Expectations

But then I recall all you have done, O Lord;

I remember your wonderful deeds of long ago.

You are the God of great wonders!

 You demonstrate your awesome power among the nations. 

Psalm 77:11, 14

Do you know that feeling, in December, when the dishwasher repairman comes to your house to let you know that it will be $300 to fix the control board on your old dishwasher?  How about when you work for what seems like hours to track down a person who can fix your hot water heater, only to be told that it would be best to just replace the entire thing? Do you know that feeling of not knowing where the money will come from to pay for broken appliances during this month of gift-buying?

That was me.  That was us.  Our dishwasher broke the weekend after Thanksgiving. No problem--we can hand wash dishes in the sink for a while.  But then our hot water heater went out. We were warming up water on the stove so that we could hand wash dishes in the sink.  I was making arrangements to drive to a friend's house so we could shower and give the boys a bath.  This was not really how I had expected on spending my spare time in December.

I was expecting to be making cookies.  I was expecting to be mailing out Christmas cards.  I was expecting to be listening to music by the light of the Christmas tree.  I was expecting to put the finishing touches on gifts.  I was not expecting to be heating pots of water;  I was not expecting to use my dish drying towels after every meal.

But this Advent season, God had some expectations of what he needed to show me. First, he orchestrated some events so that my parents would be living with us for a while, and it just so happens that they are happy to help out by doing dishes. Second, he worked through an experienced friend at church who came and fixed our hot water heater by simply replacing a part. Third, he aligned circumstances in another family's life that caused them to no longer need the dishwasher they currently use; so they offered their fully-functional dishwasher to us.

Check, check, check.  

God's lavish provision exponentially exceeded whatever unmet expectations I had.

It's at those times when my Love and I just stand humbly before God in disbelief and ask, "Really?!? Now you're just showing off."

Two weeks ago, I believed that I would be disappointed and stressed by not having my Christmas projects finished on time and be $1000 in the hole thanks to new appliances.  That was my expectation.

God took the liberty to shatter those expectations.

Yes, God has some expectations for me this Advent season.  He expected to continue his work of teaching me how to trust in him.  He expected to show me once again how his riches far surpass my imagination.  And he expected to remind me that his gifts do not usually take the form that most people expect.

I was expecting a working dishwasher and hot water from my tap.  Those things were taken from me, and instead I got unexpected surprises and the joy of knowing that the God of the universe has things under his control.

What a perfect time of year to be reminded that God does not come to us in the ways in which we expect.

He came into the very world he created, but the world didn’t recognize him. He came to his own people, and even they rejected him. But to all who believed him and accepted him, he gave the right to become children of God. John 1:10-12

My Way

But you, O Bethlehem Ephrathah, who are too little to be among the clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me one who is to be ruler in Israel, whose coming forth is from of old, from ancient days. Micah 5:2

A couple of nights ago, the boys and I got to hang up ornaments on our tree.  I LOVE hanging the tree ornaments.  I love making everything look just beautiful on the backdrop of evergreen.  When I was a girl, I would try to talk my dad into setting up the tree earlier and earlier each year... that is, until I moved away to college.  Then I would beg him to wait until I after I got home for the break.  Once I was married, Dave and I would set aside a special night, usually the weekend after Thanksgiving, where we would play our favorite Christmas music and take our time decorating our little tree.

But hanging ornaments with two small boys is very different than hanging ornaments with my dad or with Dave.

Even before the box from the garage was opened, there was energy in the air.  As soon as I gingerly removed the first ornaments from their hibernation, I felt like I had stepped into the Belmont Stakes. Noah was pulling ornaments out of the box faster than we could get them on the tree. Fragile ones, sentimental ones, wooden ones, and plastic ones all piled onto the couch in one giant mess of color and hanging wire. Zeke broke two of them within five minutes. There was no background music, there was no careful placement, there was no appreciation of sentiment or order.  It was chaos. And it was not how it was supposed to be.

In record time, the sprint was over.  The ornaments were out of the box and on the tree (minus the two broken ones).  As I put away the tissue paper and ornament boxes, I secretly was wishing that I could have done it my way. 

If I would have done it my way, none of the ornaments would have been broken. The beautiful ornaments would have had prominent placing and the trinket-y ones would have been gathered toward the rear side.  The bows and glass balls would have been evenly spaced. There would have been soothing music and deliberate movement.

But that would not have been the best way.  The best way was sharing the time together, chaotic as it was.  The best way was teaching my two young boys about gentleness and forgiveness.  The best way was sharing stories and memories. The best way was seeing their outward excitement mirror my inward excitement. The best way was having my way messed up.

Because, more often than not, my way is not the best.  More often than not, my way is focused on the wrong goals. More often than not, my way is too narrow to be aware of anything bigger and better.

God continually challenges me as his child, and as a parent to his children, to give up my way in order to take on his way, which he promises is always the best.  He doesn't let me work my way into his graces; he offers mercy and forgiveness instead. He doesn't let me figure everything out; he shows me my need for him instead. He doesn't let me determine what the day brings; he leads me along his path for me instead. 

He doesn't let me focus on all of the "stuff" of this season; he draws my eyes back to himself -- a baby bringing me salvation in a way that I would have never supposed.

“Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel” (which means, God with us). Matthew 1:23

Abundance

I woke up this morning at 3:00 to take my husband to the airport.

And now that I'm back home, I'm reveling in the sounds of a quiet house.  The occasional deep breath that my four-year-old takes, while he's asleep in my bed. The hum of the heater as it kicks in to warm the cool morning air. The sporadic snort from my parents who slumber away in the guest room. The crunch-crunch that marks our cat's completion of her meal last night. The complete silence from my two year old, who has been sleeping for the last 14 hours, more or less.

And then there's me, awake with the cat, my Rescuer, and my thoughts.

As I look back on this week and try to soak it all in before the chaos of December ensues, I am thankful for God's divine abundance in reaching out to me, to speak to my heart through the mud and muck in which I so easily find myself.

On Monday, when I was overwhelmed at the thought of all that needed to be accomplished this week--the dishes, the shopping, the food prep, the LAUNDRY, the cleaning, the organizing, the entertaining--God was at work organizing a "daddy-daughter date" to the grocery store. My dad offered to join me on my daunting trip of Thanksgiving food shopping that night.  We somehow found ourselves on the topic of Laundry Day, and what it looked like in his home when he was growing up in the '40s with seven siblings and a widowed mother: 

He and a few others had the job of going out to pump the water, which then they would bring by buckets into the house, to fill large pots on the stove.  Once the water on the stove was warm enough, his mother would carry it, potful by potful, across the kitchen, through their back entry room, and into the "wash kitchen." Once the wash tubs had enough water, she would add the laundry and turn on a machine in the wash tub that would agitate the clothes.  Then she would transfer them to another wash tub (which she also needed to fill up with water), then wring it out through the electric wringer, then rinse it in the rinse tub, which thankfully could be filled with cold water that the children would bring in from the pump.  Then she would wring the clothes again, and hang them up to dry.

In a matter of five minutes, my job of laundry went from feeling overwhelming to feeling like a vacation.

On Tuesday, when I didn't know how I would get all of the food preparations done and the logistics of hosting a meal for more people than I had chairs or silverware, God seemed to take my hand and lead me to a quiet place where he could show me how he was taking care of everything. My brother could bring silverware; my love could borrow some folding chairs from church. Easy for the care-taker of the universe.

On and on it went.  I worried. God redirected my heart.

And so, by the time I reached Thanksgiving Day, it didn't matter one bit that I burned the bottoms of both pans of stuffing or that we got started eating almost an hour behind schedule.

God planned a gorgeous day--the warmest and one of the sunniest days of the month.  We were able to have our meal outside, where there was plenty of room and no one was in the least bit cramped. God orchestrated a lovely gathering of people who were called to be his children, and who also happen to be relatives. Love abounded. Thanks abounded. Laughter abounded. Sparkling cider abounded.

God's provision abounded and abounds and will abound.

And my heart abounds with thanks.

Waiting

You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, 

because he trusts in you. 

Isaiah 26:3

I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living!

Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord! 

Psalm 27:13-14

About a month ago, my boys caught a virus from preschool. The tiny little bumps of Hand, Foot and Mouth emerged on the bottoms of Zeke's feet one day, and on Noah's several days later. We spent the week working on potty training and raking leaves because we were house-bound.

It's times like those that make me very thankful that the boys like being home.

On the heels of their sickness, I acquired a low-grade fever.  Not high enough to take Tylonol, not low enough to where I felt normal.  I stayed home from church because I wasn't sure if I was contagious with anything.  Dave slept in the living room because he didn't want to catch anything. But then 24 hours extended to three days, and I began to wonder if I should be doing something about my temperature. The nurse assured me that it was fine as long as it didn't get above a certain degree.  Three days turned into six. The doctor was not concerned, as long as the temperature didn't get higher. Six days turned into two weeks. I went in for a check up; I got blood work done (twice); I drank lots of water. Still no reason for my fever.  And yet it continued.

For most of the days during this time, I struggled to go on with my daily activities.  Mind you, I was also in my first trimester with our third child at the time. The fever wiped me clean of whatever energy I had leftover from growing a tiny person. Instead of kicking the ball back and forth with the boys in the back yard, I watched from my camping chair as they would try to kick it close enough to me in hopes that I could reach it and throw it back to them. Instead of chasing them around the house, I had to sit on the couch and do my best to stay engaged rather than mentally slinking away to a quiet, peaceful place.  Instead of easily following my routine of doing the dishes or making dinner, I had to work myself up to what felt like a mountainous task before me.

It was hard.

I knew in the midst of it, though, that God was at work.  I knew that he saw my pitiful state, and that he had enough power for the both of us.  When I felt like crying and collapsing in a heap at the end of a particularly long day, he calmed me with his words of peace and his Spirit gave me just the right amount of strength to remain standing.  He showed me in a very real way that night that he was the answer to every single one of the areas where I was lacking: He is Peace... He is Strength... He is Wisdom... He is Patience... He is Joy.

And my fever lasted for just three more days after that.  Twenty days was enough, I guess.

You can only imagine the giddiness I felt when my body had energy again.  I was beside myself with Joy.  I was capable once again to do the work that God has put before me to do as his child, as a wife, and as a mom.  And how sweet that work is when it has been taken from you for a time.

Now, how sweet are those twenty days of "waiting" in my memory.  It was a time that God was using to show me his power and his love for me--an opportunity for him to teach me and speak directly to my heart.

It will be said on that day, “Behold, this is our God; we have waited for him, that he might save us. This is the Lord; we have waited for him; let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation.” 

Isaiah 25:9

Count Down

Dave and I count down with our boys.  I'm not talking about the "10...9...8......BLASTOFF!" variety here, although we certainly do plenty of that.  I'm talking about the "Either you can obey or [fill in the blank] will happen in 5...4...3...2...1" variety.  It's not something we necessarily saw ourselves doing (every parent has the dream that their child will obey immediately without ulterior motivations, right?), but it's been effective at getting our point across.  

If you start counting for this one, he typically gets the job done by Four, Two at the latest.

If you start counting for this one, he stares at the floor for the first four-and-a-half seconds and then tries to sly his way in before the deadline.  I'd say he's got about a 50 % completion rate.  

Neither of them like the consequence that occurs once they are caught in disobedience. Both are moved to action.  But one chooses the quick, safe route.  The other chooses the evasive, risky route.

I love the differences between these two boys.  It is a wonderful gift to get to know two people from birth in such an intimate way--to be able to see how they are formed uniquely, inside and out, from the moment they take their first breath.  Their differences are challenging and entertaining and amazing.  The "differentness" of my second born has broadened my perspective of the "differentness" of my first born.  

And they help me see myself differently and more completely.

I look at their reaction to a countdown, and I wonder how I treat "countdowns" that God gives me.  God is patient, generous and merciful beyond understanding; he is also just and righteous beyond understanding.  So, on a daily basis, he puts the option of obedience or disobedience before me.  Do I eagerly jump on the opportunity to do what I know is right and pleasing?  Or do I test him, to see how slowly he will count or to see how many second chances he will give?

Lord, help me to be an example for your little ones what it means to be quick to obey.

Blessed rather are those who hear the word of God and obey it. Luke 11:28

Wisdom

One of my favorite things to do with my boys is to read books to them.  It doesn't matter if I've read it a thousand times before or none.  If they bring me a book, asking to be read to, it is really hard for me to say no. 

This is handy, because it seems like anywhere I turn, someone is encouraging me to read to my child: the doctor, the pre-school teachers, the grandmas (who were/are school teachers), websites, bloggers, etc.  I'll take all the positive reinforcement I can get.

Reading promotes the bond between reader and hearer, encourages literacy, and stimulates the brain in unique ways.  Reading expands our experiences.  Reading gives us a frame of reference.  Reading is exciting and interactive.  And the bonus is that good stories are really enjoyable--even when they're written for a four year old.

And, I hope for my boys that reading serves as a precursor to knowledge, and that knowledge will pave the way to wisdom.

It's funny thinking about the wisdom of a toddler and preschooler.  It might come in the form of a fear of bees, knowing that bees sting, and knowing that they want to avoid the pain a sting would bring.  It might come in the form of a "sweet face," knowing that sweetness generally melts their parents into a buttery mess of saying okay to whatever question is accompanied by such a face.  

It's a little tricky thinking about the wisdom of parents. What form does it take?  Are the wise the ones who read the most books?  Are the wise the ones who keep the most rigorous schedule?  Are the wise the ones who research the best school for their child?

Nope. None of those, according to God.  It seems as though the wisest ones are the ones who are humble about their own wisdom, and dependent on God for his.

But true wisdom and power are found in God;

    counsel and understanding are his. Job 12:13

The fear of the Lord is true wisdom; 

to forsake evil is real understanding. Job 28:28

Don’t be impressed with your own wisdom. Instead, 

fear the Lord and turn away from evil. Proverbs 3:7

Perhaps the best way that we can instill wisdom in the children God has given us is not to emphasize how smart they are or how many books they like to read in one sitting, but to help them understand the massiveness of God's wisdom compared to the tinniness of the things they know.

I'm learning to be okay with not being all that wise. It's a work in progress.  As I journey, I take great comfort in knowing that I have unsearchable storehouses of wisdom on my team.

If you need wisdom, ask our generous God, and he will give it to you. 

He will not rebuke you for asking. James 1:5

Growing

To arrive.

Images of success and completion come to mind, or making it to one's destination after a long journey, or getting to the place where you wanted to be. 

To arrive.

It seems as though we try to break down life into segments of arrivals.

For my preschooler, it is getting to the end of a long day and snuggling down in his bed next to his seven favorite stuffed animals. Or it is getting to go on the donut date with Daddy that they've been anticipating for weeks. Arriving is comfortable.

For my toddler, it is pulling into our garage and yelling, "Home!" Or it is successfully getting his shorts on all by himself. Arriving is joyous.

I grew up with the unconscious notion that there would be a time when I would "arrive." And I would be comfortable and full of joy... When I would get married. When I would establish a career. When I would become a mom. There was a notion deep in me that with those things would come a cease from striving and straining, a peace from the struggle against an unmet desire.

But just like the phenomenon of feeling like you were very grown up in 8th grade until you experience high school, and just like you feel grown up in high school until you experience college, I find myself in the midst of realizing how much more I need to grow. 

God is bringing to light the depth of growing and striving and straining and struggling that is ahead of me.

I will never "arrive" as a wife. The longer I am married, the more I feel this truth. I will continually have areas where I can improve. My love and I will struggle as we experience hard life situations. We will strive toward the goal of a relationship that is pleasing to God and each other. We will grow as we are challenged to love each other as God loves.  But there is no arriving: just striving, straining, struggling, and growing.

And I'm starting to realize that I will never arrive as a mom (so I'm a little slow sometimes...). As I hear the concerns of moms who are twice my age, it is strikingly obvious that there is no arriving in motherhood. There are constantly new battles to fight. There are endless areas of improvement. There is an unending morphing of the relationship between mother and child as years go by. Striving, straining, struggling, growing: yes. Arriving: no. 

These things in my life, these areas of growing, these never-completed roles keep me humble.  And they keep me focused.

Focused on arriving in a place with no more need for striving, straining, struggling or growing.  There is ONE place where I can truly arrive, and that will be my final home.  Heaven. Safe in my Father's arms.  Free from the sin that prohibits completion.  Free from the straining and striving.  Settled and complete. 

In the midst of feeling incompetent or incapable as a wife and mom, in the midst of feeling like the growing pains are too much to take, this is a beautiful truth. Oh, my heart yearns for it. And I thank God for the hope that arriving brings.

I yearn for my boys to know it.  Somedays, I am tempted to talk about next year with more passion than I use to talk about eternity. But instead of making a big deal about a new shoe size or tick on the height chart, I want to draw their eyes to how they are maturing in their forgiveness or how they are growing by leaps and bounds in the way they show love to others around them. I pray that God can use me teach them that the importance of their failures and successes is measured by the way in which those experiences prepare their hearts for eternity.

 No, dear brothers and sisters, I have not achieved it, but I focus on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us. Philippians 3:13-14

Someday, there will be a cease to this journey.  Someday, there will be an intimacy that doesn't need tweaking or redefining. In a beautiful mess, the growing we do here points us to the arriving that we will enjoy there.

This vision is for a future time.

    It describes the end, and it will be fulfilled.

If it seems slow in coming, wait patiently,

    for it will surely take place.

    It will not be delayed. Habakkuk 2:3