I'm Feelin' 32

Over my birthday dinner on Wednesday, my husband and I talked about my last year. It was a productive conversation, because we discussed all the things that were really, truly good about it. Though it is true my last year has been marked by many tears and unanswered questions, it is also true that it has been marked by deep joy and new life.

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. 

- 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. 

Redeeming the Authority of God

Last weekend I attended a conference that was all about resting in the presence of the Lord. I was completely set and prepared to be encouraged, comforted, restored...maybe even healed!

The closer the conference got, the more ambivalent I became. But I knew I was supposed to go, I just wasn't sure why.

I got out of the car Friday morning and asked God, "Why am I here? This feels weird to be alone at one of these things. Does anything of substance even happen at events like this? Where a thousand random people sit in a big room and sing and listen to someone talk?" 

(I was no longer ambivalent and more straight up cranky at this point.) 

The Lord answered, quickly. He said, "This weekend is about you and me, dear one."

But it wasn't a heartwarming, "It's just you and me in a bubble of love and intimacy and good feelings." It was more like, "You and I need to talk and by that I mean I will be doing the talking and you will be doing the listening." 

The conference started at 10.00am on Friday, by 10.02 I was sobbing. Through the prayers, the worship, the teachings, and sometimes the announcements. I bought a book and read it while waiting for the next session to start, sobbing because of the book while people around me awkwardly sipped on their coffees and looked at phones. 

I'm sure many people went to that conference and had a joyful, sweet time with the Lord and with others. I was disciplined. 

The topic the teachers were given was Jesus. All weekend they spoke about His kingdom, His character, His heart for us, His rule and reign, His role in our redemption.

All weekend the Lord gently told me, "I am better than you." 

At protecting. 

At providing. 

At loving my husband and my children. 

At establishing security and peace. 

At pretty much everything. Always. For eternity. 

He is better than me. He will always be. There will never be one moment in which God looks at me and says, "Actually, you take this Christina, it's more your area of expertise." 

I grieved the last thirty-one years of struggling to trust anyone - parents, husband, and sometimes God - to take care of me. Of always having to hedge my bets. Always needing to double check everyone's work. Always keeping the tiniest sliver of my heart back, just in case things went wrong and I needed something with which to rebuild. 

The hard bit comes in realizing you can't feed any sin for several decades and expect it to be a done deal overnight. I can tell there is still resistance to complete surrender. The Lord will be faithful to fight for my whole heart, though. Even if he has to fight me to win it. I am thankful for His jealousy and His gentleness when He takes back what is rightfully His.

I have heard that shepherds in Jesus' day would break the leg of a lamb that was prone to wander, resting it on their shoulders as the leg healed so that the lamb would form a bond with the shepherd and cease it's wandering. I don't know if this is true but it is an incredibly apt analogy. The Lord is breaking me. It is his right to do so. I can tell you that though the pain is great, His presence is greater than a pain-free life. 

I don't think this is an issue unique to me - the tendency to believe we can do better than God or know better than God is all too human - but the Lord was tenderly revealing that, for me, this was a big one. One of those "line in the sand" moments with the Lord.

Someone having complete and total authority over our lives is so foreign to us, isn't it? As one of the speakers pointed out this weekend, our only experiences with humans who attempt to wield the kind of sovereignty God inherently holds don't go well. More than that, we live in a culture where our ultimate authority is ourselves. We are free men and women, with the inalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Right now, the Lord has been leading me to study His character. I cannot read enough about His holiness, His goodness, His limitlessness, His might, His mercy, His love...

I am convinced the more I know God, the more I "taste and see that the Lord is good," the more surrender will come.

Only by His grace will the study of His character redeem the idea of giving Him complete and total authority. Because as I was also reminded this weekend, it is under His rule and reign that all things flourish.

My spirit longs to flourish under the rule of my King. The One who bought me back from death with His blood. Surely, He has given me no reason to pause, even as my own brokenness shrinks back from surrender, His kindness shows in His patience with me.

May we all step into surrender boldly, proclaiming His goodness to a world that cannot understand why we would willingly sign over complete control. 

Sabbatical

I was completely prepared to walk away from this blog. I thought I was done. Not with writing... just blogging. We had Micah and we moved and church planted, and life just got a little busy and (it felt like) too serious for something like blogging.

Then I had a complete breakdown. Twice. My body started to kind of fall apart on me, physically. Turns out you cannot treat your body like garbage and have three babies in five years without paying a price. I've spent most of the fall letting Jesus slowly piece me back together. He's not done, but He is faithful.

As a result of my tendency to fall apart when things get stressful, I am taking a sabbatical from ministry.

This sounds way fancier than it is, since 1) I cannot take a sabbatical from motherhood, and that is my primary role at the moment and 2) my husband is not taking a sabbatical, so much of our life will still involve ministry.

All it means is that I will not be doing campus ministry in the spring.

My supervisor suggested I think of a "program" of sorts for me to do while on my sabbatical... since watching The West Wing for the ninth time probably wouldn't be the most beneficial thing in the world. As I was praying through what this spring would look like, the thought of dusting off the blog came up.

My brain all of a sudden realized how many thoughts it had been accumulating. Thoughts it wanted to share. My fingers began to get that itch to move across the keyboard. Perhaps most importantly, my heart and spirit are beginning to heal in ways I didn't realize they needed, and I've never been able to keep quiet about a good thing. Thus, blogging. I'm not exactly sure what I will write about as I begin this spring, but I will write. I also have a book I am working on. It's got two chapters and may never leave my Google Drive, but it's there.

One of the big lessons I've been learning is that self-care has a whole lot more to do with discipline than mani-pedis. Eating healthier, working out, giving myself time to grieve disappointments and endings, getting up before my children to spend time with Jesus, and disciplining myself to celebrate well. Also I am learning what others call self-care, professional counselors might call "becoming a healthy human."

So, I am not just writing on this sabbatical. I am also going to counseling, continuing to work on my physical health, and reading.

...I will also be watching The West Wing, and maybe Marie Kondo's Tidying Up as that looks like it is right up my cathartic TV watching alley.

Charles Spurgeon once said, "I have learned to kiss the waves that throw me against the Rock of Ages."

What I have walked through over the past year is not something I would wish on my worst enemy. Panic attacks. The inability to be alone. Feeling completely overwhelmed by normal, every day things. Insomnia.

I wouldn't wish it on anyone, and yet I am grateful for it, most of the time. Over the past year the Lord revealed that my theology on suffering was nonexistent. That has slowly been changing, and it is to my benefit. As I learn to kiss the waves, I find that I am learning peace, contentment, joy, and hope in ways that I did not know were possible.

The key part of that last sentence is that I have not learned, I am learning.

Hopefully sharing some thoughts here will help others do the same.

Much grace.