As My Foot Slips

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This weekend I dropped one of my favorite people in the whole world off at college for her Senior year after our whole family being together for the last year and a half of Covid. It was 18 months of craziness, hardship, uncertainty, fear, anger, and loss for most of us. But for our family it was also a time of redemption of loss from when we lived overseas and had to break our family up across the world. Suddenly we were all together, living life, eating meals together, working through the hard as a unit rather than individuals going a million different ways – and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. It was beautiful, messy, sometimes hard, but also such a time of full circle closure. I am thankful.

But life moves on, as it does, and she is back at school. Next year our oldest gets married and moves out and our second son will go to college. Both wonderful, right things. Yet we continue the cycle of holding our kids lightly, as we were told when they were babies and we dedicated them to Him. It’s hard.

But as I drove home naming the grief of not having my daughter there when I got home, I cried. Then suddenly those simple tears became deep, gutteral groans and sobs – to the point where I almost had to pull over. Grief after grief after loss started pouring through my mind.

I thought it must be spiritual attack. I think I am pretty good at naming losses and surrendering them to healing. In fact, many of the things that were crossing my mind were things I had spent much time in the counsel of friends and in prayer about. I had seen beautiful things come from them. But as I started to rebuke this sudden attack of sadness and anger and all the emotions that roll around together in grief, I felt the Holy Spirit tell me to be quiet and listen. This wasn’t about me not being able to move on or sitting in the middle of broken, hurtful things. It wasn’t even about trying to name the good things I have seen in the midst of it all. It was simply about me sitting with my Jesus, the Savior who understand first hand all the complications that come from living on this earth.

The older I get, the more loss I experience. Yes, there are SO many good and beautiful things. But the losses are numerous. Some of them are like when the wind blows a piece of gravel and it smacks you on the leg. It stings and maybe leaves a little scratch, but you don’t think about it a lot later. But some of them have taken chunks from my heart, to the point where I feel like I am walking around with more scar tissue than good muscle some days. This world does that.

My mom and dad’s deaths. Loss of a life I loved in Kenya. Evacuation from South Sudan and loss of a long-term dream. Every time I took another child to college, knowing that life would look different from that moment on. Yet another new house. Friends who died from covid or cancer or malaria or an accident. Marriages I have watched dissolve in unrecognizable puddles around me. Loss of relationship with families that were part of my every day messy, beautiful life every time we moved.

SO many moves… Which means loss of stability. Loss of home base. Loss of security. Whoever said, “Home is where your heart is,” was not part of a military or ministry family.

How do I keep my footing when everything around me feels like it changes – or could change quickly – at any given moment and without warning?

So this morning my prayer is this:

Psalm 94:18-19

When I said, “My foot is slipping,”
    your unfailing love, Lord, supported me.
When anxiety was great within me,
    your consolation brought me joy.

Lord, as things change, as the world feels slippery and we can’t grip it anymore, would you catch my foot? Help me not to run from things and want to hide away in my own false fortress; a sense of security built by my own hands and heart but that won’t withstand the reality. Help me not to let anxiety rule when I don’t understand, or I come back to a thing I thought I had finally left behind. Help me to trust in the only One whose consolation can truly bring joy. Amen.

Resting in His Heart Beat

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Recently as I was holding baby Max, he was doing his little grump noises, where he sucks on the pacifier and “complains” with each suck. He was sleepy, but fighting it, and his whole body was becoming more and more tense. As I held him close to my heart and patted his little bum, I felt my own body tensing up. Slowly I inhaled – 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 – held it for 7, then exhaled for 7 and started again. Box breathing, I think this is called, and I learned it from my counselor as a way to regulate my nervous system. I’ve started to incorporate breath prayers into it. As I breath in I think, “More of You,” and as I exhale I think, “Less of me.” It’s quite effective and helps me center my body while putting my gaze back on him.

This time, however, my own body was tensing, and Max was becoming more and more agitated. I had always heard that babies can sense your own state of mind. So as I breathed in and out and set my own heart to a calm pace, I prayed, “Calm his heart,” and “Give him peace.” I slowly watched Max calm down. Soon his breathing and heart were regulating to mine, and we were both relaxing into peace again.

It’s not always that simple. Sometimes he is hungry or needs a diaper change. But often it is just that he needs a little help regulating all those emotions and that growing nervous system. I get it.

As I was staring down at Max’s little face, God once again used this little one to remind me of his love for me. Psalm 27:8 says, “You have said, ‘Seek my face.’ My heart says to you, ‘Your face, LORD, do I seek.’” In seeking him, sometimes this means the restlessness in me is simply hunger. I need his Word to nourish my heart, mind, and soul. I need to be intentional about spending time taking it in and allowing it to transform me. As I hunger and thirst, his word fills and quenches.

Sometimes seeking him means coming with the mess that I can do nothing about on my own. I come in my filth – my dirty diaper or my vomit all over me. I can’t clean myself up – only the work of Jesus can do that. I can only look to him to do it. If I try it becomes worse and worse and I find the mess smeared all over me and everything around me. But God is not scared of it. He looks at me, his child, and reminds me of who I really am now with this new, exchanged life with Christ.

Other times, probably more often than I care to admit, seeking his face simply means laying my head over his heart, listening to that steady beat, taking in the soothing, calming, life-giving breath of his Spirit, and regulating my system to his. Sometimes all I can do is rest. Truthfully, this is probably the case for me more often than not. I am a do-er, I like to get things done quickly and efficiently. I like to see results and move on the next thing. Sitting and resting – intentionally quieting the world around me, closing my eyes, and listening only to the heartbeat of my Savior – that seems, well, inefficient, lazy even. There must be something I should be doing.

I don’t think that when Max is laying on my chest struggling to calm down. I whisper, I breath deep, I trace my fingers over his face. Because I know that his little body needs sleep so he can keep being who was made to be. He needs rest, he needs help with all those emotions and reactions within his body. As he rests, his body becomes stronger, his mind becomes healthier, and his emotions more stable. He is able to wake and be joyful and engaged.

Why do I have a hard time believing I need the same?

Once again Max is pointing me to Jesus, but not by anything he does, rather simply by his own neediness. It’s ministry through weakness at it’s finest.

My “Celebration Era”

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Recently I had a day of looking back on our life in South Sudan. It came from a friend popping up on FB suddenly that I had not seen in a long time. I opened his blog, which lead to other teammates blogs. All old, with nothing new on them since we were all in South Sudan, but suddenly it was like a portal to another world opened.

I don’t think I will ever experience anything as foreign as living in a rural African country that is at war. As our Bishop use to say to us, “We hope to one day be a third world country.” Poverty, no infrastructure, and so many scars from decades of civil war made it a place was hard to describe to most people. I heard more than once from people in the States who were living vicariously through us that I was “living the dream,” when truthfully all I wanted was to sit in an air conditioned room, watch tv, and order Chinese food. “Simplicity” is not really that simple – just the work to feed my family every day took hours, and we were still not figuring out how to get enough protein in.

But the funny thing is that despite the fact that it was the absolute hardest living situation I have ever had, when I think back on it, I do not see the lock-downs from war, the food poisoning from bad food, the lack of power, electricity, or a flush toilet, or even the bugs. (Ok, maybe the bugs still stand out…It was an adventure every time we went to the latrine.)

What I remember are the times of celebration.

I remember walking to a friend’s house one day with my teammate and friend, Larissa. We were talking about how we were not sure we could ever live somewhere else again, despite the fact that there were several times a day when we wished for something different. I remember that day was one of the rare days where I felt like I might actually be able to live there long term. It was bright and sunny, but not too hot. My feet were covered in red dirt from the road. We were laughing about the comments from people as we walked – the little kids either running away in fear, or following behind in curiosity while shouting the same phrase over and over. We had our backpacks with our water and snacks that we would share with the people we were visiting. I had my language book and was practicing phrases with Larissa, who was amazing at communicating in Moru.

My thought of never being able to live anywhere else did not come from the idea that I loved Mundri so much – though in that moment I did. Rather, it came on the heels of a simple team time the night before where we had celebrated a teammate’s life. One thing about living in a place like Mundri – you work HARD because life in general is hard and complicated. That also means sometimes we mourned hard together, as well as doubted, cried, and got angry. In order to counter that, we also played HARD! Our lives intertwined, and we lived it all out together, in view for people to see. In Taylor Swift terms you could call it my “Complicated Celebration Era.” I had my community – it was worth honoring.

Because one thing that I loved was that, as a team, we took every reason to celebrate that we could. Holidays, of course, looked different – we could not get a turkey or ham, and pumpkin pies and cakes were always made from scratch, and there was certainly no Party City around the corner for supplies. But we did big birthday bashes – the type of parties normally reserved for little kids. There were themes and dressing up, and figuring out decorations and games and food for several weeks in advance, because it usually meant a lot of creativity and time.

It was not just the “big” things. I have pictures of us laughing with our heads thrown back while playing a game. We did movie and pizza nights most Fridays as a team together. We celebrated all the things – birthdays, graduations, college acceptance letters, the days that the internet would actually work properly, or when the one real restaurant in town had enough potatoes to make “chips” for all of us! When we found limp carrots in the market, we would buy them up, bring them back and put them in ice water for a while, then savor them with some homemade ranch dressing while thanking Jesus with big smiles and words of gratitude. Celebration, it seems, means taking nothing for granted. Naming the things – big and little – in intentional ways.

To top that off, I learned what it meant to celebrate the little things as I walked alongside our Sudanese friends. These are people that had been through the absolute worst things you can imagine, yet when it came time to worship, to celebrate, or to rejoice, there are few people who can top the laughter, the smiles, the dancing, and the ululation that came from these friends. They reminded us that joy can still be found when we know Jesus, even in the hardest places. It was not forced or a performance – it was a real joy that burst from deep inside. These friends knew how to mourn – deeply and intensely, but they also knew how to celebrate.

I’d forgotten that in this DC life. Busyness steals the ability to have a lot of depth in relationships and also keeps people on the go so much we rarely have time to sit over a meal and just talk. How could we celebrate (or mourn) anything if we don’t share our lives? The culture is one of striving and exhaustion. I have fallen easily into that, and stopped naming the good things. While we were in Kenya, we kept the intentionality of gratefulness going as I asked the kids everyday on the way home from school to name 3 “positives” from the day. But somehow here I have forgotten about the fact that joy, true joy, comes from living in a posture of gratitude, which comes from a place of trust. That’s on me – not the place I live or the people around me.

It’s obviously something God is is lovingly reminding me about. I marvel at Max every single time I hold him. He’s just a little peanut, with nothing to offer really, except his presence, and I can’t get enough of him. I am also reading a book called, “What if It’s Wonderful,” by Nicole Zasowski, and I am realizing how often my reaction to good things is anxiety – how long will this last? Is this a test? Celebration comes blanketed in fear so often in my life. It is only the practice of standing before Him and saying, “Here I am again,” that will lead me back into the truth of who He is and who I am in him. That is where true joy will come from.

This week as I hung out with my daughter, she exclaimed – TWICE- “Thank you Jesus!” over little things. And as she did that, I saw His hand in each of those things and felt His lavish love pouring out on us. So I am going back to to the small, intentional habit of naming the joy in the little things. Let there be dancing, laughing, and songs of praise in this home, because we are a house that serves the Lord. There’s no place for fear here, because I know who my God is.

Let my “Celebration Era 2.0” begin.

Practicing Presence

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I live in a city that is never quiet. It feels like no matter how early I get up or how late I stay up, there is always noise happening around me. I’ve spent the last decade of my life in a bustling city, so in some ways there is familiarity and safety in that. But recently, as I have tried to sit on my porch and spend some time with God, I find my anxiety being heightened from the constant construction, the traffic, the people walking by, the dogs barking…all normal noises, but never ceasing.

Until 3 AM.

One of the unexpected benefits of helping with my newborn grandson’s middle of the night feedings is the absolute silence and stillness that is around. As my friend said this morning, there’s something special “Reading about God’s presence, in the quiet of the wee hours, while you’re being present with your kids (who need rest) and your grandbaby (who needs nourishment).” Somehow, in the stillness that is the aftermath of the bottle and with a baby sleeping in my arms, I can hear Him and his presence more clearly (despite the sleep deprivation.)

One morning, as I sat marveling at this new being that takes my breath away, I said out loud, “You are so amazing.” That very moment, I felt God say to me, “Daughter, this is how I feel about you.” Max can do nothing for me – he literally relies on us for everything, including nourishment, clothing, a safe place to sleep, and cleaning off a poopy butt! There is nothing he is doing, no performance he is putting on. Yet I cannot get enough of this little guy. I wake up sleepy, but excited to have the privilege of feeding him and getting some cuddles. Max doesn’t need to do anything to earn my love – just being here is enough.

For some reason I have a hard time believing this about God’s love. Even as Shawn is reading the Westminster Shorter Catechism to Max (might as well start them young), I am reminded that the chief end of mankind is to glorify God and enjoy him forever. As I gaze at Max, emotions run deep and overflow. I’ve always known I was God’s daughter, but somehow in that I pictured myself as an independent daughter – running around, laughing, talking, being able to do things for myself and him, but not needing too much help from him. However, now I have this picture in my mind of being an infant, nestled in his arms and all my needs being provided – even my dirtiness being washed off – as I sleep in peace. He just wants me to come ready to be with him. He just wants my presence.

As I have been sitting with Max I’ve been reading a book called, “Every Breath We Take,” by Terry Wardle. This week I have been on vacation from my full-time job, and Shawn and I are both on Sabbatical from church ministry until the end of the month. I didn’t realize how exhausted I was in ministry, trying hard, striving, wanting to prove my worth – to God, others, and myself. I need time for healing and for restoration of joy. But I lack the ability to rest. It isn’t just a busy schedule. While I believe that God does want me to look at some priorities and make more space for this, my inability to actually rest came from something deeper, yet I could not put my finger on it.

Then I read this: “Rest is fundamentally about trust. You are called to actively believe that God is deeply connected to you and promises to be the source of fulfilling your deepest longings in life. What you are incapable of securing through a lifetime of performing and pleasing, God has given you by grace through faith in Christ. You are loved, accepted, secure, significant, understood, and have purpose. This is a done deal in Christ, and God invited you to enter that rest with him. Today, whether your worst day of following Christ or your best, these things are true of you. That is the heart of this breathtaking Gospel of grace.” (Emphasis mine)

Rest is about trust. Is God really enough? Will he do what he says he will do? Is he really who he says he is? And how does all of that play out in my life – for me, my purpose, my joy, my needs, my desires? Can I really just be in the moment – the present – and enjoy my Father and his great love and joy of me? Can I rest in his arms as he smiles at me, delighting in his creation, and says, “You are so amazing,”?

So I am practicing! Practicing being in the present and being present. My ADHD brain is all over, my exhaustion right now (that was present even before late night feedings) sometimes makes my brain feel like mush. But each time I wander, I stop and (without self condemnation) intentionally turn my mind and heart back to him – in this moment. I’m making a practice of intentionally looking at this very moment and not letting my heart go to the questions and anxieties about future things with my kids, my family, my ministry, my finances, my health. In this moment, He is here. I want to know the joy of that again, so that I can truly rest.

So, here I am, Lord. I’m yours. I am aware of your presence with me, even if it looks or feels different than it has in the past or it will in the future. And it is enough.

“Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it. Prone to leave the God I love. Here’s my heart, Lord, take and seal it. Seal it for thy courts above.” (Hymn: Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing)

Just One Thread

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I’ve been watching through The Chosen. Unlike most TV shows, it is not something I can binge in a few days. Every single episode gets me teary, and sometimes I find myself gulping in air and trying not to sob. There’s just something about seeing these stories that I know so well, and have read a hundred times, play out on screen. I know this is not completely from the Bible. It does not replace my devotional time. It is man’s depiction of what could have been happening – but wow, it just makes it come alive for me.

Yesterday I got to the episode where Jesus heals the woman that had been bleeding for 12 years. The thing I love about how these stories play out in this show is that we get a glimpse into what life might have been like for each character in the “before Jesus.” This woman had spent 12 years going to doctors, trying many things. She had spent all her money, was unmarried, and considered unclean. I don’t know if we can really comprehend what that meant for her in our context today. She had no way of caring for herself, no community – even cast off by her family, and was not allowed to go to the temple. Her life was already hard enough being born a woman at that time, but this made her the lowest of low.

In desperation she seeks out Jesus. We know from the story in Luke and Matthew that she touched the fringe of his clothes and immediately her bleeding stopped. What we don’t think about is how hard it would have been for her to get that close to him. In the show she says, “Just one thread…just the fringe…just his garment.” She pushes her way through the crowd – a crowd that she makes ceremonially unclean by allowing her body to come into contact with theirs – and barely touches his garment. Instantly she is healed. Jesus stops in the middle of it all and says, “Who touched me?”

She must have been terrified to admit what she had done. Her desperation had driven her to touch Jesus at any cost – when she was not supposed to be touching anyone. She knew there was nothing else that was going to heal her. You can almost hear her thoughts of, “What have I done?” We know that Jesus responds to her in love and praises her faith. When we see this in Luke and Matthew, we are reading the story after the whole thing has happened. We start the story knowing she will be healed and praised for her faith. But she didn’t. She’s in it real time.

She started it with a history of being taken advantage of, of having hope dashed on every level, in loneliness and abandonment, and with the ever present label of unlovable. She had reached a point where she would risk anything and everything to touch “just one thread,” knowing the severe punishment if it all went wrong.

Just one thread.

I have access to Jesus every day, every hour, every moment. Not just one thread, but all of him. Ephesians 3:12 tells us we have boldness and access to Jesus with confidence by faith in him. In John 14 Jesus tells us he will not leave us as orphans, he sends the Holy Spirit, who lives in us and gives us access to God at all times. In Matthew 28 he says, “I am with you always.” At at any point I can call on the name of Jesus, commune with him, hear him, know him. I can ask for healing, for peace, for joy, for strength. He comes alongside and never leaves.

Yet I live my life, often, as though I am that woman before she knows about Jesus. Lonely, feeling hopeless, like I must rely on myself because no one else will help. This is not true in any way in my life – I am surrounded with family and friends who love me. But sometimes the enemy worms his way in and I start to believe those lies.

Sometimes there are things that no one here on earth could actually help with or change – things that need the miraculous. Those are the times when my faith gives me the ability to ask my Father face to face. I do not need to lower my gaze – he will raise my head and look me in the eye, with no shame, and remind me of who he is. I am not limited to forcing my way to him and risking it all to touch just one thread. I have the invitation to climb into his lap and ask for exactly what I need, and I can do it all without fear of rejection, punishment, condemnation, or reproach. I am his, He sees me.

Sometimes I need to reach that stage of desperation, where there is no one or nothing else I can rely on, to come back to the place where I really belong – at the foot of Jesus, reaching up in awe to touch him, knowing he is the only real hope. I am thankful for a Father who knows what I need in each moment to bring me back to him so that I can live in abundance and joy in what he has for me.

When He Speaks

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What does it mean to hear from God? I feel like this is a question I have had a lot recently as I talk with people about fixing our eyes on him and allowing him to lead the everyday parts of of lives and not just the “big” things. I was thinking about this as I drank my coffee on the porch this morning, because as I was praying through a particular situation this sudden peace came over me, and I knew not only had he heard, but he spoke hope to me in it.

Normally my brain is a whirlwind of ADHD chaos. It’s filled with thoughts, ideas, and plans – and backup plans, and backup plans for my backup plans. It’s filled with a million musings of what sounds like fun and who I want to experience that with and how we can make it work. It’s rumbling with the uncertainty of how to repair a broken relationship and why it even got to that point in the first place. It’s thinking through the schedules of not just me, but my family and all the people I work with and who I need to check in with, complete a task for, and lift in prayer. It’s filled with the realization that for some people I am too much and for others I am not enough and it never seems to be that I am just the right amount. It’s questioning my every thought and motive.

Often there’s shame mixed in because of the “should haves” and “could haves” along with some arrogance because of the “Well, I would haves.” There’s grief and laughter and confusion and joy, but most of the time it is all so intermingled that if I tried to type it out it would look like the first draft of this jumbled blog that I quickly tapped out on my phone with fat fingers that had so many typos I couldn’t translate some of it.

But then there’s those moments.

The times where suddenly everything is still and quiet inside, and I know he has entered and heard. There’s clarity, peace. It seems obvious and a weight lifts that makes me know, yeah – this is him. The one who says his yoke is easy and his burden is light. The one who came to seek and save the lost and loved us while we were still his enemies. The one in whose image we are created and and in whose image we are being sanctified and transformed to be more like each day. Jesus has spoken. The Spirit is here.

That’s how I know it’s him – when he calms the storm that is a constant in my heart and mind and reveals himself to me through the peace that passes all understanding. Sometimes the stillness is a brief moment, and the clarity seems fleeting. Other times I rest in the gift of a season of knowing and being confident in that knowledge. But even in the biggest turmoil and the most broken times I can live in the truth that God, whose word formed all of creation, speaks to me in personal, intimate ways filled with power and hope.

Amen! How do you hear him?

A Prayer to Remind Us

/ shawnheather96 / 2 Comments

Your mercies are new every morning, Lord. 
Today I come, worshiping you.
The creator, the One who has no beginning and no end,
Who made me and knows my inmost thoughts,
Who equips me for the calling you give me each day,
Who holds my tears and heals my wounds,
Who sings over me with love-
May I hear that song today. 
With a joyful heart I worship you.

I come to you confessing that my heart is deceitful above all things
I often want to take on your role in the lives of those I love. 
I want to fix the problem, solve it.
Cause the situation to cease to exist.
Carry the whole burden and relieve them from the hard story.
I want to be their Savior.
But that is not my part.
I am NOT God – Amen and amen
And as you give me your strength to walk with them, I am aware of your goodness,
Your redemptive acts in the middle of the valley,
Your strength being more than sufficient in my weakness,
Your hand turning the ashes into beauty – beauty that is eternal, holy, and full.
Not temporary.
Not man made.

I come to you with a humble heart, reminded that I can give no more than I am willing to receive.
So, on my knees in a posture of humility and profound gratefulness I accept 
Your love.
Your gifts of the Spirit.
Your love song over me that renews and refills my soul.
Your love that never ceases.
Your invitation to climb up into your lap and rest.
Your hope that is the cornerstone of my faith.

I come with a thankful heart that I am not alone on this path. That I sojourn with friends, with colleagues, with family. 
With you. You go before and behind. You are not caught up in the dimensional restrictions that I am. You are with me and there is nowhere I can go to escape you. 

I come to You with all I am – 
The ugly, messy, and broken pieces
As well as the beautiful, redeemed, and victorious parts.
Knowing your story for me is good. Joyfully accepting your plan in all areas.
Believing you are who you say you are.
And that is more than enough. 

Stillness

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There’s been a call to my soul recently from the Father that has had my heart longing in ways I cannot remember doing before. It’s a call to stillness – both in body and soul. It’s more than something he is asking my to do. Asking sounds like an assignment or a favor. It feels like there is a checklist that I should complete to help someone or to earn praise.

Rather this call is something more akin to an invitation. He is calling me, inviting me into something more – and it is a holy moment, a gift, a sacred glimpse at the ancient and the beautiful – the true Life.

It’s how my ADHD mind that can’t complete a sentence without another thought interrupting learns to hear the whisper of the Father and feel his breath on my face as he sings over me. It’s how my heart, that is hungering and thirsting for so much more than this world has to offer can finally be satisfied.

It’s not a task – it’s an invitation, a pursuance, a proposal to something deeper, more intimate and more real than I’ve ever know.

I find myself both giddy with excitement and wary of disappointment at the same time. It’s a tension of wanting to do everything I can do – striving and learning and praying harder and pushing in, and still knowing that I need to simply sit and be still. No talking, no reading, to background music. Just sitting together – me and my beloved Jesus. It’s the tension of knowing that he might not speak, but he still wants me to be there, present, with him, and that is enough.

But is it really? Can I trust this overture, this ridiculous idea that the God of the universe, the one who created absolutely everything, really wants to meet with me in this day, this hour, this minute? That all of it is purposeful and intentional and very important to him – both now and as he took it all on at the cross?

In her book The Liturgy of the Ordinary Tish Harrison Warren says, “The Psalmist declares, ‘ This is the day that the Lord has made.’ This one. We wake not to a vague or general mercy from a far-off God. God, in delight and wisdom, has made, named, and blessed this average day. What I in my weakness see as another monotonous day in a string of days, God has given as a singular gift. When Jesus died for his people, he knew my name in the particularity of this day.”

So as I wake up and rub my eyes and groan about getting out of bed (I am NOT a morning person), even before the coffee, I am trying to learn the practice of taking a few moments to simply allow my Father to sit with me, to rub my back as I slowly start to move, to listen to his song over me, to see his smile and adoration of me that he gets to spend another day with his child fulfilling his good and perfect plan in and through me. I will be still and remember that my belovedness, my position of being his daughter and being adored by him, comes not from my own strivings, but from the work of Jesus on the cross and who He is. And that is more than enough.

A Prayer for My Fellow Sojourners in Ministry

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Oh God who sustains as we cast our cares,

Meet us today.

As we love our families,

Serve our people,

See our communities,

and labor for you,

Meet us in our weariness.

You say, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

Yet we are also commanded to love one another and bear each other’s burdens.

How, Lord?

How do we do this with others when we, ourselves, are so tired, so weak?

How can we carry more, when we have no more space, no more time, no more energy,

nothing left to give, no margin to be found?

We do this in faith that you are who you say you are, regardless of our feelings or circumstances.

God with us, Emmanuel, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace, our Rock and Redeemer, our

Provider, our Comfort, our King.

You hem us in, behind and before.

You, the God who created the universe, are invested in us, involved with us, care about us.

You know us.

You ask us to trust.

So we hand you our burdens and take on your yoke.

You give rest for our souls,

Peace in our chaos,

Comfort in our sorrows,

and healing in our woundedness.

You do so lavishly, in compassion and love for us,

Your children.

But not for us to hold tightly, scared to lose it.

Rather, so we can be a vessel of hope,

of peace,

of joy,

of love

To both your children and those who are still orphaned and alone.

We come, currently filled with self and feeling empty of anything life-giving,

Surrendering ourselves to you to be abundantly filled by your Spirit,

Overflowing,

Life-giving.

Knowing we are heard,

Seen,

Loved,

Redeemed,

Filled,

Yours.

And that is more than enough.

Not the Captain

/ shawnheather96 / Leave a comment

Each morning I read from a book called, “Every Moment Holy.” It’s a collection of liturgies, and there is one particular one I like to read in the mornings to ground me and remind me of who I am and who HE is. The first two lines read, “I am not the captain of my own destiny, not even of this day, and so I renounce anew all claim to my own life and desires. I am only yours, O Lord.”

As I read that out loud this morning I had to stop. I read it again, but felt the pang of conviction in my heart. As I tried to move on and read the next few lines, I realized that I couldn’t do that until I sat in this for a moment or two. Yesterday had had some drama in a few different areas, and I spent a big part of the day stewing in that. I had been anxious over things I could not control but wanted to. I took on the responsibility of things that I had no real ability to do anything about rather than handing the wheel back over to the Captain who had made the stars to navigate and guide me. It had sucked the joy out of my day and made me feel like my head and heart were in a million places all the while feeling a myriad of emotions – most of which were negative. I was ready to allow the ship to go down as I gripped the wheel, white knuckled and insistent that I could figure it out.

As the Spirit gently helped me see (again) how often I want to be in control, I felt the grip that had on me start to tighten. The enemy does not want me to surrender to the One who has already defeated him, and my flesh insists that I can do all things in my own strength. But I rebuked those lies and spent some time confessing and repenting of my desire to be Lord of my own life and steal God’s glory.

Often I can see this quickly in my own life and circumstances. I have learned to trust God more with those things as I have seen his fingerprints on my life over and over again. But this particular situation had to do with one of my kids. I often want to swoop in and save them, fix the situation, take away the circumstances, make everything “right.” But when I do that, I am attempting to take away the chance for them to turn to God and see his work in their own lives, thus deepening their relationship with him and their faith in him. While I believe my place as a parent is to help them navigate it, the best (and only real way) to do that is to point them back to the one who loves them even more than I do. I try to be the Lord and ruler (and hero!) too often rather than breathe deeply, pray with them, and then pray continuously for them to surrender to HIS plan and allow HIS redemption to being good to their lives and glory to him.

So today I confessed and repented, doing so in the knowledge that the he loves me now, he loved me in the middle of it all, and he will never love me any less. I renounce anew all claim to my own life (and anyone else’s) and step into the day in the freedom and peace that comes from sitting in relationship with and under the reign of the one true King. No condemnation, just peace and joy because I am his.