For After the Turkey and Stuffing...What's Seeking to Fill You Right Up?

 I admit it. The fear crept in.

In between the moist brined turkey slathered with cranberry jelly, the gravy-drizzled stuffing and the mashed potato mounds, the fear slipped in.

Earlier, on our way out the door to relatives and Thanksgiving feasts, two letters had arrived. The letters mapped out the region around our home, drafting new roads, and moving forward the construction of a giant twenty-four-hour shopping center down the street from us. The twelve acres of woodlands and wetlands would be razed, sections of our yard would be converted into roads and turn lanes, and semi-trucks would soon rumble deliveries all night long on the road outside our bedroom.

On the road to our relatives' house, we passed wind turbines, calculated wingspans, and grieved the probable loss of our home and yard. The fear slid in then, and I voiced aloud my concerns.

• "It took us a year for our last house sell and to find this one." 
• "We bought this one when it was foreclosed and at a lower price than they are now available."
• "It's only a block from your work, and from our teens. What are the odds of finding another one like this again? And it's a perfect volleyball yard for youth group!" 
• "We landscaped, built raised garden beds, planted strawberries, rhubarb, raspberries, mint, tulips, daffodils, purple aliums, and more. Those bulbs and plants don't come up again until next year, and I don't want to lose them. We brought in garden dirt, started a compost, and planted trees." 

My husband voiced reason and hope, "God has always taken care of us, Jen. He will again." We talked for awhile of possible moves, of real estate issues, and I let myself grieve too.

"This is my dream home and yard," I whispered later at the table. Mark squeezed my hand, and the moment passed as five small children crashed underfoot, cousins rolling and playing around us, and my father-in-law ground beans in his wooden mill for the next batch of coffee. New family arrived and we tumbled into afternoons of coffee, pecan pie, moist fruit cake tarts, and hours of games and conversations.

Photo Credit to Becky Pratts

Late at night in a silent house, the fear and grief crept in again. Tucking my pillow under long damp hair, I reminded myself of the cure. This cure, I've found, is to remind myself of my God. Remembering again God's heart and his history fills me with hope and trust for the future.

Yes, it took eleven months for our last house to sell and to find this one -- but it's perfect. Look at his heart and extravagant gifts in that? He can do it again, Jennifer. You have savored this home and yard this last year and a half. 

That night, and this week, God brings to my mind memory after memory of where he has shown us his heart: anonymous checks of money in our early years of marriage written precisely in the amount we needed for rare unexpected bills; or tiny five year old Morgan with her cancer scare and His peace that came as a relief after our tight chest moments, even before a final diagnosis; donated vehicles weeks before its predecessor died; God's chasing heart in our own foolish wayward moments; and through it all, His tender re-threading of beauty from our raveled bits.

I pick up my pen each day now, and write line after line in my Gratitude (Gifts) Journal. My pen scratches both the easy-to-list good gifts (hot coffee, tumbling snowflakes, a family who knows You, safe travels, family laughter around the table) and the hard gifts -- the ones that cause anxiety to reach tall, grappling with my heart: (possibly losing our home = a chance to trust you, God; the need to sell and buy a new house = a chance to watch you, God). Thank you for this home, for these eighteen months here, and for each day.

At work today, I watch snowflakes fall and tuck my legs under me, picking up my Bible and this Gifts journal. I remember promises about Who this God is, and Who he says he is. Snippets from my Bible time catch my attention, and I write them quickly across the page. "I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I put my hope." "The Lord directs our path, our steps." "The fear of the Lord is a fountain of life..." "...A patient man has great understanding." "A heart at peace gives life to the body... "...The prayer of the upright pleases him." "All the days of the oppressed are wretched, but the cheerful heart has a continual feast." 

And my fear? It dissipates. Not in a Pollyanna-denial way, but by stepping back and reminding myself of who this God is, of what his heart is like, and by looking back at his history. 

The house issues are still there, and we prepare for two City Hall Meetings. But the fear? It dissipates.

What about you? What fears, stresses, or anxieties stalk you? Financial worries? Children's issues? Marriage struggles? Grab a pen and God's word with me, friends, and start writing out his gifts, will you? "Don't be afraid, you are worth more than sparrows..." "...The very hairs on your head are counted..." and "The Lord works everything out for his own ends." Even the tiny sparrows that are sold for pennies, he is aware of -- "not one of them is forgotten by God," he promises. And you? "You are worth more than sparrows."

What verses or truths do you grab when fear or anxieties creep in? (Those reading this in email can click here to join the conversation.)

A Cosmic Wager: A Dare Thrown Across the Galaxies

 And that's the cosmic wager. A dare thrown across the galaxies, between two ethereal spirit beings. Like dice in a cup, the stakes are set, and humanity tumbles into the bowl. With swift inhales, the invisible spirit world leans in for a better angle.

Before this, the parameters were set. Striding into God's throne room, the devil laughed off God's invitation to see his human friend, Job.

"He just loves you, God, because his life is good. Take it all away, though, and he'd curse you to your face" was the wager.

And poor Job. He gets to be a token human to answer this cosmic wager. Will Job only thank God for the good things, the easy things? Or will he still trust God's heart when all of life falls apart?

I was wrong before, by accident. Well, incomplete, maybe...

In an earlier post about "How Do I Thank God For That?" we wrestled with the hard things, you and I. We accurately explained I Thessalonians 5:18 which says "IN everything give thanks" but I forgot about a verse in Ephesians...
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His teeth glint red from the light of the tiny black palm recorder shoved against his mouth. Thumbing the record button, my son growls and chirps phrase after phrase into the plastic device, then grins at the playback feature. Garbled and staticky, his words ring out each time. There's a sense of satisfaction in that for him, this five year old, to have his story spoken aloud. He giggles and whispers more.
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I finished a new book today, a slim blue memoir fresh off the shelves from a Minnesota author. I was curious to read her work. Addie Zierman writes vulnerably of a teen journey of faith, of aching loneliness and depression, and of disappointments in the church community. I respected her candor and wished that we had had the chance to meet then, in those twists and turns she wrote of. The youth pastor's wife heart in me tore for the adolescent version of her and wanted to take her out for coffee. I took note too of how to compassionately reach out to teens and young people in similar circumstances. Zierman writes at the end of her book, "So I began to write about all of it...and, in the writing, I found structure... I saw connections I hadn't seen before..."
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Two years ago I started scrawling out thankfulness lists in a gratitude journal, counting gifts from God-- both the easy good gifts, and the hard gifts, in which I remember that God is big enough to use even this, and that his heart can be trusted. My list soon spiraled inconsistently into any writing surface: my journals, here on this blog, and in the Gratitude Notebook itself.

Last week, I pulled out Ann Voskamp's book One Thousand Gifts again, reading it anew, wanting to learn and relearn the habits of finding joy in the everyday life, of seeing even more intimately God's heart and love for the people he made. Ann dares us "to live fully right where you are" and to know that joy is always possible.

I've lost that daily practice of naming gifts and lost my original Gratitude Notebook, so today I grabbed pen and paper, and started a new list. In her arguments for retraining the mind in this way to stop, see, and name the gift, Voskamp compiles quotes from:

- the apostle Paul where he twice says, "I have learned how to be content...  I have learned the secret of living in every situation..." (Philippians 4:11-12).

-Erasmus who said, "A habit is overcome by habit" and

-Writer Annie Dillard who wrote, "Seeing is, of course, very much a matter of verbalization. Unless I call my attention to what passes before my eyes, I simply won't see it. It is ... 'not merely unnoticed, but...unseen'... I have to say the words, describe what I'm seeing...If I want to notice the lesser cataclysms of valley life, I have to maintain in my head a running description of the present" (Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts, 127, quoting Dillard).
                         
Words are powerful. They shape our perceptions, our memories, our identities. I choose how to see and frame my day, my family, my life, by how I stop, notice, and summarize my feelings, and by my response to the things around me.

Like five year old Daniel who is emboldened and authenticated by hearing his words repeated back to himself; like Zierman who found greater structure and connections in her life from the perspective of seeing it written out; and from my renewed challenge to see all of life as a gift from God, I'm writing it line by line.

Because what I missed last time? What I forgot, was this cosmic wager and this command in Ephesians: "Always give thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ" (Ephesians 5:20). FOR everything, not just IN everything. This is new territory to me, a truth I forget all the time, and work to re-learn.

Today is my chance to get ready for this cosmic wager, to train my mind to see, to note, to respond in trust. So I scrawl out thanks across the pages, thanking God for:
-sun splashing across my children's faces as they study
-hot coffee in my favorite mug
-a stable job
-9th grade science experiments at the stove with Morgan
-orchid buds swelling pregnant with life
-cars that run
- a warm house in Minnesota November

May writing out these words, these gifts, give me new perspective and train my heart to see His.

(Linking with Imperfect Prose.)

Revised: I've wrestled with this blog post throughout the night and throughout today again. My blithe easy gifts above seem incomplete and naive without addressing the hard gifts too. Hard things in our lives, and in our family's and friend's lives, like cancer, young deaths, hard marriage seasons, addictions, relationship issues, and more. And through them, I have become convinced of my God's loving hand, even while not understanding everything he allows to happen. And for that, I am stepping tremulously into thanking Him in everything, and learning to trust Him in trying to thank Him for everything. But, please extend grace, friends, as I still learn this? Maybe we can together walk this journey.

Photo credit: Creative Commons; Christmasstockimages.com 

A Scary Privilege: How We as Moms Set the Tone

This Saturday, it fell apart.

"Why is it that the day before a Youth Sunday, everything somehow goes so badly?" my husband asked, sliding a hand through his hair in exasperation. "It never fails."

Toddlers dissolved into tears; teens argued; but mostly it was me. I argued, raged, and dissolved into tears. In an embarrassing grocery store incident, a stranger snapped at us -- I responded-- then he apologized and gently hoisted kitty litter into our cart. My daughter and I flushed an embarrassed crimson and bagged rapidly, wanting just to be away from watching eyes. Stacking blueberries and lettuce heads, I heard his soft apology, and offered an embarrassed one of my own.

Changing my default of discontent to doxology, described by Ann Voskamp, author of "One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are," is not easy to master. I can so easily fall into complaining, whining, or indignant behavior.

At home, surrounded by a bounty of groceries and a wealth of old resentment and impatience, my family and I stopped, apologized, and started over. Choosing to see good in the day, in each other, in the gifts from our Creator, we stopped, apologized and started over. 

Peace settled slowly into our home, joy creeping in. 

Oh friend, can you relate? Have you noticed a direct co-relation between your mood and your family's moods some days? What helps you and your family in those times? (Those in email can click here to join the conversation.)

Linking with Ann and Emily.

Turkey Travelers: Heroes in Disguise

 

Snow lines my front steps, nestles into my leaf-strewn grass, and clings icily to the streets, creating new adventures for my novice stick-shift-driving skills. Striding into the grocery store, I hear the metal clanging of the season's first Salvation Army bell ringers. Minutes later, the pie tins and pecan pie ingredients in my grocery cart convince me that Thanksgiving is really here.

I spent this summer and fall reading Ann Voskamp's book One Thousand Gifts and practicing this new refrain of choosing moment by moment to pause, see, and name God's gifts back to Him --this romancing of us by the Lover of our souls. Suddenly having a single day to pause, focus, and name His gifts seems a natural continuation of this thought. This week, therefore, we slow down. We look and savor, naming, and thanking the Giver.

Thank you, God,
-for a husband who researched and repaired our dishwasher
-for a wonderfully warm house
-for His peace amidst change
-for delightful discussions with teen and toddler children
-for laughter with my husband
-for God's word being alive and active

This week, as you travel for Thanksgiving, join me in being heroes in disguise, will you? Remember the story a few posts ago of a simple phone call that helped bust a thirteen state human trafficking ring and rescued ten minors trapped in prostitution? By printing out and posting a few free posters in rest area bathrooms, and travel center plazas, we can help! Click print and then tape up 1-2 posters in bathrooms on your way to grandma's house this week. Please share this post with everyone you know. Let's be heroes in disguise this Thanksgiving. Thanks.

What about you? What are three things you are thankful for today? Let me know too if you print and post these posters along with me, will you? I'd love to rejoice with you in doing something helpful.

You Had Me at ...Avocados

He was waiting outside the bathroom door for me, flowers in one hand and two avocados in the other hand. I grinned and kissed him, pulling him close. It was our wedding anniversary, and my husband was speaking romance to me in my own language. Having lived overseas for many years as a kid, I crave mangoes, avocados, and guavas, yet the frugal woman in me hates splurging too often on the exotic produce. My husband knows me well and woos me in avocados!

YOU are being wooed and romanced too. You are studied, understood, and known intimately. The Artist knows your cravings, knows your sweet tooth desires, knows your hidden longings. He remembers what makes you smile. He records your tears, and cradles your broken heart. He woos you --woos US--like a Lover bringing flowers.

I am on a journey to see God's gifts, to thank him, to run to him. This journey, this new discipline, is exciting! The "dare to live life fully right where you are" renews my way of thinking, forces me to see the gifts, name them, and run to the Giver. My family has joined me in this. We now have a "Gifts"/gratitude book that we keep on our kitchen counter and add to daily as desired. It delights me to see various hand writings scrawl their gifts across the page... daughter, her friends, son, my visiting parents. Like a guestbook of naming gifts and thanking the Giver, the Artist, the Lover. He romances and woos us, like a husband holding flowers and avocados in my hallway.

 

What about you? What gifts have you seen from the Artist today? We counted a huge rainbow yesterday that spanned our sky, enjoying family today, sweet cantaloupe juice, laughter and games as a family, and "happy for a great summer," says my daughter.

Counting Gifts and Other Lessons from the She Speaks Conference 2011

The words dripped off her lips. Slowing her cadence, she naturally wove her story around us, drawing us in. "Open handed living is the only way to take the hand of God. Counting gifts changes my default of discontent to doxology. Never disdain the small; moments are what add up. A pen can be a cheap medicine. We are made to give thanks, to give him glory. Write 1000 gifts." "Give thanks to the Lord forever, His love endures forever. What is always the strategy? Gratitude, thanksgiving," breathed author Ann Voskamp.

Lysa Terkeurst, Glynnis Whitwer, and many others taught and inspired the 650 of us women last weekend at the She Speaks conference in Charlotte, North Carolina. Three days of workshops, keynote sessions  and networking times have swamped my brain. Dreaming to-do lists, writing imaginary thank you notes in anticipation of my printer being fixed, and brainstorming my next steps have made this week fly by. I pause in thankfulness though for my family, for this great conference, and for the joyful noises of Vacation Bible School children at my church this week.

Join me in this new adventure, will you? Naming gifts from God. Pausing the frantic pace to savor, name, and thank the Artist.
...for the sweet fragrance of a sun-swept toddler's cheek and curling tendrils of hair, nuzzling into my face
...for the vulnerable words of my willowy teen daughter, "Come look at my new book, Mom"
... for the rough face of my man, as I welcome him home from work