We're doing the midnight bed dance again because the truth is: no one really knows where we are. Living out of suitcases for over a month, in our 4th round of beds in as many weeks, children bump on the floor in the night and cry out. They don't remember where the toilet is, where our room is, where home is. It's all we can do to spoon them back to sleep, propping our heads up on thin pillows, arms under their weary necks. It's all we can do to set an alarm, find a clean bowl, drive them to a new school.

The exciting adventure of our days gives way to fitful dreams and midnight cries.

I was praying for them, the night before we sent them to school, when we knew where we would settle but weren't quite settled there yet. We faced a long commute, an alarm set before dawn, and I woke at 4 unable to sleep, praying, praying, praying over them. My inclination, my first instinct is to pray, "Lord, keep them safe." But I thought, if that was our only priority, surely we wouldn't uproot them, put them on planes and trains, walk them through the doors of another new school. No, it's not safety we want for them.

It's courage. And faith.

So instead I prayed, "Lord, make them brave." It didn't put me back to sleep, but it put my heart in its place and my hope up high. Oh, I want them to be brave, to know they can, to wonder and doubt and cry a bit maybe (it's hard to be brave if nothing at all is scary), to know when they fall off the bed they'll be found and carried to safety, to hear the wind and see the rain and still long to run outside and face the storm.

Oh, God, give them courage. Make them brave. And give me strength to spoon them to sleep once more.



I think praying bravery - in lieu of safety - is a scary thing. What scary thing are you praying for?

For today, it is enough

I've been praying this week, a bit more than usual. Carving out quiet times, seeking sacred spaces. Writing it down, these stories and promises, words flowing like air. I read them again and again, listening for His voice, asking Him...

How will this work?

Show us the way.

It's harder than it ought to be, reading and writing and saying...

Yes, I believe.

I drink the words in, taste them on my tongue...

God, give mercy.

It's not much, these four syllables, overlapping in my brain and my heart. It's not much, but those five minutes or 10 seconds are all I have.

And for now, for today, it is enough.

A two-for-one, joining Five Minute Fridays with #SheReadsTruth. You can join us there, too.

The ladies don't mind, in five

Loud...

It's been awhile since we sat around this table, sharing stories and pistachios. Life gets in the way and we have babies and work and the carpool lane, so we cancel and wait and try again. The stars align and reunite around a hard day dark with thunder. One feels a burden and we stop on the spot and ask for grace.

This is how we do it. This is how we keep going. This is how we pray.

Going around the table, we catch up. We split a cupcake and make room for seconds. We tell jokes and I laugh too loud and the baby cries. I'm so sorry, I say. I'm so loud. No really, my voice carries and babies cry. She shushes me in the best way, oh don't worry, she says, it's not you. She leaves for a minute and he calms down and sweet silence flows over our meal.

We are sisters once again, made family because of Jesus. And we keep talking and eating and I laugh again, loudly.  It feels so good to laugh, to be loud, to have friends who want to know, who feel the pains and the joys.

I wait for the cry, but no baby this time. He's asleep and we smile.

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THE RULES:
1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking

2. Link back to GypsyMama and invite others to join in.
3. Please visit the person who linked up before you and encourage them in their comments.

Confession, Sacrifice, and Praying the prayers of incredibly intelligent and spiritual people

If I were to be honest, I'd say that the words sacrifice, penitence, and confession make me uncomfortable. And even though I am sometimes a cynical person, I prefer the bright, happy clappy side of faith compared to the dark repentance and suffering side.

{a toddler has entered the room... if I type very quietly, he won't know I'm here...}

In the past I've preferred to give up something slightly superficial for Lent (chocolate, Facebook) in lieu of practicing the deeper, soul-searching stuff (fasting, liturgy). While the former did indeed allow me to focus more on Christ and my family during the Lenten season, I think the latter might foster a greater dependence on and knowledge of Christ.

All that to say is, I'm still contemplating what exactly to fast from this go-round (apart from coffeeshops, which is my favourite treat in the whole world, as me and the kiddos have decided to abstain from certain earthly pleasure like lattes and toy-coveting and save that little bit of money to give to IJM), but I'm also trying to actually follow a devotional/prayer/study plan for Lent.

As you know, I am super terrible at follow-through. I like to blame my carefree spirit and fly-by-the-seat-of-our-trousers type of lifestyle, but really it's that I'm a lazy sinner and put my need for sleep and Grey's Anatomy ahead of my need to communicate with and confess before God.

So in an effort to be accountable - and with the ease of technology - I've committed to doing YouVersion's Devotions for Lent from Holy Bible: Mosaic. I've set an alarm on my phone that tells me it's time to read and reflect, and also get emails every morning with that day's prayer and reading.

I'm also investigating the "offices" which is a word some people throw around, obviously knowing that's shorthand for "praying the prayers of incredibly intelligent and spiritual people." It's new to me, but it just so happens that my mom gave me the book "Common Prayer: a Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals" which includes morning and evening prayers, as well as daily meditations from saints of yore.

And then there's the Hello Mornings study, the book our community group is reading, the nightly devotions with Jack... I am literally surrounded by God's word.

Now don't get me wrong: I will fail at this. I've got three kids who occasionally need to be fed, and there's laundry everywhere, and I'm a sinner. I've not woken up early to read and pray one single day this week. But I want to at least try. And then mess up. And then try again. Because I think the idea of this Lent thing is, as we grow closer to Jesus in these tiny acts of suffering and sacrificing (which, compared to His, are indeed minuscule in comparison), we become more and more aware of our desperate need of a Saviour.

And with that, a thought from Thomas Merton:

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust you always, though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

I don't think it's ever too late to start praying, reading, meditating or confessing... I'd love to hear your thoughts, what you're doing this season, or if you want to join me in any of these things.

Trying out delight for size, in five

I started it. My list.

1. Red front doors.

Things to be thankful for, not just things that make me happy. But they do make me happy. I recognize the joy in them. The delight.

2. A fire on a cold day.

They're not there for nothing. Not given for waste. There is only one reason beauty exists in this world. Common grace.

3. My firstborn, 9 and healthy.

I could be cynical and ignore it. I try to. Only for the flowery, I say. Only for the farmer women, the super holy ones, the ones who cry watching the Hallmark channel.

4. Cookies for breakfast.

This is not for the woman with hard lines, with snark and sass and attitude. Not for the doubter, the wanderer.

5. Pink cheeks to match her pink shirt.

But it is. Because it's a crime, a sin, to not bear witness. To recognize it, to delight in it, to accept it is saying thank you.

6. A moose hat to keep the wee lad warm.

It is saying, "I know. I see You. It's all from You, and it's all Yours."

7. A roomy apartment to shelter us. (Forgive me... I have been so ungrateful for it.)

He withholds no good thing from us.

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Five Minute Friday with GypsyMama.

Upon reading "One Thousand Gifts"

I have finally picked it up, the book nearly every girlfriend of mine both online and off has read and sworn by this past year. One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp. I will admit it, I was - and still am - a bit antsy. Keep reading...

31 days of LIVING in transition :: the lease {day 2}

On our desk sits a lease, expiration date two months from today. I look at it, fold it with my fingers, hold its weight and eye the highlighted terms. This lease, it weighs more in dreams and questions than it does in ounces. It is deep and fraught with decision. It is the beginning of the next, or the end of this current transition.

And I'm not sure which.

We are praying and planning. This much is obvious and has been stated more times on this blog and others, in prayer letters and small groups, at lunches and teas. There is no end to the praying and planning. And until a tangible number is reached or a ticket purchased, we continue this preparation circle. This dance with transition.



Transition is a terrible dancing partner, it should be said. Transition doesn't lead so well. And we don't follow transitions steps so swiftly. So instead we rely on the Choreographer. He places the steps, teaches us the moves, shows us where to put a foot, how to hold the head high. Shoulders back and eyes straight ahead.

We dance for Him.

And we keep the lease on the desk. Folded and unsigned.

PS

As a coda to the previous post, I realize that it ended up all nice and tidy and really super-righteous sounding. Seeing that and reflecting on it since, I know how weak I really am. If you are the praying type, please pray for me and for us in the coming months. I don't want to be ignorant of the realities, but don't want to drown in them either.

We have still have a lot of work to do before even getting on the plane, so much so that giving up this chair and table I write at seems very far away and easy to do. I know, in practice, it will be hard. And that, in the meantime, Satan will tempt me with things like antique malls and Ikea catalogues.

So it's not so tidy as my late night spiritually sentimental writings would have you - or me - believe. But I'm hopeful it'll be better. 

On not freaking out... maybe

I'm finding myself in a not-so-unfamiliar place. The passage of time - the flipping of calendar pages towards a question mark date, destination and future - faster than I would like it to be. This is the place where I typically find myself freaking out.

But I'm not.

I'm not sure this is right. Is this peace? Is this trust? I don't know. I've never really been to this place, this not freaking out place, before. I don't recognize the peace part. I recognize all the other bits - the fluid plans, the what ifs, the ambiguity, the underlying tension of uncertainty - but I don't recognize the scenery, the slow-mo walk to the library, the prayers throughout the day that end in smiles instead of tears.

It's slightly unnerving. Shouldn't I be freaking out? Come June 1st our family of five will be without a vehicle. August 1st is the original deadline to move away again, which we prayerfully decided on over a year ago. In the fall our children will be starting school, but on which continent? And there's a substantial amount of financial support we need between now and the question mark then, that may or may not come later rather than sooner. Shouldn't I be a bit freaked wondering how it'll all come together? Shouldn't I be banging down God's door asking for the times and places and know-hows?

In a couple of months, my life will change substantially. Or maybe it won't. I might still sit and write at this dining room table we found on clearance three years ago and couldn't wait to sit at again. Still waiting some more and trusting some more. Or I might sit at someone else's table, in another country, in another rented house with someone else's furniture, having sold this table and that chair and those dishes we picked out for here but might not need for there. Still trusting and thankful and off on the next adventure.

But really, I don't know. I don't know at all. I have no idea where we'll be and when. If I think about it too much the anxiety does again start to raise, the pain in the chest becomes a little more acute. Or I can get up and fold the laundry, hug the kiddos and kiss the booboos. I can write the thank you notes and stamp the envelopes. I can order the prayer cards and meet the people.

I can pray the prayers, the prayers of "Yes, God. I know you, God. I trust that you've got this figured out, even when I don't have a clue. I'll wait on you, God." For the time and the place and the know-hows and the whys and the next thing and the next thing...

I'll wait on Him.

Weary in not-well doing

A few weeks back, a wonderful gentleman who has known me for the better part of my life prayed over our family in church. As he prayed for us (a not unfamiliar task, as it was his prayers - together with God's call - that propelled us to overseas work), he asked the Lord that we would "be weary in not-well doing." I'm quite sure he meant "not be weary in well-doing," but, well, you know...

I couldn't help but laugh, as there are more than a few times I have felt weary in not-well doing. Dishes are piling up and it is way past bedtime. Sunday morning finds angry children and exhausted coffee-tumbler-toting parents hunkered down in a minivan. Prayers seemingly go unanswered after late nights of whispers and tears. Coming in third, or thirtieth, or threethousandth in a marathon, or worse yet, collapsing before the finish line.

You get the picture. Who hasn't felt weary in not-well doing?

Reflecting on that dyslexic prayer left me feeling all tied up in knots. I think I secretly wonder if this accidental prayer put a little hoax on me. We know - or really, we'd like to think we know - that God knows the thoughts and the needs behind prayers. Behind the mixed-up names and unspoken requests, He truly knows the soul and longings. (I actually referred to a not-so-new friend by an entirely different name during a lovely and inspired 3-minute verbal dialogue between me and God and in her forgiving presence. You know who you are!) But I think deep down inside my doubting heart, I ponder the ridiculous notion that in hearing those jumbled words, He did indeed grant the prayer: may she be weary in not-well doing.

But what do I really know? I know that He says:

"Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in Me." John 14v1

"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives..." John 14v27

"Remain in me, and I will remain in you." John 15v4

"Apart from me you can do nothing." John 15v5

"You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit - fruit that will last." John 15v16

"Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up." Galations 6v9

I think we're lying to ourselves if we don't own that sometimes we do grow weary in not-well doing. But what do we know? That even up to His death, Jesus - who may have grown very weary - did not grow weary in well-doing. Up to the end, He was inspiring us to pursue Him, to rest in Him, to find peace in Him, and to abide with Him. He was comforting us in our very time of need.

I woke up weary in not-well doing this morning. I mean really, super-duper, tears on the pillow weary. And then I spent the morning with Him. He chose me - me! - to go and bear fruit; fruit that will last, well past the expiration date.

So I rested in Him for a good long while, and then got back to work.

The Praying Kind

If you are of the praying kind, we could use loads of them right now. Decisions must be made and they are of the hard variety.