Convicting creatures

If you've ever spent any time with a child, it comes as no surprise to you when I say they can be convicting creatures.

"Go pick your shoes and socks up off the floor."

"You forgot to use your manner words?!"

"I did, you're right. Go pick your shoes and socks up off the floor, please."

Then there's the moment when you drop a glass cup on the tile floor, sending shards of glass and streams of water e-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e...

"*&^%!," exclaimed ever so softly, with a firm hope nobody caught that outburst of frustration...

"Neanea! Remember to only use nice words, even when you're made or sad."

Fifteen more explicative words roll across my mind as I reconsider a less stringent "nice word" policy and simultaneously confess, "You're right. I should try really hard to use nice words, even when I'm upset. I'm sorry I said that."

Least I forget those nights when I'm worn out from cooking a healthy meal and juggling life and I'd desperately like to substitute my own protein and vegetables for a cup of coffee and a tablespoon of peanut butter...

"Ummm, remember Neanea, if you don't eat a good dinner, you won't grow to be big and healthy and strong and I want you to be healthy with me forever!"

"You're right, let's eat together," I say as I roll my eyes with resignation and wonder how kids can possibly be so *&^% observant. There went the "nice word" policy for the tenth time today.

Being an appropriate role model and trying to instill values in children is so much easier said than done. I really wish I could live by the, "Do as I say, not as I do" conviction, but I'm afraid it doesn't cut the mustard... at least not with the kids I'm blessed to be around. I'm convinced kiddos either make you better, or they make you bitter, and I want to be classified with the later group.

Friday night, I had a seven year old with an upset tummy. He was in tears, and I tried every desperate trick in the book to relieve his pain. It finally occurred to me that we should pray. Now, don't imagine me with a gold crown yet, because I have to be painfully honest... I wasn't exactly praying because I had the faith to move mountains in that moment, but because I've taught him that we can and should talk to God about everything. The "everything" on Friday night happened to be an offer of prayer for his tummy troubles, because that was the "right" thing to do.

We prayed and continued our snuggles, and it wasn't five minutes later that the crying subsided and little man pipes up, "Well! It looks like our prayers worked. My tummy feels better. I think I can go to bed now." Just like that, very matter-of-fact, as if I should have expected any other result, the seven year old recognized the God of his moment, and I recognized the shortcomings of mine.

Kids are convicting creatures.

I don't know what it is that keeps kids so genuine, so tender-hearted, and so true, but it inspires me. Obviously, it inspired Jesus, too:

At that time, the disciples came to Jesus and said, "Who then is greatest in the kingdom of heaven?" And He called a child to Himself and set him before them, and said, "Truly I say to you, unless you are converted and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven. "Whoever then humbles himself as this child, he is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven."
Matthew 18: 1-4

I need that, you know? I need that child-like, humble faith that believes God for the mountains and the mole hills; the impossible and the insignificant; the Friday nights and the Sunday mornings.

The past four weeks I've seen trials and tribulations in my life and the lives of those around me. Collectively, we've tasted death and sickness and addiction and brokenness. We've walked lonely and seemingly devastating paths. We've cried out to God for answers, and we've pleaded with God for mercy. Friday night was a reminder that He sees all of it- not one minute of one day has escaped Him the last month. He's not surprised or caught off guard or taking the summer off.

We matter to Him. Our families matter to Him. Our hearts matter to Him. And despite all of our shortcomings and frailty, He invites us to His lap. Just like the boy so many years ago, we can sit on His lap, in the arms of our oh-so-good Daddy God. The "becoming" child in me accepts His invitation.

Thank you, God, for those convicting creatures you've filled my life with.

Psalm 34
I will bless the Lord at all times;
His praise shall continually be in my mouth.² My soul will make its boast in the Lord;
The humble will hear it and rejoice.
³ O magnify the Lord with me,
And let us exalt His name together.

⁴ I sought the Lord, and He answered me,
And delivered me from all my fears.
⁵ They looked to Him and were radiant,
And their faces will never be ashamed.
⁶ This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him
And saved him out of all his troubles.
⁷ The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear Him,
And rescues them.

⁸ O taste and see that the Lord is good;
How blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him!
⁹ O fear the Lord, you His saints;
For to those who fear Him there is no want.
¹⁰ The young lions do lack and suffer hunger;
But they who seek the Lord shall not be in want of any good thing.
¹¹ Come, you children, listen to me;
I will teach you the fear of the Lord.
¹² Who is the man who desires life
And loves length of days that he may see good?
¹³ Keep your tongue from evil
And your lips from speaking deceit.
¹⁴ Depart from evil and do good;
Seek peace and pursue it.

¹⁵ The eyes of the Lord are toward the righteous
And His ears are open to their cry.
¹⁶ The face of the Lord is against evildoers,
To cut off the memory of them from the earth.
¹⁷ The righteous cry, and the Lord hears
And delivers them out of all their troubles.
¹⁸ The Lord is near to the brokenhearted
And saves those who are crushed in spirit.

¹⁹ Many are the afflictions of the righteous,
But the Lord delivers him out of them all.
²⁰ He keeps all his bones,
Not one of them is broken.
²¹ Evil shall slay the wicked,
And those who hate the righteous will be condemned.
²² The Lord redeems the soul of His servants,
And none of those who take refuge in Him will be condemned.

Life happens today

The timeline of life is sometimes a thing to be grasped. We're born, we grow up, and we cease to be. For most, that progression occurs over decades; for others, that time is seemingly too short. Yet, no matter the lifespan of any one individual, we all share the common thread of time. Twenty-four hours in a day, seven days in a week, and three hundred and sixty-five days in a year. How is it, then, that a month or a year can pass us by so quickly? How many times have you asked, "Where has the time gone?"

The answer is simple. Life happens, time passes, in the moments. It is in the mundane and the extraordinary, the quiet and the chaotic, the sweet and the sorrowful that our life unfolds. I think if we could truly frame each moment of our day as worthwhile, we might live out our days differently.

I've been wresting this concept for weeks. Often times I get too carried away by the items on my agenda and the demands of life that I neglect the art of living and the blessing of being alive. I navigate through the week by going and doing and completing and achieving and acting and intervening, and then meet the weekend with a sense of exhaustion and dread. Monday always rolls back around and I often feel as though I've depleted all my energy, but incurred no substantial gains. It's an endless, vicious cycle, and I found I had to deal with it before it wasted me.

Somehow, I feel like I'm not alone. The advertisement industry has made billions from our "Western way of life." Just yesterday I was half listening to a commercial promising to eliminate the stress of preparing dinner with one simple meal gadget. "Feed your family, fast, with this new thingy-ma-bob, and you'll have extra time to spend on those  more important things that lack." It struck me wrong. I wrote a college essay once about the importance of the family dinner table, and my opinion hasn't waivered; husbands and wives and moms and dads and kids need to eat at least one meal together each day, period. Why is it that American families allow themselves to become so pressed for time that "more important things" trump honest communion with the ones we love? What is that thing that steals your moments?

You must understand my intentions; I'm not attacking busy lifestyles...I live one. I simply think we're losing so much life and vitality in between the pages of our day timers. I think our love, drive, and service are misguided. I think it's okay to admit that we can't do it all. I think we need to give ourselves permission to thrive instead of merely navigating through life in survival mode.

To help manage the juggle, I've implemented a few "house rules," which I gleaned from Kerri Weems book Rhythms of Grace. For the record, it's totally worth the read.

1. I disable the e-mail on my phone when I'm done working for the day. Our business is across several time zones, so cutting everyone off at 5pm central isn't exactly feasible; however, putting a start and stop time on my e-mail responses has freed up more of my evenings
2. I set daily goals- not unrealistic goals or a rigid to-do list, but a manageable list of things I'd like to accomplish. This keeps me focused while simultaneously freeing me from the from the relentless striving with which I'm too familiar. Once I've tackled everything on the list, I allow myself to relax instead of forcing myself to get ahead. I think it's also worth mentioning that I list a bedtime as the "end all" goal of the day. Whatever doesn't get finished gets rearranged, and I still get sleep. It's a beautiful setup.
3. I try to set aside one day where I don't have any goals. It's called "rest," and I think God had it right when He took a day off. If we're being honest, this whole concept intimidates me greatly, and it's still very much "in process," but I'm gravitating more towards it everyday. I can say with complete assurance that I don't regret a single day I've taken to rest, or at least not in retrospect. It's hard to say no. It's hard to be still. It's hard not to feel wasteful while sitting on the front porch soaking in sunshine and reading a good book, but it's redemptive, energizing, and restorative to my often times overwhelmed heart.

Life is a gamble, folks, and time is our great wager. May you and I play our cards well.

An every day Easter

Easter is over.

Jesus has risen.

The kids are hyped up on sugar.

You survived one more holiday meal with the in-laws.

Now what?

I'll be honest, this particular post has been a tricky one. It started days ago,  and after several revisions and real life moments, I'm starting over. Primarily because this Easter changed me; it's been the most impactful and relevant Easter of my twenty-something years, for a host of reasons still too precious to share. Still yet, this blog draws transparency out of me like a salve.

Eight days ago, I began to frame my week with a mindset of "Easter actually." I yearned to move beyond the typical, dearly held religious traditions and into something deeper. Something real. Something personal. Something that extends beyond Lent and Passover and Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday. My honest longings brought me to a place of examination. I began to weigh the delicate balance between the crucifixion and the Easter Bunny, and I pondered how to address it in my home. I read these flagrant articles about the woes of pagan traditions, and then decided maybe the religious dogma wasn't for my family. I've seen lots of artistic interpretations of Jesus and children, and not one of them gave me the impression that Jesus was the anti-joy, anti-egg-hunt type of guy. I just about had it all figured out when I decided maybe I was wrong. Too irreverent. Too laissez-faire. Too simple in my appreciation of the risen Savior.

So day by day, I sat quietly and waited. I soaked in the Easter story over and over and over. I wept over its implications. I basked in moments far too grand for words. And on Thursday, when the revolving door of children started its spin, I didn't have a clue how to handle things, but I had peace. We studied together; we talked together; and we dyed eggs together. We made cookies for the Easter Bunny. We opted to do a balloon release so Jesus would receive our "thank you" letters all the way up in heaven. We did church in the park. Still yet, I still doubted myself. I doubted my methods. I doubted the vastness of God to overcome any of my well-intended shortcomings...

...and then God stepped in.

I was doing a few dishes Sunday afternoon and the house was relatively calm, all things considered, when a precious seven year old boy wrapped his arms around me and said, "Neanea, I wish we could celebrate Easter everyday."

Pause. Consider that for a moment.

Easter everyday? I think that's precisely what we've been missing.

Easter is wonderful, but what about the other 364 days of the year? Why do most people, myself often times included, live as though the power of the cross is only effective on Sundays? Or maybe even the Sunday? When Christ muttered, "It is finished," I think he simultaneously breathed hope into the universe, and sometimes, I miss the boat on that enormous truth.

Sin is finished.
Death is finished.
Hopelessness is finished.
Torment is finished.
Sickness is finished.
Loneliness is finished.
Despair is finished.
Addiction is finished.
Brokenness is finished.
Defeat is finished.
Satan is finished.

Jesus came to redeem us, ransom us, and restore us. He deliberately stole the keys of hell and the grave,  and He reigns victorious still, despite what it oftentimes looks like. Yes, our final restoration is coming, but I don't think we have to wait for heaven to experience any of it. I think He desires us to pursue that "it is finished" bit here and now. Friends, He's won the war. Let's go to battle against the darts of a tangled life. Let's taste and see that the Lord is good. Let's stand up to the lies of the enemy. Let's own our identities as King's kids.

And most of all, let's live Easter every day. White fluffy rabbit and absurd amounts of candy included. Obviously, Jesus can handle it.