Not a Speedbump

A few weeks back we got together for our weekly dinner with Darryl and Charlene Dash, and during the course of the evening, ended up doing an internet personality test for fun. When mine--not surprisingly--came back saying that I thrive on security and stability, Darryl jokingly asked what ever made me want to get involved in church planting. I didn't have a snappy comeback then (apparently, I'm not quick on my feet either). But as it happens, the very next morning our security and stability was tossed to the wind as we received news that we were going to need to move from our condo when the lease is up in April. While not totally a surprise (we had been warned of the possibility a week before), it was certainly not what I originally had in mind for this year. I confess that I had been looking forward to a year devoid of moves and surgeries (still hopeful on that front) and other large changes. A year of relative safety and stability. Hard work, of course, but nothing too unpredictable.

God had other plans.

Sabbath Rest

For the last several months, we've been making a point of taking one day a week to spend time together as a family and enjoy a brief vacation from our regular work and tasks. We catch up on some sleep, read books, watch something worthwhile, play a game with the kids, and enjoy each other's company without the distraction of normal household duties. This takes some discipline, of course. It means that I need to have the house relatively tidy and the laundry done (and put away) by the night before. It means planning simple meals ahead of time or picking up some food so I don't spend the day in the kitchen (or at the store). But it's been worth the harder work and planning to have a day when I can lay all those normal cares aside and rest my mind and body in preparation for another week of busyness and work.

However, I've noticed something else that has cropped up with the Sabbath resting, too--something not so helpful. I've begun to catch myself putting my reliance on getting that day off, putting my trust in the chariot of extra sleep and the horses of relaxation. "I can get through this coming week," I think, "if I can just have this one day of peace and quiet."

But the fact remains that--try as hard as anyone might--normal life is no great respecter of Sabbaths, especially if there are kids around to enjoy them with you. Just the other week, after a pleasant full night of sleep and the expectation of a lovely day of R&R, Nathan had to run out briefly to help a friend. No sooner was he out the door when my dreams of refreshment were rudely dashed by The Great Diaper Explosion, which cruelly combined itself with a clogged drain and the previous night's bed-wetting accident (not mine) to create a Sabbath morning of laundry piles and shower scrubbing (and all this while pancakes were burning and children were screaming about all the upheaval). Yes, all-in-all a very restful Sabbath morning! Just what the doctor ordered....

Horses and Chariots

Where are you going to get your strength from today? I know many of us have the stock answer "God", but how often is it truly true? I have to admit that I'm far too often likely to look to other things instead: a good night's sleep, a little alone time, an effective workout, a balanced budget, a productive day, some well-behaved children, another cup of coffee, or maybe hope of a coming spring...

When I first started studying through Isaiah, I read those passages about putting your trust in idols made by human hands, or the horses and chariots of your allies, and thought, "Oh, well of course that's pretty stupid." And then, of course, I had to immediately consider how "stupid" I can be on a daily basis. We certainly don't have any room for horses or chariots (or anything of good size) in our condo. I don't talk to wooden statues, or look to their help to get through the trials of my day. But I still have horses and chariots and idols in less taking-up-space-in-my-living-room forms. Idols aren't just things we love more than God, things we spend more time on than God. Idols also include the things we look to for strength when we should be looking first to God. When things are tight financially, I get strength from adding up all the figures in my head one more time, just to make sure (that I'm in control). When I'm wiped out from an afternoon of disciplining rowdy children, a little "me time" and a good cup of tea or coffee provide comforting respite. When the to-do list is growing, I get my satisfaction and energy from being able to plow through it in a good day of hard work. When the winter blahs are pulling me down, I long for the arrival of some warm air and the little green buds on the trees.

Dear Mothers, Pastors' Wives and Other Invisible Servants

Do you ever wonder about the value of your backstage service? 

It's been a season of some "invisibility" for me around here, and I'm feeling it. There have been events I wanted to be at, times I wanted to meet people and be a tangible part of our work here, and for one reason or another, I've ended up home alone with the kids while Nathan took part. Cold January nights alone have a way of making you question whether you're really as valuable to a ministry as those people who get to be the mouth-pieces, the leaders, the visible ones. And I know the sinfulness of my desire for human recognition and jealousy of those who are chosen to be on the visible front lines while I serve in the background, but that doesn't mean I don't still struggle with these feelings from time to time. So this week, I needed a reminder from myself... As our former pastor is fond of saying, "Don't forget in the darkness what you believed in the light." My post today is a letter I wrote years ago in a season of light to another ministry wife (somewhat adapted). It's written to a wife and mother, but these things really apply to any of the silent servants in the church.

Dear friend,
I think the desire to do something "noticeable" is a pretty common struggle for mothers, and is probably felt more in women whose husbands are in public ministry, because we see our husbands getting noticed all the time. While this is not a current struggle for me, it is certainly something I have struggled with in the past, and I'm sure will struggle with at times in the future [Ha! Here we are!], so the following words are as much a reminder and preparation for me as they are, hopefully, of help and encouragement to you.

Beautiful Scars?

There's a post floating around the internet lately which combats the view that babies ruin your body, arguing that really all those pounds, stretch marks, back pains and possibly caesarean scars are beautiful because they bring about the joy of motherhood. And I certainly agree that if your main reason for avoiding pregnancy is to avoid any physical scars associated with it, your priorities are a little off.

But the other day, I noticed my own stretch marks in the mirror. Mine don't come from pregnancy. To be honest, I don't know where they come from. Because they're on my back, I'd never really noticed them until shortly after my wedding when my husband pointed them out (he was a newbie--forgive him). Those scars come somehow from living life and they didn't produce any momentous joy that I'm aware of. Of course, I don't think about those marks most of the time. They're not visible to most people and they've never caused me any pain. But I know a lot of others with more serious scars. My husband has a nice long scar on his leg from major knee surgery last year. My father has a long scar down his chest from emergency quadruple-bypass surgery a few years ago. I have family and friends with scars left from mastectomies. There are the women whose stretch marks did come from pregnancy, but which only serve as a continual reminder of the baby they had to lay in the ground. And then there are the invisible scars that we all carry to some degree--whether they be from broken relationships, abuse, our own sin or catastrophic events outside our control. Live more than a couple years on this earth and you'll get yourself some scarring.