Motherhood and the Singing of Grace

Come, Thou fount of every blessing

Tune my heart to sing Thy grace

-Hymn

I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing. 

-Jesus, John 15:5

There’s a lot about being a mom NO ONE TELLS YOU. 

Like, how it now takes 3 hours to watch a 45 minute episode. 

Or about the FLUID. Oh, the fluid. So much of life now is about the FLUID. 

Or how you develop laser eyesight in the darkest of nights, searching for a fallen pacifier for your desperate infant. And your own desperate self. 

Or how 3 in the morning feels much the same as 3 in the afternoon. 

Or how you will cry more than your baby over trying to get her to eat. 

Or how you don’t really mind all the poops and diaper changes.

Or how you can live off your baby’s smiles FOR DAYS. 

Tonight I was dead tired. Like, so tired. I haven’t slept for a full night since the SPRING OF THIS YEAR. AND IT’S PRACTICALLY CHRISTMAS, PEOPLE. It’s just better not to think about it. And for the countless time, I had to go wash a sink full of bottle parts and pump parts because this is my life now and for the foreseeable future. WHEN ALL I WANT TO DO IS WATCH TV. That’s really ALLLLLLL I WANT TO DO. And eat snacks. My desires are oh so simple now. Oh, wait, that’s all I ever really wanted to do before…ahem. 

But alas. My task was in front of me—the approximately 2432587235 bottle and pump parts to wash. I stood in front of the sink, waiting for the water to heat up. And I had to while the Daughter napped. THIS WAS MY WINDOW. 

And a strange thing happened.

In spite of my aching exhaustion, in spite of just needing to zone out, in spite of feeling generally discouraged, I felt the urge to SING. 

Oh yes, that’s another thing they don’t tell you. 

As soon as they hand that baby to you, you become a freaking SINGER and SONGSTRESS. It’s innate. It’s inevitable. And thankfully, my daughter has a father who is NOT tune-deaf and can teach her to sing correctly. Her mother, on the other hand, loves singing but it’s a total happy accident if she sings in tune. 

Anyway, I’ve been singing pretty solidly for 6 months now. In the beginning, it was old Keith Green songs and hymns, as those were all I could remember at 2 in the morning. Now I’ve STUDIED UP and can sing some more common lullabies and baby songs, and let me tell you, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and You are My Sunshine are BIG hits around here. Also, Good Morning from Singin’ in the Rain, because this is ME we’re talking about. 

So there I am, the hot water spilling out of the tap, and suddenly, Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing starting spilling out too. And as I sang to myself about Jesus seeking me when I was a stranger, and rescuing me from danger, and how great a debtor I am to His grace, and asking Him to seal my heart for His courts above, my super annoying and very repetitive task wasn’t the worst. And my exhaustion, a very real thing, wasn’t too much. As I reminded myself about His gospel, His good news, I remembered that it’s good news for me now. 

In this new season of life. For a tired new mama with fibromyalgia and a million things to do and think and worry about. The gospel of Jesus—the news that God loves me, a sinner, and invites me into His kingdom—is a refreshing wind, a long and peaceful and deep exhale. As I moved into O Holy Night, I was more at peace. Not because anything had really changed. I’m still going to have to wash these finicky plastic pieces many more times. I’m still going to be exhausted for what feels like FOREVER. I’m still surrounded by temptation to worry and fret and complain about hard things. But the simple act of lifting my voice lifted my spirits and thoughts to the One who listens, who hears, and who is with me, always. 

So as long as motherhood feels crazy and wonderful and reveals HOW COMPLETELY OUT OF MY DEPTH I AM, I will be singing away. So for the rest of all time, really. So sorry not sorry. Good thing I’ve been practicing night and day, huh. 

Your coffee should be the size of your infant's head. 

Have You Had Enough Water?

I got troubles Lord, but, not today

Cause they gonna wash away,

They're gonna wash away.

-Joe Purdy, “Washed Away”

"Come, everyone who thirsts, 

come to the waters; 

and he who has no money, 

come, buy and eat!

Come, buy wine and milk

without money and without price.

Isaiah 55:1

“Have you had enough water?” 

-Me as camp counselor

-Me as pregnant lady (to myself)

The above question is SUMMER CAMP GOLD. Middle schoolers, high schoolers, and even their college-age leaders forget to drink water. So asking about water became a quick knee-jerk response to alleged ailments of all kinds, during my 5 summer’s stint as a camp counselor and staff directer. Tired? Have some water. Headache? Did you have any water? Upset stomach? Water will fix that. Mysterious aches and pains and complaints that only come up during a week of cafeteria food and morning-till-night activity? LET US BEGIN WITH WATER AND GO FROM THERE. More often than not, the complaint went away after a few sips of good old H2o. 

After my years of suggesting water to countless dehydrated students, this question is now lodged in my brain as the Captain Obvious all of health questions. Water is BASIC, and yet we all probably sometimes forget to drink up when we most need it. I am, of course, preaching to the choir, because ironically it’s only been in the past couple years that I have really embraced trying to reach that magical 8 cups a day. I know, I know, after years of pushing water on students, I now finally push it on myself. I now ask myself constantly HAVE YOU HAD ENOUGH WATER, SARAH. The answer is usually no, because I am pregnant. 

I now find myself constantly thirsty, constantly reaching for my jar of water, constantly slogging my way to the bathroom. YAY MOTHERHOOD. Sidetone: I am trying to enjoy each and every trip to the bathroom BY MYSELF, as I know it will be years until I can experience that privilege once again. Today I ran across Psalm 63, which begins like this: 

O God, you are my God; 

earnestly I seek you; 

my soul thirsts for you; 

my flesh faints for you, 

as in a dry and weary land where there’s no water. 

Psalm 63:1 

Having experienced an increase in thirst these last few months, this verse stopped me in my tracks. Having read/heard/sung this verse about a billion times in my 3 decades of life, I started to read it in a rote, matter-of-fact, boring tone, as is so easy to do with familiar passages of Scripture. But now that I’m thirsty ALWAYS, I thought about the very real and visceral image of being so thirsty for God’s presence that it feels like a desert without Him. I tried to remember the times in my life when I’ve been this physically thirsty. Of course all I can really remember is the recent months of pregnancy, because PREGNANCY. And hormones. And pregnancy brain. Thirst is a real and powerful motivator, and it’s one of the most basic human needs. Even food comes after water in the list of our physical needs, WHICH IS WERID. Because FOOD. 

I’m realizing more and more that God’s presence and help and love are my most basic needs. At the beginning of Psalm 63, it says “A Psalm of David, when He was in the Wilderness of Judah.” It makes total sense to me that David could have only written such a prayer in the middle of a wilderness, and that his physical surroundings mirrored his internal struggles and desires and fears. We all find ourselves in the wilderness of our lives, of our days. And yes, more often than not, my soul is thirsty. My flesh faints. And it feels like a dry and weary and waterless land. The wilderness of soul is a familiar place. The untamed lonely spaces of thirst and deserts of all kinds close in and hem me in. And I need water. I need Living Water, the kind that Jesus offers to the woman at the well in John 4. And this is not a 5 year plan or a far-off hope: this is a real and Captain Obvious kind of need. David is pretty clear that the antidote to his bone-deep thirst is God Himself. He seeks after Him like a man lost in a desperate desert, searching for an oasis. 

David goes on to say that he has looked upon God in the sanctuary, beholding His power and glory, realizing His love is better than life itself. And he chooses, in the middle of the wilderness, to praise God as long as he lives. This is a glorious sneak peek into what a life of seeking after God looks like. In the middle of our own wildernesses and desert places, let us seek God in sanctuary like thirsty people searching for water. God never leaves His seekers thirsty, although He always leaves us in places where we will still search for Him. This is one of the mysterious truths of desert places. It is only in the wilderness that we will even realize our most basic need for water, that we will even seek sanctuary, that we will even choose to bless Him, our Help. 

This year, at the beginning of 2017, as I look forward to a year of intense joy bringing a baby into the world, it might seem strange to be talking about wilderness and water. But as we all know by now, the other side of joy is sorrow. There are never perfect conditions for having a baby or raising a child, and I only have the slightest glimmer of how much help and hope I will need for being a mother. But because I know I am thirsty, and I know that God can be found and known, I will continue to ask myself if I’ve had enough water, and I will continue to seek Him. 

This is me after 8 weeks of summer camp. Notice I am not following my own advice about water. 

There's water in coffee, right?

ELECTRIC TEA KETTLE. GAME CHANGER. 

Not kidding about the jar of water, people. 

December and the Dreamers

The light came down 

Cast the darkness away 

He appeared 

A helpless child 

The light of God came to save us 

To the world that He made us 

O' Lord and Savior 

Alleluia 

-Josh Garrels, A Light Came Down

When Joseph woke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him: he took his wife but knew her not until she had given birth to a son. And he called his name Jesus. 

Matthew 1:24-25

Our Father who is in Heaven, 

It is a hard thing to quiet our hearts before you. Our hearts are loud and chaotic, as we come off a year of political strife and global unrest and terror, as we come off a year of personal failures and successes, as we come off a year of doubt and sorrow and weaknesses of all kinds. 

But every December, as Christmas stands bright and shining in the dark of this year, we still feel your draw of every heart, of every story, of every nation, even our tired and dusty selves. We can’t help but remember your First Advent into our sorry world, a helpless baby born to new parents. We can’t help but remember the curious manner of your First Coming, how angels announced you to both Mary and Joseph, how kings hunted you, how wise men from foreign countries sought you, how everything fell into place by unseen hands to fulfill the prophecies and promises of an Almighty Father to His longing people. 

This year, we remember the dreamers, the seekers in this story of your birth. In our world, there is no room at the inn for dreamers either. The dreamers are told to come back with an action plan, to forget their foolish dreams, roll up their selves and get to work. But just as you chose to come in the ultimate weakness of humanity, a fragile baby, you chose to work in the twilight world of human dreams to protect the Savior of all people. Joseph, the human father of Jesus, the father you chose to keep the Messiah safe from harm was such a dreamer. After weighing his human options, he chose to not put his pregnant fiancee to shame and just divorce her without fuss or mess. But in sleep, in fragile dreams, you sent him a message, and thank God, he remembered when he awoke. Thank God he didn’t dismiss it as something he ate the night before, or the result of emotions and decisions running high. Thank God you transformed his dreams into something more concrete and real than the normal run-of-the-mill dreams we shake from our minds as we wake. 

And so as we remember Joseph, the Dreamer and the human Father of God-with-Us, we ask that you would turn us into dreamers too. We ask that you would shake us from our petty dreams, our daily desires, our worldly cares, our unbelieving hearts. We ask that you would transform our dreams into realities, our fears into faith. Give us the vision of Joseph for ourselves and our world. Prepare our hearts for your coming, whether you come to us in dreams or in daylight, in solitude or in community. Be our strength, be our peace as we seek you, as we dream after you and your kingdom. Give us dreams to change our world, as you gave Joseph dreams, as you gave the wise men dreams. Give us calm hearts to hear your gentle voice to us this Christmas, as we turn our hearts toward you, as you turned your hearts toward us and the whole of humanity. As we lift our faces to you in both the ashes of this year and the promises of your birth, whisper to us of resurrection and transformation and and an everlasting hope. Amen. 

Seeking peace and joy. 

An empty peanut butter jar makes a good vase, of course. 

Lights shining in the darkness. 

Wish. 

The beauty of the water and the shore never ceases to amaze.

Earth and sky meet. 

Obligatory coffee cup shot. 

Not Benched: How Affliction Keeps Us in the Race

Why do you let me stay here

All by myself?

Why don't you come and play here?

I'm just sitting on the shelf

-She & Him, Why Do You Let Me Stay Here?

And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you. To him be the dominion forever and ever. Amen. 

-1 Peter 5:10-11

Benched. Shelved. Back seat. Hung up to dry. 

That’s how I feel a great deal of the time, what with one thing and another in life. Sometimes the chronic pain means I get to be fashionably late to my own day. Sometimes I make my coffee and toast and stumble back to bed, where I make a to-do list of what I’m going to do precisely when I can get up and get moving.

Being physically in pain every day makes me feel shelved in many ways. Paying attention to my body and attempting to pace myself means I have to be STUPID CAREFUL with my time and energy, which means saying no to lots of things, including good things. That’s just plain annoying. Needing to ask for help in household chores and shopping makes me feel pretty incapable sometimes, and I don’t like that at all. 

However, I think the biggest way that I feel BENCHED IN LIFE is the very dangerous and very real game of comparison. And man, is it KILLER. Some days, on the ones where I feel physically low already, it starts to feel like EVERYONE ELSE is out doing SOMETHING IMPORTANT. Something MEANINGFUL. Everyone else is OUT THERE. They are in it, they are running their races, they are getting AFTER IT. And here I am, waiting to get out of bed so I can shower when most people are probably on their lunch breaks. 

The truth of it is, of course, the Everyone Else I refer to in my head probably doesn’t feel like he or she is out there killing it. Everyone Else is struggling with something. I don’t know one single person in my life right now who ISN’T going through some kind of major difficulty, trying to sort out life’s cruel curveballs, trying to just do the best they can with what they have. Married, single, employed, unemployed, homeowner, renter, 20s, 30s, 40s, 80s. We all have something, don’t we? Something that makes us feel like we’re just watching life go by. The really good, juicy, happy parts of life. We all feel limited and stuck and weak sometimes, or maybe most of the time. And it makes sense that Everyone Else’s life starts to look a little better, a little easier, a little happier. 

Even with all this, affliction is not a word our culture uses very often, is it? We use words and phrases like stress, unfulfillment, need-more-self-care, going-through-a-hard-time-right-now, case-of-the-Mondays. I think we all tend to downplay our real sorrows, our real hardships, whether they’re physical, emotional, mental, or related to whatever life stages we find ourselves in. We are all very polite about our sorrows, because burdening each other or appearing weak or not in charge of our destinies is admitting that WE DON’T HAVE IT ALL TOGETHER. And that seems to be one of the worst indecencies we can commit in the Western 21st century. 

The Bible, however, was written in a time where people were brutally honest about their sorrows, like almost TOO honest for our Western ears. They called them what they were. Suffering. Affliction. Deep sorrows. Great troubles. I feel like honesty is a bit of a buzzword in our society these days, as though it’s some kind of magic incantation: if we can somehow be HONEST, our troubles will shrink and everyone will understand us if we can just be TRANSPARENT IN COMMUNITY. But what the honesty of the writers of the First and New Testaments does is lay a foundation for their relationship with God first of all. The Psalmists pour out their hearts and sorrows and sufferings before God Himself—they tell the truth about their sorrows. Beginning with their suffering allows them to move on to asking for help, to remembering God’s power and presence and love, to truly being dependent on their Creator and Redeemer. And this is a lesson I so desperately need to learn as a post-modern-living follower of Jesus. 

Of course, Jesus Himself tells us not to be surprised by our afflictions; as a matter of fact, he PROMISED SUFFERING. He promised the world would hate those who follow Him. But He promised then, as God promised all throughout the First Testament, that He would be with us, that He would be our Helper. He would be with His people, and His presence is truly enough. His nearness is what sustains us, from the beginning of the creation all the way to the 21st century.

When I read the Bible or talk with other Christians who have troubles, I slowly start to realize that having afflictions, having limitations, having weaknesses, having hang-ups, is not an automatic benching. Our troubles don’t strike our names from running the race. I’m still in it, with my chronic pain. You’re still in it, no matter what you’re facing. God still has things for us to do and to be—they probably just look really different from what we had in mind. They will be different because we will need His help and presence to do them. In our many weaknesses, we must abide in Him, if we want to do any thing at all (John 15). We are, as the Apostle Paul says in his second letter to the Corinthian church, afflicted but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted but not destroyed; always carrying around in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies (2 Corinthians 4: 8-10). This is a great mystery, and one that I don’t fully understand, but as His followers, we somehow get to participate in the great life of Jesus Himself through our sufferings. He uses us in our limitations and it’s a beautiful and glorious thing to see His love and power at work in ways we couldn’t have imagined. 

Leaves and walking shoes: glorious. 

Nature: good for what ails. 

Beauty. 

Celebration of a Modern Marriage

Like the Dead Sea

You told me I was like the Dead Sea

You'll never sink when you are with me

Oh Lord, like the Dead Sea

Whoa, I'm like the Dead Sea

The finest words you ever said to me

Honey can't you see,

I was born to be, be your Dead Sea

-The Lumineers, Dead Sea

So if there is any encouragement in Christ, any comfort from love, any participation from the Spirit, any affection and sympathy, complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his interests but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus…

-The Apostle Paul, Phillipians 2:1-5

Part 1

Husbands often get a bad rap, don’t they? Sitcoms tend to portray husbands as oafish and selfish, like Homer Simpson or Kevin James. Columbo may very well be the only TV detective EVER with a happy home life (although I HAVE JUST ONE MORE QUESTION FOR YOU: how do we know that his often-talked-about-but-never-seen wife even exists?). Guys who save the world usually are single or divorced—I’m looking at you, John McClane. Romantic comedies are either about getting the guy or how to cope after you’ve got yourself an actual husband. And let’s not get started on real life marriages, where it’s cool to complain or ridicule one’s husband in public, or at the very least, nurse secret frustrations in private. Sometimes it starts to feel like if you aren’t complaining, you’re not being real about how hard it is to be married to the Modern Man. 

Facebook official.

Just happy.

I am married to a Modern Man myself, and let me tell you, it has surpassed all my wildest expectations, both in bliss and difficulty. I don’t know about you, but I was pretty prepared for marriage to be difficult—after all, that’s what you’re told from your teens onward. When hormones start fizzing and boys start to look like maybe they don’t have cooties after all, that’s when all the kissing dating goodbye and marriage is no picnic talks begin. But this, coupled with multiple heartfelt viewings of Pride and Prejudice (because Colin Firth) and Little Women (because young Christian Bale) and Star Wars (because Harrison Ford) and Indiana Jones (because Harrison Ford), all amounts to a confusing mental picture of what love and romance and marriage should be. What both Christian and secular cultures can agree on, however, is that marriage is hard. And yet still worth pursuing. We all love a good love story: a friendship, relationship, and commitment that is strong, beautiful, romantic, and unbreakable. And we all know, both from stories and from real life, that love and marriage have to go through hard times, because real life happens to the best (i.e. all) of us. 

So while I was prepared for marriage to be hard, I was not prepared for exactly how it would be hard. I knew I was a selfish person, but I really had no idea till after January 22nd, 2011. There were the small and funny and irritating and classic discoveries of “you fold the towels THAT way?” and “why are you making scrambled eggs THAT way?” When we tell other couples this, most of them respond with YES US TOO, which I find to be both hilarious and relieving. Towels and their foldings are a big deal, my friends. As time goes by, however, deep-seated selfish behaviors and attitudes rise to the surface, and I find myself time and time again putting myself first, or even worse, sometimes seeing my husband as the Enemy of my All Important Happiness. Over stupid things, of course, like figuring out the hard way we have to plan our leisure time a little more or trying to decide how much to spend on Christmas presents. It is true that it’s the little things that can have the biggest impact, whether it’s a continuous drop of water on stone or choosing my attitude about THAT thing which is now a BIG thing. 

Yes, yes, yes!

MARRIAGE IS NO PICNIC, YOU GUYS. 

Lest you think it’s all been a vale of tears and gnashing of teeth, let me assure you that I wasn’t prepared for marriage to be better than all my dreams of what it could be. I am so thankful and aware of the blessing of marrying my best friend, and of reaping the rewards of choosing each other every day. There’s been various learning curves, of course, and seasons of figuring out the kinds of conflict that bombard every married couple. But after nearly six years, we’re still madly in love and ask ourselves frequently how did we get to marry THIS person? 

Part 2

This has been a long preamble (and points to you for making it thus far!) to what I really want to say here, and that’s how my husband, whom I regard as the Husband of Husbands, is the king of men. While Ben isn’t a perfect man, as he still has morning breath, still doesn’t think MacGyver is the best show of all time, and still doesn’t drink coffee, he is perfect for me. He loves my random brain, my quirky humor, and knows the difference between my polite laugh and my real laugh. I can tell when he’s tired before he does (he gets really literal), and I love the way he thinks through things, and how perceptive he is. 

Another thing that makes Ben perfect for me is that he’s taken “in sickness and in health” to the next level. Our entire romantic relationship, from dating to engagement to wedding day to now, has been marked by illness. And while it’s made things crazy, it’s never shaken our anchored romance. When we were dating six years ago, I discovered black mold in my apartment, unleashing a series of very unfortunate events. I’ve always caught colds and flus easily, but all of a sudden, I could not bounce back very quickly. Over the next few years, it started to feel like having the flu all the time—deep body aches and mind-numbing fatigue that didn’t go away with a full night’s sleep. 

Three years ago, I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, a mysterious chronic pain and fatigue condition. Last year, I was diagnosed with IBS (Irritable Bowl Syndrome, which needs no explanation, amiright?) and endometriosis, a reproductive system disorder where the endometrial tissue grows in places it shouldn’t, causing scarring and pain and a host of other issues. These titles, or even badges of honor as I see them in my mind’s eye, carry no weight as to how long and hard and discouraging and confusing my physical journey has been these last six years. And not just for me. But for my husband too.  

Glorious day.

Finally and at last.

Ben has all the finest characteristics you’d ever want in a man: protective and kind and caring and intelligent and hilarious and wanting to provide everything in his power for his family and friends. He also has great taste in music and movies, which is key. His first inclinations at the first signs of my illness were, I’m sure, to smash them all with his might and force of willpower. Also, to bring me snacks, hand me the remote, and rub my feet. But mostly to smash my sicknesses for me, and help me back to normal. We’ve put our heads together and have tried so many things, from new doctors to new medication to new exercise routines to elimination diets to quitting jobs. He does everything he can to relieve stress in our lives, by budgeting and paying bills and cleaning all the hard and annoying things (like tubs and toilets) and making sure I see friends and family enough in this season while I’m not working. He even carries me to the bathroom or to the couch when I can’t move. What I’m trying to say is there’s nothing Ben won’t do for me, for my health and comfort. I know that even if I wasn’t mysteriously sick, he would do all these things anyway. 

The thing that catches me in my throat, in my heart, is when Ben is visibly upset for me and my illness and what it’s done to us. This doesn’t happen very often, because Ben is a careful steward of his emotions and energy, especially towards me, but when it does, it nearly undoes me. He’s not even upset for himself, and all the trouble this situation makes for him. He’s upset for me, upset by my lost dreams, my lost wellness. All he wants is for me to feel better, to feel whole again. But what Ben has become very good at over the last six years is mourning with those who mourn, and what I’ve discovered that means is to simply be with the one who mourns. To do what we can for those in our lives who are sad and grieving and in pain and when we can’t do anymore, because pain is confusing and often unrelenting no matter our human efforts, to simply be present and ready. And to pray, always pray. 

Ben has shown me over the past six years that honest and stubborn prayer is the truest kind of  prayer. When he prays, it’s brutally honest and transparent, full of questions and requests and pleas and cries for help. He has never once given up on God and His love and power in our lives, even though we both have offered up angry and confused and muddled prayers time and time again. Because of Ben, I keep praying and asking and hoping and knocking on God’s door. Because Ben has not given up on prayer or Jesus or the hope of healing, I haven’t either. Because Ben has proven himself to be my helper day after day, crisis after crisis, I know that God is real and true. Who else could sustain a marriage marked by chronic illness, a relationship already preloaded with worldly strain and human frailty? Who else could cause and allow a marriage to flourish and grow in spite—or even because of—of mysterious chronic pain?

The thing is, I don’t know why we’re going this particular struggle. I do know that it is pushing our natural pride and independence out of the way. It’s been a study in giving up our pride and know-how, and depending more and more on our good God and our friends and family for help. When I look back at the lovely and difficult and happy and sorrowful six years of being with Ben, I am amazed and overwhelmed at the goodness of God more than anything. To note and thank Him for His provision of a truly wonderful husband, without whom I can’t imagine life itself. To thank Him for this most unusual and deep love story of our own, for always providing help and light and hope even when it seemed like morning would never come. 

Better together.

We take each other on walks and rest when we (ok, I) need to.

So here’s to the quiet heroes, the patient warriors, the unsung champions. To the men who stay with their wives when it’s hard, ask how to help, and pass the chocolate. To the men who see their wives as beautiful even on a bad day, with no make-up and hair every which way (and definitely all over the bathroom floor). To the men who show love by fixing things, by bringing flowers from the grocery store, and by going to the outlet mall on the weekends. To the men who treat all women as precious sisters, offering protection and the male perspective if needed. To the men who go to work day in and day out, never thinking twice if it’s worth it to provide for their families. To the men who use their strength for good, their might for helping others. To the men who encourage their wives to follow after God in all the ways He made them, whether at work or at home or in community or in skills and talents. To the men who keep dreaming of big things, and who keep trusting God for provision and help. And most of all, here’s to my Modern Hero, who is the funniest and most handsome champion a wife could marry. 

The Joy of Not Being Surprised

"I don’t know, Nick! I’m not…Wonder Woman.”

-Bernard, Blackbooks

A cheerful heart is good medicine,

    but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.

-Proverbs 17:22

I have a new tool in my Life Toolbox. It’s amazing. I’m not even sure where it came from, but it’s changing the way I see myself, my days, and my circumstances. 

You see, with fibromyalgia (or whatever THIS is), most mornings involve not moving for a while because of mysterious aches and pains. So I have some time to stare at the ceiling while it seems the REST OF THE WORLD goes on with its business. As you may imagine, my thoughts and ponderings in this time can get a bit WEIGHTY. A bit HEAVY. 

It’s pretty much proven that what we think affects us physically, although I cheerfully have no sources to cite for you (this isn’t college! This isn’t even in MLA format). The books and blogs and research I’ve read on chronic pain all deal with changing how we think, in addition to medication, exercise, healthy diet, finding the right doctors, reducing stress, etc. While we may not be able to have much control over our pain, we do get to choose how we think about it. There are some days I’m able to accept my pain and move on; there are other days where it’s all I can think about because it’s so DANG PRESENT. 

Ah yes, the TOOL. 

Here it is: 

This is not unexpected. 

Here we go AGAIN, Summer Flowers.
I will try not to kill you as quickly as previous summers,
but IT WILL NOT BE UNEXPECTED.

Now I realize that this phrase is subtle and quiet in demeanor, making it easy to overlook or dismiss, or maybe it sounds more like a bad line in an action movie when the good guy pops out of nowhere after the bad guy ordered his henchmen to “take care of him.” But! I’ve noticed that when I think this in the morning instead of the usual “Oh my gosh…this is so hard…I can’t move…why me… when will this end…what did I do yesterday to make this happen…when will this end?”, it makes a huge difference. You see, while it still doesn’t give me any false delusions of control (over chronic pain?! bwhahaha), it gives me some much needed perspective. You would think that struggling with chronic pain for years would help me in accepting my usual morning fate, but NOT REALLY. Deep down, I know I’m the Wonder Woman of the Greater Belllingham Area. However, not being surprised by my morning pain gives me a chance to still move forward. Thinking This is not unexpected stops the Splash Mountain plunge of self-crushing thoughts. It gives me the freedom to plan the next step in the day. I get to think “Oh! Right! I’ve done this before. I can do it again today.” I move on to think what I can do when I can get up. 

Ironically, another thing this tool does is give me permission to not expect a horrible morning, either. There is a very fine balance with chronic pain: you don’t want to be surprised by it, but you don’t want to make it worse by assuming it will be terrible. Because, as we know, thinking negatively makes pain worse. It makes everything worse, really. This tool of not being surprised by the difficult things helps me to be realistic, as opposed to needing to be rigidly optimistic all the time OR needing to be pessimistic to acknowledge the pain itself. There’s no need to have a stiff upper lip when you know your limitations and can work around them, just like there’s no need to give in to your limitations all the time. 

See how brilliant this is? I am so excited about this, I can’t EVEN. 

My jolly balcony, wherein I survey my domain.
But mostly read and drink iced drinks.

Because this tool can applied to other areas of life, too! Let’s take, oh, PEOPLE. People, all of them, bless their hearts, are going to let us down. They can’t help it. None of us can. And when we’re not as easily surprised by this, it makes it so much easier. When we can identify foibles and quirks and tendencies, we are free to let others off the hook. We are free to offer grace, mercy. We are free to have a hospitable heart and mind towards others. Thinking this is not unexpected can stem some of the inevitable annoyances and frustrations that comes with being a human with other humans. I am sure you are beginning to see the sheer GENIUS of this humble sentence. 

It also helps with needing to cancel or reschedule plans, as is always the case with chronic pain. It’s not unexpected to need to take a few days off from activities after a busy weekend. Having THE TOOL handy helps me not go insane when I look around the house at my waiting chores: a pile of laundry waiting to be folded, a sink full of dirty dishes, or realizing that because I haven’t wiped up the hair on the bathroom floor in 2.345 hours, it’s taken over that whole side of the house. I’m not a terrible person for not having my house look like something out of an HGTV show, because it’s not unexpected (regardless of if I have chronic pain or not!). Naming and recognizing my individual limitations helps me extend grace to myself, which is hard for this recovering perfectionist. 

Although I balk at the Words on Walls Trend,
I couldn't help myself with this one. 

When we can say This is not unexpected, we can even allow room for God to come through for us. The Apostle Peter says, “Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exult you, casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you (1 Peter 5:6-7).” Peter is not joking when he links casting our anxieties to humbling ourselves—he knows exactly what he’s saying here. It’s a real blow to our pride to admit, let alone embrace, that we can’t handle our anxieties and cares and worries alone. I’m realizing that it’s taking my whole dang life to keep giving my worries to Him. But because He cares for me, I can. The Creator of the universe, of the heavens and the earth and everything in them, cares for me! And nothing in my life is unexpected to Him—He is not surprised when I take back my worries, when I can’t move in the mornings, when troubles hit me upside the head. Even though I can’t explain why He allows pain in our lives, I know He is present in the very middle of it. And I have found that He is indeed enough, time and time again.

And so I hope this little phrase can be of some use to you, too. When pain hits you, when trouble mounts, when things are not going how you want them. It also helps in the little things. You know, when my flowers start to wilt 2 days after planting or I get an unexpected bill in the mail. Or when I open the fridge to look for some produce to supplement my carb-based, fat-based diet and it is no longer viable as a edible option. Not that THAT has ever happened, I mean. 

What are some tools in your Life Toolbox? What helps you get to the Next Thing in your day? I’d love to hear about them!

Embracing Self-Care

And when I run, I feel His pleasure. 

—Eric Liddell, from Chariots of Fire

Have you not known? Have you not heard?

The Lord is the everlasting God,

    the Creator of the ends of the earth.

He does not faint or grow weary;

    his understanding is unsearchable.

He gives power to the faint,

    and to him who has no might he increases strength.

Even youths shall faint and be weary,

    and young men shall fall exhausted;

but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength;

    they shall mount up with wings like eagles;

they shall run and not be weary;

    they shall walk and not faint.

—Isaiah 40:28-31

Self-care is really hard. 

I don’t care if you’re single, married, have kids, have a goldfish, work full-time, are unemployed, or whatever. It’s hard stuff, taking care of our needs. 

Self-care is quite the buzzword these days, too, making it sound like yet another to-do item on the never ending list of Things Today’s Modern Woman Must Do. The guilt builds every day we don’t have a hot bath or practice yoga or read for 10 minutes. It’s easy to see the benefits of these things, of course, but who really has the time, or even the will to do any of these things? 

Clearly, I’m one of these women who struggles at the idea of taking care of myself. Of course. Most nights of the week, I TELL MYSELF, THIS, THIS will be the night I have a hot bath before bed! This will be the night I turn off the TV and get myself down the hall to run that delightful and relaxing bath. Haaaaaaaaaa. Yeah, no. Every night, the comfort and sheer impact of routine usually keep me rooted to the couch. And it’s easier to hit Next Episode. Ah, maybe tomorrow night will be different. And so it goes.

But I’m not even just talking about adding in something new, like listening to Mozart before bed or drinking hot water and lemon in the morning…before coffee (sidenote: what.). I’m talking basics here. Getting enough rest. Eating good and delicious food. Taking time to seek out good and encouraging people-time, or taking time to seek out good and encouraging alone-time. Taking time to read the Bible and pray. Pursuing hobbies and interests. Engaging in energizing movement. 

Having chronic pain over the past few years has made me seek out self-care like never before, even though I’m not a natural. I found myself struggling with just the day-to-day running of things, and I couldn’t coast by anymore. I had to adjust, find more ways to take care of myself, to be intentional. Oh, I guess I DO need to go to bed early. Oh, I guess I do need to lay off the sugar and the excessive amounts of caffeine. The list goes on. There has been so much trial and error, so much balancing and adjusting. 

It’s been strange, discovering that it’s good to take care of myself. I know that might sound weird or pompous, but it’s not. I believe most people don’t really believe this. Judging by how run down, ragged, exhausted, and anxious our culture is, most of us are running on steam. And that is terrible. It’s terrible because when we are perpetually exhausted, perpetually at the end of our rope, we are not really ourselves. We are merely surviving. And don’t get me wrong! There are seasons of survival, seasons of coping, seasons of grief. And that’s ok. If we find ourselves in that sort of a season, I pray we can all reach out and get the help we need. 

But when we live out our days and our years, our precious time, by running ragged from one thing to the next, we lose the joy of truly being ourselves, I believe. We stop knowing ourselves, and we lose ourselves in the lists and errands and deadlines and commitments. Perhaps we do this out of guilt. If I’m not busy, if I’m not doing things, I’m not worthwhile. If I’m not pushing myself to the brink physically or emotionally, no one will think I’m doing my best. If I’m not making everyone around me happy all the time, I must be doing something wrong. This is so untrue! While it is best to think of others first and to care for the needs of others, how can we care from an empty cup, as the saying goes? It is not written anywhere we are not allowed to care for ourselves. As a matter of fact, Jesus himself says to love our neighbors as we love ourselves (Luke 10:27). Paul says to look to the interests of others as well as our own (Phillipians 2:4). 

Here is the thing. We are not doing anyone any good when we don’t take care of ourselves. There are no awards for Least Self-Care. You see, it’s all about our motivation, our heart, as most things are. If we don’t take care of ourselves as a way to manipulate or feel like we have one over on everyone, that is just plain wrong. When we want to play the martyr or shock others into sympathy, we are not truly ourselves or acting from a place of trust or faith in God. I have felt this temptation many times in my chronic pain—to not take care of my appearance or let my healthy routines slide so others would actually believe me when I say I feel terrible. Or to work through an event or even keep a job, just so I could prove to everyone that I am a worthy person. 

We are not meant to live our lives in guilt or fear or trying to force sympathy. We are meant to live in freedom, to be ourselves as God created each and everyone of us to be! Each of us, each individual human being, is made in the image of God (Genesis 1:27). We are each worthy of dignity and care and consideration: we are image-bearers of God himself! If we are in Christ, there is no condemnation (Romans 8:1). For freedom, He has set us free (Galatians 5:1)! This is good news for all of us. This means we can all take a deep, deep breath. We can rest in the truth that we are each worthy because God has made us worthy, and if we believe in Christ as God and Rescuer of the world, we have nothing to fear. Not even our own sins and foibles and past mistakes. We will never be found out because God has given us His own righteousness, and given us new life. 

And we must see that God doesn’t want us to burn ourselves out. He wants us to be salt to a flavorless world, to be a shining light to a dark world (Matthew 5:13-14). He made us all different and beautiful, each with a certain way to shine light, to be salt, to be something that makes others look back to God in wonder and joy. One way we bring glory to Him is simply to be who He created us to be. Do you love to dance? Dance! Do you love to garden? Garden! Do you love to draw? Draw! Do you love to host and have people over? Host! Do you love to play music? Play! Do you love to cook? Cook, and invite me over!

Instead of making self-care another weary and impossible chore (because we know that it will always slide to the bottom of the list), let us remember the essence of it. Let us remember that it’s not merely some added thing to do. It’s actually much smaller and bigger at the same time. It’s allowing time and space to be who God created you to be. It’s about embracing what you love and letting God shine through that. And it will look different at different times to different people. It might be taking that bath one day, or reading a favorite book, or watching a new show, or just sitting in the park with the sun on your face. It might be saying no to yet another activity, it might be staying home from church sometimes. It might be saying yes to something new, to someone new. It might be forgiving an old hurt, it might be forgiving yourself for an old mistake. 

In this way, I believe transformation will come to each of us. One of my favorite authors, Frederick Buechner, wrote in Wishful Thinking, “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet,” and this is so true. Your deep gladness, the things you do that make you feel alive, the things you do to offer care to yourself, God uses. Don’t ignore your passions and the things that bring you joy, because God longs to use them to help the whole world. Make time to be intentional, to be creative, to be whole. We have no idea what joy and hope will come to the world when we are truly ourselves. 

Going to get fancy drinks at your favorite coffee shop is highly recommended. 

It's ideal to have a favorite restaurant, too!

Sometimes making yourself a cup of tea in a Batman mug can do wonders.

Baking is my JAM. 

Sometimes nothing but the water will do. 

Peanut butter pie is ALSO my jam. 

Get outside sometimes. It's so good. 

Favorite beverage in a favorite mug...mmm, ritual.