faith

Resting in His Heart Beat

/ shawnheather96 / Leave a comment

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”

/ shawnheather96 / Leave a comment

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

/ shawnheather96 / Leave a comment

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)

When He Speaks

/ shawnheather96 / 1 Comment

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?