Is there a dream you’ve left behind? One of my big ones keeps knocking at my door. It won’t leave me alone after thirty years of me trying to push it under the rug. So… More
It’s been a trying couple of weeks. A migraine. Back pain. Self doubt. Fear. I stand in the kitchen as I write this today, unable to sit. Still hurting as I stand. And I wonder about all the people out there who suffer from chronic pain. I marvel at how they continue on in dignified silence, likely suffering much more greatly than I am, when all I want to do is shout from the rooftops that I need some relief.
Jesus is in the boat.
A few weeks ago, while my friend Summer and I were having lunch, she mentioned a little something about the message she’d heard at church the weekend before. She said the pastor was talking about anxiety, and one of the things that stuck with her was his reminder to the congregation that, “Jesus is in the boat.”
Five little words that can offer so much comfort and relief. Five little words. I wonder if she even knows how greatly that swift conversation has impacted me. That small phrase has provided me with peace and strength during the peak moments of unrest in this tough season.
“Jesus is in the boat” is referencing an event in the bible, in the book of Matthew. In Matthew 8:23-27, it says:
“23 Then he got into the boat and his disciples followed him. 24 Suddenly a furious storm came up on the lake, so that the waves swept over the boat. But Jesus was sleeping. 25 The disciples went and woke him, saying, “Lord, save us! We’re going to drown!”
26 He replied, “You of little faith, why are you so afraid?” Then he got up and rebuked the winds and the waves, and it was completely calm.
27 The men were amazed and asked, “What kind of man is this? Even the winds and the waves obey him!”
I don’t know about you, but there certainly have been times when I felt like I might be drowning. Overwhelmed. Unsure. Anxious. Suffering. And many don’t just suffer with physical pain, but with mental illness or family or relationship struggles. Jesus did warn us that life is life and there will be trouble in it. But He did not leave us to battle it alone. (John 16:33)
Jesus is in the boat.
Recently, I repeated that simple, yet powerfully comforting sentence to myself as the inside of my head pulsed against my skull behind my right temple in the middle of a dark, sleepless night. With each heartbeat, I feared it might eventually burst as it intensified. Have you ever had a headache that robbed your very breath? It’s kind of terrifying.
Jesus is in the boat.
I said the soothing words again after work the other day as I tried to fold my body into my car, my spine unyielding, the muscles like concrete. And then again, minutes later, when I surrendered to the tears of frustration after finally shutting the car door. Will this ridiculously inconvenient back pain ever go away? Is it arthritis and I’ll have it forever?
Jesus is in the boat.
It floated around in my brain as I listened to the latest update of the fragile health of a dear family member…so many things unknown. If only I could make it better. If only I knew just what to do or say. If only, if only…
Jesus. Is. In. The. Boat.
There is something about that visual…the image of Jesus in this metaphorical boat (otherwise known as my life) which comforts me in a way that little else has. With a prayer, I know He is listening, but when I also imagine this boat scene it becomes more tangible somehow.
It’s a tender proximity, a nearness that wraps me up close. It’s like the time I went deep sea fishing with my step-dad and grandpa, even though I was secretly scared to venture out so far that land would inevitably disappear from my sight. But their presence, just having them with me, made it bearable, comforting, and even became an enjoyable memory.
When I think of Jesus in my boat, so to speak, I imagine He and I together in a small, sturdy boat…the tumultuous waves crashing around us. Cocooned among wide planks of fine-crafted wood below, and the cool air which sustains life blowing past us above. Close enough for tears to be wiped from my face…close enough to look into the eye of my Savior and see His kindness and strength.
I don’t like to complain. But I often hear myself complaining. I don’t like to worry. But I hear myself voicing questions of doubt. I don’t like to feel afraid. But the fact is, there are times when I am. And how can we not be? We are human after all. There will be times when our weaknesses are displayed and our imperfections magnified. That is okay! Yet, if we believe, we have the privilege to have a relationship with Jesus, who tells us that He is with us always. We are not alone. (John 14:15-31)
Remembering that Jesus is in the boat fills me with renewed resolve and determination, and at the very least it’s a reminder that He’s got this handled even when I feel I don’t. He’s not only in the boat, but He has the power to calm the storm that surrounds it. And the more I can remember that, the more I will cling to it so that my hope and faith and trust will grow.
Oh, and as I finish this up, there goes my 5-month-old puppy confiscating the egg shells that I put into the trash after cooking breakfast this morning. Slimy egg whites and little brown shards all over the kitchen floor. She’s running around like a wild thing while trying to ingest her favorite of all things: fluffy, white paper towel. *sigh* Silly girl.
My friends…Jesus is in the boat.
I’m winging it today. I’m just sitting here writing whatever comes to mind because I said I would show up, so here I am. I’m not prepared. I wish I had some brilliant wisdom to impart. Or at least something helpful. But it’s just me, coming off a wild week of too much to do and not enough time to do it all. And headaches…and 3 months of back pain.
At least that’s my excuse. 🙂
But I showed up today to this writing space because I’m trying work on keeping promises to myself. And I promised myself I would work on my writing, and show up to it. The first step is to sit down.
So…I’m just going to be real—–that’s all I have for now.
I’ll be working on this!
What are you hoping to show up to this week?
Have you ever put off reading something because you felt like you were just too busy?
I was gifted with a treasure of a book which turned out to be the very thing I needed to calm down my busy-ness!
When Praying with Jane: 31 Days Through the Prayers of Jane Austen by Rachel Dodge arrived at my door, I was preoccupied in a flurry of this and that. It took me awhile to make the time to start it. After getting through my days filled with activity, I would glance longingly at the beautiful cover where it sat on my nightstand before closing my eyes and giving in to much-needed sleep.
On one particularly stressful day, feeling as if I could barely take a breath for all the demands of life weighing me down, I finally picked up Praying with Jane. That day, I felt especially far away from God…I felt lost. I felt overwhelmed. I kind of felt wretched. I remember hoping that maybe this book I’d been wanting to read would give me the respite I needed.
It did. I wished I had started it sooner, actually, because it provided a sense of calm and soul perspective that I’d neglected for quite awhile. Small, yet profound, after just a few of the short daily readings, I found myself able to breathe more deeply, more fully…and, most importantly, reconnect with my priorities in regards to my faith in Jesus, my Savior.
I love the gentleness of this book. Each day’s reading takes about 5 minutes or less to read, and through Rachel’s writing I was able to connect with the prayers of a woman who lived so long ago. Even now in the 21st century, I could relate to Jane’s prayers and, more importantly, I was reminded of areas in my life in which I wanted to grow or nurture.
I’m somewhat of a free bird when it comes to reading devotionals, picking them up here and there when I feel the need. Sometimes I like to think on a thing for several days. I loved going back to this book, and looked forward to each new piece. Each time I picked up Praying with Jane it seemed as though the topic of the day (or rather, the section of Jane Austen’s prayer Rachel was addressing) was fitting for me in that moment. Has that ever happened to you? It’s a stunning feeling.
My favorite parts of the book were the interactive prayers at the end of each day (“Let Us Pray”). There are times in my life when I want to pray to God, but cannot find the words, and these beautiful, humbling, and genuine prayers were very good at helping me along. In some cases, they also provided me with new insight on changing the way I pray.
I also, of course, learned much about Jane Austen, her life and times, and her family through Rachel’s expertise and easy way of weaving Jane’s history into relevant thoughts for today. I’ve only read a couple of books by Jane Austen. I’ve probably seen more film adaptations, actually.
While not previously knowing much about Austen, I am thankful for this book’s tender challenge to my heart in regard to my own three decades old relationship with Christ. The benevolent call to obedience—the soft whisper to open my eyes to my own sins, however big or small they may seem—the undeniable proof of God’s love for me, no matter how many wrong turns I’ve made along the road of life. That He “knows our hearts fully, even more than a close friend or family member.”
Praying with Jane would be a wonderful gift, even for those who may not be super fans of Austen. I also think new Christians (or even those who aren’t Christians) would gain a lot of biblical insight and knowledge through the many bible references sprinkled throughout each day’s read.
One of my favorite prayers for the reader written by Rachel from Praying with Jane is this:
“Thank you, Lord, for your faithfulness and your strength. Please show me the areas of my heart, temper, and habits that you want to refine. As the psalmist prayed, please “set a guard, O Lord, over my mouth; keep watch over the door of my lips!” (Psalm 141:3). I confess to you now my negative thoughts regarding: [your specific confession]. Make my heart clean and new again. I turn to you now for refreshment and revival. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”
“Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.” -Psalm 51:10
What a wonderful way to start a new year, with the promise of renewal and refinement. I’m so glad I took the few minutes out of many of my days to breathe in these integral reminders which are rooted in great faith and love. I will be rereading it again in the new year.
Several years ago, I discovered a non-fiction book by one of America’s favorite fiction authors, Debbie Macomber. It was called Knit Together: Discover God’s Pattern for Your Life. I loved this book. I loved it so much that I lent it out to friends and cannot remember who I last gave it to. I think it may be time for me to get a new copy and read it once more.
One of the things that stood out to me in Knit Together was the idea Debbie shared of having one word that is her defining word for the upcoming new year. She shared that it was a tradition for her to choose a word that meant something to her, that would represent what she wanted to focus on throughout the whole year. For example, surrender or prayer. In fact, she later wrote another non-fiction book on the whole topic called One Perfect Word. The idea really appealed to me, so for the last several years I’ve also been choosing my word for the year.
Each Thanksgiving, I begin thinking of my new word. It’s usually hard for me to decide. But the last few months have been rough for me spiritually and physically, and I neglected to even give 2019’s word much thought.
However, recently I’ve been reading a little book called Praying with Jane by Rachel Dodge…and then came Christmas. Between those two things, I’ve been deeply reminded of the sweet joy of Jesus in my life and how I never want to take that gift for granted. And with His gift, the ability to make each morning new…our sins forgiven, if we but ask. The opportunity for a cleansed and revived heart….the hope we have in waiting on the Lord. I was reminded that what I want most is for His love to shine through me, and not be hidden.
And so I thought to myself, what is the root of all my trouble right now? What is keeping my light from shining? And I realized it came down to broken promises. Broken promises to myself in many different ways which eventually affect those around me.
Here is one example: If I break the promise I’ve made to myself to show up to thirty minutes of exercise (or even ten minutes!)…but then I break that promise every day, it then snowballs into an unhealthy habit. I end up not only feeling icky, unfit, without energy, strength, and stamina, but it also eventually makes me feel bad about myself for continually breaking that promise (this was an intriguing notion I learned earlier in the year listening to podcaster and confidence coach Trish Blackwell). Then I feel grumpy and have back pain from a weak core, and we all know grumpiness does not really pair up with friendliness. It’s hard to appear kind when I’m cranky.
Another example of breaking my promise to myself is when I am not in God’s Word consistently, yet I have every intention to do so. When I say “I will make time for the Lord today”, but instead choose TV or social media. By doing so, I am not reminded of God’s promises….of His grace and love and forgiveness…of the trials of people in the Bible and how they overcame them, how God provided for them…of the blessings and goodness and just downright peace that comes with praying to Jesus…that’s the fuel for the fire that keeps my light burning brightly. Without that fuel, my joy is not as easy to see, my kindness not as forthcoming as it ought to be. I need the fuel. I need to keep that promise to myself to stay in His word.
That’s my word. And it’s all to do with showing up. Even when I don’t feel ready. Even when I don’t feel I’ve got the energy.
So…here are the three ways in which my word for the year, “promise”, will relate to me in 2019:
#1) I promise to show up for my health and spiritual wellness when I say I will. Except when I’m sick, of course! Ugh! Just saying this, I know there will be times when I’ll hit the snooze button or convince myself to go to bed early or…or…okay, therefore….here’s to #2!
#2) I promise to give myself grace when I mess up. ‘Nuff said. LOL
#3) I promise to do one thing every day that scares me. This is from a quote from Eleanor Roosevelt, which I heard when I first began listening to Trish Blackwell’s podcasts. I’m not talking about skydiving (that won’t ever be on the list)…but instead I mean even the littlest things that get my heart jumping and tempt me to run in the opposite direction. Being an upstander. Showing up to my writing space. Overcoming my shyness to make someone feel welcome. Trying a new recipe (if you know my reputation for cooking, this will make sense!). Teaching in front of an observer. Making conversation at a party. That kind of stuff.
So, there it is. 🙂
What is YOUR word for 2019? When you know it, let me know in the comments below. And even better, share why it’s your word!
For another great example on how to choose your word of the year, listen to episode #298: How to Successfully Set Goals for the New Year on The Confidence Podcast with Trish Blackwell.
Have fun pondering!
“Go work on your house and forget about it.”
That random quote is written on one my bible’s front cover pages. I cannot remember exactly when I wrote it down there, but I have a memory of being intently focused on the pastor’s words while he was speaking to us that Sunday morning at church.
At the time, the words struck me as so very important, so relevant…but now, I can’t recall the specific circumstances in my life that made that sentence evoke such a strong reaction in me. However, decades later, despite the mystery behind why they are there (or what they even mean exactly) they still do something for me.
I believe I was in my twenties when I entered that phrase on that page. It’s possible I was in my late teens. It was before I met my husband, that’s for certain. The bible I wrote it in has been in my possession since I was thirteen-years-old, so that means it could’ve been written any time between ages 13 to 28. It has been a mystery I’ve been wanting to solve for years. That is, why did I make note of that? In my bible, of all places. What was it in reference to?
I remember the feeling I had when I wrote it down. It was a moment of discovery. That feeling you get when understanding unfolds in your soul and you can breathe just a little bit deeper than you ever had before. The joy of comprehension bubbles and rises up in your heart so big that you smile with wonder. Or maybe you might dip your eyebrow down a little as you ponder that new nugget of wisdom and attach it to old memories tucked away in your brain.
I recall the urgency I felt to make sure it was a message I would not forget. But, human that I am, I have forgotten the details. So over the years, every now and then, I work rather hard at puzzling out what exactly it was supposed to refer to.
The reason this mystery is important to me is that it’s written in my bible. In nearly 30 years, I’ve underlined scripture, made notes in margins, drawn hearts over verses that have caused me tears of thankfulness and joy…all between Genesis and Revelation. But it has been rare that I’ve written down anything in the blank pages of the front and back covers.
My bible is sacred to me in the sense that it is not the place where I make grocery lists or the like in it. I cringe, actually, every time I see
Julia Pfieffer Burns State Park (near Big Sur) crossed out on the inside of the front cover. Lacking paper once, I’d dashed off the name of a place a new friend had recommended visiting (I discovered it is a beautiful place, by the way). But afterward, I vowed to not write unnecessary things in there again.
There are three blank pages at the beginning of my bible, its leather cover fractured and torn in multiple places on the spine from being handled and read for twenty-eight years. These front pages are a bit warped, the ink on some of them a little blurry now. They hold just a few little pieces of info from years past that, in the moment, I wanted to remember…quick jots of heart-musts.
For example, written in pencil at the top of one of those pages is the title of a hymn I loved immediately after I sang it for the first time–“‘Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus #581”. I had scrawled that in a hurry. A tiny little pair of eyeglasses are doodled off to the right, my signature note-taking symbol which was to remind me to go look it up again in the hymnal later when I got a chance so I could take time to really savor the words.
Underneath that are three words in skinny black ink: “He is Able”. No mystery there. That was a wow moment during a time in my life which was a steep climb when I felt weak.
A hand-written quote is third in line–the thicker black ink a bit fuzzy, possibly from the the humidity which engulfed my apartment. A pipe had burst while I was away on vacation and left water on the floor unnoticed for a week. I had carefully written,“Contentment is not our goal, it’s a by-product of living your life for Christ.”
Beneath that John 17:1-26– with a puffy heart and the words “JESUS’ LOVE FOR US” in all caps– is boxed confidently, secured in the center of the page.
And then, from what must have been a really rough patch in my life, my heart twists in sympathy for my younger self as I reread in barely-brave-enough pencil, “I don’t want to hurt anymore, I just want to live in His joy.”
I don’t remember what exactly caused me so much pain when I wrote that sad sentence in my very special, very-much-a-part-of-me-book…wait, stop. Isn’t that amazing? I don’t even remember what hurt so bad. What a testimony to God’s grace and goodness. That, too, has passed.
I also can’t recall where I was when I penciled that determined vow. But I do have to go off-course for a minute here to remember that it must have been the beginning of a season in my life when, for the first time, I deliberately and persistently sought joy instead of holding out hope that it would be brought to me on the UPS truck.
Until I discovered joy is a choice, and it is sometimes hard work choosing if you’re not familiar with how to infuse it into your soul.
But the work is worth it, and the reality is that seeking and attaining joy is a roller coaster. You have to hang on during the lows and keep your eyes focused on the hill as you chug slowly upward, closer to the heavens, having faith that eventually you will get to the top again and experience joy once more. Have you ever noticed how easy and fast it is to decline on a roller coaster, and how difficult it is to keep the momentum as you race to the top? And once you’re up there it’s a brief and fleeting thrill before you drop to the bottom again. Joy is like that. Life is, too.
If you are searching for joy right now, keep searching. Keep climbing. And expect the lows now and then. Be prepared for them. Know that there is no limit to the number of rides you can take on the roller coaster of joy. You get a free pass. It’s just up to you whether or not you hop on. Focus on what you can be grateful for. Make lists. Redirect your negative thoughts to positive thoughts. There is power in gratitude.
And back to my bible, there are a couple more notations on that second blank page. But then you flip to the third blank page and, sitting all alone, are the mystery words:
“Go work on your house and forget about it.”
The only handwritten line on that third page of my bible cover. Nothing else on the page. The teeny black-inked words scribbled in haste, so that I wouldn’t miss out on the rest of the message in church that day.
What did that mean? What could it mean? Perhaps it’s referring to our aspirations. I know sometimes I am overly ambitious…unreasonably ambitious. To the point I get overwhelmed and have taken on so much that I can’t do justice to all of the things on my plate. Maybe it’s a reminder to step back and focus on what really matters.
Maybe it was in reference to worrying. Don’t worry, have faith, just bloom where you’re planted and everything will come out according to God’s plan. The pieces of your life that are not within your control aren’t worth wasting your energy on…so go work on what you can control so you won’t waste your time on what you can’t control.
Maybe there was someone in the bible who God basically tells “go back to what you were doing, I’ve got this.”
I’m just making guesses here. I read it often, and I wonder for minutes on end. And each time I come across it, I happen to be facing something different in that moment of my life. Surprisingly (or not), the phrase seems to mean something profound to me in its own little way for each of those respective times.
And maybe that’s what it was meant to do.
What does “go work on your house and forget about it” mean to you? What are your favorite notations in your bible, if you’ve made any? Feel free to share in the comments below!
At some point during the Autumn season, my memory makes an annual visit to the U.K. It’s usually when the temperatures finally start to drop, and I find myself staring unexpectedly at random yellow-tinted burnt umber treetops, dried and crisping while they contemplate the obligatory leap to the waiting ground below. A flurry of scenes from a single day are once again revived in my mind.
This happened to me last Saturday while I was sitting in a parking lot five thousand miles away from Leeds, the third largest city in England which sits on the fringe of the rolling green and cloud-shadowed Yorkshire moors and dales. Decades ago, I lived there during an academic year, an opportunity I can still hardly believe came true.
It always starts with the same remembrance of my arrival in Leeds in the Fall of 1999, or was it 1998? It must have been 1998 because the following Spring would have been ’99. That was when we took a quick trip over to Paris, and I remember my disappointment that the Eiffel Tower had been marred by a huge electronic marquee counting down to Y2K—scaffolding, green construction mesh, and all.
But back to Leeds.
I arrived on a gray and blustery day in early Fall. It was the kind of weather that perfectly brought to life all of my daydreams of the England I’d not met yet. The little connecting flight that brought me from Heathrow dropped me off, and I battled the wind while walking across the tarmac carrying my backpack and my instrument.
Some kind British passengers on the plane had warned me that the location of the Leeds Airport on the top of hill would make the wind even worse than down in the city, but I smiled like a champion and trudged on. I was both deliriously tired from the long flight and tickled to finally be there.
Once inside the small airport, I tried to hide my grin from the jolly man who took an extra long time inspecting my bassoon at the security check. He hadn’t seen one before, he told me, as he picked it up and looked down the red maple bell joint like a kaleidoscope. He was suddenly a twinkly blue-eyed kid in a toy store.
The best part about my first day in England was that I was alone. The other student who would also be part of the exchange between our California university and the University of Leeds was not due to arrive until much later that evening. I was excited to meet England all by myself, and I just knew I would relish it.
So I gathered my things and found my way outside to a taxi stand where I was whisked away by a driver who said he had no idea where I was going. Just the sort of thing you want to hear when you arrive in a foreign country you’ve never been to, right?
We drove around for about forty-five minutes, me never truly believing he didn’t know where he was going. The cynic in me was sure he was just trying to get as much fare as he could. At the time, I did not realize how big the city really was. He did seem earnest in his occasional stops along the way to ask for directions, and I just prayed confidently along the way. This was before cell phones were expected to be on us at all times like underwear.
Eventually, we made our way up Cumberland Road and drove through a massive arched pale stone entrance with black wrought iron gates boasting the residence hall’s name, Devonshire Hall, in white painted block letters. I immediately forgot all of my irritation on the matter of being ripped off and held my breath as we tentatively passed under the solid arch. This was it.
The taxi gurgled its way around the circular drive and made a final stop in front of wide stone steps stretching below a wall of aged glass doors. It took me awhile to find someone, anyone. Come to find out I was the first student to arrive because international students got settled in before the others.
I was given a key, mumbled goodbye to the taxi driver who charged too much, and hefted my suitcases one at a time up a few flights of stairs until I entered a door with my number on it. Finding myself boxed into a teeny space of about three feet by three feet, I encountered two more doors to choose from situated in adjacent corners. Pink doors.
Once in the right room, I looked all around me. The space was about as big as my bedroom had been at home. There was a sink along the wall which shared the door, a small wardrobe, a twin size bed, and a desk beneath the window. Someone had thoughtfully included a large single bookshelf over the bed and a reading chair in the corner.
Walking over to the window, I was delighted to find it was my favorite kind—the kind you have to crank to open. I peeked down from three stories to a vibrant green lawn and, in the corner, was a short ivy covered fence with a mysterious gate that left me wondering where it led to.
I smiled and took a breath. Then I immediately fell onto the bed and slept.
When I woke up, the shadows were long on the walls and the silence was deafening. The staff member who had given me my key said no other students would be here until the next day, at the earliest. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, sleeping in this massive hall all by myself. Yikes! I examined the deadbolt I had locked earlier. It was a pretty big lock, and quite modern despite the antiquity of the building, so I decided not to worry. Yet.
Realizing I was hungry and that the afternoon was waning, I began walking down Cumberland Road toward a small row of shops—the only shops that were in sight. It was a Sunday. Everything was closed. I was so enchanted by my surroundings that I didn’t even mind much. It was so very different from America…the textures and stone, the scents in the air…the compact cars and their skinny license plates with too many letters. I shivered inside of my black peacoat.
Resigned to the idea that I likely would not be eating that evening, I made my way back up the hill to Devonshire Hall. Along the way, the dry fallen leaves whirled around me and I found comfort in their percussive taps and scrapes on the roads and pavements. I let my fingertips dance lightly along the stones in the walls I passed as I walked. Such a sight took hold of the daydreaming part of my heart and all of a sudden I didn’t mind that I would be missing a meal. I was in England!
Halfway up the road, something furry suddenly wrapped around my leg. A sweet little gray striped kitten. She left my side and bounced up ahead, her little collared bell ringing daintily above the soft whistle of the wind. I don’t even really like cats much, but they always seem to be appearing. Like special friends meant just for me. The little cat sat and watched me make leisurely progress up the incline (no one had told me Leeds was hilly, and I was not in shape!) until the point where I was just within reach. Then she leaped up to the top of the dark, jaggedy stone wall over my shoulder and disappeared with a wave of her tail.
I stood still for a moment, waiting to see if she would return. When it became clear that she wouldn’t be coming back, I pivoted around taking in the sights around me. Cumberland Road seemed to be a residential street of sorts, save for the large church on the corner at the bottom of the road. Twilight was near, so I decided to get back to the hall.
I sighed and let in the reality of just how far away from home I was. I realized I hadn’t called my mom to let her know that I was safe and sound, so I made my way back to the giant stone arch of the hall and found a single iconic red telephone booth. The faraway sound of her voice chased away any whispers of loneliness trying to tempt me as the day’s end can sometimes do.
I don’t know that I ate after all. My memory is too foggy. But I will never forget the blustery weather, the sound of the leaves twirling about along the ground, the never ending taxi ride, the kitten…the view from my room. The way the trees arched over the road leading up to Devonshire Hall and reaching across, touching, creating a shelter from the rain.
I like to remember that day.
A child learning in her own time. A pair of friends rebuilding trust in a relationship that is precariously on the edge. Weight loss. Waiting and working through a long, painful recovery. Writing a book.
Those are some of the things which develop a patient urgency. You want the outcome to happen now. But the reality is that accomplishing it will take months, years, or even decades. It’s not the same kind of patience it takes to stand in a long snail-like line at the DMV or sit in bumper-to-bumper traffic. You can daydream your way through those situations…no real work involved. You get to go home at the end of the day. No vulnerability needed, no real exertion.
Experiencing a patient urgency, however, is dealing with the kind of patience we find ourselves facing when we are not really waiting, but working toward something for the long haul. Putting in effort and grit. Falling and getting up again. Messing up and seeking restitution. Denying yourself what you really want because you know it´s the better choice. Knowing you’ll write 100,000 tangled words that will need to be cut down by half—and even then, you won’t have reached clarity until you’ve quadrupled your mental elbow grease.
You may even find yourself victim to procrastination because a mean little corner of your mind has convinced you that you’ll never reach your goal. Yet, you feel the pressing need to wrestle with obtaining that goal anyway because you just. have. to. Or else…or else you’ll always wonder or regret. Because the need in your heart and soul to do this thing is so eager to get there that you will put in the time and sweat and courage to make it possible. Just thinking about it exhausts you. But you go on.
Some people thrive on the mere thought of the journey. They mentally put themselves on the podium of success before the outcome is even close to being achieved. They envision greatness. They expect it.
Others find themselves battling self-criticism, self-doubt, and insecurity…which unfortunately causes the journey to be so much longer for them, so they face the threat of never reaching their destination. What those two kinds of people share, though, is that magnetic pull to accomplish something important.
The thing about those goals which require a patient urgency is that you can’t really see the end yet. It takes faith to continue on. Faith. Perseverance. Confidence. Inner strength.
It’s an urgency that pounds on the door of your heart each morning and won’t turn away if you don’t answer. A patience in believing you’ll get there if you just keep going. A delicate trust that the God who led you to this call will show up every day and walk through it with you, guiding you and giving you wisdom, comfort, and grace. He is the One who planted the seed.
It is up to you to make sure you either ¨bloom where you´re planted¨, or transplant yourself to where you need to be in order to grow and thrive.
In the darkness of my home, I imagine crossly that the boisterous bird outside must be the most desperate bachelor in the entire North American continent. Whatever gal he’s trying to attract surely must be sleeping.
It is half past midnight, and it seems so weird to me that a bird is out there, singing in the black of night under the invisible new moon. He seems not to care who he awakens, his pride full-grown.
His night song is persistent, shrill. I want to yank open the door and throw a shoe at whatever tree he sits in. I would never, of course…but the thought crosses my mind. Trying to tune him out, my thoughts return to an upcoming flight and I look helplessly up to the ceiling which I cannot see.
It’s stealing my sleep again. Not the bird, but the worries. This is not new, this overthinking of flying. I love to travel, but I do not like getting to my destination by air. And yet four times this season I will be facing the giant big scary sky. My wanderlust must be greater than my unease, but on nights like these I question my choice to explore.
I scowl when the bird goes on and on, once again he interrupts my worry. Accepting that he will not be silenced, I slowly realize I could be grateful he is there. I could let him be a welcome distraction from my fear of flying….the thing that keeps me up days and days and days before I ever set foot in an airport. But it is a battle, this choice of gratitude versus distress.
Squeezing my eyes shut, my senses are flooded with discontent at the thought of being on an airplane. Apprehension so strong I can feel it weighing me down, as if I’m restrained in the same way I once saw my grandmother as she was tethered to her wheelchair in the Alzhemier’s unit. The fun of it all has been sucked out of me, replaced with big fat fear. This leads to other worrisome thoughts, and I clench my teeth with the realization I’m letting it get the best of me. Again.
Through the thick, closed window panes and through the deep walls keeping the fresh air out, the night bird’s music keeps trying to remind me of something important. Summer has brought a warm tossing-turning night, and I gather my strength to kick off the covers. The window begs me to open it, but I won’t dare.
Ridiculous! I’ve been done with the anxiety. I’ll not let this bring me back to it. I shove myself out of the bed and blindly search for my glasses in the dark. My hair is annoying me, I need it off my forehead and off of my neck in this airless room. The fan is too weak, and at this moment so is my mind. I begin to pray for strength, for calm. There is so much world to see, so much laughing to do, so many people to meet, and experiences to dive into…I will not give in to this joy wreck.
As I quietly pad my way into the living room, my feet relieved to meet cool floors, I pray all the way to my favorite chair. The birdsong follows me to where I now sit with head bowed, forehead too stubborn to assist the tears which fight for release. His tune changes from frantic to sweetly melodic, and I belatedly make the connection that this nighttime companion is also connected to flight. I smile, surprised by the thought…and I think on the amazing wonder that air travel is even possible for humans.
The rhythm of the clock nearby steadies my heart, and suddenly the C.A.L.M. acronym from a recent Max Lucado book, Anxious for Nothing, flashes in my memory, the four letters white and flickering like a neon sign in the dark:
C-Celebrate God…Lord, thank you for being here with me, thank you for the opportunity to take these trips to see new places.
A-Ask God for help…Father, please take this anxiety from me. Please help me to sleep and breathe and stop worrying over what I can’t control.
L-Leave the problem with God…I give this to you, God. Your Word says to “fear not”. So I’m just going to
try really hard to do that.
Breathe. Deep breath. I sit for a minute to give my thoughts some space. The bird is silent.
M-Meditate on good things…Thank you, Lord, for that night bird
and thank goodness he finally quieted down so I can get some sleep and for reminding me of your presence.
Again, I breathe. A little deeper this time. And the air, while still not fresh, feels a little cooler and more bearable. My thoughts continue to tread on the good things. I remind myself that, for me, it’s the only thing that will cancel out the fear…the choice to think of one good thing at a time. Thought by thought.
As my fears begin to wane, I am reminded of all the ways that flying is fun and most always safe. My mother’s voice echoes in my ears from when she told me earlier in the day that just being in my house or driving a car is putting myself at risk of danger.
“So why not fly?” she countered matter-of-factly.
Her excitement for me in my adventures brings a big smile to my face. And I begin to softly imagine the lilting accents I will soon hear, and the lovely green foliage my eyes will feast on.
The pulsing rush in my ears has stopped, and I dig in Grandpa’s Desk for the little notebook of bible verses. The emerald and gold cover has edges worn, some rips and bends, but I don’t mind. I run my hand across the cover which says “Happiness is a bright and shining thing.” This little gem has seen me through many fears, many flights.
It holds words I’ve highlighted and literally held onto…our future only truly known to God—whom I love and whom I am learning to trust, breath by breath. I joke with my friends about airport margaritas being my saving grace, but really it’s the selfless protection of Jesus. I read through the verses in the little book again, and I know that no matter what all will be well.
Before I go back to sleep, calmer now, I will leave these verses with you in case you need them, too. I will always needs them. Reading them once will never do. But each time I am reminded that I am in good hands, and each time I can feel strengthened and resolve to be a conqueror. And as I leave this paragraph, I hear the bird again…and this time I’m not annoyed for I remember it is, after all, his love song.
From My Fear Not Journal
- “Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous hand.” -Isaiah 41:10
- “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your mind in Christ Jesus.” -Phillipians 4:6-7
- “When I am afraid, I put my trust in You.” -Psalm 56:3
- “For God did not give us a spirit of fear but of power and love and self-control.” -2 Timothy 1:7
- “Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time He may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on Him, because He cares for you.” -1 Peter 5:6-7
- “Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of them, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you.” -Deuteronomy 31:6
- “I sought the Lord, and He answered me and delivered me from all my fears.” -Psalm 34:4
- “Therefore, I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds in the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?” -Matthew 6: 25-27
Do you have any verses, songs, or tips that help you in times of anxiousness? Please share them! Thank you.
Write with me, Lord. Be my words.
This was my prayer as I walked down the shadowed hall after a long day of work, a mountain of things to do gradually falling off my shoulders with every step toward the keyboard.
Be my words.
It is my prayer every time I write. And today I think again and again on the question “WHY do I write?“. Why do I come here, week after week, to tell a story…or to try to remind us both of God’s goodness and grace?
It’s part selfishness, part love.
The selfish aspect is that it comforts me to leave a legacy of some kind. At this web address will always be found a piece of me. In the chaos of everyday life, when the bell or the time clock or the agenda of the day drags us away from discussions of the heart and steals from us the breath of what really matters, I like knowing that I can come here so the person who needs it can read something that may make them smile…or think…or remember.
But the love part, the greater part, is having the space and place to freely speak of Jesus and how He loves you and me. The idea that maybe–just maybe–someone may see the positive side of a dreary situation and make the decision to see the light instead of being focused on the darkness: By sharing the victories in my life which have followed the battles I’ve encountered. Or simply noticing the beauty of the world around us amidst the clamoring debates and arguments and nastiness of the world.
I fear I’m not doing it right. I fear that I come here week after week trying in vain to be the encourager I set out to be and fail. My heart is so full of hope for others to find the salvation that only Jesus has given. The gift of eternal life. Or to help someone reconsider their sadness. And here I am telling again instead of showing…at least in this post. When really, it’s apparently through stories in which people connect with.
This leads me to I worry that I am not a storyteller. I worry about sharing too much…too little. I resist the advice to weave my words in a way that captures attention, and so instead I write plainly from my heart. In doing so, I risk lack of acclaim, lack of “sharing”, lack of “likes”. But the very core of my soul knows that none of that matters. The number of “hits” has nothing to do with resting in the love of God who already loves me so…and who loves you so, as well. He longs only for us to acknowledge Him and know Him and spend time with Him….to share the story of Christ to all.
Because of this, because of my prayer that God write with me, I often forego the “rules” of the writer. I ignore the fact that the most “hits” my blog has ever had was about my dog. I could write post after post about my dog in order to gain more readers, but I it feels strange to do so. At least, for now. I feel like in doing so it will be me wanting to conform to the writer’s world in order to earn a buck. Or recognition…or popularity.
Isn’t it so hard to not compare ourselves with others and just realize that we, too, are amazing? Let’s not put numbers on ourselves….instead, let’s leave the numbers to God, whose thoughts of each of us are so many that were we to count them they would be “more in number than the sand” (Psalm 139:17-18). Isn’t that where the true substance lies?
All I want to do is be here, and share words on a page inspired by the God who created us, who meets us here—you and me–in order to nudge us to think and reflect on life, love, and laughter. My God doesn’t want fancy words or perfection…He just wants me, as I am. And so, I show up and see what happens. Thank you for joining me on my journey of figuring out how to encourage. I’m still learning as I go.
Write with me, Lord. Be my words. Please.
Just between us, I’m a rebel when it comes to time. Time and I try to get along, but the problem is that I secretly want to make my way through the day on my own terms, wherever my will takes me. Yet that atrocious clock rules my day. Forces me to stay on track. I don’t mean to sound rude, but honestly time just annoys me.
Time, that quiet thief. It takes away my days minute by minute before I even knew it happened. I want it to leave me alone. I want more of it.
Too often I think it is in control of me, suffocating me…but really, I long to reconcile with it. Be okay with it. Appreciate and esteem it. Yes, God gives us limited time, and it can be a nuisance, but the thing is…I’ve seen evidence of it being beautifully stretched, too. Time is a healer; a wisdom giver. A grower. A thriller of suspense, and a cousin of sweet anticipation.
My grandpa had his own business and worked twelve hour days, six days a week. All the years I knew him, he had a small wooden plaque which sat on the counter where he stood filling prescriptions day in and day out. As an adolescent, I used to read it slowly when customers weren’t around, sounding the words out like a foreign language because I couldn’t really comprehend why it meant enough to him to have it there. I knew it was supposed to be funny, but couldn’t figure out why. “Work really breaks up the day”, it read in poker-faced white capital letters. Amen to that, Papa. He liked his job, I like my job…but really, where does the time go?
In this season of my life, I am sour-faced with the obligatory things that steal my time because it means less time to read, or listen to music…less time with friends and, more recently, write. Less time to explore the world. Getting groceries? What a time killer! Who needs groceries when there is music to be heard? Books to write! Novels to read!
With writing and travel and reading, my happy feet will hit the floor running on weekends when the alarm clock has no chance of scaring me to death. Those are the days when time doesn’t annoy me at all, because I can lose track of it completely with no consequence. A large, steaming cup of coffee with a splash of milk–sometimes one sugar, sometimes none…sometimes agave nectar, just because I’m not convinced which is worse for me. Some days I feel sweet, some days I feel bitter. So my coffee additions depend on my mood. Really.
But now I’m off-topic. See what I mean? Time just gets away from us in so many ways.
So, if you see me grumpy and huffy…it’s usually about time or the lack thereof. Or the time taken away from me. Or the time I ignored, which eventually left me in a pickle. Just this morning I vented to a friend about how panicked I was that I had so much to do, and so little…time.
My aim is to undespise time. My aspiration is to coexist with it…view it as a vessel of opportunity to be involved in community and all that I can give and receive because of it. I’m convinced that if I don’t learn to get along with it, it will just continue to poke and prod at my joy. It’s one more compromise in this world of rules and expectations…but that’s another story altogether.
I pray for time to show me how I can be an inspiration and a light to others, instead of complaining about it as I so often do. I dream of being unhurried so that I can be a world-class listener. I’m going to need to learn to respect time in order to tolerate the patient urgency I’m learning writers must endure. To honor it in order to gain the best quality of content in the classroom. To not take a single second of it for granted with those whom I love.
We’re given hours and minutes to dissect as best we can. So, methinks its probably best to befriend time…or not.