What About Saturday?

This title has been bouncing around in my mind since Easter weekend…So much talk and significance about Good Friday and Easter morning, but what about that Saturday? Then, at church last weekend, our pastor reiterated this phrase. Time to write. And, it just happens to be a rainy Saturday morning…

That weekend, the weekend Jesus was betrayed, beaten, laughed at, and nailed to a cross. That weekend.

That Friday, I can only imagine. The confusion, the pain, the despair, the unbelief, that his disciples and mother felt. I can only imagine. Even though He told them over and over again what would happen. Even though He cried out for any other way. Even though He went through with it. Even though He knew it would happen. Even though…I can’t imagine the overwhelming darkness of that day for those who loved Him.

That Sunday, I can only imagine. The surprise, the excitement, the elation, the relief, the unbelief that the Marys must have felt seeing that tomb empty. Seeing that stone rolled away. Seeing Him dead before their eyes two days before and then seeing Him risen, hearing Him speak, and bolting back to tell His friends and disciples….I can only imagine the thrill of that day to those who loved Him.

What about the day between? What about the day that they were all processing what just happened? He was there, healthy and alive, and then beaten and killed. Gone. The shock was there, the grief was taking hold, the despair was still setting in. It felt over.

Just like it does for us when something awful happens. Someone was here today and gone tomorrow. The pink slip comes in and the bills are due. The diagnosis you never expected. The betrayal you didn’t see coming. The truth comes out. That day.

What about the day after? When nothing has changed. That was Saturday. All they knew was that nothing had changed. Only the difficulty of accepting something they didn’t want to accept.

Help us, Lord. Where are you, Lord? How could you allow this, Lord? That day. Saturday was more hurt, more despair, more darkness. They didn’t know what would happen Sunday morning. They didn’t know…

One thing I find comforting about that Saturday and I hope we can grasp onto in our own lives is that Jesus was sleeping and feeling no pain that day. He was resting in His Father’s will. He cried out that it wasn’t His will, but had accepted that it was and was resting in that. His pain had subsided. He was resting while the rest were hurting. May we find some rest in our Father’s love the day after, the week after, the life after…

Because when we find our rest in Jesus (like He rested that particular Saturday) we WILL see Him again. We will see our loved ones, we will have complete healing of that illness, that injury, that loss, that hurt. Our bodies and hearts will be made whole again. Our hearts will leap with an everlasting joy and relief.

That day is coming. Our “Sunday” is coming. We will be with Him forever. And being with Him is the heaven we have all cried out for. No more sad tears, no more emotional or physical pain. No more death. No more loss.

May we rest in our “Saturdays”, the days after…that we are all currently in until our Sunday arrives.

He thought of you that Friday, and that hasn’t changed.

He died for you. He rose for you. That despair and victory was for you, and that hasn’t changed.

May we rest in that (like He did that Saturday). His rest and relief from pain the day after makes Saturday pretty significant too.

Today, the rain is falling outside. I have questions. I have concerns. But, I also have Jesus. So, I will rest in them all. I’m writing on a literal Saturday. But, we are all in our figurative ones.

The answers will come, the truth will come out. It always does. And so does He. He is bigger and stronger than them all. He proved that.

May we rest in Him, like He did, on all of our Saturdays (next days) too.

 

 

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The Best and Worst of Times..

To say the last seven years have been hard would be an understatement. There were times I thought it would kill me or admit me. But God…

He sustained me.

This morning, I’m sitting in my new office in our new house. The space I set up to write. My loving husband asleep upstairs (there were times I never knew if I would be able to write those words). Our kids asleep. Our dogs asleep. Home. A beautiful new home (there were times I never thought I’d write those words).

I knew I wanted them all (a loving husband, a new home, a book)..but THE PROCESS of each one seemed insurmountable.

I’ve received all three of these in three months. To say the last three months have been a whirlwind would be an understatement. But, God…

He will steady me.

I didn’t just want a husband, I wanted a faithful, loving, God-fearing one who lived here and loved me enough to commit and to wait. At fourty years old. And, I would have waited until eighty if I’d had to. I knew I’d only have peace with a man like I’d want for my own daughters one day…

I wanted a new house that gave us more room, but I wanted a very similar location. Just more room. We hoped to move this summer, but when we listed our house last month, we had an offer and signed contract in ten hours. Our pictures hadn’t even been uploaded yet! This was happening so much sooner than we’d planned. One month after getting married and we were packing up. Time to find the new place…

Done. And less than a mile away. I look around and still can’t believe it’s mine.

I was a single mom for seven years. My girls were one and five, too young to realize what was going on, too young to understand, too young to have a clue what was happening or how hurt I was by it all.

At the time, I thought how unfair that was on top of everything else. I didn’t want any of it. And, I sure didn’t want to share them, they were still literally my babies. One in diapers, the other in pull ups.

For five of those years, I bled all over my keyboard. As God would speak to my heart, I would write. I would hope the words would one day somehow touch others. I would wait for the next topic and look for His lessons in each and every heartache. In the midst of the pain and loneliness and stress and confusion and grief. I would listen and ask what I needed to know. And, still do.

I can’t clearly express the pain I’ve experienced, I’m sure there are many of you reading this who can’t either. Pain can’t be put into words, it’s felt in the heart. But, so is God.

Our words could never do Him justice, but still we write and praise and sing.

He may have spoken light and animals and plants into existence. But, He BREATHED us to life. So, with every breath, may I return my gratitude for His mercy, His faithfulness, His presence, His forgiveness, His desires in my heart.

With every breath, may I thank Him for not only what I have now, but for the past seven years of what felt like my desert. Because, it was in those seven years, that He was not only my Savior, but my husband, our provider, my sustainer. He is the giver of every single good gift that we have and there are many.

Even in pain, He gives. And, what I needed the most in my whole life was Him. He revealed Himself to me in that pain. So, I thank Him for it!

My husband with a heart for Him wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for those seven years. This house wouldn’t be ours if He hadn’t sold ours when He did. My book wouldn’t be written, much less published if I hadn’t experienced that pain with Him. He called me to write long ago, but I didn’t have the content.

To Him be the glory of it all.

“I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten—the great locust and the young locust,
the other locusts and the locust swarm—my great army that I sent among you. You will have plenty to eat, until you are full, and you will praise the name of the Lord your God, who has worked wonders for you; never again will my people be shamed.”
Joel 2:25-26 (NIV)

 

 

I’m Just Your Mom..

This title keeps bouncing around in my mind. Time to write…

It came to me when I was driving my oldest daughter to school a couple weeks ago. It was cold and she was leaving on a class trip that morning. Coldest weekend so far this year and she was leaving for a class trip a few hours away.

All she wanted to take to fend off the cold was a sweatshirt. She told me over and over again that’s all she’d wear. Still, I insisted she bring a coat, my ski coat, because it was the warmest one in the house. I told her she’d be thankful for it, that she’d want it.

She didn’t agree.

So much so, I was pretty sure it would get left behind somewhere. In a car, at the hotel, at the school. She didn’t want it. It was cold, wet, and getting colder.

I could send the coat, but I couldn’t make her wear it. I couldn’t make her remember it. I couldn’t make her want it. As hard as it would be to force her to wear it even if I were physically with her, I wouldn’t be. So, I had no control over whether she would wear it or not. Just make it available and hope that she’d not only wear it, but actually bring it home.

Makes me think of how we, as moms, love our kids like no other. We have a lot of “power” when it comes to where we let our kids physically go when they are young. But, we can’t control everything and we can’t make all their choices for them. So much is out of our hands. We may “control” some of their activities, but we can’t control their hearts or minds. We only have so much. The love is infinite, but the control is minute.

As much as I hope she learns from my mistakes, forgives me for them, and chooses Jesus for herself, I can’t make her. Only pray and hope that she does and brings Him to her home one day.

All this from how little control I had over whether she wore the coat I sent or not.

Her life’s path is different from mine. God has a specific purpose in mind for her. My prayer is she follows IT. Him. And, that takes a lot of trust in her and Him from me.

We can take our kids to school and put friends in front of them, but we can’t make them choose them for themselves. We can allow a phones or not, but we can’t control their friends devices. We can take them to church or not, but we can’t control their desire for  God.  We can make them food, but we can’t pick their food when they are away from us or make them like certain things. So, much is theirs to control. So much more than I ever knew prior.

We can make them say they are sorry, but we can’t make them mean it or truly forgive. We can’t make them stay faithful or pick their spouse. We can’t control their spouses hearts or actions either.

I can send a coat, but I can’t make you wear it.

I can’t make you value yourself. Just hope and pray you do. I can’t put Jesus in your heart. Only pray you do.

I hope, as scary as this may sound to us moms, that it also helps us relieve the coat of all the pressure. There’s a lot we can do for our kids. But, so much that we can’t and is God’s job.

All I can do is the best I can at all of the above with God’s help, pray some of it rubs off,  and that the bad stuff falls away by His grace alone.

I heard after the trip that she not only wore the coat, but was so thankful she had it. Made me smile and strengthened my resolve that I sent it regardless of her resistance. I high fived myself in my mind. Go, Mom!

I gave birth to you and carried you, but He formed you and gives you life to this day.

I can wear my coat and hope you do too. But, I can’t control your heart. Only keep turning it over.

After all, He’s your Savior. I’m just your mom.

Brace Yourselves..

I’m writing this in the middle of the ocean…on a cruise ship. On my honeymoon. I haven’t written since Christmas. To say I’ve been busy is an understatement. From a new job to a wedding, my mind has been preoccupied. I’ll write more on that later..

But today, the waves are crashing. The wind is blowing. Our breakfast dishes are swaying and vibrating from the windy conditions outside. This is the rockiest the boat has been all week. I’m hearing it’s because we are moving from 80 degree weather to, from what I hear, the 30s.

Two fronts colliding in the Gulf of Mexico.

Last weekend, we had a 70 degree outdoor wedding. In February! Completely unexpected. And today, one week later, I hear it’s COLD, as we expected it to be on the big day. We live in Texas, so you really never know what to expect weather wise. We laugh about it because it’s so true…

As the ship rocks back and forth on our last day, I can’t help but think about transition. We are heading back to our new lives as husband and wife, parents to four children rather than two each. Huge transition! The Lord says “Expect the wind, expect the rocky times, expect the unknown, but I am with you. As I always have been.”

Just like moving between warm and cold fronts, with all change, comes movement, uneasiness, new challenges, and at times, fear. This boat is rocking, but I fully expect it to get me where He knows I need to be.

The captain of this cruise ship could see the rocky conditions coming and turn around for fear of sick or scared passengers or continue full steam ahead. We all have that choice.

We have to be willing to sustain the wind in order to keep moving forward…Home is the goal for the captain and all of us aboard.

The devil can throw all kinds of wind and debris at us, and He has. But, the Holy Spirit is also referenced to us Wind in the Bible. So, when the waves are crashing and we are grabbing at hand rails to keep our balance, we can trust that the Lord is stronger still. One breath of God brings life.

We commit our lives to the gospel of Jesus Christ and wherever we can be used for Him most, we ask Him to take us. Amidst the storms only He can calm, we will endure and trust Him.

Whatever brings You glory, Lord! We will rock with and for You…You alone are our steady.

Christmas “Hangover”

Anyone else know what I’m talking about? Leaving for work the next day, your house a wreck, feeling puffy from all the food and sweets, money spent, and wondering what all just happened…

This year, there was a happiness, a fullness, a contentment. More than years past. I still feel “hungover”, but happily so. A messy house that I’ll tackle one thing at a time. A puffy face and tummy that I’ll treat well over the next couple weeks. A warm heart that has been ever so loved on.

My favorite part of this Christmas? Was the engagement and care from my family to my significant other. The man joining us was embraced and treated well. This is a gift neither one of us could ever buy. Rather receive thankfully.

Today, I’m tired. Six Christmases later, I’m tired and thankful. I used to feel sad and frustrated in the scheduling of my divorced parents and, now, my own kids and future step kids separate Christmases. Now, I embrace and am just so thankful they are all alive, willing, and close enough to schedule one in. This year, I let few memories go undocumented. This is not my norm. But, I wanted the world to see how thankful I am for my family and the new one I have coming early next year….

I’ve had all kinds of hangovers (emotional, physical, spiritual). But, this one I can say was 100% worth it. Now, on to the new year and new chapters in so many ways.

Is Different Wrong?

Yes, different is scary. But, different isn’t necessarily “wrong”. That’s the fear. That stepping out from how something has always been done is wrong. It goes along with how thinking differently than someone else must be “wrong”. Someone somewhere had to go against the grain and expectations of others to get you to where you are today.

Pray. Ask for yourself. God speaks to each one of us individually. That’s relationship. As parents, we hope to have special and individual relationships with each of our kids. So does God. Not only does He want it, but we don’t realize how much we do, until we do.

Our choices and paths will be different. God wants them to be. Our kids are different, He made them that way. Siblings are different, spouses are different, parents are different.

We are each created with different love languages, preferences, needs, sources of comfort, and talents. But, we are all created by the same GOD. Who loves each of us like crazy. May we lean into Him when He calls us to be different. When He calls us to choose differently. And trust Him like crazy when He does.

Different isn’t wrong, it’s just different. And we were all created differently. Because He wants us to reach the world, not just our neighborhood. But, also our neighborhood.

There are missionaries called to remote islands and also to our workplaces. Poverty stricken communities and also to reach the wealthy. Abused women and happily married women. Teenagers and widows. The motherless and the fatherless. The kids in private school and the kids in public school. The kids in dance class and the kids on the basketball team. The kids in the band and the kids on the field. The doctors and the patients. Single men and single women. Married men and divorced men. The mom who lost her child and the mom who has a dozen at home. The person who was cheated and the one who cheated. The porn addict and the food addict. We all need Him in very different ways. Thank GOD for those with callings to reach each. May we each reach one.

Even Paul and Barnabas had a “falling out” of sorts. Both men of God, different callings who went their separate ways because of it. To do God’s will and reach people they couldn’t have reached together. I trust God used the painful disagreement and separation. They stayed focused on spreading the gospel as He called them to different regions. Regions these days can be viewed as schools, churches, states, countries, workplaces, ministries.

The Bible says we were fearfully and wonderfully made, so it makes sense that we would also be fearfully and wonderfully called out. Separately. That’s the God we serve. He has a distinct purpose for you. We are not meant to be cookie cutters of how we were raised or how our parents were raised or even how they served. He made each one of us with a distinct calling.

My kids too. If I want them to be brave, then Mama should be too.

Go where He sends you. And, I can’t wait to hear and see the hearts you touch.