garden

 

He's cultivating me.

Soft, gentle Hands are sifting me, like soil.

There's a richness hidden within. Parts are seen and much is unseen.

He's bringing the moist richness to the surface. I see it and sometimes maybe you do, too.

We're both being sifted.

Your ways are different than mine. And mine unique from yours.

There's hope within us. He's growing it.

A seed is buried. Sometimes it bobs up to the surface when the air is just right.

When we're flooded with nourishing water that makes the dry disappear, the hope rises up.

And when we feel all gummed up, sometimes even feeling stuck, we're rescued.

We need that rescue to make us smooth and soft again.

Because our hearts get gummy. Our feelings stick to our feet and what we do is an act.

We stumble and fall sometimes and we call it dancing when really it's quite clunky humor.

There's a garden in us that is producing a harvest of glory.

We claw for control and crave for a companion who will stay.

And within us, there's a whole meal to beholden.

Juicy. Sweet. Delectable. Nourishing.

This is our life. This is our story.

This that we share is remarkable. Truly remarkable.

Our togetherness is beyond us.

It's Eden all over again. A Garden He calls Holy.

And what He's growing will last.

our love is worship.

linking with Lisa-Jo.

be Real with me

i see you sigh when the new day dawns.

pulling the covers back over your head and lingering a little longer underneath the warmth, i can see how you hesitate to step your feet out and begin a day again.

life feels heavy sometimes. the days are burdensome with all their responsibility and such. 

you carry these immense expectations of ourselves and others, and it's just so hard to make everyone do what you think they should do.

     (why, oh, why can't they just do what they know is right?!)

you know you can't control and really, that isn't your plan. yet, you feel compelled to help and guide, and it aches so much to see everyone so reckless and seemingly mindless.

surrendering their care feels a little bit like carelessness on your behalf. it makes you squirm inside and think maybe you are being irresponsible with your influence.

you're entitled to feel what you feel and think what you think.

taking your foot off the gas and pulling over to take a break in the day feels a little bit like playing hooky and you worry about causing more of a distraction than creating good, hearty discipline. flittering about in fun is good, just not all the time.

your heart really wants the best for all of us, i get that. we have work to do that requires order and structure, focus and attention, and so . . .

     when he doesn't seem to remember all that together you put into yesterday . . .

     and when she seems to have forgotten the simplest reminder . . .

     and we all seem to be too carefree . . .

i get that you sometimes just want to scream: doesn't anyone care but me?!

whimsy is our way, though i see it isn't yours. you have a more organized way to each day. we need you, just as you need us -- whether we each know it or not. 

and so, i'm praying because that's what i know how to do. 

     i'm praying your grip will be loosened . . .

     i'm praying for your willingness to let us be us will be widened . . .

     i'm praying we won't dismiss you and your ever loving heart . . .

     i'm praying we pay attention more to the details and not scrimp on being responsible . . .

     and i pray we all learn to live our days barefoot and frantic-free.

let's hold each other up today. 
let's let each other be, as we are -- fully and free. 

i'll appreciate you for you. and him for him.

and let me back up to say that i first appreciate me for me.
     (which, as you know, is truly no small thing.)

i'll step into the me that i am and invite you to do the same for you. 

when you sigh as the new day begins, i'll not ridicule you for not being happy-clappy sunshine-face mister-ready-for-the-day. i'll let you be and trust that you'll find your way.

and when i'm struggling to get my popcorn-brain thoughts to settle down, will you let me be as I am, too?

will you hold me and remind me that we each have our struggles? will you just let the quiet be between us without making me feel less than and you feel more than?

remind me that we all have days that make us sigh.

     days that make us want to scream . . .

     days that make us want to stand on our heads . . .

          or spin the plates wildly . . .

          or simply want to humph and sit in the sun.

because, i forget sometimes that i'm not the only one who gets lost on any random day that ends in y. and i forget sometimes that we're all allowed to have moments when we want to run back in bed or frankly, run right away.

when i see you sigh, as much as i sometimes want to rebuke you or fix you, i need to see your real.

i need to be reminded that grown men cry and hurt and get discouraged, and that big girls can cry, too.

i need to be reminded that we don't have it all together all the time, and we can't be all things to everyone without coming apart a little at the seams.

i need to see you are Real. 

so sigh on, my dear. the days are heavy to bare.

i can't promise you today will be any better than the other day, or that everything today will be okay.

what i can do is accept that you have feelings and you are human.

     i can climb into bed with you and pull the covers over our heads . . .

     i can hold you and sigh right along with you . . .

     i can take your hand and stay with you through this uncertain and brand new day.

this is my worship. 

hero

you go through your days with hope that it will be easy, i know.

this is my waking thought most of the time, too.

it's not wrong of us. it's a comfort catching kind of thing. and we're all allowed to want that.

so when the day turns sour and your hope gets a flat tire . . .

     i'm right there with you in the sad of the day.

i want it to be better, too. i want it to be easier and smoother.

i want to make it all better for you. and for me.

but i can't always solve the problem or create a next time not like this.

i have to let life run its course.

i have to let you feel pain, and us -- together -- feel the inadequacy.

our stickwithitness is tested in these days. our patience refined.

we're sorrow-filled for our grief and our heavy disposition, yet somehow we continue . . .

     we keep on.

we say yes to another day.

with the ounce of courage in our pocket, we accept this:

     life . . . as. it. is.

we're heroes, i'd say. and the pain that we feel is really okay.

so let's be patient and trust that the hero-making of each day isn't at all meaningless.

it's grace.

this is our worship: to be real -- as. we. are.

linking with Lisa-Jo

a new kind of vow: As. We. Are.

I think we should come to the altar naked.

     No more of this beautiful white gown and glorified-perfect stuff.

Seriously, I think we should come naked: as. we. are.

     Messy. Dirty. Bruised.

     Self-mutilated. Self-shamed.

     Holey and drained.

     Ashamed and afraid.

     Angry. And even amazed.

Our vows should be of a different kind.

     Aware that we will surely swerve and sway and make mistakes.

So I'm proposing a new kind of vow.

     To our groom (or our bride), as much as to our littles, and each other.

A daily vow as much as a life vow.

: : : 

to my groom . . . my son . . . my self . . . and even my God,

my loving you today is a choice, and you need to know this:

     i will get angry even after i say that i won't.

     i will surely hurt you.

     i will be unlikeable a lot of the times.

     i will abuse and adulterate what we've got.

     i will put me first.

     i will have unfair expectations of you.

     i will be impatient, and impish.

     i will abandon my umph and stickwithitness.

     i will want to run.

     i will try to hide.

     i will want comfort more than i will want the hard work.

     i will make so much about me.

     i will want what i want over what i know is what's best.

     i will get everything so tangled and twisted, just as i will be.

     i will complain of not having what i want.

     i will pine for better days.

     i will come into my days scared and scarred.

     i will not promise that i'll always love with a generous and committed heart.

     i will, though, guarantee one thing: i'll always be human.

          i will live the definition of messed up, tripped up, effed up.

          i will be me. 

     i will boldly and brashly bring my whole self to the table, at least some days: real and raw.

     i will reflect my need for undeserving grace, unconditional love. true redemption.

     if that's what you're willing to want, then let's do this thing . . . this life . . . this day.

this is our worship. 

Linking with Jennifer.

on being enough, for this marriage {and life}

 

We come to the table with our own personal quirks and hurts.

Sometimes we're open and honest, and anger sometimes spills. Still, much we keep to ourselves because sometimes speaking of it doesn't really seem to matter.

You and God (and I) know the numerous times I've said I wouldn't do this or that again, or the times when I've said I understand only to appear as though I have not a clue what you've actually said or meant.

I've failed you. Frustrated you. Angered you. Provoked you. Hurt you. Questioned you. Doubted you. Disappointed you.

The hope we hold in our hands sometimes seems so pointless and foolish.

We've wanted control and held our lists tight as we've expected much through the years:

     Of each other. And our selves.
     Of our days. And our life.
     Of our son. And what other people might think.

We are the set of yarns held in tension on a loom, and I feel it -- warped -- as we've been thrown across the years.

God is our weft; drawing through our threads, He weaves us.

It feels so monumental that we've reached these 13 years of our weaved together life. It's been hard and heavy, yet happy and full.

We've had enough years for there to be a small piece of cloth made through us. I see it and hold it. It's truly a thing of beauty weaved. I look at the handfuls of years in our story and see what He's creating from our unique and purposed threads.

On our own or even with our combined efforts we aren't good enough to have weaved what we have. But I see how our daily coming as we are, is enough. 

This I can see: Moment-by-moment truly does make a life. Truly, a strong tapestry of grace.

So let's keep making the bed and changing the sheets . . .
     washing the dishes and cleaning the floors . . .

Let's keep fixing the meals and paying the bills . . .
     and walking the dog and keeping the child in check . . .

Together, let's keep coming here . . .
     to these days . . .
     to our loom.

Though tired and frustrated and broken and messy, we really are enough.

this is our worship.

remembering to choose {Grace}

from the archives (1/5/13)

I screwed up. Again.

A statement I made to my groom and behavior I had hung up (several times) was slashed right through last night. I did what I said I wouldn't do.

Seemingly out of nowhere a lion screamed. Roared, actually.

And a bomb was dropped. A big one with a fat letter "F". Out of my mouth. Right in our home.

Then the lion cowered.

The thought crossed my mind and down off my tongue, "I'll be gone in the morning."

Yet the truth is, I'll never be out of his life forever. And truthfully, I felt a bit of anger for that. It's so true that having a child changes Every. Thing.

God has cemented our relationship through having a child. Glued us together. Even if we someday do separate. Because that's just how it'd be, the two of us always working together to raise this child.

We both shouted at each other and all I could think about was how The Boy is asleep in the room directly above us.

     And what comfort is it to live in a home where this rage boils up, out, and over sometimes?

I blabbered on and on about how I fail him, my groom. I messed up Again! and I'm a Screw Up . . . of so much.

He said he screws up, too, but I just don't see it. There might actually have been tears in his eyes as he sat down and shouted at me to listen to his screw ups. But they never were spoken about.

Suddenly, this thought came to my mind and I spoke of it out loud:

     Maybe my public display of screw ups brings me closer to knowing grace.

     Maybe it's how I learn more about true love

          -- acceptance for who I am, in spite of my failures.

I surmised how this must be evidence of God because to say that is far beyond me. 

Choosing grace was immensely hard. I resisted and squirmed my way out of it. But I could feel it, there for my choosing.

There was a battle in my living room last night. A true war.

I recalled to myself how earlier in the day I had made two public statements, at a wellness fair for work.

They were heavy goals and required courage for Real and truth telling:

     "I want to accept myself for where I am right now

          . . . and I want to not absorb other people's stress."

And there I was last night with a full blown out attack on myself for being

     

     A Failure. 

     A Screw up. 

     A disappointment. 

I was name-calling myself. I wasn't accepting myself. I was judging.

I thought of David in the Bible and how God accepted him before he screwed up. 

I remembered how He's been telling me this for the past few weeks, how --

     God purposed my life, knowing I will screw up. 

And then . . . suddenly the words between my groom and me stopped.

The air was quiet when there were so many words yet to be spoken.

I retreated to the kitchen for cereal and all I heard was the crunching. It was loud crunching.

I laid down on the couch in a room that I don't often spend time in. Awhile later my groom came in and asked if I was going to stay there. I said I would for awhile, at least. And then he said, "I'm going to bed."

No further words were spoken between us.

I stayed there. On a couch that I hardly ever sit on, in a room I hardly ever spend time in.

The dog was confused as to why I was there all night and why she wasn't in her crate. She licked herself for what seemed like forever and I was annoyed.

I woke up with a sore neck from a pillow that is too big for sleeping on and obviously hardly gets used, just like the couch itself.

We have a couch in a room that hardly ever gets used. And two rooms in this house just hold stuff, they don't really get used.

I woke up thinking of this and of the choices we've made together, so many of them. Most of them belabored and stressed out about, and then really they didn't matter in the end.

     The process matters, though, and so I stop and focus there. And maybe this is grace.

I got to the bottom of myself last night. It was awful. A huge mess.

Today is like a hangover day. Tentative steps will be taken and we'll feel the temptation to let timidity will be our guide (at least for awhile). I will be uncertain as to how I should act and what I should do. Because, grace needs to be received on both sides. At least that's what I wish. It'd be easier that way.

But grace is for the choosing and love is acceptance, even if . . . the other person doesn't choose it.

     Maybe it's really especially if . . . because,

Grace is undeserved, a true gift. 

It's possible my screw-ups and my (gradual, long, and hard) choosing to receive grace for myself, might be more important and speak more volumes to my groom (and to others) . . . than the actual apologies . . . or if I had the right or perfect behavior in the first place.

This takes courage to believe. This is faith. This is the thin place where He is strong.

I live with this man who might not See grace or receive grace . . . or maybe he does. I have no certain understanding or knowledge of just what God is working in his heart, or how he is receiving Him (or not).

But still, I can choose grace. For me, first. 

I can wear this grace with gratitude. 

I can acknowledge that I screwed up . . . and still, there is grace thankyouVERYmuch.

I can live out my gratitude and let my failures fall to the ground.

I can choose courage to believe He is Real in me,

and that these words that I penned last night were His:

You both are just as broken as each other.
Receive my grace. Choose it.

The beauty is in the broken, in the holed out bottom. 

Yes, you fail. But you are not a Failure.Yes, you disappoint. But you are here, just as you are, for purpose. You can believe it.

Choose grace.
Choose acceptance.
Choose to be loved. Just.As.You.Are.

It's true, you screw up. Every day. 

     Why do you expect that you won't?
     Why are you surprised when you do? 

Choose my love For. You.
Choose my grace.

Shame is your enemy. It is what triggers anger within you.
Your spirit knows shame haunts, destroys and devours your peace. 

     Don't let it.
     Stand strong.

When you are scared of yourself,
     and to look him in the eye,
     and to hold his hand,
     and to feel the mistakes between you,
Know that I Am . . . alive in you, right now . . . Real and true.

You have a tendency to live in a sometimes crazy, wildly intense place,
     but have hope, it's color filled and bright.
The shadows, darkness, and scary places hardly find you. Be grateful. 

You are equally as wounded.
You equally have need for me . . . through each other. 

And then, I remembered how I almost forgot. 12 years. Right now, this weekend. 12 years of married togetherness. How could I {nearly} forget? 

Then this, again, just like on our wedding day:

I gave him to you as an example of my love for you.
He accepts you when you disappoint him.
Let him accept you.
Let Me heal him. And you.

Who am I? Choose truth. 

And so again, I say "OK,"

     ( . . . even if a little hesitantly.)

this is my worship.

One year after writing these words I count them a gift to treasure. For, the truth is that I'll never "arrive" as long as I'm this side of Heaven . . . I'll always need to rest in His arms and trust He will work in me and in us. I'll always need to remember grace. 

in the bunker . . . and #WorshipUnwrapped

Here, in this moment, there aren't accusations or judgment between us. 

And this is blessedly sweet. Miraculous and almond-bud-like. 

Blossoms are spouting forth between us. And this is indeed a blessedly sweet moment to unwrap.

I confess that I want to run away and even wave my flag, hoping he'll excuse me. 

Instead, he says I hear you. 

And for once I see . . . we are together in this. 

We acknowledge that we hear each other, we understand.

So we kneel and hold hands, in the bunker. 

this is our worship. 

: : : 

And this is their #worshipunwrapped . . . 

__________________________

1. "I am trying to figure out how you patch together something that still sings of grace and glory while not ignoring the present reality.

     How do we take the straw we've been handed and spin it into something golden and magical?"

Holly Grantham's #worshipunwrapped. 

__________________________

2. "Christmas can feel like it's falling down as the pieces of a dream season shatter, scattering from one edge to the other."

Kris Camealy's #worshipunwrapped. 

__________________________

3. "What if hard actually means you are doing something right?"

Jamie Martin's #worshipunwrapped. 

__________________________

4. "I used to struggle with seeing joy, for I was blinded by grief and caught in the haze of black sorrow. I felt the weight of death, her diagnosis. She's too young, my heart yelped, she's too young to be wounded, too tender and innocent. And yet her babyhood was full, it was rich."

Michaela Evanow's #worshipunwrapped.

__________________________

5. "Miracles are just a temporary fix . . . I know He loves me and I don't need a miracle to know that . . .

     If I wanted to be a missionary, I couldn't reach as many people as I have through this."

Abby Smith's #worshipunwrapped. 

We present to you these offerings, Father. 

We dance. We declare. And together, we dine. 

___________________________________

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no small thing :: worship unwrapped

we're on the edge

both of us, me and you.

nearly about to jump

or run away.

we're here together, though

and this is no small thing.

i kneel low to count this grace,

as you wipe the tear from my eye.

this is our worship. 

: : : 

And this is theirs that I have unwrapped . . . 

__________________________

1. "Sometimes, we have to make the decision to begin again, even when we don't feel ready." 

Read about how Michele-Lyn's beginning again is worship. 

__________________________

2. "I want to hear The One who comes softly saying,
     Be Still. Listen. Watch for the light. Come away . . . 

I want to hear Him . . . and it's getting harder to push away the noise."

God meets us where we are and doesn't drag us to where we "should" be or where everyone else says we "need" to be. 

Read about how Jody Lee Collins's listening is worship. 

__________________________

3. On being the enough Mom. 

"Motherhood, and in fact life, is often this journey of waking up and discovering self.

     That's the truth." 

How Rachel Marie Martin's being Real is worship. 

___________________________

4. "Making space for God's presence in my home feels about as back-breaking as hauling stones . . . 

It asks nothing of me. Requires nothing of me.

It is an impossible mess, and it is grace, and my children and I have seen fire.

Read about Christie Purifoy's space making as worship. 

We present to you these offerings, Father. 

We dance. We declare. And together, we dine. 

___________________________________

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where the green grass grows

It's hard, I know it is.

Sometimes you want to give up. 

You even pack your bag to make a point and dared to stand at the door and threaten to leave.

Though you knew you wouldn't really follow through with it, your illustration was important for you to make. You needed to act out your feelings because you weren't being heard.

The Boy-Man was acting today, too.

Though his choice to act out his strong will was inappropriate and mistimed, he, too, wanted to be heard.

He was struggling with self, all prideful and arrogant and stubborn, and seeming to be wholly disrespectful.

I know, and you know, that our son doesn't mean this attitude and that he's wrestling the gift of strength that God gave him. He is learning to stand up for himself and we want this for him.

He was irresponsible as he played around in selfish disobedience. I'm with you.

Believe me when I say we're on the same page.

The valley seems so hard sometimes. 

     It shouldn't be this hard.

But it is. For everyone it is.

Those who are brave enough to be honest about it reflect beauty in their Real truth-telling.

God reminds me that the green grass grows in the valley.

Lush fields abound here, where the soil needs the most cultivating. We get dirty in the farming. And we might even get a hayseed or two in our eye. It's just part of the process.

The Boy is growing into a man, wholly Holy.

I've scheduled work trips with a deliberate and hopeful intention of providing a shot of relief in a particularly tense season of life, and I, too, have wanted to bolt out the door and say "I've had enough!"

I'm still a {God-made} child -- irresponsible, prone to act out, and selfishly disobedient.

As hard as it is, let's remain. Because God's got this. And him. And us. And . . .

I'd hate to know we missed the blooming season. 

So let's stay and see the green grass grow.

this is our worship. 

____________________________________

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mercy

it's the eyes that captivate me.

how they stay locked on mine. 

how we connect right then and there and nothing else seems to matter. 

i am noticed and important. and he matters to me. 

what we have to say and what we think, 

all that we each need from each other, 

most especially, that we even want to know.

mercy is all of these things 

especially after all the moments of viciousness between us. 

how could i have ever shouted words that run so counter to what my heart truly feels? 

how could i have ever screamed that i hate him? 

memories feels acid-like, rushing quick from the core of my being.

i want to be sick at the thought of it all. 

he matters to me.

though i don't always agree with him, 

though i sometimes get mad at his different-than-my-own approach . . .

the truth is that pride is what makes a wedge -- 

our simply being humans.

sharing this life with him helps me grow and see perspectives i hadn't considered. 

and me, i am realizing i do the same for him. 

right here, right now -- 

this is mercy. 

for all this could be so very different. 

the truth does not escape me.

i've created my fair share of messes. 

i've finger painted with deep wrecklessness on the canvas of our lives. 

and still, this we share today.

Share your heart . . . add a comment below.

_______________________________________________

You might be interested in this:

less of us and more of you :: a marriage prayer

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