Puzzle Pieces

I have a love-hate relationship with puzzles.

I enjoy them. Kind of. I love finishing them. Hate the process. It’s frustrating. It always sounds like a good idea but then once I get into it, I’m second-guessing my choice. 

I know the pieces go together, but I don't know how. I'm suppose to enjoy putting them together.  I force pieces to go together because I desperately want them to fit, but ultimately I know they don’t go there. I’m only fooling myself. 

There is a thought that crosses my mind every time I sit down to do a puzzle: There is a piece missing. I’ve got that one puzzle box that was shorted a piece and I’m not going to be able to finish this thing.

I start to put the pieces together and I really start to get somewhere. I’m on a roll. Things are good. And then all of the sudden, I hit a lull. A place where every piece I try—and I’m positive I have tried them all—doesn’t work. I can’t figure it out.

This sounds likes familiar territory—a place I’ve been many times in life. Overwhelmed. Confused. Not sure what is missing. I know all the pieces are there, but there is this nagging doubt at the back of my mind. 

There is a piece missing.  

But I’m learning that, just like with the puzzle, all the pieces are there. They are on the table. 

However, life has a way of blinding you. 

Sometimes the only pieces you can see are the one’s that don’t fit.  It’s easy to overlook the piece you need when you are dead set on trying to force the one you think fits. 

In this place of mismatched pieces and frustration over trying to figure it all out, God has whispered to this weary heart, "...When my heart is overwhelmed, lead me to the Rock that is higher than I” (Psalm 61:2b). 

The Rock that is higher than me. Higher. 

Higher sounds good when you are low. It sounds like a place I want to go. A place I can see from and get a better view of my surroundings.

I think of Him offering His hand to pull me up to this place of safety, up out of my doubts and questions about missing pieces. 

His answer for me His Presence. He wants me there with Him. 

But I’m learning that not only does He desire me to be with Him, similar to the way I want to be with my child when they are hurting, but also He has another purpose in me coming to the Rock. 

It is the combo of His presence plus His perspective. He wants to show me a few things while I’m up there. He has invited me up to be with Him, but also to help me to see what He sees. His perspective of all my life’s pieces—they ones that went together easy, the ones I’m forcing that just aren’t lining up, and the ones that I’m sure our missing.  It’s up here with Him that I can really see the pieces are all there (2 Peter 1:3).

It’s my limited sight that is the problem. I can’t see. I can’t understand. 

I see individual pieces. He sees a finished puzzle.  

I can’t visualize how they go together, but He KNOWS how they all fit. 

And the great thing is He has given me the invitation to come up there with Him so I can know. He wants to show me.

I think of His vantage point up there on His high Rock and it motives me to seek His presence, His perspective. I want to know His secret of how it all fits together. 

I love that He invites me up there with Him. Not only does He offer me safety, security, and protection in His presence on the Rock, He offers His perspective, which I’m learning, is the piece I think is missing. Understanding and wisdom of how all my life’s pieces fit together. Asking and seeking His purpose for each piece. 

As a result of time on the Rock, I can learn to not fret over those pieces that are giving me such grief. I can trust, in time, those pieces are going to come together. Not only come together but be an amazing part of an incredible picture. 

When my heart defaults to an overwhelmed state due to trying to put it all together, I’m heading to the Rock for His presence and His perspective. 

I’m thinking you can’t always choose your pieces, but you can choose your perspective. 

I’m choosing to go with the Designer’s view. I’m looking forward to seeing the finished product!

Adventures in Buying in Bulk

It’s that day again.  

The day I have to muster up all I got to get myself to Costco and purchase enough food to feed a small army, or in my case a small family of four for 2 weeks. 

Don’t get me wrong, I love me some Costco, but every once in a while this day coincides with me in a rather foul mood and well, let’s face it--it’s the perfect storm.  I pity the person who meets me at Costco on this day. 

I manage to drag myself in there, grab my jumbo size cart and prepare for my upper body workout of a lifetime, which gets more intense the more I pile into that cart. 

As I near the end of my very precise and rigid turn by turn course through the store, I’m wielding my cart with everything I’ve got.  Of course I start running out of space to put stuff—IN MY JUMBO SIZE CART—when I start to see the staring.

You know the looks. From the old people that are just there to buy vitamins and books. They don’t have a cart. 

Queue the sneers, smiles and then someone actually has the guts to comment, “You sure you can handle that thing?” followed by a chuckle, chuckle.

I keep pushing, encouraged that I can see the check out now and just get out of here.  I stand in the jumbo line with my jumbo cart with a jumbo irritated look on my face, when the check out guy-- of all people-- has to say “wow, how many kids do you HAVE?”  

Now, most the time I go to Costco if get these types of comments, I can deal. 

Today it’s all I can take to not scream at the top of my lungs “We are at Costco, right?! I mean, aren’t we all here for the same reasons? We are all here to buy in BULK? Don’t judge me!” 

But I don’t scream it. I mutter “just 2 kids” and then throw out some reasons  to justify why I’m in their store buying so much food, but really I just stand there feeling like I’m a freak and there is something wrong with me. 

I wheel out to unload my giant food stash into my tiny Prius. As I am attempting this very tedious and calculated task, I have an older couple wheel up next to me and say “we are just curious how you are going to get all this into that little car” -no joke, people, I couldn’t make this up. They then proceed to WATCH ME load it all into my car. 

It was all I could take to not peel out of the parking lot yelling “Up yours, Costco!”

I can’t help but reflect on this and see the spiritual parallels. How quick we are to make assumptions, quick judgements and thoughtless remarks about the lives of others. About their feeble attempts. Their straining efforts. Perhaps they have just mustered up everything they’ve got to just drag themselves through the doors only to be greeted with strange or disapproving looks.  

Aren’t we all in the same circumstance in life? Oh, sure the story looks differently in every unique life, but boil it all down and it’s the same. We all want to love and be loved.  Acceptance. Belonging. Forgiveness. We want to know God and what He wants us to do with our lives. We want to know if  any of this matters. Do my heart felt tries even matter? 

We are trying, sometimes straining with all we’ve got to just keep going, and the play-by-play commentary by the people standing on the sidelines of our lives is just not helpful. Often times, it is hurtful. 

Some of my deepest wounds have been inflicted by people who falsely judged me or made wrong assumptions about my heart and motives. People who disapprovingly watched me push my cart.   

What do you do with that? 

While the answer to this question feels weighty and complicated and hard, I hear Him whisper the simple answer to my heart, “Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God in Christ forgave you.”(Ephesians 4:32) 

The truth of the matter is I’m not accountable for how others treat me. I am accountable for how I treat them. And God’s measuring rod is kindness. Love. Mercy. Forgiveness. 

I’m learning that it is much easier to forgive others when you realize you also have been the person gawking, sneering and making rude comments at the person who is just trying to get through the day with their jumbo size burden. That I've been the one inflicting wounds with careless words or a raised eyebrow.

We have a simple, yet profound power. The power to encourage or discourage. To give or to take. To lighten anothers burden or to make it more difficult for them to bear. 

The power of just a friendly smile, a kind word. An acknowledgement of my feeble attempts to try to be a good mom. How differently that shopping trip would have turned out if the checker guy would have said “Wow, look at all this great food! Your family is going to enjoy some good meals!” 

It makes me realize the power of one interaction to encourage and strengthen another, to help bear their burden in some small kindness, and how love covers a multitude of wrongs. 

It makes me realize how badly I want to help push other people’s carts. To help them load it all up in their tiny cars, all the while yelling “You can DO this!!! We are in this TOGETHER!” 

Yep. And then peel out in my little Prius yelling “Thanks for the lessons, Costco!”

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.