We went on our first family vacation - just the five of us, and it was so good and refreshing. A year ago if you would have said, "Hey, you're going to really enjoy just hanging out with your kids for three days in a tiny airbnb beach condo," I would have said you are crazy. But, I get it now. I get why my parents wanted to hang out all the time! It's so fun to be around little people that you made. (Unless they are screaming, or falling apart, or angry because even though you've spent FIVE HOURS at the beach, you have decided it's time to go inside.)
We feel as though who we are as a family is growing: our family culture, our own weird sense of humor, and our own traditions. We began "family days" on Saturday. Now that Zeke is in school, our time together is pretty limited. So Saturdays are days for just us. It filled my heart to think back on this last year and meditate on what God is building into the five of us.
I have continued working on my book. This may sound not that noteworthy, but for me it definitely is. I am historically a procrastinator and someone who quits when things get too hard. So the fact that this book is still sitting in my Google Drive, and I'm adding to it, is a big deal. It has been a sweet source of joy to me to write it.
Perhaps the greatest thing is what God has done in me. It has been kind of low key revolutionary (or maybe I'm just realizing how astounding sanctification is, #iseeyouHolySpirit). At any rate, it feels weird to be like, "Look how mature I am!" but rest assured, I am well aware that the maturity is a result of the Spirit in me; and, while it is completely the Spirit, He does require a willing heart, so I have been receiving the Lord's affirmation and delight in choosing Him. He brought me to a place where I had to choose once and for all if I was going to live as the new creation He already made me, or if I was going to continue to walk in something that was dead. By His grace and for His glory, I have chosen what is alive.
This has resulted in many moments lately where I've thought, "Hmmm, me a year ago would not have been that calm/at peace/non-reactionary/secure/generally well-balanced as I am right now." I (and, let's be real, my husband) am deeply grateful for this change.
If I had to pinpoint the two greatest lessons I have learned this last year, here's what they'd be:
Learning how to grieve.
Last fall, I felt like the Lord was asking me to take every Sunday morning before church and grieve. Kyle would be working on his teaching/getting some random ministry work done, the kids would be up, dressed, fed and on TV, and I would be upstairs in our guest bedroom/my office, usually curled up into a bawl on a chair, sobbing.
It was my scheduled grieving time. It started because I was a mess about Zeke going to kinder. He was gone so much, and yet I just did not have the capacity to think about homeschooling. There was guilt and fear and deep sadness and I just needed to cry about it.
I begin by writing down the things that I am sad about, things I have lost or am losing, things that have disappointed me, things that didn't turn out the way I expected them to. Then I tell God exactly how I feel about all these things. Every nitty gritty detail. I do not leave anything out. Anger, fear, despair, bitterness, resentment, etc. I cry, I yell, I write...one time I actually wailed. I have never really grieved like that before. If I was strong enough I might have even torn my garments, but I didn't. The point is, I get it out in healthy ways. I'd also grieve when I worked out, crying as I'm punch-dancing out my angst.
The few times I didn't know what I needed to grieve I asked the Lord to show me. At the beginning there was always something. Now, after doing this for awhile, sometimes there isn't anything to grieve. Ah, progress. As it turns out, when you've (for the most part) not grieved healthily for three decades, it can take some time to catch up.
I remind myself of Isaiah 53:4, "Surely, our griefs and pain He Himself bore, and our sorrows He carried." Or, 1 Peter 5:7, "...casting all your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you."
Realizing that God carried all my grief for me was a game changer. This doesn't mean I never have to feel it, it means that I don't have to carry it around with me forever. I can be sad, disappointed, ache over a loss.... and then give it to Jesus.
And then! Then, I ask for His comfort. He is described as the God of all comfort in Scripture. Not some comfort. All comfort. Any and every grief, He is capable of comforting. I ask the Lord what He may want to give me in exchange for this grief or sorrow. Not surprisingly, a good majority of the time the Lord simply, but powerfully, just gives me more of Himself. His presence is peace.
Here's a rough list of the things I had to grieve/still am!
- Zeke not being little anymore.
- Not being able to control everything.
- That there is deep emotional pain in this world.
- That there will be people who don't press into Jesus when they realize this.
- That my physical body is limited and being a bit uncooperative at the moment.
- That I have friendships that are ending.
- That I have friendships I have been ignoring that I shouldn't have been.
- Dreams I have had to postpone (and, just being real) may never get to step into because of having children.
- My first heartbreak (romantically speaking).
- How hard motherhood is.
- That my children won't stay little forever and will one day wrestle with adult-size issues, because they will be adults.
- Evie going to school soon.
- Missed expectations in marriage.
- Evie going to school soon.
- Missed expectations in marriage.
- Loss of ministry opportunities in this season because of my very low capacity.
- Loss of the joy I get from active vocational ministry, as I've had to step back in this season.
- That I am not a perfect mother.
- That I am not a perfect wife.
..and the list goes on.
Now, it's important to realize that there's a difference between grieving and addressing lies. In fancy inner-healing prayer ministry or counseling talk, you might say "truth-based pain" versus "lie-based pain."
It is true that Zeke is not little anymore, but the lie that comes with that is, "Because he is no longer close to me all the time, he is less safe." While it may be true I have less control over his safety, it is not true that I have complete control over his safety when he's with me. So I grieve the reality of losing a little bit of the control, but I address the lie that I can actually guarantee his safety when he's with me. (Or that when he's not with me, he's somehow "less safe.")
The truth is there is no guarantee of safety in this broken world. The truth is what my heart is really longing for is the Kingdom I believe Jesus is ushering in, where death is conquered and sin is no more. I grieve that we don't live there yet, and that means my little six year old might get his feelings hurt by mean kids, and that school shootings are a reality in our world. I weep and I give that deep sorrow over to Jesus.
Because what is also true is that He loves my son deeply, and that God - unlike myself - has the capacity to bear the sorrow of this broken world and to redeem it.
I have realized true grieving comes with deep humility. It requires me to recognize that I cannot be as sad as this world really merits. It will break me. It is not my place to bear the weight of this world, and to try and do so would be foolishness. It is my place to reflect the heart of God by mourning with those who mourn, by crying out at injustice and pain and death, but then turning it over to the Father, who is the only one who can truly bring an end to this grief.
Learning the discipline of celebration.
The great joy is, once I realized it is not my place to bear (and fix) the world's sadness, that frees up so much space to rejoice and celebrate!
Obviously, there are seasons and moments celebration and levity are inappropriate, but one thing I have learned this year is that I am, mostly, far too serious. That part of living in the already, not yet of Christ's Kingdom is boldly proclaiming the already through joy and laughter. Scriptures say that the Kingdom of God is one of righteousness, peace, and joy by the power of the Holy Spirit. It is a lot easier to step into this when I am not worrying about addressing all the deep brokenness of the world.
So this last year, we held a New Year's Eve party. Even though we have three small children, and it is silly to stay up till midnight when your children will wake up at 6:30, we did it. We did it to stand up and say, "Life is hard, but we serve a God who is restoring all things! We enjoy good food and good wine and sweet laughter because this, just as much as mourning with those who mourn, is a picture of the Father's heart."
Laughter is good medicine, I believe, because it speaks to the reality that this world is going to be made new. Tears will not be the final word, unless they are tears of joy. So we discipline ourselves to celebrate. To make much of good things, even when we are feeling the hard things at the same time.
As I've learned how to weave celebration into my life, I find that it sustains me. Almost as if (wait for it...) the joy of the Lord is my strength. Don't you just love it when Scripture confirms what we experience in reality.
Almost as if, maybe, it was written by someone who knows what they're talking about because they created reality.
That is my reflection as I head into Year 32. My prayer for this next year is Isaiah 61.1-3:
The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,
because the Lord has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives
and release from darkness for the prisoners,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor
and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn,
and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
a planting of the Lord
for the display of his splendor.
Accompanied by this reassurance from 2 Corinthians 1.20:
For all of God’s promises have been fulfilled in Christ with a resounding “Yes!” And through Christ, our “Amen” (which means “Yes”) ascends to God for his glory.
May it be so, Lord Jesus.
As I've learned how to weave celebration into my life, I find that it sustains me. Almost as if (wait for it...) the joy of the Lord is my strength. Don't you just love it when Scripture confirms what we experience in reality.
Almost as if, maybe, it was written by someone who knows what they're talking about because they created reality.
That is my reflection as I head into Year 32. My prayer for this next year is Isaiah 61.1-3:
The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,
because the Lord has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives
and release from darkness for the prisoners,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor
and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn,
and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
a planting of the Lord
for the display of his splendor.
Accompanied by this reassurance from 2 Corinthians 1.20:
For all of God’s promises have been fulfilled in Christ with a resounding “Yes!” And through Christ, our “Amen” (which means “Yes”) ascends to God for his glory.
May it be so, Lord Jesus.
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