Hello Holy

I am learning about God again.
Not that I have taken a break from God, not that one ever could.
But I have had a sort of long hiatus from certain practices. Certain quiet and introspective rhythms have been misplaced or railroaded by much louder, more persistent cries.
But today I'm sitting in a quiet place. Reading His word. Letting scripture root around in my gut and impact things there. And I am remembering.

I am remembering that He is holy.
Holy, holy, holy are you Lord God Almighty.

And He calls me to holiness too. He calls us to be holy.
I am baffled by this. But also so drawn to and emboldened by the beauty of the place where His holiness meets my unholy mess. He says:
"I live in a high and holy place. But also with her who is contrite (read heart broken, crushed from the knowledge of her selfishness / pride / anxiety / UNholiness) and lowly in spirit,
to REVIVE the spirit of the lowly
and to REVIVE the heart of the contrite." Isaiah 57:15

It takes me this time to sit in quiet to even realize how much I need that revival. To recognize that my broken heart and lowly spirit are very much my sinful nature being UNholy all over myself and my people.
But God.
He LIVES in a HIGH and HOLY place.
AND with me, in my crushed spirit. He lives in both places, and He draws me out of my self. He lifts my head to see the long view. He reminds me of the High and Holy place for which I was made, to which I now belong. Because even now I am becoming like Him.

Let us not forget our Holy God.
Let us remember Him, and allow for space to meet with Him in the crushed places, where our heart's fractured pieces become the very seeds of holiness.

"Be holy, because I, the Lord your God, am holy."  Leviticus 19:2

Heartsick

Today is January 3rd. Apparently some come into this time of year brimming with optimistic determination and tenacity as they consider their dreams and goals for a new year.

I am just not. Not this year. Not today. Not me. Instead I'm feeling my weakness, my less-than-ness, my "who am I to tackle that pile of clothes, that stack of dishes, that willful tantrum-mad, foaming at the mouth 2 year old?"
This is me today. This is me heartsick.

My heartsickness comes on with such acuteness, and goes to the depth of me. It is bone deep. My head is heavy, my heart is weary, my flesh is needy. I told my husband, I feel like a rotten tree. I am still standing, but my innards are all spongy with decay. What do you do when you are rotting from the inside out, and yet you are the foundation for others to grow? I have these little people who NEED. They are lovely and fun and smart and strong. But they are relentless need-ers. And so much of what they need is me. Me to be solid, me to be constant, me to be very much UN-rotten. They need an anchor, and yet I find myself feeling so very unbound.

"I turn my eyes to the hills. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth."

What does that mean? Where is the Lord's help? I am trying to find it.
I lift my head, I find the horizon. You know how the Lord came today? Through this. Through finding myself in these words. Through remembering who I am. Because I am not anyone's anchor. I'm not. I was never meant to be. Thank God, I am not ever meant to be the anchor.

I am just another sojourner. Some seasons in this life are incredibly tender. I am in a tender place. My sweet children, also traveling hard and scary roads, are very much in need of grounding. But that reassuring consistency that they so need too often only finds my mushy tree rot.

Perhaps my job in this time is to show them how to trust the true anchor. How to pray in sorrow. How to love myself and my God and my family even in the heavy moments. Even in the mess. Even in the unbound, heartsick muck I find all around me this New Year.
Because He is my hope. And hope is my anchor. Grounding me. Sustaining me. Lifting my head.

Deep calls to deep

Want a kick in the pants today? Read a Psalm. Sometimes I forget how good the words of the Psalms are. They find a way to speak to the heart, like a shot of adrenalin - piercing, direct, achingly real. I often find myself reeling, a bit shocked that someone else, so long ago, wrote such fitting reflections of my own heart and soul.

One of my all time favorite lines from scripture comes from Psalm 42, verse 7. Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me.

God, I do love the poetry, the beauty of this verse. Forever it has stopped me in my tracks. I cannot read on until I reflect on this line. And what does it mean? I have no idea!!! That's not true. My gut knows just exactly -- I'm so moved and I so feel deep calls to deep. And I could maybe explain it. But I don't want to. I think it's too special, too personal to each of us. Maybe some things are just for our Creator to the created, not intended for public dissection or mass interpretation.

Instead, I just want to say that sometimes I open my Bible and find a lot of black words filling a lot of white pages. And yet sometimes I read something that brings me to my knees. Something so poignant and true my heart leaps and I'm humbled by the beauty of life.  In these moments it seems that all of my hurts, complexities, disappointments and fears are brought into the light. They don't disappear, but they are integrated into the greater picture. I (and my problems) become less, while He becomes all. And it is good. 

Father, I am grateful for these moments. For all of my life, let me continue to find new life in your words.

Heart Ache, Motherhood and God

It’s been another heart wrenching week in Colorado.
I know many people respond to tragedies like this wondering how anyone could believe in God – surely if there were a God, he/she would never allow this to happen.

And it’s ironic, because I truly have to say, it is only because of my hope in God that this type of horror does not swallow me up in despair.

Jessica’s death has hit me hard. I feel a bit haunted by this most recent awful tragedy. She lived a few communities away from me. She attended the same school as my nephew. She was a child. She was innocent and she is gone.
I think that the truth is, I find myself particularly jarred because I am a mother, and I am not yet used to the way motherhood has opened my heart, made me vulnerable in such an awful and powerless way. Before motherhood, I would have described Jessica’s death as horrible. Now, it is horrifying.

I have been thinking about all of this, praying and seeking God and trying hard not to give in to fear. What will we teach our son when he is old enough to begin to understand? Don’t talk to strangers, never go to someone you don’t know – even if they are asking for help, offering you candy, a puppy, ANYTHING. In reality, what we will have to teach him is this: this world is not safe. It is full of too much bad - bad people, bad things. You, my son, must be smart. You must learn to be discerning and aware of yourself and your surroundings.

And that’s it. Because truly we are powerless to protect our children from life’s bad in any satisfactory way. In the wake of little Jessica’s death I find myself holding so close to my son at night, almost lustfully clinging to my child.  As if it might be possible to inhale his very essence, I breathe in his scent, and I pray.

God, watch over all of these little people, who are helpless and innocent and good. God, for some reason you have entrusted this child to me for this brief time. Help me remember that he is actually yours, and that the love I have that has broken me apart is but a glimpse of your gracious, abounding, sacrificial love for him. In my powerlessness, help me know with depth and conviction that you are bigger, the story is bigger than the bad we trudge through here on earth.

The sobering truth is I can do so little to protect my son from sickness, from sorrow or hurt, from tragedy, or from whatever ugly form the bad of this world might appear this week or this month or this year. What I can do is try my very best to teach him well, continue turning to God in hope and with courage, and thank God for his truth. What power these words from Paul’s letter to the Romans has in a time like this: For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus.

I believe this is true for me, I believe it is true for my son. And Lord, I believe it is true for little Jessica. Amen.