Wallow or Fight

In every trial, large or small--whether a one-time instance of being sinned against, or an especially difficult season of life with no end in sight--there comes a crucial moment. Actually, it doesn't come just once, but dozens of times. It is the moment when you recognize you might actually not be sinless in this mess: when you realize at some deep level of your heart, in some small part of your mind, that there is a significant difference between what God says is true and what you are thinking or feeling. It's the moment when you see that the problem is not only others' sin or out-of-control circumstances, but also your own unbelief.

In that moment, you are faced with a choice. You can continue to rehearse the laments ("vent")--to your journal, your husband, your best friend, or just on an endless internal loop. You can dwell on the potential miseries, feed the fears and the resentment, preach to yourself about how much you suck or how wrong the other person is or how awful this is going to be.

Or you can fight. You can let go of your plans, surrender your emotions, settle into what IS rather than what you wish life were. You can't fight a week-long or a six-month or a ten-year battle, but you can put on your armor and fight for joy--fight to believe truth--today.

When I come to this critical realization, there's a little part of me that doesn't want to give up the wallowing yet. Sometimes I just want to keep stewing in a big ol' pity party for a while. More than that, I think I fear that choosing to fight means pretending that these emotions weren't real and deep, that it doesn't really hurt. But...I can acknowledge them as powerful and real without being ruled by them. And reality is, wallowing doesn't accomplish anything. It doesn't change the situation, and it doesn't make facing the trial any easier. In fact, you could argue, just the opposite.

Fighting, on the other hand--that changes everything. It means you will get beat up, even face the agony of defeat at times (though this is made bearable knowing you will never face ultimate defeat because victory has already been won by Christ!). It doesn't mean being Pollyanna, slapping on your shiny, happy Christian face and pretending. It means gritting your teeth and digging in your heels and clinging to Jesus with all your might. It means repenting; it means crying out "I believe, Lord--help my unbelief!" It means preaching to yourself about how God sees and loves you in your unlovable mess, how Jesus' blood covers all the ways you suck, how all this is going to be a *beautiful* mess because it's going to be used for your good and God's glory. Guaranteed.

For me, it means being vulnerable and humble with my husband and other trusted friends, asking them to fight for me, relying on them to hold up my trembling arms as Aaron and Hur did for weary Moses, to hold up their shields of faith when I cannot keep mine upright. It means, to paraphrase Tim Keller, trusting that although these events may reveal me to be more sinful than I even believed, I am also, in the midst of them, more loved than I have dared to hope.

I am not called to fight the hundred-years' war. I have only to fight in this moment. I cannot look ahead and fear what may come; instead, I must fix my eyes on Jesus, be fully present HERE, and trust that the grace for tomorrow will be there tomorrow.


Related:
Acceptance = Peace
Divine Love Put Me Here
Joy. Here.
Besieged


[edited repost from the archives]

Despising the Pleasant Land

I was in a funk most of the day today. It wasn't pretty. This morning as I was hanging laundry on the line, right after having changed one of the top three most disgusting diapers of my life (it was an epic blowout), the cynical, despairing, ugly tape in my head was looping at full volume. Suddenly a phrase broke through that static: despising the pleasant land. Yep, that's exactly what I was doing. I haven't read Psalm 106 in months, but the title of an old blog post popped into my mind.

Maybe the rest of the day would have gotten better if I'd stopped to read it earlier, but I finally sat down to revisit it just now. Reposting in case you need to hear it, too...

Psalm 106 features a brief and sorry history of the Israelites and how they were losers even in spite of all God did for them. Verse 24 offers a particularly heartbreaking indictment in the middle of an already depressing psalm: "Then they despised the pleasant land, having no faith in his promise." Over and over He was so good, so faithful to them...over and over they disobeyed, rebelled, forgot and strayed.

If I'm honest, I have to admit that this is my own history, too. As I look back over the last five years of motherhood--or over my entire life, in various circumstances where I have been discontent--I know that I have so often despised the pleasant land. God's Word not only says that children are a blessing, a heritage from Him...but it also says that He has set the boundary lines for me in pleasant places. Rather than adopting His perspective, choosing to see and give thanks, I have often been an Israelite, grumbling and complaining, running after idols, cowering in unbelieving fear. I have lacked faith in His promises to provide the grace I need, His promises that He has ordained my circumstances and is committed to my good.

May God have mercy on me and increase my faith--may He give me grace to remember, to see, to believe His promises--to love the pleasant land of motherhood that He has placed me in, knowing that although it is sometimes a land of trials, and I may sometimes think other lands look more appealing...it is a land He has brought me to in love and blessing, a land He says is pleasant--a land where He is PRESENT, and thus it is holy ground. Because of the cross, I can trust His love and know that "The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup; you hold my lot. The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance" (Psalm 16:5-6).

 If you keep reading in Psalm 106, you find hope and mercy and grace there, too. God is good and His steadfast love endures forever...His mighty deeds are beyond naming or counting...even when His people rebel, He saves us and chooses to use us to make His mighty power known...He has saved us and will save us from the hand of the foe...He has redeemed us from the power of the enemy! He looks upon our distress--even when it is self-inflicted--He hears our cries and remembers His promises and treats us according to His steadfast love, not according to what our sins deserve.

Reminding my unbelieving self again tonight that I belong to a mighty and merciful God--one who didn't abandon the Israelites and who promises never to abandon me, despite all the times that I lack faith in His promises and despise the pleasant land.


[edited repost from the archives]

Lacking Nothing

"Forty years you sustained them in the wilderness, and they lacked nothing. Their clothes did not wear out and their feet did not swell" (Nehemiah 9:21).

This astounding account of the mercy and patience of God (please go back and read starting in verse 17!) ends with a startling line: They lacked nothing. 

Really?

From my perspective--and, I imagine, from theirs--they lacked an awful lot. Permanent, safe, settled homes in the Promised Land, for one (have you ever felt tired of living out of a suitcase? try wandering from place to place for forty years). Variety and interest in their diet (mmm...manna again). Loved ones: remember, during this period an entire generation of people were dying off. Don't let it remain abstract; picture every person in your extended family over age 40. Gone. These are not small things! I'd hardly describe this as "lacking nothing"!

And yet that's exactly how God describes it. And since His Word is Truth, His thoughts higher than mine, His wisdom perfect...I have to believe what He says is reality, rather than trust my own limited and skewed perception of reality.

He says they lacked NOTHING. They may not have had everything they wanted--but they had absolutely everything they needed, everything that was good for them.

If this was true then, before Christ--how much more can I trust this reality on this side of the cross?

I lack nothing. God has provided for my greatest, most profound need: He granted me a Savior. He has given me forgiveness for sins, a perfect record of obedience, a secure position as His beloved child, an eternal inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade--all of this at immeasurable cost to Himself. If He provided for this need, the need to be set free from sin and reconciled to my Creator and King, how much more can I trust that He will surely provide any other thing I truly need? "He who did not spare His own Son, but gave Him up for us all, how will He not also with Him graciously give us all things?" (Romans 8:32).

He says I lack NOTHING. I may not have everything I want--but I have absolutely everything I need, everything that is best for me.

Two Choices: Wallow or Fight

In every trial, large or small--whether a one-time instance of being sinned against, or an especially difficult season of life with no end in sight--there comes a crucial moment. Actually, it doesn't come just once, but dozens of times. It is the moment when you recognize where you are wrong: when you realize at some deep level in your heart, in some small part of your mind, that there is a significant difference between what God says is true and what you are believing or thinking or feeling.

In that moment, you are faced with a choice. You can continue to rehearse the laments ("vent")--to your journal, your husband, your best friend, or just on an endless internal loop. You can dwell on the potential miseries, feed the fears and the resentment, preach to yourself about how much you suck or how wrong the other person is or how awful this is going to be.

Or you can fight. You can let go of your plans, surrender your emotions, settle into what IS rather than what you wish were. You can't fight a week-long or a six-month or a ten-year battle, but you can put on your armor and fight for joy--fight to believe truth--today.

If you're like me, when you come to this critical realization, there's a little part of you that doesn't want to give up the wallowing yet. Sometimes I think I just want to keep stewing in a big ol' pity party for a while. It's almost like I fear that choosing to fight means pretending that these emotions weren't real and deep, that it doesn't really hurt. But...I can acknowledge them as powerful and real without being ruled by them. And reality is, wallowing doesn't accomplish anything. It doesn't change the situation, and it doesn't make facing the trial any easier. In fact, you could argue, just the opposite.

Fighting, on the other hand--that changes everything. It means you will get beat up, even face the agony of defeat at times (though this is made bearable knowing you will never face ultimate defeat because victory has already been won by Christ!). It doesn't mean being Pollyanna, slapping on your shiny, happy Christian face and pretending. It means gritting your teeth and digging in your heels and clinging to Jesus with all your might. It means preaching to yourself about how God sees and loves you in your unlovable mess, how Jesus' blood covers all the ways you suck, how all this is going to be a *beautiful* mess because it's going to be used for your good and God's glory. Guaranteed.

For me, it means being vulnerable and humble with my husband and other trusted friends, asking them to fight for me, relying on them to hold up my trembling arms as Aaron and Hur did for weary Moses, to hold up their shields of faith when I cannot keep mine upright. It means, to paraphrase Tim Keller, trusting that although these events may reveal me to be more sinful than I even believed, I am also, in the midst of them, more loved than I have dared to hope.

I am not called to fight the hundred-years' war. I have only to fight in this moment. I cannot look ahead and fear what may come; instead, I must fix my eyes on Jesus, be fully present HERE, and trust that the grace for tomorrow will be there tomorrow.

God's Delight

Did you know that if you are in Christ, God delights in your welfare? That He isn't indifferent about what happens to you--that He isn't even just "working all things together for your good" in a detached, objective, unemotional way?

In His kind providence, He had me in Psalm 35 yesterday, where verse 27 stopped me:

"Let those who delight in my righteousness
   shout for joy and be glad
   and say evermore,
'Great is the LORD,
   who delights in the welfare of his servant!'
Then my tongue shall tell of your righteousness
   and of your praise all the day long."
--Psalm 35:27-28

God delights in the welfare of His servant! I am far from a faithful servant--but I am seen as one because I am covered by the righteousness of Christ the Suffering Servant. And so God is FOR me--His heart earnestly desires my good. He is not capricious or vindictive, spiteful or merciless. He doesn't even treat me as I deserve. It brings Him joy to see that I am taken care of. He smiles to see me thriving.

That means when I am *not* thriving--I must trust this revelation of His heart more than I trust my perception of the situation. God wants to see me thriving. So in any given circumstance, however it looks to me, He is at work to promote my ultimate well-being. The word in Hebrew is shalom--that word that goes far beyond simple peace but means wholeness, prosperity, life-as-it-was-created-to-be, all-is-well. God alone knows what "welfare" looks like for me--and He alone knows how to get there, and what kinds of anything-but-delightful trials I must go through to get there.

But that is where we are headed, together--both anticipating the day when I am whole and well and telling of His righteousness to others who will shout for joy and be glad in Him and say with me, "Great is the LORD, who delights in the welfare of his servant!"

Joy Here, in Real Life

Sunday evening found me praying in the car, fighting back tears, willing myself for the umpteenth time to choose truth over emotions. My weekend retreat was full of blessings, but now I was about to return to real life. And as much as I missed my husband and my boys, I did not miss the especially-intense-recently parenting struggles, the constant failure and exposure of my ugly heart. I had enjoyed the 48-hour escape, maybe a little too much, and now I was fighting to re-enter well. 

As I drove the last stretch toward home by myself, having dropped off two friends and their luggage, my mind went to that familiar favorite, Psalm 16. I reminded myself that "the lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance" (v. 6). Then I repeated aloud, as a desperate prayer, the last verse:

"...in your presence there is fullness of joy; 
at your right hand are pleasures forevermore." 

If there is fullness of joy in His presence...and He is present everywhere, inescapable, never leaving or forsaking me...then there is joy HERE. Not just on a retreat, during a break from my responsibilities and my struggles. Not just two hours away from home, surrounded by like-minded friends, unneeded by dependent children. HERE.

In the past, I always read this verse as a hopeful Heaven promise. You know, on That Day, when every tear is wiped away, and sin and satan are forever destroyed, when we stand in the presence of God, *that's* where fullness of joy is. Here, today? Not so much.

But Sunday evening, as I took a deep breath and prepared for the whining and the correction and the call to die that would come with the hugs and giggles, I remembered that I must fight for joy. It may be hiding. It is not all sunshine and rainbows; it may not look like I expect or think I prefer. But I am in His presence here. That means there is joy here.

And then I thought about the last line: at your right hand are pleasures forevermore. Again, I've always read it as a Heaven promise. When we stand before God's throne--when we can actually be present next to Him--we'll experience ultimate pleasure. But this time it struck me: Who is at God's right hand? "Christ Jesus is the one who died—more than that, who was raised—who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us" (Romans 8:34). Pleasures at God's right hand are pleasures in Jesus. Jesus came in order that I might know full and lasting joy! So my calling every day, here, in the midst of normal life, is to seek and find pleasure in Jesus--not trust in idols that disappoint, not run for refuge to things that offer temporary, fleeting happiness, but abide in Christ.

Some days, I am not honestly sure how. But over and over and over again, God is trying to teach me to believe Him and fight for joy and choose to praise Him and trust Him here, now. In His presence there is fullness of joy and at His right hand are pleasures forevermore and He is *here* and joy is here. I will tell myself until I know it to be true.

[edited repost from the archives]

Related:

My Portion

Calling it Beautiful

Despising the Pleasant Land

New Name, Same Great Taste

So. It's a new year, I turn 30 in a couple of months...I think it's long past time for me to abandon "Lavender *Sparkles*". I've wanted and needed a blog name change for years now, but my terrible-at-titling self was completely at a loss for ideas. For lack of creativity, Lavender *Sparkles* it was, long after I'd outgrown the silly name, despite the fact that it's the blog version of Grape-Nuts.

The name Choosing Hallelujah came to mind several months ago, the last time I was tossing around the possibility of officially changing names. I wasn't 100% sold on it, and I just left it be. But the more I think about it, the more I think it's really appropriate. It captures one of the main themes God has been writing on my heart over the last several years. It really crystallized through my pregnancy with Jude and his birth, as I explained when I wrote about how he got his name (which means "praise," fully "This time I will praise the LORD"). 

It comes from a song I love--one that was on my birth playlist for Jude, actually. Bethany Dillon's album Imagination includes a lovely song called "Hallelujah." Oh, how this chorus needs to be my theme song: Hallelujah

Hallelujah, hallelujah
Whatever's in front of me
Help me to sing hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah
Whatever's in front of me
I'll choose to sing hallelujah

Choosing Hallelujah summarizes what I am often trying to do in my more thoughtful blog posts: preach truth to myself as I fight for joy. Motherhood has been for me a journey of choosing to trust, choosing to praise. So I think changing the name of my blog will first of all better describe what my blog is about (and be less awkward for people who link to my blog...I imagine my pastor, for example, feels a little weird when he shares an article on Facebook from someplace called "Lavender *Sparkles*"!).

And I think it will be yet another way to preach to myself--a built-in reminder, every time I open Blogger, that this is what I am called to do, this is what I want, this is what God will provide grace for: to choose hallelujah, to say in my weakness, Lord, I trust that You are good. In Your presence there is fullness of JOY. Give me grace to praise You. Or in other words, "Whatever's in front of me, help me to sing hallelujah."

Acceptance = Peace

I was emailing a friend earlier today to encourage her, and stopped as I found myself typing this line:

I am finding that when I accept what *is* without focusing so much on what “should” be or what I wish was, our house (and my heart) is a lot more peaceful.

Isn't that so true???! If only I could actually remember it, in the midst of trying parenting moments!

I can spend my time fuming about the things that go wrong. I can internally grumble and complain about  all the parts of my life that aren't fun and all the things I'd rather be doing. I can shame my kids, use harsh words, display my resentment and damage our relationship.

Or I can accept what is. I can deal with what comes each day, not what I wish would come or what some artificial ideal in my head says *should* come. I can trust that God has ordained all things, even this, for my good and for His glory. And I can ask Him for the grace to respond to what IS in a way that honors Him and serves my family.

A friend of mine gave me this wise advice a few months ago when I was venting my frustration over a particular issue with Elijah:

Amy Carmichael, a missionary who cared for orphans in India for 55 years, said it best when she wrote, "In acceptance lieth peace." I've found in my life that acceptance is everything. When trials come, I tend to go into fight mode. As Paul prayed for God to take his thorn away, I cry out over and over for God to take my trials away. God has responded to me the same way He responded to Paul: "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." 

So these days, while I still pray that God would do something supernatural in many of my circumstances, I also pray for the strength and patience to endure whatever He allows to come my way. I pray for joy, acceptance and contentment in everything I experience. I pray He would grow me to the point where I will truly consider my trials to be opportunities for joy.

Great stuff. Praying today that I will have eyes to see the beauty around me, a mind to know that God is present regardless of how I feel, and a heart to trust Him, choose gratitude, and rest in Him as I face what He has ordained.

Related:
My Portion
Divine Love Put Me Here
Joy. Here.

Joy. Here.

Friday afternoon found me sitting outside, massaging my temples, willing myself to choose gratitude over resentment, truth over emotions. Despite the blessings of our trip, let's just say it had been a long week on the road with my boys (1100 miles, three beds in four nights, no Daddy).

As I sat on our back patio thanking God for bugs chirping and wind blowing through leafy branches and sunlight creating patterns and shadows on the ground, I tried to preach truth to myself. My mind went to a familiar favorite, Psalm 16, as I reminded myself that "the lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance" (v. 6). Then I thought about the last verse:

"...in your presence there is fullness of joy..." (Psalm 16:11)

If there is fullness of joy in His presence...and He is present everywhere, inescapable, never leaving or forsaking me...then there is joy HERE.

I think I've always read this verse as a hopeful Heaven promise. You know, on That Day, when every tear is wiped away, and sin and satan are forever destroyed, when we stand in the presence of God, *that's* where fullness of joy is. Here, today? Not so much.

But Friday afternoon, as I sat breathing deeply and willing Steve to pull in the driveway, it occurred to me that I have limited the scope of joy. It may be hiding. It is not all sunshine and rainbows; it may not look like I expect or think I prefer. I will have to fight to choose it. But I am in His presence here. That means there is joy here.

On days like today, I am not honestly sure how. But over and over and over again, God is trying to teach me to believe Him and fight for joy and choose to praise Him here, now. In His presence there is fullness of joy and He is *here* and joy is here. I will tell myself until I know it to be true.

Related:

My Portion

Calling it Beautiful

Despising the Pleasant Land

Something Better

On Monday I was supposed to take the boys to a friend's house for a playdate. I was SO looking forward to it, as this is a relatively new friend, and it seems we never can get enough time to talk. So you can imagine my dismay when I woke up early Monday morning with crusty, ouchy eyes. Pinkeye. AWESOME.

My first thought, in my grouchy six a.m. fog, was to be angry. I felt disappointed and resentful. I think it would be slightly melodramatic to be all "Why, God?" on the level of a response to a cancer diagnosis...but I'm not gonna lie, I was exhibiting a milder (and perhaps uglier) "Seriously, Lord? Seriously?"

My next thought was hopeful: Maybe God is making this fall through because He has something better in mind. I don't have my regular Tuesday night prayer with friends tomorrow, so maybe my friend and I can meet for coffee tomorrow night instead (we'd done that on a Tuesday night once before). That would be way better than a playdate today anyway, because we'd get a couple of hours for *uninterrupted* conversation, rather than trying to talk and also parent five small children!

I called my friend, and she agreed that she didn't really want me and my pinkeye at her house. And, as it turned out, we were in fact able to get together on Tuesday night instead. Toward the end of our time together, after about three wonderful hours of really great heart-level conversation on various topics, I was sharing all the above. My main question was, "Why am I so quick to assume the worst of God? Why am I so quick to assign negative intent, to jump to the conclusion that He is stingy, that He doesn't want to give me good gifts, etc.?"

But my friend nailed me with a more fundamental issue. As I replayed the scene of Monday morning, expressing my thought, "Maybe God has something better in store," she interrupted me: "He did."

No "maybe" about it. "He did, definitely, have something better in mind." For a split second, I assumed she was referring to the time we'd just shared that had proven the fact, thinking as I was: "He *did* have something better in store, because here we sit and tonight has been such a blessing!" But she pressed: "He definitely did have something better in mind--EVEN IF this hadn't worked out. What He brings is always best."

My reaction in the moment of being denied something I wanted revealed my heart. Sadly, it exposed unbelief and idolatry there: "God doesn't really love me, isn't really good, doesn't really want to give me good things." The original lie.

Worse, my idolatrous heart thought that the answer to that lie was God's providing what I wanted. He was vindicated in my mind when He gave me something that clearly, from my perspective, was better--a coffee date instead of a playdate. He is kind and gentle to do this sometimes in spite of me--but my friend's admonition was needed. His love and His goodness, the gospel truths that He is for me and gives me all things pertaining to life and godliness, mean that what He gives is best. However it looks to my limited perspective, these circumstances are best. If my plans fall through, it is always, always because He has something better in mind.

Funny thing, in the middle of writing this post I got distracted and popped over to look at Twitter. Scotty Smith's most recent tweet pretty well sums it up:

Related ("Other Times I Have Preached This Same Truth to Myself"):

Despising the Pleasant Land

My Portion

Hemmed In

Calling it Beautiful

Besieged

After thinking about the word "hem" in Psalm 139:5, I decided to look up the Hebrew and go deeper. And I was taken aback by what I found. Strong's definition of the word:

"to cramp, confine (in many applications, literally and figuratively, formative or hostile)"

I proceeded to look up the other Old Testament uses of the word and found that nearly every other instance was translated "besiege." The English word "besiege" means:

"beset or surround with armed forces for the purpose of compelling to surrender"

And Wikipedia had this to say about a siege:

"military blockade of a city or fortress with the intent of conquering by attrition [wearing down to the point of collapse due to loss of resources] or assault...Sieges involve surrounding the target and blocking the reinforcement or escape of troops or provision of supplies."

Well. That's a little different than a neatly sewn hem and my nice little thoughts about not unraveling...

I wondered: In what ways does God surround me and force me to give up, compel me to surrender? Not just in the beginning, when He captured my heart and redeemed me, but now?

I remembered a study on Hosea I did in college with some precious friends. We learned about how God, in His severe mercy, stripped Israel of all her resources, led her into the wilderness, naked and barren...so that He could allure her. Even, "Therefore I will hedge up her way with thorns, and I will build a wall around her, so that she cannot find her paths" (Hosea 2:6). Ouch.

She was running after false gods, betraying Him with other lovers--so He simply, in a perfect, harmonious balance of justice and mercy, sped up the inevitable disillusionment and disappointment and loss that would result when those gods couldn't ultimately deliver. And then He showed her in that wilderness that He alone could deliver, provide, delight.

And so He besieges me. He sees me playing the whore, running everywhere but to Him, and He puts up the walls. He surrounds me. He blocks supplies from getting in when they would reinforce my trust in idols; He blocks me from escaping and seeking refuge elsewhere. He merely asks that I surrender.

Instead, to my shame, I often squirm and complain that I feel cramped and confined. I throw myself against the fence.

But the truth is that despite the word's range of definition, in this application, God cannot be "hostile"--because I am in Christ. Christ drank fully the cup of God's wrath; there is no wrath or hostility left for me, only love and grace. Therefore this siege must be "formative," an act of that same severe mercy that Hosea recorded. God wants to shape me into the image of His Son. So He hems me in, behind and before.

And when *I* am tempted to be hostile, or to accuse Him of hostility, I read the second half of the verse: "and lay your hand upon me." I trust that this is not a fist to crush me, but a hand of protection, of comfort and reassurance. It is the hand that was pierced by a nail on a cross. It tells me that He has confined me, besieged me, for my good and for His glory. It invites me to see this wall not as a fence that cramps my style, keeps me from better places, keeps good things out--but as a hem that keeps my life from unraveling and falling apart. His hand prompts me to declare again, to preach to my unbelieving self,

"The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance" (Psalm 16:6).

And so I thank Him. I thank Him that when I was dead in my sin and hostile to Him, He besieged me with His love and compelled me to surrender, conquered my wayward heart. I thank Him that I continue to be surrounded by Him, by His steadfast love and boundless grace. I thank Him for the hem, the wall, the fence that protects me from wandering off with idols and keeps me securely in His hand. I thank Him for ordaining the circumstances of my life, even when I think I would rather have different ones, in the way that He knows is the very best for me. I thank Him for His sovereignty, His power, His wisdom and His love.

"Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
it is high; I cannot attain it" (Psalm 139:6).

Hemmed In

"You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me" (Psalm 139:5).

What does it mean to be "hemmed in" by God? A hem is sewn into fabric to keep it from unraveling, fraying, losing shape and falling apart. A hem makes a garment exactly the right length.

As I reflected on this verse a few weeks ago, my mind went to "In your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there were none of them" (Psalm 139:16), and then to Psalm 16:5-6 - "The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup; you hold my lot. The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance."

God has hemmed me into this day. The mistakes of the past are secured behind me, covered by Christ's blood. The unknowns of the future are secured before me, resting in His trustworthy, sovereign hands. I have only to live today, here. Today is a day He formed for me before I was even born--and even better, His hand is on me today!

He has sewn up the boundary lines so that this day doesn't have to unravel, so that I need not have frayed nerves, so that I don't fall apart. He has expertly tailored this day--the right length, the right shape. I have only to trust Him in this; to cling to the hand that is upon me, that upholds me; to praise Him for His sovereign, faithful care; to thank Him for the present and realize that He is Present.

[see also: hemmed = besieged]

Despising the Pleasant Land

The other day I was reading Psalm 106: a brief and sorry history of the Israelites and how they were such losers even in spite of all God did for them. As I read, I was particularly struck by verse 24: "Then they despised the pleasant land, having no faith in his promise."

What a heartbreaking indictment in the middle of a depressing psalm! Over and over He was so good, so faithful to them...over and over they disobeyed, rebelled, forgot and strayed. And if I'm honest, I have to admit that this is my own history, too. As I look back over the last three years of motherhood--or over my entire life, in various circumstances where I have been discontent--I know that I have so often despised the pleasant land.

God's Word not only says that children are a blessing, a heritage from Him...but it also says that He has set the boundary lines for me in pleasant places. Rather than adopting His perspective, choosing to see and give thanks, I have often been an Israelite, grumbling and complaining, running after idols, cowering in unbelieving fear. I have lacked faith in His promises to provide the grace I need, His promises that He has ordained my circumstances and is committed to my good.

May God have mercy on me and increase my faith--may He give me grace to remember, to see, to believe His promises--to love the pleasant land of motherhood that He has placed me in, knowing that although it is sometimes a land of trials, and I may sometimes think other lands look more appealing...it is a land He has brought me to in love and blessing, a land He says is pleasant--a land where He is PRESENT, and thus it is holy ground. Because of the cross, I can trust His love and know that "The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup; you hold my lot. The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance" (Psalm 16:5-6).

If you keep reading in Psalm 106, you find hope and mercy and grace there, too. God is good and His steadfast love endures forever...His mighty deeds are beyond naming or counting...even when His people rebel, He saves us and chooses to use us to make His mighty power known...He has saved us and will save us from the hand of the foe...He has redeemed us from the power of the enemy! He looks upon our distress--even when it is self-inflicted--He hears our cries and remembers His promises and treats us according to His steadfast love, not according to what our sins deserve.

How thankful I am to serve such a mighty and merciful God--one who didn't abandon the Israelites and who promises never to abandon me, despite all the times that I lack faith in His promises and despise the pleasant land.

Calling it Beautiful

I wrote the following several months ago, as part of my self-counseling project for the class I took last fall. Mornings generally look different these days, but this week I am needing to re-preach these truths to myself. Thought maybe a few of you might benefit from the overhearing...

After rising early and having quiet time, I have been on the computer for a while before my two-year-old wakes up. When I hear him, I bring him downstairs, change his diaper. Eager to play, he doesn’t care about eating. So instead of fixing breakfast immediately and starting the day’s tasks, I return to the computer. I don’t feel like making eggs and oatmeal, sitting at the table for what seems like an eternity while Elijah eats. I only want to do what’s easy, pleasant, convenient―and breakfast with a toddler is none of these.

No matter how many earnest pep talks I hear, I don’t really believe the everyday tasks of a mother/homemaker are significant; to be honest, I’m bored with them. Or in another sense, I’m intimidated by them―I’m afraid of not doing them well. The computer was more interesting, and didn’t require much of me.

When I finally start breakfast, Elijah suddenly realizes he’s hungry. He whines impatiently, and I snap at him. I haven’t connected with him at all except in irritation; instead, I’ve communicated that other things are more important than serving and loving him. He’s oblivious at two, but he’ll sense this keenly at four, six, ten.

The time I spent at the computer is time I no longer have to complete today’s necessary tasks. Later this afternoon or evening, I’ll feel discouraged, frazzled, guilty or stressed because I don’t have time to finish my work. Inevitably, those emotions will tempt me to escape again.

By deeming my job uninteresting and tiresome, I’ve ignored the truth that “God is so great that all things give Him glory―if you mean that they should” (St. Ignatius Loyola). I’ve forgotten that somehow, even if I don’t understand the dynamic, God receives my oatmeal-fixing and face-wiping and “eat two bites of egg and then you can have another grape” negotiating as spiritual acts of worship (Romans 12:1).

These monotonous, unglamorous breakfasts are the lines God determined for my life. He arranged my circumstances, my portion, my lot (Psalm 16:5-6). He prepared in advance good works for me to do―in this time, in this place (Ephesians 2:10). So the ordinary tasks I face today are the ones God laid out for me. He calls them good, and He ordains that I walk in them.

Father, forgive my unbelief. You need nothing, and yet You accept the smallest acts of duty as acts of worship, if only they are infused with love. I have refused to offer the small, pretending instead that greater things would be more valuable―deluded in thinking even the grandest thing I did would be more than a speck of dust in Your hands. Teach me to lay down my pretensions of “something greater” and love in this way, in these moments, in the good works You carefully laid out not for someone else to do, but for me to do. Teach me to love over eggs and oatmeal.

When I finally get up from the computer, I can choose to replace guilt and shame with repentance and grace. As I make breakfast, I can ask God to nourish my soul with the truth of the gospel as I nourish Elijah’s little body with protein and fiber. By His grace, I will return impatient whining with gentle words, even an apology―no matter if it is not yet understood; I am laying down paths that will be easier to walk later for having been forged today. And tomorrow, I will choose breakfast instead of blogs. I will choose the portion and cup that have been chosen for me, the good works God has prepared for me to do.

I can’t see beauty when I’m escaping, hiding. The lot doesn’t look grand and glorious when I’m staring at the fence, contemplating how to climb over and get out. But when I turn around and believe what God says about this portion, these boundary lines, His perspective can become my own. I can call my inheritance beautiful.

When I serve my son gladly, even in mundane and frustrating tasks―when I set eggs and oatmeal before him each morning promptly, with no yelling―he will feel secure and loved. As he grows, he will see his mama serving a God who is good, whose purposes are loving and wise. He will learn that whatever our portion looks like, it is good because it is from the sovereign Lord, and because He is in it―He is my portion.

My Portion

"The LORD is my portion;

I promise to keep your words."

--Psalm 119:57

"The LORD is my chosen portion and my cup;

you hold my lot.

The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;

indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance."

--Psalm 16:5-6

The most fundamental truth about my circumstances is not my material goods, my marital status, my children, career, church situation, friendships, trials or successes. The most fundamental truth about my circumstances is "the LORD."

I live in Tennessee. / My citizenship is in heaven.
I have a husband. / The LORD is my betrothed, and He is preparing me for the Marriage Supper of the Lamb.
I am a mother. / The LORD is my Father.
I stay at home. / The LORD is with me.

When I think of "my circumstances," I shouldn't think primarily of the external, visible truths about my life. I should look to invisible, spectacular realities: The Great I AM.

Wherever I am, I am in Christ. Whatever I am doing can be for His glory. Whatever I have is a gift from His hand--and pales in comparison with the gift of Himself. Whatever I lack, He has graciously withheld because it is not what I need. I need Him--and He is.

I can be content with the arrangements of my life not because I am delighted with the particulars themselves, but because I am His and He is mine. Whatever my circumstances, the LORD is my portion--and that means the lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance.

Divine Love Put Me Here

In light of my question below, thought I'd post a wonderful thought from one of my favorite blogs, Girl Talk. Nicole Whitacre posted this last week and it was definitely a word from God that I needed to hear. She quoted from Morning and Evening, a devotional by Charles Spurgeon that I've heard highly recommended but have not yet checked out. The emphasis is mine:

“Believer…you should be satisfied with your earthly portion; for you may rest assured that it is the fittest for you. Unerring wisdom ordained your lot, and selected for you the safest and best condition…Remember this, had any other condition been better for you than the one in which you are, divine love would have put you there. You are placed by God in the most suitable circumstances…Be content with such things as you have, since the Lord has ordered all things for your good. Take up your own daily cross; it is the burden best suited for your shoulder, and will prove most effective to make you perfect in every good word and work to the glory of God.

Trials must and will befall—
But with humble faith to see
Love inscribed upon them all;
This is happiness to me.”

Nicole added:

So whether your portion be big or small, difficult or pleasant, whether your daily cross be light (a fussy toddler like I have) or heavy (widowhood like the woman who wrote to us recently), remember that Divine Love has put you there, and so there is the best place to be.

A helpful reminder. After all, I guess God knows better than I do what is the best way to conform me into the image of His Son...and if there were circumstances that would allow Him to do so more effectively, I'd be in them.