Pull your husband close and dance barefoot in the kitchen.
Cradle your littles and kiss those chubby cheeks.
Hug your tweens and tell them they’ll always be your baby.
Grab that teenager and tickle those stinky feet.
Pray in the car.
Point to Jesus.
Serve when it’s hard.
Choose love when it hurts.
Be thankful.
Gather your family for meals every day.
Speak life every chance you get.
Choose worship over worry.
Live,
Read,
memorize,
and teach your children
The Word.
Give honor to the One who created your family.
Fall in love with Jesus by falling on your knees.
Courageously pour hope into your home.
Stand your ground, mammas.
have a mother’s courage.
đIt means so much that you’re taking this journey with me.â¤
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I turned to Aaron last night and said, “If she goes home in April, I don’t think Iâll survive it, baby.”
Taking my hand, he said, “We’ll get through it.”
The depths of human emotion are astounding. As soon as you reach the bottom of the well, your soul strikes a geyser, emotions rush to the surface, shattering the limitations of how you thought you could ever feel, or give.
The number one comment I’ve received after becoming a foster mom is, “I could never do that. I could never love a child and then give them back. It would be too hard.”
I know some of you’ve said those very words to me. You know the first person to say this to me?
Me.
About a gazillion times before you opened your mouth, so don’t sweat it. I’m pretty sure my head will pop off like a Barbie doll when/if she isn’t with us anymore. SoâŚthere’s that.
I try not to think of that.
Oh, yes, sweet friends. You’re right, it’s hard.
Loving a child like they’re yours, but they arenât is like trying to settle untamed land. I’m unsure which attachments to let grow wild and where it’d be wise to put up some fences.
Is she supposed to call me, mommy? I’m not her mommy.
What do I say when someone says, âCongratulationsâ? She’s not adopted. In fact, she’s with us because of traumatic circumstances.
Knowing we’ll probably only have her for a season; the knowledge breaks and heals, gives and takes away. I don’t know how to feel, so I feel everything. It’s fascinating and difficult. Please, pray for me.
Some days lunge at me like a ginormous octopus. Emotional tentacles are yanking my gut, trying to reach a new understanding of what God’s love is really about. How can it spread in so many directions at the same time, with the same purpose? Is it even possible for me to love like him?
I promise I’m trying. I’m finding I don’t know how to successfully love my foster daughter, her birth mama, her birth daddy, her paternal grandma, the two social workers, three investigators, three lawyers, and the judge equally.
I’m failing.
Somewhere down the line, I’ve come to believe that if I love one too much, it will interfere with my love for the other. What if I love too hard, will the wells eventually dry up? I don’t want to find myself cracked and parched, unable to love brave again.
The word tells us, “For God loved the world, that he gave his only son,”(John 3:16)
In other words:
He loved, so he did a very hard thing;
He loved, so he gave what was most precious to him;
He loved, so he endured.
He loved, so he hung, his lips cracked, his mouth parched.
The veil was torn. His body was buried. But it wasn’t the bottom of the well.
When the world thought Jesus hit rock bottom, a bigger rock rolled away, and the fierce love of God rose up.
I’m learning we can’t put boundaries and borders upon God’s love. We’re the ones slapping labels on His callings: Too Hard. Not Worth It. I. Just. Can’t.
Of course, we can’t! Love wouldn’t be holy if we could accomplish it on our own. Only through Jesus, “For in him we live and move and have our being.” (Acts 17:28)
After our last failed adoption, I was convinced a piece of me would never feel again. I was wrong. The death in that experience gave birth to a new depth in me I didn’t know existed. Under the surface of that suffering was an understanding that God’s designed us for more. More perseverance, more strength, more wisdom, more hope, more fight, more courage, and abundant love.
He “is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us.” (Ephesians 3:20)
We’re made in the image of God. So our love story on earth should look a bit like his.
Because he loves, we’ll do hard things. And because he’s with us, we’ll get through it.
I heard the click of his light and waited for the invitation. Silence. Why wasnât my Eli calling for me?
Maybe heâs praying, or stretching, or reading with a book light? Was something wrong?!
Iâll tell you whatâs wrong – my boy is growing up. And Iâm not ready.
I crept out of bed and peeked into his room. He looked longer, his jaw a bit wider, with those man-boy feet (now bigger than mine) sticking out from his Star Wars blanket,
âAre you okay!? You didnât call me to âKentuckyâ you inâŚâ
He opened his eyes, cracking a smile. Had he lost all his baby teeth?
âOh, my goodness! Youâre freaking out, I just thought it was too late to call you.â He laughed. Apparently, my mama-meltdown was hilarious.
But something squeezed at my heart, âNever. Itâs never too late. You can always call me!â
And just like that, I realized my longing to be understood was much like my Heavenly Fatherâs. How many times had he sung the same ancient truth over my life- Itâs never too late, you can always call on me.
âThe Lord is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth. Then you will call, and the Lord will answer you; you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am Iâ (Psalm 145:18 NIV).
Being a mother reminds me Iâm made in the image of God. And although the love I feel for my kiddos is a teeny glimpse of His love for usâŚthereâs nothing on earth more consuming and eternal, besides God himself. Itâs that big. At times when Iâm desperate for my son to hear my words, God confirms -He feels the same way about me. His Spirit pleads, “Why arenât you calling on me, daughter?”
Heâs listening at the door of my heart while I sit in the dark, cold and unsure. Always present, but desiring me to utter His name, to invite Him to turn on the light. But I make excuses- Iâve waited too long, my need is too great, or the most dangerousâŚmy need is too small.
What areas of your life do you hold back from Godâs loving comfort? In what space do you prefer Him not to come? Where have you cuddled under the lie, âMy longing is too insignificant for Him to careâ? Push these things aside; theyâre smothering your access to child-like faith. All we need to do is, âcry for help, and He will say: Here am I.â
P.S. I reserve the right to tuck my “babies” into bed as long as they live under my roof. I’m fairly certain it’s in the Constitution somewhere…or a Dr. Suess book. Either way.
I was a cheerleader. Not the cool kind. When a routine called for the splits, Iâd lower my skirt to hide the fact I was several inches away from nailing it. I couldnât do a toe-touch. Iâd routinely jaunt across the quad with my skirt unknowingly tucked up under my backpack. Yeah.
One of our important cheerleading jobs was painting the ârun-thru” for the Friday night football game. This was serious stuff. We had to make life-altering decisions like: What should it say?! What colors should we use?! If we use too much paint, will it be too hard to tear?
A stampede of sweaty teenagers ran through this thing before theyâd compete. It signaled the battle of Friday Night Lights had begun; they were ready to face their opponents and build a legacy.
God asks us to do the same thing at times. He’ll require we charge towards a stronghold before announcing, âYouâre ready to step on the field.â
âThere is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavensâŚA time to tear down and time to buildâ (Ecclesiastes 3:1,3b).
Sometimes we must tear down before we can build up. The Hebrew word for âtear downâ in this verse is parats. In the tense used it means, to break or burst out (from womb or enclosure). So another way to understand this is, thereâs a time to burst out from whatever youâre stuck inside of.
Weâve got to break-through in order to build.
I found the same Hebrew word used nine other times in the context of increasing blessing or territory.
âThe little you had before I came has increased (parats, break or burst out) greatly, and the LORD has blessed you wherever I have beenâ (Genesis 30:30a)
Thereâs a blessing when we press past our comfort zones into new territory.
Whatâs stopping us from making that phone call, having the hard conversation, going to the adoption seminar, applying for that job, taking the first step towards healing our marriage? Maybe weâre too busy staring at the daunting banner in front of us, forgetting we have a banner over us. Moses declared, âThe LORD is my Bannerâ (Exodus 17:15). We are to lift up His name and bravely march forward.
Perhaps weâre too prideful thinking we can run through the banner by ourselves? Listen, it took a herd of sweaty young men to burst through our epic signs. Call the counselor or friend. Get in a small support group or Bible study. If you have a stronghold or complacent spot in your life, gather some people around you and address it. Life is moving forward with or without your participation.
Maybe weâre unwilling to put effort into breaking through our fears, selfishness, insecurities or haunting grief.
Itâs a shame really.
Because thereâs an epic battle going on among us, and we werenât made to stand on the sidelines. God can heal and equip, and he passionately desires to do so.
Letâs do the hard work of identifying the banners holding us back. Letâs be brave and learn to run full force at them, knowing on the other side is where weâre called to be living our lives. On the field, with our brothers and sisters, co-laboring with Christ to build things that are âtrue, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, graciousâthe best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not things to curseâ (Philippians 4:8-9 The Message)
Weâve got one life on this earth. One. Get in the good fight for the kingdom. Ask God to show you which areas you need to have a breakthrough and CHARGE!!
The Southern California rain surprised all humanity this year, giving my kiddos a false sense of hope, “Mommy, do you think they’ll close the schools because it’s raining?!”
Um, no. That’s not a thing.
The brown hills by our house have exploded into yellow flowers. They press on their tippy-toes waving hello. Maybe California should cancel school, offering a day to admire the new life with neighbors. Because when it comes to new life, we really go out of our way to celebrate it donât we? If we desire the company of new life, weâll find she always brings a guest.
Life and death sit side by side. So often we shoo the experience of grieving to the “obligatory guest” table. No one wants him at the partyâŚbut sooner or later, he shows up. I photographed weddings for years, and I promise you, there’s always a wacky relative in attendance (psssst… it’s your uncle). One wedding reception, the exuberant uncle was on the dance floor, flat on his back, pretending to look up the bride’s dress. Yeah. Sometimes grief acts like that guy. Meaning- he has no sense of social awareness. We find ourselves asking, who invited him anyways?!Â
But it’s not his fault. When we shove the process of grieving far into the burrow of our lives; he’s forced to rear his head at the most inconvenient times. Can you relate? The checker at Vons asks if you have bags and you burst into tears because you left them in the car. If grief wants your attention, heâs ruthlessly successful. Iâm finding that depriving him the attention he craves, only makes him fervently jump up and down.
let your grief take a seat
Iâve decided itâs best to offer him a space to be heard.
Learning to set a place for grief at our table is a grueling and powerful act of faith. But it needs to be done. Joy is painfully birthed out of sorrow. When we pull the chair out from under him and ask him to leave, weâre telling him heâs not important to our story; that he has nothing of value to add to the conversation. When in reality, God often uses our grief to scoot our chair closer to joy. God wants to speak to each of us through our sufferings.
Many believers experience guilt over admitting theyâre sad. The idea of feeling guilty for grieving is not biblical! We’re taught we should rejoice in our sufferings, to always be happy because we have Jesus. There’s truth here. However, the rejoicing does not negate the suffering- it accompanies it.
allow your grief to usher in joy
God has filled me with inexplicable joy over our new journey to be foster parents. But honestly, itâs the grief of failed adoptions that brought us here. Itâs impossible for me to separate my new joy from my concurrent grief. They’re powerfully intertwined. Have we forgotten that Jesus wept three times in scripture? Each time, coupled with an occurrence of great joy: before the resurrection of Lazarus (John 11:35); right after the triumphal entry into Jerusalem (Luke 19:41); and in the garden before his own death and resurrection leading to the salvation of mankind (Hebrews 5:7).
It is possible to sit next to joy and grief at the same time. Itâs healthy to look grief the face and âtalk it outâ or âcry it outâ or slap him in the face. Whatever you need to do to acknowledge theyâre times heâs going to come to dinner and you canât ignore him. Weâve got to deal. But we’re not alone. God’s table is big. It may mean we pull up more chairs for counselors or sisters in Christ to help us mediate the conversation. Or, maybe we need to excuse ourselves for a âprayer break,â or take a moment to wash our wounds in The Word.
As we become more intentional in setting a place for grief, we canât lose sight that where God allows sorrow, he assigns great joy.  “Weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning” (Psalm 30:5b)
God’s word beautifully reminds us that he’s with us in our suffering. Check out these Bible verses for inspiration: God’s Word-Marked by Love- Suffering
p.s. If the voice of your grief is consistently louder than the voice of your loving Father, you may be experiencing depression. They are not the same thing. Please feel free to message me and I would be honored to help you find a counselor.
Lord, search my heart, show me who I am without you.
I imagine picking up a penâŚ
Today, I lost it with my kids. Yesterday, I wished I had a bigger house. Sunday, I blamed my husband for my big mess up.
I quickly realize, there arenât enough hours to visit all my failings. My mental scribbles expand:
                          Wanting More.                           Ignoring God.                          Nasty Words.
My mind runs out of paper. But just as well; paper can’t hold the weight of the words. I imagine writing on massive stones: Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Envy. Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Disobedience. Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Complacency. Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Arrogance. Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Selfishness.
I see my desk covered with papers. Theyâre tumbling off, pressing against the walls and pouring out the windows like an avalanche. The stones have shattered my mirrors and cracked the tile floors.
My heart is sinking from the pull of my words; from the burden of my sin. But God shouts through the condemnation:
“And you, being dead in your trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, He has made alive together with Him, having forgiven you all trespasses, having wiped out the handwriting of requirements that was against us, which was contrary to us. And He has taken it out of the way, having nailed it to the cross.”(Colossians 2:13-14)
A man is coming. Heâs collecting my papersâŚone by one.
A man is coming. He lifts the heavy stones, balancing them on his back.
Thereâs something else on his back too.
A cross.
He leaves my house and painstakingly searches for my neighbors. They have a collection of papers and stones⌠just like me.
Not everyone lets him in. They sit atop their stones clutching their mass of papers and weep.
It breaks my heart. I know it breaks His more.
Now the man begins his climb. I know the story. You know the story. He carries his cross. I imagine him bearing the stones and crumpled papers scribbled with black sin.
He doesnât drop anything. Not a single thing.
He grips my written sin; the soldiers hammer nails through his hands.
Flesh pierced. Paper torn.
My selfishness: Nailed to the cross. My arrogance: Nailed to the cross. My apathy: Nailed to the cross.
Blood flows, drenching the papers in his hand, having wiped out the handwriting of requirements that was against me.
I watch every sin of my life nailed to the cross.
He took it all away, having nailed it to the cross.
He took it all away.
He took it all away.
He took it all away.
Amen.
I have baby onesies with no pudgy legs to fill them. I have space where I hung dresses for a job I didnât get.
Having empty space in our lives, doesnât mean weâre called to endure emptiness. Once a woman wept outside an empty tomb and was met by the hope of the world.
Remember Mary, the shamed woman whose heart was seen by Jesus? In Him, she was most likely cherished for the first time. Then she witnessed the desire of her heart mocked, beaten, and nailed to a cross.
Maryâs new identity was mercilessly pinned to a piece of wood. Her hope was in Jesus. And now it hung lifeless for the whole world to see.
Our desires may be holy and epic! For me, wanting to adopt is that one desire I feel Iâve been watching die a gruesome death. Itâs out of my hands. All I can do is stand aside and feel the fool for believing. Have you ever felt this way; that God entrusted you with a longing but it seems itâs a no-go?
Iâm guessing Mary may have felt this way. She proclaimed the hope of the world had come, and the next day they rolled a stone sealing His grave.
Still, she knelt outside the tomb, where her unmet expectations lay buried and dead.
Dying to self is a true death. And itâs OK to treat it that way. As long as we donât forget: We worship a God of resurrection!
Mary went to Jesusâ tomb, terrified and confused to find it hollow. She pleaded with the angels, asking where theyâd taken him. (John 20:11-18). Itâs not that she wanted Jesus to be dead, but itâs what she expected.
Sometimes, we’re so busy focusing on the hollowness of a situation…we miss the hallelujah!
Weâre so much like Mary. If weâve watched a desire of our heart be abused and buried, we visit the grave expecting it to stay that way forever.
We forget what hope looks like. When this happens, we can miss it staring us in the face.
Hope looks like Jesus.
Hope is Jesus.
Mary didnât even recognize Him when he appeared to her outside the tomb. She mistakes him for the gardener! (John 20:15) She was seized by the fact things didnât remain irredeemable. The world was whispering, “Whatâs the point? What you hoped for is still dead.”
But the world lies. Thereâs always a resurrection!  Whateverâs  lifeless, looks different after revival.
Jesus looked different. He was glorified. (Philippians 2:20-21) I think itâs why Mary didnât recognize Him right away.
Itâs the same with the desires of our hearts. Itâs not that they arenât lovely, but God has something planned to take our breath away! Something we havenât considered. Something impossible.
This. Is. Faith. Standing outside a graveyard and believing resurrection will come.
Weâre completing our Foster Certification. Something mind you, we said weâd NEVER do. God, through the past five years of loss and frustration, has been tirelessly crafting our powdered dreams into something completely different than what we expected to see. The idea of becoming Foster Parents was our equivalent of Mary mistaking Jesus for the gardener. We initially flipped out, âWhere have you taken our dead dream?!!â I just wanted to remain face down, ugly crying like Mary.
Sometimes, itâs easier to sit in disappointment then to step into the unknown. This is a big unknown for us! But I know the sweet face of hope. I refuse to mistake Him.
Weâre approaching a desolate space and expecting the impossible to happen.
Weâre expecting God to resurrect all that was lost.
Weâre expecting desires to look different.
Standing right in front of us, could be the glorified, holy, resurrected will for our lives.
Once, I swung open the front door of my mini-van, jumped inside, heard a growl, peeked over my shoulder and found myself face to face with two black dogs.
Seriously, who the heck put their stinkinâ dogs in my mini-van?!
Um. Yeah. Not my mini-van.
Itâs a bit terrifying how long it took to realize my mistake.
No one in the van was happy…and somebody definitely peed a little.
Hereâs the deal: Donât climb into someone elseâs mini-van uninvited. It doesnât matter how much it looks like yours. Same goes for our lives. Someone may appear to have a similar life, outlook, circumstance, parenting triumph or woe – but until youâve entered in, youâve no clue whatâs really going on inside.
Never assume. Itâs a waste of time. And donât barge in. Itâs too risky.
Wait to be invited.
This can be so tricky. Especially if the door of their life appears wide open. Â Dusty goldfish are pouring out, the leaking juice box under the backpack has puddled next to a runaway credit card. You just want to offering a suggestion…right?! Stop. There could be some snarling teeth in there. Someoneâs going to get hurt.
I canât tell you how many friendships in my life have been strained because weâve felt judged by one another. Â It makes all of us shut down and pull away. Ask yourself two questions:
Have I established mutual trust with this person?
If you havenât known this person long, and you get all up in their business, it can feel like judgement. It may not be your heart! But remember, they donât trust you yet. Itâs not fair to expect them to know your intentions. Be wise and hold your tongue. But love them like crazy. Be a constant in their life.
Has this person indicated they want your opinion?
I have friends who I know donât want my opinion- even though they love and trust me. Bummer is, Iâm still prone to give it. Weâve got to know our audience yâall. Â Itâs hard for this Italian/Irish girl to shut it down! Iâm learning at the speed of molasses â I need to discipline myself in this area.
Does your friend let her kids watch rated R movies at the age of nineâŚguess what?!
Thatâs not your mini-van!
Or maybe a friend doesnât believe in vaccinations, or home-school, or private school, or public school, or any school!!
Yeah. Thatâs not your mini-van either. Get out girl!
Itâs hard to be a mom these days. Everyone and every book out there hisses, âYouâre doing it wrongâ or, âYou can do it better.â Our generation has trouble trusting God can equip us properly.
We turn to the next, âHow to…â book, before we turn to Godâs book.
We ask Siri before we ask the Spirit.
I believe the enemy’s in this; undermining our God-given instincts to parent our children well. He uses social media, articles and most aggressively- he baits us to tear each other down. We don’t need to be another blasting horn of judgement towards our sisters! Godâs heart is for us to, âEncourage one another and build each other up.â(1 Thessalonians 5:11)
Donât know how to do this? I think it starts with less worrying about getting into someone elseâs life, and inviting them authentically into your own. Living out grace is a powerful witness and gift; loving people regardless of their parenting choices. If a friend does ask your opinion, it’s a safe place to practice honesty. Any fiery pups in her mini-van should know you well enough not to snap.
âLetâs baby wrestle! Iâll get on my knees and put one hand behind my back. You can fight normalâŚbut don’t tell Mom.â
My poor big brother; he desperately wished I was a boy. So I agreed, on several occasions, to âbaby wrestle.â
Why did I entertain this sibling wackiness?! Iâm sure a therapist would say it’s some quirky way of bonding. Whatever. Reality was, I knew- even though he was stronger than me, he wouldnât hurt me. He couldn’t, or I would tell Mom. It was my chance to “bring it” full force.
God welcomes our desire to wrestle, too. He wants us to run full force into his arms when we’re frustrated. Of course He’s stronger, but He won’t crush us. We can’t hesitate to step onto the mat; where unmet expectations lay sprawled out on the sweaty, sticky floor, and “bring it”.
Listen loves, thereâs no form of battle more intimate then wrestlingâŚ
Itâs grabbing hold; skin to skin, breath to breath, strength against strength.
Reaching out and seizing God – is seizing all that is good. But weâll never know if we donât engage in the communion.
Do you want to know God? You must be willing to honestly approach Him. Get in His face. Itâs beautiful, steadfast & glorious.
Do you want to know who you are? Accept wrestling with God is part of your refining. Jacob wrestled with God, and afterwards, God gave him a new name. (Genesis 32:22-32 & Hosea 12:4) It was in the wrestling God clarified Jacob’s identity. We could be missing a defining moment if we abandon the arena of connection with our Father in Heaven.
Three reasons we walk away:
Weâre full of pride. Deep down we think, whatever Godâs purposes are, itâs not valid enough for us. Therefore, weâve no desire to hear what he has to say. Weâre over it. Weâre over him. We love ourselves and our plan for life more than we love God. We truly think: heâs not worth the sweat; the conversation isnât worth our time. Simple as that.
Weâre full of misconceptions about Godâs character. God’s always good. But if one smidgen of our heart suspects heâs a bit evilâŚweâre not going to challenge him. We know heâs stronger and suspect heâll pin us down and punch us in the face. Maybe, weâve misunderstood what it means to âfear Godâ? Maybe, weâve confused loving discipline with punishment? But, somewhere along our journey, weâve believed the lie, âGod isnât always good.â
We think itâs a sin to bring our questions to God. Nowhere, I can find, is it a sin to communicate freely with God. However, itâs a matter of the heart. God sent his son, tearing down the veil separating us from direct communication with Him. He wants authentic relationship. He formed us in His imageâŚthe image that presses in and fights for intimacy. The image so consumed with the desire to be known, heâs moved space, time and history in order to touch us. Believe me: He wants to talk to you.
The majority of âfaith heroesâ in the Bible, in some manner, pushed back at God when they didnât understand his plan. Two elements of their wrestling are routinely evident:
They were humble enough to be honest. If youâre reading this thinking, I never question God in my heart, I always accept His plan without a struggle, I suspect youâre lying to God and yourself. If that was true, youâd have perfect faith. Youâre not Jesus, sister. And even in His perfect faith, he asked God if heâd be willing to change His planâŚthree times! (Matthew 26:36-44)
They trusted Godâs goodness. They knew Godâs love was permanent. Even in their unbelief, anger and sorrow-God’s plan wasn’t to walk away. Instead of pinning them down in His strength, God firmly cradled them until they understood he was not only God, but also loving Father.
If you receive anything from this read, hear this: Itâs better to run to God with your frustrations, then to run from Him in frustration. Take the first step onto the mat.
Iâve put together a list of helpful Bible verses to showcase youâre not alone in your wrestling with Godâs ways. FREE DOWNLOAD:God’s Word — Marked by Love
Dear ones,
Iâm writing you these truths because Iâve found myself huddled, in several seasons, in one of the âThree Reasons We Walk Awayâ camps listed. Itâs too much to break down in a simple blog post. I have a heavy burden on my heart for you if youâre in one of these spaces right now. Please message me.
We call it, âThe Dark Hole of our Marriage.â I was thirty and had birthed three kids in 2 ½ years. Everyone around me was a total jerk. Everyone. Other mammas, my mirror, the mailman, and especially that speed-walker dude on Kellogg. Trust me – but donât trust me. I hadnât slept and each day was a blur of diapers, feedings and potty accidents. It wasnât until I was thirty-three that I began to feel a bit human again. Kids were sleeping more; playing in the toilet less. I finally understood; maybe everyone around me wasnât really a jerk. Maybe the honking lady in the Sprouts parking lot truly cared my baby was rolling away with my shopping cart. Maybe.
Perhaps, they were just offering an oxygen mask to a suffocating girl.
Life’s truly a canvas of mountains and valleys. One of the greatest dangers for extreme mountain climbers is lack of oxygen to the brain. When this happens, they get disoriented and canât think clearly (Hello, motherhood!). They become incapable of ascending or descending the mountain alone. A fellow climber must place their own oxygen mask over the climberâs mouth and physically help them down.
This is how God designed fellowship to work. Because we all have âmountainsâ to climb, dear ones!
On some mountains, youâll be stronger than me. Your faith wonât falter. Youâll have a week when all the kiddos are healthy, and youâve had bunches of quiet time with Jesus. Your oxygen tank will be 100% full with a backup in the mini-van.
On other climbs, I might be honking at your kiddo in a runaway shopping cart.
But what is our spiritual oxygen tank filled with? Encouragement? Wise words? Dinner on the doorstep?
All of these are precious and certainly loving. But weâre talking about our sisters SUFFOCATING!!! I donât care how epic your baked pasta dish is, itâs not going to cut it.
Two things are made from the breath of God in the Bible: Mankind (Genesis 2:7), and Godâs word (1 Timothy 3:16).
This is no coincidence. When our spirits are gasping for air, we need the breath of Godâs word poured into us. But what happens when weâre too worn out to lift relief to our lips? Youâre not the only gal who struggles to find time to read Godâs word. But you donât need to collapse on the trail and declare it hopeless.
Look around for other climbers – other believers. Use what’s left in your lungs to cry out, âSomeone, please speak the word of God over my life right now!â
This is not shameful. This is brave.
Your life, your children, your marriage, your sanity, in some way, depend on your ability to recognize, youâre too exhausted to ascend higher by yourself. Some days, weâll need a sister to hoist us up, press the word of God upon our lips and carry us straight to Jesus.
And if this isnât you right now, get ready for a search and rescue season! I guarantee thereâs someone with an empty oxygen tank on your trail. Scoop them up, speak Godâs truth into their life and take them to the King.
He didnât ask me to tuck him in last night.
I was a cheerleader. Not the cool kind. When a routine called for the splits, Iâd lower my skirt to hide the fact I was several inches away from nailing it. I couldnât do a toe-touch. Iâd routinely jaunt across the quad with my skirt unknowingly tucked up under my backpack. Yeah.
