Bitter or Better

Hurt is a funny thing. 

It makes you do and say stupid things. Things you wish you could take back. Things you regret. It takes you down paths you never would have imagined. 

Hurt is particularly painful when you have “hurt hoarding” disorder like myself and you stuff and you stuff hurt until--darn it, there is just no more room in there and you awake one day to find yourself living in filth. 

I used to believe when I was older I would have all the answers to dealing with pain.  That magically, age plus experience was going to make me somehow immune to struggle and strife. Honestly, I thought I would have it all together. 

Instead, I find myself realizing I have more questions than answers.  Some days this realization gets the best of me. Truly when you are an internal processing nut like myself this is a recipe for disaster.

I’ve come to believe there are only two pathways for hurt to take in a heart: Bitter or Better. 

Bitter is always the starting place and the natural path, like water cutting through a rock, inevitably leaving ruts on our outlook toward people and God. Bitter isolates. It corrodes. It convinces us to give up on people. On faith. On ourselves. 

But Better? Better cheers to us from the bleachers to stay in the game. That we can do it. That there is a diamond in this lump of coal if we can only endure. Better takes intention, resolve and supernatural work of the Holy Spirit. 

To taste the bitter in our mouth and say in our heart I want to be better as a result of this takes a purposeful resolve. A turning away from the hurt and a turning to the Healer. 

And so I drag myself, chalk full of despair, sadness and questions, into His presence, and I muster out a “Why? I don’t know what is happening! What are you doing? Why am I going through this?” 

I sense His response in that lovingly whisper, “When all you can see is what you DON’T KNOW, you need to go back to the things you DO KNOW.” 

Things like His sovereignty over my circumstances, His promise to cause all things to work for my good, that His love will never fail. That He has purpose in my trials, His promise to complete the work He started in me, that He has promised to comfort and heal this broken heart. Things like He will never leave me and that He will give me wisdom if I ask. His promise to make me better sometimes through bitter things.

A million promises that I have believed and built my life on begin to flood my mind and heart, but the real question is do I really believe them? Do I really believe HIM? 

I know the answer to this question. In this place of hurt and questions, as well as in the place of peace and understanding, I do trust Him. 

But it doesn’t change the fact that I want understanding now.  

John Eldridge spells out my dilemma so clearly in his book Walking With God: 

“When it comes to crises or events that really upset us, this is what I have learned: you can have God or you can have understanding. Sometimes you can have both. But if you insist on understanding, it often doesn’t come. And that can create distance between you and God, because you are upset and demanding an explanation in order to move on, but the explanation isn’t coming, and so you withdraw a bit from God and lose the grace that God is giving. He doesn’t explain everything. But He always offers us Himself.”  

Oh, this is where I frequently find myself these days--choosing to move forward with Him in spite of myself, my circumstances, my doubts, my hurt.  Attempting to choose Better over Bitter. 

In making this choice, I may not always get what I think I want, but I always receive what I need and truly what my heart is desiring—more of God and for Him to have more of me.

Punch Fear in the Face

I’m pretty much sick of it. Had enough. I’m over letting it have its way with me. 

The way it wreaks havoc in my heart, steals my joy. Keeps me captive. 

It has definitely had a heyday in my life at times and really, I’ve allowed it. I think we have a co-dependency issue going on. 

Sure, I’ve tried to fight it, lock the doors, pulled the curtains, tried not answering its calls. 

But it knows the secret passageways of this heart. It knows that I leave a key under the mat. It knows I eventually I ware down, leave a window unlocked and it gets to come in and take over.

Fear.

I’ve gotten pretty hip to its jive over the years. I’ve made rules to control it. “Never make decisions based on fear” and ”if you are afraid of something, do it.” 

Certainly, I’ve made some strides to not let it govern my heart. But I’m finding it just keeps reinventing itself, finding new ways to suck the life out of me.  Bullying me to keep me from risking it all, to keep me playing it safe.  Comfortable. Disobedient.

But guess what? I’ve decided to settle this once and for all. I’m fighting back. 

I’m punching fear in the face.

When I bring my captive self, all bound up and doubting, scared and pitiful, into His Presence, He whispers to me His secret remedy to fear: 

My Presence 

When Joshua took over for Moses and was preparing to go to battle, fear had him shaking in his boots. 

The road ahead looked daunting. Impossible. 

God’s answer to his fear was “Don’t be afraid. I am with you.” 

I love how God was completely honest with Joshua about the trials ahead. It wasn’t sugarcoated or watered down. There are giants and the battle will be hard.

God didn’t tell him to focus on trying to solve the problem. God told him to be strong, be brave and trust in His Presence. 

I’m thinking as comforting as these words must have been to Joshua, they were not meant to comfort, they were meant to compel. To prod. To move him to act boldly for God. To punch fear in the face and say you do not govern me. God governs me. Back off.  

I can confidently face my fear and say “you will be taking no more ground in my life” while delivering that sweet upper cut of faith in action because God has my back.

While I rest safely in His Presence, He reminds me that I belong to Him, that He has put His Spirit in me—not a spirit of fear, but a spirit of love, power and a sound mind. 

My new mantra, my theme music-- put to the Rocky song-- which I play in my head as I’m punching fear in the face. Power, love and a sound mind. 

These are the things I like to think of as the punches that come in after I throw that first sucker punch.

You can’t just punch fear in the face and run because guess what? It’s coming back at you and now it’s mad. 

Bravery begins when I recognize fear, call it out, then put something better and more life giving in it’s place. Things like power, love and a sound mind. Things that come from spending time in His Presence.

Fear is a part of life and will, no doubt, be lingering behind every turn, lurking in every corner. When I start to see its face showing up in my decisions, keeping me from action, paralyzing me from stepping out in faith, I need to act on the double. 

Presence. 

Power.

Love.

Sound mind. 

These are the punches I need to throw and quick.

Next time fear creeps into this house, I’m going to remember who governs this heart and deliver a devastating blow to that bully’s face.

Something tells me I won’t be seeing him around here again anytime soon.

Give what you've got

Haiti. It’s a country I have come to love. 

And can I just say right now, that was nowhere on my radar? Like it just came out of left field. One day our family can barely locate it on a map, and the next we are there, loving these people and calling them family. 

No doubt that our trips there abound in stories, illustrations and endless spiritual lessons. Experiencing gut wrenching poverty coupled with observing it’s victims live with such joy, humility and grace is just challenging. And convicting. 

A moment forever burned in my memory occurred on my first official Haiti day.  We had spent the morning in the mountainside of Jacmel. Our friend Joseph teaches English at a school up in the mountains and we got to tag along and be a part of the conversations.  

After the session, we are told we will be going to visit a woman in the village. We hike through the countryside, taking footpaths past cemeteries and pigs nosing through the trash, and come to a clearing and a home. The most beautiful Haitian woman leaves her antique sewing machine to greet us and welcome us into her inviting home. Painted with bright reds and greens, her two-room home is meticulous clean. She is beaming with pride and invites us to sit and have coffee. Such love and strength beams from this woman. I learn she is a seamstress. She has a daughter who is as equally graceful. Her home reflects tender care and attention to detail. She seems so proud and blessed to have us in her home. I’m humbled. 

After this delightful visit, we all start the trek back to the car, when I realize I’ve had my fill of the sweet, black Haitian coffee.

I need to pee.

I’m not really sure how to handle this. We are in the woods and I’m a Kansas girl, which means I know how to pee in the woods. But we are with a group of people and a crowd is now following us back to our car. How could I sneak away? 

I tell our host and the young daughter leads me back up the path to their home. She tells her mom I need the restroom and the beautiful Haitian momma ushers me in her home into the back room.  I’m not sure what is happening, but there is some awkward rustling going around and I want to yell out, “Really, I can pee out back-- no problem” when she reaches underneath her bed to retrieve a small basin that contains all her toiletries—tooth brush, hair brush and comb. She dumps these out onto the bed, places the basin in the middle of the floor, motions for me to use it and steps out of the room. I glance around at the spotless simple bedroom shared by this family. I realize this is her washbasin. And she has given it to me to pee in. Humbled is an understatement. I want to shout, “You don’t even know me! And if you did, you’d know I can pee out back like everyone else!” 

But, I realize this is her way of honoring me and honoring Jesus. She is using WHAT she has to be a blessing to whomever she can. She is valuing me, a white American woman she has never met before and will probably never see again, over a possession she uses daily.

People before things.  

I think of the many times I have hesitated to loan out my car, give up the better seat, to take the smallest piece. Or even more so, I think of the times I talk myself out of helping others because I don’t think what I have to offer them is good enough-that I won’t be enough-so I don’t give it. 

I think how complicated I make it sometimes. 

But here in this moment, through her example I sense God saying,

Just give what you’ve got.

Simple. And give it to whoever comes down my path. Stop with the self analysis and the self conscience hang ups and just simply give of yourself to others.

I hurry up and pee and with tear brimmed eyes I thank her and rush down to rejoin my family. 

Though the moment is gone, the memory and lesson from it remains in my heart forever. It's my choice now what to do with it. I'm choosing to give it, to shout it from the rooftops, in the hopes that God will use what I have for His glory.

The Hatchery

I’m realizing there are two types of people in this world: those who live for Disney theme park vacations and those who avoid them at all costs.

I am a part of that latter group, but I have to say that I caved to social pressure and made sure my kids had the privilege of experiencing “the Happiest Place on Earth”.  I’m quite certain I only did it to ensure my face stayed off of the “Worst Mom ever” list by depriving my kids this epic childhood dream of a visit to Disneyland.  

Though I’m not a fan of the parks, I’m a total lover of the Fast Pass. What a brilliant and inventive way of solving a problem and making the experience more enjoyable! Especially for us who are already not enjoying ourselves! Don’t want to wait in this line? No problem. Avoid the agonizing line, heat, weirdo people proximity, go enjoy yourself somewhere else, and then come back and still get to have the ride of your life? Yes, sign me up! 

I wish we could get a Fast Pass in life. 

I’d like to bypass this long, painful, sweaty wait so I can go sit in the shade somewhere with my feet up slurping down my eight dollar frozen lemonade.

But here is what I’m learning. Life is made up of a lot of long, exhausting lines that have me frequently looking for the exit. Escape the demanding people. The screaming kids. The house foreclosure. The diagnosis. 

I remember when my daughter was just a newborn and my son was two. I was exhausted, overwhelmed, and emotional tapped out. Coupled with the physical exhaustion, there was the emotional weight of being a good enough mom to properly raise two humans. The pressure of the task at hand and what sprawled out before me seemed too much for me.  I keep hearing other women say that their favorite time of their whole lives was when their kids were little. And I kept thinking, “Oh I hope not, please tell me it gets better than this!”

I understand a little better what those ladies meant having those years behind me now, but at the time, it was all I could do to get through those days. In those moments, I often found myself looking around for an escape hatch. The Fast Pass. I wanted the end goal of being a great mom, but the process seemed to require so much of me that I felt crushed underneath the weight of it. I wanted the ride, but not the wait.

It was in this place I remember God whispering to my heavy heart, “Stop looking for the escape hatch. This is my hatchery for you.” 

In every hard place I find my self, when I am looking for a way out, a quick escape, I can still sense God saying these same words. This is where I’m growing you, changing you, answering your prayers to become that woman you are always striving to be. It’s here in this hot, sweaty line. Stop trying to get out of it. Let me have My way in you. Let me hatch some incredible things in you, but it has to be here, in this place of My choosing.

These are words I have chosen to live by. Words that have kept me seeking His face, staying at His feet, squeezing every ounce out of the hard places I find myself so that He can grow me into His likeness.  I now have the benefit of looking back and seeing how His hatchery really has worked. How He has grown me, developed my character. Broken and rebuilt this stubborn heart. 

It helps me say yes to Him in the hard places I encounter today, to realize that while a Fast Pass at Disneyland is a great idea, it really doesn’t pay off in life. Escape hatches may lead to a temporary freedom from the weight of life, but they always lead to regret. Unsung possibilities of refinement. Untapped strength. Undeveloped character. 

When I see the end of both roads, it’s no contest. I’m choosing the hatchery every time. 

I’m learning to love the wait.

Seeking in the Seasons

Sometimes I find it easier to measure my life by seasons rather than days, months or years.  Ask me what year has been my toughest and I wouldn’t be able to even recall, but I could linger long over several different seasons I’ve been through, recalling what events ushered me into that season and what delivered me out of it. 

Recently I found myself in a rather aloof phase.  You know the kind: mundane, just going through the motions. Comfortable. Apathetic. Other seasons seem like a blur. Or perhaps I’d rather not remember them, they were that painful. Events I lived through, but I’m not sure I was there. Seasons of survival.  I’m learning it’s easy to lose yourself. Be swallowed up by life’s minutiae, its busyness, and its tragedy. Somehow you wake up and you don’t know who you are anymore. You are still going, but you’ve lost your heartbeat. What you lights you up. What makes you come alive.

But, as pitiful and lackluster as it sounds, I’m learning that even in these kinds of seasons, God is at work.  In fact, it was in a very quiet season that God showed me an invaluable tool that is helping me navigate the various seasons of life.  A purposeful method of keeping track of my heart in the midst of life.  Really, I stumbled onto it out of desperation. I was in a funk, throwing a pity party for one, and frankly feeling swallowed up. Useless. Alone. I cried out to God to show me what my purpose is suppose to be right now and more specifically how can I not lose track of who I am, who He has made me to be in this season—because to me it pretty much seemed like a big fat waste.

Side note: Can I just say right here people if you want a specific answer from God, you need to ask Him specific questions. Nothing bolsters faith like specifics.  Things spoken to your heart in the dark of the night that no one would know you needed to hear. Not even yourself. But then, there is God saying it.  Whispering it. 

I know God doesn’t always answer this quickly, but I have to say that immediately I was led to three verses that corresponded to yearnings already present in my heart, purposes that already coordinated with my gifts, talents and burdens. It was as if He was just waiting for me to ask the question.

I can’t say it was automatic, but God used these verses, these three purposes, to sharpen my focus and help bring intent back into my everyday activities. I’ve come to see this practice of asking for God’s purposes for the specific season I’m in as kind of asking God to give me some holy boundaries, kind of like gutter guards at the bowling alley, keeping my ball heading down the lane to knock down some pins rather than landing in the gutter every time. Holy gutter guards! They heighten my awareness of God at work in my everyday life, helping me fight that apathy of dishes and homework and dinner in order to see the eternal in the temporal. 

Actually, this blog is a fruit of God’s gutter guard in my current season.  One of the verses He led me to that day was Matthew 10:27 “What I tell you in the dark, speak in the daylight; what is whispered in your ear, proclaim from the roofs.” One of God’s holy boundaries for my time, my efforts, my life for right now is this: to share with others out of my own personal relationship with God. How He has healed my heart. How He has set me free from fear, insecurity, and unforgiveness. How He has spoken to my fragile heart words of life. How He has saved this broken life and made me whole.  

Yep. That lights me up. That I can shout from the rooftops!