Surrender

I find myself bathed in a rare quiet moment. A place in time where I am still enough to notice the strands of muscle beating in my chest.

An unusual place for a mother of three boys.

Tonight, covered by a dark blanket of night, this silence is smothering. It is loud. Deafening. Every fiber of my Woven soul is crying out. Pleading for rest. Rest.

This past week has been filled with Celebration. Soaking in the Reality of a Love so immeasurable. A Sacrifice. A new Beginning. For Him. For me.

And as I look toward a new year. A new measure of Hope. 365 new days of Grace.

I am heavy. Low. Crawling under the weight of my smallness.

This past month has been hard.  Full of broken, jagged moments. Moments filled with fear I never thought I'd see. Vivid, picture moments.

Painful, weeping moments. Moments that are born out of the fear of losing a child. The pain of struggling through my baby's health issues.


The exhaustion of emergency room visits. The strain of subjecting my little one to tests he doesn't understand.

We are all struggling, this little family of ours. Shaken by this change in our lives. This new future. And I wonder what it will look like. Our life now.

I've heard from so many, "I can't believe how well you're doing!" Or, "You are handling this with so much grace".

But I know the truth. I know Who is handling this. For I feel as though I am dragging on my knees. Clawing my way through bits of gravel.

And there it is. The defining ache. The word that suddenly betrays me. Leaves me standing naked. Raw.

Struggling.


There is no Light in the struggling. No Peace.


When I begin to focus on the struggle there is no room for Surrender.

When I spend my time clinging my hands are not open to receive the Soothing my heart so desperately craves. I am lost in my own abyss. My own clouds of worry.

I am searching for the Light. A smoldering ember wishing only to ignite.


And He is always there. Gently nudging me on. Gently prying my tiny fingers open.


For this baby. This intricate masterpiece of His perfect design. This Gift entrusted to me. This baby that stirs a love in me so deep it aches. This baby is not mine but His.


So I will continue each day, walking forward, one foot in front of the other. One prayer running into the next. Loving His baby. Surrendering His baby.


Focusing on the Joy. The honor of this journey. The gift of round cheeks and a lap full of footy-pajamas. The pure Blessing of chubby fingers clinging to my neck as he questions why yet another nurse must invade his space.


Yes. My word is Surrender.


This year I resolve to Surrender. Wholly, freely. Completely. Over and over. Every second of every day.


To be fully His.


Surrender.


"The Lord gives strength to his people; the Lord blesses his people with peace."  Psalm 29:11

this is the gift

This time of year is full of gifts. Full of giving. And yet it sometimes begins to feel so empty. So swallowed up. So vacant.

We are trying desperately to fill our Christmas with the one thing that fills us. The one true Gift. 

The One whose body hung on the Tree.

We give gifts. Gifts that we know will spread joy wide across faces. Gifts that say we know you. We love you. We Love you.

They will have one for Christmas Eve and one for Christmas Day. And a few little things tucked deep into a hanging sock. Each little item wrapped up in a small scrap of shining paper.

And as I ponder the gifts I'll give them I think not about the cost but the value. What are the most valuable gifts we give our children? The Real Gifts.

The gift of knowing who they are. Whose they are. 

The gift of Grace. Of learning to soak in it. Learning to be still and wait.

The gift of pouring out. Letting Grace run through your hands and into someone else's cup.

This is the gift of Christmas. Of every day. The gift of Compassion.

We have a lot. We've been Blessed that way. And I want them to understand that. To steep in gratitude. And share the Blessing. To love as they are Loved.

We often pack into the car and make our way to a favorite place to eat. To celebrate one of our own. Another year lived well. The day of their birth. A Birthday.

This time we celebrate Jesus' birthday. And this time we want to honor His place in our family. And so we desire to do what would make Him happy. To eat gathered around the table in our home.

To eat for $10 instead of $40. To make a meal to celebrate our Blessings. And instead of giving away our leftovers, to give away our first helpings.

So two little boys set aside $30 for Jesus. And set out with $10 to shop for a meal to fill our stomachs and nourish our souls.

To give a Real Gift this Christmas.

They choose carefully.

Butter with care.

Place small "trees" in a pot.

Stir the pot that stirs their souls.

 Pour out Grace.

Mix in Love.

Offer up their hearts.

Fill up with Joy.

And then again they choose carefully. This time not for them. This time for Jesus. This time with $30.
They look through gift catalog after gift catalog. Searching for a gift "just right". A way to pour out. A way to offer Grace.

This time they choose ducks.

Because "Eggs can feed a family. And give them money." And isn't that what families need. To gather around a table and fill their bellies. Don't we all want to provide for our children? But what happens when we can't. Do we really know what that's like?

"Why not chickens?" I say. "Because, Mom, chickens can't swim. And sometimes there are floods. And ducks just think it's an adventure." He says all aglow.

Yes, it is an adventure. An education. A Gift. This having a child. This learning from my own Hearts.

And they have opened it. Peeled back the shining paper. Peeled back the layers of their hearts. Reached down into their souls. And pulled out the Gift.

The most important Gift. The only one I am desperate to give them. The Gift of Compassion.

This is the Gift I pray to give them. The Gift of Loving.

This is Christmas.

"Then the King will answer, 'I tell you the truth. Anything you did for any of my people here, you also did for me'."  Matthew 25:40  International Children's Bible

What Gifts are you planning to give this Christmas?
May I ask you to consider the Gift of Compassion.

enough ~ Relentless Grace

I am not enough.

I don't have any idea what to say. How do I reach their hearts?
Give them strength in my own weakness. Pour light into the darkness.

I read the words again, for maybe the hundredth time. Words written by Paul for Ephesus. For me. For mothers.

"Speak to one another with psalms, hymns and spiritual songs. Sing and make music in your heart to the Lord, always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ." - Ephesians 5:19-20


They sound like a strange language. Yet I feel them tug at my heart. Try to rouse it as it slumbers.


I am scrubbing dishes. Hands plunged deep in hot, soapy water. Trying to wash away my worries. My fears.
I feel the anxiety crawling in. Trying to grab hold.

And suddenly I am aware of the music in the air. The words I have been singing but just couldn't hear.

"And the first time that You opened Your eyes did You realize that You would be my Savior?

And the first breath that left Your lips

Did You know that it would change this world forever?" ~ Relient K

The words catch in my throat. The tiny baby now real.

Could I give my only Son? My baby, carried inside. Go through the labor pains, knowing he was a Sacrifice. A Gift.

Given freely. Given completely. And immeasurably undeserved.

Why do I hesitate? Hold Back. Find myself turning inside out in the moment of definition.

Why isn't my heart always filled with music for my Savior? 

Why do I forget to Give Thanks? For everything.

For Everything!

I swirl and stew. Get trampled and stuck. Let go of His hand.

Find myself clinging to the side of a cliff. Gasping for air.

And He is always there.

How do you give your child to save someone who continues to disown you? 

To deny you.

That is Love. Love that I want to give back. Love that I long to pour over the nail pierced hands.

The Hands that wrapped, chubby fingers, around a carpenter's rough hand. The Hands that held tightly to his mother's neck. The Hands that healed the blind, gave life to the dead. Touched the untouchable.

Hands that grew from a baby to a man. 

Just to die for me.

To die. For me.

My Bible lays open beside me. And I glance over, searching for the Words. Trying to make sense of the unfathomable.

"Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children and live a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God." - Ephesians 5:1

Love. Pour out His love. Freely, sacrificially.

That is how we make music for God. By being His Song.

By giving all of us so that others may see more of Him.

Walking our path. Embracing our journey with Praise and Thanksgiving. Never letting go.

I am not enough. Not qualified to lead. Too weak to offer strength. Too ravaged by pain to pour out joy.

I am raw. Hanging wide-open. And I am perfect for His purpose. Because He has given All for me.

And that is Enough.

learning to balance

This afternoon has felt long. The last of cleaning this house. The boys that are leaving trails of their moments strewn about the floor. And I am feeling weary.

I have poured out the last of me for today. There are only crumbs at the bottom of the bowl.

I am tending to one more thing. An act of gratitude. An act of faith. And it never seems enough.
I write out the words across the small rectangle, praying tomorrow when placed in the plate it will be more. It will reach further. Feel deeper.

Today I am scraping the bottom. And it feels raw. Uncomfortable.


I go looking for a Holy Experience. A moment in her words to spark my heart. The words that so often feel as though they pour from my own soul. And in Grace, it is there.

"the only way to make a thing lovable - is to love it wildly." -Ann Voskamp

And He fills me up. Spirit pouring in. The strands of my heart weaving together. Grace washing over my soul.




That is how He loves me. Wildly, fiercely. Encompassing my gory, bleeding heart. My weak and weary hands. My worn through, rusty soul.

Unending. Infinite Love. 
I am lovable because He loves me. Wildly.


In everything there is Love.

Then he comes. The soft cheek pressed against mine. The streams of frustration running down. This tiny life all wrapped up in mine.

He is living in this world of big. Of fast and new. And his tiny heart is frustrated. He tells me all about it. His own language pouring out with pleading, "Mama", all mixed in.

And I suddenly understand. For even I am still learning to Walk.

Learning to balance.

To crawl into that lap of Love and find the comfort to try again. And again.



And again.

a chain of Grace

My email seems to be continually bursting at the seams. Overwhelmed by the unending sales and gift ideas that seem to overshadow this time of Giving.

My mailbox is packed full of toy books and 3-days sales. Filled with the call to get those I love just the right gift. Or maybe just as many as possible.

And it feels heavy. Suffocating. Distracting.

How do we find the real Giving in this stifling world of purchasing joy?

I want my boys to experience the excitement of Christmas. The counting down. The waiting. But instead of making a list of what they want, let them make lists of what they have.

A gratitude chain. A link for each day we wait to celebrate His birthday.

Words written down. A simple phrase poured from the heart of a child. Linked together in a chain of our joy. The pieces of the life we share.


Our gifts held in Grace.

"For food to eat and clean water", Big says thoughtfully, eyes full of hungry empathy. "My cozy bed", bubbles out of Middle. "Deky", they both say together.

These things they might not see in the swirl of Legos and Lincoln Logs. The boxes of joy wrapped neatly beneath the tree.

These gifts that have become so familiar they begin to blur. Like missing the beauty in our own eyes.

And yet we have nothing if we don't have Gratitude.

So let them count down the days. Imagine what they might receive. Plan to pour out their love for each other.

All the while weaving together a prayer of gratitude. A chain of Grace. 

And when they pass out a blanket, a gift of food, the Word wrapped in a small piece of leather... when they purchase a duck to provide eggs to feed a family not their own. Because, "ducks can swim and chickens can't and oceans sometimes rise".

May their little hearts overflow with the wonder of Christmas.

Celebrating the Gift that gave everything.


"to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves." Ephesians 1:6


May I ask you to prayerfully consider giving the gift of {Living} water...

when pain becomes Holy

I can feel his warmth in my arms. Feel his heart near mine. His soft breath on my skin. My mind tells me he's here safe in my arms. Cradled in my love.

But there is darkness in a corner of my heart. A place of terror that keeps repeating, "I watched him die".

I can't make sense of it. Can't make the reel stop turning. The pictures of his lifeless face. The wrenching of his tiny body. The vacant stare in those little windows of love.

The pieces of me are broken, disconnected. Scattered across this floor. This room I cannot enter without trembling.

I understand now the word trauma. The space that holds you captive. The terror that won't let go. The unending fraying of your heart.

I can't stay here. I am not free. There is no joy, no strength. Only fear.

I cannot Love here. And I cannot climb out.


Words pour out. Pleading, fragmented words.

How do you pull yourself up with broken arms? How do you find peace in a nightmare? Where is the switch to turn off this horror?

By going back. By walking through. Slowing it down. And seeing the Grace.

And again I am there. Standing in his room, watching him turn blue. Watching the life draining from his face. But I am not alone.

His little body slumps in my arms. And I can hear my heart crack, feel the panic crawl in. But I am not alone.

He is jerking. Unnatural, wrenching movements. Ripping me into pieces. But I am not alone.

Again, I am searching for him. Desperately seeking him. And his eyes are flat. Like pieces of glass where once there were diamonds.

I am swallowed by the terror. The rivers running down. My body turning inside out. But I am not alone.

Time stopped here in this pain. My heart was frozen in this place. In this fear.

But God has been here waiting. Waiting to walk me through. And I was afraid to go back.


Afraid to feel these wounds.

The burden is no longer so heavy. The movie plays less often. My mind tells me he is safe. And now my heart believes.

Pain is rough and jagged. It consumes and suffocates. We will never find freedom from it in this world. But we need not fear it.

When we pour ourselves into it. Take His Hand and walk through it. Then pain becomes Holy. 
Filled with Grace and Beauty. Full of Life.
Then it cannot extinguish our fire.


For if we take Him there. Down deep into the darkness, into the spaces we don't speak of. They become filled with Him. And there is Light in our darkness.

When pain becomes Holy it no longer belongs to us. It belongs to God. And we are free.


Free to trust. Free to breathe again. And free to Love.


I am still fragile. Still weak. Still gripped by fear at the sound of his deep cry. But I know Goodness. My life is full of Grace. And I continue to cling with my hands open.

"Dear friends, do not be surprised at the painful trial you are suffering, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice that you participate in the sufferings of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed when His glory is revealed." - 1 Peter 4:12-13