Turning the Page

Today we are turning another page in the story of grace. And while I am working on a new blogging rhythm, I wanted to share with you what has been on my heart. I spent some time in prayer seeking the Lord for the direction of this blog because I know it is either just a good thing or it is a God thing.

This month is the beginning of a holiday season when we practice gratitude and focus on the gift of Jesus. And the thing that stands out to me as we go into the season is how many of us may be feeling like we're just not sure of our worth.

Bless the Lord (Part 2)

Welcome to Part 2 of the post Bless the Lord in the 31-day series Speak Praise. As we saw on Day 6 of this series, I began a new habit with our child that changed my perspective in a profound way.

I mentioned in Part 1 how the Lord was prompting me to add a new element to our habits as a family. Every night when we were tucking in our little girl, we would say our prayers as usual, but I felt compelled to focus on more than our requests. I began praying blessings over her, prayers of thanksgiving for God's grace in our lives and giving us the gift of a child.

Just as our Heavenly Father rejoices over his children (see Zech3:17), I was learning how to love my child with God's love and allow him to heal the brokenness in my heart.

At first when we were having a lot of exhausting days with tantrums and meltdowns it was really hard for me to have the right attitude and words of thanksgiving.

It started small. “Thank you, God, for making my girl so strong.” I praised God for the character trait that was causing us the most grief--her strong will--because I knew it was a gift and that one day God would develop her character as he intends (see Phil1:6, Jer29:11).

Narrative of Grace

A title change?

Well, it looks like this: He's been building this story line of grace in my life for a long time. It's been here all the way through, weaving His theme into my little world.

It's been monogrammed on my heart with the initials that in Hebrew represent the very breath of God. The burning bush whispered the name when Moses brazenly questioned who was sending him, and he had no choice but to remove his sandals upon that holy ground (Exodus 3:14).

I've been praying for some time now about the title of this blog. And what I initially felt was a theme of the seasons of God's grace in my life became so apparent as an ongoing narrative as layers of grace unfold.

So I asked the question, what would happen if a person actually allowed grace--God's unmerited, undeserved, holy gift of favor--to write the story of their life?

What if it was my name, and I lived like it? Janette, "God's gracious gift." Janette is the feminine form of John (my husband's name), and the name of the disciple they call, "the one whom Jesus loved." Wasn't John favored as such that the Son of God loved him like a brother and a friend? Isn't it at the very essence of grace to say that God became flesh and He became our friend? And greater love has no one than this: that he should lay down his life for his friends (John 15:13).

It is not that grace made us a gift, that I should profit from the gift itself and ignore grace, but the gift of grace is that we get to be called "favored one", His favor-ite--friend of God.  For you are a chosen people...God's very own possession (1 Peter 2:9).

What if...as a wife, a mom, a woman, I let God's grace write his story on my heart?

"I will put my instructions deep within them, and I will write them on their hearts. I will be their God, and they will be my people"
--Jeremiah 31:33

Baring Scars

So remember your doubts and show proudly your scars

Let the sound of your cries write a song in your heart

...May we never lose in the light what we found in the dark

– Lyrics by Dominic Balli, Paul Duncan

What is it about the lighting in a department store dressing room that makes me want to chuck all the clothes out the door and high-tail-it outta there? Fifteen or so garments hung on hooks, waiting to be tried on in my attempt to be summer-ready; but after the first one I couldn't shake the urge to slunk home in dark sunglasses to hide my shame. Surely if it was this bad in the semi-privacy of a dressing room, how much more would the sun reveal my imperfections?

Even if I gained the confidence to brave the beach barely clothed, I would never be able to hide the scar on my right shoulder—the one engraved twenty years ago after an auto accident—large enough that only make-up can mask it, minimizing the pigmentation. There it remained, staring back at me in the mirror.

Concerning this I implored the Lord three times that it might leave me. And He has said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness" (2 Corinthians 12:8-9a).

I had made an appointment to see the dermatologist. She explained how injections of an anti-inflammatory would help, then eventually laser therapy. I had heard it all before, only this time desperation won me over. The pain of the scar was more than skin deep.

I had delayed the treatments because I didn't want to face the discomfort. Just as I had delayed writing this post for the same reason...

During my first treatment, lying back on that exam table with my shoulder bare, I felt more exposed than if I had been unclothed. I braced myself in the vulnerability, white knuckles clung tightly around my body. The doctor had to remind me to breath.

I remained on that table voluntarily because I knew that the outcome far outweighed the discomfort of the moment.

Suddenly I was very aware of the Lord's presence.
I remembered...
How he laid himself down upon the beams to have nails driven into his hands and his feet.
How he endured nakedness, mocking, spitting, insults, and shame. 
I embraced myself in anticipation of the next shot as
I remembered his sacrifice for me.
Involuntary tears burst from deep within.

Each injection was a searing attempt to get below the surface, to infuse a potion that would soften and heal the hardened flesh. It was like years of memories were piercing through me as the pain reflected the past.

And I will give you a new heart, and I will put a new spirit in you. I will take out your stony, stubborn heart and give you a tender, responsive heart (Ezekiel 36:26 NLT).

Being this open and vulnerable is frightening and sometimes painful. At times I avoid opportunities to share my story with others because it can feel like opening old wounds. This kind of vulnerability makes one aware of the scars of a life that was broken and busted. But I've been learning that it is the scars in your story that point others to hope and healing.
 

I received it in my email inbox this week when I dragged myself back to this draft. Grace notes posted from a blogger whom I humbly admire—another push from God to bare my scars bravely—Ann Voskamp writes on the humiliation of the gospel,

“The life of Jesus would radically suggest: Don’t advertise your beautiful faith without advertising your broken-down faults — because those broken-down faults are the exact reason why you need your beautiful faith.”

The gospel account of John describes the first encounter of the risen Lord to his disciples. Jesus showed his friends his scars, in his hands, in his feet, and in his side, as proof of the divine transformation that had taken place in his suffering. His scars revealed the power of God in Christ to bring life from death.

Just as he does with us.

Some people hear the gospel and draw back fearing that in the light of Jesus, the Son of God will reveal their faults. So in an attempt to cover themselves in their nakedness, they put on clothes of shame and regret (sound familiar? Adam and Eve did this). 

But if we don't bare our scars—both to Christ and to one another—we deprive each other the opportunity to experience God's love and grace and transfiguring power to bring us back from the graves we were in.  

This is true victory in Christ: that we bare our scars without shame. That we proclaim with boldness what God has done for us so that others may find the courage to come with their scars and receive healing and freedom to walk in faith.

Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me.

– 2 Corinthians 12:9b

Every Good Gift

He commanded them, “Do not leave Jerusalem until the Father sends you the gift he promised, as I told you before...in just a few days you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit.”
--Acts 1:4-5

From the back of the chapel I looked down a long aisle of pews. Left and right the walls spoke gospel glory, colorful glass panes telling God's story. The alter draped red, the color of His blood, the color given to the Holy Spirit like fire. 

Pastor recited the apostles creed and little ones mimed back hand motions. My heart cheered at child-like faith, such mighty declarations of belief. 

Shepherd's voice called out while tiny voices echoed all sweetness in refrain: 

Jesus said, 
“The Holy Spirit  
will glorify me. 
He will take
what is mine
and give it to you.”

Then taking the cross from the alter, "What was given on the cross is given to you."

One little guy, clothed in robe of righteousness red, walked about to hand the cross to the next small saint, and she in turn came up to receive a gift from the cross. Pulling a paper note off the erected symbol she held her gift and read it: “grace.”

And one-by-one little priests of the gospel came to receive a gift and declare it: faith, hope, love...

It went like this until the gifts were too many to name and short attention spans wiggled in their pew. But each recipient kept their gift and took it with them.

I didn't expect to receive it today. The gift of grace. Why?

When these past forty-plus days I have exercised a little faith in choosing to believe, choosing to practice giving thanks. There were days when I felt far from victorious, when it was a stretch to thank Him for the gifts, the daily graces. Some days my eyes were turned inward instead of looking upward. 

Some days I have forgotten the sound of his voice.

And yet? He keeps speaking. Revealing himself the risen Lord, walking with me and telling those parables only I could relate, just as he did with the disciples. Didn't they marvel? When he walked with them along the road did they see him? When he appeared among them with the holes in his hands and in his side didn't they doubt?

I thought about the fifty days after Easter before the day of Pentecost. Typically we see in the Bible how God uses the number 40 to represent his holiness, a number of significance, of purification, of mercy, of completion. I thought of the forty weeks when I carried my daughter in the womb, the process of finding rest, strengthening, preparation, and growth needed before life bursts forth from within.  

Whatever is good and perfect is a gift coming down to us from God our Father...He chose to give birth to us by giving us his true word (James 1:17-18).

When love bares down and delivers grace I am reborn. My identity as a mother renewed my faith in God's sovereignty and allowed me to identify with the Father who bore His only son unto us and birthed new life from the womb of the earth, how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? (Romans 8:32).

My gaze swept the chapel at those stained glass story tellers and I pondered. The Pentecost didn't occur until fifty days after the resurrection of Christ on what we celebrate as Easter. So from the date of Christ's assent into heaven, the disciples then waited ten more days before receiving the promised Holy Spirit.

For by that one offering he forever made perfect those who are being made holy. And the Holy Spirit also testifies that this is so (Hebrews 10:14-15). 

They had said goodbye to their Lord and were on their own now, so it would seem. What happened while they waited? Did they sit idly twiddling their thumbs? Were they feeling, maybe, a little alone? Did they question how they were ever going to fulfill this great commission they were given? Acts 1:24 tells, they all met together and were constantly united in prayer.

How have I responded to the days when I have felt the dark drape around me and the waiting was more like being out at sea completely aware of my vulnerability? I had stepped out on the waters of faith in obedience, but then it was like, now what?

Forty-eight mighty mini voices reverberate the gospel truth: Jesus said, “The Holy Spirit will glorify me. He will take what is mine and give it to you” (John 16:14).

I heard it loud this time. The word illuminated within! The Holy Spirit was given the authority of Christ to take the work accomplished on the cross and freely give it to me declaring truth into my heart so that I can declare it to the world. “But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you. And you will be my witnesses, telling people about me everywhere...to the ends of the earth" (Acts 1:8).

All that is needed now – that I have ever needed to do – is to ask. Open the grateful hand to receive. So if [you] know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him. (Luke 11:13)

Cease striving and take up grace that never runs out. In counting the graces every day I have seen how God multiplies--From his abundance we have all received one gracious blessing after another (John 1:16)!

So we do not receive this gift in the fist, hoarding the truth for ourselves, but splay the palm and unfurl fingers to give away that which was freely given to us. The best gifts are those we give away.

And God is able to make all grace abound toward you, that you, always having all sufficiency in all things, may have an abundance for every good work.

--2 Corinthians 9:8

Rejoice. Pray. Thanks. Repeat.

Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus.
 --I Thessalonians 5:16-18

We moms love our routines. The predictable, the workable, the structured control that makes momma feel sane and the kids--well, they need it. It's been a week-long relay to hold it all together, and dinner is a struggle, and here we are at the steepest leg of the race. We finally reach our breaking point. I'd like to think that after a few years of the same routine that we'd have it down...Maybe one day.

But what really ends up happening is we keep dancing the same clumsy steps and playing the record on repeat. What did Einstein say about insanity? Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

It's the week after Easter, aren't God's promises still fresh on our hearts? Joy to those of us who are being save.

We read in the first chapter of Acts that during the forty days following his death and resurrection, the risen Christ appears to the apostles from time to time, proving to them in many ways that he is actually alive. He talks to them about the Kingdom of God and about the promised Holy Spirit (Acts 1:1-5).

On the day of Pentecost the Holy Spirit comes upon the apostles for the first time! We see the transformation of Peter, who had three-times denied Jesus, as he begins walking in the power of Christ. We listen in as he delivers passionate sermons in the presence of the religious high counsel. We witness as the apostles perform miraculous signs and wonders.

And I can't help but feel like somehow, I've been missing out on something...

So this month following the resurrection, approaching the Pentecost, I wonder: What does it even mean to be filled with the Holy Spirit? What if the same power and passion that impelled the apostles to preach the gospel, to heal the sick, to persevere through suffering, is for us? Today. 

What if I lived today like that? Like when the Spirit of Christ himself filled and empowered his followers to do and to be all he called them to. If we live by the Spirit, let us also keep in step with the Spirit (Galations 5:25).

I think about those fruits of the Spirit that I have long suffered to bear. Striving to reap the benefits of the power to become a better mother, wife, and friend. Even to fulfill part of that great calling in Christ to make disciples (Matthew 28:19). And momma? There are those little ones hugging our ankles whom Jesus welcomed freely because he knew they would be his greatest disciples. Yes, we are making disciples of Jesus...everyday (Luke 18:16).

I had read it in my morning devotions, but twelve hours later I am like the woman who looked at her face in the mirror and then went away and forgot what she saw (James 1:19-25). It's something about bath time that turns our home into a scene out of the pages of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

Sitting near the edge of the bathtub, I help my daughter wash her hair. Why is it always so difficult? She is excited and careless and I get splashed in the face. I'm fuming frustration. My shrill voice startles even me. Her big round brown eyes blink hot tears. “Momma, will you forgive me?” Grace. It is in the receiving as much as the giving away.

Conviction from the epistle burns into my heart like hot embers... about being quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to become angry... Count it all joy when you meet trials of various kinds (James 1:2). What was that about joy? A fruit of the Spirit?

It was printed there on the page of my devotional: Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus (I Thessalonians 5:16-18).

And here's the rub – I see it tucked away there in verse 19:

Do not stifle the Holy Spirit.

Ouch. It hits me like an arrow between the eyes. I'm thinking, how do I not stifle the Spirit in my life?

The dots all connect like the shining pegs on a Light Bright.

• Always be joyful.
• Never stop praying.
• Be thankful in all circumstances.

For this is God's will for you who belong to Christ Jesus.

But it's so hard. This dying to self. Had I forgotten about grace? How because of the empty tomb I could awaken to life?

A big fan of Ann Voskamp, I've started my own list of counting one-thousand things I love, and here it is. The secret to joy. You have shown me the path of life, and you will fill me with the joy of your presence (Psalm 16:11).

Record-scratch. Lift the needle on this revolving record. God does not always work in formulas. Neat, predictable, ordered patterns that always give the same result. Been there, done that. I fall flat on my face trying to run the course in my own strength. This is not a color-by-numbers.

Being a Christian is not a check list of rules to follow and then you've got it all figured out. God's people already did that, remember? Thankfully, we are in a new covenant of grace. This is a covenant not of written laws, but of the Spirit --That old way? Leads to death. And I have killed joy in trying to keep it-- But the Spirit gives life (2 Corinthians 3:6).

Yet this? It's so simple it's profound.

How can I kindle the Spirit's fire in my life? These are baby steps and I'm learning to walk in it:

Joy.

Prayer.

Thanks.

In all circumstances.

This is God's will.

It's joy that runs over the rim of my cup. I bite into joy and the sweetness runs down my chin. Taste and see (Psalm 34:8).

Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation; and uphold me with thy free spirit (Psalm 51:12 KJV).

It's prayer that humbles me and brings me to my knees at the foot of the cross. “Prayer, to be prayer, to have any power to change anything, must first speak thanks:

In every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God (Philippians 4:6).

“Prayer without ceasing is only possible in a life of continual thanks. How did I ever think there was another way to enter into His courts but with thanksgiving?” (Voskamp, "Praying Grace", One Thousand Gifts Devotional)

Enter into his gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with praise: be thankful unto him, and bless his name (Psalm 100:4 KJV).

It's thanksgiving that has me counting daily graces. But we do not give thanks for the circumstances – which fluctuate between good or bad as we perceive them – but we give thanks in and inspite of our circumstances because God is good. Because God.

I will offer you a sacrifice of thanksgiving and call on the name of the LORD.

-- Psalm 116:17

Update:

The weekend of Easter I challenged myself and a dear friend to three-days of counting graces. We were surprised by the joy. And it didn't end there. Do you know what we found as we searched for wisdom as if hidden treasures...? We found the empty tomb. We found Jesus.

Day 1 - Jesus' death - Gifts of Comfort: mother and child cuddle; cup of coffee; a good book.
Day 2 - Jesus is risen - Gifts of Renewal: a good night's sleep; songs of worship; time with family.
Day 3 - Jesus appears to disciples - Gifts of Promise: grey rain clouds cloak mountains on a back-drop of sky robins-egg-blue; "Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path" (Ps. 119:105); "Seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you" (Mt. 7:7).

If you're reading this, maybe you too, are searching. Maybe you are like me and wondering how to live the abundant life Christ promised. The simple answer? Jesus. Seek and you will find. Knock and the door will be opened to you.

Jesus walked with the disciples forty days before he ascended into heaven to sit at the right hand of the Father. On about the fiftieth day began the feast of Pentecost, the time when the apostles received the baptism of the Holy Spirit. 

I personally feel the need for accountability, to keep on giving thanks in all circumstances, keep on praying, keep on rejoicing. If we start today we can spend the next 40 days counting gifts of thanks. Will you invite Christ to ignite the fire in your heart? Will you take this challenge with me?

Unfurled Grace

He loved us and offered Himself as a sacrifice for us, a pleasing aroma to God. --Ephesians 5:2b

I gaze hazy out the kitchen window on Monday morning. The light of Spring bursts through billowed clouds, streams of gold strike through a deep cobalt sky above the foggy marine layer.

On the edge of our fence lay the plumage of a single rose, bloused with perfumed petals pushing away from a thorny stem wearing crimson robes royally, reclined upon its pedestal like a throne.

Beauty unfolds extravagance. A gift from the Lover to his beloved.

I go back to counting the items on my to-do list at the beginning of a busy week. Easter is coming and there is much to prepare.

My girl glides into the kitchen on lighted foot. “Good morning Momma! Can I have breakfast? Where are we going today? Can we go to the park?”

I suppress my urge to tell her I have too much to do here at home, the chores to be done, errands to run, groceries to bring home, laundry to wash and fold... “Lord, guide us on what you have for this day...for this holy week.”

Decidedly, we head out on an excursion to her favorite park. It's a short drive to the mountains where the locals enjoy seasonal apple picking, raspberry picking, pumpkin patches, and hikes in the natural reserve. It's probably our favorite place in our little world.

Along a winding drive to the mountainous play ground, trees stretch their boughs across the road like a canopy. Swiftly passing shadows play reflections of leaves dancing on the road. Over the car stereo praise music floods the cabin and I can't help but sing out loud. My free hand lifts in spontaneous worship.

From the back seat my daughter's voice breaks into the moment. Four-year-old “why” questions mark most of our conversations these days. This one hangs in the air: “Mommy, why is your hand up like that?”

I blush. I consider how I might respond as if being caught in an intimate act.

“Well, Honey? You know how it feels when you get a big hug? That's how it feels when I sing to Jesus.”

God's arms are always open to embrace his children.

"Like the wind, grace finds us wherever we are and won’t leave us however we were found." -- Ann Voskamp*

We continue on to the park and are met with a sweet breeze. As the wind sweeps through the mountainside, waves of tall grasses swell in crescendo like a sea. Oaks one-hundred years old and a thousand pines sway with the movement, a million leaves whispering their song like a chorus, branches raised to the heavens in applause, while notes of pollen swirl on the breeze. 

Little children soon tire of the playground and explore. A congregation of lady bugs gather on the wild grasses. Tiny hands reach down to grasp at the red spotted shells. A lady bug expands its wings to be caught in the current upon the breeze.

“The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit” (John 3:8).

The whole earth gushes God glory.

New flower buds pucker open like kisses; leaves spread their fingers.

Emerging from its cocoon the papillon uncurls delicate wings.

Little child runs reckless through the grass tossing her kite into the wind.

Arms extend with wonder, mouth gaped in laughter, abandoned fully into joy.

Wherever the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom (2 Corinthians 3:17).

Easter lily trumpets in declaration of the King!

Savior's arms stretch out upon heavy beam; nail driven through open hand.

A banner of grace unfurls upon the peoples of the earth.

Prayerful hands open in surrender, unfold to give away, empty to receive.

I have swept away your sins like a cloud. I have scattered your offenses like the morning mist. Oh, return to me, for I have paid the price to set you free (Isaiah 44:22 NLT).

And it washes over me on Good Friday.

The blood that poured down and the grace that lays open like a blanket to shroud my sin. The tomb once full will be opened up just as my heart bursts within me because it cannot contain all the glory to be revealed. And Christ appears to those who know him and he blesses them with peace just as he did that third day. The cloth is spread out upon the table for a banquet and we're all invited.
  

Like a child at the break of day, come hungry. Come open and ready. Unfurl your heart into grace.

For God wants you to know that...the riches and glory of Christ are for you...too.  

And this is the secret: Christ lives in you. 

--Colossians 1:27

*quote from A Holy Experience, "If You've Been Looking For a Sign"

Unfettered Grace

Therefore since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith, let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up.

-- Hebrews 12:1

It's been a long season of searching -- seasons really -- of trying to understand this grace. I clearly hadn't earned it nor do I deserve it. Yet I kept finding myself in the trap of trying to somehow merit God's love and strive for grace, the ultimate irony! And before I could even begin to talk about the grace God has bestowed through his Son, I had to be willing to let go of that which hindered me in order to receive the gift so freely given.

It all began as a path of healing. Panic attacks had become my modus operandi. Many a day I had longed for peace in the midst of panic. The heart pounding like pistons in the chest, mind tangled with thistles and barbed with briers. In the middle of a siege, overcome by a barrage, arrows of deception shooting through the mind. On the battlefield of the mind, peace is not easily won.

Anxiety is the worry that sits like a rocking chair. I have sat unsteadily upon it so regularly that it is worn in the seat, a spot that feels almost comfortable. There's that incessant feeling of helplessness, like falling through a void, weightlessness catches the stomach, and I reach to grasp at something to hold onto. I am Alice falling through the looking glass. I may end up on the other side of the world, where everything appears upside down, and suddenly I find myself in a room that is too big and I am too small. How ever will I get out of here? Where is the key?

Expectations. Those false hopes I erected upon alters of Control, projected upon situations and circumstances, images of my imaginings, gods of my undoing. I had constructed safe walls around myself to protect against the elements of the unknown and invited others in with me. Surely if I hide them within my walls I can protect them too?

These are the shackles I have worn. Fettered by what I wasn't fully aware had become my bondage.

Being this transparent feels vulnerable. Uneasy. Terrifying even. But then...there is freedom. It is the freedom given by a God whom I could never have constructed and couldn't begin to imagine the depths of his glory. A way made through the wilderness, leading along paths of peace (Luke 1:79). He is called the Prince of Peace because he was born with the singular purpose of being the offering that would close the gap between a holy God and fallen mankind. Peace between God and his creation. The very glory of God wrapped in the flesh of a babe so that the veil that separated our imperfection from God's perfect presence would be torn away.

Back in 2013, the Lord began walking me along a path to discover peace. I spent two years praying for peace, searching the scriptures for peace. A simple truth hit me like an epiphany. If peace is a fruit of the Spirit, then I cannot will myself to obtain peace. No amount of effort on my part will earn me peace. In fact all of my failed efforts at creating peace in my life have been mere facades and were in fact cloaked in pride and the idol of control.

"You cannot have peace with God until you encounter the grace of God."--Pastor Ed Rae

I began praying for more of God's Spirit to fill me and guide me as I longed to bear the fruit of his attributes in my life - love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, gentleness, self control. These things are born of the Spirit. Against these things there are no restrictions. No bondage. Only freedom (Galations 5).

I can only find the freedom I long for in Christ when I welcome his presence and consent to his will in my life. God led me to one startling and simple conclusion: peace is found in his presence. God present. God all here. God with us.

So I step forward into 2015 by letting go of what was behind and bravely stepping forward to receive grace. Because no matter what, when I choose to step out of the chains that Christ has already broken then I can step up to victory. Even if I falter, each stride will be taken by faith and carry me along by God's amazing grace. Each step is a growth spurt in trusting God and continuing to abide in him.

And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us. We do this by keeping eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith. Because of the joy set before him, he endured the cross, disregarding its shame. 

--Hebrews 12:2

Cultivating Peace

When troubles of any kind come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow...

--James 1:2-4

He didn't have to but he did, answering a prayer long hoped for, bending down to become small, lifting up in his greatness. It was through adversity that hope was born. Embracing loss, letting it cut deep until what bleeds out is pure and holy.

I don't ever want to forget the pain because it reminds me of the healing. Recollecting and celebrating what once was fallow ground becoming whole and holy. This should give cause for great joy, again and again. 

“Joy emerges from the ashes of adversity through your trust and thankfulness” (Jesus Calling, Sarah Young).

Having endured the sorrows of the past, I can step forward into joy, accepting each challenge that comes my way through grace, with peace. But, when I get caught up in the snare of fear, instead of choosing to live in the victory already won, my feet trip on the path. I try to pull myself up in my own strength and plow ahead in my own power. Keeping my eyes on my feet I stumble, again and again falling into the trap of discouragement, worry, anger, and fear. These are familiar mechanisms I so blindly put on in place of joy and peace.

(Photo credit: Milada Vigerova/Unsplash)

Daily I pray that I may be worthy of the suffering of my past, that none of it would be in vain, offering it up for God's purposes. In the book of 1 Samuel, Hannah was both barren and favored. She could not produce a child for her husband and yet he treated her with grace. When the day of sacrifice came, 

...to Hannah he gave a double portion because he loved her, and the Lord had closed her womb (1 Samuel 1:5).

The Lord has given me grace upon grace, for he has made me his portion and he has filled me. When grief was poured out through tears upon the alter, he gave a double portion for me. So, when our little miracle was born, it was in response that we took her to church to be dedicated back to the Lord, following the model of Hannah in 1 Samuel 1:10-11.

Yet without pretense, I confess that the everyday mothering of this gifted child has not been the portraiture of a saintly scene, babe to breast, halo on the brow, sun beams streaming through sacred panes. But it has been this, every day: Humbling. It has been all of these: Tedious. Monotonous. Lonely. Bothersome. Frightful. Nonsensical. Exhausting. And more... But more than any of these, motherhood has proved itself an opportunity to humbly enter into the sacred.

Humble yourself under the mighty power of God, and at the right time he will lift you up. Cast all your cares upon him for he cares about you (1 Peter 5:6-7).

Don't think that for a moment I haven't been both treacherously appalled by the enormity of the task of raising a child and gratuitously in love with the holy honor of being a mother.

It is grace. I don't deserve this glorious gift--and I scarcely should be allowed to do it.

When a crying infant startled me awake at an ungodly hour and I wanted nothing more than to put the pillow over my head and go back to sleep. When a writhing toddler bellows and stamps her feet in the storm of a tantrum. When the pressure mounts and I bark orders about how to put clothes on and “Can't you do this by now? We're late!” The stained glass shatters in unholy wreckage upon my pristine cathedral floor.

These walls I've built around my piety, archways leading into holy chambers, and pillars erected to great heights of splendor, such grandiose ideals and righteous expectations for myself – for my child. So when it all comes crashing down in a moment, I am left gazing upon the rubble of brokenness that proves that I am only human. Sin scarring my heart and leaving me breathless.

This becomes the prayer of the righteous – the undeserved sinner-saint – a mother's prayer. Jesus, help. I need You right now, because I can't do this. I cannot strive, control, or cajole any longer. It does me no good. Take this child. Use her for your purposes. Don't let me get in the way of who you intend for her to be. Make her life a fragrant offering that brings glory to your name. Help her to follow you all the days of her life, to stand up in her generation for Truth. That she may shine like a star in the universe – in a generation that stands for nothing – that she might stand for Christ.

The full weight of glory presses upon my shoulders and I am grounded and humbled, brought low by the gravity of this honor. God the Father, the Perfect Parent, answers with wisdom, which he so freely gives, instructing this homemaker to become a peacemaker. 

But the wisdom that comes from above is first of all pure. It is also peace loving, gentle at all times, and willing to yield to others. It is full of mercy and the fruit of good deeds. It shows no favoritism and is always sincere. And those who are peacemakers will plant seeds of peace and reap a harvest of righteousness. 

– James 3:17-18