Last week was incredibly loud. Even in the quiet moments it felt like my heart and soul were screaming. Crying, yelling, anything to really get someones attention that something was off. I kept thinking to myself something is broken and no matter how hard I try to fix it, it ends up getting more broke.

Broken in the way that my two year old just stole a bag of cookies from his dad to make sure he was selfishly entitled to however many cookies were left. Broken in that I refuse to do more laundry right now, all the while knowing I have worn the same shirt the last three days…don’t judge.

These things, although cliche, point to broken. But then there were other things. Heavier things that seemed to be overwhelmingly clear of the messed up world we live in. A little girl fighting for her life in a third world country because of heart issues. Boys being abused and neglected by their own mother. Death (thats all I have to say about that)

For whatever reason these are the things that landed in my week last week and as I sat in church  trying to prepare my mind and my heart for ‘holy’ week, I began to feel this heavy brokenness come to a head. A song was sung and images of Jesus flashed on the screen just like a movie. My stomach turned as if it was the first time to see such images, to see the story played out that is written on my Bible’s pages. But it wasn’t the first time. I’ve seen the images over and over again in my decades of church attendance, sometimes not even taking a second look and just taking it as ‘normal.’

But is it normal? Is there anything normal about a perfect God choosing to step into a broken world and be broken for dirty prideful people that continually shake their fist in His face?

I’m a weepy mess this week. Feeling like I am walking around with a permanent ‘about to cry’ lump in my throat.

There is guilt. And then praise. Unworthiness and absolute adoration. Pain and Comfort. Brokenness and Redemption.

Its a different kind of holy week for me. I’m not even fighting the ‘what am I going to wear’ fight this year. Forget the coordinating colors and picture ops after church. I will be good to get through it with my waterproof mascara smeared all over my face and the ugly cry being heard by my fellow pew people.

Everything is not ok here. But as I wrestle and fight and don’t feel ok, I think of the entire message of the empty tomb. It doesn’t leave us defeated or broken, but instead brings us….drives us….makes us alive. He brings our hearts to life and over and over again in the midst of the broken He brings us to life.

I can look back over my life and see how He has worked and moved and pushed for His life in my life. For a continual beacon to die to myself and my desire so that He can live within me. In my brokenness He defeats my sin and brings to life freedom. He breaks the shackles. He picks me up when I think I can’t get up. He lifts my head when its lowered in shame. He takes my tears and gives them purpose. He comforts when I cling to control.

He alone brings these little resurrections each and every day as I walk with Him. The tomb was empty 2K plus years ago, but the evidence of that same power and love is evidenced in this broken weepy mess of a girl.

Im so very thankful for the little resurrections in my life that he graciously fights for. That His power is seen through small glimpses of my tears, and His pursuit is constant so that next Easter, in a different stores that mark next years brokenness I will be able to look back and see that He indeed is alive.

He’s alive in me.

Never did you know that unconditional love, heartburn, and frustration could be wrapped into your DNA, but some how everyday you lay down completely thankful and overwhelmed by the privilege of being called ‘mom.’

There is no doubt that being a parent is a privilege, but with that privilege there are responsibilities and questions. Not the light weight questions like “do we go cloth or disposable”, but more on “what is right and what is wrong? what is best and what is ok? what do you let go and what do you fight for? ”

I’ve been doing the motherhood thing for a short time compared to most, but I have noticed in my own life and other that somewhere between the calculating ovulation days and the + sign we knock God off of His throne and decide to be pushed and directed by our Children. We no longer operate as people indwelled with the Holy Spirit and instead bow to the pressures of schedules, unsaid expectations, and hidden insecurities. So Mom to Mom lets talk about a couple things:

Give Yourself Some Grace
One of the things I battle with daily is feeling like it ALL has to be done. That in order to be a successful mom I need have my children parsing greek verbs and memorizing whole chapters of the Bible as well as making sure their whole grain intake and green vegetable digestion is at its prime. I need to have well rounded children right now so that when they enter adulthood they don’t drain society and most importantly move.out.of.my.house. Our expectations as moms can seem to be a big overwhelming and we forget one of the most beautiful concepts of God’s love for us: His grace. He works in the messy play rooms as much as He works in the perfectly (5 minutes max) spotless home you have. Stop being motivated each day by survival mode, and begin it with asking God to work and move in you no matter what you have scheduled planed or expected for the day. Cut yourself some slack. Only Jesus is Perfect, and he wasn’t a parent….is that heresy….yeah lets just leave it at ‘Only Jesus is Perfect.’

Remember You’re The Parent
Often times I think we can get lost in our schedules.We stop getting together with friends, stop going to church, we can’t leave our newly lysoled houses because there are germs ‘out there.’ Everything we do is dictated by our children. When they sleep, what they want to eat, if they might get a sniffle or a bug bite. Obviously I’m being a little hyperbolic to make a point, but in many ways my hyperbole is true. You are the parent and you set the priorities. Missing one nap time, or making your kid go to something that they don’t want to do won’t kill them, in fact if will probably shape them more then hurt them. I breaks my heart to see so many families have children and fall off the church role, while in the meantime they feel isolated and alone because they have disconnected from the very thing that they need; the church. This same mentality grows up into families dictated by sports schedules, recitals, and every other activity under the sun, and over years of time church and God get pushed out of the family. You are the parent. You set and allow schedules and by those schedules you scream to your children what’s important.

Peace and Quiet…Whats That?
I saved the most important for last. I’m sure even as you read the words you chuckled to yourself and thought I had a couple too many sweet tea glasses and I’m on a bit of a sugar high, but I’m serious. In my house of a 4 year old, 2.5 year old there is ALWAYS noise. No hyperbole here…ALWAYS. Some days I’d like to just put in some ear plugs and see which one survived by the end of the day. Our lives have so much going on that its often times the only time we seek Jesus is in the seconds before our head hits the pillow if any time at all and then we wonder why we feel so far from God. You and I both have to have quiet. Whether that is during nap time, or before our kids wake up, or a half hour on our back porch before bedtime. The Spirit wants to guide and move us in so many different ways to show us God’s goodness and faithfulness, but our worlds are so loud that He can’t even be heard. You need time alone, you time with other women who are trying to navigate this whole parenthood thing and Jesus thing, and to talk about what it looks like, where we struggle, and how to encourage one another when we start geting the Cray Cray Mother Syndrome (its a legit medical condition I promise. Ask your doctor).

I can honestly say that motherhood is the very thing that presses me into Jesus on so many levels. Its shows me the depths of my brokenness and how incredibly selfish I am, but in the brokenness there are sweet smiles and innocent prayers that show me God so purely. I’m thankful for the role God has allowed me to have in my sons lives as the Spirit teaches me through them, its just when I get them mixed up and begin living for my children instead of through the Spirit all kinds of things get turned upside down. I pray that we would be women, moms, who are reflections of God’s love, mercy, and justice as. Our children are horrible Holy Spirits, but they are amazing canvases on which we get to blend colors and style, successes and failures, we learn and then we teach, as we all see more of God in His great picture.

When it gets close to the holidays I get excited, but then there is a small part of me that gets very guarded. What use to be my favorite season as I have grown older has become one that is celebrated with a bittersweet spirit. As a little girl my favorite song use to be the classic Nat King Cole version of ‘Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire.’ It seems so romantic and perfect. But now it seems the one that resounds with truth and reality is Amy Grant’s “Grown Up Christmas Wish.”

This past week has left so many heartbroken, weary, and not joyful. There is an ache we can’t shake, a fear that is more present than ever, loss that can’t be replaced.

I often wrestle with God during this season. It seems the world spins into more chaos around Thanksgiving and Christmas, and because of the chaos there is more death, more violence, more of the things not so merry. I wonder if its just because we pay attention to those things more because its suppose to be merry. Or maybe its because the stress of the holidays propels so many into nights, days, moments where its all too much. I even had the thought, that maybe its a Spiritual warring thing. That Satan does everything he can to rip away the beauty of Redemption through our God as a baby.

The Answer? A little bit of all of it? None of the above?

So  I search, think, ponder wrestle.

Hark the herald angels sing
“Glory to the newborn King!
Peace on earth and mercy mild
God and sinners reconciled”
Joyful, all ye nations rise
Join the triumph of the skies
With the angelic host proclaim:
“Christ is born in Bethlehem”
Hark! The herald angels sing
“Glory to the newborn King!”

The world is wrestling. They long for peace. They are searching for light. They ache for healing and comfort. They are in the midst of chaos….hurting…..searching…….longing…….

Hail the heav’n-born Prince of Peace!
Hail the Son of Righteousness!
Light and life to all He brings
Ris’n with healing in His wings
Mild He lays His glory by
Born that man no more may die
Born to raise the sons of earth
Born to give them second birth
Hark! The herald angels sing
“Glory to the newborn King!”

The events that happened last Friday should press us into Jesus. The hurt of our loved one’s empty seat at the table for Christmas, the quiet living rooms that use to hold family but now only remind us of lost relationships, the Cancer diagnosis that seems to be sucking not only the air but the glimpse of joy  this Christmas; It all should push us into Jesus.

It reminds me of Paul in Romans 8, 22For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now.23And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. 24For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? 25But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.

The ache, the nausea, the tears, the anger is the very reality that you and I desperately need Jesus and that reality causes us to worship and wait.

Many I think will try to drown the pain by more spending or trying harder to be better and love better, but our world remains broken and our hearts are still hollow.

There is never a more clear message this Christmas, Jesus is King and only in Him is there life.

The beauty of Christmas is that the central figure, Jesus, can not be stolen. He is the good, love, mercy, justice.

Thousands of years ago He came into chaos. Chaos just like what we are living in today.

He was born to bring the very things that we still are longing…grasping…clinging for today.

Himself. 

“Glory to the King!”

I got a little older and I dreamed of my first car. I didn’t even want one of those ‘fancy mustangs’ all my friends were getting. I told my parents I would be totally content with a Chevrolet Cavalier. How humble of me right? I was fully convinced I would wake up on my 16th birthday look our the window and there would be my blue cavalier with a big bow on top. (This is how it went down int he movies so my life had to mimic those characters right?) Woke Up. No.Chevy.Cavalier! Instead months later, a 1990 Toyota Camry that I would deck out in cow print seat covers and call Bessy.

I reached young adulthood and the symbol to covet was the ‘C.’ It was not just any ‘c’ it was lots of ‘C’s’ all over your purse. I had never really cared about purses before, but much like my childhood dream of the Barbie Jeep I now wanted the Coach purse. There was something about a Coach purse that stood for class, position, and this high level of fashion. Girls in my student ministry had them, women at work had them, I was clearly left out of the cool club because I did not have the ‘C’ on my purse. It came Christmas time and Josh sweetly got me a small Coach purse. It was a small simple purse that he got on sale, but it wasn’t what I had expected in a Coach purse and so he let me exchange. As much as I hate to type this next line I need to to further my point, I exchanged it for a purse that had C’s all over it and a nice scarf that tied around it….all for a whopping 400.00. Yes thats right. 400.00 for a purse! For a purse that would hold pieces of paper, chewed up gum, and snotty tissues.

I carried that purse on my shoulder with such pride. I was Miss Fashionista! For like a day. Maybe two. You see, during the entire time of buying it, sticking all my junk in it, and then wearing it around as if it gave me some kind of value, deep down I knew that it was incredibly wrong. Something didn’t jive. Something wasn’t right. I should have been happy, but instead of happiness I literally felt sick.

God let me make a selfish decision and used it for an opportunity for the Spirit  to move, convict, and wreck my heart for what I was seeking more than Him. That C had become an idol in my life. It was something that I thought would attribute value, status, even a different degree of friendships, but at what cost? It was a moment where God broke me of my greed. Today I think of how many meals that money could have been used for our son and others he knows as they sit hungry in the orphanage in Africa. Or to provide dozens of pairs of shoes for the homeless. Or Bibles translated into different languages so that people all over the world could read the name and sweet story of Jesus. This seems like a really Sunday school answer, but I wonder if we actually did some of our so called ‘Sunday school answers’ instead of just knowing them, how differently and more like Jesus we would be.

I was so overcome with disgust from my sin of greed and idolatry that I posted my coveted Coach purse on craiglist three weeks after purchasing it for half the price of what I bought it for. I wanted it gone, out of my life. But the funny thing is, the sin of greed and idolatry still creep into my life even years after being so distraught and broken over the same exact sin. Now it just fleshes out in different ways through my children’s toys, my obsession with clothes, the next dream car of convenience. It is a continual battle of choosing to be content and letting the God who purchased my soul with His blood define and give me worth.

I got a fancy expensive purse to hold all my junk, and it was a mirror of what I was doing with my spiritual life. My Coach Purse had to die. I had to die. I still have to die to the idea that things here on earth are going to make me happy. That just because everyone else has it doesn’t justify the desire for it. That symbols are priceless and Jesus is everything.

Jesus.Is.Everything

For the reader that has a coach purse please hear me that I am not throwing judgement in anyway. Maybe you got a great deal, maybe you paid full price but your checkbook still shows sacrifice for the Kingdom, or maybe you have one of those knock off purses where you risked your life in the back room of a shady store in China. Who knows. Who cares!

From a very young age we start the cycle of hearing, listening, and conceding to the idea that we “need” more and are entitled to have them. From Barbie Jeeps to Diamond Rings to expensive homes to husbands with money and muscles. As women we can get so wrapped up in the image of success, the coveting of things, the worship of earthly symbols. I’m asking you to remind me that I need to die,and I’ll remind you that you need to too.

There are greater causes, bigger missions, deeper truths to pursue and at the end of the day I hope we can lay our heads down and say, “Jesus.Is.Everything!”

This Mother’s Day I am feeling a bit of the same uneasiness. It is bitter and it is sweet.

I am so thankful for my boys and the blessing that God has given me in showing my need for Jesus in the midst of both their and my brokenness. I am thankful for grace that only He can give as day after day the routine of toddler fits and fights over toys becomes the last straw to an almost lost sanity.

This morning I was a mad woman with a mission. I was going to clean, scrub, wipe, mop, shine my house clean. I was done about 10:30 and all I wanted to do was absolutely nothing. I made lunch and then nap time rolled around. Josh had left for a church event, and so I thought I would try to have the boys lay down with me in my bed to try to take a nap.

There was lots of giggle. Lots of little toes and toe nails scratching my legs and side. After the giggles calmed down, I had two sets of eyeballs looking at either side of my head. Big green eyes on one side. Big Brown eyes on the other. Their fingers at random times would touch different parts of my face, and after a while there was the rhythm of their sweet breathing as they stepped into dreamland.

I laid their listening to their breathing and it was sweet. I thought of all of the women that told me that motherhood is hard, but worth it. Often times I don’t stop to smell the ‘worth it’ part. I thanked God for caring for my children, for loving us all and holding our family together, and for simple things that we take for granted like, 10 fingers and 10 toes.

Then it got bitter. I thought of this faceless boy in Africa. His story is one of pain and loss, as every orphan is a product of pain and loss. I thought of how he has no mom to cuddle with, no mother to wipe his tears from his face when he falls, no mommy to scream for in the dark of the night. He is motherless this mother’s day. I pray for God to protect Him. To protect his tender heart and soul as he is scared and lonely. That through my tears and simply longing heart, that the Spirit would show him that He is wanted. That there is a mom tossing and turning in the night wondering and praying for him, and more importantly that there is a God who is going to show Himself to him in a beautiful story.

I am pretty sure that others are tasting this bittersweetness as tomorrow approaches. There are some who are in the same boat as me who are waiting for that child (whether their first or third) through the blessing of adoption. There are some who lost a child due to miscarriage, stillbirth, or maybe a son or daughter whose life was just simply cut too short, and now mother’s day is a reminder of that mommy-ache. There are women who dread this holiday because it is a reminder of how they can’t produce a child from their own womb, and then there are others whose mom isn’t here to celebrate for the first time or thirty ninth time.

Sometimes I wonder if the cards and flowers are really worth some of the pain and aching that women experience on Mother’s day, but this I do know: For some tomorrow will be bitter, and for some tomorrow will be sweet, and I guess for the rest of us it will be bittersweet. But the beautiful thing about it, no matter where we are on the spectrum, is that Jesus is in the pain and in the joy of tomorrow. That He cares enough to comfort you and rejoice with you as you are a woman created to bear His image, whether as an ‘official mom’ or a mom to countless others she comes in contact with.

The thing we celebrate tomorrow is not the ability to parent well or have children. What we celebrate tomorrow is how as women we get to reflect the character of God. As we show grace, as we sacrifice for others, as we care for the hurting, as we challenge the younger and gain from the older. As we love others as unconditionally as we can, and as we seek our Creator to form, shape, and mold us in trial and in victory. We don’t need a birth certificate for any of this.

As we celebrate tomorrow, lets love with tenderness and compassion those whose taste is bitter, and lets celebrate and reflect on His goodness in our brokenness. Happy Mother’s Day.

I won’t go into details right now, but I will say that our adoption story has been turned upside down, inside out. Its that feeling when you get when you play Monopoly and you read the card that says ‘go to jail, wait two turns’ its just now, its real life, real money, real hands and feet and most importantly hearts that are being effected, but…there is a but….there is Jesus.

I got a text from some friends of ours while we were eating dinner asking if her and her husband could stop by. We honestly had no idea what they needed, but we texted our address and shortly after the knock was at the door. Haddon’s little friend came bursting through the door and ran straight outside to see his friend.  Then Josh got a card and I got a card. Josh’s contained 250.00 cash, and mine 40.00 (10.00 from each of the kids own allowance money). This sweet family showed up at a time when I honestly was questioning the life of our adoption. All kinds of questions circulated my head: “What did we do wrong? Were we even meant to adopt? Were we suppose to walk this journey to be left with the longing?”

Their sweet act of sacrifice and love answered that question. Keep Walking. Keep Trusting. Keep Pursuing.

After they left I immediately thought of the passage of Jesus feeding the Five Thousand (men). That there was a faithful sacrifice and with that God multiplied and met far beyond the needs of everyone, and I honestly believe that is what God is going to continue to do here.

I am trying so hard in my broken and fleshly self to trust and to have faith. To pursue Jude just as God has pursued us with patient, faithful, holy love. I am so far from being a close replication of that, but I do know and trust that He is fighting for and pursuing God harder than I ever could.

I love the end of Matthews account of this beautiful miracle. He says, “And they all ate and were satisfied. And they took up twelve baskets full of the broken pieces left over.” (Matthew 14:20 ESV)

I know at the end of this my soul will be satisfied, and my arms full of God’s beautiful story He has written of pain, loss, love and a sweet completed family.

I remember it as if it were yesterday. He preached in the morning and then again in the evening. We then had to leave the sanctuary and sit in a little room until the votes were tallied.

A knock on the door and the words “You’re our new pastor” bout instantly made me want to throw up and shout with excitement. We grabbed the boys and walked down the aisle to the stage as the sweet church cheered and clapped and whistled. I still get butterflies in my stomach thinking about it. Josh said some kind of thank you and then we all dismissed to the gym for food and celebration.

There were lots of hugs and people introducing themselves. My face hurt like it did the day of my wedding from smiling so much. It was an amazing day in our life, marriage, and ministry. But…that was just the beginning. God has been faithful and gracious these last 365 days as we have tackled our first year of the pastorate. I can’t tell you how incredibly proud I am of Josh, and His dedication to seek and know Jesus and proclaim the Gospel in our city.

So to commemorate this beautiful day I made a list of my top ten memories of the past year. I look forward to the next year….no Decades of God showing up in His Bride.

The First Year: (In no particular order)

1) I taught my first ever VBS week with a sweet new friend. I was scared out of my mind, but I did buy a cool straw hat for an accessory.

2) We had our first ever, She:Conference where we had over 100 women come study the Word and chat about how it can change their lives.

3) The Start up and crazy work of the Crossroads Motorcycle Ministry that is now feeding so many families in our city

4) The beauty and realness of our new post-abortive ministry. I have never felt so impassioned and on fire for women as I have through this study.

5) Picking up trash on the side of the road with our small group members and screaming at a bunny thinking it was a snake. (no comments please)

6) The beautiful friendships that God has blessed us with of compassionate and attentive people to do life with

7) Sending off 100 pillowcases to China thanks to Mrs.Janice’s mad sewing skills

8 ) Our ‘Nigh of Hope’ that we hosted with Pat Layton and Shari Rigby where we had one of the most moving and beautiful altar calls I have ever been a part of.

9) Our Christmas and Cider morning where my whole family came to worship with us, and Haddon ran into a pew and got a black eye. (again no comments please)

10) And last but not least, the wonderful and epic experience of the great Olan Mills pictorial directory photo-shoot. (That is all I need to say about that one)

When I think of motherhood there are so many thoughts and feelings that come with it. I think of the sweet baby that we lost that was one of the first times in life I had to wrestle with Jesus and God on His plans vs mine. I think of how delicately I thought of life after. I think all of the times Haddon was dropped for fell of something and yet he is still pretty normal (no comments), and how Leland just about drove me crazy from all the crying but that his snuggles and snoring in my ear were priceless.

There is no doubt that motherhood is a taste of God’s goodness and something that many of us hope for. Even after two rounds of child birth though, I am finding myself in a season of waiting for a new stage of motherhood. I have several friends who are waiting for their first child to bless them through adoption. Some who are pregnant are counting the weeks and reading ahead on their baby apps, and I know others who are watching the rest of the group pop up pregnant and they aren’t in the place in life where they can start to ‘try’ for their piece of motherhood.

Waiting. Patience. Pause. Delay. Not Yet. One Day. Almost There. Its Coming. Hold On…..Wait……

I don’t wait well, for anything, but especially for our son to come home from Africa. My constant prayer is that I would ‘wait well.’ I may be speaking that prayer, but the fruition of it is a totally different matter. So in this time of waiting I think back to Anna in the Bible and try to glean some wisdom from her, cause she clearly had it more together than I do.

And there was a prophetess, Anna, the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was advanced in years, having lived with her husband seven years from when she was a virgin, and then as a widow until she was eighty-four. She did not depart from the temple, worshiping with fasting and prayer night and day. And coming up at that very hour she began to give thanks to God and to speak of him to all who were waiting for the redemption of Jerusalem.
(Luke 2:36-38 ESV)

The beautiful thing about Anna is that she waited and she waited well for a VERY long time. These are some of the truths I can get from her in her waiting:

1.) Her Identity wasn’t wrapped up in her. You’ll notice it says she was a widow. Widows weren’t really high ranking people in their culture. Their complete wellbeing was based on sons or son in laws. Her focus wasn’t to remarry or find a way to regain status and security, but instead her focus was on the coming Messiah. So often, our entire identity is wrapped up in whether or not we are with everyone else. If we are pregnant with others are pregnant, or we feel as if we don’t have worth because we aren’t a mom or a wife yet. Our identity solely lies on the goodness of our Messiah, Jesus.

2.) She Worshiped. This is a hard one for me. My tendency in the waiting is to complain. To manipulate and try to make things go faster, or find other avenues or things I can do to get my end result. Again, the focus being on the end instead of the journey with Jesus. She worships. I’m sure some days were with joy and others with heartache and longing.

3.) Fasted and Prayed. Both of these disciplines remove our ability to do anything, and completely press into the purpose, plan, and will of God. It is an act of reliance on Him as the good and perfect Father who knows what is best for His children, and in His timing for us. It is an act of dependence, faith, and most importantly trust.

4.) Night and Day. It was a continual thing that she purposed to do. The only thing I do night and day is eat and that is because I like it and I choose to do it often. In our seasons of waiting we have to purposefully put aside our desires to plan and control, and instead choose to pick up our bibles, sit in silence, and meet with God. It doesn’t come naturally. Waiting is completely against everything our flesh stands for. Our flesh wants now, here, with no sacrifice.

I will be the first (and Last) to say that waiting is a hard place to be. The silence is deafening. The yearning is sometimes unbearable, but the journey in the wait is where we are stretched to seek and meet Jesus in ways that we never have before. That we practice dependence and trust so that when the hour comes we can ‘give thanks and tell all around us who are waiting’ of the redemption, beauty, and marvelous work that God did in the midst of our waiting.

Its hard, and sometimes never feels like its gonna happen, but trust me…

There is beauty in the waiting, and strength in the journey, and joy in the Baby.

Praying that we all ‘wait well’ in whatever season we are in.

At this moment, I hear my pandora music station, the bubbles in my coke fizzling, an airplane overhead, our neighbors dog barking…..ALWAYS BARKING (I think he has managed to get in more of my blog posts than my family.) Needless to say even in my quiet moments, there isn’t much quiet.

I use to get creeped out by silence and now I long for it. Where brotherly fights, toddler repeats, cell phone ring tones, and clicking of the clock stops.

Just. For. A. Few. Minutes

Quiet.

Still…..

My ears are sensitive now. I may have heard things before as I went through my daily life but now I HEAR them. It is a struggles sometimes to even have a conversation with Josh without a child interrupting or a call coming in. Sometimes I will have to stop and literally think to myself how on Earth God manages to reach down into the loud and constant noise in my life  to try to speak to me. Does he get annoyed at me dealing and listening to everything else around instead of Him? Does He get tired of having to scream when I should be seeking out time of quiet and silence with Him.

As you study spiritual disciplines you read about prayer and meditation, and with those come silence. I know that there is a need and even the command to seek the silence and presence of your Creator. I think of monks who spend HOURS in the quiet. Many of us think we could never do that, but is it we can’t or that we won’t?

When Josh and I were in student ministry he use to do this exercise with the students. We would all get together and build a maze with all sorts of obstacles that would cause the other team to fall. We would blindfold one student and assign them a ‘guide’ to help them through the maze. The other teams job was to make as much noise as possible. They would scream, use blow horns, bang chairs together to try to keep the hearer from listening to the guide.  It didn’t take long for the student to either just stand completely confused because they couldn’t hear, or there was always the courageous one who tried to make it through the maze without the ‘helper’ and ended up with a bloody nose and black eye.

As simple and straight forward that exercise was, we continue to walk through life much like them in the game. Blindfolded, bloodied by hurdles, and standing in the middle not knowing where to go with a headache from the noise and numerous voices screaming at us.

Lately, I have learned so much of God’s pursuit of our hearts despite the distractions. My life can become so consumed with busy and loud things that I lose touch of the need for quiet moments of communion with my Savior.

I am thankful for a God that walks beside, in me, before me.

I am thankful for the moments that are still and he whispers, and the loud moments where He screams.

That is a faithful, intimate, and powerful God.

No matter how loud your life is right now, He is speaking. Are you listening?

[My Soul Waits for God Alone]

[62:1] For God alone my soul waits in silence;

from him comes my salvation.

[2] He only is my rock and my salvation,

my fortress; I shall not be greatly shaken.

(Psalm 62:1-2 ESV)

Last Sunday you may have heard a message on Palm Sunday and the crows screaming ‘Hosanna’ or ‘Lord Save Us’ as they laid down their coats and palm branches as the Messiah entered Jerusalem.

I think most of us are much like them. We have the best intentions. We recognize who Jesus is, and in the moment when He is presented in front of us we have the acts of submission and obedience. But after he walks past us on the donkey and we pick up our coats we are approach another week. A week with the normal day to day things, work, kids, deadlines, bills, and honestly our ‘Holy week’ doesn’t end up being so holy.

Holy means to be ‘set apart by God or sacred.’ I’m already into Tuesday of holy week and it hasn’t been much different from the others this year. As I have read through and studied the sweet Scriptures that hold the account of Jesus coming into Jerusalem, cleansing the Temple. How he spent His last couple of days teaching and I’m sure pleading with the people that what He said was true, frustrated as He knew His words fell on hollow ears and empty hearts, and each second, each breath, brought Him closer to the very fulfillment of His words.

Right in the middle of this teaching Jesus in Matthew 23 is rebuking the religious leaders. In verse 25 it says:

“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you tithe mint and dill and cumin, and have neglected the weightier matters of the law: justice and mercy and faithfulness. These you ought to have done, without neglecting the others. You blind guides, straining out a gnat and swallowing a camel!
“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you clean the outside of the cup and the plate, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence. You blind Pharisee! First clean the inside of the cup and the plate, that the outside also may be clean.
(Matthew 23:23-26 ESV)

This was like a dagger in my heart. I’m so much more like the pharisee than I am of Jesus. Even at this time of celebration of our Savior we can become so enthralled with the ‘practices’, instead of the very thing Jesus told us to love: justice, mercy and faithfulness.

We spend our time cleaning up the outside with pretty clothes and colors instead of disciplining ourselves to and worrying about the cleanliness of our souls.

Jesus spends the last week of His life dirty. Sweaty as he purifies the temple. Smelly as He cleans the calloused hard feet of His students. Dripping as he prayed obediently in the Garden. Bloody as He took the beatings and lashes upon His innocent body. Seems so contrary to what we have made it all about doesn’t it?

So what does it look like to get our hands dirty this week? I think it takes some carved out time of just you and Jesus. Reflecting, repenting, and rejoicing in the events of Jesus’ lasts breaths. In response to that time, instead of stressing over the perfect outfit for our kiddos or the daily plans for Sunday, we need to be seeking out opportunitites to show God’s faithfulness and mercy to everyone around us. Whether that be buying groceries for a family, missing the egg hunt to feed the homeless, taking the money on new clothes and giving it to support orphans and children who hardly have food muchless clothes.

This Easter celebration….Passover where we look back and give thanks for Jesus and His sacrifice should propel us into ways that we ourselves sacrifice out of His great love He showed for us. Otherwise we are just like those that laid down their coats and palm branches one day, and then picked them up and crucified Him the next.

Let our goal the rest of this week be ‘holy, or set apart from the rest of our weeks.’ That our hands would be marked dirty finger nails of service, weary legs that met needs, and hearts full of the love of our Savior.