Jesus, I am Resting

I have decided to start potty-training my two and a half year old son.  It is going terribly.  So bad, in fact, that I am contemplating quitting.  I have longed for the day to have only one child in diapers in stead of two since the day my second son was born.  But maybe that day is further in the future than I had hoped?  I don't actually know why I decided to undertake such a large task with a newly three month-old baby.  We have slipped into a decent routine, but there are still so many things to be done at home.  So many lessons to plan for my kindergartner, so many tantrums to stop with the two year old, and lots of feedings and cuddles and diapers to change with the newborn.

Part of the routine involves the baby going down for his morning nap around 9 am, and sleeping for a couple of hours.  You can get lulled into a sense of reliable consistency when the schedule is relatively unchanged for several days.  I have been so lulled that I almost forgot I was dealing with a newborn, and newborns tend to have days that don't fit into my day planner.  Sunday was such a day.  The little boy slept on the way to church and for about ten minutes while we were at church.  Other than that, he didn't sleep all morning.  No sleep when he is used to two hours of sleep.  This made for a cranky baby.  I tried very purposefully to usher him into the land of nod, but nothing worked.  Instead as the morning wore on, he became more and more agitated.  Even the car ride away from church failed to console him.  After lunch, he again began to cry, but this time I didn't jump to comfort him.  I knew with certainty that his only need, the only reason he was distressed was his lack of sleep.  If he would only allow himself to fall asleep, he would receive the rest his body craved.  "Just let yourself go to sleep, little one.  You'll feel so much better,"  I thought.

Almost as soon as I thought this, I heard within my spirit:  "You are worried and bothered about so many things." (Luke10:41)  A feeling similar to shame washed over me.  I knew God was speaking to me, very personally.  Because I know that I have been very concerned with all the ancillary details of life, writhing with dissatisfaction and anxiousness.  I have been concerned about getting dinner on the table at the right time, putting all the toys away before bedtime, getting the baby to sleep through the night.  I have been striving to achieve order and "peace" in my home with three little ones, not allowing myself to rest in Him.  But how can I do that?  How can I rest in His presence when the dishes are piling up, and beds need made, sheets need washed, and there is a never-ending list of chores.  The answer came quietly into my heart.  Sit at the feet of Jesus.  Allow yourself to be in his presence, with no other worry or burden. Listen to His voice and the rest my soul craves will come.  

  "Only one thing is necessary, and Mary has chosen the good part, which shall not be taken away from her." Luke 10:42  Why won't I simply allow myself to be carried into the peace that only he can give?  True rest.

Several days earlier my husband read a short devotional to the children before bed.  It sprang to my mind.  "When you open the windows, do you have to beg the fresh air to come in?  Or when you open the curtains in the morning, do you have to argue with the sun to make it shine into your room?...Don't try to work it out by yourself.  Let God's peace flow in-like sunshine into a dark room."  (Sally Lloyd-Jones, Thoughts to Make Your Heart Sing)  My little girl had laughed at the thought of standing in front of her window, asking the sun to shine in.  And it is laughable.  It is laughable that I would be striving and working and straining about so many things when all I MUST do is lean into the warm comfort of God's peace.  Only one thing is needed.  Resting at the feet of Jesus.  And this inevitably brings peace and rest, just like throwing open the curtains and letting the sun flood the room.  Sometimes I wonder if God looks down at me with the same perplexity I gazed at my baby son.  Why won't she just let herself rest?  If she would allow herself to be with me-without concerning herself about these tangible tasks-she would be amazed at the refreshment she would enjoy.  Today I am throwing open the curtains and basking in the rest that floods my soul as I soak in the joy of the Lord.

Jesus I am resting, resting

IN the joy of what Thou art,

I am finding out the greatness 

Of they loving Heart

O, how great Thy lovingkindness

Vaster, broader than the sea

O, how marvelous Thy goodness

Lavished all on me!

Simply trusting Thee, Lord Jesus

I behold Thee as thou art

And Thy love, so pure, so changeless

Satisfies my heart

--Jean S. Pigot

Maybe take a minute to rest and listen to the music that accompanies such a powerful and majestic hymn?  I will certainly be humming this tune and mulling these words for quite some time as I lean into His rest.

The Word

When I took my third child to his one week appointment, the doctor checked all the essentials and weighed the precious boy.  She gave some obligatory instructions, but then laughed slightly and said, "I guess by your third one you are an old hand at this.  You could probably tell me about caring for a newborn."  One might think so, I remember thinking.  Two months later, I can safely say that caring for my third has been very similar to caring for the first, except that I feel MORE harried than I did with my firstborn, my daughter.  

     I can't keep up with everything that needs to be done in our house.  Dinner feels like a monumental task most days.  There is the grocery shopping that is suddenly requiring a Herculean effort of patience: get the children loaded, marshaled through the store, and unloaded all in between the baby's feedings.  The pile of laundry never seems to be washed (a newborn with severe reflux adds his own load every day, sometimes every other day if I am fortunate).  Bedtime is barely controlled chaos.  Visions of reading stories, imparting deep spiritual truths at bedtime to eager toddlers-these have not been in the cards for our household these past two months.  Mostly I feel constantly off my target schedule and pretty close to an absolute failure as wife, mother, homemaker.  When I pray, I feel the need to apologize to God for how terribly I have managed the day.  What a mess I am.  I am having difficulty being a mother, something most other women seem to manage easily.  

It is hard to regularly speak with someone you imagine is looking down their upturned nose at you.  When you believe there is a stick in their hand waiting to strike your inept wrists, you struggle to be vulnerable, even dreading entering their presence.  This is how I was secretly viewing my time with the Lord.  I would talk with Him, but in guarded tones, because I was more mindful of my own perceived failings than His abounding mercy and unending love.  

Last week, while nursing my son, I decided to read one of my favorite blogs, one that I had only been able to skim since baby's arrival.  The verse highlighted on the blog was John 1:1  In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.  I ruminated for a bit on the words of God, imparted through scripture.  And then, a few days later at Sunday morning church, the verse was quoted from the pulpit.  This time followed by a question:  Jesus, from the very beginning of time was with his father, God, and God knew what the plan to save humanity must entail.  And Jesus was His Word.  What was God saying?
                          
What is the message God sends to me, though His Son, Jesus?

I looked down at my sleeping baby.  God was speaking love.  And grace.  And full acceptance.  No reason to be ashamed.  No reason to feel self-conscious of my daily failures.  God spoke His love towards me when He planned a way for me to know Him by offering His own Son up for death.  I make the cross less when I believe that He would reject me because of my inadequacies.  A God who sacrifices his beloved son for ME, before I can return His lavish love, is not a God who tallies the days I succumb to frantic urgency.  He is not a God who keeps the record of each time I lose patience with my children, or roll my eyes at the nighttime feedings.  He is not waiting to pointedly remind me of all my missteps; He is waiting for me to come close enough so that He can whisper his love to me.   Staring at my new son, I realized that the tenderness with which I view my children is a shadow of the fierce love with which my Father sees me.  He died for me.  That is His one constant message, His Word to me.  The Word that must sink into the depths of my heart if I am ever to live fullness of life.  Not the fullness of life that matches my idealistic visions of what a storybook mother should be, but a completeness bestowed by the knowledge that my God, my Father, loves me in spite of all that I lack.  He loves me and I only need to acknowledge and and believe that His love will fill the holes my own inadequacies create.  (Jeremiah 31:3)

God is love.  He sent His son to rescue us.  This is His message to me, and to all of us who know that we are empty and useless without Him.  

Equipped for the Day

Of all the subjects my little girl and I tackle, handwriting  is the biggest struggle.  I structure the day so that the morning is full of teaching new concepts and "seat work"-worksheets, art, or coloring she works on independently.  After lunch and her nap (thankfully she still consistently takes one), she works on afternoon writing.  Attempts to work on it is a more apt description.  It doesn't seem to matter what letter is on the agenda, there is balking, whining, and tears.  The struggle has often been so severe, that I have wondered if she honestly could not do what I was asking.  Were her motor skills a little behind and her finite control needed to write was simply not yet developed?  But whenever I would seriously consider waiting to teach writing, she would produce near flawless letters.  SHE CAN DO IT.   It must simply something she hates to do.  Or maybe something she has decided she cannot do, because it is the hardest thing she has faced so far, something that requires sustained effort and diligence.

Several weeks ago, her resistance took on a new and unexpected twist of kindergarten logic.  When I assigned her the letter of the day and handed her the practice paper, she dissolved in tears.  "Mom, I know I can't do it!  I know it.  Look!  I'm supposed to make a curve going this way for a little 'c' but I know I won't; my hand will just go the opposite way.  I know it will.  I can't do it.  I can't go the right way."  I didn't know exactly what to say.  At the moment all my effort was directed towards not cracking even the hint of a smile.  Didn't my silly but very capable little girl know who was in charge of her hand?  She could direct it where it should go.  I had taught her the steps, given her tools necessary to accomplish the task that I knew she could do.  The only thing hindering her success was her discouraged attitude.  Her determination to believe she could not achieve what I required.

Lately, I have been completely overwhelmed by my duties at home.  I know that part of my frustration is due to the heaviness of my body and spirit as I near the arrival of our newest.  (I have never been one of the fortunate women who experience a burst of energy in the final month.  Even "nesting" alludes me.).   I am tired and aching and sore nearly every moment of the day.  But I can't blame my feeling of I-am-never-caught-up-and-see-no-point-at-which-I-will-be solely on late pregnancy.  I completely empathize with a salmon swimming upstream, except that I never seem to get to the end of my journey.  I try.  Oh so desperately.  I am up by 6:30.  We try to start school by nine.  While seat work is being done, I do laundry or vacuum.  But then there is lunch to be made, fed to the two hungry ones, kitchen to be cleaned.  Before naps, a diaper needs to be changed, a dispute over the Thomas train must be settled, and odds and ends need to be put away.  It seems never ending.  I have big plans for each day, but daily upkeep is either an elusive goal or a laughable dream.     Bathrooms cleaned, furniture dusted, floors swept, ironing completed.  The list is never ending and almost never touched.

Feeling overwhelmed and unproductive is one thing, but I have discovered that very quickly these feelings spiral into either self-pity or a sense of failure.  If I were more orderly or organized, I would be able to get more done.  No, I don't have time to read you two a story; don't you see how messy this room is?  I am irritated and exasperated and frustrated nearly all the time.  What I WANT TO DO is not getting done.  What I NEED TO ACCOMPLISH in order to feel good ABOUT MYSELF isn't happening.  Yesterday, staring at the pile of laundry to be done, I suddenly realized the problem.  God has tasks for each day that He has ordained for me to do, and I have never asked Him what He wants for me to accomplish.  If He has called me to teach and lead my children-the most precious blessings He has entrusted to me-then surely He has tasks that He knows I can and should do each day.  There is no need for a feeling of failure if I consult Him on what the day should hold.   Even more exciting  is that HE will graciously equip me for all that He requires of me.  WHY HAVE I NOT ASKED HIM WHAT HIS PLANS FOR MY DAYS ARE?  I long to be rid of simply treading water, and know that I am accomplishing eternal purposes each day.  Because I know what my Father ordains for my days is of eternal value and purpose.

Yes, even that hideous stack of laundry can work an eternal purpose in my soul.  Patience.  Diligence.  Sacrifice.  I am being called to relinquish even the mundane in exchange for His plan for my day.  But that means I will also relinquish this burden of failure, of being a less-than homemaker.  He has equipped me,  ordained my days, and delights in my submission to His plans.  "But I can't do it, lord.  If I do what you want, I won't get all these things that need to be done finished.  Dinner will be late.  You will ask me to do something.  I will try and then it won't turn out right."  My thoughts sound vaguely like my little girl's assertion that she had no control over her own hand.  The spirit dwells within me.  If I submit, he will direct my paths each day and not allow my foot to slip in accomplishing his task.  The task He has ordained for me is of eternal worth, and He will accomplish it.  At the end of the day, if my house is spotless and laundry is complete, but the more significant tasks that my Father had prepared for my day are left undone, then I have missed the whole purpose for the day.  And
 my Father's purposes for my day are far superior to anything I can conceive.


"Commit your way to the Lord, Trust also in Him and HE WILL DO IT." -Psalm 37:5 

Power

Life is very full for myself and mine.  We spend our days in a combination of kindergarten work, housework, baking and storing food, and for the next five weeks we are also preparing for the arrival of our newborn.  But in addition to the tasks that occupy our time, there are various heavy heart burdens that weigh on my mind and soul.  Family situations that produce over-arching sadness, health issues of dear ones that seem to be ignored by my Father, tangible needs that press ever closer.  These are daily pains that I bring to The Lord, but also, I must honestly admit, I worry and wonder what to do?

I have started asking God what exactly does he want me to be learning from these thorns that prick each day?  The other morning, I thought I had found His answer.  "Cease from anger and forsake wrath; DO NOT FRET; IT LEADS ONLY TO EVILDOING." -Psalm 37:8  That must be it.  The Lord is telling me to stop worrying and continually wondering what can be done about each of these situations.  I went about my day rolling those words over and over in my mind, trying to press them into my heart.  But I still felt unsettled, and by the end of the day, I felt vaguely aware that God was still waiting for me to hear something more specific.  I had taken one step, but there were more to come.

The next morning I was praying.  As I began my requests, I started asking God to bring my children to salvation in Him.  I asked that they would grow knowing His deep love and grace, and constantly see His mighty hand of provision and healing in their lives.  Suddenly, my heart felt cold, and I realized God was near, speaking, "HOW CAN YOU TEACH THEM THESE TRUTHS WHEN YOU DON'T COMPLETELY BELIEVE THEM YOURSELF?  YOU DOUBT MY LOVE AND MY HEALING AND MY PROVISION.  BUT I AM JEHOVAH-JIREH, JEHOVAH-RAPHA, AND YOU CAN KNOW IT."  I couldn't even argue, because the truth was so clear.  I do doubt the character of my God.  In my most secret place, I often wonder how He could love me, how will He meet our needs, and can he really heal this most terrible illness?  I need to repent of my doubting, and of my living my life as though God doesn't see them.  My prayer time became a time to ask that Holy Spirit to be near to means to teach me to stand in the truth of who God is without wavering.  (He is doing it!). 

As profound and intimate that revelation God is allowing me to see about myself and my relationship to Him, He was not done.  It was simply another stepping stone to the truth God really wants me grasp as I grapple with weighty heart burdens.  "God leads His dear children along."  The core truth that I needed to accept is one so simple that I am sure most of my brothers and sisters have long ago accepted it.

"O God, we have heard with our ears, our fathers have told us, what deeds you performed in their days...FOR NOT BY THEIR OWN SWORD DID THEY WIN THE LAND, nor did their own arm save them, but YOUR RIGHT HAND AND YOUR ARM, and the light of your face, for you delighted in them."  - Psalm 44:1, 3

How profound and how utterly true these words.  Marvelous things happened to the Israelite people, but none of them were due to their own efforts.  This is so elementary I know, but reading that verse the other morning hit me hard.  All of the wanderings, all of the military victories, all of the miraculous provisions-absolutely ALL of them- can only be attributed to God's mighty hand.  And since God is unchanging, the same must be true for me.  I can give as much time as I want to trying to figure ways to solve problems pressing on my soul, but even if I take action, the solutions will be due solely to the working of GOD'S right hand.  His power and wisdom are in complete and ultimate control.  Stunning to me.  When I sit down, silence my frantic mind, and really absorb this concept, I cannot grasp the wonder and beauty of it.  The battle truly is the Lord's.  He will fight for me.  And since I know that He is good and faithful and just, I don't have to fret. I can throw myself with abandon on His provisions, knowing that He is perfectly sovereign.  What freedom this is producing in my days.  What fresh delight in the power of my Lord.  "O Lord, YOU brought us out..."

I concede these are all primary Christian truths that are somewhat basic to a vibrant understanding of our faith and our Lord.  But I am finding that truths that I have heard and repeated since I was a child were simply words, never actually fully pressed into my heart.  Never really altering my daily life outlook.  Thank you Father for loving me enough to bring life to Your words in a way that my full days, packed with chores and children and life problems, will never be conducted the same after encountering freshness in Your truths.  

Prideful Child

I am full of pride.  I haven't always known this truth about myself, usually thinking of myself as comparatively humble. I guess using the word "comparatively"  should have been a clue to my pride, or at least my inability to view my weaknesses clearly.  But the realization has struck me clearly, and it happened last week.  On Thursday I loaded up my two favorite pre-schoolers to go to a story time at our local arboretum.  We usually enjoy listening to the story, hearing the teacher discuss the elementary science discussed in the book she reads, and then participating in a craft.  Even though My little man has never been known for his compliant nature or his well-mastered "inside" voice, he typically adds a fun quotient to the outing.   I usually take some measure of PRIDE in accompanying well-behaved children in public.  If he shouts out, I quiet him.  If he loses control, I quickly subdue him.  I am the not the parent who is governed by her children in public (private might be another matter, but I am careful to have others see me as competent and in control in public.  Yes, sounds exactly like PRIDE even as I type 

On Thursday, we arrived in the rain, and just a shade late.  I could feel the storm building as we descended the steps to the program.  Little boy was loud and slightly resistant to the hold of my hand.  We rounded the corner, and I saw we would have to enter the room where all the other children and their mothers were already situated in front of the story lady, crossing in front of everyone to get to the back of the room.  There were tables set up with crayons and paper and glue at the back of the room, and this is what little boy's eyes caught as I directed his older sister to join the child circle.

"Cowere!  COWERE!!"  he shouted, jabbing his pudgy hands towards the crayons.  His mama knew he he was demanding to color, but I foolishly slogged towards the back of the room, thinking I could reason away his insistence.  "Ok, buddy.  Just wait a minute.  Let's listen to the story.  See the story over there."  I whispered in a controlled voice, while lowering myself into a chair and trying to settle him into my lap.  His cries got louder and more petulant.  The other mothers either pretended they didn't see the brewing control war, or openly stared in pity.  One in particular looked completely put-together, carrying her third child in a perfectly wrapped Moby and monitoring her other two children from a gently swaying position at the back of the room. She looked at my above her nose with raised eyebrows and almost imperceptably shook her head.

The battle escalated to the point that I had to escort my son out  of the room.  My frustration with the little man was equaled only by my frantic thoughts of what the other mothers must be thinking of me and my ill-behaved child.  The rest of the program did not improve much, at least from the perspective of this frazzled mama.  Loud demands, insistence on coloring at inopportune times, refusal to follow his mother, demands of first place in line to see the turtle and the snake- it was a never-ending game of wack-a-mole to keep a lid on outright anarchy from the wild two-year old.   I walked to the car embarrassed by my child's behavior.  Foolishly I decided to brave the grocery store on the way home.  Things were no better as I loaded my cart and stood in line to pay.  By the time I was shutting the door to his room as he closed his eyes for a nap, I felt more than ashamed.  My boy was one of THOSE children.  The unruly ones.  The ones everyone looks at and wonders why their parents are so inept.  The ones that throw tantrums and get their own way.  Shame on me.  It colored my mood and outlook for a day or two.  My spirit sank low, dwelling on my own perceived failure.  Even after his mood had changed and a greater degree of obedience and poise had been restored to his little world, I felt a keen stinging my heart, an understanding of how horrible my mothering is.

And then my own personal dawning.  Most of my irritation was bruised ego.  Smarting pride.  I was more bothered by what others, strangers actually, thought of me because of how my children behaved.  Shame on me, but not because of their behavior.  Because of my own black heart.  I want others to look on ME with favor, I need others to give ME their stamp of approval.  She is a good parent.  She is competent.  The fleeting approval of a stranger's thoughts.  That is what I had sought.  What is that if not pride?  Self-centered-ness? 

Even worse, I have realized in the ensuing days, is that in focusing on my own flushed and embarrassed pride, I have completely lost focus of my job.  What am I supposed to be teaching my two blessings, and the third that will join us soon?

"And these words that I command you today shall be on your heart.  You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise."  -Deuteronomy 6:6-7

And more than the commandments, what am I teaching?

"You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind."  -Matthew 22:37

That is it!  That is what I should be teaching, and that is what should trouble my heart if I see it lacking  in our home.  Love God. Follow Him with everything you are and everything you have.  I must exhibit this everyday all day to my children.  I am not tasked with producing well-behaved children.  I am tasked with teaching my children to LOVE THEIR GOD.  It is shameful if I am more concerned about having compliant children so that I appear to be a "good" mother than I am about fostering a love in their little souls for our Heavenly Father.  This, like everything else in life, is not about ME.  Ultimately, I want my son to repent of his headstrong defiance because he knows it breaks his Savior's heart, not because he doesn't want to embarrass his mother.  Yes, in these preschool years, it will be my hand of discipline and my disappointed face that is most clear to him.  The most painful consequence will be the one that brings the most Immediate change in his behavior.  But I pray that these point him to a deep devotion to God, not just a superficial effort to maintain behavioral standards.  May he see that it is the Father to whom he owes his allegiance, heart, mind, and soul., above anyone and anything else.

Lord, take my pride, which You have vividly revealed through my willful children.  Humble me, and enable me in the large task you have entrusted to me: teaching the next generation how to love YOU.  Help me to center all my days on YOU and your glory.

Goodness

Today is our second day of home-educating kindergarten.  So far so good.  This is about the same as a marathon runner saying that the first two seconds have gone really well.  We have barely begun, I know.  My daughter and I are both people of routine, and our routine last year has carried over to this year.  We work on new principles together, and then Mira goes to her desk to work on her "seat work," work she does on her own.  I usually play music for her while she works, and today a song from my childhood started playing, and for some reason, I started to tune in while I worked on future plans.  

The wise man built his house upon the rock, the wise man built his house upon the rock, the wise man built his house upon the rock, and the rains came tumbling down.   

The rains came down on the wise man, but his strong foundation kept his house secure.  The foolish man built on sand, and of course when the rains came down, his house was washed away.

But it was the next verse that really got my attention.  I know I must have sung it many times when I was young, but the words pricked me as though I had never heard them before.  "So build your life on The Lord Jesus Christ...and the blessings will come down.  The blessings will come down as the prayers go up..."   I don't know why I have been so internally cynical lately, but I instantly thought, "Really?!  Is that really true?  Should I be teaching my daughter that blessings will automatically fill her life when she builds on the the solid rock of Christ?"  I know those thoughts sound nothing like thoughts that would emanate from an apparently solid, church-going mom, who spends time each day teaching her children memory verses and singing praise choruses.  But doubts do creep into the minds of all of us, I would imagine.  Sometimes there are seasons of life where we  have to look closely to find tangibles we have been trained to believe are blessings, the undeniable pleasant things, and it is in these seasons that my mind is especially vulnerable to cynical doubt.  So I mulled the question I posed to myself for most of the day.  That night, my husband and I were talking about a difficult area in our life and he reminded me of a verse we had claimed as our own earlier this year.  "‘Thus says the Lord, You shall not go up or fight against your relatives the people of Israel. Every man return to his home, for this thing is from me.’” So they listened to the word of the Lord and went home again, according to the word of the Lord." (1 Kings 12:24 ESV)

Not such an immediately impacting verse, I know, so a little background might be needed.  God was speaking to the Israelites as they faced a future that was sure to be filled with near slave labor.  Solomen had died, and his foolish son had been approached by the people as they begged for their strenuous workload to be lightened.  Rather than hearing their pleas with compassion and wisdom, he consulted his young and arrogant friends who advised him to demonstrate his strength as king by increasing their work.  He relayed that message to the people, and they promptly rebelled, leaving Rehoboam as king only over one of the twelve tribes.  The kingdom was split due to his foolishness, but this was not to the liking of the new king.  He assembled men and chariots and prepared to fight his countrymen, to regain the throne over the entirety of Israel until...God told him not to.  And He didn't just tell him to stand down.  He affirmed his sovereignty and his goodness by proclaiming, "this thing is from me."  Stunning to imagine that God would take credit for a rebellion in the midst of His people, almost a civil war.  Stunning to see that He acknowledges control of events in the history of His chosen people that seem anything but good.  Yet, God clearly had a plan and a greater blessing for humanity than anyone in that day could comprehend when he spoke to Rehoboam.  His tapestry of blessing-His self-revelation to mankind was just beginning.  "This thing is from me."   

That is where I made the connection to the kindergarten Bible song.  Blessings.  Do I have even a rudimentary understanding of what a true blessing is?  Am I focused on those things that I have decided are good for me?  The things that will work towards a purpose in my life I have deemed desirable, and that I can forsee will bring out a happy conclusion?  Have I even acknowledged that God's definition of what is good, what is beneficial to me, what is a blessing may not always coincide with mine.  And when the two definitions do not seem to be in sync, God's definition is the true one.  The one that counts.  "You are good..." -Psalm 119:68. The standard of goodness and blessing itself.  Not my infantile understanding of those words.  He knows.  He gives His children blessings that may appear to be struggle and heartache on the surface, but in the tapestry of His sovereign will, they are goodness defined.  Yes, I can teach my little girl that as the prayers go up, the blessings come down.  Because when I pray for God's will, I open my heart to receive His blessing-the ultimate blessing of playing a role in glorifying Him-but also in receiving daily blessings straight from His hand.  

"I believe in a blessing I don't understand,

I've seen rain fall on the wicked and the just

Rain is no measure of His faithfulness

He withholds no good thing from us."

                                    -Sara Groves

To Know You

I often ask God to bring me closer to Him.  To let me know Him more, to understand the depths of His character and reflect Him.  It occurred to me the other day that I have been praying in the same manner as the most naive child.  I don't really understand what I am asking God to do.  I think somewhere in my me-centered mind, I have unconsciously thought getting closer to God would bring more favor or abundance or maybe less conflict.  If I am getting closer to God, surely this will be reflected in less financial stress.  More wisdom in parenting, and surely my children would exhibit my wisdom by their ever-increasing good behavior?  Less relational strife, perhaps.  Certainly I would expect a daily serenity to hang over me from the moment my feet hit the floor until I return to sleep, helping me to manage my emotions and daily stresses with ease and an almost supernatural grace.

But my life is not full of these kinds of tangible comforts.  In fact I have come to expect those blessings as exceptions rather than the rules of my day.  But I continue to pray to know Him more.  So what is He giving me?  "Draw close to God and He will draw close to you." -James 4:8 I am asking; I am trying to lean closely to His side.  Yesterday, while I scrubbed a wall newly stripped of eighties-style wall paper, epiphany dawned.  When I ask to know God more deeply I am really asking to experience more suffering, more unjust criticism, more earthly sorrow.   I can' t say this thought made me immediately smile, but upon  reflection,a  slow joy is beginning to dawn.


"...that I may KNOW HIM and the power of His resurrection, and MAY SHARE IN HIS SUFFERINGS, becoming like Him in His death." --Phillipians 3:10

This is the key to really understanding who my Lord is.  To endure the pains of life with a persistent belief in His undeniable goodness.  If I share in the sufferings of Christ, I experience the comfort of my Father in ways I wouldn't otherwise. "For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too." -I Corinthians 1:5  What depth of His character is open to me as I walk through the fires of life.  The richness of His comfort and a well of peace opens to me in my pain-a heretofore untapped resource.  When life is pleasant, when I am well-thought of by everyone I encounter, when I can see exactly how my family's needs will be provided, when uncertainty is non-existent-I have no need to run to the loving, all-sustaining arms of my Father.  But when I am unjustly criticized, when I am lonely, when I can't see provision on the horizon-these are the times when I can plumb the vastness of His grace and the fullness of His compassion to an aching child.  If life's road were straight, minus unexpected curves and roadblocks, would I ever see His care?  Would I ever know the true meaning of His goodness?  His love for His children?

There are certainly many different types of life pain.  Appliances break down, cars won't start, children are constantly fighting, bills pile far above incoming paychecks, loved ones die unexpectedly, terminal illness afflicts someone close or even ourselves, innocent children are abused.  These are all hardships of life-either minor or not-that point us to the comfort of God or drag our eyes earthward, doubting Him.  But there is also the suffering we endure BECAUSE OF our faith.  The loss of friendships, slander at work, rejection of family members because of a principled stand.  But what ultimate joy we have knowing that either type of suffering will lead us to knowing Him more.  To understand a modicum of our Savior's sacrifice and the acceptance He offers is a prize of high value.  "...heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, PROVIDED WE SUFFER WITH HIM in order that we may also be glorified with him."  -Romans 8:17

So what, exactly, am I asking God when I ask to know Him more?  To grow closer to His side and become a more perfect reflection of Him?  I am asking Him to allow suffering and pain into my life.  But I have joy knowing that when He brings me pain, His compassion and comfort will wash over me in never-ending waves.  I will experience grace and peace that I have never known, and this will bring me closer to knowing the fullness of His character.  And this is what I daily pray I may never lose sight as my life-goal: to know Him more fully through sharing in suffering.
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As I study suffering, these verses (it is helpful to read them in full context) are only a few that have provided comfort and cheer.

* I Peter 5:10
*I Peter 4:13, 19
*2 Thessalonians 1:5
*James 5:10, 11
*James 1:2-3
*Romans 8:18
*I Peter 4:1
*Phillipians 1:29
* Romans 5:3
*Job 36:15