yet.


Let them worry about kid things for now.  Let them worry about making their beds, finishing their homework, and cleaning up after themselves. 


There is all the time in the world for the big stuff.  They have entire adulthoods ahead of them.  There will be decades when they can worry about whether they’re doing the right thing and saying the right thing and being the right thing to everyone in their lives.


Right now, there are too many other things our children should be doing.  They should be making messes and eating popsicles and catching lightning bugs.  They should be blowing bubbles and telling jokes and building forts.  They should be playing catch with their friends on Monday, board games with their parents on Tuesday, golf on Wednesday, basketball on Thursday, baseball on Friday, and guitar on Saturday.  Our children should be running and jumping and climbing and laughing and screwing up and starting over and stretching themselves.


There will be SO many things vying to be a priority in our children’s lives as they become adults.  Big things.  Hard things.  Things they have to think about every single day.  There will be family, relationship, health and work things.  There will be travel, illness, exercise, and sex things.  There will be illness, death, financial, and huge decision things. 


Yes.  There is absolutely a part of me that longs for each of my children to have a thing – a talent, a love, a sport or activity that draws them in and holds their interest in such a way that they can’t help but become great at it.  But when I look back at my own life and my own things, all of which lasted but a short season, I see the fault in pushing my kids to choose something specific to channel their energies into.  There will be plenty of pressure for them to manage in the future - they don't need it from Coach Mom right now. 


Hopefully, despite my insistence (or lack thereof) that there be a special “thing” in their lives, my children will eventually discover there is one thing that matters more than anything else.  It won’t be a sport they played in high school.  It won’t be a talent they’ve developed since toddlerhood.  It won’t be a shelf filled with awards and accomplishments.  


It will be a man, and a love so amazing that EVERY. OTHER. THING pales in comparison.  


And that one thing . . . that man called Jesus with the ever abundant love . . .


HE will be the thing that makes my children whole. 

Turn on the Light

Life has been a bit of a whirlwind lately, and the words just haven’t come.  That Lent project of mine seems so far in the past – the days when I could find gratitude around every corner.  Turns out, when you’re searching for things that make you feel thankful, the world seems full of those things.  You feel thankful.  But when you stop looking, the gratitude is no longer so easily found.  And the thankfulness?  Well, it begins to wane as many of those things you once counted as blessings begin to bear down more like burdens.

It’s when I’m in the dark that I realize how far I have to go.  When life is hard and everything feels like work and I doubt and fear and dread.  That’s when I understand the true state of my soul.  That’s when all signs point to the fact that I still don’t look anything like Jesus. 

He’s in there somewhere.  Buried deep among my discontent, he sits patiently waiting for me to look past my selfish mess and see him reaching for me.  Every so often, I acknowledge that he’s calling my name, and I rush towards him, full of eagerness for our reunion.  But the connection is brief.  I’m like a child who races towards her father when he shows up at the park, only to give him a quick hug before running off again, free to go and do and be as she pleases.

I know I should linger in his presence.  He is the only one who can provide the comfort I seek.  And yet, I search for it in anything . . . in everything else . . . and then act surprised when there is no comfort to be found.

There will always be dark places in our lives, and dark is difficult .  It’s disorienting and dangerous and it makes us feel so alone.  Just imagine being in a completely dark room – nothing but blackness all around.  You can’t even see what’s right in front of you.  You’re scared and you’re stuck and there seems to be no hope at all.  Now, think about what the flame of even one small candle brings to that dark place.  With a single spark, physical light enters your surroundings.  It makes the darkness recede, and suddenly, you have knowledge and understanding.

Jesus is light.

When life is dark, He is the one who illuminates what is real and shows us the way.  We just have to remember to look for the light.

I stopped looking.  That little Lent project of mine – the channeling my inner Ann Voskamp and counting blessings each and every day – it ended when Easter came.  I celebrated the resurrection – the single greatest reason for hope - and then I stopped looking for reasons to be thankful. 

Man I have SUCH a long way to go.

You see, when I don’t focus on the source of light, all I see is dark.  When I don’t let the light of the world bring clarity and truth that point me in the right direction, I end up in stumbling through blackness.

Light overcomes darkness.

Jesus overcame death.

If I walk towards the light . . . if I run to Jesus . . . I will find my way.  I will find the comfort and peace and freedom I’m looking for.  The dark will disappear and I will be thankful again. 

Happy Easter!

 

Easter always seems to arrive at the height of happiness.  When the weather is warming and blooms of all sizes color the earth in every direction.  When another school year draws near its end and celebrations become common.  There is a freshness to spring and the Easter season.  It feels like a rebirth of sorts . . . an awakening that reminds us we have another shot to get this thing right, to make our lives sing, to find glory in a new beginning. 


Some of us . . . we worry.  It runs in our blood and when the blood runs cold, the anxiety chills us to the bone.  All though the long, gray winter, we wait and we wonder and we worry . . .


Will hope return? 


Will the gray skies lift and the chill subside?


Will we ever again sense the opportunity for resurrection?  


Then, the sun begins to linger in the sky.  The dogwoods erupt in white and the tulips stand bright and tall and happiness sparks in the air around us.  And that hope we’ve been missing?  It settles back in and inhabits us to our core, warming our skin and making our hearts swell with possibility. 


We shop for new dresses and dye eggs.  We buy jellybeans and set out wooden bunnies.  We give up chocolate for Lent and we go to church with the grandparents and we sing about an empty grave.  We talk about sacrifice and stare at the cross and the happiness is so real, so full and true we can hardly contain it.


Easter is full of happiness.  It’s full of holiness.  And yet, there is an ugliness to Easter that we can’t ignore.  The ugly is part of the story, in fact.  Holiness requires wholeness, and the whole story of Easter?  It’s ugly.


The way they deserted him was ugly.  The way they disowned him was ugly.  The way they denied him, disregarding promises of loyalty to hand him over to death without a second thought.  It was ugly.  They tormented him and tortured him and treated him like a criminal.  This perfect man, this man without sin?  They made him out to be a common criminal.  He was their creator, their teacher, the author of their lives, and they nailed him to a cross and watched him suffer and bleed and die. 


IT WAS SO UGLY.


But that death on the cross?  That bleeding and breaking and breathing his last while the earth trembled and the sun refused to shine?  Oh, that utter darkness brought such light.  It brought such beauty.  It tore the veil completely, exposing His face as our Father and our faces as the ones of those He dearly loves.  It cleansed our hearts of all shame and washed us as white as snow.  It redeemed our souls forever.


If the story ended there, He would still be worthy of praise.  This Jesus . . . he showed us how to live and how to love, and he suffered and died for our sins so that each of us could have a personal relationship with the Lord. 


If the story ended there, we would still have an example.  We would still have a teacher.  We would still have a Savior.


But y’all . . .


HE LIVES!!!


Yes, he suffered and bled and died.  Yes, he took on all of our sin.  Yes, he sacrificed himself so that we could be free. 


But that isn’t the end of the story. 


Good Friday is awful and amazing, sorrowful and staggering, unbelievable and undeniable.  But most importantly, IT IS NOT THE END OF THE STORY.


Jesus. Is. Alive.


He was dead and buried, wrapped in linen and spices, sealed in a tomb.  And three days later, just as he said he would . . . just as so many who came before promised he would . . .  our Jesus . . .


He pushed that stone aside and walked right out of that grave.


We serve a living God.


That is the hope of Easter, my friends.  Any possibility for our own resurrection dims without the truth of His.  Our faith must be grounded in the whole story, the holy story of Christ. 


He died for our sins. 


He died to save us. 


He died.


But today, and forevermore,


He is risen. 

Good Friday 2014

Then the governor's soldiers took Jesus into the Praetorium and gathered the whole company of soldiers around him. They stripped him and put a scarlet robe on him, and then twisted together a crown of thorns and set it on his head. They put a staff in his right hand and knelt in front of him and mocked him. "Hail, king of the Jews!" they said. They spit on him, and took the staff and struck him on the head again and again.  After they had mocked him, they took off the robe and put his own clothes on him. Then they led him away to crucify him. From the sixth hour until the ninth hour darkness came over all the land.  About the ninth hour, Jesus cried out in a loud voice, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"  And when Jesus had cried out again in a loud voice, he gave up his spirit. At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. 

From Matthew 27 

Good Friday.


All I can think about is that he knew what was coming.  He knew his friends would betray him.  He knew they would leave him all alone in the garden of Gethsemane.  He knew the crowd would strip him, spit on him, strike him.  He knew there would be a crown of thorns on his head, nails in his hands, pain, pain, so much pain. 


Hours of pain.


He walked toward it.  He didn’t flinch.  He didn’t falter.  He knew what was coming and he went there to die.


He knew God’s will and he fulfilled it. 


He was the perfect lamb, without blemish.  The perfect man completing the perfect plan.  And he hung on that cross in my place, and in yours.


Good Friday.


Grace Friday.


Grace . . .


Thank you, Jesus.

My Lent Project: Lives to See Another Day

I know, I know.  There are 40 days of Lent, so why am I on day 43?  Math was never really my strong suit.  There's that, and the fact that I didn't take off Sundays.  The 40 day Lenten period doesn't include Sundays.  Sadly, knowing the Bible was not one of my strengths either, so I can't actually tell you why???  Nonetheless, there are still 3 full days until Easter Sunday and I'm going to keep counting blessings, because hey, God doesn't take days off.   And so here’s what I’m feeling incredibly thankful for today . . .


Dreams that shed such light.


My own predictability.


A gaggle of second graders running down the field.


Easter parties.


Relay races.


Giggling girls.


Balloons.


Creative people.


Amazing teachers.


Connections.


Noon dismissal for the kids.


An extra long Easter weekend.


Options.


Mark 16:4-6.


Dinner with my girl.


My boy on the lacrosse field.


Unanimous decisions.


Jesus, who knew what was going to happen in Jerusalem . . . and went anyway.

My Lent Project: In Overtime

I know, I know.  There are 40 days of Lent, so why am I on day 42?  Math was never really my strong suit.  There's that, and the fact that I didn't take off Sundays.  The 40 day Lenten period doesn't include Sundays.  Sadly, knowing the Bible was not one of my strengths either, so I can't actually tell you why???  Nonetheless, there are still 4 full days until Easter Sunday and I'm going to keep counting blessings, because hey, God doesn't take days off.   And so here’s what I’m feeling incredibly thankful for today . . .


Sheets to keep my newly planted flowers from freezing.


Waking up to daylight on late arrival Wednesdays.


Organic maple syrup.


Houzz.com.


Charlie's growing maturity.


Our interesting chats.


Libby's happiness.


Shakeology.


Community Bible Study.


Learning from others.


Booked flights for our summer vacation.


Her wagging tail.


A walk with my husband.


The pink dogwoods - wow.


Shawn T's Dynamic Core workout.


Shawn T's Speed 2 workout.


Walk and talk Wednesdays for the 2nd grade girls.


Good friends.


Coloring with my daughter.


Jesus, for he is our refuge and our reward.

My Lent Project: Extra Innings

I know, I know.  There are 40 days of Lent, so why am I on day 41?  Math was never really my strong suit.  There's that, and the fact that I didn't take off Sundays.  The 40 day Lenten period doesn't include Sundays.  Sadly, knowing the Bible was not one of my strengths either, so I can't actually tell you why???  Nonetheless, there are still 5 days until Easter and I'm going to keep counting blessings, because hey, God doesn't take days off.   And so here’s what I’m feeling incredibly thankful for today . . .


Mornings.


The snooze button.


The rush of emotions when I think about this Holy Week.


My husband's dedication to our family.


Getting a fist pump out of Charlie.


Libby offering reminders.


Extra whitening mouthwash.


My Sonicare toothbrush.


Cars with cameras that help you reverse.


Closets.


Cabinets.


Eye drops.


The apostle Paul.


A wise woman offering her thoughts.


Knowing someone has prayed for me.


Tony Horton's Shoulders and Arms workout.


Tony Horton's Abs/Core Plus workout.


Meeting a goal.


When it becomes official.


My newly acquired Georgia real estate license!!!


When the skies clear.


A brisk walk.


Family time.


Jesus, who carries my yoke and gives me rest.