stillness

There are days where I lose stillness.

More than quiet. More than neatness. More than being alone.

It's stillness of mind.


Most days my mind works on hyper-drive -- racing from thought to thought to thought to thought. And as it races I begin to race from thing to thing to thing to thing. And then as I'm racing around I begin to think that I'm late or behind or I need to do this or I must do this or is the laundry is done or the bills need to be paid or I need to start dinner or the kids need new shoes or the lawn is scraggly or I haven't done my quiet time yet or there are crumbs on the floor or the kids are yelling outside or I need to have a garage sale or I'll never catch up or Celiac Disease overwhelms me at times or I need to exercise and or and or and or and or.

Exhausted.

All day.

It's easy to do. I've got a plate {or plates} loaded with responsibilities and issues to take care of and things where I just have to wait {which is hard} and just daily life to do. I see catalogs and tv shows and blogs and others and think that I need to do all that stuff or have this or the kids need do that to be successful. I let myself compare and find myself discontent. I make myself keep busy. Moving. Trying to make up for my own insecurities.

There is no stillness in that. Only chaos.

I have to choose.

To live intentional.

Being still.

So I stop. I grab my luke-warm decaf coffee in the yellow Duluth mug and slip out to the deck. I sit down on the worn top step -- a step in need of staining -- and stare at the garden in front of me watching as the summer breeze rocks the pea blossoms back and forth. The setting sun dips into the horizon, and as it does the world is illuminated in it's late light splendor. The kids are laughing in the background as they kick the half-inflated blue and white soccer ball around the yard. I choose to sit. And close my weary eyes.

Lord, let me place these anxieties, these worries, these comparisons at your feet. You know my needs, you know my heart. Fill me with the peace that only you can give. Let me be still.

The list of things to do slows down. Becomes blessings.

This world and all it's urgent agendas begins to fade with the setting sun.

Now, at this moment there is stillness.

Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect. {Romans 12:2}

it is well with my soul

This Sunday I'm sharing -- just a bit -- at the Christmas Women's Event for our church.  There's a bit of irony in my story -- as I'm sharing on peace -- and my life, at least right now, is so far from peace that I don't know how to begin.  As I raced from destination to destination today, buckling and unbuckling kids, and going over my never-ending mental to-do list I found my stress level ramping higher and higher.

And I'm to talk about peace?

Maybe it's not about December being peaceful.  Because, seriously, unless you live in the middle of nowhere with no internet, television, phone, car service, and more I don't know how December can be anything but mildly busy.  Certainly  not peaceful.

Yet, there's still peace in my heart. 

Peace found in snippets of time throughout my day.

Peace isn't about having all the ducks-in-a-row and everything quiet.  I could waste my life trying to find peace that way -- time would keep moving and instead of peace I'd be brewing bitterness, or jealousy, or sadness.  Peace is recognizing the beauty of NOW.  Enjoying the moments placed in our lives -- living fully -- and grateful. My life could be a mess and yet there still can be peace in my soul.

I just need to embrace it -- love the moments I've been blessed with.  Samuel's smile. Brennan's laughter. Hannah's singing.  Caleb's hug. Chloe's servant's heart. Elijah's silliness.  Gracie's "i love you's." Todd's faithfulness.  That's peace in the midst of everything.

The irony?  I start writing thinking my life is too crazy to have peace and I discover that my life is full of peace.   Maybe not peace like we'd imagine.  Or at least I'd imagine -- you know perfect stillness -- and yet, really, when you think of that first Christmas the setting was the farthest thing from peace.  There in a barn, with straw as a bed, perfect peace was found. Not in the environment, but in our Savior.

Beautiful.  Absolutely beautiful.

For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders.  And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, and Prince of Peace. (Isaiah 9:6)

today

Do it well.

That's my motto right now.  Whatever I do, no matter what, I want to do it well.

With all of my heart.

Be it diaper changes.  Correcting algebra. Teaching phonics. Cooking dinner.  Wiping spilled milk. Mowing the lawn. Listening. Cleaning the kitchen. Folding towels. Playing a game. Sweeping the floor. Driving to ballet. Talking with friends. Reading a story. Handling conflict. Raking Leaves. Ordering coffee. Vacuuming. Picking up toys.

There is contentment found in enjoying the moment.  It's a peace that so easily slips away.  I want to be aware  of this time, of the posture of my heart.  Am I racing to finish? Or am I recognizing the blessing in the task? The time?

Like now.  I'm blessed to hear Hannah reading to Elijah -- his sweet body nestled against big sister as she lovingly reads.  I'm loving my coffee.  The warmth of the mug that my hand surrounds.  There's joy in watching little Samuel take those quick steps between chairs -- and the happiness he shows. I hear my older boys creating an elaborate story upstairs.  And there's beauty as the warm October morning sun shines through my window.

I'm grateful.

****

By the way thank you for all of the encouraging emails and comments yesterday.  You blessed me.

And, just in case you've had some itching for a picture of Samuel -- worry no more -- here's one of my new faves. And, no, I haven't cut that baby hair -- yet. :)

sets

I'm wondering how my boys can mess their room up in under ten minutes.  It doesn't seem fair -- they seem to have a gift for creating chaos.  Yet, they tell me that they "needed that lone lego piece" for their set.  That piece which happens to be on the bottom of the lego box.

And, yes, I've taken away toys.

And, yes, they help me clean up.

They still make the messes.

They call them -- their sets.

So are they really messes??

Whose lens, whose eyes am I looking at the pile of toys arranged on their beds.  Am I looking at them through the parent's eyes -- eyes that are fatigued, and not wanting to clean?  Or am I looking at them through the eyes of my five year old inventor.

To him -- my idea of a mess -- is his idea of beauty.

Ironic, isn't it?  Somehow I knew there would be a lesson for me.  I just knew it.  God loves to teach me through my children.  My lesson?  That my messy life -- not put together, with all my struggles and insecurities, and failings, and sorrows can be beautiful.

Beauty that is defined by the Lord.   Not me.  Or the world.  Or others.  But, Him, my Creator.

And gradually, what I perceive as a mess can become beautiful.

(no, this is not a mess.  This is a shot of one of our favorite games Rivers, Roads and Rails.  I love how the chaos of cards can be put together to make a beautiful path.  Like life.)


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And, I'm linking to Miscellany Monday.  I know it's late.  And not all that miscellaneous -- but it does ramble -- from a mess to priorities to a lesson for me.  Grin. I hope it counts! 

reclaiming family

I need to draw a line in the sand.

It's not an easy line to draw.

This mark,  this line, is antithetical to what I perceive as society's view of normal.

That view, that belief?  That normal = busy.

It feels as if the measure of success for families is directly proportional to the level of activities participated in.

Is it too busy?  At what point do we begin to lose the beauty of family?  For instance, we are spending over 40 hours a week on busy activities.  Driving here and there -- racing around, dropping off, picking up -- living with each other in bursts of conversations.  And now, we're exhausted.  But more importantly I've noticed that we're losing family.

There are fewer dinners gathered around our too small table.

With fewer dinners together there's fewer times cooking together, playing games together, listening to each other and praying together. 

I need to draw that line.

But, it's hard.  That line represents saying no to activities that on their own are excellent.  Yet added together these beautiful excursions subtly invade every facet of our lives.  What do I want my children to remember?  The frenetic, crazy life?  Or the simplicity of breaking bread together.  Or serving others.  Being together.

Deep down, I want family.  I want to reclaim what has been subtly taken from me in the disguise of "your kids need to do all these things" to have a happy and filled childhood.  I'm beginning to believe otherwise.  My children want family.  Yes, they love their activities, but deep down?  They love laughing with each other.  Learning. Reading.  Spending time together.

We're given a finite time with our children in our homes. Sadly, I've allowed the so called urgent needs to displace our own fellowship. I've been pondering what they'll remember when they are adults -- is it better to remember being involved in hours of activities? -- or is it better to see parents who said "no" and created memories together as a family? 

I just need the courage, the boldness, to draw that line.

To rest securely in being different, knowing that for our family, it's what's needed.

I need to reclaim family.

How about you?  My challenge -- look at your life, your schedule, your day -- where do you need to pare back, to reclaim your family?  Your family, your kids -- they're only young --once.

(all of these pictures were taken today at the apple orchard.  today we spent time together.  as a family.  and it was good.)

letting go of this

You need this.

Buy this.

If you have this product your life will be a breeze.

This curriculum will make your kids smart.

This van will make driving easy.

This is how your kids need to behave.

This is how you need to look.

This is the church you need to go to.

If you would follow this simple program you can be happy.

This is how your lawn should look.

You let your kids watch this on television?

This day is only successful if you get all this done.

Lost your temper?  This day is not worth redeeming.

This is your response?  You don't have patience.

This is success.

_________________________________

What is this? My inbox, my mail, and my mind are cluttered with these notions of things that I don't have and things that I seem to need. I read the catalogs of homeschool rescources and gradually begin to think that what I have is not enough. That I'm missing out. That my kids are missing out. I look at the food in the organic section, read articles on gmos, and get stressed over the food. I walk through the fitness aisle at Target and feel guilt when I see the numerous dvds on working out.

I start to feel as if I fail.

No longer am I content. Instead my mind races from this to this to this -- spinning itself into a flurry of anxiety. I want the cycle to stop. Yet, the world and all it's labels wants to scream fail deep into my spirit.

How to let it go? How to say NO when it's all around.

It's not of me. Well, it is -- in the choice to seek my identity first in Christ. But, honestly blogging, it's so hard. It's difficul to be content when I focus on what I don't have.  My mind seems to be looking for all the this things that I don't have.  And gradually, I've been finding myself filled with anxiety.

Yesterday, as I was driving to the homeschool store I realized (again) how I was living by emotion -- driven by all the  jargon of the world.  My hands were gripping the wheel, and I missed out on the beautiful country side.  My heart raced, as my thoughts scrambled.

I wasn't living in peace.  I was living in the world.  Jesus said,

Peace I give to you.

He gives it.  A gift.  I was ignoring His peace and living on the world's peace.  And, friends, there is no peace if the world is your platform.  I know.  So I write about it.  Again.  Because, truly, living by the Spirit isn't a one time decision.  It's daily.  Hourly.

Right now?  I'm struggling.  But, I'm trying.  And part of trying, for me, is writing about it.  And being real that I struggle with this.

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.

(John 14:27)

beyond emotion

Lately I've been waking in the middle of the night filled with anxiety and worry.  My body is tired, yet my brain is alert and racing through thoughts.  The last couple of nights I've even woke Todd -- only to have him calmly say,

Have you prayed about this?

Have you given it over to Jesus?

Can you let it go?

Let it go?  How in the world does one let go of something that wakes them from slumber?  Yet, deep down, I know that I am desperately clinging onto my worry.  Somehow I've equated a good worry with getting God's attention -- see God?  It's really bothering me so please notice -- those were my thoughts.  So I wake up.  And fret.

And sin.

You see, when I allowed my brain to cycle through worry I wasn't living in faith.  I was living in the ideas and emotions of this world.  God goes beyond emotions.  The world tells me to fear.  Or that I'm a failure.  Or that it will never work out.  And that creates anxiety.  And worry.  Yet, the Lord, in His Word, says,

Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear....  (Matthew 6:25a)

The Scripture doesn't say that it's okay to worry 15 minutes and let it go.  Or if  you worry enough then the Lord will see that you need help.  No.  It simply says do not worry.  So when I wake up and cling to my worry then I am not being obedient to Him, my gracious God. My God who goes way beyond the worldly emotion that so often dictates my attitude and mood. He is solid, unchanging, truth.

But it's hard.  It's challenging when all that we currently know is of this world.  I would tell my husband that there was no way I could stop worrying---what if things fell apart?  Yet, he calmly and confidently told me to give it to Jesus.

So I did.

And the next thing I knew it was 5:30 am and sweet Samuel was softly crying in his crib waiting to nurse.

And Jesus said, Peace be with you. (John 20:20)