Today I am choosing the true things, because my brain and body are all wiggetywack.
Yes, a word. Maybe. I don’t know. DO REAL WORDS REALLY MATTER RIGHT NOW?!

I am recovering from anxiety and depression. I’ve talked about this a little bit from time to time. I say “recovering” because God continues to reveal His sufficiency when I am anxious. The whole “sometimes He calms the storm, sometimes He calms His child” idea. I go long stretches with no symptoms, then perhaps a season of requiring so much attention and grace as my body responds anxiously to life transitions and changes. But let me explain what’s going on these days. Because we have all the upheaval going on in our home and all the hope and waiting. And the combination of this, plus that whole BEING BOUND TO TIME thing is making for interesting days. Hard days. But faith days.

For years, my emotions have responded a particular way to crisis, frustration, anxiety, delay, fatigue…allthethings. My brain is so used to this response, that it starts to gear up (or maybe it amps up) by sending a swirling array of thoughts to the forefront. It’s like wearing anxiety goggles, because when this happens, my vision is blurry and I can’t hear very well. It’s hard to shake out of the whirlwind of words and thoughts which, on a good day, are fairly nonstop. I am a thinker. This is a gift from God. But I am a thinker. And what God intended for good, the enemy will work to distort.

Something differently is happening this time, however, and it’s taken some help and a step back to truly see the work of God in me. The whirlwind of thoughts is beginning to look distant…like not a part of me. When the thoughts begin to suggest that I may not be safe…that all this work is foolish…that God will inevitably let me down…that I don’t want to do hard work…it is beginning to look like the bullcrap it is.

I know. Super profound.

My body and brain are so used to responding a certain way to conflict and difficulty, that they begin this response process…and a still, small voice in my mind has started whispering, Hey…you know that’s not true. It’s not condemning or angry-sounding. It’s a gentle suggestion. And I hear it and my body is all BUT THIS IS HOW WE ALWAYS RESPOND TO CRISIS WE FREAK OUT AND THINK ALL THE THINGS.

And there, in the mind of Christ in me, the small voice responds, Yeah, but we don’t have to anymore. Remember? Remember Whose we are? Remember the Life indwelling us? I think we have another option.

So, with a lot of help from very patient friends and a really tender husband, I am grasping for the other option: true thinking and faithful being.

Those thoughts swirl around up there and instead of thrashing around trying to solve them (which is my biggest deterrent to truth, y’all – trying to solve the thoughts with the power of my intellect *eyeroll but really*), I get to take a deep breath and let them wash over me like a wave.

True thinking is not letting those thoughts have the final say. They start to swell and I steady myself with what I know is real: God doesn’t leave me. His plans are purposeful. God is kind. This isn’t just a physical battle – this is spiritual. I have everything I need to respond to my circumstances. He is a good Father; He is not a tricky, manipulative one.

Faithful being is not letting those thoughts determine my choices. I have a lot of options available to me. I have availed myself of a variety of fruitless alternatives to faith in the past. But I believe that God has been carving out an endurance in me that compels me to draw from a deeper place. I don’t have to draw from “cry and text all my friends in between bites of chocolate”, when there is available to me, “Tell my soul who is boss and do the thing”.

We all have a lot going on. Each of us has a list of completely valid reasons to just lay on the couch eating popcorn and watching Friends (not that I speak from experience, *ahem*) or have total meltdowns before breakfast (again). Sometimes we have to do the melting down and the tv-watching to get to the real part: Jesus is still enough.

Sometimes I do anxiety before I do faith, and I bet a lot of us are like that. It’s okay for us to feel the feelings. But then we get to discard them and get on with the faithful thing, choosing to override what anxiety or fear offers us.

This will take practice.

I will keep needing my patient friends and my tender husband and I will probably keep messing it up and having those pre-breakfast meltdowns. But God is redeeming my emotions and I can get back up, wipe my tears, take a deep breath, and get on with true and faithful living.

Because Jesus is enough.

To view our family adoption video —-> The Happy Sandels Adopt!

To make a donation towards our adoption —-> Sandel Adoption Funding!

To subscribe to our family newsletter for updates about the journey —-> Happy Sandel Family Newsletter!

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Every day I learn a little more of how little I know. How little I am in charge of.

Last week, new friends (met through our shared consultant at Christian Adoption Consultants) flew to our state when they got the call that their daughter had been born. A month ago, when we exchanged numbers and started texting, this family had not yet been matched. And last week, I got to meet them at the airport, as they flew into a tropical storm, to meet their baby daughter. They waited on pins & needles for her brave birth mother to sign consents, but flew anyway – believing God would sustain them in the outcome.

During that same tropical storm that elevated into a hurricane, my cousin & her family spent two days without power (with a teething baby). Her best friend had a tree come through the roof and they stayed up all night mopping and swapping out buckets of water to make sure their house didn’t flood. The community is working together to meet the needs of the families who suffered from the storm.

Friends from back home are experiencing that unique sadness that comes when a spouse grows ill. The wife is not doing well and Thing A cannot be used to help unless Thing B changes…and thing B is not changing. The husband is watching and praying and…that’s it.

Isn’t that all any of us can do? Watch. Pray.

I don’t care for this method most days. I want to be DOING something. I want to be FIXING it or making it right or contributing to wellness or completion or whatever. I don’t want to watch and pray.

A friend told me recently that her bestie is adopting. This is their family’s first adoption and as they go through the process, they are experiencing the ups and downs we all do. (Note: for the record, the adoption process may follow a general timeline, but each family’s experience is incredibly nuanced. Have mercy.)

The bestie remarked to our mutual friend something in the spirit of: “The finances are such a big hurdle. And as we work to save and raise the funds, I realize that I get more caught up in praying for the money than I do praying for our child.”

Basically a sledgehammer to my heart.

…….

It is hard enough to believe that God’s best for us is adoption: we can do nothing to speed this along or make it happen.

It is hard to consider that we must believe God for around $35,000: we can only do so much to work towards this. It’s humbling.

It is hard to watch and pray, when there is a frantic push in my spirit to WORK hard for that money, so we can JUSTIFY what we’re doing. What if people think we should have more of it than we do? What if people find it an unnecessary expense? Like many pregnant women discover, TOTAL STRANGERS suddenly have lots of opinions and questions.

It’s hard. It’s hard and I’m “septembering” and I am not getting a cold, I am just not going to get one and as I sit here with agency paperwork in the other room and photo sessions to book…I don’t want to watch and pray. I want to lay on my couch and cry and beat my fists into the cushions and wonder why it has to be this way.

…….

Because autumn is coming and then winter and didn’t it just get light again outside?

And inside – didn’t I just get light again inside?

…….

I am asking God for a very specific thing and quoting His words back to Him directly in so doing. I think I will be changed as I do this.

I am considering that our present sufferings are not worth comparing to the glory that will be revealed in us.

I am writing out words every day and calling it an actual goal, instead of hiding behind “I don’t make goals because I always quit them”.

I am the Mystery Reader this week in my kid’s preschool class. I will be reading Max and Tallulah, a colorful storybook about two zebra friends. One friend believes he must do wild and exciting things to capture the attention of the other. But all along, she is waiting for him to just be himself. This is what I want for my daughter – to be completely herself. And that can be wild and exciting, or can be quiet and dreamy.

I am praying for a baby. I am crafting a bajillion things to sell in our “shop handmade for Christmas and support our adoption” shop that will go live in late October. Gestation through crafts. Whatever works.

I am making new friends.

I am going to stop eating sugar, probably, maybe, starting next week. Because good things start on Mondays. Or maybe I will start on Sunday. But I think my whole self will feel better if I do this.

I am slowing down the speed with which I agree to various commitments. Life is inexplicably faster, with a kid in pre-k and a husband on staff at a large church in a big city. And last week I felt swept away. So I am starting to stay “no” and I am very excited about it.

So, I am really very brave, you see.

this original photograph & quote available in our adopt shop as a print! click the image to view the shop.

Recently I have found myself making book recommendations.

WHICH I NEVER DO. I am terrified of making recommendations. For most of my life, I have adopted my parents’ method of sharing books or movies, which is to say, “I [enjoyed it, was bored by it, really liked it, this one was okay], but I won’t recommend it.” It has rarely mattered how I felt about the book or film, I have never been willing to recommend it. Because what if the person to whom I recommend said piece HATES IT and then says, “Well, Sarah recommended it to me…”?!

I just can’t handle the risk. I am not a risk taker. I am a calculated, chronic over-thinker. One who does not recommend books. [Aside: I recently learned I am a six on the enneagram, which has totally wrecked me and explained half of my over-thinking all at once. I hate it and I love it, which is characteristic of a six. UGH.]

At any rate. I am now becoming the book sommelier (is there a word that works better for this?) for my mom and my aunt and a few other friends. This is making me think about books differently. In a good way. I can’t handle thinking I might give a book to my mom that has a sex scene in it (HORRORS) and I want the books to be realistic, but I don’t want them to be too sad, since all three of us are in the reader camp that believes “life is already sad, I don’t read for realism, I read for escape”.

To get here, I had to learn what kind of books I like to read and then be brave enough to admit it. Prime example: I still keep my Shopaholic books in the drawer of my nightstand and put my more intellectual reads on the bookshelf in the living room because as funny as I find Becky, I am just a wee bit embarrassed that I read her. It took me a while to find what I liked, too, because once I was out of school, I kept reading like I was in school for a while. I know. I’ve been out of college for over 12 years. Good grief. It took me a minute.

Sometimes I read for the intellectual challenge or for personal/spiritual growth. That is another post altogether. Right now, I’m evaluating and sharing what I’ve learned about reading for pleasure. So, in the spirit of not recommending anything, here are my tips for finding a good read:

1. Decide what you really, genuinely like in a book. I like books that make me think, but not books that require me to take notes in order to retain. Sometimes I want to just be entertained for a minute, sometimes I want to feel the way I feel when I am taking a walk alone outside or reading poetry. I like books about books, books about authors or readers, books about bookstores, tiny bakeries, women “finding themselves” (no romance necessary), books with occasional recipes thrown in, I like books with a hint of mystery (but nothing scary – I have a vivid imagination), and I usually like historical fiction, depending on the era. A little romance is okay, but if the leads keep hopping into bed, I’m done. A little suspense is alright, but if it creeps me out, I bail. I want to enjoy the book, I don’t want to acquire a taste for it.
2. Investigate what other people like to read. I am a huge fan of Anne Bogel over at Modern Mrs. Darcy and get a lot of my reading suggestions from her. Anne has a podcast called ‘What Should I Read Next?‘, wherein she matches people with books, based on their preferences. I sometimes search for summer reading lists on Pinterest. Occasionally I text my high school English teacher and ask her what she’s been reading lately. And I just re-established my GoodReads account, so I can keep track of what I’m liking and maybe find some more good reads for the fall.
3. Be willing to wander. Sometimes I just wander the local library or bookstore. I read the jackets and then see who wrote promo for the book. If an author I really like writes a review for a particular book, the chances I will take that home are increased by 35%. (Okay, I totally made that up. But the chances do go up.) I am also more influenced by the cover or jacket than I entirely necessary. I want my books to be pretty, too! If I love a book, I may or may not own several copies, if I find pretty ones.
4. Be willing to bail. Blessed be the library. Borrowing books wins here! I have NO guilt whatsoever when I bail on a book I borrowed! Occasionally – very rarely – I will buy a book with little to no research and then discover that I cannot finish it. And then I feel super crappy for bailing on a book I now own and have broken the binding on. (I am a binding-breaker. Another issue for another post. Probably in a list with the Oxford comma and other quirky things.) ANYWAY. When you borrow from the library you are utterly, completely free to bail on a book you hate with zero remorse! And unless you are in some strange competition with yourself, I urge you: BAIL ON THE BOOK. You only have so much time. Don’t read a book you hate.

There you have it. Best practices for being bookish.
I figure reading should be fun, but it can also take a little work to find what makes it fun.
Totally worth it.

And if you must know, this is what’s on my nightstand right now:

And you can check out my Goodreads here, to see what I’ve read, liked, not liked and what’s on my to-be-read list!

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We’ve had so many sweet people book mini-sessions to help support our adoption fundraising efforts! Enjoy the gallery below of images from our mini-sessions, plus a few more I’ve taken in recent years. I am still taking on appointments for fall portraits – but the get-them-done-for-Christmas window is narrowing quickly! You can use the contact button over there —-> to reach out, if you’re interested in booking a session to support our adoption!

Nine years ago today, I was nervously getting ready for a wedding rehearsal and folding programs with little brown satin ribbons on them.

We practiced walking down the old carpet in the tiny chapel and we played it super cool. We ate Italian food in the fellowship hall, with checkered table clothes and garden lights. I made strawberry smoothies with my cousins and watched a movie and went to bed early.

My dad would marry us and my aunt would play piano and my cousins would sing and my dad would also put a peanut butter cracker on the communion table as a joke. We would say “I do” and Cameron would attempt to wipe my tears away by literally smearing them down my face.

No dancing or toasts or extra attention, thankyouverymuch. A reception my mother (and her crew of workhorses) worked really hard to decorate and prepare food for. We would have iced coffee instead of champagne and we would chat with friends instead of throw a bouquet. We would leave amidst family cheers, heading to a honeymoon in the mountains and our first Thanksgiving together.

I loved our wedding. I loved our wedding photos. Our wedding day was beautiful and clear and cool and we had so much fun.

But those dancing, dipping, laughing kids up there? I barely know them. Nine years ago us had no.blooming.clue. We were wounded and scared and hiding and saying “I do” had not begun to peel back the layers injury we’d carefully wrapped around our hearts.

But God.

God, who is rich in mercy, somehow let us see in each other what was possible with grace.

He gave us the gift of bumbling through those first few years, peeling back anxiety, fear, pride, strongholds and, amidst lots of yelling, He started to administer the sort of love only possible when and a man and a woman are surrendered to Christ. He used the fire in Cameron’s bones to keep me from backing down, cowering in fear and kowtowing to anxiety. He used my persistence and persuasion to compel Cameron out of the darkness and into the light. He used our collective determination and willingness to let stuff go to make room for healthy conflict resolution. We take an argument by the horns and don’t let it go until it’s resolved. Nothing festers here. We drag it into the light and we call sin sin and we call each other to higher living.

We hardly recognize ourselves now – and this is a good thing.

We met one hot summer after I spent three months refusing to be introduced to him. We dated for six months before getting engaged on Valentine’s Day (much to my horror. Cliche, much?). We were engaged for nine months -almost to the day- of our wedding. We were married for two years when we experienced our first miscarriage – twins. Two years and two more miscarriages later, we welcomed our daughter through adoption. When she was 18mos old, we started saying “yes” to adoption again – three times we’ve walked through the open door, three times God’s said No. Not this time. Not this baby. Not your family.

It’s a good thing we are being made new. Because now? A decade into our love story and nine years into our marriage? We can walk together – equally yoked, equally passionate, equally gifted & called, equally made in the image of Christ and equal to the task of waiting for another baby. We can wait with grace -and without sometimes-, because our home has been made into a safe place for the (now) three of us.

We are being made new and we are known and so we take one step at a time, one day at a time.

Tomorrow, there will be flowers. (I know, because I ordered them. Nine years in and we’ve agreed it’s just best for all if I direct that.)
And there will be a date day sponsored by two selfless parents and one generous friend.
We will get to sleep in.
And we will wake up and say, “I do. I do. I do.” all over again, till death do us part.

Love you, whodie. Glad to be your wife.

In the spring, I can toy with my northern friends, sending them pictures of us splashing at the lake and taking long walks, while they wait for their yards to defrost and deslush. In the fall, my northern friends send me photos of their crunchy-leaved lawns, their flannel jacket walks and their fireplaces, while we sweat it out Indian-summer style.

In the winter – it feels like we all lose.

Yesterday my friend sent me a picture of her dashboard temperature: 6 degrees. Her thumbs had just warmed up enough to text.
I sent her a picture of my dashboard temperature: 84 degrees. I had the a/c on blast and a giant cup of iced tea.

Our tree is up and the stockings are hanging off the counter because bottom floor apartments don’t get fireplaces. I have some garland strung over the dining room table, our Advent wreath moves around the coffee table with (currently) a tiny bucket of blocks, sheets of paper half colored, and a pink watering can. I have six candles on the counter between the kitchen and the living area because I really, really need it to smell like Christmas in here. It’s 80 degrees every day, breezy, sunny, hazy in the mornings. We listen to “Sleigh Ride” on the way to school, the Beastie in her sleeveless dress and me in my gym shorts.

Frankly, this makes me a bit out of sorts. My Americanized imaginary Christmas does not look like this, despite the fact that I’ve grown up in Florida. I feel grumpy and waiting for Christmas feels less like a bunch of spiritual analogies I’d like to pull out of the trees frosted with a fine layer of snow and more like an interminable wait for who knows what. I determine every year that I’m going to EMBRACE CHRISTMAS and wait well and enjoy the moments and find all the magical things, but the past few years it just seems like I can’t pull it off. We wait and we wait and we wonder if the Father is actually involving Himself in our deferred hopes at all and we wrap up a few presents and light the candles on the wreath. And more waiting.

A writer friend of mine remarked recently that she hoped she would be better at a particular painful thing, seeing as how she has to do it a lot – she gets a lot of practice. She believed and hoped it might get easier after awhile. But she is discovering that “endurance just leads to more endurance. But also character. And hope.” [Romans 5:3-5].

I promptly texted her that I don’t want endurance to lead to more endurance — I want endurance to lead to feeling AWESOME. Which we all agree would be totally great, yes? We persevere through frigid temperatures and/or tank top Christmas weather and maybe we feel AWESOME because we just keep going. (Meh….) But do we ever endure through deferred hope or painful, repetitious suffering or injustice and start feeling like, “YES, I am NAILING handling suffering!”?

This is not typically how I feel. This week, it feels like my endurance is perishing [Lamentations 3:26].

A friend recently reminded me that not only does my endurance produce character that I cannot always see, God the Father is always working out a redemptive purpose far beyond what we could ask or imagine — He is working out hope in us, whether we can see and name it or not [Ephesians 3:20, Romans 8:25]. The difference is not going to be made with me in a different set of circumstances, but with Christ in me.

I struggle with this. I find what I have committed my life to – the cause of Christ – to often appear inexplicably irrelevant or unsatisfactory for explaining grief and abandonment and suffering. It does not seem “enough” to say, “Ah, well, but God is working out hope and He will redeem us all in the last, amen?” It seems nearly heartless to say that to the mom whose child is battling cancer or to my friend suffering depression or to the refugees fleeing Aleppo or the whole broken world that is just groaning with the pain of death and choking in the smoke of bombed cities.

But I think what I am coming to is that assessing and making determinations with my senses and limited knowledge is what is actually inadequate and not enough. I can never hope to offer peace if I am depending on my own interpretations of redemption and justice. I have no hope of extending healing and help to those in despair if I am relying on my not-quite vast and not-quite infinite imagination. And, for certain, I cannot merely be after my own good, after my own relief from enduring. What folly and what self-absorption! The life of Christ was a taken and broken and given away life…and I sit here snatching and hoarding and wanting more of what I say is good.

I know it seems like He will never restore hope and death will never die. It is easy to say, There can be no possible recompense for this terror and injustice! There is truly no way to make right what is destroying the people, the family, my heart…

But I am saying to you you simply do not know that.
The hope of the manger is the empty tomb.
The victory of the baby is the triumph over death.
The historical coming of Messiah was like a slow burn over history. And Emmanuel, God with us, come to rescue and restore – I urge you to silence the protests of your tiny imagination. I beg you to consider that every sad thing will become untrue. Not “every sad thing will one day be worth it” – no. You cannot make dying children and the rape of girls and the bombing of homes and the despair of a lonely heart “worth it”. But He will make it completely not true anymore.

I beg you to endure with me.

What does the Father say is good? Because His life indwells those who belong to Him – there is a mystic and mysterious union life when we are overshadowed by the Spirit of God, when we are bound to His family. “To live is Christ, to die is gain” becomes the refrain of His children [Philippians 1:21]. We carry around in our bodies the death of Christ, so that His righteous, eternal, holy life is made evident in our broken human selves [1 Corinthians 4:10-11]. Therefore I get to surrender my definition of “good” and defer to His righteous definition of good.

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I haven’t written since Advent – waiting for Christmas.
It is now well past Lent – waiting for Easter. The silence of Good Friday. The unspeakable joy of resurrection.
We are fully into Ordinary Time* and, against all hopes and expectations, our waiting has ended.

The short of it is this, for those who have followed our adoption journey the last 3+ years:
On January 28 this year we were matched with expectant parents. When we drove out of town to meet them on February 1, the birthmother went into labor six weeks early and our son was born the following morning. To say we were in a bit of shock was a gracious understatement. After nearly three years of hoping, pleading, false starts, failed matches, and growing heartsickness – we stood in the lobby of a hospital, staring at each other and saying it outloud to make it real: “We have a son. We have a son. We have a son.”

He is four-ish months old now. The daily rhythms of life have changed and are changing. Though we are experiencing the typical family growing pains, the shock of it all happening so quickly has sort of worn off. (This is subject to change at any time. It’s been an incredibly difficult adoption journey and I am nowhere near being able to succinctly summarize.) We’re doing normalish things like attending to sleep rhythms and carving out time for creative play with our big girl and working family outings around everyone’s hunger and rest needs. Oh. And in these past four months, our big kid finished VPK and the mister took a new job and we are settling into (yet another) new home. Our third in five years. It’s a lot.

It is harder than I thought to write the story of hope fulfilled. I had grown so used to hope deferred. I was beginning to despair, wondering if we should simply make our peace with the process and close this chapter. I mentioned to a friend that, “Perhaps our story is going to be that of people who are called on to be faithful even when God says no to our dearest wish. We are going to need to learn to press through and take a faithful posture and we will learn to find God’s goodness and love even in His no.”

In essence, I was submitting this plan to God as His option. Have mercy and stop this agony or change my heart and let’s move on. These are your options.

I like to think I am a good student of the faith, a disciple of Jesus – but more often than not, I am arguing my point and submitting my best ideas and implicitly demanding a holy stamp of approval on them.

I think I am struggling to reconcile what I’ve learned and discovered about God my whole life, through experience and through the ancient Words, with what I’d determined to be tacit neglect on behalf of the Almighty. Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but desire fulfilled is a tree of life. [ref]

I don’t know how to move from my heartsick waiting to joyful acceptance of the good gift of a child. I am living in the tension and surprise of life having rapidly changed. On many fronts. I am balancing (the best I can) the adjustment to two children, irregular sleep, the wondering at why our story went this way, and the deep satisfaction of mothering these tinies. And I think this is okay.

I am reflecting on what it means to live in that tension. Of hope deferred and hope fulfilled, of grief and joy, of silence and of groanings to deep for words. I’ve chosen and have been chosen for a narrow way [ref]. I will not live tension-free on this earth. I’m learning to make peace with the questions and wonderings that lead me to sometimes just whisper a desperate, “Help my unbelief…”

I have long said I believe I am “wintering” – and I don’t think it is over yet.
My words are hidden and I am keeping company with a wearisome silence.

***

It is deeply, deeply tempting for me to attempt to explain or justify my place of silence and hiddenness right now. I want people to not just hear what our family has been through in the past three unsettling years, but to understand and agree with the toll it has taken on my heart. Yet I am strongly compelled to remain silent. There is work to be done. There is soil to be tilled, roots to break up, ugly white grubs to pick out of the cucumber beds, a man to love and make a life with, and tiny humans to be present for.

Tonight I rocked a son to sleep – my son – my boy – in this house that doesn’t quite smell like us yet, in a room with boxes on the floor. His breathing matched mine and I felt him enter into that sweet slumber where his body finally relaxes. He stuck his whole face into my arm. He likes to be a gently squooshed.

I don’t know when I will really write again, but until the God and Father I know and belong to uncovers the words, I’m going to wait in this tension and in this transition. I will keep hanging pictures on the walls and walking barefoot across backyard stepping stones and reading books to children and reheating my coffee and pray-whispering thanks and help.

*If you’re unfamiliar with the liturgical church calendar, you can learn more about Ordinary Time here.

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1.

I love old stuff and it is my favorite to meader thrift shops and flea markets. It’s a manageable chaos, the booths crammed full of junk/treasure. It’s the sort of visual mess I find beautiful and -bonus!- I can leave it there and return home to…well, the typical mess.

Chaos is not my friend.

Lately we’ve been learning to hold loosely to our ideals and tightly to Jesus – given that our ideals and rhythms are (often) fantasy and (regularly) subject to change. There’s been a great deal of personal upheaval in the last few years, within and without. And although I have -in pride of place on my wall- a print reading “It’s okay to be happy with a calm life” – it’s rather elusive.

This month the mister and I started a new discipline, one we’ve taken on at least once a year for 5+ years. We’ve often done it in the fall, to reboot our mindset and our intake. I’ve also taken on some additional freelance work for an Atlanta-based ministry. We started kindergarten with our oldest and our youngest is perilously close to being mobile (sendhelpandbabygates). Not to mention my husband’s vocational work is full-time ministry. [Hashtag pastor’s wife hashtag introvert hashtag who signed me up for this hashtag help me Jesus.]

So although there are new rhythms being established in our home, it sometimes feels a bit busy.

What will help us discipline ourselves? What will keep the busy at bay?

2.

Yesterday I sat at a table with 3 lovely women, sipping coffee and rapidly squeezing our catch-up time in. We hopped on the topic of personality types and theories, delving into Myers-Briggs types with a charming and confident 18 year old who schooled us on our types. She talked us through the strengths and weaknesses of our unique temperaments, as well as the ‘function stack‘ – the ways our brain functions with the world, in order of strength.

I’m an INTJ, which is kind of a rare type, particularly for a woman. The delightful young woman who was educating us on her recent study in personality informed me that if I walked into a room of 100 people, I might find one other INTJ…but it’s likely I wouldn’t. She also disarmingly suggested this may be why I often feel on the outs or misunderstood. [Ohhhhhhhhh goodtoknow.]

INTJs are often painted as the villain or the mastermind (flattering, for sure) – we have quick minds, sharp wit, expansive imaginations, strong intuition, and we’re independent and decisive.We’re open to changing our minds, though, because we want all the data and if you approach us with logic and information, we can be quick to adjust our conclusions.

I can hardly go in to the entire study here, but stick with me: my personality type’s dominant function is Intraverted Intuition – a perceiving function – which means essentially that the characteristic driving my thoughts and behaviors is a continual and ongoing THINKING. My perception of the world and how I interact with things is undergoing consistent scrutiny as I tinker with thoughts and ideas and situations and plans. It’s not even exhausting (usually). It’s effortless. My brain is in its own little world, evaluating and taking apart information and interactions, rebuilding it into thought patterns and worldviews. My personality type’s inferior function – the weakest or “least conscious” function – is Extraverted Sensing. Which means that though I am largely operating in my internal world, the way I interact with sensory experiences of life is outward (extraverted) and can become rapidly overwhelming because of the internal processing of those experiences.

If you’ve stuck with me this long – bravo!

Here is what all that means: although my constantly working and assessing brain seems to be oblivious to concrete details like noise, color, busyness, volume, and rapidly paced things…it’s actually being assaulted by those sensory experiences.

Too much socializing + not enough alone time = stress.
Unfamiliar environments or expectations + having plans disrupted = stress.
Too much noise + needing to focus on many details at once = stress.

All of these things are basically inescapable in my current line of work: parenting (plus ministry).

What will help me with the sensory overload? What will help me discipline myself? What will keep the noise at bay?

3.

It is fall here, which means practically nothing in Florida. We buy pumpkins and make chai tea and try not to be jealous of the boot-wearing, scarf-wielding north. Fall is hard when the weather doesn’t change, because the feeling of needing a seasonal change just lingers. The light is different, maybe the mornings less humid. But here in the south, when fall arrives we just…wait. We keep on with the daily things and we wait – for weather, for holidays, for a break.

If ever there was a time for discipline, it is now.

The hope for rest can be worked out through discipline.
The hope for deep breaths can be worked out in the mundane rhythms of motherhood.
The longing for something to change can be met by the unchanging Words of the Father.

I’m choosing to discipline my intake this fall: what I eat, what I see, what I hear, what I touch. Some of that is outside my control. Parenting littles doesn’t exactly let me curate the noise level in my house or the quantity of mess in the living room. But some of it is within my control.

I can make time to write.
I can go to bed earlier, so my sensory experiences are tempered by a well-rested mind.
I can take a walk outside, even with those delightful noisemakers of mine.
I can minimize my social media experiences, my news intake.
I can eat wisely and in moderation.

This fall the weather isn’t changing and I am still in my uniform: tank top and cut-off jeans from last season. But for the first time in a long time, I have the creative energy, the internal motivation, and the hope rising in order to create space here in this mess. I’m becoming aware of more possibilities for calm in the chaos and of delight in the discipline of rest. This is exciting!

But not too much.
Because… INTJ.

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For Reading:

• “We say we want pumpkins on the porch and a gold shimmer on the trees, but we forget that this beauty won’t only warm us, it will burn us, as encounters with the deepest, truest things always do.”  – A Terrible Beauty, thoughts on autumn by my favorite – Christie Purifoy
• “It’s so easy for me to see blindness in others, but harder to see it in myself, harder to let God’s light reach my own dark parts. But that’s always where God has me start.” – a beautiful call for empathy in the church from Mary Dean – including a lovely printable of James 1:19 – “Let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, and slow to anger.” This was a good and gentle reminder for me. I even worked through the questions at the end with my five year old, which led to some conversation about how to respond when we feel like we are not being heard – and how to be better listeners to others. (Bonus! Mary is an illustrator with tons of fun and inspiring prints and wallpapers available – some for free! Browse her site for the scoop. We love her printable love notes for kiddos.) (Yes, occasionally I color.)
• Lastly, of little to no importance: I can’t pretend I haven’t wished to dress like Kathleen Kelly. This article was a lovely little piece on how to balance that line between “literary and posh” (ha! the line I am always straddling… No, wait, I’m straddling the line between gym clothes and cut offs…) and reminded me that I probably want to go watch “You’ve Got Mail” soon.

For Listening:

• The Big Boo Cast: I am just getting into Sophie and Melanie’s podcast a little bit (not a big podcaster because too much aural stimulation is overwhelming to me and when would I listen to this when my children are not also making noise?!). At any rate. I love their friendship and easy manner. The most recent episode celebrates Melanie’s new book, Church of the Small Things, and is just a lot of fun.
• Speaking of – a charming lady I know has a growing podcast you may also want to check out: Chatologie with Angie Elkins. She chats with women about life, marriage, ministry, writing, coffee – and her voice makes me so happy. Another worth checking out!
• And speaking of soothing voices – Emily P. Freeman‘s podcast The Next Right Thing. I love it for so many reasons: her voice is calm, the episodes are short and digestible, plus she has transcripts of each episode available on her blog! She’s a writer, a listener, a creative director for hope*writers… just all around one of my favorites.
• Lastly, not a podcast: Audrey Assad’s album Fortunate Fall. Pretty much every single song. But my favorites are ‘Help My Unbelief’, ‘I Shall Not Want’, and ‘Good to Me’. On repeat a lot these days, in that order.

For Thinking:

• A friend shared this piece, Thought Life, from poet Chris Webb,  in which he considers the power our thoughts can have over us. It was compelling, at times sobering. I caught myself nodding along or shaking my head – I texted my friend at one point during the viewing because I kept getting chills at how on point it was. He speaks of “my brain staging demonstrations to protest all things pure” and the battle that ensues. So worth the 13ish minutes! “The God who is making all things new does so with MINDS too. And if His Spirit found a house inside of you, then It. Is. WORKING.”  [I checked with my friend – originally shared here: Poets in Autumn Tour]
• “At the very least, I can write what I have just seen. A tiny gift, but a good place to start.” – for me, the writer struggling to be convinced of the value/validity of her offering of words. Article by Sarah Clarkson, for The Rabbit Room.
• Because I want to communicate to my daughter that she is fearfully and wonderfully made…and that body acceptance starts with what she hears me saying at home. This video was a poignant reminder to love WHO I AM. (Along these lines, this wonderful FREE E-BOOK from Tim Willard and Jason Locy – On Being Pretty, An Open Letter to our Daughters.)

For Fun:

• a fall flower wreath DIY…I now have all these supplies sitting on the floor of my dining room, where all good crafting happens
• a really cool thankful heart idea – helping kids acknowledge with gratitude the ways that others care for them
• a 30-day timelapse at sea….REALLY beautiful, sort of entrancing… also long.

* * * * * * * *

We have no big plans this weekend. We may take in a movie, we will likely lay around the house, there will definitely be pizza night, and hopefully we’ll all catch up on some reading.

Big plans? No plans? What are YOU up to this weekend?

xo,
sb

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I am the (proud?) owner of a vivid imagination and a wide range of emotions, which leads to occasional daydreaming (among other things). Most of my life I did not understand this about myself and would not have owned up to the stories crafted in my “rich inner world”. If you asked me how many times I’d imagined being rescued from bullies by Jonathan Taylor Thomas when he transferred to our middle school and we formed an impressive bond in a short period of time, as he shunned the cool kids in favor of a quiet, bookish girl – I would have simply stared at you and pretended to be confused by the suggestion. (Actual answer: a lot of times. My daydream life was elaborate.)

One of my favorite exchanges in the Harry Potter series takes place between Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, after a particularly harrowing conversation where she explains a variety of emotions and thoughts:

Ron said, “One person can’t feel all that at once, they’d explode.”

“Just because you’ve got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn’t mean we all have,” said Hermione nastily, picking up her quill again.

I have never been accused of having the “emotional range of a teaspoon”.

This combination of imagination and emotional range made for a remarkable experience the summer I was fifteen. It was the late 90’s and my church youth group was staying at the beach for a retreat. My whole life I’d worked to avoid situations where I might be in a bathing suit around boys. I was a classic case of I-think-I-might-be-fat, with the hindsight that I was actually perfectly normal-sized. I mean, 90’s fashion did not help me in this area, but I digress.

Here I was, in the name of Jesus, wearing a bathing suit in the ocean with a slew of other (likely) insecure teens, our laughter coated in a veneer of carelessness. Of course we all cared what we looked like. We loved Jesus and totally wanted to “go against the flow” in our schools, but we also really hoped we looked okay wading out into the water. No doubt it was my insecurity and distraction that contributed to my lack of attentiveness, because this Florida girl failed to do the sting ray shuffle. (For you landlocked readers, the sting ray shuffle is when you slide your feet across the ocean floor, instead of taking regular steps. This shuffling creates vibrations that alert any sting rays to your presence and –bonus!– they don’t have to stab you with their venomous barbed tails, because you won’t step directly on one.)

I did not get to enjoy that bonus, because about waist-deep in the water, I stepped on one of the buggers and it defended itself properly. The sharp pain in my foot initially didn’t register. A regular beach-goer, I assumed I’d stepped on a broken shell or something. (Also, remember: I’m a teen girl in a bathing suit in a coed group. Overreactions would not have been cool.) But within a few minutes, I couldn’t deny that the pain was growing and…was it creeping up my leg? I started making my way back to the shore, with a bit of urgency, trying to coolly explain that I—I was pretty sure that–I might be hurt and–it–seems to be getting–worse.

I got myself out of the water before collapsing in a heap. Tears started gathering in my eyes and as the group formed around me (NOT as in a daydream, I assure you), speculations and diagnoses began to fly. I couldn’t stand, as the pain began to crawl up my leg. We were a good walk away from our chaperones’ base camp at this point and, to my mixed delight and chagrin, two of the guys were going to have to carry me back. Though I would later refer to this as “the best day of my life”, at the moment the fact that I was essentially crippled, fighting back tears, and in mysterious growing pain didn’t help me embrace the reality. If ever there was a daydream to come true, it would have been being rescued! on the beach! by a handsome boy! The reality of this was somewhat different and I vaguely remember the willpower exerted in both trying not to cry and trying to keep my thighs from looking too smooshed together.

Back at base camp my parents and other chaperones gathered, trying to assess the problem. Someone sent for an ice pack. A neighborly woman who turned out to be a nurse arrived on the scene and quickly determined that this was, in fact, a sting ray problem and don’t use that ice pack! The venom is drawn toward heat! If you use ice to soothe the wound, the venom will head straight for her vital organs!

VITAL ORGANS?!

Which, in my mind, translated nicely into: I could die from this. (You can imagine how good this was to hear, for a mildly panicked teenage girl who had ceased to care about her looks and was mostly, at this point, concerned with not dying.) The nurse disappeared to her condo and within minutes, returned with a pot of hot water. This would keep the venom from heading towards the rest of my body, she explained, as she began to pour it slowly over my foot, until I could handle the eat and submerge the foot entirely.

With death no longer imminent, I could briefly consider the fact that I’d been rescued! on the beach! by two handsome boys! But alas – sting ray wounds are fairly serious and further attention was needed.

Let me wrap up the rest of this for you: My parents drove me to the nearby fire station where kindly fire fighters attended to the wound and confirmed its nature. Because there existed the danger of a venomous barb having broken off in my actual foot, I was sent to the ER for an x-ray. As we were loading up, one of the fire fighters looked at me and remarked, “You know – you must have a pretty high tolerance for pain. I’ve seen 300lb men in here sobbing on the floor after stepping on a sting ray. You’re tough.”

I’m tough. They thought I was tough.

The x-ray revealed the best possible news: no venomous barb dwelling within – I would suffer mere soreness for a a few days, but death was not imminent. (Neither was amputation, which my imagination had offered to me as a probable outcome, as it had shown me scenes of my hobbly re-entry to school and the stories I would tell and the trials of adjusting to a prosthetic.) (I told you – Daydream City over here.) With my survival and wholeness secured, I was free to remember with alacrity the fact that I had been rescued on the beach, by handsome boys!

But in the days/years to come, when the rescue part faded, what I remembered was the fire fighter who remarked almost in passing that the fifteen year old girl with the heat pack on her sting ray wound was TOUGH.

When I began to have some awareness of my imagination and how it could be a joy or a problem, I often let that define me. I’m too emotional, I’m too imaginative, I’m too sensitive to others. Self-awareness is a wonder and a horror. Not to mention navigating the frightful halls of adolescence and young adulthood with the vague idea that part of you is too much. I’ve carried that idea round for a long time – my too much-ness, my big feelings, my inner world of thought and imagining and problem solving.

But!
I’ve also carried that “You’re tough.” with me for twenty years now.

Last year during a really difficult time, a friend sent me that quote we’ve all seen floating around the internet: “Beautiful girl, you can do hard things”. More often than not, I don’t necessarily doubt my ability to DO the hard thing – I simply don’t want to. And yet over and again, I have been reminded: you’re tough.

I have been fearfully and wonderfully made in God’s own image. I carry around Imago Dei in my whole self – my imagination, my emotions, my strength. I am finding value in my unique makeup and learning to believe that even my Big Feelings can be used of God to mature me, to connect with others, to empathize. And I am strong. I may have a high tolerance for pain and a low tolerance for emotional upheaval, but the strength required for daily living is mine because of Christ.

I can do all things through Christ, who is my strength. […]
His divine power has given me everything I need for life and godliness. […]
I am created in the image of God. […]
It pleased God to set me apart and call me by His grace. […]

***

God is pleased to dwell in me. He is pleased to dwell in me and I ought to be pleased to dwell in Him, with grace and contentment for the story He is telling through my life.

Even if that story includes sting rays and wild imaginations.

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Alternate title: On Saturdays, Expectations, and Whether or Not We Will Actually Get to the Pumpkin Patch

Someone I follow on Instagram recently asked about expectations versus reality on the weekends. She wanted to know if she was the only one who struggled with that on Saturdays which I am assuming was rhetorical because nothing is new under the sun and also because “expectations versus reality” is only like 3rd in line of Things We Argue About Most.

In case you were wondering, me and Mister do not have strongly complementary personality types. I wrote last week about my INTJ-ness and I continue to explore that some, so I can understand better bm tendencies and can make efforts at home to better meet the needs of my family. My handsome husband, on the opposite side of the spectrum, is an ENFJ. He, a passionate and charismatic idealist, a coach and leader, drawn to helping people, energized by groups and projects, with a “confidence that begets influence”; married to me, a quiet and pensive realist, relentlessly thoughtful, drawn to debate, energized by thoughtful conversation and the exchange of ideas, my idealism competing with my cynicism.

Now – it looks like we have a few things in common, which is true. We share a strength for intuition and are both highly stubborn (so many fireworks in this house, ohmyword). We care very deeply about family and loyalty. We share tendencies to high emotions. His emotion is expressive, while he may not understand it or how to verbalize, because his preference for extroversion makes him far more others-centric. My emotion is intensely internal, and I usually have LOTS of words to express it, because my inner world is rich and, honestly, self-aborbed. I have to THINK ABOUT IT ALL.

Overall we are a textbook “opposites attract” case.

When I started researching how our personalities work together, I began to see there is very little research available because we fall under the ‘less compatible’ category. There are lots of speculative forum posts from personality junkies, but no real scientific exploration. (To the psychologist reading this: I volunteer us as tribute! Come study us!)

On Saturday mornings, my ENFJ is ready for play. He wants to get out of the house (after cooking a delicious breakfast where he really just needs us to stay-out-of-the-kitchen-please) and even if there is no exact plan, he already has an idea of what to do and where to go and, barring my opposition, is just going to start moving in that direction. He won’t bring it up, though – because I am his functional red team and the risk of being shot down and having his plan poked holes into is so real and terrifying, that he would rather hope I just get on board as he moves forward.

I, too, have my ideas and expectations for Saturday mornings.

They do not involve music, loud games, talking over the music, and leaving the house in 5 minutes. I must hunker down and think through all of that ruckus! to get to where I want to be and figure out what I’m thinking about how my Saturday should go. Remember when you would try to count out loud to add up the bill and someone would teasingly shout random numbers at you, to through you off and get you to start over? This is my struggle, lo, all the days of my life.

It’s Saturday here.
No quiet cups of coffee and glowy candles on a blanket of autumnal color.
No slow, lazy morning wherein we lounge on the porch and toss around ideas.

At 6am, our kids are ready for the day and we drag ourselves from bed and wait for our brains to get on the same team, so we can help each other navigate the weekend.

Are we going to get out of the house? Are we not going to? Am I going to take too long to think about my plan because the constant noise makes me have to start over? Is he going to have done 18 things before I can even process one? Is his aversion to conflict going to butt up against my love of debate and will we spend 20mins in heated discussion about the Actual Plan?

I suppose I should go find out, instead of blogging about it.
My ENFJ is ready.to.go.

But here a quick few fun things for your weekend, that I expect you might enjoy:

1. Fun mugs from The Daily Grace Co. – and free highlighters with every $30+ order!
2. The mister and I just got our first She/He Reads Truth Bible study plans, which we have mixed emotions about (will write more on this later) – and pre-ordered their Advent study which we are REALLY looking forward to. CHRISSTTTMMMASSSSSS, y’all!
3. Modern Mrs. Darcy has her daily Kindle deals up today – I’m usually powerless against this list, you guys. The reading life presents a financial struggle (maybe should also write about this more later…) Some really intriguing titles today!
4. ALSO – last night I learned what exactly a red team IS, which is how I could say above that I was the mister’s red team.
5. Lastly – NASA has confirmed earth has a new moon. A mini-moon? A quasi-moon? SCIENCE, people. (Apparently it is technically an asteroid.) (Also apparently this information is a year old.)

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To the Godhead, present and perfect and infinitely knowing, be Thou my close comfort today.

I enter my days wrestling; morning comes and my mind is vulnerable to thoughts of impulsivity,
of faithlessness, of self-absorption, and self-gratification.
Before my feet hit the ground, I wonder at Your nearness and question our intimacy.
God, who is faithful to make Himself known to His people, do that now for me.

Jehovah who is my provider, be for me today all that I need to accomplish all that will bring You glory.
Be the words of kindness my children need, providing grace for the moment to mother.
Be through me the warm place of confidence and loyalty my husband needs,
providing words of affection and sympathy.
Create in me space to receive the burdens, hurts, prayers, and hopes of those I love,
providing strength to walk alongside the dearest companions in this life.

Father whose strength is unflagging, whose love in unyielding, whose might
and knowledge are infinite – be for me today what I cannot make in myself.
Create in me a clean heart, renew a steadfast spirit within me.
Open my eyes to Your presence and gifts, that I would speak of You often.

When I pour this coffee, when I wipe down counters, when I assist with learning letters or hold sticky hands,
make me aware of Your infinite and perfect love poured out over my days.
Meet me at the kitchen sink, at the baby’s crib, at the school table, in the laundry room.

Guide my thoughts to what is true and helpful, may I turn my eyes from worthless things.

O God, my help in ages past – be now my present and future hope.
O eternal King, my refuge in days of old – be now my dwelling place.
Great and holy are you, God, and from everlasting to everlasting.
Your kingdom has no shadow, no end, no hopeless corners tucked into the night –
indeed darkness is as light to You.

In the light of this morning, I praise You for being all I need for the day’s demands.
Light of Life, I worship You for being perfectly holy and wholly perfect.
In the light of this new day, I rejoice, my Lord and Father, for You are my very life.

Be now my vision, my breath, my hope.

Amen.

Father, the gift of quiet this morning was overwhelmingly kind.

I know I idolize the ‘perfect scenario’ under which I might produce an abiding stillness with You – forgive me for being unwilling to consider Your ubiquitous presence an ongoing gift and Your indwelling life the precious abiding for which I long.

Help me to see You not just when the tree is lit and the candles are burning, but when the coffee pot sputters empty and the sun seems to have risen far too early.

Help me to hear You not only when I can sit quietly in the morning, but when small voices chatter incessantly throughout my day.

Help me to use my will to fulfill the intention of my heart: an ongoing awareness of Your purposeful presence in my day.
May I listen for You and look for You and cherish the ways You make Yourself known, though those ways are often surprising.

Your first coming – the advent long ago – seems the most outlandish and somehow most entirely probable thing. On days when I struggle to believe You are a constant source of good and the Redeemer coming again, help me to press into Emmanuel, God with us. When I cannot make sense of the unbearable griefs of life, may I press through into the life of the Son You did not spare of grief. When I cannot compute the confusion of delayed hopes and heartbreak, may I consider the disoriented hopes of mother Mary, whose likely hopes of a ‘normal’ life were gloriously disrupted by Your very Son…and let me not forget her heartbreak at His death.

You gave Him up for us all…how will You not also, along with Him, graciously give us all things?
Help me to consider these things a grace from Your hand, holding tight to the hope of Your second advent – Your coming again.

Because as for me, I know that my Redeemer lives, And at the last He will take His stand on the earth.

The charms of the season beckon and Lord you know the hustle of traditions and the cheery busyness calls to us.
Let our rejoicing not be lost in the flurry of activity and piles of wrapping paper and evergreen candles.
Let our hopes not be misplaced and distorted into demands.
Let our hearts be restored to the peaceful intimacy with You for which they were created.

Let us reckon it a gift to consider that the Word became flesh and dwelled among us, and let us enter into this Advent season with the hope that He will come again.

 * * * * * *

This year, I have been learning that hope fulfilled is a great joy. But it is also quite nuanced.

As I wrote earlier this year: “I am reflecting on what it means to live in that tension. Of hope deferred and hope fulfilled, of grief and joy, of silence and of groanings to deep for words. I’ve chosen and have been chosen for a narrow way [ref]. I will not live tension-free on this earth. I’m learning to make peace with the questions and wonderings that lead me to sometimes just whisper a desperate, “Help my unbelief…”

Approaching Christmas with a baby son is more than I could have dreamed at this time last year. Last year I was full of the ache of waiting, standing in what appeared to be the cold silence of God. I wrote essays that would go unpublished, scratched out prayers in a journal I’ve abandoned, stared across the lake behind our apartment buildings and shouted angry words into the sky. Last Christmas I wasn’t ready to honor advent as the celebration of the first coming of Messiah — I was too consumed with my deferred hopes. Last Christmas, I was laboring – I was breathing in and out or sometimes not at all – I was pushing and grieving and longing for transition.

And God had mercy and after all that wait, He brought us a son.

I am living in hope fulfilled – but the tension of living has not resolved.

****

It makes me wonder sometimes about Mary – the virgin, the holy mother, the woman who labored to deliver the hope of all mankind into the world. Can you even imagine? What kind of belief was required of the girl who likely had her hopes set on a normal betrothal, a nice Jewish husband, maybe a family down the road. Do any of us stop to consider that her hopes of a normal life and marriage were wholly disrupted by the coming of Messiah? On this side of the story we zero in on the angel urging Joseph not to dismiss her, on “Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart”. And we have freedom to think this way, with the clarity of hindsight.

But this girl chosen by the Almighty to carry out hope, to labor over hope, to deliver hope…was she not dwelling in the tension that very hope required? She was a Jewish woman — she likely knew the prophecies, she knew the waiting for Messiah and the restoration that all Jews longed for. And in one angelic moment, her participation suddenly became very real and very specific: You will conceive in your womb and bear a son and you shall name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High…

I can only speculate as to her thoughts and emotions and what it must have felt like to literally feel the stirrings of the baby within her. I can only guess as to what the realities of an unplanned pregnancy would have meant to her and to her family; how Joseph must have felt when the news went public. But I am always, always stopped by Mary’s response to that angel bearing world-disrupting news: “Behold, the bondslave of the Lord; may it be done to me according to your word.”

****

I don’t know that the tension of living will ever be resolved. I think that hoping in the Lord is going to mean far more than a pleasant and safe and secure fulfillment of my deepest desires. It is a MERCY when He grants them – but His righteousness is displayed regardless. And if Jesus were merely hope-the-way-I-want-it, He would be no God at all.

Be it unto me, according to Your Word, oh Lord.

This side of the manger, this side of the cross, we are still longing, still waiting on the advent of Christ’s return to redeem and restore the earth and His people for all time. Hope means that even in this tension, I believe He will come. I believe He came once, which is astonishing in itself. Occasionally, I listen to myself recite my own little creed and I figure if I already believe that there is one God, an all-knowing Deity who created the heavens and the earth, and that He became Emmanuel, God with us, in human skin, then I already have a head start on hoping He will come again. I wait with eager expectation, even in heartache, for the coming redemption.

Even still, be it unto me, according to Your Word.

May the tension of life on earth be an arrow pointing me to the hope of restoration and the hope that God really will return, really will redeem this broken world, really will make everything sad come untrue. May the wondering and questions not lead me to self-absorption, but lead me to the Rock that is higher than I.

May the broken pieces of life — broken families, broken dreams, broken hearts — set themselves up as a picture of all that will fade away when the King returns to make all things new.

Early in the morning, I may rise to the cries of children, friends carrying deep wounds, the deferred hopes of my dearests, and the restlessness of uncertainty. I may rise not knowing what the day holds and yet hoping for peace and rest for my loves, waiting with anticipation for the King to come galloping out of the clouds.

When day breaks and hearts break and questions persist, may I find hope and whisper into the morning sun, ‘Behold – the bondslave of the Lord; may it be done to me according to Your Word.

****

This morning when my little wake-up call sounded in the other room at precisely 5:43am, I padded into his room in the dark and fumbled around for a lovey and a pacifier. I changed, I soothed, I left — because as every mother knows we don’t get up that early, baby, please pretty please.

I went back to my room and pulled the eyemask back down, then froze. Because it was basically 6am. A very reasonable wake-up time for a woman trying to be a little more intentional and attentive this season. I swung my feet back out of the bed and tossed the eyemask onto the nightstand. I checked the time again, to be sure, and heard that still small voice, ‘Would you rather sleep or be with Me?’

So I made my way to the kitchen, pausing to notice the little noises the baby was still making (apparently he was up for the day) and I plugged in twinkle lights on the counter. I walked through the living room lighting candles and more twinkle lights. I heated up some milk for chai. When all the small preparations were made, I curled into my old squishy couch and opened a book by the light of the tree. My eyes were blurry. My brain was fuzzy. I jotted a few thoughts in my journal, a few prayers and pleas for aid. I couldn’t find my place or my way through what I’d really wanted to be a Deep, Spiritual, Significant Moment.

The baby was still awake.

And then I heard another small voice: “Hi, Mommy. You’re out here. I thought I saw the lights! I knew it! I was going to come have a little rest myself by the tree here, but you have beat me to it. Can I sit with you? Right here? And just talk to you while you do your reading your Bible? How are you? Did you have any dreams last night? …Oh, doesn’t the tree look sweet?”

(I am not making up her monologue. These are her words.)

I wrote it down as a prayer of thankfulness and I asked God to help me see ways that mothering and wife-ing and churching and picking up the same toys 16 times and wiping the counters again can be an act of worship when my brain is so very full of the noise of my days. I asked God to help me see how I can possibly abide with Him when I am constantly overstimulated. When my ideal abiding is actually A FULL DAY OF SILENCE WITH JUST ME IN MY HOME.

And then I wrote, ‘Help me find Christmas worship in these days – that I would honor you and find joy and rest in my life’s work.’

Today did not feel all worship-y. But my eyes were looking. My ears were listening. My heart was searching for what is real work and worship.

I said to myself that sweeping was not futile, it was an act of love (so my baby doesn’t eat a three day old bean or something). I said to myself that steadily and patiently asking my 5yr old how she was really feeling is an act of love (instead of just shutting her down when she sassed me). I discovered that my interest in her feelings in the moment made it possible for me to speak truth AND rebuke her, in such a way that we could pray together and start afresh.

When I was busy listening, I stopped looking for ways to distract myself from my life.
I wasn’t wrestling the noise and feeling like I. just. can’t.
I was on the watch for what God might say or show me during the day.

I’m finding that though these days don’t come as frequently as I like, they really do buoy me at just the right time. So much of life is about the time and the intentionality. At just the right time, I made myself stay awake. At just the right time, my perfect ideal of abiding was interrupted. At just the right time, I got to start over with my mini-me. At just the right time, I asked God to show me His thoughts on how I can abide during this season — and then I listened.

Perhaps this will be my advent worship, my advent word – listen.

Because in the endless noise and relentless neediness of home life and then the cacophonous chatter of the world…I spend so much time tossing up my prayers to the sky and whispering my laundry list to the heavens. And then I just keep going.

So here I am. Sitting here musing and feeling quite thoughtful in the evening and deciding that I can probably declare this season of advent worship is going to be much different than I thought – but it is going to be just what I need.

*****

Man’s maker was made man,
That He, Ruler of the stars,
Might nurse at His mother’s breast;
That the Bread might hunger,
The Fountain thirst,
The Light sleep,
The Way be tired on its journey;
That the Truth might be accused of false witness,
The Teacher be beaten with whips,
The Foundation be suspended on wood;
That Strength might grow weak;
That the Healer might be wounded;
That Life might die.
– Augustine

“…when the first breath one drew in the morning belonged to God, when no morsel was eaten without first asking His blessing, when it was he who ruled not only the universe but the smallest fragment of your life — how was it possible that he did not draw literally close to your at times? Flow in and through and around you, making you even more fully one with him? And that he did not move you so deeply in so doing that you felt his almighty hand upon you, heard the impossible voice speak?

“[Mary] could not express it. There were no words in which to make this mystery plain. But dumbly, blindly, beautifully, the unreasonable conviction remained. Yahweh did love and communicate with his children.

“…She longed to be as a little child again, untouched by the pains of womanhood. She longed with a sharp nostalgia for the blessed peace of the presence of God. ‘Thy will be done’, she whispered one final time.”

-Marjorie Holmes, Two From Galilee

After weeks of working and preparing my heart to soak it all in…our house came down with some viral thing and we spent Christmas morning fetching water and cool compresses for a very sick little girl. When a five year old is “too wobbly” to open her presents, it is the saddest! For days we arranged and rearranged everything around her little feverish self and by Tuesday when we thought she was feeling better, went for an outing that sent her back to bed shivering.

I had waited and worked and readied myself for a particular sort of Christmas week – the longing for celebration and glowy memories and the sort of cozy Christmas that would “make up for” last year’s silence and unfulfilled hopes.

And I think the thing of it is that I am always, always looking forward to things going according to my plan and I am 95% of the time surprised and indignant when they don’t. What is this about human nature? About my heart?

Oh, we had a nice Christmas – nothing was truly lost – our family was near, there were big surprises, lots of laughs, red wine, and dark chocolate. It was one for the books in many ways. But it was not what I’d envisioned and longed for.

Two weeks ago, my husband and I co-taught at our church’s weekend service on hope…and unmet expectations. Regularly I find that my hope is so often seated in things not only outside my control, but dependent on other people’s cooperation. When things don’t go as planned, I startle and I back up and I think to myself wait – this is not what I planned for. What’s this going to cost me? I fail to see the opportunity to listen to God’s voice and shift my perspective to a holier one and search out the ways my spirit might be compelled to move me outside myself.

Advent came and went.

The arrival of Christmas was not stalled by my annoyance and the reading of the Christmas story was not less beautiful because the listener was snuggled into bed with a fever. The celebration I wanted to “be fully present” for presented itself to me and I used the available energies and words and emotions the best way I could to hug it close.

I am learning over and again to open my hands and trust the longing and hopes I have to the God who created me to think and dream and plan. I am learning to ‘consider it all joy’ through disappointment and frustration. Some days I stomp and grump about and my mother has to tell me –a grown woman– to get over myself (only in much nicer words because she’s my mom). Some days I find the holy perspective required for walking through disappointment with grace and patience.

I know I need time to reflect on what the advent season really did for my heart – the hopes and longings may not have been fulfilled exactly, but I’m certain that my heart is fuller because of Christmas. I’m certain that it wasn’t lost in the midnight calls from a girl in desperate need of water (“I’m so, so firsty, mama”), in the presents I unwrapped myself at her request because she couldn’t, in the late nights and early mornings and piles of dishes and wrapping paper.

And it’s okay that I need time to fully see it. Sometimes it takes the quiet and the time before we can see more clearly. So I’m waiting and being quiet (or trying!) and looking for ways the longing is fulfilled – not in my hopes for a particular outcomes, but in the with-us God, Emmanuel.

Emmanuel, meeting my needs in ways I cannot anticipate or dictate.
Emmanuel, being present in ways I must look for and have eyes to see.
Emmanuel, my only real hope.

Merry Christmas, friends….

I wanted the title to pack some punch, but alas – the most straightforward is often the best. Since the pace at which life moves can be either crawling or breakneck, I thought it would be an excellent end-of-year discipline for me to consider things I’ve learned this past year. Going against all writerly advice, I’m writing this introduction before I write the content, so I am hazarding a guess that these lessons will range from the mundane to the miraculous, the silly to the serious. 2017 started on the heels of one of my hardest years and didn’t quite get up and running in its own right until well into the year. You know, after we adopted a baby, relocated, the husband started a new job, and we started homeschooling. So. Nothing big or anything.

At any rate, here we go with a list of things I am pretty sure I learned (or at least encountered and stuck out to me) last year.

ABOUT MYSELF:

1. I tend to ‘soar up on the wings of anticipation’ – like a certain Anne girl – and the thud always gets me. I’m learning to identify when I’m doing the soaring, so I can reorient my hopes/plans.

2. I am a Highly Sensitive Person – it’s a legit thing! I’m not making it up! And last year I learned I have to manage noise better – visual noise, actual noise, information noise, relationship noise…last year I learned it’s way better to experience the discomfort of drawing boundaries than it is to have the uncomfortable explosion/frustration of the consequences of NOT drawing those.

3. It’s okay to be a planner (as long as I don’t live/die by those plans. See #1.)

4. I LOVE being a stay at home mom. Since I wasn’t one of those girls whose singular aim was wife/mother, I am kind of surprised by the deep joy and satisfaction I take from this work of raising littles and loving their daddy.

5. I also need a fair amount of time away from my kids – preferably away from everyone – so I can recharge and reboot. I’m owning this.

6. I think about myself a LOT. This was/is a frustrating realization and while there is a legitimacy to consider my needs and what rhythms and care will serve to better me as a person, I can easily swing into self-absorption. This year I want to learn that delicate balance of self-care and caring for others in a gracious, not-self-absorbed way.

ABOUT FAMILY:

7. Family dynamics are ever-changing…what works for us may only do so for a few weeks. We’ve learned to guard our family time and rhythms better in this last year.

8. I’ve learned to hold loosely to my ideals of parenting and to pray continuously for the little people entrusted to our care. We are committed to doing the best we can with the information we have, according to the call of God on our lives. And because these kids belong to Him, I’m learning to make a choice as a mom and trust Him with the outcome.

ABOUT WORK:

9. I actually thrive when I have outside-the-scope-of-mom work to do. This year I started doing some freelance work for a ministry and I committed to writing more often on the blog. I like who I am when I have a project unrelated to family life and I’ve learned this in no way diminishes my work inside the home.

10. I am learning that I’m such a visual learner/planner. It’s hard for me to listen or get stuff done if it’s not written down and in my sight. This is why I have multiple notebooks/planners and they are usually open – because if I can’t see it, it doesn’t exist!

ABOUT NOTHING IN PARTICULAR:

11. I’ve learned a better way to grocery shop: weekly and alone. (Meal planning is a must!)

12. I finally got myself a system for my giant To Be Read book list. I keep categories of books that I want to hold (so I either watch for deals or I check them out from the library) and I have a list of Kindle books that I keep an eye on. Like this list, which updates daily from Modern Mrs. Darcy.

13. I succeed when projects have end dates. New Year’s goals or resolutions always seem so daunting and vague because 365 days is such a chunk of time.

14. I’ve learned (and remembered) how to correctly pronounce “archipelago”. (Ark-ih-PELL-uh-go)

15. I like pretty things on Instagram so I follow a bunch of accounts that just make me take a deep breath. I’ll probably never be a backpacker or outdoorswoman, but I LOVE me some folk scenery or AT Instagram accounts.

16. You can buy tickets for something 8 months in advance. For all the planner that I am, I also like to keep my options open. I have never in my LIFE bought tickets for something this early. But this year I did. And so next summer I’ll have an epic date with my daughter to see her first play at our local community theater and I am v excited about the whole thing. In advance.

AND FINALLY, THE 17TH THING I LEARNED IN 2017….

17. I think I’ve just learned that life is alternately work and joy. Sometimes those feel mutually exclusive. Sometimes I am a weenie. I want to tack my emotional swing up on the feeling really quite good, thank you, side and not experience any of the down swing. But when I am using my mental and emotional energy to protest what my life is, I am missing opportunities for faithful belief in the goodness of God. I know that faith is a gift and I am coming to think when God gives it to me, I then have to work to believe. It’s a hand-in-hand, joint-spirit, humbling effort to cooperate with the Almighty.

I’m not talking about saving faith, but the gift of faith to believe that God can accomplish a thing and that His goodness will determine its outcome. In so many ways I feel like my 30s are starting over with Him. Everything I’ve known or understood up to this point is being challenged – by my experience, by my nonstop inner noise, by the suffering in the world. And I find myself at the daily crossroads (yes – daily) to choose to believe there IS a God, that He is benevolent, and that the God of the Bible is He. Some days this takes more work than others.

Which leads me to my Word of the Year…

I haven’t picked a word of the year for awhile. In the silence and changing-ness of life, I’ve just avoided the emotional attachment of a WotY. But this year, one word keeps poking at me. I deliberately ignored it at first, because it seemed terribly cliche and worse, vague. But because of what I’m learning about who God is and the work of faith to believe Him, this year is going to be about…

I’m going to work to believe God, when brilliant minds and theories offer me a way to trust myself.

I’m going to work to believe God, when my emotional capacity is maxed out and distraction is appealing.

I’m going to work to believe God, when the circumstances of those around me crowd me uncomfortably.

I’m going to work to believe God when my own circumstances are pressing, when my home seems too noisy, when my feelings seem too big, when my work seems undone or neverending, when answers seem far off, when anxiety builds up in my soul, when six things clamor for my attention at once and I feel like I have space for none. This is the year I am going to work to believe God.

[The father said,] ‘But if you can do anything, have compassion on us and help us.”
And Jesus said to him, “‘If you can’! All things are possible for one who believes.”
Immediately the father of the child cried out and said, “I believe; help my unbelief!” ‘
Mark 9:22-24 [full chapter]