How To: Make God Tired (in one easy step!)

Tonight I am tired.

The window unit kicks on and blows cold, wet air on me.

But I can't sleep. It's still too hot.

My husband is snoring away upstairs. Yes, he snores. Only occasionally, only very faintly, but I suspect he's acclimating me to consistent bedtime "music." Probably, by the time he's sixty, it will be like he's operating a buzz-saw right next to me every night, but I won't even notice. I'm like the frog in a pot of gradually warming water...

I have a sneaking suspicion I snore, too. I woke myself up the other night with a snort. It's only the beginning. Old age is creeping in. Soon we'll just be two peaceful buzz-saw-ers. Sleeping side by side. Amidst a cacophony of snorts. But for now...

I can't sleep. I'm tired... But no sleep.

Did you know that God gets tired?

Yeah.

I'm not joking.

God actually says, "I am weary."

(Yes, I know. Infinite power, infinite stamina, infinite control... he doesn't really get tired. But wait. He does.)

The people of Judah are beaten. Demolished. Wracked by war. In desperation, they turn to God.

And they exhaust Him.

Every day, in and out of His courts they come. Sacrifices, special feasts, sacred holidays... the whole nine yards. They do it all. You do church on Sunday morning? Good for you. Now do it Sunday evening, Wednesday evening, and reserve Friday nights for special dinners. Make Christmas bigger. Observe Easter more. Do. It. All. Do it more. Put on your holy face. Wear your fancy clothes. Serve everywhere.

And you will make God tired.

In Isaiah 1, God is done. He is fed up. His precious people? He compares them to Sodom and Gomorrah: two cities that He burned. With fire. From heaven. Yikes.

Why? Because they were off throwing raucous parties? Because they ignored Him? Because they didn't wear the right clothes? Because they forgot to visit the temple?

No.

Because they did visit the temple. Listen to all these people were doing. It's a little exhausting. One wonders when they got a vacation from all this "holiness." They were doing:
multitude of sacrifices,
burnt offerings of rams,
fat offerings,
blood of bulls/goats/lambs,
frequent appearances in His temple (so frequent and so well-attended, he calls it "trampling"),
incense,
new moon celebrations,
Sabbath observances,
solemn assembly,
appointed feasts

They were doing it all.

Isn't that what God wanted?

No.

God says, "I have had enough.... I do not delight [in this]... [it is] an abomination to me...I cannot endure... my soul hates [this]...they have become a burden to me; I am weary of bearing them."

They made God tired with their goodness.

Because, you see, God never wanted all that. He doesn't want church, and good behavior, and pious songs, and holy faces. He doesn't care how many service projects you've done or how many times you've said, "I'll pray for you."

He wants purity.
He wants brokenness.
He wants true, raw, honest repentance.
He wants life change.
He wants sin to be relinquished.
Seek justice.
Learn to do good.

Then all those other things? The church, the serving, the prayer? Well, I suspect they come quickly after the repentance. But then, when they come, they will flow from joy and delight in God, rather than from a desire to manipulate Him.

“Come now, let us reason together, says the Lord:

though your sins are like scarlet,

    they shall be as white as snow;

though they are red like crimson,

    they shall become like wool.

 

If you are willing and obedient,

    you shall eat the good of the land;

{Isaiah 1:18,19}

You don't have to do that on your own... All of that striving, all that work... God just wants a broken heart, hands wide-spread, and humility in the air. He will do the hard work of removing your sins. Just come. Just ask. Just bow down. Plead for clean. Plead for change. Plead for a broken heart. Ask to be repentant. Sometimes we don't want that. God knows. He will strengthen any desire, no matter how feeble. Just ask... Ask to be willing.

Next to me, my Bible sits open. God has been hammering me recently. Working me over. Disciplining my soul. He's asking me for tenderness, for consistency. He's peeling away layer after layer after layer of disgusting, calloused sin. And just when I think I'm raw, broken, and completely humbled, He finds another layer. It's not pretty. It's nasty. And it's really, really painful.

But this tenderness? This quiet resting in Him? This deepening understanding of my God? It's worth it. It's amazing. It's revitalizing.

Pray.

Pray for revival.

It may be brutal.

But you're going to love it.

Otherwise, please feel free to exhaust an infinite God... It's not a new game. And it's pretty easy to play.

Photo Journal {July 2014}

Motherhood is working me over.

I'm in a love-hate relationship with my current path of sanctification. I love that it involves cuddles and baby kisses. I hate that I haven't finished a chore uninterrupted in months.

My wise mother used to say, "Motherhood makes you work on patience like nothing else will."

I, in my complacent self-satisfaction, always thought, "I spend all day, every day, working with special needs children and grumpy old men on ventilators. I'm fairly confident that motherhood isn't going to be a stretch in the patience department."

But what my mama was really saying was, "Find your weakest area. See that? There? Okay... that's where motherhood is going to camp out, jump up and down, and stretch you until you're unable to do it on your own."

So, sure. Patience. Not necessarily a weakness (although even "strengths" break down occasionally in intensive parenting!).

Self-discipline? Perseverance?

Ah.... there's my soft spot.

Try being persistent when there is no fruit.

Yesterday, I tried to clean. In the entirety of my day, I painted one door, two pieces of trim, and put a load of laundry in the washing machine.

that. is. all.

How hard is it to remain disciplined and to persevere when there is no benefit? No blessing? No check mark on your to-do list? Pretty dang hard. (Pardon my Christian expletive...)

But just when I wonder if I'm growing, my son shouts, "I love you!" from across the room, Bitty Bets learns how to eat a banana (and only up-chucks once!), and I'm reminded that of all the "refining fires" I've been in, this is the best. The hardest? Yes. But the best.

So, I haven't written a scrap in months, but I'm learning bucket-loads. Two months late... here is our July in pictures. Someday I'll create again. Until then, I'm so thankful that God never stops "creating" in me!

For now... I need to go vacuum up the remains of breakfast, probably with an infant strapped to me, and a toddler "helping" with the vacuum.

TIA AND OMA CAME TO VISIT! And clearly, Bets has joined the "Tia Fan Club."

This child. She cracks me up.

I feel that we haven't had a "Bets' Faces" montage in a while.
Hopefully this series will rectify that.

Whatevs, Mom.

Ha! Isn't it silly when I act all laid-back and cool!?

I'm fairly sure that this little boy would follow "Tia" off
the ends of the earth.

Baby sis. Growing too fast. But still loving a good swimsuit-rainstorm-splash session.

We all packed up to go see Daddy on his missions trip in inner-city Philly!
Bets is ecstatic. Please, child. Contain yourself.

Thrilled to see Daddy. Clearly.

Grant's first "water ice." Midwesterners, can't really explain what this is. It's like
a glorified snow-cone. Be sure to ask for a "wuttterrr ice" when you come to see us.
(You are coming to see us, aren't you!?)

Jubes. Getting face painting on her hand. I was very disappointed
that she didn't get the tiger painted on her face. I was disappointed
that I didn't get a tiger on my face. Something about it being just for
kids... **sigh**

Two missions trip sponsors!

First bite of cotton candy. He's skeptical.

And now he's diving right in.

Julie had never had cotton candy either!
She was not a fan.
I'm not sure what's wrong with her...

There were lots of people around. Grant, as usual, was contemplative. Never
have I used a word so often to describe a child. But that's my son.

Hanging with Oma. Amidst the multi-ethnic crowd. It was an amazing afternoon!

Child Evangelism Fellowship (CEF) paired with several local churches
to host a massive "block party" in inner-city Philly. The place was packed.

The gospel stage. People clustered here throughout that day.
The gospel was shared in at least four languages. 

Everything was free. Free food, free bounce houses, free games, free puppet shows, free prizes,
free-free-free! And if you went through the gospel tents, you got a free t-shirt!

I couldn't get over the number of different ethnicities I saw. Burmese, Chinese, Hispanic...

There was so much joy, and life, and energy in this little square of Philly. My heart
nearly exploded for joy... So many people experiencing unconditional love.

Splash pad. 

Little old man, in broken English, asking about Julie's China story.

Manning the basketball stations.

There were tons of carnival games that the kids could do to earn tickets.

Our teens helped staffed these games.

So thankful that my mama and sister came to help out while Scott was gone for about
a week and a half. I was dead-dog sick almost the entire time. It's like God
knew I would need them. I love when He provides like that... :)

Call It Grace (or why I get up at an ungodly hour)

My house is in the gray, smudgy, morning hours right now. A cup of coffee steams. The birds aren't yet drowned out by traffic and rap music (not mine, the neighbor's). My ceiling fans whir, and my mind has time to process.

These hours, these morning times, have become so precious.

In an hour, probably less, the noise will start, the crumbs will fall, and someone will find a way to pry the lid off of a spill-proof sippy cup.

But for now... silence.

In my house, silence isn't golden. It's gray and cool and smooth. And I can breath.

This calm has become increasingly important over these past several months. I've always been busy. Each phase of life has its busyness. There's a form of busyness from the time you could tell what a clock was saying. Junior high, high school, college, professional life... It shifts, it morphs, it looks different. But it's all busy.

Lately my busy has looked a little frantic. And full of stinky diapers. And I've learned that without this still calm, the quiet, my Bible cracked open and my coffee fresh and hot, I'm not a very good mom.

Call it grace.

How often do I remember the exact truth I found and clung to this morning? Not often. Sometimes it's hard to remember the rhythmic beauty of the psalms when both children are convinced that they are dying from the lack of a snack (or toys, or shoes, or car keys, or insert random objects that my children become immediately, violently attached to).

Call it grace.

The days when I pause, when I look up before I look around, those days are better. My speech is sweeter, my temper more even, my to-do list less of a dictator, my children more of a joy.

Call it grace.

God doesn't require that I remember a deep theological truth. He doesn't demand perfect memory of this morning's text. I'm not required to grasp the subtle nuances of Hebrew and Greek while my arms are covered in dish water and a toddler is attached to my leg.

It's grace.

I'm not a morning person. Anytime before 8 a.m. is an "ungodly hour" (and nowadays, my mornings start at 5:30!) But when I turn to God, when I make that "ungodly hour" all about finding my Savior, breaking my heart, waiting for the day with brokenness and deep neediness... He fills me up. And I've found the glory in early mornings.

Such grace.

So, set your alarms, buy a coffee pot with a timed brew, invest in a new journal... and come spend some time at the foot of a God who has new mercies every morning. And He extends them even to those of us who aren't morning people. Trust me. I should know.

What The Bee In Your Bonnet Says About You...

As a self-proclaimed "box-maker," I like to take everything and everyone, package them up, and neatly compartmentalize them. (Just ask my husband. I try to solve even my household dilemmas by arguing, "If we just had a cute box, or a little basket to organize that...")

Motherhood just made this tendency more rampant.

I learned that all moms have a box that they belong in. 

"She's the crunchy mama."

"Well, you know... the 'high-maintenance' moms..."

"I just can't wait to be a soccer-mom!"

"It's slightly intimidating. She's such a Pinterest-mom."

And with each of these labels, there come a slew of rules and suppositions. Don't feed the crunchy-mama's children anything but organic fruit. Make sure your house is clean and you have a versatile craft planned for when the Pinterest-mom comes over. Check with the high-maintenance mom to see what preservative/activity/toy/gluten-laden-goody she's avoiding this week because of some article she read on-line.

Because the fact of the matter is, mamas suffer from multiple "bees in their bonnets." What children should eat, what children should do, what places to go, clothes to buy, extracurriculars to enroll in, what the family rules are, what discipline looks like, what fun looks like, what a well-behaved/happy child should do... And some of that is good.

Moms are supposed to be selective. We are supposed to carefully sift through influences and external dangers. We are here to protect, nurture, and raise our children... to be like Christ.

Ah. There's the kicker.

When we moms get upset about car seats, food, and activities, we are telling the world what is most important to us. Hear me carefully... I'm not saying that standard car seats and all-natural fruit snacks are bad.

I'm saying it shouldn't be what gets you all cranked up.

Maybe you went ballistic over the cost of organic apples, or expended hours planning the perfect play-date, but did you notice the disrespectful tone of the TV show your child was watching? Did you grieve over the sprouts of sin in your toddler's life as much as you wailed over another mom's lack of interest in kiddie-pool safety?

(Yes, yes, yes, watch your children while their in the pool.)

That's not what I'm arguing against.

I'm saying that we, as finite, tired, over-whelmed, busy mamas, we have a limited amount of energy to care. We are not God. Our reservoir of caring and passion is not limitless. So are you guarding yours with care? Are you making sure that the bees in your bonnet are the ones that your really should be upset about? When was the last time you had a little temper tantrum about the importance of teaching your child the Bible? About consistent discipline? About manifesting Christ's love and joy consistently?

Even Jesus got mad about the right things. 

But we don't do that, do we?

We label. We post articles to Facebook. We look down our noses at what other moms are choosing to do, or else we crawl into a closet of inadequacy and wail because we're not Super Mom.

Maybe instead of labeling, ranting, and making molehills into mountains, maybe we should get down on our knees and ask for perspective. Maybe we should come alongside our fellow moms and encourage them in the BIG things. Maybe we should take a moment to realize that the crafts, snacks, and activities are not the most important things. 

In the end, it's the things that make you crazy, the things you rant about, the things you cling to passionately, those are the things that really matter to you.

So... what do the bees in your bonnet say about you?

Broken. Made Beautiful. Dirty. Made Radiant.

**The blog has underwent an extensive period of silence. This was not wholly unintentional on my part. I was wrestling with some age-old demons. God let me be sifted. My heart is sore. My was confidence shaken. But my love for my Savior ever-deepening. However, I struggled to find a way back into sharing my heart, and I came to realize that the best way to let you see Christ's working was to show you my prayer over this past month. Wherever you are, I pray the steadfast love of our God rivets your heart. This is a love that will not let you go.**

Lord, I cannot stand before you.
My legs fail, my voice trembles, my soul sinks into its own blackness.
I have failed. Not at one thing. But at many things. Not only once, but constantly, repeatedly, grindingly again and again.
My sin falls around me like an old comfort.
It wraps my day in the certainty of failure.
It dictates my thoughts, my actions, my hope.
For I have no hope. There is no change. This is where I live.

This is who I am.

Then quietly, a whisper. Faint, "No."
Through the darkness, a flicker of light. Hope.
"You are mine."

But the sin wrenches my heart. Grabs my soul.
I am unworthy. I am dirty. I am nothing.

"But I, your Savior, I am not dirty. I have no shame. Guilt does not live in me."

Your voice. Quietly. Calmly. Without fail. Never ceasing.
It tells me of a violent, passionate, never-failing love.
It tells me of eyes that see all. Eyes that see deeper. Deeper into darkness, into the foul recesses of sin.
Eyes that see a depravity which my hopeless soul cannot even comprehend.
Eyes that see.
But arms that still hold me.
The dirt does not repulse you. You do not loosen your grip. Your love digs deeper than the shame, deeper than the guilt, deeper than the sin. It digs in. And it holds on.

This love. It does not live in the dirt with me.
It washes. It cleanses. It scrubs.
Gently, over the open sores of my shame, you place healing. Peace. Robes of righteousness.

"My daughter. My sister."

My heart dances in this voice of hope.
My shame withers.
My joy bubbles, clear, crystal, without taint.
I will rejoice in my God, in my Savior, in the love that buys me and cleans me.
What depths of glorious forever family! What steadfast, unwavering passion...

I stand amazed.
My heart sings. My eyes cry.
I stand in grace.
I stand in love.
I stand unworthy.
I stand with trembling hope.
I am clean. I am beautiful.

This is my God.
This is earth-shattering love.
Love that will not let me go.

Hallelujah. Amen.

Photo Journal {May 2014}

Welp.

I've been on "burn-out" mode for quite a while now. I'm ready for June, and some amazing family vacation time in the Midwest.

Bets is finally sleeping through the night and has started napping. (Yes, she didn't nap for longer than 30 minutes for her first 3 months of life...). She's adorable, finicky, and an emotional roller coaster. Say "hello" to parenting a girl! Her newest habit is shrieking. Not crying. Shrieking. It means she's angry, thinks she's dying, or just needs a cuddle. It's the most nerve-wracking sound, but her complacent (immediate) glee when you pick her up after a screech is quite funny. She goes from peeved to delighted in .03 seconds. Hmm... it's almost like she has a dramatic, emotional mother. How odd...

Grantopatomus has reached new levels of inquisitiveness which results in him destroying six things while I clean up one. His complete fascination with everything except his toys is adorably frustrating to watch. My mommy pride glows as he figures out how things work. And my mommy heart groans when he scatters disassembled pieces across three different rooms. Bookcases are not safe. He's dismantled the vacuum cleaner multiple times, and he loves to pull all the dishes out of all the cabinets and bang them on the floor.

While I'm staunchly determined that he hear more praise than criticism, it's very hard when (quite literally!) I have reasons to say "no" every 30 seconds. Scott has turned me into a clean freak, and I have grown to love a tidy house. Don't read me that crappy poem about "dust can keep, babies grow up fast, blah-blah-blah." Sometimes all a woman wants is clean sheets and a floor that doesn't feel sticky, crumbly, and slimy all at once.

But the "free-spirit" side of me (the part that has needed to be corralled and subdued for years) loves this new stage. So despite the disgusting floors and persistent mess, I'm joining in the chaos. We pull out pots and pans together. We spend 40 minutes picking up what it took 3 minutes to destroy. We smear food textures everywhere. We eat chunks of onions, rifle through books, and watch the house fall apart around us.

That was May.

I'm tired. I want a clean house. I want to finish a chore without 2 more hours of work being created while I finish it.

My babies are growing.
My house is disintegrating.
Sounds like motherhood-of-two has officially taken up camp.

But look at this adorable month of pictures, will you? These precious faces make all the angst, dirt, and clutter worth it. I always thought mothers who said, "It's brutal, but I wouldn't trade it" were more than slightly off their rockers. Now I know they were totally right.

Here's to May 2014!

Scott and I got to attend a Getty Conference for our anniversary!
Scott won the tickets in a radio contest, and we had an amazing
night worshiping with a couple thousand other people. The Getty's
wrote the songs that we sung at our wedding... such powerful lyrics. And
I cried my eyes out when they talked about Compassion International
and the orphans around the world. I think I need some more babies...

I had the pleasure of taking some pics at a wonderful
Harvest Women's Tea... There was real china, perfectly steeped tea,
scones, and lots of chit-chat with lovely ladies. 

Grant discovered swings again. This time his only hesitance was when Mommy
made him get off the swing.

Daddy was there to swing him super-high! 

Slides are also a favorite.

He loved to climb up.

And he slid down with great abandon.

It's after this trip to the park that he lost his fear of stairs, bookcases, the toy
chest... well, pretty much anything that he could climb up on.

One of Grant's recent fascinations has been the eggs
which I store on the bottom shelf of the fridge. He has
tried to "investigate" them multiple times. On this day, to appease
his curiosity, I scooped up two eggs he smashed on the floor and we
spent 30 minutes exploring them. I hoped that this would
satiate his curiosity. It did. He hasn't touched them in the
fridge since.

Of course, that could also be because I made him
prep them for lunch, and he had to eat scrambled eggs.
He hates scrambled eggs.

WE VISITED TEEJ IN NYC!!!! He took us to his
favorite brunch spot. The waiter thought requesting
goat cheese in my Western Omelet was crazy. I didn't
care. Give me my goat cheese. Yummmmm.

Real men carry babies in NYC.

Someone LOVES Uncle Teej.

Oh, my goodness, Uncle Teej, you is soooo funny!

Love these two.

In his own words, "The Cool Uncle."

Rockefeller Center. Where my son went up to every strange
woman he saw and asked to be picked up. Where he played
in the fountains and little Asian men took pictures of him.

FIRST FAMILY PIC! (Seriously. Look at those hilarious kids. Bets is making me laugh.
And apparently Grant doesn't know how to pose for a pic...)

Candid family. Please note that Bets and I have
matching green pants. Woot!

Uncle Teej, please stop snapping photos and pick
me up...

The man in his man cave. So glad we could visit on (almost)
his birthday. I just love this brother. Like crazy. Like, enough to
do some wonky, embarrassing, public display of sisterly affection.
He tolerates me nicely. :)

Memorial Day. The day pools around the nation are inaugurated.

Drinkin' from a hose.

Chokin' on the hose water.
And then promptly drinking from the hose again.

Can't wait for June 2014! Each month these babies get more and more fun!