You were my everything, my all
I gave myself up in the fall
Somewhere between the there and here
My love was lost behind the fear.
So afraid of what might be
That we never could become
Our dreams were just beyond our reach
So very very far beyond,
impossible.
I don’t want to do this anymore where you’re the only one who lives
I don’t want to do this anymore
Feeling dead in my own skin
Where I keep wishin for somthing more
Cause that is where I am
And I don’t want to do this anymore.
This is it. This is the end.
What is left for me out there?
I couldn’t say cause I don’t know
I have never been anywhere
And if I ever let me go
I might get lost
But I might be found
Would you want to be around
When what’s between comes into view
And its not me, the one you knew?
I don’t want to do this anymore
How did it get to be so far
From who I am and who we are
The distance grows and grows and I don’t want to do this
Anymore.
I don’t want to do this anymore where you’re the only one who lives
I don’t want to do this anymore
Feeling dead in my own skin
Where I keep wishing for something more
Cause that is where I am
And I don’t want to do this anymore.
This is it. This is the end.
The end of what was
The start of a new thing
I want to live in the land of the living.
I want to feel it when we touch.
I want to breathe till I lose my breath
And I hope and pray that it’s the end of the beginning
Not the beginning
Of the end.
Cause I don’t want to do this anymore.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Monday, October 4, 2010
Time After Time ~ Re-visted from 2009
As the days get shorter and one of the busiest summers of my life comes to a close, my heart is relishing the slower pace that fall brings for our family. I thought this little dittie was worth re-posting. Hope it is a pleasent reminder to enjoy the moments and not just count the minutes.
Irony is one of my favorite literary (and life) devices. Thus, I am quite amused with myself at the moment. You see, in the last two weeks I have felt compelled to write about time. Or the seeming lack thereof.
It has taken me two whole weeks to sit down and put my thoughts together. (chuckle, chuckle, snort. Yes, I snort when I laugh. No, I do not do it on purpose...
Time.
Pace of life.
If you are anything like me and many (if not most) of my family and friends, when asked to describe your pace of life your answer would be:
Busy.
Crazy.
Hectic.
Full.
Most of us run around like proverbial chickens, heads gone flying, minds clouded and overwhelmed by all we feel we must accomplish in a day, a week, a lifetime.
Once we add precious children to our lot, it seems that the seconds inevitably just tick away at a steadier (and I swear faster) pace. We wish them along from milestone, to milestone. I can hear my own words echo back at me from my own experience....
"Rachel is rolling over; I can't wait until she sits up!"
“She crawled...she will be walking soon!"
"Once she can talk and play things will get really fun!"
And on and on I went, just wishing away each season, like the man in summer who begged for fall, only to find winter's chill incredibly alluring once the leaves actually began to change.
Of course some of my wishing was simply excitement at my daughter’s growth and development. Our children change so much at such an alarming rate in their early years, that I have found myself repeating what my own parents would say to me when I was young, "Just wait, the years only pass faster once you have children of your own," to friends with children a few years younger than ours or not yet blessed with the pitter-patter of little feet and dirty hand prints on white walls.
This year has been a little different. Well, more recently, it has been A LOT different.
This year, I have spent 6 weeks of the 52 allotted for 2009 on bed rest. The first couple of weeks I barely managed to stave off a deep depression. Staring at the ceiling, spending far too many hours alone with my thoughts is not my idea of a joy ride.
Three weeks in to my forced time of rest, something in me began to shift. As I sat, alone with my thoughts, often reading back over journal entries I had in previous months I was given a revelation.
I had asked for this.
I had prayed that God would show me how to live my life out of a place of rest, stillness, peace.
The evidence proving fault was right there in my journal in black and white. Penned by my own hand. I had asked, and God answered my request with a resounding , "Yes and Amen"
Anyone who knows me, would tell you I am a "Doer." I like to be active. Social. Though I do require moments of Solitude to maintain my sanity, I find much joy in activity. Though with age I have gained some maturity and grown in my ability to sit still, it is not my primary nature to be at rest. Thank God I am no longer alive to my primary nature!
I am alive in Christ, and being transformed into His likeness, so really, as I ponder it now it makes absolute sense that He so gladly gave me six weeks of forced medical rest. I needed that forced physical rest for a season so He could plant the seeds of His rest in my soul. God only knows there is likely no other way I would have sat still long enough for fertilization, let alone germination!!
So He has sewn the seeds of rest.
And now I must choose to water them. I must choose to grow in this. Not just talk about how badly I want to slow down, or live at a slower pace, but actually live this out.
I must choose to not over-schedule myself, my family, my mind.
I must choose to pursue Peace. To hold on to it. To live life out of a cultivated stillness rather than an anxious busyness. I must ask the Lord to still me, each day, to enable me to abide in His Peace and move out into my day's activities from that place rather than just making a list and beginning to check it off as soon as I open my eyes.
Am I alone in this list making? Do you have a list? (Please say you have a list.)My list, which I found MUCH joy from checking off item by line item) used to look like this:
• Quiet time (Maybe checked off)
• Gym Time (Maybe checked off)
• Play Time with my Daughter (Maybe checked off)
• Work Time (Always checked off)
• Me time (Maybe checked off)
• Husband time (Usually checked off)
• Household "Duties" or other errands time (Usually checked off)
For all of us list makers, let me be clear. I am not suggesting that there is anything inherently wrong with my list making. On the contrary, getting into a routine and maintaining an efficient household is not a bad thing...it can be a very good thing. As my fellow out-law (my brother in law) has so aptly said, the world is run by type A people.
But for most of my adult life I have been ruled by my list.
I do not want to be ruled by a list. Not one I make and certainly not one that my perception of other's expectations would create for me.
I want to be ruled by the Prince of Peace.
He is the Lord of my life. (And my lists)
So, in this season of life I am stepping out and trying something new. I am living without lists. Instead, I am asking the Holy Spirit to remind me of things that need doing and those that don't. I am choosing peace over worry. Instead of stressing over the inevitable reality that I just can not get it all done, can not be all things I need to be to all the people I feel I need to be, I am simply-not. Much to my surprise, I have not missed much. My world has not come to a screeching halt just because I don't have a list to check off. I have been more intimately in touch with friends and family, and the relationships that truly matter are being fostered and are growing.
I am not living stuck in the wheel of failed expectations. Overwhlemed by the stress of letting people down (myself included)
INSTEAD....
I am living a balanced, restful, peaceful, sometimes fast, sometimes slow life.
And I love it.
I have found out that I am better when I go slower. A better wife. A better mommy. A better friend. Just better.
Irony is one of my favorite literary (and life) devices. Thus, I am quite amused with myself at the moment. You see, in the last two weeks I have felt compelled to write about time. Or the seeming lack thereof.
It has taken me two whole weeks to sit down and put my thoughts together. (chuckle, chuckle, snort. Yes, I snort when I laugh. No, I do not do it on purpose...
Time.
Pace of life.
If you are anything like me and many (if not most) of my family and friends, when asked to describe your pace of life your answer would be:
Busy.
Crazy.
Hectic.
Full.
Most of us run around like proverbial chickens, heads gone flying, minds clouded and overwhelmed by all we feel we must accomplish in a day, a week, a lifetime.
Once we add precious children to our lot, it seems that the seconds inevitably just tick away at a steadier (and I swear faster) pace. We wish them along from milestone, to milestone. I can hear my own words echo back at me from my own experience....
"Rachel is rolling over; I can't wait until she sits up!"
“She crawled...she will be walking soon!"
"Once she can talk and play things will get really fun!"
And on and on I went, just wishing away each season, like the man in summer who begged for fall, only to find winter's chill incredibly alluring once the leaves actually began to change.
Of course some of my wishing was simply excitement at my daughter’s growth and development. Our children change so much at such an alarming rate in their early years, that I have found myself repeating what my own parents would say to me when I was young, "Just wait, the years only pass faster once you have children of your own," to friends with children a few years younger than ours or not yet blessed with the pitter-patter of little feet and dirty hand prints on white walls.
This year has been a little different. Well, more recently, it has been A LOT different.
This year, I have spent 6 weeks of the 52 allotted for 2009 on bed rest. The first couple of weeks I barely managed to stave off a deep depression. Staring at the ceiling, spending far too many hours alone with my thoughts is not my idea of a joy ride.
Three weeks in to my forced time of rest, something in me began to shift. As I sat, alone with my thoughts, often reading back over journal entries I had in previous months I was given a revelation.
I had asked for this.
I had prayed that God would show me how to live my life out of a place of rest, stillness, peace.
The evidence proving fault was right there in my journal in black and white. Penned by my own hand. I had asked, and God answered my request with a resounding , "Yes and Amen"
Anyone who knows me, would tell you I am a "Doer." I like to be active. Social. Though I do require moments of Solitude to maintain my sanity, I find much joy in activity. Though with age I have gained some maturity and grown in my ability to sit still, it is not my primary nature to be at rest. Thank God I am no longer alive to my primary nature!
I am alive in Christ, and being transformed into His likeness, so really, as I ponder it now it makes absolute sense that He so gladly gave me six weeks of forced medical rest. I needed that forced physical rest for a season so He could plant the seeds of His rest in my soul. God only knows there is likely no other way I would have sat still long enough for fertilization, let alone germination!!
So He has sewn the seeds of rest.
And now I must choose to water them. I must choose to grow in this. Not just talk about how badly I want to slow down, or live at a slower pace, but actually live this out.
I must choose to not over-schedule myself, my family, my mind.
I must choose to pursue Peace. To hold on to it. To live life out of a cultivated stillness rather than an anxious busyness. I must ask the Lord to still me, each day, to enable me to abide in His Peace and move out into my day's activities from that place rather than just making a list and beginning to check it off as soon as I open my eyes.
Am I alone in this list making? Do you have a list? (Please say you have a list.)My list, which I found MUCH joy from checking off item by line item) used to look like this:
• Quiet time (Maybe checked off)
• Gym Time (Maybe checked off)
• Play Time with my Daughter (Maybe checked off)
• Work Time (Always checked off)
• Me time (Maybe checked off)
• Husband time (Usually checked off)
• Household "Duties" or other errands time (Usually checked off)
For all of us list makers, let me be clear. I am not suggesting that there is anything inherently wrong with my list making. On the contrary, getting into a routine and maintaining an efficient household is not a bad thing...it can be a very good thing. As my fellow out-law (my brother in law) has so aptly said, the world is run by type A people.
But for most of my adult life I have been ruled by my list.
I do not want to be ruled by a list. Not one I make and certainly not one that my perception of other's expectations would create for me.
I want to be ruled by the Prince of Peace.
He is the Lord of my life. (And my lists)
So, in this season of life I am stepping out and trying something new. I am living without lists. Instead, I am asking the Holy Spirit to remind me of things that need doing and those that don't. I am choosing peace over worry. Instead of stressing over the inevitable reality that I just can not get it all done, can not be all things I need to be to all the people I feel I need to be, I am simply-not. Much to my surprise, I have not missed much. My world has not come to a screeching halt just because I don't have a list to check off. I have been more intimately in touch with friends and family, and the relationships that truly matter are being fostered and are growing.
I am not living stuck in the wheel of failed expectations. Overwhlemed by the stress of letting people down (myself included)
INSTEAD....
I am living a balanced, restful, peaceful, sometimes fast, sometimes slow life.
And I love it.
I have found out that I am better when I go slower. A better wife. A better mommy. A better friend. Just better.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Fear & Wisdom
Somewhere off at a distance that seems further away than it actually is, the waves bellow as they collide with the rocks that line the coast. Restless. Struggling. Crashing. Something has to give.
They wrestle within her so fiercely. It is as if they both believe they each belong. But she knows, beyond knowing that both cannot occupy the same place in her heart, in her mind.
Fear & Wisdom.
It is striking that each one raises up within her such different urges. Makes sense. Opposite forces breed opposing instincts. One wants to settle in to Peace; the other cries out like a wounded animal to run screaming from the mention of the word. Wisdom welcomes peace, pursues it like a kite after the wind. Fear? Fear runs from stillness, runs from quiet, runs from peace, headlong in to the dark embrace of whatever distraction first offers it's nimble fingers grasp around her heart.
What is she afraid of?
It isn’t so much the silence that she most fears. At first glimpse that may be the believable facade that many take for granted as true. But she knows better. She has lingered long enough with the questions and knows it is much more simple and profound all at once.
It isn’t the stillness either. Being still is difficult; it requires discipline. Discipline she lacks (she has believed that lie enough times over that it feels true.) But she knows better. She has done the discipline and knows she can live there, in the routine of right and wrong, black and white, all of the color draining out through the leaky places in her heart left un-mended. She can. She has. She probably will again.
But the questions. The questions themselves are what keep her awake at night. If she is quiet too long, sits still long enough, surely the questions will come again.
What if they are left unanswered?
That is what the Fear whispers. The Fear speaks and the air fills up to thick and claustrophobic with Doubt, History, Insecurity. Anchors to all the lies she has ever believed. Anvils smashing the life out of her broken hearted yesterdays. Leaving nothing but rubble to build upon for her tomorrows. The fog of Fear is familiar, inviting her to cozy up and stay. In the haze. Stay indoors. Stay where it is nearly impossible to see through to the other side.
Wisdom is True. Wisdom sets free. Breathes new life into every glimpse of Hope that could possibly occupy the smallest corner of her soul. Wisdom speaks and echoes fill the atmosphere in her imagination with words like Opportunity, Possibility, Dreams, and even Transformation. So what if the questions are left unanswered?! She is not alone.
She is significant.
She is beautiful.
She has purpose
She can be great.
She can dream. Trust. Risk.
HE is there with her. ALWAYS.
She settles into the quiet of night. Falls into the embracing lull of the waves caressing the shoreline. She lets the questions come now, for they no longer hold her hostage with their uncertainty. Her fingers woven gently around her warm mug, legs curled up to her chest, wrapped in her favorite throw. She is still. She listens. To the voice of God. He is there with her.
Wisdom wins.
They wrestle within her so fiercely. It is as if they both believe they each belong. But she knows, beyond knowing that both cannot occupy the same place in her heart, in her mind.
Fear & Wisdom.
It is striking that each one raises up within her such different urges. Makes sense. Opposite forces breed opposing instincts. One wants to settle in to Peace; the other cries out like a wounded animal to run screaming from the mention of the word. Wisdom welcomes peace, pursues it like a kite after the wind. Fear? Fear runs from stillness, runs from quiet, runs from peace, headlong in to the dark embrace of whatever distraction first offers it's nimble fingers grasp around her heart.
What is she afraid of?
It isn’t so much the silence that she most fears. At first glimpse that may be the believable facade that many take for granted as true. But she knows better. She has lingered long enough with the questions and knows it is much more simple and profound all at once.
It isn’t the stillness either. Being still is difficult; it requires discipline. Discipline she lacks (she has believed that lie enough times over that it feels true.) But she knows better. She has done the discipline and knows she can live there, in the routine of right and wrong, black and white, all of the color draining out through the leaky places in her heart left un-mended. She can. She has. She probably will again.
But the questions. The questions themselves are what keep her awake at night. If she is quiet too long, sits still long enough, surely the questions will come again.
What if they are left unanswered?
That is what the Fear whispers. The Fear speaks and the air fills up to thick and claustrophobic with Doubt, History, Insecurity. Anchors to all the lies she has ever believed. Anvils smashing the life out of her broken hearted yesterdays. Leaving nothing but rubble to build upon for her tomorrows. The fog of Fear is familiar, inviting her to cozy up and stay. In the haze. Stay indoors. Stay where it is nearly impossible to see through to the other side.
Wisdom is True. Wisdom sets free. Breathes new life into every glimpse of Hope that could possibly occupy the smallest corner of her soul. Wisdom speaks and echoes fill the atmosphere in her imagination with words like Opportunity, Possibility, Dreams, and even Transformation. So what if the questions are left unanswered?! She is not alone.
She is significant.
She is beautiful.
She has purpose
She can be great.
She can dream. Trust. Risk.
HE is there with her. ALWAYS.
She settles into the quiet of night. Falls into the embracing lull of the waves caressing the shoreline. She lets the questions come now, for they no longer hold her hostage with their uncertainty. Her fingers woven gently around her warm mug, legs curled up to her chest, wrapped in her favorite throw. She is still. She listens. To the voice of God. He is there with her.
Wisdom wins.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Au•then•tic [aw-then-tik]
adjective
1. Not false or copied; genuine; real: an authentic antique.
Lately the word has haunted me.
It is a happy haunt. Despair has no place to breathe amongst the hallway of my mind; no power to wreak havoc on my soul. It is simply that the longing will not leave. In truth, I have invited it's presence and would not be keen to see it go. If given a name, it could be called, the longing to be real. Genuine. Truthful. Deep. Transparent. To carry inside of me this very spirit of authenticity into every relationship, each encounter (brief or not), each casual passing by. And it does live in me. There exists within me a deposit of the genuine. Placed there, I believe, by the Author of all things Genuine. If this reads with an air of pride, please do forgive. No pride is intended with the previous statement. Only an effort to exude that very thing; authenticity.
So now, perhaps you recognize my trouble.
Or not.
I and many in my generation have adopted this cry: “Authentic!”
We want authentic leaders.
We want authentic friends.
We want our children to grow up to become their most authentic selves.
We want authentic politicians. (Possible oxymoron here, and that is for another day).
The cry for that in others must be answered first within.
How then, ought we to become our most authentic selves when constantly bombarded with the insecurities of our own hearts and those of the hearts around us? What brief life experience I have gathered thus far has shown me is that becoming my truest, best self is only possible if I am willing to travel the road of self-discovery with others who love me and are committed to helping me (and I, them) become better. More. What God intends I become.
And the terrain is often rough.
When I acknowledge I am good at being authentic, it sounds arrogant. Previously, I have been quick to apologize, explain, and excuse myself. Revelation has led to the discovery that it is not arrogance, but simply owning who I am discovering myself to be in light of what God created in me! Socially, it is not widely acceptable to be that honest. Saying, “I think, perhaps I may be good at... ”Or, "I am O.K..." is generally much easier for most of us to grant. Acknowledging what we are good at is most often considered boastful, proud, and self-promoting; especially if you actually like yourself. How ironic, then, that in an era where our cry for the authentic to step forward, it is our own insecurities that often hold back not only ourselves but also those closest to us, whom we love, from becoming our best selves.
What if we considered it truly a gift to be ourselves?
And what if we gave freely that gift to others?
The last few months in our little slice of the world have been full. Full of life. Ups and downs and everywhere in between. Full of learning and self-discovery. Not in the narcissistic sense that leads many of us to discover how wonderful we are and how the world ought to go on spinning, only with us at the center. Rather it is a self-discovery that comes only after seeing more clearly who God is. Of course we "see in part" still, recent months and events have left me with more understanding of the nature of God. Of Love. Hence, self-perception changes. Since I exist to live and move and breathe in Him, then seeing Him more clearly can only shed more light on who I am. Who He created me to be.
And He created me to be real.
Genuine.
Authentic.
I am good at it. (Most of the time)
If you live in my slice of the world, if my sphere of influence touches yours, then I can only hope that my working this out, my efforts to put this on its feet in my own life, opens some kind of door for you. One that you can walk through easily and join me in a place that is sincere and authentic...and can admit to the moments those very traits are lacking. And I want to know, what are you good at? Because, my friend, I want to fan the flames of your best self. I want you to feel safe with me. Safe enough to bring all of yourself, sit on the couch with me, glass of wine in hand, warmth in our hearts and enjoy friendship. Authentic. Real. Sometimes hard, but always true.
1. Not false or copied; genuine; real: an authentic antique.
Lately the word has haunted me.
It is a happy haunt. Despair has no place to breathe amongst the hallway of my mind; no power to wreak havoc on my soul. It is simply that the longing will not leave. In truth, I have invited it's presence and would not be keen to see it go. If given a name, it could be called, the longing to be real. Genuine. Truthful. Deep. Transparent. To carry inside of me this very spirit of authenticity into every relationship, each encounter (brief or not), each casual passing by. And it does live in me. There exists within me a deposit of the genuine. Placed there, I believe, by the Author of all things Genuine. If this reads with an air of pride, please do forgive. No pride is intended with the previous statement. Only an effort to exude that very thing; authenticity.
So now, perhaps you recognize my trouble.
Or not.
I and many in my generation have adopted this cry: “Authentic!”
We want authentic leaders.
We want authentic friends.
We want our children to grow up to become their most authentic selves.
We want authentic politicians. (Possible oxymoron here, and that is for another day).
The cry for that in others must be answered first within.
How then, ought we to become our most authentic selves when constantly bombarded with the insecurities of our own hearts and those of the hearts around us? What brief life experience I have gathered thus far has shown me is that becoming my truest, best self is only possible if I am willing to travel the road of self-discovery with others who love me and are committed to helping me (and I, them) become better. More. What God intends I become.
And the terrain is often rough.
When I acknowledge I am good at being authentic, it sounds arrogant. Previously, I have been quick to apologize, explain, and excuse myself. Revelation has led to the discovery that it is not arrogance, but simply owning who I am discovering myself to be in light of what God created in me! Socially, it is not widely acceptable to be that honest. Saying, “I think, perhaps I may be good at... ”Or, "I am O.K..." is generally much easier for most of us to grant. Acknowledging what we are good at is most often considered boastful, proud, and self-promoting; especially if you actually like yourself. How ironic, then, that in an era where our cry for the authentic to step forward, it is our own insecurities that often hold back not only ourselves but also those closest to us, whom we love, from becoming our best selves.
What if we considered it truly a gift to be ourselves?
And what if we gave freely that gift to others?
The last few months in our little slice of the world have been full. Full of life. Ups and downs and everywhere in between. Full of learning and self-discovery. Not in the narcissistic sense that leads many of us to discover how wonderful we are and how the world ought to go on spinning, only with us at the center. Rather it is a self-discovery that comes only after seeing more clearly who God is. Of course we "see in part" still, recent months and events have left me with more understanding of the nature of God. Of Love. Hence, self-perception changes. Since I exist to live and move and breathe in Him, then seeing Him more clearly can only shed more light on who I am. Who He created me to be.
And He created me to be real.
Genuine.
Authentic.
I am good at it. (Most of the time)
If you live in my slice of the world, if my sphere of influence touches yours, then I can only hope that my working this out, my efforts to put this on its feet in my own life, opens some kind of door for you. One that you can walk through easily and join me in a place that is sincere and authentic...and can admit to the moments those very traits are lacking. And I want to know, what are you good at? Because, my friend, I want to fan the flames of your best self. I want you to feel safe with me. Safe enough to bring all of yourself, sit on the couch with me, glass of wine in hand, warmth in our hearts and enjoy friendship. Authentic. Real. Sometimes hard, but always true.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Tran-si-tion [tran-zish-uhn]
A noun
'Movement, passage, or change from one position or state, stage, subject, concept, etc. to another; change.'
We are in a state of flux. Transition. Both literal, being in between homes, and figurative (keep reading). As a result, I have limited access to computers, hence, I simply will not be able to write as often as I would like. The thought makes me a little sad, but if I am honest with myself (and whoever is reading this) it is likely a gift to me. One less thing to keep me from the Stillness I am being drawn in to.
In the midst of this transition, I am preparing to give birth to our first son. Hence, the word transition carries a slightly different nuance. Transition is one of the most painful stages of labor. It can happen quickly or not so quickly. Labor pains become increasingly painful and come closer together. However, once it is complete, the birth is about to take place. After long months of preparation, nurturing, learning, and yearning to encounter this new life face-to-face, the work is nearly complete. All that is left is the push to the finish. And then that moment, when suddenly, you have arrived in a new place. All that is behind hardly matters beyond the fact that those were the steps between there and here.
Here.
A New Place.
A New Life.
We are not there yet. We are still in transition.
And this is all I know:
Something is being born. In us. A new place.
A new way of being.
A new way of belonging to each other. To Our Father.
And this is what I have heard the Father say about this transition: " No Epidurals."
Don't get me wrong- In the natural, when the time comes for my son to make his journey from the safety and warmth of my womb into the bright, colorful, sometimes blurry world we exist in, I may very well opt for the blessed release of the anesthesiologists’ large needle. But in the super-natural, where we as a family are both literally and figuratively moving from one stage to the next, that is not an option for us. This is a good thing. Why? Because we will remember every contraction. Every pain. Every moment.
Once we "arrive;" when whatever is being birthed in us actually arrives, we will be able to stand in that moment,look back and recognize (not to mention fully appreciate) the process and how we walked it out. We will know, in the truest sense of knowing (that is, by our own experience,) just what the process meant. Perhaps we ma even gain a clue to the wonderful question that we, even now, ask. We ask and we wait. We sit at the Father's feet like a child anticipating a wonderful story about to be told in the most facinating of ways by her most favorite person...
No, the question is not, "Why?"
But rather, "What is this for?" and "What must we do?"
'Movement, passage, or change from one position or state, stage, subject, concept, etc. to another; change.'
We are in a state of flux. Transition. Both literal, being in between homes, and figurative (keep reading). As a result, I have limited access to computers, hence, I simply will not be able to write as often as I would like. The thought makes me a little sad, but if I am honest with myself (and whoever is reading this) it is likely a gift to me. One less thing to keep me from the Stillness I am being drawn in to.
In the midst of this transition, I am preparing to give birth to our first son. Hence, the word transition carries a slightly different nuance. Transition is one of the most painful stages of labor. It can happen quickly or not so quickly. Labor pains become increasingly painful and come closer together. However, once it is complete, the birth is about to take place. After long months of preparation, nurturing, learning, and yearning to encounter this new life face-to-face, the work is nearly complete. All that is left is the push to the finish. And then that moment, when suddenly, you have arrived in a new place. All that is behind hardly matters beyond the fact that those were the steps between there and here.
Here.
A New Place.
A New Life.
We are not there yet. We are still in transition.
And this is all I know:
Something is being born. In us. A new place.
A new way of being.
A new way of belonging to each other. To Our Father.
And this is what I have heard the Father say about this transition: " No Epidurals."
Don't get me wrong- In the natural, when the time comes for my son to make his journey from the safety and warmth of my womb into the bright, colorful, sometimes blurry world we exist in, I may very well opt for the blessed release of the anesthesiologists’ large needle. But in the super-natural, where we as a family are both literally and figuratively moving from one stage to the next, that is not an option for us. This is a good thing. Why? Because we will remember every contraction. Every pain. Every moment.
Once we "arrive;" when whatever is being birthed in us actually arrives, we will be able to stand in that moment,look back and recognize (not to mention fully appreciate) the process and how we walked it out. We will know, in the truest sense of knowing (that is, by our own experience,) just what the process meant. Perhaps we ma even gain a clue to the wonderful question that we, even now, ask. We ask and we wait. We sit at the Father's feet like a child anticipating a wonderful story about to be told in the most facinating of ways by her most favorite person...
No, the question is not, "Why?"
But rather, "What is this for?" and "What must we do?"
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Time after Time
Irony is one of my favorite literary (and life) devices. Thus, I am quite amused with myself at the moment. You see, in the last two weeks I have felt compelled to write about time. Or the seeming lack thereof.
It has taken me two whole weeks to sit down and put my thoughts together. (chuckle, chuckle, snort. Yes, I snort when I laugh. No, I do not do it on purpose.)
Time.
Pace of life.
If you are anything like me and many (if not most) of my family and friends, when asked to describe your pace of life your answer would be:
Busy.
Crazy.
Hectic.
Full.
Most of us run around like proverbial chickens, heads gone flying, minds clouded and overwhelmed by all we feel we must accomplish in a day, a week, a lifetime.
Once we add precious children to our lot, it seems that the seconds inevitably just tick away at a steadier (and I swear faster) pace. We wish them along from milestone, to milestone. I can hear my own words echo back at me from my own experience....
"Rachel is rolling over; I can't wait until she sits up!"
“She crawled...she will be walking soon!"
"Once she can talk and play things will get really fun!"
And on and on I went, just wishing away each season, like the man in summer who begged for fall, only to find winter's chill incredibly alluring once the leaves actually began to change.
Of course some of my wishing was simply excitement at my daughter’s growth and development. Our children change so much at such an alarming rate in their early years, that I have found myself repeating what my own parents would say to me when I was young, "Just wait, the years only pass faster once you have children of your own," to friends with children a few years younger than ours or not yet blessed with the pitter-patter of little feet and dirty hand prints on white walls.
This year has been a little different. Well, more recently, it has been A LOT different.
This year, I have spent 6 weeks of the 52 allotted for 2009 on bed rest. The first couple of weeks I barely managed to stave off a deep depression. Staring at the ceiling, spending far too many hours alone with my thoughts is not my idea of a joy ride.
Three weeks in to my forced time of rest, something in me began to shift. As I sat, alone with my thoughts, often reading back over journal entries I had in previous months I was given a revelation.
I had asked for this.
I had prayed that God would show me how to live my life out of a place of rest, stillness, peace.
The evidence proving fault was right there in my journal in black and white. Penned by my own hand. I had asked, and God answered my request with a resounding , "Yes and Amen"
Anyone who knows me, would tell you I am a "Doer." I like to be active. Social. Though I do require moments of Solitude to maintain my sanity, I find much joy in activity. Though with age I have gained some maturity and grown in my ability to sit still, it is not my primary nature to be at rest. Thank God I am no longer alive to my primary nature!
I am alive in Christ, and being transformed into His likeness, so really, as I ponder it now it makes absolute sense that He so gladly gave me six weeks of forced medical rest. I needed that forced physical rest for a season so He could plant the seeds of His rest in my soul. God only knows there is likely no other way I would have sat still long enough for fertilization, let alone germination!!
So He has sewn the seeds of rest.
And now I must choose to water them. I must choose to grow in this. Not just talk about how badly I want to slow down, or live at a slower pace, but actually live this out.
I must choose to not over-schedule myself, my family, my mind.
I must choose to pursue Peace. To hold on to it. To live life out of a cultivated stillness rather than an anxious busyness. I must ask the Lord to still me, each day, to enable me to abide in His Peace and move out into my day's activities from that place rather than just making a list and beginning to check it off as soon as I open my eyes.
Am I alone in this list making? Do you have a list? (Please say you have a list.)My list, which I found MUCH joy from checking off item by line item) used to look like this:
• Quiet time (Maybe checked off)
• Gym Time (Maybe checked off)
• Play Time with my Daughter (Maybe checked off)
• Work Time (Always checked off)
• Me time (Maybe checked off)
• Husband time (Usually checked off)
• Household "Duties" or other errands time (Usually checked off)
For all of us list makers, let me be clear. I am not suggesting that there is anything inherently wrong with my list making. On the contrary, getting into a routine and maintaining an efficient household is not a bad thing...it can be a very good thing. As my fellow out-law (my brother in law) has so aptly said, the world is run by type A people.
But for most of my adult life I have been ruled by my list.
I do not want to be ruled by a list. Not one I make and certainly not one that my perception of other's expectations would create for me.
I want to be ruled by the Prince of Peace.
He is the Lord of my life. (And my lists)
So, in this season of life I am stepping out and trying something new. I am living without lists. Instead, I am asking the Holy Spirit to remind me of things that need doing and those that don't. I am choosing peace over worry. Instead of stressing over the inevitable reality that I just can not get it all done, can not be all things I need to be to all the people I feel I need to be, I am simply-not. Much to my surprise, I have not missed much. My world has not come to a screeching halt just because I don't have a list to check off. I have been more intimately in touch with friends and family, and the relationships that truly matter are being fostered and are growing.
I am not living stuck in the wheel of failed expectations. Overwhlemed by the stress of letting people down (myself included)
INSTEAD....
I am living a balanced, restful, peaceful, sometimes fast, sometimes slow life.
And I love it.
I have found out that I am better when I go slower. A better wife. A better mommy. A better friend. Just better.
It has taken me two whole weeks to sit down and put my thoughts together. (chuckle, chuckle, snort. Yes, I snort when I laugh. No, I do not do it on purpose.)
Time.
Pace of life.
If you are anything like me and many (if not most) of my family and friends, when asked to describe your pace of life your answer would be:
Busy.
Crazy.
Hectic.
Full.
Most of us run around like proverbial chickens, heads gone flying, minds clouded and overwhelmed by all we feel we must accomplish in a day, a week, a lifetime.
Once we add precious children to our lot, it seems that the seconds inevitably just tick away at a steadier (and I swear faster) pace. We wish them along from milestone, to milestone. I can hear my own words echo back at me from my own experience....
"Rachel is rolling over; I can't wait until she sits up!"
“She crawled...she will be walking soon!"
"Once she can talk and play things will get really fun!"
And on and on I went, just wishing away each season, like the man in summer who begged for fall, only to find winter's chill incredibly alluring once the leaves actually began to change.
Of course some of my wishing was simply excitement at my daughter’s growth and development. Our children change so much at such an alarming rate in their early years, that I have found myself repeating what my own parents would say to me when I was young, "Just wait, the years only pass faster once you have children of your own," to friends with children a few years younger than ours or not yet blessed with the pitter-patter of little feet and dirty hand prints on white walls.
This year has been a little different. Well, more recently, it has been A LOT different.
This year, I have spent 6 weeks of the 52 allotted for 2009 on bed rest. The first couple of weeks I barely managed to stave off a deep depression. Staring at the ceiling, spending far too many hours alone with my thoughts is not my idea of a joy ride.
Three weeks in to my forced time of rest, something in me began to shift. As I sat, alone with my thoughts, often reading back over journal entries I had in previous months I was given a revelation.
I had asked for this.
I had prayed that God would show me how to live my life out of a place of rest, stillness, peace.
The evidence proving fault was right there in my journal in black and white. Penned by my own hand. I had asked, and God answered my request with a resounding , "Yes and Amen"
Anyone who knows me, would tell you I am a "Doer." I like to be active. Social. Though I do require moments of Solitude to maintain my sanity, I find much joy in activity. Though with age I have gained some maturity and grown in my ability to sit still, it is not my primary nature to be at rest. Thank God I am no longer alive to my primary nature!
I am alive in Christ, and being transformed into His likeness, so really, as I ponder it now it makes absolute sense that He so gladly gave me six weeks of forced medical rest. I needed that forced physical rest for a season so He could plant the seeds of His rest in my soul. God only knows there is likely no other way I would have sat still long enough for fertilization, let alone germination!!
So He has sewn the seeds of rest.
And now I must choose to water them. I must choose to grow in this. Not just talk about how badly I want to slow down, or live at a slower pace, but actually live this out.
I must choose to not over-schedule myself, my family, my mind.
I must choose to pursue Peace. To hold on to it. To live life out of a cultivated stillness rather than an anxious busyness. I must ask the Lord to still me, each day, to enable me to abide in His Peace and move out into my day's activities from that place rather than just making a list and beginning to check it off as soon as I open my eyes.
Am I alone in this list making? Do you have a list? (Please say you have a list.)My list, which I found MUCH joy from checking off item by line item) used to look like this:
• Quiet time (Maybe checked off)
• Gym Time (Maybe checked off)
• Play Time with my Daughter (Maybe checked off)
• Work Time (Always checked off)
• Me time (Maybe checked off)
• Husband time (Usually checked off)
• Household "Duties" or other errands time (Usually checked off)
For all of us list makers, let me be clear. I am not suggesting that there is anything inherently wrong with my list making. On the contrary, getting into a routine and maintaining an efficient household is not a bad thing...it can be a very good thing. As my fellow out-law (my brother in law) has so aptly said, the world is run by type A people.
But for most of my adult life I have been ruled by my list.
I do not want to be ruled by a list. Not one I make and certainly not one that my perception of other's expectations would create for me.
I want to be ruled by the Prince of Peace.
He is the Lord of my life. (And my lists)
So, in this season of life I am stepping out and trying something new. I am living without lists. Instead, I am asking the Holy Spirit to remind me of things that need doing and those that don't. I am choosing peace over worry. Instead of stressing over the inevitable reality that I just can not get it all done, can not be all things I need to be to all the people I feel I need to be, I am simply-not. Much to my surprise, I have not missed much. My world has not come to a screeching halt just because I don't have a list to check off. I have been more intimately in touch with friends and family, and the relationships that truly matter are being fostered and are growing.
I am not living stuck in the wheel of failed expectations. Overwhlemed by the stress of letting people down (myself included)
INSTEAD....
I am living a balanced, restful, peaceful, sometimes fast, sometimes slow life.
And I love it.
I have found out that I am better when I go slower. A better wife. A better mommy. A better friend. Just better.
Monday, November 2, 2009
What I gained through loss
A friend recently asked me if I would share my baby story. At first thought, I was a bit scared to share. I have had a difficult road, but there are many, SO many that have walked a much more difficult path than I. So as not to trivialize my own story, nor attenuate the significance of each who has suffered, at whatever point and/or depth of experience, I will make this provision; there is grace for every journey. Capacity for every lesson that needs learning. I certainly didn't want to come off as self-indulgent or self-pitying. When sharing in something so personal, it would be easy for a reader to sit on the outside, without any "real" first-hand sense of what is being shared and judge the storyteller as one or the other. Then I was reminded of how sadly common a tale of loss it is, and just how tangible it could be for many women who might read my story....
I am currently four months into my second pregnancy this year. It would be difficult to tell the story of this pregnancy without venturing back into the travails of previous ripening experiences, and I want to be sure to give as much scope as possible...(so this is bound to be a bit lengthy)
I found out I was carrying our daughter five months into our marriage. Now, fortunately, I had married the man of my dreams AND we had been privy to some wonderful pre-marital counseling, so at least SOME tools were in place that allowed me to navigate the emotional shock of the news. You see, the man of my dreams was in the military. We had dated a year and a half at a distance, been married, lived in his parents' (God bless them!) studio apartment behind their house for two months and then traveled to his first duty station where we were living in a six-hundred something square foot apartment. For the first time since I graduated high school I was not working (at this point in my life, without a job, I felt I was completely lost for self-definition).So, I had begun preparing to go back to graduate school. Kids? Well they were a part of the three-five year plan, depending on how far up the academia ladder I aspired to climb.
And then it happened. I was pregnant. (Okay it didn't just "happen" but you get the point)
I laughed (filled with sarcasm)
I cried (perhaps moaned is a better word)
I was on bedrest for 6 weeks. (God had my attention)
And then, I adjusted. (Insert approximately 4 more blog posts about the journey of motherhood here.)
Okay, the adjustment part took the better of two years. But when I look at my sweet girl today, I CAN NOT imagine what life would be like without her. If I am being honest, I have not always felt that way about being a mom, so when it came time, meaning when I actually felt ready to try for number two it was a much different experience.
I was actually EXCITED.
As I had said, this is my second pregnancy this year. The first of our children to be born this year was born straight into the arms of Jesus in early April. Though it feels our dear one was gone too soon, a life lived far too shortly, the imprint our child has left upon my heart is one that will remain for a lifetime. Our second child is resting in the arms of Jesus, and there are moments in my days when that reality is the only solace that pushes me past the fear of what could be with this pregnancy.
A miscarriage is an odd, though unfortunately not rare, experience. Or at least that is what I found.
At first, there was nothing.
A deep sense of being empty, but no emotional reaction to the void.
People around me grieved for me. They were so sad for my sake. I felt guilty.
I asked myself, "Shouldn't I have felt...something? Anger? Pain? Relief? SOMETHING?!"
But the first few days there was just the emptiness.
And then it hit. The tidal wave of emotion. As I crawled into bed on the fourth night, my husband wrapped his arms around me. His hand touched my belly. That touch seemed to trigger the release of all that I had not been able to feel up until that moment. That night I nearly drowned in the sadness. I wept, long and hard, as so many others have for the child that I would not hold this side of Heaven.
I am celebrating each day of this pregnancy with deep joy. It has not been without trial. At week six I, once again, found myself on partial bedrest fighting for the life growing within me. Fighting by resting. My current journey of joy is so closely linked to the path of loss I have already tread. It is what I learned while traveling that path that allows me to walk through this pregnancy with joy and stand in opposition to every fear that attempts to cloud my mind and my heart.
There, standing on the path of loss, filled to overflowing with questions, fears, anger, sadness, one question begged answering. And the reply was so crucial that is would come to shape how I saw the world from that point on. "God, are you really GOOD?"
Before facing that point along my journey I would have answered with an easy and resounding,"Yes!" But this was the first time I had asked in earnest and given appropriate thought and space to the question. For several days I was not sure that I could give that same answer any longer.
But is finally came.The Peace. The Peace that comes only from the Prince of Peace. And I knew the answer was, and is, "Yes, my dear one I am GOOD. I give good gifts to my children. My purposes are GOOD."
God's good is eternal. I don't have to understand it to know it. His purposes are Kingdom purposes and His ways are higher than my ways. I know it. I believe it. I have come face to face with the question that shapes my entire world view, and I am elated at the reply.
God is good! Baby Peterson number three is on the way!
I am currently four months into my second pregnancy this year. It would be difficult to tell the story of this pregnancy without venturing back into the travails of previous ripening experiences, and I want to be sure to give as much scope as possible...(so this is bound to be a bit lengthy)
I found out I was carrying our daughter five months into our marriage. Now, fortunately, I had married the man of my dreams AND we had been privy to some wonderful pre-marital counseling, so at least SOME tools were in place that allowed me to navigate the emotional shock of the news. You see, the man of my dreams was in the military. We had dated a year and a half at a distance, been married, lived in his parents' (God bless them!) studio apartment behind their house for two months and then traveled to his first duty station where we were living in a six-hundred something square foot apartment. For the first time since I graduated high school I was not working (at this point in my life, without a job, I felt I was completely lost for self-definition).So, I had begun preparing to go back to graduate school. Kids? Well they were a part of the three-five year plan, depending on how far up the academia ladder I aspired to climb.
And then it happened. I was pregnant. (Okay it didn't just "happen" but you get the point)
I laughed (filled with sarcasm)
I cried (perhaps moaned is a better word)
I was on bedrest for 6 weeks. (God had my attention)
And then, I adjusted. (Insert approximately 4 more blog posts about the journey of motherhood here.)
Okay, the adjustment part took the better of two years. But when I look at my sweet girl today, I CAN NOT imagine what life would be like without her. If I am being honest, I have not always felt that way about being a mom, so when it came time, meaning when I actually felt ready to try for number two it was a much different experience.
I was actually EXCITED.
As I had said, this is my second pregnancy this year. The first of our children to be born this year was born straight into the arms of Jesus in early April. Though it feels our dear one was gone too soon, a life lived far too shortly, the imprint our child has left upon my heart is one that will remain for a lifetime. Our second child is resting in the arms of Jesus, and there are moments in my days when that reality is the only solace that pushes me past the fear of what could be with this pregnancy.
A miscarriage is an odd, though unfortunately not rare, experience. Or at least that is what I found.
At first, there was nothing.
A deep sense of being empty, but no emotional reaction to the void.
People around me grieved for me. They were so sad for my sake. I felt guilty.
I asked myself, "Shouldn't I have felt...something? Anger? Pain? Relief? SOMETHING?!"
But the first few days there was just the emptiness.
And then it hit. The tidal wave of emotion. As I crawled into bed on the fourth night, my husband wrapped his arms around me. His hand touched my belly. That touch seemed to trigger the release of all that I had not been able to feel up until that moment. That night I nearly drowned in the sadness. I wept, long and hard, as so many others have for the child that I would not hold this side of Heaven.
I am celebrating each day of this pregnancy with deep joy. It has not been without trial. At week six I, once again, found myself on partial bedrest fighting for the life growing within me. Fighting by resting. My current journey of joy is so closely linked to the path of loss I have already tread. It is what I learned while traveling that path that allows me to walk through this pregnancy with joy and stand in opposition to every fear that attempts to cloud my mind and my heart.
There, standing on the path of loss, filled to overflowing with questions, fears, anger, sadness, one question begged answering. And the reply was so crucial that is would come to shape how I saw the world from that point on. "God, are you really GOOD?"
Before facing that point along my journey I would have answered with an easy and resounding,"Yes!" But this was the first time I had asked in earnest and given appropriate thought and space to the question. For several days I was not sure that I could give that same answer any longer.
But is finally came.The Peace. The Peace that comes only from the Prince of Peace. And I knew the answer was, and is, "Yes, my dear one I am GOOD. I give good gifts to my children. My purposes are GOOD."
God's good is eternal. I don't have to understand it to know it. His purposes are Kingdom purposes and His ways are higher than my ways. I know it. I believe it. I have come face to face with the question that shapes my entire world view, and I am elated at the reply.
God is good! Baby Peterson number three is on the way!
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