Peace

The day is blurry, the path before me a hazy white that blends into the morning sky, and I gingerly place one foot in front of the other, hoping I’m stepping on solid ground.

I recognize this path, having walked it before, but the surroundings have changed–I have changed–and I continue on, holding my hood close to my face, protecting my skin from the bitter cold. I know I wasn’t promised a journey without pain. I know I wasn’t promised a journey without tears, and I fight the gnawing in my belly that tells me to give in to the anxiety that would have me turn back the other way.

And while I want to see the end of the road, the stark white on white allows me only to see that which is right before me. So I take a step.

With each step, I question the direction I am headed. Uncertain, I clutch the mustard seed in my hand a little tighter and watch as my feet hit the ground before me.

It’s only a mustard seed, but it is enough. For I know now that when I whisper to Him in the dark of night, frightened by the unknown that surrounds me, He gently touches my cheek. And when I continue to journey along the path, unable to see more than a few steps ahead, He lifts me over the roots and the mire that would entangle and snare.

I don’t have to see the end. I don’t have to understand the journey. But I have to take Him with me, for the uncertainty is too great, too overwhelming, to continue on without a guide.

So I call to Him earlier now. I no longer want to lead where I am not familiar, and He graciously makes straight my path. And while I still cannot see the end, I am eager to follow, for there is a break in the alabaster clouds, a sliver of light ahead.

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:6-7).

How has the Lord shown you His peace? Leave a comment, or link your own post below!

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In All Things

I love it when a sermon confirms that I’m right. A pastor spilling bits of God’s truth to the congregation, I scoop up those precious morsels that I’ve uttered before, admiring the way they shine under the stage lights. There’s nothing better than to nod my head in agreement without feeling the twinge of conviction that can so often come in the lonely chairs of a church.

This past Sunday, pastor Jason Britt preached on God’s omnipresence, God’s ability to be everywhere at every moment. He challenged that if we really believed in God’s omnipresence, our daily lives would look different. We would speak to our loved ones differently, conduct business more honestly, allow our hearts to break for others’ suffering more openly. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as I thought of different moments when God was watching me from within the same room. God’s omnipresence meant conviction.

But then the pastor moved on to his next point, and I could breathe easier again. As he spoke that God’s omnipresence can also bring comfort, he made a distinction that caused me to lean forward in my seat: God’s presence in every situation does not mean that everything always works out. There is a difference between ‘everything is okay’ and ‘God is here.’ Yes! I scooped up the pastor’s last sentence. That was exactly the point I had tried to make a couple of years ago!

Two years ago I was overcome with worry. I was a stay-at-home mom facing the need to look for a job. The job for which my husband transferred and moved our family didn’t turn out to be the best fit, and he began the search down a new career path. To complicate matters, the house from which we moved had still not sold, and our renters vacated the premises. We had two mortgages and no jobs.

I remember praying and the situation not changing. I would convey my fears to others, but sometimes instead of feeling encouraged, I would feel frustrated. These well-meaning individuals would tell me, “God will provide,” implying that God was holding next month’s mortgage payments in His hands, just waiting to hand them over. One person asked, “Don’t you have faith?!”

I was angry. Yes, I had faith! But I also knew that God’s provision did not necessarily translate into money. God could provide peace or His Word or meet our basic needs through our extended family, but there was no guarantee that He was going to provide jobs so that our homes didn’t end in foreclosure.

Look in the Bible–Joseph’s brothers sold him into slavery. He ended up in prison for years! Paul had stones hurled at him on more than one occasion, and he was left for dead many times. I believed that God was there during all those moments, but those lives were definitely not okay.

This sermon was vindication for me and all those feelings I held two years ago. I had no guarantee that everything would be okay and knowing that fact did not make me a bad Christian. Obviously, I was an insightful Christian since the pastor was speaking what I already knew.

And as I listened to the rest of the sermon, God tapped on my shoulder.

In all things God works for the good of those who love him who have been called according to his purpose.

I knew the verse. I clung to Romans 8:28 many times during our mess, but it didn’t bring me comfort. I was focused on the years Joseph spent in prison, not the glory to God he brought as a result. I didn’t see that he saved Egypt from famine or was reunited with his family–only that he was 30 when it all happened after being sold into slavery as a boy. I was focused on the beatings Paul received, not the spread of the Gospel across the world. I didn’t see that he sang praises to God while sitting imprisoned–only that he had shackles around his wrists and ankles.

Two years ago, I was hung up on the balance between God’s will and freewill. I knew bad things happened to good people, and I couldn’t find comfort in God’s promises. But sitting in that seat in church, holding that nugget of truth that I knew so well, I saw something different as I looked it over. Everything isn’t always okay, but God is always there. And if God is always there, He is continually taking the broken pieces of our mess and, as the true master craftsman, making them part of something beautiful.

Two years ago, I was right. Everything isn’t okay, and it isn’t necessarily helpful to tell someone that it will be. However, two years ago, I was also wrong. I couldn’t find peace in the midst of turmoil knowing that God would use this heartache for His purpose.

As I sat in that church chair, I experienced God’s omnipresence as I felt His conviction and comfort simultaneously. And I was thankful for the hand of God who used a sermon to confirm how I had been wrong.

*Post edited at 9:36 am on 7/14. Anyone who read the post prior to this time, please know that the pastor used the term omnipresence and not omnipotence. The error was solely mine in editing and thus proof that I should not write early in the morning.

A Little Drizzle

Note to myself: You actually wrote a good deal of this post last week but were interrupted many times from the kids and life. Tonight is the first chance you had to finish. Therefore, the ‘two Sundays ago’ and ‘yesterday’ and all time references aren’t accurate, anymore. Oh, well. You weren’t about to do the math to figure out the correct time, and your writing would’ve sounded weird, anyway. But for the sake of your memory, which isn’t very good, I thought I’d let you know about the inaccuracies.

Two Sundays ago, I remember lying in bed somewhat fearful. I’m not normally one to get afraid of thunderstorms, but when I saw the lightning strike right below my window and heard the electricity crackle in our outlets, I tensed up. Caleb had already joined Matt and me in bed and formed a ball beneath our comforter. I couldn’t see any part of him but would feel him move closer and closer against Matt and me with each pound of thunder that rattled the house. Even the rain was loud, as the storm seemed to intensify with every minute.

At one point in the night, Matt had gotten up to unplug everything in our room, but he was too late. The next morning, our upstairs air conditioner was broken, and our modem was fried, so I couldn’t use the internet or our house phone. I felt very inconvenienced and disconnected from the world. I typically don’t ever have the TV on during the day, and I normally put the radio on in the car when carting kids back and forth to preschool. Monday is their off day, though, so for most of the day, I was in my own bubble.

I had no idea what the storm was really like–only my perception of the events. It wasn’t until I spoke with my mom and learned of flooded roads that kept some of her co-workers from getting to work, heard from my husband that Gwinnett county had closed school, and saw pictures the next day of the Scream Machine roller coaster partially submerged in water that I began to understand the true intensity of this horrific thunderstorm.

Then the following day I read an article of a woman’s frantic call to 911 as she was trapped in her car less than a mile from her home. She was a mother. I saw another article of a toddler swept by the rushing water from his father’s grasp, a story that would stay with me as I imagined myself trapped in my van with my three children. Even if I were able to get my windows down in time and the door open, I can’t imagine a happy ending to this story…and my stomach is still in knots as I count my three blessings and think of that poor family grieving their loss, a family who didn’t have to imagine .

It’s amazing how one’s perspective can color an event. The storm that I found so terrible and frightening and inconvenient paled in comparison to what those around me were experiencing. Until I saw the damage elsewhere, I didn’t realize how blessed I was to be without air conditioning and a cable modem. As I moved through that week, the lessons God was teaching me were very apparent.

When Caleb was frightened the night of the storm, he didn’t cry in his room, he didn’t go downstairs and find comfort in a doughnut, and he didn’t turn on the TV. He came in his parents room and snuggled with his mom and dad. Yes, he was obviously frightened, but with each strike of lightening and clap of thunder, he moved a little closer to Matt or me. He found reassurance simply in our presence.

God wants me to do the same. Whether I am frightened by a little thunder or I can see the flood waters rising, my response should be the same–draw closer to Him. In doing so, He will give me peace and perspective. In the midst of my storm, I will be able to find that for which I should be thankful because there is always someone going through something worse, and at the same time, find reassurance that the Lord cares about my struggles, too. He just wants me to be honest about my struggles with Him.

And as with any lesson the Lord teaches me, He provided a pop-quiz to see what I actually retained….

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Yesterday morning, I managed to get my daughter’s tiny hair claw stuck on my tongue. I was rushing to get Caleb and Hannah Grace ready for preschool while trying to take care of Chloe, and I actually had a green clip hanging out of my mouth.

“Ha-uh, HOL SIL PEAS!” is not what I heard in my head but was what came out of my mouth, as I was trying to keep her from running out of the bathroom. I still needed to fix her hair (one side of her head already had a clip), so I was squeezing her with my thighs while trying to squeeze the little clip to release it from my tongue. It was so small, though, and slippery because of my saliva. I had never felt so ridiculous and knew my tongue would begin bleeding at any moment. The more I tried to pry it open, the tighter that stupid clip clamped down on my tongue.

Briefly, very briefly, I contemplated asking Caleb to help me, but he would’ve just pulled on the clip with my tongue attached. I hate to admit it, but I was a little scared. I was afraid that if I actually succeeded in removing this *cute* hair accessory, I might have a permanent hole in my tongue. Would pizza ever taste good again?

No sooner than I successfully transferred this demonic hair claw from my mouth to Hannah Grace’s hair, I noticed Chloe’s crying had risen to the next intensity level. She was across the hall playing in Hannah Grace’s room. I ran into the room to check on her and noticed she was on her stomach with her head under Hannah Grace’s dresser. I figured she didn’t know how to roll back out from under the dresser, so I proceeded to help pull her out, except she wasn’t budging. My baby had gotten her head stuck under her sister’s massive dresser.

I tried to lift the dresser, and it didn’t budge. I think my heart stopped for a second at that moment. What in the world was I going to do? I didn’t even know how long Chloe’s head had been stuck under the dresser, and I was terrified that her skull would get crushed. And then God gave me the Mom Adrenaline. I lifted that dresser and was so proud–until I noticed that Chloe was crying too hard to notice and wasn’t rolling away as a cooperative baby should’ve. Caleb and Hannah Grace were just looking on, probably paralyzed in fear as their mother was in a state of panic.

At this moment I was dumbfounded. Caleb, my son who has rolled his sister across the floor like a log was just standing there. “CALEB! ROLL CHLOE OUT!!” I screamed, to which he obliged.

And all was well again.

My heart proceeded to pound out of my chest for the rest of the day, and I was never so ready for bed that night. Unfortunately, Hannah Grace stayed up until midnight, refusing to sleep in her bed, and Chloe woke up at 1:30 ready to eat. And again every two hours until morning.

So, I have decided that today I am getting under the covers, curling up into a ball, and resting in my heavenly Father’s arms. It’s starting to rain outside, and I need a nap.