When The Balls Come Too Fast

As I talked about in the last post, recently I have been struggling with anxiety and a non-stop mind.  And much of it, God showed me was about perfectionism… 

I realized that the tensions I am experiencing come because I like doing things well – I like to focus fully on one thing and do it well – and in recent years – I have been able to manage that.  Maybe shifting focus here and there, but knowing the vision and sticking to it.   

But now the balls are coming too fast and I can’t hit them all back and I am running around crazy trying to hit them all, rather than trying to return just one at a time.  And I realize that so many of my anxieties could be left to one side if I wasn’t driven by this annoying back-seat driver who shouts: Are you sure that is good enough for God? Are you sure you are being a good enough mother? Are you being a good enough support for Mark? Are you attending enough to those in the team? Are you investing your creative gifts enough? (Remember the parable of the talents!!) And I swerve this way and that, breaking hard and turning suddenly, all the time knowing that this isn’t the life Jesus was talking about.

And I picked up a book about peace and even in the open pages I suddenly saw the problem.  I was making everything too complicated. I had despised simple and looked for the new revelation when all the time it was in the simple – in what I already knew to be true.  I actually needed to reverse.  Or in John the Baptist’s words: repent.

It is not about ensuring the children learn everything they possibly could learn this year.  Daniel does not need a saturated timetable of academic and extra-curricula activities.  He needs a Mummy modeling a God-seeking, trusting regardless of the storms, life. Homeschool is about simplicity: 2 or 3 simple goals and working towards them.  Had I asked God what they should be yet? Umm…no.

It is not about taking on the pastoral responsibility of all the people in the team.  It is not about making sure everyone is happy and well and thriving and if they are not it is my fault.  It is about simplicity: 1 or 2 simple goals each week.  Had I asked God what they should be yet? No, not yet.

It is not about being a adoring, doting, grateful, sexy, helpful, encouraging wife all the time and maintaining those high, high, standards I have set myself.  It is about simplicity: 1 or 2 simple intentional goals to show Mark I love him this week.  Had I prayerfully considered what they should be yet? You know by now, I haven’t.

And it is not about having all the ideas and vision and blogposts and other creative ideas all worked out this week.  It is about simplicity: 1 or 2 simple intentional goals.  Embracing the step by step.  And you know I need to spend time seeking God about that too.

And so as I keep telling myself ‘Keep it simple’, waves of peace are beginning to break, and this car which is running out of gas is coming into a pit stop.  I know I need to take a moment to readjust my life.  To put time into my calendar to work out what this week’s priorities are and to prayerfully consider all the different aspects of my life. 

How about you? Are you in need of a pitstop?

‘A plain and simple life is a full life.’

– Proverbs 13:7b (The Message)

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Related post: Keep it Simple

When My Mind Drowns Out Peace

Anxiety has been a heavy itchy blanket I have been trying to put down over the last few weeks.  I feel like I have been rushing here and there – from helping to lead a team, to trying to be a loving, listening wife, to homeschooling and parenting the children, to taking the odd moments to write down the many ideas I have in my head and think about how to turn them into writing. 

I keep trying to shake this blanket off.  And trying to be still.  To spend time in worship in the mornings and quiet myself before Him.  But this noisy parrot of a brain keeps on at me, reminding me of this or that. 

I had enough.  Didn’t Jesus promise peace? In the storms He slept and He told the disciples: In this world you will have many troubles, but…I leave you my Peace.

Peace.  That is what I am struggling to feel right now.  How is it that I can lose a baby and feel His overshadowing peace through it all and now I can’t even feed Kaleb porridge without losing the peace I have gained in my quiet time?

So I spent a week, waiting for peace to come.  My mind all over the place, urging me to keep on, keep busy, keeping going, all the time knowing this needs to stop.  The tensions of ministry, motherhood and creativity surely don’t have to look like this?

So I asked God to show me the roots of this anxiety. 

I surprised myself when the first word I wrote down was ‘perfectionism’.  Now perhaps this won’t surprise those who know me, but it actually surprised me.  Not because I am not aware of a past of perfectionism, but because I was surprised it had become a present.  Yes, I like to do things well, but I am actually generally very flexible with things not being done and I generally don’t have a problem extending grace to others.

But then again – how good am I at accepting grace for myself?

Where had doing things in His strength and His freedom and His Spirit suddenly become about doing it in mine? These standards, this legalism that I was holding over myself – why had they just intruded my being?

And once again, I realize that I had made it about me, instead of about Him, and so it was no wonder that I couldn’t hold on to the ever-accelerating roundabout. 

And I realized how much of my life is supernatural – that I can’t do anything without Him and it is truly Him who holds it all together. 

And so I have decided to hand it all back over to Him again.  Because He can do it peacefully. And I can’t.

God, the one and only—

    I’ll wait as long as he says.

Everything I need comes from him,

    so why not?

He’s solid rock under my feet,

    breathing room for my soul,

An impregnable castle:

    I’m set for life.

God said this once and for all;

    how many times

Have I heard it repeated?

    “Strength comes

Straight from God.

Psalm 62:1 & 11. 

Remember

My eldest, Daniel is 6.  Yesterday he chose to stay in the car with me whilst his younger brothers accompanied their Dad into the bank.  He turned to me:

‘You can tell me stories from when you were young, instead.’ He said.  

My heart swelled until he added a condition: ‘Funny stories.’

I racked my brain to remember some and told him a few – of the escaping school bunny, of my brother’s tendency to stroke his teacher’s leg at story time when he was 6 (she had silky tights on apparently) and of my sister calling the fire brigade age 2 and a fire engine turning up at the house (they have heard that story before but it is one of their favourites). 

And as I searched and searched my brain, I realized that I need to sit down and think and even write some notes:

What have been the faith-changing moments in my life? What are the stories that accompany them?

What things can and must I share with my children: the stories that will stay with them for all of their lives and be a reference for their own spiritual walk?  

Only be careful, and watch yourselves closely so that you do not forget the things your eyes have seen or let them fade from your heart as long as you live. Teach them to your children and to their children after them. 

Deuteronomy 4:9

Some inspiration this week

Been thinking about doing this for a couple of weeks and just beginning to get myself organised here to try and record the stuff I am inspired by! I'm hoping to try and do this every week, but we will see how we go... 

The Blogposts: 

Here are some posts that have hit the spot this week… they seem to be writing about what I was thinking about writing about…so let’s have them say it!

1. Crista Wells on the tensions between creativity and Motherhood:

http://www.christawellsmusic.com/2013/03/12/this-ones-for-the-mothers/

2. Steve Wiens on dying just a little bit more every day (and I can identify with the inner conflict when confronted when trying to doing my best)

http://www.stevewiens.com/2013/03/18/lent-6-less-of-me-and-more-of-god-is-that-how-it-works/

3. Emily P. Freeman on recognising and embracing our limits... (yes, God is talking to me about this too...more with a couple of posts coming next week) 
http://www.chattingatthesky.com/2013/03/18/what-a-hundred-lifeguards-taught-me-about-my-calling/

E-books I’ve started reading this week:

A Long Obedience in the Same Direction: Discipleship in an Instant Society by Eugene H. Peterson

Wild Things: The Art of Nurturing Boys by Stephen James and David S. Thomas 

Albums I have downloaded this week:

Matthew Reed: Come and Drink

Daniel Bashta: The Invisibles the Instrumentals 

Keep on Keeping On... Monday...

(I posted this last week on our family blog, but I wanted to share it here too for those who don't read our family blog...)


I am awake at 5am.  Kaleb is not getting the ‘sleep until 6’ memo.  I decide to use the time to pray.  I fight back sleepy eyes, choosing to trust that God knows and His strength is enough.

6am I spend an hour with the Lord as Mark makes the boys breakfast.  His Word sinks convictingly deep and I drag my guitar case onto my bed to force myself to worship – it is my self-subscribed medicine against that dark cloud at the moment.  I have to worship.  It has to be all about Him.  It just doesn’t work when it begins to be about me.

 

8am – It’s Joel’s first day back at nursery and after supervising the feeding of all our animals (a rabbit, a tortoise and three guinea pigs), I pile all the boys into the car.  They are all in good spirits, excited.  I ask them what they are thankful for as we drive and the two who can talk are both thankful for Joel going to nursery.  I am thankful for the provision to pay for it.  In my mind, the negative bank balance threatens me but I push it away, telling it that God has always provided up until now – there is no reason why this month will be any different.

8.40am I join our community prayers (40 minutes late) in the living room. Everyone is sharing their personal discipline challenges.  I feel my life is so disciplined and ordered that I need to be disciplined to allow ‘go with the flow!’… 

By 9am I am sat down with Daniel guiding him through his homeschool curriculum on pollution and valuing earth’s resources, and that verse I read this morning: If anyone, then, knows the good they ought to do and doesn’t do it, it is sin for them continues to nag at me all morning. It nags at me as I make lunch for just 5 adults and 3 children today (lasagna – the 5 other regulars are busy today) throw the unnecessary polythene wrapping into the bin whilst thinking how I need to communicate with Mark to try and buy things with less wrapping…

The downstairs is a total mess.  The lady who comes to help clean in the mornings hasn’t arrived and the sink is piled with dishes, the floor covered in mess (having over a dozen people coming and going all day and 25 for lunch yesterday takes its toll, to add to the boys!).  How am I going to homeschool, cook and clean before 11.50am?? The Lord knows – I can do all things through Him who gives me strength.  Rosa offers to wash up and clean the kitchen so I do a quick toy and book blast-clear-up, stuffing toys into boxes, and aligning cushions.  There. Sufficient. Perhaps it will be okay.

The liquidizer gets a double use today – once for the veg for the lasagna (hidden vegetables are the only sort that get eaten by my boys), and once to make paper pulp.  It seems ironic to me that I use up more paper towels cleaning up the water mess than I ‘save’ by making recycled paper, but Daniel loves it and we add dried leaves and oregano into the paper as it dries in the hot, hot sun.

By 11.30am I am wondering if we will get the paper and the lasagna done before 11.50am when I have to go and pick up Joel.  The garden is so dry from lack of watering (we live in a desert so there is no natural rain), that I stick the hose on. I try to remind myself that a) it doesn’t matter if I am slightly late to pick up Joel, and b) God knows what I need to do – he will work it out.  Trying to speak out that faith, but my stress levels are beginning to rise…

I am 10 minutes late to pick up Joel.  At least Kaleb is wearing a pair of shoes that don’t fall off his feet this time.  I apologize to Joel’s teacher and she is not in the least bit bothered.  Peering into the classroom, I can see why – we may be the first ones to pick up.  Well, this is Peru…! Joel is happy and communicative (amazing!) and we drive home trying to get Kaleb to sing the odd words in our songs. Us: Cows in the kitchen… Kaleb: Moo…moo…! Daniel and Joel are in hysterics and I am reminded that they are so carefree and I am meant to be like them, not them like me…anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it…

12.40pm: For some unknown reason I let Kaleb and Joel play with the hose (yes, it is still going) and Kaleb gets soaked whilst Joel constantly asks me if he can play carnavales – basically he wants me to fill up 100 water balloons for him.  (Now is it more of a waste to have them stuck unused on the fridge, or burst and in a landfill?!) There is no way that lunch is going to be ready if I stop for the balloons, but I do have to stop every 2 minutes to tell Joel ‘no’ and re-explain to him why… The postman arrives bringing magazines from G.G. and chocolate.  (2 of the 3 bars are melted, but nothing the fridge won’t sort out… well, those aero bubbles are never coming back, but it still tastes good!) Daniel is now unreachable, lost in the world of his magazine.

12.45pm: Sink is full of washing up from cooking.  Kaleb is totally soaked. New nappy now totally soaked. Strip him down and let him run around for 2 minutes whilst I check on the lasagna. Kaleb comes into the kitchen. ‘poo…poo’.  Uh-oh.  A solid, no-mess poop sits in the doorway.  I quickly grab a wipe and clear it up.  Phew. Easy. 

‘poo…poo’.  I look at Kaleb.  He is pointing to the porch.  A squashed poop sits there laughing at me.  I lift both his feet and give them a wipe.  Another wipe clears up the rest of the mess. I can do all things through Him who gives me strength.   I find another nappy quickly. 

Wash hands. Wash dishes. Check lasagna.  Grab Kaleb before he terrorizes the guinea pigs with his toy cars.  Yell at Daniel and Joel to go and get dressed for lunch. (They are both in their underpants from watering the garden).  Joel hears me, Daniel is engrossed in his magazine. 

1pm Amanda arrives with baby Judah for lunch.  Mark and Shaun are close behind.  We sit down to eat.  Joel finally eats his lasagna when we convince him that it is just spaghetti Bolognese with cheese and flat pasta.  Kaleb takes two bites out of a piece of fried banana and refuses to eat anything else. Daniel finishes up his plate.

By 2.00pm Mark has the boys for an hour and a half so I can rest/catch up on admin.  Today, the only thing that is happening is a nap.  I put on some music (Volume 1: Psalms 1-10 by The Psalms Project) and enter the land of nod. 

3.30pm I am with the boys again.  Kaleb wants milk and tries to fall asleep, but it is too late for a nap if we want him bed before 10pm, so I get up quickly and head for the stoller.  Kaleb is protesting and I am groggy from my sleep, feeling irritated and wanting to run back to my bedroom and lock the door, but I can’t.  Remind myself that a walk will get rid of that grogginess and get the boys ready to go out.  Mark is busy until 7pm. That’s 3.5 hours to kill.  Walking to the cremolada shop and back should kill two hours and then we can come back, eat and make cards and then it should be ready for the bedtime hour. 

By the time all the boys are in bed at 7pm I am tired, irritated and thankful.  I think back on the day, which feels like three days in one.  Thankful for the people God has sent to help with the boys and the mess and to allow my time with Him and to nap.  He truly does enable me to do all the things I need to do. And as for the other things that didn’t get done? There is always tomorrow…or the next day… 

I remind myself that it is all about one step at a time…so thankful that God doesn’t give up on me for my daily messes but that He takes me by the hand and reminds me: I can do all things through Him who gives me strength. 

Fighting into the Promised Land

I wrote this post a few weeks ago, when I was really fighting for joy... Thankfully, the dark cloud has now lifted, but I still wanted to share this post with you, because I know it will ring true for some, and also I, personally, need to be reminded...! 

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My peach tree – the one I planted three years ago in my new garden in my new house – this year it bloomed and blossomed and hundreds of peaches fell and swelled on the branches and the tree began to fall forward under the weight of the fruit.

I tied it to a nail in the wall. 

After a few days, the nail fell out.

But I now notice that the tree is no longer falling forward.  The trunk is firm.  The support is no longer needed.

Right now, I am being tugged and weighed down and I am stooped over.  My roots are too shallow and they gasp for water, shaken and helpless against the wind. 

And what is my support? My husband, caring, listening, stopping to ask how I am doing today.  Doing really well at showing interest in things he does not care too much about. My community bringing hugs and smiles and prayers and not expecting everything to be perfect. 

But the growth is going on at the roots.  I can feel them wrestling against the rocks, searching desperately for firm, saturated ground.  Unseen refreshment.

I have been promised some Promised Land.  But I am struggling having to fight to get there.

Remembering that the Promised Land wasn’t entered into without a fight.

But also that that fight was more about faith than it was about weapons.

So I fight forward.  Remember the things I have learned along the way – that the fight for joy starts step by step with thankfulness.  Thankfulness spoken out.   Spoken thankfulness is the hardest right now.  I feel fuzzy and overcome and like hell is doing everything to stick my lips together.

The fight for joy is ushered in by my music, and worship and declaration of who You are.  First listening, praying, leaning on You; crying out for You inside and hoping so much that I will be able to speak it out loud.

Jesus never promised a calm lake. Wasn’t it into the wind and waves that Peter stepped into Jesus’ path? Isn’t He calling me too to step into the storm – in faith – and keep my eyes fixed on Him?

Why am I so scared of drowning, if I know He will pick me up?

And although I'm scared, I know that the supernatural happens so often when the choice is life or death and I choose life.  And You prefer that I try and begin to sink than not get out of the boat at all.  

I will give thanks to you, Lord, with all my heart; 

I will tell of all your wonderful deeds. 

-Psalm 9:1

Rest

Rest is not always stopping and ceasing for an extended period of time.

My rest is in You, Lord.

Rest is not a lie-in until noon.

My rest is in You, Lord.

Rest is not a week’s holiday on the beach.

My rest is in You, Lord.

Rest is not an undisturbed night’s sleep.

My rest is in You, Lord.

Rest is taking a moment to remember.

To look.

To appreciate.
To ponder.

To take in the changing colour of my children’s hair, bright at the end of Summer.

To take in the swishing, swirling sounds of the shell my six-year-old thrusts at my ear.

To absorb the 30 second hugs from my husband before he heads off to a day of activity

To breathe and speak life and calm out loud when things get crazy.

Rest is an absorbing of moments in amongst the activity.

And forcing myself to remember that

My rest is in You, Lord.  

My peeling facemask

I struggle.  I struggle with the idea of struggling. 

There.  My mask is off.  More like a face mask – those peel-off ones I loved as a 14 year old, that pulled out those black-heads so satisfactorily.  Except, this time, I didn’t realize I was wearing the mask.

Part of my soul offered out, exposed.  And the waves of vulnerability break upon the shoreline of pride.  Or is it uncertainty?

Uncertainty of who this woman is.  This 28 year old, so used to going it alone, and no longer wanting to.  So used to fighting forward through the darkness of evil come against her, and fighting so confidently that when a punch comes in from the side I am suddenly thrown off-guard.  My roots are rocked and in this dry, dry soil they are desperately seeking for water.  Trusting that it has to be there.  Just.  Need. To. Go. Deeper…

 My mask collection actually consists of various happy faces: the super missionary; the calm, patient mother; the ever-loving, perseverant wife; the expert homeschool teacher; the compassionate pastor’s wife; the loyal friend; the wise older sister.

I love for you to admire my masks and marvel at my strength.

But any strength that is there is either a mask or not mine.  I would love to say that it is always His, but my own insecurities have not yet been melted away by His perfection.

And besides, in this desert I am finding it difficult to see His radiance beyond the glare of my own anxieties.

And these anxieties annoy me.  They rub against me.  The feel so old – so last decade, so coming of age.  Did I not throw them off?  Am I not now a woman: wonder-woman?

Where did they come from? Where did they creep up from these voids in my soul that are cracking my face mask and causing it to peel?

And Jesus. Beautiful, patient, arms-stretched-out Jesus.  You know.  And yet you still love.  You laugh joyfully and wholly and your laugh tells me I am your child and you accept me as I am.  That you find the masks quirky and silly and totally unnecessary and that you love the beauty of the face beneath – the exposed one, which can only go out in public with Him. 

And you remind me of the lies that the devil tries to tell me: search yourself. Keep looking at yourself – maybe you will get to the bottom of this uneasiness.

And instead, you tell me:

Anyone who intends to come with me has to let me lead. You’re not in the driver’s seat; I am. Don’t run from suffering; embrace it. Follow me and I’ll show you how. Self-help is no help at all. Self-sacrifice is the way, my way, to finding yourself, your true self.

(Matthew 16:24-26 The Message)

A kitten in a teapot

The last few weeks God has been making me go back to my roots - my spiritual roots.  To be honest it is a vulnerable, difficult, uncomfortable process. Sins and habits I thought I was done with, that I had moved on from, suddenly popping up again.  I realise that I need to reaffirm my faith - to fight again - to get the enemy off my promised land.  And at the moment I am still in that fight, which at times can be very discouraging.  I am really having to remember that the sun shines beyond the clouds! And one of those things has been writing.  I never expected the marriage month stuff to affect me in the way it did - being vulnerable made me vulnerable and addressed areas in me where I still have a long way to go to trust God.  It sounds depressing, but actually, it is difficult but it is good! I know that this is just a deepening of my faith and I am looking forward to those sunny days again - because they are coming! If I am in a desert now the only way my roots can go to find water is down deeper into Him! And as I was talking to God about my insecurites this last week, he reminded me of a story from my childhood... 

It was my Dad's birthday.  I was six or seven at the time and I accompanied my Mum to a local shopping centre to choose a card.  I was convinced that he would love a card with a kitten popping his head out of a teapot, tail poking out of the spout. (The actual one had the kitty looking forward with the lid of the teapot in his head if I remember rightly!)  To me the card was cute and funny and he would love it. 

My mother tried to encourage me to choose something else.  You like the card, but he might like something more manly, with cars on it or something, she urged. 

I insisted on the card and my Mum gave in.

I remember giving my Dad the card.  He laughed out loud – he thought it was hilarious and I was pleased with my choice.

My suspicions were further confirmed when my Dad framed the black and white photo card and hung it in the downstairs bathroom. Now, every time I did my business I looked up at that cat (next to the plaque which read ‘The battle is not yours, but God’s.’) and felt pleased that I knew better than my Mum and had insisted on the card.

As I became older, and less self-absorbed, I realized that he probably wasn’t into cats and teapots so much.  Yet, why had he framed that card? 

I asked him.  

And the answer I got was simple: 

Because you gave it to me.

And as I sit here and write and try to impress God with something (I don’t know what!) – He laughs and tells me that it doesn’t matter what, but that it is the heart behind it.  My choice to love Him, my offerings which are so often childish and self-absorbed.  And he tells me that He frames them.  Not because they in themselves were necessarily stunning, but because I am His daughter and He just loves it when I try to love Him. 

‘I have loved you with an everlasting love;

    I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.’

Jeremiah 31:3