Category Archives: trust

Lessons from the Lunchroom {on doing the right thing}

 

“Hey, Lunch Lady, can I have another slice of pizza?”

 

So said my son last Friday around noon. It’s only in hindsight that I can laugh about it. In the moment, my emotions were otherwise occupied with thoughts of escape, retreat, and getting out of Dodge while there was still some gas left in my tank. Being his lunch lady is just one of the many new labels I’m wearing around my house. Teacher, principal, janitor, and bathroom monitor are a few others. Yes, we’re homeschooling this year . . . a 6th grader and a 5th grader.

 

It’s hard, but it’s right.

 

How do I know? I just know. I knew it the moment we began. It took us a long time to arrive at this decision, but after a few years of educational frustration, it was time to make a change. Sometimes you just know when a change is needed. Sometimes you take a large leap away from what’s reasonable . . . what’s comfortable because of that knowing.

 

It’s good to have that kind of information stored away as an anchor—the assurance that the hard decision is the right decision. I’ve not always had that certainty when it comes to making decisions. Sometimes it’s a 51/49 process. Fifty-one percent says “yes”; forty-nine a “no.” Sometimes I just have to go with that extra two percent, believing that God goes with me and will make up the difference. I’m glad that’s not the case here.

 

God has this year in his hands. His reach is generous. It’s going to be hard, but it’s already very, very right.

 

Right isn’t always easily defined. But as we stick close to Jesus . . . lean in to him, rely on him, expect from him . . . he is faithful to provide us with an ample supply of strength, courage, and direction for the path we’re traveling. With such grace, we’ll find that what is right is also good, even when it feels so very hard.

 

Being a lunch lady will bring many changes to my life, of this I am certain. I don’t know the ebb and flow of it all just yet. I do know it’s requiring far more of me than I anticipated on the front side of my decision. I’m having to let go of a few good things in order take hold of this better one.

 

But I’m ready to try, and really, in the end, isn’t this most of the struggle—garnering enough personal willingness to try and do the hard thing? To just step on, step forward, and walk the line of what’s right? Those steps might be fraught with difficulty, hardship at a whole new level, and surrender at the deepest of levels, but when they’re the right steps, the struggle will be worth the gain.

 

This I believe to be true. This is how I will live my year as lunch lady, with struggle and with faith. And most wonderfully, with two young hearts who first called to me from their cribs and who, now, call to me from the lunchroom. This is going to be a wild ride, friends! Thanks for coming along with us. As always . . .

 

Peace for the journey,

walking all the day long…

“What… do you just walk all day long?”

So asked my neighbor while pulling out of his driveway this morning. I broke routine with my walking today. Normally, I wait until the afternoon before hitting the pavement. That’s when he usually walks, our paths almost always crossing. Thus, the reason behind his humorous remark to me.

I know he didn’t really mean it… didn’t really assume that I walked all day long; it was just his way of connecting with me. But after he pulled away, I thought about his question, his false assumption—that I was an all-day walker. What would that look like… walking all day? What if my daily focus was more about the steps I am taking rather than the ones I’m not? What if life was more about moving forward rather than staying in place? How differently might my heart beat… my faith beat if I kept a steady pace 24-7? If heart-health is attached to foot work, then a full day’s worth of walking would yield a stronger foundation, don’t you think?

The problem is… I’m not an all-day walker. I’m a part-time walker. I walk some of each day… try to clock in at least an hour and 10,000 steps on my pedometer. But when the prescribed stepping is over, I am tempted to rest. To stop my forward progression in favor of the couch and the four walls that often serve as confinement rather than refreshment.

As it goes with my physical walking, so it goes with my spiritual walking. Oh that I could walk with faith, in faith all day long—an all-day faith walker! Now that kind of movement would yield some heart-health.

Faith doesn’t stop when the prescribed number of steps has been mastered. Faith keeps moving forward. Faith isn’t cultivated on the couch; faith is cultivated on the streets where movement isn’t an option but rather a requirement for those wanting to find their way home. When faith stops walking, faith stops growing. And a faith that stops growing is a faith in danger of quitting. Stopping. Relinquishing all hope for and in the promise of home.

So, for the love of home and God and heart-health, let’s get moving, friends. Let’s get off the couch of spiritual bankruptcy and start walking forward in faith. Make your goal, even as I’m making it mine, to be an all-day faith walker, so that others won’t have to wonder about our walking “all day long.” Instead, they’ll just know it’s the truth.

Movement wins. I’ll meet you on the road. As always…

Peace for the journey,

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loose ends…

Loose ends. Frayed threads. Separated strands of life dangling mid-air. Waiting. Hoping. Praying that somehow, some way they might be found by Master Weaver. Touched by the Master Weaver. Worked into a portrait of grace by the Master Weaver. Some day by the Master Weaver… loose ends tied up and woven as purpose into a story that currently doesn’t make sense.

Loose ends. I have some. How about you? Any dangling unknowns hanging around your heart, your mind, your soul? Any situations, complications that you’re still scratching your head over, wondering what in the wide-world-of-lovin’-and-livin’-Jesus was that all about?

If I could peel back the layers of my heart and give you open access to my loose ends, you might be surprised by what you’d see. My frayed threads aren’t pretty; not yet. Safe to say, ministry days can be hard days. I know you understand. You’ve probably had a few, because as Christians, we cannot escape our ministry days. They are our assignments. The message of the cross is our requirement, regardless of the pulpits that rest beneath our feet.

Ministry is not always well-received. Sometimes it is rejected; sometimes by those you trust most fully with your heart, your story, your faith. And if you’ve loved well in the midst of your ministry days (loved intentionally and without boundaries), then your heart aches, your heart breaks with the rejection… just enough to make you scratch your head a time or two and offer a few questions to the Master Weaver.

Really God? This? After everything else? Seriously?

“Seriously. After everything else. This. Really. Now about your faith, Elaine? I’ve got a few questions of my own.”

And so we talk about ministry days, back and forth, forth and back, the Master Weaver and me. And I pray for more strength, more obedience, more endurance to see the thing through. More hand-to-the-plow fortitude and more long-term visioning to match the faith of my spiritual ancestors—those who, perhaps, scratched their heads and offered their questions but who did so while moving forward… always forward, always proclaiming the God of their youth… the God of their forevers. And in this prayerful exchange between the Weaver and me… I give my messy, frayed, and separated loose ends to him because none of them currently make any sense to me. And I say the only words I know to say…

I trust you, God. I trust you, God. I trust you, God.

Over and over again and then some more I repeat these four words, believing that if I just say them enough, I might actually arrive at a point of doing them… of trusting God. And this one act of obedience, sweet companions on the journey, feels something like faith. Just a little bit of faith; just enough to keep me moving forward with hope.

I don’t know what trust has become difficult for you in this ministry season… what loose ends have attached themselves to your faith, but I do know the only One who is capable of weaving them into something more than the confusing mess that is currently swirling around your heart. I don’t know the “how and when” behind it making sense for you… for me, but I whole-heartedly believe that the Master Weaver hasn’t left the loom. God is still in the house, still weighing in on our loose ends, and still heavily invested in our spiritual progress.

If I didn’t believe this, my loose ends would be the death of me. Instead, they have become my lifelines… my link to the Almighty. To let go now would be to let go too soon. Instead, I’m holding on to them for dear life. I know that it won’t be long before the Master Weaver will also take hold of them, and when that happens, I will touch the hands that have touched the cross. Hands of mercy, grace, and love. And I will begin in my understanding, because life starts making sense when Jesus is attached to me.

Hand to hand, with all loose ends in between.

As always…

Peace for the journey,
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safely through till morning

“Because the LORD kept vigil that night… ” (Exodus 12:42)

 

A few weeks ago, our elderly neighbor, Mr. Jim, called us in the middle of the night. We’d instructed him to do so should a need arise. It did. His bride of sixty years plus had fallen in the bathroom, and he couldn’t get her back on her feet. Billy was able to help out and to save our neighbors another 911 call.

Since that time, I check on them every morning. Not with a phone call or a visit but, instead, with a single glance out my window. I look for the familiar lamplight in their den. If it’s glowing, I breathe a sigh of relief. The lustrous warmth from behind their window pane tells me one thing.

They made it safely through the night till morning.

In many ways their certainty serves as mine. I, too, made it safely through the night till morning. Seeing their light reflects back on that fact that my lamplight is also burning… lit and fueled by a night’s worth of resting. I cannot see it as it’s happening—this collection of rest that gathers in the folds of my flesh as I slumber in the dark. But each new morning, I’m reminded that what I cannot see happening in the dark—cannot manage nor manipulate while in an altered state of consciousness—is often the strength that carries me through the daylight hours.

God is the Keeper of that darkness. God superintends the gathering and collection of strength as I rest. I’m not always comfortable with the conditions of that rest. Many have been the nights when I’ve fought the constraints of my darkness, wrestled with the unknown realities of nighttime, only to arrive depleted by dawn’s arrival. Rather than giving in to a normal, nocturnal cycle, I rally against it. I burn a candle in defiance, refusing to let the night do its work in me. Those are times of lesser faith… lesser trust in the God who keeps vigil for me.

Oh to be a woman of faith who doesn’t run from the darkness but, instead, who believes God to see her safely through till morning. A “kept” woman—kept safe, kept warm, kept closely, kept wholly by the Father who draws his children closely to his heart and who uses their darkness as the growing field of a tremendous, unshakeable trust.

I’ve been through a dark night, friends. A long, drawn-out season of nocturnal growth. As the dawn approaches, I don’t feel as rested as I’d like. Some night seasons require more than others. But of one thing I am certain…

I am stronger for the night I have known, because God has kept vigil for me.

A dark night with a vigilant God grows a stronger spirit. God is the candle that stands in the shadows of our sleep and that keeps our hearts fueled for the arrival of dawn. A new day, a new season to live as a certain witness to the night’s growth that has preceded it.

Today, I’m a witness. You are as well. We’ve made it through another night, and our candles are still burning. You may not be aware of it, but you have a few neighbors—a friend, a family member, a co-worker, a stranger—who are looking through their windows into yours this morning to make sure that your lamplight is on. Your light is important to them. It shines as a testimony to a night’s rest, a night’s trust, a night’s growth, a night’s vigilance by a loving God. He kept you then; he keeps you still.

Thanks be to God for the keeping, reaching hold of grace! God is growing his kingdom in you and through you… even in the darkness. The light from your window strengthens me. Thank you for allowing me a look inward from time to time. As always…

Peace for the journey,
elaine

On Nagging God…

“At that time I pleaded with the Lord: ‘O Sovereign LORD, you have begun to show to your servant your greatness and your strong hand. For what god is there in heaven or on earth who can do the deeds and mighty works you do? Let me go over and see the good land beyond the Jordan—that fine hill country and Lebanon.’ But because of you [referring to the Israelites] the LORD was angry with me and would not listen to me.
 
‘That is enough,’ the LORD said. ‘Do not speak to me anymore about this matter.’” (Deut. 3:23-26)

 

My son has perfected his nagging. How do I know this? Because, more often than not, I’m officially nagged. Weary worn from his tactics of repeated negotiations and hugely bothered by the fact that he doesn’t know when to quit… when my “no” is a “no” and why it isn’t wise to cross over that line. For the record, I’m not much of a “no” momma, so when a “no” rolls off my tongue, I think, perhaps, it confuses my son and fuels his will for the debate.

Just a little more persistence, just a little more obnoxious determination, and I’ll wear her down.

Sometimes it works, especially when he was younger. But now that he’s approaching puberty (and I’m approaching forty-six), he’s got less wiggle room for negotiation tactics, and I have less patience for entreating them. Things might be easier now if I’d have said more “no’s” to the dinosaurs at the Dollar Tree when he was three years old, but there’s a huge divide between dinosaurs that cost a dollar and purchases that exceed that amount by fifty times. Fifty dollar purchases must be weighed carefully in any household, and for a boy who’s prone to whims over reason, even more so.

Nagging notions + wasteful spending = selfish, temporary pleasure.

I know. I’m not so unlike my son, especially when it comes to nagging God about something rather than letting his “no” come home to roost in my heart as acceptance. Fortunately, I have a bit of age and life experience that allow me to sometimes see past temporal gain. I know something of nagging and wasteful spending and winding up with far less than what I’d hoped for. Accordingly, when I now receive a “no” from God, I’m more willing to accept it without need for further explanation. God sees better than me, and his forecast for my future is more expansive and far lovelier than what currently can be seen from my dining room window.

Moses was a nagger, not so unlike my son and me. He, too, wanted something he couldn’t have—immediate access to the Promised Land. Unlike me, he had open access to a conversational God and didn’t have to wonder about God’s response to his desire.

“That is enough,” the LORD said. “Do not speak to me anymore about this matter.”

God shut Moses down, because God saw better than Moses—a future more expansive and far lovelier than the current reality claiming Moses’ feet. God saw past the earthly Promised Land. God saw the Promised Land of eternal consequence. God saw heaven. God saw home. And God knew that saying “no” to Moses’ nagging was a gain for everyone in the end. Moses would no longer have to deal with an obstinate people; instead, Moses could go directly through the gates of forever and live in peace with his God, his Friend.

Nagging notions + God’s understanding = limitless, eternal pleasure.

Sometimes, we just have to wait for it, friends.

How much energy are you wastefully spending in nagging negotiations with God today? When have you heard his “no” only to be confronted by your willful “yes”? If, by all accounts, you’ve been given a “no” by God, then will you trust that it is for your good and for your gain?

Today, as I’m sitting at my dining room window and contemplating all things Jesus, I am tenderly and willingly confronted by God’s rebuke to Moses. I receive it as my own and fall to my knees in conviction for the nagging agitation that I’ve contributed to his ruminations in recent days.

That is enough, Elaine. Do not speak to me anymore about this matter.

God sees better than me, and his forecast for my future is more expansive and far lovelier than what currently can be seen from my window.

Nagging notions + God’s understanding = limitless, eternal pleasure.

Knowing this… I know enough. Canaan is the eternal “yes” that allows me to see beyond God’s “no.” Today, I rest there while living here, and all is well with my soul.

Blessed, sweet peace for the journey.

PS: From a random drawing, the winner of Lisa’s book and a set of Cindy’s cards is Denise! In addition, I chose Leah to also receive a set of cards from Cindy. Ladies, please check out Cindy’s etsy shop and let me know which design you’d like. Once I receive them from Cindy, I’ll send them to you.

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