again, the everlasting arms

here is the beautiful truth about God.

He does make beautiful things out of our messes- but He really wants our hearts- our truth- our obedience.  no matter what. that's what matters to Him.  if our messes happen to get in the way  of His beautiful truth- he makes it amazing- but sometimes it's just our mess.  sometimes it's not pretty and it's not fixed and it's not anything but our mess.  sometimes we just sit in it- the messiness of it- and we wait- and we hope and we want the everlasting arms to reach down and hold us and cradle us and rock us back to okay. to painless okay.  to fixed. to magic. but often- there in the thick of it- is just us and our choices. us and our broken. us and our trying. us and our mess.

and time happens. and life happens. and we cry or get annoyed or blame or run or turn around or beg or all of those things- and there He stands- solid as a rock (because that is what He is- unchanging- unwavering- all promising- permanent- steadfast- but true- true in the realist sense of the word and and the world- true).

so we are left with what to do with it.  our mess. whatever it is.  we are left with the pieces that we've made- the parts that we've split off- the bits and the un-wholeness and the fall out from it.  and that is hard and real and unchanging.

we are allowed to go through whatever it is, to get where we need to go. we are given the grace and the strength to get there. we are given the tools and the people and the small moments and the few words and the hope- to move, sometimes only one step, to be closer to the truth- the beautiful, life changing, promise of peace and joy truth- that we've fooled ourselves into thinking we can find and get to on our own.

we all have our things. our little idols. our little or our big pulls that pull us away from the quiet and clear center - that place that we know is best- and right - and whole and as close to perfect as we will ever know this side of things.

that place that when we close our eyes and think back through our lives- we have - at some point- known. even and only if for a minute or a day or if we are lucky, a season.  our tea field hours. our joy in the basement of the MRI suite. our relief at the non-diagnosis.  our yes when we thought it was a no.  our hope in the place of deep darkness.  our light in a place of despair.  those times that we swore we'd never forget- never turn from- never because of them, make messes again.

but that is what we do. we can't help it. we muddle and waddle and dive into places that we promised we'd ever see again- because we are so small and fragile and we so easily forget- even if our minds and our hearts don't forget- our feet forget and back we walk.

but because of those years- those 33 years that our sweet Lord walked on dusty dry roads like the ones under our feet- because He knows the paths we follow and the fragmented lives we live and the broken bits and the tears and the mis-alignedness of our nature- we are gently called.  we are prompted and reminded and in the soft whisper of the voice of one who loves us like nothing else- we are told- "come back".

we are held and we are motioned to - "be still."  "and know.... I am."

"I am God."

"I am enough."

"can you trust me?"

now it's up to us... is He enough? do we trust? will we be still? 

underneath whatever it all is, are those arms- those arms that only know forgiveness and love- arms that promise wholeness and redemption and peace.


.

as you are

i'm back. not sure where i've been, but i'm back. 

i've started to write about 10 times in the past month and then life happens. half of the times, i've gotten half way there before life happens- the internet goes down- someone cut their finger- the dog got loose- whatever it is; and the other half of the time i'm so ready to write and life happens before i even get started.  either way, i am gone. either way, i am quiet.  either way, i miss out on the beauty of showing up for myself and allowing the time and the space to feel my days.

i could, i should, push through.  write it all out and save it until the internet works. put the band-aid on and return to the page, get the dog back and write again.  but somehow, somewhere inside myself, i haven't been able to do it.  somehow, somewhere - i think i feel defeated.  not unhappy, not depressed, not hopeless- just like i've lost the little battles of life here. just like i'm sitting in the reality of things broken and i'm living in the unworkingness of it all- so i succumb- i let it swallow me.

writing was the way i escaped being swallowed by zoe's challenges 4 years ago. it was a beginning- i gave myself a voice when i felt voiceless and alone.  i could pause and see humor and beauty instead of just crazy and pain.  i could step away from the day and feel the tiny bits of us growing- movement, healing, happening.  writing is a way, a place, and the very thing that saves me from defeat, from being consumed.  so here i am- because i need to be- because it's where i belong- because i deserve to do what i need to do to stay sane- even and despite life happening.

yesterday, when i was driving on a bumpy road and missing mike who has been visiting with his family for 2 weeks, and wondering what on earth i would make for supper, and how i would walk the dog during the making of the supper, and i was generally feeling sorry for myself and reflecting on my job as a single parent for the past two weeks, and thinking about how i should do most of my life better - i had a moment. 

it was a moment of God showing up.  it was unasked for.  it wasn't being looked for.  i wasn't praying for it.  i was just driving and feeling like a failure and wondering how a missionary can get it so wrong all the time.  i was thinking about how i can be such a jerk to my kids and people who show up on my porch and need things- and how i have an ugly voice that comes out too much- and that i should generally be more thankful and cheerful and encouraging.  and i should definitely be less angry. 

and there it was. it was just God holding out His hands and saying "you are loved". 
and then what was even better was what came next, "you are loved-as-you-are."  and i started to cry, because deep down, i know it's true and that is a freaking miracle. 

one of the things i learned in the womens fellowship last month was that we can run away from the peace of God, but we can't run away from the love of God.  we can choose to forget to wake up and say "help!" or we can remember but choose to not say it because we're pretty sure we are fine on our own, and we can try to do our lives on our own and work really hard at 'being better' and less angry and yell-y and jerky- but for me that ends up never working and leaving me with very little peace. but. even then- even at my most failing moments- even when i've tried and messed it up and it's only breakfast- even when i have no peace inside at all- i am loved-as i am.

so that is a beginning.  in my car, on that bumpy road home to the crazy time of the day, when everyone is tired and whiny and done with each other, remembering that i am loved, as i am, even though whatever- and no matter what happens - that was enough for me to begin to come back.  to see and feel and know that - i am loved, so i'm not swallowed completely.  i am loved, so i can love myself enough to be still when life is happening- to sit and pause- and find myself again- here or there- or where ever i am.  i am back.