Walking back into the light

I've been walking in the dark. Honing my night vision, spiritually. Psalm 51 has been a great comfort: Open my lips, Lord, and my mouth will declare Your praise. My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit. A broken and contrite heart You will not despise. I am reminded of a time such as this when repentance healed my broken heart, so broken it felt dead and silent inside me.  I "turn my mind", words so similar to the definition of "repentance", the Hebrew word  שׁוּבָה transliterated "shubah", meaning a return or a turning away from.

I remember, too, that I counted gifts then, wrote them down with paper and ink so they were there, indelible, monuments of God's faithfulness to bless me even in the dark night. And so, again, I pick up notebook, the one with pages and pages of the sins I've committed, the one I wrote my heart out in this past week. Spewing sadness. On top of the new page I tape the template for the tattoo I got on my wrist on Monday, covering up scars: Choose Life, from Deuteronomy 30 - the chapter of Scripture with the heading "The Offer of Life or Death". And then I begin again, at number 2,000, to number gifts. My therapist calls this "accumulating positives". Life hangs in the balance, and I choose to pile more on the side of Life and Joy than on Despair and Death.

The sunlight streams back into my soul, and I have 3 good days in a row. (I whisper this, as if hope may truly BE the thing with feathers that perches on the soul, and perhaps would will take wing if startled.) I have chosen the long, slow road of faith. There are quicker ways to peace, but none other that lasts for eternity. In the carbon black days of depression, I pray the fire in my brain is forming diamonds. For today, I simply give thanks for a good day. A reprieve, a relief, like the sigh as you lay head on pillow after a hard day's work, muscles melting and pain fading as you rest.

Photo credit: Sarah Bessey

#2001 breakfast in bed

#2002 children's morning smiles as they serve it

#2003 skills lab with 50 eager students

#2004 laughing with my mama

Trust at the hitching post

Back and forth goes the brush, smoothing months of winter tangles on the back of a young horse. My friend is patient, gentle. The horse stands still at the post, soaking up the love.

There is no "trust" that compares to the relationship between a girl and her horse. He is tamed by her affection. She is tamed by his willing heart.

I have been the brute beast tangled in winter's coat, protecting myself from the cold. Softly, tenderly, you draw me out into the vulnerable places, the painful places. Brushing through all these tangles is hard work. But you are teaching me to stand still at the post, to feel your love in the brushing, to wait for that moment we can walk together as one.

When my soul was embittered,when I was pricked in heart, I was brutish and ignorant; I was like a beast toward you. Nevertheless, I am continually with you; you hold my right hand. You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will receive me to glory. Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. For behold, those who are far from you shall perish; you put an end to everyone who is unfaithful to you. But for me it is good to be near God; I have made the Lord GOD my refuge, that I may tell of all your works. (Psalm 73:21-28 ESV)

Yes, my heart and flesh may fail, but, my God, you never will. I am just old enough now to know that I have nothing mastered, despite previous suppositions. Just old enough to see that faith is an iceberg, and I am precariously perched on the narrow top although there is a deep foundation I will not see this side of heaven. When the doubts come, when I am stuck in the "not good enough" and "better off without me" trains of thought, I must remember the vastness of what you've built in me, even if it is submerged under your ocean of Grace and invisible to me. It is there, that foundation. Oh, soul, cling! Cling to the promises, for a new day is coming!

I need you to soften my heart

to break me apart

I need you to open my eyes

to see that you're shaping my life

All I am

I surrender

Give me faith to trust what you say

that you're good and your love is great

I'm broken inside, I give you my life

I need you to pierce through the dark

and cleanse every part of me

I may be weak

but Your spirit's strong in me

My flesh may fail

My God you never will

~Give Me Faith, Elevation Worship~

The horrible, terrible...laundry.

I have been known to tell my children that, if we lived in almost any 3rd world country, they would have 1, maybe 2 outfits. They would wear them all week and then I would scrub them down in a washtub, and leave them playing naked in the house while I scrubbed 6-12 outfits in the tub outdoors in the baking sun. And, if we were middle class, I would also have a maid.

Pile #1 of clean laundry

That's not how middle class works here. My kids have scads of clothes and I seem to be forever buried in laundry. I remember being a country kid with a healthy covering of dirt most of the time, wearing outfits 2 or 3 days at a time. Our social standard now is sparkling clean kids in perfectly matched outfits. I had someone offer me information about the food stamp program while in line at the grocery store once with my kids. Just because their clothes didn't match. And likely at least one of them had traces of breakfast on their face. Or hands. But still - you're kidding me! How presumptive.

Clean and somewhat folded

Trust me, lady in the grocery check-out line, I have lots of clean laundry. If you would care to come fold and put away my laundry, perhaps you would no longer be offering me other special services. You would just pray for me.

The dirty laundry is everywhere

It's as ubiquitous as say, floorboards. Dirty laundry has five places in my home but my children still lack the memory to put it there. A walk-through of the main floor sometimes yields 6-7 pieces of laundry of unknown cleanliness.

But God washes the picture fresh, shines His sun right through the linen hamper, glowing beauty up from the ashes of my messy home.

A little boy waits in the hall for his shots

God is teaching me to be patient.

One of His main tools is my laundry.

Both the clean and the dirty.

Just like the power of rain washing endlessly on our homes, our streets, all of our man-made structure, God's healing spirit slowly strips us of our "Good Christian" paint and we see the ugly gray concrete underneath. But that's not what we should see. Because now we are wearing the glowing white perfect robe of Christ's grace. Whatever chips of "self" remain are just clinging to the ugly texture of our gray concrete souls, unwilling to give those last pieces up, thinking that somehow they cover us. No, they just make us look silly, or strong, or "spiritual" or lost. Depends on the kind of paint you're wearing. I don't want paint anymore, I want the billowing white of Christ to cover my dirty curbs.

Cashier who reminded me of my Grandma

Once you understand that we can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation. And this hope will not lead to disappointment. For we know how dearly God loves us, because he has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with his love.

When we were utterly helpless, Christ came at just the right time and died for us sinners. Now, most people would not be willing to die for an upright person, though someone might perhaps be willing to die for a person who is especially good. But God showed his great love for us by sending Christ to die for us while we were still sinners. (Romans 5:3-8 NLT)

That is seeing the world upside down. That is seeing beauty where the world sees ugliness. That is rejoicing as you fold each piece, attacking the endless mountainous work of mothering.

Now, where is my maid???

Jumping the gun

Any time the temperature tops 60, the kids start asking to go swimming or run through the sprinkler. I gave in a couple of days ago, and let them go for a twilight run through the sprinkler.

It's one of those moments, as a mom, where you give in knowing the kids are probably going to hate it. The desired effect being they will wait until it is much, much warmer before they want to something crazy like this again.

My plan backfired.

"Mama, I'm FWEEZING!"

It was only after dozens of blue-lipped passes through the freezing water that they told me I was right, it's too cold to go in the sprinkler right now.

I think of God's long line of patience with me, how He allows me to do things that aren't best for me, and waits silently for me to come in from the cold so He can wrap me in His arms again.

I just want to be ok, be ok, be ok

I just want to be ok today

I just want to be ok, be ok, be ok

I just want to be ok today

I just want to feel today, feel today, feel today

I just want to feel something today

I just want to feel today, feel today, feel today

I just want to feel something today

Open me up and you will see

I'm a gallery of broken hearts

I'm beyond repair, let me be

And give me back my broken parts

Just give me back my pieces

Just give them back to me please

Just give me back my pieces

And let me hold my broken parts

~ Be OK, Ingrid Michaelson~