Hands-off Parenting

I pulled out my kids' baby books the other day. (Yes, I have birth-one-year-old scrapbooks for each of my kids. No, I do not have them all completed. You can now cease judging me.) 

I was showing them to the kids and we were giggling abut the fact that every single one of them had NO hair until they were around a year old, as well as how fat some were and how many naked shots I had captured of others...you know, the usual things to do when looking at baby pictures.

In all 4 of the books, there is a "Baby dedication" page, which has a certificate given by the church we were attending at the time, as well as a couple shots of us standing in front of the church, holding that particular child, while the pastor and the leadership team prayed for us. 

In every single one of those pictures, I am noticeably emotional. I'm holding my baby tightly in my arms, and my eyes are closed...and I'm crying. My husband is standing beside me, with his hand on my back, and his head is bent over my shoulder. It's almost as if he's curling himself around us, me and the baby, in protection.

I looked at these pages in all 4 books, a little bit surprised by how similar the pictures were in each. 

I can't remember the exact prayers that were prayed over us and our children on those days...but I can remember a version of my own prayer. 

If you've been through one of these times, you can too.

"Help us, Lord. Help us to raise them well. Teach us how to teach them. Guide us as we guide them. Protect them from the enemy. Give them a heart to follow You. Thank You for giving them to us. Give us strength to be good stewards of Your little ones."

You know the drill. We stand up in front of a church and we declare that our children are really His. And we mean it...in theory. 

But we don't really know what we are saying, do we?

Until the rubber meets the road, and then...then we backpedal. 

And we are totally justified in our concern for them, our desire to protect them, our need to be sure they are doing things correctly. We've been the sole providers or information they need for life...they know all that they know because we told it to them. Every feeling they've ever had has been filtered through us. We've nurtured them, we've coached them on how to respond, we've held them when they were hurt, and brokenhearted, and afraid...we've cheered for them, encouraged them, spoken love over them when we saw how much they needed to hear it, reminded them of verses that have helped us in life...

But suddenly...suddenly we are faced with something, with an opportunity, to take our hands off and let them truly be in His.

And we freeze.

Or at least, I do. Every time. 

As new parents we can be grateful for the blessing of small beginnings. Rarely does the Lord present us with an opportunity for something terrifying regarding our children before He has given us a chance to practice on a small scale.

The first time a kid on a playground is mean to your kid, for example...we all think we will handle ourselves with maturity. But I promise you, we all have visions of grabbing a brat by their ear and hauling them away from our heartbroken or injured child. We may not actually intervene. We might restrain ourselves and speak with our child later about how there will always be rude, rough, unkind people in our lives and we will have to learn how to respond, and how to invite them to make better choices...but you can BET we have internal dialogue with that horrid child AND their inept, useless parents for hours and days after the incident. 

We will usually harness our worries and do the things that are socially acceptable. We send our kids to children' church, or school, or a friend's house to play. We allow them to get into disagreements with other kids and we don't step in unless its clear that there is no headway being made and the situation is becoming toxic. We give them picture Bibles for their birthdays and encourage them to read them, but don't force it. (They have to become people who love His word on their own, after all.) We swallow our terror when they go on hikes or to concerts or even just bike rides to the end of the street, taking them out of our line of sight for several moments...

But we learn to adapt, as they grow, don't we? We start out protecting them from every germ, but eventually we allow them to venture into the germ infested world, and we pray that we've given them enough healthy immunities to withstand what will come their way. 

I have never been a helicopter mom. I'm not saying that makes me cooler than anyone else. Far from it. I'm actually the mom who is like "meh...go ahead and play in the deep end of the pool. Just don't drown while I'm not looking, okay?" Which I realize is rather unacceptable from a loving mother point of view...

As they grow up, and begin to (gulp) drive, and have (gulp) crushes on people, and go to (gulp) prom, and on (gulp) missions trips...I become aware of the fact that I may not outwardly express helicopter mom tendencies...but I totally have them.

"You want to go on a missions trip? Fine. You dad will go too. Or me. Or one of your grandparents." 

I'm not saying its not scary to let your kids go to another country for missions work...but I AM saying that sending them without one of their lifelong protectors along for the trip...that is a new level of terror for this mom.

I've spent WEEKS helping my 17 and 15 year-old prepare. Packing a literal pharmacy of things they might need. "If you can't poop, take this. If you can't stop pooping, take this. If you're sneezing repeatedly, take this. If you get scraped, put this on it. If you get bit, put this on it. EVERY DAY, brush your teeth and wash your feet and armpits, even if you don't get to take a shower. Here are the things you'll need to do that in the absence of a bathroom."

So many plans, so much intentional, careful packing, such an abundance of coaching and advice. 

They have indulgently listened to me, and laughed at me, and nodded in response to me, for weeks. I've pounded it into their skulls, and told them to remind each other, of everything to do and not do for the next two weeks. They zipped their luggage and we hauled it all to the airport, and I knew they were entirely prepared.

But I was not.

Because suddenly, without my conscious consent, I had arrived at a moment in parenting that I was not ready to face.

I stood there watching them holding their passports and boarding passes, their pillows and backpacks...and I could not breathe. 

"Don't go. Come back. Be my babies again. Climb onto my lap so I can shield you from sickness and hurt and hardship."

I had literally screamed it to my empty car while running last minute errands for them the day before.

"God...I cannot do it. I cannot. I'm afraid. You're asking too much. They're my children...don't make me send them."

And He wouldn't have, I know. He would've loved me even if I had told them they couldn't go. Even if He asked them, and my husband and I, to say yes to Him, but we chose to say no...

He remains faithful even when we are faithless.

But...every time I wanted to tell them not to go, the words stuck in my terrified throat. 

I gasped for breath. I cried. I squeezed my hands into fists so tight that my nails bit into my palms...

But when it came to that final moment...we let them go.

We told them we were so proud of them for saying yes to the Lord, despite their own fears. We promised to pray for them every day. We encouraged them to pray and read their Bibles. We reminded them to be on the lookout for what the Lord wanted them to do and say. We told them to look out for each other.

We did our best to hide our panic from them, and we sent them to obey the Lord. 

And somehow, in that last moment when I watched them walking away, I could see into their futures. I saw them as parents, standing in airports, waving goodbye to their own missionary kids, swallowing their own fears...

If I stopped them now...I would be teaching my children to step back when they were afraid, instead of forward. I would be training them wrong.

I saw the picture of that moment of dedication, and I remembered that we said they were really the Lord's...

So I waved, and held up the "I love you" sign, and watched them respond the same...until they were out of my sight.

And then I had a meltdown in my car. 
Because letting them be His is HARD. The hardest thing ever.

But I had good teachers. My parents sent us on missions trips. They stood in airports and waved. They prayed through sleepless nights. They smiled when they wanted to beg us not to go.

And if they hadn't done it...I wouldn't know how to. 

They sent their three oldest grandchildren to the mission field this week. And I'm not sure it wasn't just as scary for them as it was for my brother and I. But they smiled, and they gave them snacks, and they laid hands on them and prayed for them to be strong and courageous and full of the Spirit.

And they will be. I know it. Because my parents said YES when they wanted to say NO WAY.

And it gave us the courage to GO. And someday, when I send my grandchildren on missions trips...I'm going to remember those pictures of my babies being dedicated to the Lord. And I'm going to remember these pictures, of us as parents putting into action what we said...but didn't know we would have to one day DO.

"I see YOU, Father. Thank You for inviting me to live with my hands open, even though I so often clench them tight. Thank You for being patient with me as I kick and scream against the path, and for giving me a new opportunity to trust YOUR children into YOUR careful, capable hands."

New eyes. His heart.

Have you ever wondered why we, as followers of Christ, are called to be missionaries?

I mean, we all know the overarching answer, obviously. We are commanded to tell the world about Jesus, about the beauty of relationship with Him, about His victory over sin. Additionally, if we are doing it right, we are inviting people into a camaraderie of family and the joy of fellowshipping together.

But the Lord showed me something new today; a glimpse of His heart that I had never seen before. 

Today I hosted some of my dear friends who are visiting America from Kazakhstan. My daughter and my sons and I planned for weeks. We invited everyone who knew the family, plus anyone else who wanted to fellowship, to come. There were more than 50 people in and out of my house over the course of the day. It was loud and chaotic...and completely wonderful. 

I've said before that its hard to explain how attached you become to people you meet in other countries. And I still think that's true. But the reason I used to think it was true...has shifted some.

There is great friendship to be found when you're working alongside local believers to advance the Good News in a country. 

But...I've come to realize, over the day, that the heart of God Himself is made more clear as we step outside our own culture and embrace another. 

He is the one who made us all so wonderfully complex and diverse, after all. And there is something about His heart that we simply cannot know unless we set foot on another continent, and clasp hands with a Christian from the other side of the world. There is a depth of love that is undeniable, unexplainable, when you are side by side with a person, and the words you can share are few, but your spirits resonate together in perfect communication.

I saw it, today, in my 9 year old son. He has become fast friends, pals forever, with a little boy from Kazakhstan, a boy he met only a few days ago. They can't talk easily...but they are knit together in heart. I cannot ever describe the way my own heart aches with happiness when I realize that these little ones are seeing, and recognizing, the Spirit of God within each other.

I come from a family where missions, both foreign and domestic, is a deeply rooted passion. As far back as Hudson Taylor, there are missionaries in my ancestry. But until I became a missionary myself...until I went to the other side of the world and kissed the cheeks of my sisters there...and prayed for them and was prayed for by them...and sweated alongside them...and wept with them...and laughed, and ate, and traveled, and sang...I didn't know that piece of the heart of my God.

The part that loves us so greatly that He made us with gaps in our souls. Gaps that find fulfillment in the knowledge that we are all together, all one, in Him. We can eat foods we aren't familiar with, and learn new games, and butcher the pronunciation of each other's words...and its precious. It's priceless. Its the most cherished thing.

Look at the faces. Look at them. Can you see His heart? Can you see their joy in each other's company? The strengthening of spirit that comes as they sit together?

Isn't He clever, our God? The blessing of obeying His call to missions isn't only about preaching the gospel after all.

It's about seeing Him in the eyes, in the hearts, in the smiles of your true family. His family.

Game crew!

Coffee and dessert, and a discussion of culture, ethnicity, and the Lord

Wonder Women!

Gabe and his new best friend, Ansat

Weariness and Peace

Christmas is my favorite. 

I don't even apologize for how over-the-top I am about it. I could be any of the crazy holiday characters on any of the Christmas movies.  I decorate early. I buy gifts until the budget is a distant memory. I bake treats. I watch dozens of Hallmark movies. I play music on repeat, and I cry while I listen.

Yes, you read that right. Christmas music makes me cry. 

The other night in the car, I was sniffling over a song, and my husband indulgently smiled at me. "It's that good, huh?" he asked, because he knows me and my propensity to weep over yuletide carols.

And it was that good, this thing that jumped out at me from a song I have heard a million times. 

I heard a word. A word I've said, and sung, and known for most of my life. But it resonated differently with me this time. I heard it, and ALL that it implied...and I was overcome with the fullness of meaning. 

"The weary world rejoices..."

That's the line from the song. And all I heard was "WEARY."

How well I know this word. I suppose its not one that is used a lot these days. We say "tired," "beat," "fried," even "exhausted," but it means the same thing. 

Worn to the bone, emotionally. Physically fatigued from the strain of LIFE. Weary...

I've always seen certain weariness in my mental pictures of the Christmas story. The wise men had traveled so far. They must've been tired. The low-class, low-income shepherds had to sleep in the fields, and they were definitely feeling the burdens of their lot in life. Joseph and Mary had been treated unkindly for so many months, holding tightly to a promise only they believed, bearing the weight of all that people thought of them...and I can SEE their shoulders hunched under it. Not to mention their journey to Bethlehem, and how draining that would've been on Mary's body, and Joseph's peace of mind. 

Weariness.

It's there, in their faces, in their stories. In ours.

But then. An angel. A star. A heavenly choir.

"Glory to God in the highest. Peace on earth..."

Permit me, if you will, to adjust a few punctuation points in this passage in Luke. Allow me to type it for you the way the Holy Spirit highlighted it for me.

"Glory to God, in the highest. Peace, on earth."

It's possible that adding commas changes nothing in the way you read this. But it changed everything for me. In case you, like my children, need additional information...here is how I see this passage now.

"Glory to God, Who is on high, and Peace is on the earth."

Peace. Capitalized. God is in heaven. Peace is on earth.

And the weary world rejoices.

The world. The earth. Creation itself. Sighing out..."finally..." All those thousands of years since the garden, since sin entered, the world had been bearing the weight of the darkness. Atoned for with the blood of bulls and lambs...but never taken away. The burden of it all...it weighed on the very world. And not only that, but there had been no reminder that God had not forgotten them...not in 400 years.

So. Much. Weariness.

But then...Peace.

Not "There will be peace on you all now."
NO. PEACE IS NOW ON THE EARTH.

And creation burst forth in song, angels lighting the sky, a new star guiding the Gentiles, a baby wailing in absolute perfection. 

The dawn of Salvation.
The weary world rejoices.

Oh, how it changes me, this new understanding. 

Because Love broke the silence. Heaven sent Peace. And when you know the whole story...it makes the beginning so much sweeter. 

I picture that crinkled little face, hungry and cold and trembling, breathing in physical air for the first time...

Peace. On the earth. Breaking the silence. Fulfilling the plan. Hope on the horizon. For a moment all there is...is the beauty. 

But...

More to come. Misunderstanding. Veiled meanings. So much waiting. So many miracles. So much pain. Death. Confusion. Hopes dashed. Peace. Gone from the earth. Darkness settling down again. An earthquake. A grave. A stone. 

But...

Another earthquake. More angels. The grave overturned. Death...swallowed up by victory.

It's all there, in His crinkled little face, in the manger, surrounded by faces. Faces once weary. Faces now aglow.

My face is there. And yours. 

BEHOLD HIM. 

Let His face, and all that it means, take root in your heart.

And rejoice, weary one. His tiny, perfect, little baby shoulders, tearing into the world with all of the pain of the physical...are able to bear your weariness, and mine. That's why He came.

 Every time we feel it again...I pray that we will hear Peace whispering to our hearts, "I'm here."

"Jesus said to them, "Don't be afraid. Take courage. I am here." Matthew 14:27

The Rooms

I had a vision this morning.

I know, I know, it sounds crazy, or ultra spiritual and hokey. But it isn't the first time its happened to me, or the first time I've blogged about it. And this time...I almost didn't. Because I don't know...I don't think I can really give it the right words.

But I can't stop crying, and shaking, and laughing, and then back to the crying. So I want to share it. Because even if most of the blogging world (and by that I mean the few people who read this particular blog) thinks I've gone off the deep end...if the Lord shows you something, it's never just for you. Right? Eventually everything He reveals is for someone else...because He's just that good.

Okay. It started while I was praying, and mulling over a vision that a pastor shared during his message Sunday. I'll recap that one first, because I was praying about it, and about how it could apply to my life, and then the crying, shaking laughing thing started.

There is a person sitting in a room, on a bed. In front of them, on the floor, are broken shackles. The person isn't attached to the shackles anymore. They are looking down at them, recognizing them, but no longer bound by them. As the rest of the room comes into focus, you can see its a jail cell. The door of the cell is open. But the person is still sitting on the bed.

That was the vision my pastor friend had. And it spoke powerfully to many of us on Sunday. This morning, as I was praying, talking to the Lord about areas of my own life where I had been set free but wasn't walking in that freedom...I saw more of the vision, more of the picture. For the sake of easier writing, I will now refer to the person in the vision as myself. But...it is all of us. Read it like its you.

Suddenly, standing the doorway of the cell, is Jesus. "You are free of this, little one. See the blood on the shackles? Its my blood. I opened them with it. See the key in the door? That's the key of death. I went to hell and got it, and I brought it back to free you. Get up, little one. Leave this room behind you."

And I do. Because He paid dearly to free me, and with Him standing in front of me, how can I do anything but accept His offer?

As I walk forward, He begins to step backward, and, eyes on Him, I move out of that death cell.

We pass through the door and into another room. I stop, and take in the scenery. On these walls, I quickly realize, are a list of my failures, things I'm ashamed of. I don't want to look at it all. I certainly don't want Jesus to see it. In shame, in horror, I collapse on the bed in this room and cover my head. But...He sits beside me, and He speaks. "We aren't staying here. This room isn't a cell for you anymore. Look...look up, my child." 

When I open one eye, just a crack, and glance at the wall, I see the blood again. I don't see my guilt, and my shame. I glance at Jesus, and I see that He is also looking at the wall, but He doesn't see all of the sins recorded there. He sees His blood. And He is smiling as He speaks to me. "Let's keep moving."

And so we do. Each time we pass through a doorway, we pass into another room. But I'm getting used to what will happen, and its becoming less dramatic and horrifying. I see what is written on the walls, I know its meant to imprison me, to crush me, to keep me from being able to keep following Him to the next room...but now, eyes wide open, I get to see my Savior walk over to the wall, and apply His blood to it. White-washing it in red. And I start to get excited, almost, for Him to see more of my heart. "This room too, Lord! Clean this one out too, so I can leave it behind."

A long time passes this way. The process of cleaning out rooms and leaving them behind is hard. Its a lot of work, and it takes a while.

Then, we step into a room that is different from the others.

This one has furniture in it. A chair and a lamp in one corner. A coffee pot and mug on a table in another corner. The bed is there too, with a fluffy comforter and pillows on it. And I think to myself "yeeeeeeesssss. I made it out of the cells. Now I can rest."

Almost as soon as I sit down on the bed, I glance at the wall across from me, expecting to find lovely pictures hung there. But I don't. The words I see written there make me shrink back. I pull the blanket up to my chest and my knees into my stomach. 

"I don't understand," I say out loud. And I look over to see Jesus standing in the doorway, watching me with love in His eyes.

"You've had this room with you a long time, little one. Aren't you ready to let it go?"

I don't want to. I can feel the ache crushing me. I like this room. I can tell. It is part of who I am. Leaving it behind will mean losing a piece of myself. I shake my head at the Lord.

"It's too much, Jesus. We've already stripped so much of me. Anymore...and I won't be able to take it. This is far enough. I am not a prisoner anymore. I am happy here."

Time passes. I grow comfortable in my room. I even look back at the door I came through and praise the Lord for the freedom He's given me from the guilt and shame and addictions and lies. But...I don't look at the other door. Because that's where Jesus is standing. I crawl into my bed. I drink my coffee. I sit in my chair. I am at home here. This room has been with me too long to part with.

But then, something happens. Another person walks into my room. Someone who I just know, without it being explained to me, is also on a journey through rooms. At first, the person looks around, confused. I'm confused too. Why is this person passing through MY room on their journey? I don't speak, though. I just wait, sitting on my bed.

They look all around, blinking, taking in my comfortable existence. Then, they look at me.

"Why are you still here?" they ask. I shrug.

"Because its mine. It's part of me."

"But its a cell," they say, and point to the window. 

And for the first time, I see the bars on it. I lash out at the person."You don't know anything."

Nothing more is said to me as I lay down and pull the covers up to my chin. I shut my eyes and cover my ears with pillows.

But the person is talking. Not to me. To the other doorway, the one where Jesus was standing the last time I looked.

"Help her, Lord. Show her. She wants to be free, I know it. Cause her to remember all you have freed her from so far. Calm her fear of leaving this behind. Remind her that following You is worth more than anything else she would ever hold dear."

I can't take it anymore, and I start to yell, to drown out what the person is saying...and then my yell turns to a wail. I am gripping the blankets on my bed tightly, and I am curling myself around them. 

The weight shifts on the bed, and a strong, warm hand touches the top of my head. I don't move. I know Who it is, and I cannot make eye contact with Him.

But my heart is aching with thoughts. "I DO want to be free, Jesus. I DO want you more. But I'm afraid. I don't know how to leave this behind. Help me. Please, please help me."

He reaches down and scoops me up into His arms. I feel like my skin is being ripped away from my bones as He does it. I cry louder, in pain. 

He whispers. "Sssshhhh. I'm here. It's okay. I'm here." I manage to glance back at the bed, at the place I have been living comfortably, expecting to see chunks of myself there. Instead, I see words, written in blood. "Her healing from this has always hers. She is now choosing to walk in it."

I cry harder, and I bury my head on the chest of my Liberator. I am so ashamed that I have stayed so long in this place. I ask Him to forgive me. "I didn't know it was a cell. I didn't see it. I'm sorry. Forgive me, Lord. Help me let it go. I want to. But I need you to help me."

We stand that way for a long time, me crying, Jesus holding me. Finally the pain begins to become bearable, and I realzie that He isn't going to leave the room until I say I am ready.

"Okay, Jesus. You're here. I can do it. I can leave this behind. I want to be free of this place. If there is still more...I'm ready for it."

Only as we are about to leave the room do I remember the person that came in and called me out, pointing out my actual situation, and then praying for me until I was willing to see it for myself. I look back, wanting to thank them, but they are gone.

Jesus speaks. "I am always with you, little one. And sometimes, the way I am speaking to you is through others. Your journey is meant to intersect the journey of others. But...you have to keep moving in order for that to happen." 

As we leave my most recent jail cell behind, my Companion sets me down on my feet, and we resume our previous posture, where He is leading me, walking backward, and I am following Him.

More rooms, more freedom...it passes in a blur. I'm so excited to be moving again, and I keep praising the Lord for liberating me from all the things I thought I needed to hold on to.

And then I come into a room I don't recognize. With a chair in a corner, a coffee pot, a comfy bed. At first, I wonder if this is another room I am going to end up staying in for a while. But then...I see a person on the bed, looking at me in confusion. And I realize...I've entered someone else's journey. 

I'm so excited. "Get up!" I exclaim. "Don't stay here! It is a cell!"

They scowl at me. "Leave me alone. You don't know anything."

In sorrow, I beging to pray, and suddenly I realize exactly how the person who prayed for me must've felt. "Deliver them, Lord. Reveal the truth to them. Give them courage. Soothe their hearts in the process. So they can call others into more freedom too."

And then...then we move on, Jesus and I. 

Do you see it? Do you see the walk? Do you understand? The rooms...they are our lives. They are the journey with Him, they are the path. Sometimes we build new rooms, places to commemorate all God has done in us, a memorial of our freedom. But we don't stay there. We are on the move. We pass through each other's rooms sometimes. Sometimes we walk through the same rooms at the same times our brothers and sisters, working together to know Him more, to leave behind words of encouragement and prayers for anyone who may pass through later. Sometimes we are hurt again, and we crawl into bed and cover ourselves and sit...and Jesus is kind. He is patient. He is gentle. He will sit with us, and soothe our hurts, and hold us while we bleed out pain. 

But. If we stay too long...the pain becomes hardness, bitterness, un-forgiveness. And we can't feel Him at work anymore, because we are enveloped by this room and all it means.

He will send us people...people who have been here before, to remind us, to call us, to challenge us. And it will hurt. But, oh, He's faithful to use it all to guide us into more freedom.

To scoop us into His arms, even though it rips off chunks of flesh as He picks us up. 

He whispers to us, calming our fears with His Word. And then...when we are ready, He leads us forward again. 

We can decide to return to any room. Leave the light on so we can make it back if we want to, refuse to leave it behind altogether. But...why? Why do we do that? Is that sin, that hurt, that memory, that way we identify ourselves...is any of it REALLY worth it? If we are dragging remnants of our past rooms along behind us...it makes it so much harder to go new places. 

Sometimes others will point that out too. "Do you know that you're walking forward, but you've got a rope around your waist, tied to a bunch of junk from past rooms? Don't you think it would be easier to move without it? Also...you're kind of causing chaos with that junk. It's banging around everywhere you go. How can you not see that?"

Oh, brothers and sisters. Can you see it? I pray that this will begin to resonate with you the way it has settled so deeply into me that I cannot stop gasping for air. 

"Don't let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, and trust also in me...I am the way, the truth, and the life..." John 14:1, 6

Stranglehold vs. Spirithold

Have you ever been strangled nearly to death?

Obviously, the majority of us haven't been. It happens a lot on Law and Order, and other crime dramas. But in real, every day, middle America, most of us don't meet up with a crazy killer who tries to choke the very breath out of us for whatever evil reason. 

It takes a long time for someone to die of strangulation, if the above mentioned crime dramas can be believed. And it must be truly terrifying to have hands gripping your neck hard enough to leave bruises, knowing that they plan to maintain that grip until blood vessels pop in your eyes and your lips turn blue and your nails can no longer dig into their hands and your legs don't have any oxygen to use for kicking...

Someone who is being strangled KNOWS they are dying, and that its only a matter of moments before they no longer have breath to get free. Time is of the essence. If you want to live, you have to fight back fast, and smart, and forcefully.

I have watched my daughter in her self-defense class, standing still while a grown, tall, strong man grabbed her around the neck with both hands, simulating strangulation, so that she could learn how to fight back. I've watched her get loose, time and again, and I always let out a sigh of relief, not even knowing I was holding my breath until she was free of the choke hold.

I've been thinking about this particularly morbid topic for a while now, mulling over something I wanted to share but unsure I had to right words to explain it. Finally, I decided just to go for it.

No, I have never been nearly strangled to death, physically. 

But I have absolutely been strangled. Spiritually, emotionally, I have experienced the soul sapping realization that I can't breathe, I can't get away, I am going to die.

As clearly as if it were physical, I have felt the choke hold.

Have you?

Maybe not in quite such a dramatic way as feeling certain you are going to die from the stranglehold. But you have felt it...you just don't know it yet.

So...answer a few questions for me, if you will.

Have you ever said the sentence "This is something I've always struggled with" ?

Have you ever known there was an unhealthy pattern in your life, but chosen not to make a change because it would be too hard?

Have you ever come face to face with truth, recognized it AS truth, and still continued in a pattern that was opposite of that truth?

If you answered yes to any of these questions...

I would argue that you have, in fact, experienced strangulation...as surely as if the Devil himself were standing in front of you, physically choking the life out of you.

Did you know that the word 'strangle' doesn't just mean 'to kill by squeezing the throat and preventing the intake of air' ? That's the first definition. But listen to this one...

"To prevent the continuance, growth, rise, or action...to suppress, to stifle..."

Have you ever said the sentence "I've always struggled with...?"(fill in the blank with whatever you've said. Don't lie and pretend you've never said it. You've at LEAST thought it.) Well then, your spirit, you soul, your very life has been stifled in that area.

Sound harsh? Extreme? Like I took it a little too far?

I have, in the very recent past, been in situations where I knew...I KNEW, something was not right. I knew I should say so. I had all the words inside me...but I pressed my lips together and said nothing.

Why did I do that? 

Because not long before that, there had been another situation where what I had said hadn't been well received. And as I pondered it, I said to myself, "I must've made a mistake. I don't want to make mistakes. So I should probably stop saying things that could possibly be taken the wrong way." The next time the opportunity came to open my mouth and speak truth, I reminded myself "You could make a wrong step here. Better to take no step at all." The next time..."That is too hard. Don't say that. Don't do that. It will be a mistake."

Until one day, a very short time ago, I was sitting at my kitchen table, my Bible open in front of me, wondering why I felt so isolated, out of breath, unsettled, weakened, and afraid.

"Lord...help me to see what is wrong." That was my prayer, and as I prayed it, I was rubbing my tired throat muscles. (Church the day before had left my singing muscles all tuckered out.)

It was as if the Lord shined a giant spotlight on my hands on my throat. And He said, "You are being strangled by a lie."

Spiritually, I was stifled. Emotionally, I was suppressed. 

Not to the point of death...but certainly to the point of suffering. 

Another thing to note about strangulation is that the victims are silent...because they can't get enough breath to scream. 

That was me. Silent. With a lie gripping my throat just enough so I couldn't make sound, but not enough that I went into the panic of fighting for my life. 

THIS is where our sly adversary, the evil one lurking in the darkness, that vile deceiver...this is where he gets his wins.

Not from actually killing us. Not from walking up to us and announcing he is after our very lives. NO. He gains a victory in our lives every time we believe a lie.

As surely as if he had his hand around our throats, pressing down just enough to make us work harder, or stop working altogether, or adjust how we live, or concede in an area we wouldn't have before, or shy away from something hard, or accept something we wouldn't have tolerated before.

He is the most subtle of stranglers. So much so that all of us, ALL OF US, answered that first question "have you ever been strangled?" with a resounding "NO."

I'm going to pause right now and pray. Because my hands are trembling. And that means the Spirit is speaking.

"Oh kind, faithful, merciful Father...shine light where You want to move within us. Show us the enemy at work. Reveal him to us. Cause us to yearn for intimacy with You...and let that desire outweigh the hard things we have to look at within ourselves."

Our God wants us breathing, living, and testifying of that life. And He wants it for us in abundance. No stifling or suppressing. 

The enemy of God, and of our souls, wants the opposite. And he's crafty in how he assaults us.

"The thief comes to steal, kill, and destroy. I have come that you might have life, and life abundant." John 10:10

The devil comes to kill you. But not just kill you. Destroy you. Not just destroy you. STEAL from you. 

Killing is very overt. Destroying is too. But stealing...its subtle. It's quiet. It's covert. It can go unnoticed for a long time.

And one small theft at a time, the enemy WILL DESTROY you. He will kill that abundant life that Jesus came to give you.

Until the day you are sitting at your table, massaging your throat, asking God why its so hard to get a good, deep, spiritual breath, and He tells you "You're letting yourself be strangled by a lie."

How I pray that I don't ever again have to arrive at painful, spiritual suppression before I see the lies for what they are: theft of my abundant life.

Do you know the truth? You can. It's His Word. And its available to you. If you know it...apply it to your current set of life issues.

You know how to get out of the choke hold, as surely as if you were in self-defense class with my daughter. 

ASK HIM, the One who came to give you abundant life, to show you the lies, and remind you of the truth that prove them as lies. And then...renounce them.

I did it out loud, almost wailing in my horror that I had allowed it to go so far, had been suffocated and stifled so completely that I was physically gasping for air.

"Oh God, forgive me for believing a lie and rejecting You, the Truth. (John 14:6) I declare, aloud so my enemy can hear it, that I see that lie, and I will no longer be strangled by it. I have authority over it because the Spirit of the Living God, who raised Christ Jesus from the dead, is IN ME. (Romans 8:11) And all authority in heaven and on earth is HIS. (Matthew 28:18) I am free from this choke hold in the mighty name of Jesus. Amen."

Two things: First, I used the TRUTH to fight the lies. You have to know it. You have to know it FOR YOURSELF, not just because someone else told it to you. Otherwise the devil doesn't even have to try and kill you or destroy you. He's already strangling you with the lie that its okay not to read the Word daily and let it sink into your very soul. Second, you have to continually identify the lie as it continues to ping around inside you, and declare truth to it over and over.

Like a blocked artery, once cleared, has to be maintained by correct diet and exercise, so too a spiritual bondage (which is what a lie, believed and accepted, becomes. Because the father of all lies is the devil. (John 8:44) If you believe a lie...you are in bondage to it. Its simple. And its absolutely possible to be free) must be broken, renounced, and then actively walked out of. 

I won't try and list all the lies we believe that become bondage in our lives. That would take too long. But I pray that by now the Spirit of God has already begun to point them out in your life. 

Have you ever been strangled? Yes.
Will you continue to stand there and let it happen?
Or will you fight back?

That first deep breath of free, SPIRIT saturated air...oh, it feels so good. How could we have ever thought we were breathing before?

Be brave enough to fight back and get loose from the grip of the lies...and then gulp in that freedom, for it is your very LIFE.

Believe the TRUTH, and let Him set you free.

English Lesson

Confession (that will not come as a shock to anyone): I love English, and am a fan of strong words choices.

As a writer, nothing makes me happier than reading, or hearing, words that perfectly paint the intended picture in my mind.

I frown upon (and by that I mean, rant excessively about) weak words, or fake words, or words that don't give nearly enough information.

For example, my kids say "that's lit," all the time. I hate it. 

"What does that even mean?" I always question.

"You know...awesome...cool," they respond.

"That still doesn't really tell me anything."

"Mom...the song is just lit. That is all. It's lit."

Irritation abounds. 

Is the tune catchy? Does it have a beat that is fun to drum along to? Are the lyrics deep and exciting? Sad? Funny?

WHAT DOES LIT MEAN?

I frequently require them to give me at least one additional adjective to describe whatever is currently being discussed, and I am almost always referred to as the"grammar police" for it.

But words are supposed to resonate. We should understand the intention, or situation, or required response, or desired feedback, simply by listening to the words being said.

When my husband responds "interesting" to anything I say...I want to pull out my hair. "Funny interesting? Boring interesting? I'm-not-really-listening interesting? Which is it?" 

Perhaps my particular bent toward flowery words is why I love reading the Psalms so much. The verses paint vivid pictures in my mind's eye, and I so appreciate that. I am never at a loss for how I am supposed to respond, emotionally and sometimes even physically, to a particular passage. The direction is found within the words themselves. 

There are, however, passages that cause a struggle sometimes.

"Be still and know..."

"Be patient..."

"Be strong and courageous..."

If I was grading a paper which included the words, I would have nothing bad to say. Ask any of my former writing students. The problem I have is with the verb BE.

I don't like state-of-being verbs. I like ACTION verbs. 

Colorful images fill my mind if I say "Grasp patience" or "Practice strength and courage" or "Settle into stillness and knowledge." 

I can get behind those verbs. They require an action from me, and I am quick to respond accordingly. 

But...BE STILL. What does that mean? Sit still? Stand still? Lay still? Remain still? Return to stillness? WHAT AM I DOING?

I shared this particular dissatisfaction with the Lord this morning, during my Bible reading time. (Because what Author doesn't like to have their word choices critiqued?)(eye roll(at myself)) 

"I don't like this verse, Lord. Wait on You? What am I supposed to do? I clearly AM waiting...because I'm not doing anything. But I don't like it. It doesn't give me enough direction. I'll sit here, still and waiting, as long as you tell me to...but I need something to do while I'm here. I need more words..."

I'm giggling about it right now, because as I sat...I'm pretty sure an angel came into my sitting room. Why do I think that?

Because I had my worship songs play-list playing, on shuffle, (and it's over 11 hours long) and one song after another...the music, the words, spoke directly to what I had just been discussing with the Lord. I have basically decided an angel was choosing the music for me. Not every song in that 11.75 hours of music would be a direct answer to my prayer...but 5 songs in a row were. And I cried, and I laughed, and I was still before Him, and He spoke sweetly.

I don't think He minds that I need strong word pictures. He created me the way I am, after all. I don't even think He minds when I wish for a stronger synonym for a particular word. 

Because He always drops the synonyms into my spirit exactly when I need them.

"You remain IN me. And I am all things. I am Healing and Hope and Strength and Mercy and Knowledge and Faithfulness and Courage and Power and Understanding and Wisdom and Peace and Kindness and Rest...All the words you could ever need, you can find them IN ME."

And so, to wrap up this little English lesson...

I am CHOOSING to obey Him. Because that is an action word. And it actually takes quite a bit of exertion on my part. The grasping-with-my-nails, eyes-shut-tight, energy-depleting CHOOSING to be still, to wait, to just BE.

But y'all...I find Him there. I find all the things I wish He would direct me to do and seek and learn and become...I find them all IN HIM. 

And I find rest in the process. Which is good, because its exhausting to set aside all the synonyms I would choose for a word...

You want to know one more word with such depth of meaning that it could be endlessly expounded upon, but it doesn't need that? A word that paints so many pictures inside me that it really is the whole story, all wrapped up in 5 letters?

J.E.S.U.S.

A whisper. A wail. A shout. A laugh. A battle cry. A dying breath.

 

Every fear, hope, praise, request...every heartbeat. Right there within His name.

Isn't He an exceptional Author? All His heart toward us, painted across that one syllable word, echoing endlessly across our lives.

And He says "English class dismissed."

Inside and Out

I'm an extroverted person. I always have been. I talked very early, my parents tell me, and I haven't stopped talking since. I never run out of words I could say.

So, it may be a surprise to learn that I also truly, deeply, enjoy alone time. Quiet. Cozy. Settled. With blankets and slippers and coffee and candles. And NO speaking. 

I'm doing it right now, in fact. Curled up in my sitting room, with only one lamp, two candles, and a half cup of coffee as companions. Oh, and my laptop.

Because clearly I need to talk even during silence. 

I can hear better in the still moments. That's the thing. I hear the Lord differently in these spaces.

Not that I don't hear Him in the chaos. I do. He speaks to me of His love for me every time my kids smile. I hear the Father reminding me of His goodness every time my husband tells me he loves me.

He testifies of His faithfulness toward me in the LOUD.
 He whispers of His presence WITH ME in the silence.

And so I am both. An extrovert and an introvert.

Sometimes He speaks to me in the transition from one to the other. Like this morning. As the dogs and the boys descended on the family room, turning on cartoons and cuddling with each other (rowdy cuddling, because that's the only kind dogs and boys know) I grabbed my laptop, my coffee, and the lighter, and retreated to the front room. 

When you first light a candle, it burns bright, doesn't it? For several long beats its a high flame, and it throws sparks and sputtering sounds before it settles into the simmer. The it flickers, and gives off a lovely fragrance, and casts a glow across the room. But if you blew it out and lit it again, it would flame high again before settling.

The candle is me, people. Loud and bright, slow and quiet. Both at once. The way I was meant to be. Speaking loudly of His glory. sinking quietly into His lap. 

One without the other...just wouldn't be complete.

But, (and here is the part that has me going "hmmmm" into the stillness of my solitude) candles spend way more time being the simmering, scent-dispersing, flickering, peaceful glow than they do burning high and bright and throwing off sound. And their best work is done in the low burn. 

Oh Lord, let that be true of me too. In the silence, in the moments alone with You, let that be where the best work of my life is done.

I love it when the Holy Spirit shows up in a big way, and I get to testify of His goodness and faithfulness and glory. I love it.

But I CRAVE the silent moments with Him. Its where I am renewed, and soothed, and warmed. If it weren't for the intimacy of the quiet times with Him...the loud times would have no purpose.

Because what good is a candle that is lit, and then as soon as the bright light slows and the sputtering stops, its blown out? Then there's no lovely smell, and no flickering, perpetual glow.

The same is true of us. We can sing loud, and testify long, and holler about seeing His glory in our lives...

But do we sit, alone and silent, in the glow of His fellowship, and just soak it in? Listen to the whispers? Enjoy the solitude that never really IS because He's with us?

Oh, its the sweetest thing. Its LIFE to me.

I'm not really sure how a candle became a metaphor for my walk with God...but there it is.

"Lord...today, in each moment, will You be the light within me? Burn brightly if You want to, for Your glory. But the slow simmer, the continual glow, of Your presence...that is my truest desire. And when I forget...when I neglect the quiet and instead choose the outside things...draw me inward, toward You, once again.

I see you, Lord. Inside and out. Cause me to see You more. Amen."