What Is True
I have yet to update the blog for the new year, and it is quite simply because we have been busy and we have been sick (collective coughing and nose blowing). I've discovered that when I have mucus pouring out of all my facial orifices, all I really want to do is read novels and disappear for a while from my own snottiness. Unfortunately, life goes on even while you're sick. Trips are made, children are taught, meals are cooked, errands are run, and you use up the box of tissues you'd bought for yourself and start toting around a roll of toilet paper in your purse because--let's be honest--you already live in a trailer by the bayou so standards have lowered dramatically. But in between life, I get to read novels and check out for a bit before I tackle the next thing.
Still, it's a good year already, snot and all. There are a lot of reasons that I say this, but the main one is that this year (with all that will come with it) is the year that God is giving, and because I choose to believe that he is a good father who gives me bread and not a rock, I can keep my eyes open to look for the good gifts that he's giving me even when hard things come. It also happens to be a year when I can choose to remember the incredible gift of the gospel (that Jesus came to save us--and he has done it) day in and day out, and allow myself to be encouraged by this truth and to encourage others as well.
It's a good year because it's the year the Man and I hit a full decade of parenting (though sometimes it seems impossible that it's already been that long and other times it seems impossible that it's only been that long). It's a good year because it's a year when we will meet new goals, enjoy old friendships, forge new ones. For us personally, it will include a move with all the challenges and joys that entails, but before that will be a few more months to really revel in the incredible community that God has given us here and to squeeze out every bit of joy that we can before we go. It's a good year because we have no idea what impossible miracles God can do over the next twelve months, and no idea what impossible circumstances he will allow so that we can draw closer to him and find out just how satisfying he can still be--even in the midst of pain and heartache and loss.
This morning, I'm writing to remind myself of the truth more than to share these truths with you. Because sometimes, even when we know the truth of things, our human emotions and our limited perspectives make it hard to remember: and so we wake up in the morning and we thank God for the cat barf that motivated us to get out of bed and we make ourselves a cup of coffee and we choose to tell ourselves the truth, over and over again, instead of getting back in bed or hiding from ourselves in the pages of a novel. Even when it's cold outside or our noses are runny or we feel that the very fabric of our personal selves has been worn to bare threads by what is only the very, very beginning of what could turn out to be a very, very long year. Even then, we tell ourselves the truth because we know that the truth will set us free.
But I have an invitation for you today, if your cat didn't barf all over the floor and a pair of tennis shoes that your second son left out last night: if you are having trouble telling yourself the truth today (or tomorrow or the next day), call a friend or text or email or grab them by the hand (it can be me if you need it to be), and just say these words: I'm struggling right now; can you help me remember what is true? And then remind each other. Make a list. Even if it's short. Even if it's small things like: today I got out of bed, today God is still God (which means he is in control and I am not), today I am still fearfully and wonderfully made (no matter how I feel), today I am a sinner in need of a savior--and Christ has already come to fulfill that need. Some of those may not actually be small once you start thinking about them.
Tell yourself the truth today. And maybe invite a friend to help you if your own small voice is getting lost in the space between your ears and your heart. As for me: this is a good day (in a good year) because God is good--and the rest of the fears and concerns vying for preeminence in my mind don't matter quite so much. Today I choose to let this truth permeate my reality of math lessons and used tissues and messy beds and constant coughing. I choose to let it change me, even if it doesn't necessarily change the way I feel yet.
Still, it's a good year already, snot and all. There are a lot of reasons that I say this, but the main one is that this year (with all that will come with it) is the year that God is giving, and because I choose to believe that he is a good father who gives me bread and not a rock, I can keep my eyes open to look for the good gifts that he's giving me even when hard things come. It also happens to be a year when I can choose to remember the incredible gift of the gospel (that Jesus came to save us--and he has done it) day in and day out, and allow myself to be encouraged by this truth and to encourage others as well.
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| I love this picture because it looks like the cloud is eating the rainbow. |
It's a good year because it's the year the Man and I hit a full decade of parenting (though sometimes it seems impossible that it's already been that long and other times it seems impossible that it's only been that long). It's a good year because it's a year when we will meet new goals, enjoy old friendships, forge new ones. For us personally, it will include a move with all the challenges and joys that entails, but before that will be a few more months to really revel in the incredible community that God has given us here and to squeeze out every bit of joy that we can before we go. It's a good year because we have no idea what impossible miracles God can do over the next twelve months, and no idea what impossible circumstances he will allow so that we can draw closer to him and find out just how satisfying he can still be--even in the midst of pain and heartache and loss.
This morning, I'm writing to remind myself of the truth more than to share these truths with you. Because sometimes, even when we know the truth of things, our human emotions and our limited perspectives make it hard to remember: and so we wake up in the morning and we thank God for the cat barf that motivated us to get out of bed and we make ourselves a cup of coffee and we choose to tell ourselves the truth, over and over again, instead of getting back in bed or hiding from ourselves in the pages of a novel. Even when it's cold outside or our noses are runny or we feel that the very fabric of our personal selves has been worn to bare threads by what is only the very, very beginning of what could turn out to be a very, very long year. Even then, we tell ourselves the truth because we know that the truth will set us free.
But I have an invitation for you today, if your cat didn't barf all over the floor and a pair of tennis shoes that your second son left out last night: if you are having trouble telling yourself the truth today (or tomorrow or the next day), call a friend or text or email or grab them by the hand (it can be me if you need it to be), and just say these words: I'm struggling right now; can you help me remember what is true? And then remind each other. Make a list. Even if it's short. Even if it's small things like: today I got out of bed, today God is still God (which means he is in control and I am not), today I am still fearfully and wonderfully made (no matter how I feel), today I am a sinner in need of a savior--and Christ has already come to fulfill that need. Some of those may not actually be small once you start thinking about them.
