Archive for the 'The Solid Rock' Category

July 15, 2008 @ 12:01 pm | Filed under: The Solid Rock, Uniquely Me

Poets and writers - for as far back as literature and songs go - have inspired mankind with the promise of renewal. A time of rejuvenation for the soul.

For those of us who know God, we know that true renewal only comes from Him.

But - although in a somewhat lesser sense - if we’re looking for it, we can find hints of this respite all around us. I believe it is His promise to us.

Night eventually turns into day. Winter slowly melds into Spring. For every tide that crashes onto sandy shores, one more is already rising up behind it.

Maybe the Disney lyrics to Lion King say it best,

It’s the circle of life and it moves us all through despair and hope, through faith and love until we find our place on the path unwinding…in the circle - the circle of life.

I am trying to be very conscience these days of the difference between being ‘busy’ and being ‘productive.’ I feel a sense of urgency to be productive, to use my time and energy wisely. I have my hand in a lot of things right now, and daily examine myself to make sure I am supposed to be in all of these places.

The challenge is to always bring the best of what I have to offer to each of the things I am actively involved in. Some day I can’t say that I feel successful. Not at all.

June 2, 2008 @ 1:24 pm | Filed under: Soul Food, The Solid Rock, Uniquely Me

When I was raising my boys, one nightly tradition was spending the last few minutes of each day reading to them. One of their favorite stories, and still one of mine, was If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.

If you give a mouse a cookie, he’ll probably ask for a glass of milk. If you give him a glass of milk, he’ll probably ask for a straw. If you give him a straw, he’ll most likely need a napkin.

On and on the story goes, taking the mouse through various household chores and activities until finally - spent and exhausted - the mouse takes a nap. When he wakes from the nap - sure enough - he’s hungry and…you got it…he asks for a cookie.

Some days are like that, one activity begatting the next, and so on and so on and so on.

I had a day like that a couple of weeks ago.

I had been looking forward all that week to sleeping in on Saturday, whatever that means for me. Lately I’ve been running on about five or six hours of sleep each night and - after a long and tiring week - I thought the idea of sleeping until 7:30 or eight sounded really good.

Instead I woke at around 5:30 and lay there, wide awake, until I finally eased from the bed and made my way through the sleeping house to the living room. Something deep within me was stirring, something that made me acutely aware of just what a blessed day it was.

The week had been long, it had been tiring, but I’d not only made it through, I’d made it through with the deep-seated knowledge that God was directing my footsteps and my actions; easing me slowly but surely through the long list of to-do’s and must-do’s until all the projects, all my work, and all the kid drama - everything was not only done, but done well.

I sat with my coffee and spent quiet time with Him - so thankful, so grateful, for His mercy and strength. The quietness and solitude of the room around me seemed to reflect the quietness of my spirit and it all felt so good.

At the tail end of a week where I’d spent energy like money and had run the gamut of emotions in dealing with life’s craziness I simply sat in my living room and reveled in the secure certainty that I am a God’s girl.

At the end of my quiet time I attempted to go online, only to find that our internet was down. And that’s when the if you give the girl her God type of a day really began. Feeling energized and close to Him, I prepared a full, nutritious breakfast.

Well-fed and feeling healthy, I went for my run. I felt so good after two and a half miles that I ran for four.

As I walked the last block home, I found myself studying all the neighbors’ yards, realizing that my schedule had not allowed me the flexibility to spend any amount of time on my own flower beds.

I saw Mike out with the lawn mower as I walked the last few steps to our house, and that clinched it for me. Already sweaty and slighty grubby from my run (even the tip of my pony tail was dripping) I decided to stay in my running skirt and get busy in the dirt.

And the day was officially started…

One by one, each activity seemed to only prompt the next. I spent hour after hour taking care of the things around the house that I’d let fall by the wayside in the full-on sprint that always comes at the end of another school year. When the day turned to night, I collapsed in the same spot as I’d spent my quiet time that morning. Somewhat tired again, but fulfilled.

Again I was quiet and reflective. Again I was filled with thankfulness for His care of me. Again I was very much aware of His mercy at work in my life.

On my own I am so weak. On my own I falter and question and - sometimes - whine.

On my own, I am just a woman. ONE woman.

I can only give so much as a friend. I can only instruct so much as a mother. I can only succeed so much as a student and as a writer.

I can only do so much.

But with Him…with Him all things are possible.

I may very well be a woman on the cusp of her midlife years.

But I very much feel like a little girl running into the arms of her God.

If you give a girl her God, she can do most anything.

Tags: faith, flower beds, God's girl

May 27, 2008 @ 11:42 am | Filed under: Mary & Martha Project, The Solid Rock

There have been days in the past couple of months when I’ve wanted to throw Mary and Martha beneath the bus.

That sounded harsh, didn’t it?

I have a feeling that if any two women would understand that statement, and would agree with it (had there been buses way back then), then surely it would have been these two. Finding that elusive internal balance has always been an issue for women, it seems, for as far back as time goes.

I sat in the Sunday school lesson this past week and listened as we learned about the balance of life. The rise and fall, the lulls and the swells, that life’s ocean carries us on. Things come. Things go. People come. People go. Circumstances are bad. Circumstances are good.

It’s the circle of life, and it’s only in coming full circle that balance is achieved. Good wouldn’t be recognized as ‘good’ if not for the balance of the ‘bad.’ Sweet wouldn’t taste nearly as delectable without the memory of ’sour.’

When we step back and look through the lens of clarity it’s almost easy to see this external balance at work in our lives, and in the world around us. So I’ve been thinking this morning, are not the internal scales of balance working in much the same way?

So often I think that every segment of who I am must be at work simultaneously. The thinker in me. The spiritual woman in me. The creator in me. The caretaker in me. I expect all of these things, of course, to work in perfect tandem with my roles as mom, wife, friend, writer, student, encourager, leader, granddaughter, sister, Nana, aunt…

I just checked and there is no S for SuperWoman on my chest. (You know what - I don’t even own a cape.)

In Mary & Martha’s defense (since I am the one who brought them into the lives of the women in our church), I have to say that the main thing I’ve learned from our study of them is that this internal balance is not evidenced in a single day. When viewing individual days, there is no balance. Some days are frought with hassles that require very little creativity but a lot of intense care. Other days are nothing but creative ones. Still others will be spent in quiet speculation, only to be followed the next by merriment and a sense that anything is possible.

We aren’t capable of seeing this internal balance at work in our lives. It truly is a matter of waking each morning with one purpose for that day. Lord, direct my thoughts, my path, my life today.

It’s loving Him so much that we seek only His approval. It’s loving ourselves enough to have mercy when we stumble and resolve enough to get right back up and try again. It’s loving others so intently that the frustrations of occasionally being thrown off-balance are virtually undetectable in the light of doing what is right.

I came across the following that was supposedly written by a seventeenth-century nun. It sums up very well both, the truth and the humor, about this life that I’m embracing this morning.

Lord, you know better than I know myself that I am growing older and will someday be old. Keep me from getting talkative, particularly from the fatal habit of thinking that I must say something on every subject and on every occasion.

Release me from craving to straighten out everybody’s affairs. Make me thoughtful, but not moody; helpful, but not bossy. With my vast store of wisdom it seems a pity not to use it all, but you know, Lord, that I want a few friends at the end. Keep my mind from the recital of endless details - give me wings to come to the point.

I ask for grace enough to listen to the tales of others’ pains. Seal my lips on my own aches and pains - they are increasing, and my love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by. Help me endure them with patience.

I dare not ask for improved memory, but for a growing humility and a lessening cocksureness when my memory seems to clash with the memories of others. Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally it is possible that I may be mistaken.

Keep me reasonably sweet. I do not want to be a saint - some of them are so hard to live with - but a sour old woman is one of the crowning works of the devil.

Give me the ability to see good things in unexpected places, and talents in unexpected people. And give me, O Lord, the grace to tell them so!

And - to that - I will only add these words of my own:

Lord, direct my thoughts today. Direct my pathway. Direct my life. Help me to listen to You, and to You alone.

Help me to do just that - ‘one thing’ - today.

Tags: balance, Mary & Martha Project

May 20, 2008 @ 10:09 am | Filed under: The Solid Rock, Uniquely Me

What in the world…?

I pulled my cell phone from the charger a few days ago and stared down at it. I had just one bar. How could that be?

For the third time in about as many days I noticed that my phone was steadily losing its charge. Adding stop in to get your phone checked out was pretty much the last thing I wanted to put on my ever growing to-do list.

I was puzzled. The phone was not that old, nor had the battery been giving me any previous problems.

I’m a creature of habit, nothing if not predictable. Every night for the past year that we’ve been living in this house, I have plugged my phone into the same spot to charge overnight. Without fail. If I’m home, then my phone is on the charger.

So my frustration stemmed mainly from knowing that I’d soon have the hassle of making the stop at the phone place, and not so much from anything else. I plunked my phone into my purse and moved to finish my chores before heading out to run errands.

It was sometime in the next half hour or so - as I pushed the vacuum cleaner across the carpet in my bedroom - when it hit me. I snapped the off button on the vacuum and practically ran over to where my charger lay.

I had to get down on my hands and knees to follow its cord around the small table and behind another piece of furniture until…

I gave a gentle tug and the entire cord popped out in front of me.

IT WASN’T PLUGGED INTO THE POWER SOURCE.

As I sat there on the floor, holding the charger and feeling quite stupid at this point, God began to speak to me. In those few minutes of alone time in the big middle of mundane chores and household duties, He layed out an object lesson for me that I don’t think I’ll forget anytime soon.

This is how you become when you go too long without being plugged into my power.

The guilt was immediate because I knew exactly what He meant. The past few weeks had been harried ones. The pace had been frantic, the burdens quite heavy, and the emotions have run rampant.

And yet - in the middle of all this - I guess I felt I had enough “stored up” energy to power me through it all. I prayed, but the words were hurried and my heart wasn’t always all the way in it. I made enough of an effort to spend time with Him that I guess I convinced myself that I was indeed fine. Just like my phone, I was plugged in as far as I could see.

But…

I WASN’T PLUGGED INTO THE POWER SOURCE.

Not the way I should have been. Certainly not the way I am used to. And definitely not the way I needed to be if I want to continue to be the wife, mom, friend, leader, etc… that I know I am called to be.

It’s been several days now and I cannot pass by where my phone lies being charged without thinking back on this lesson. God stopped me on that day and in that way that only He has with me, He slowed me, soothed me, and redirected my thoughts. My intents. My heartbeat.

He, very simply put, energized me.

Tags: life lessons, power source, walk with God

March 30, 2008 @ 11:17 am | Filed under: Soul Food, The Solid Rock, Uniquely Me

It comes down to this: God’s best is available only to those who sacrifice, or who are willing to sacrifice, the MERELY GOOD. If we are satisfied with good health, responsible children, enjoyable marriages, close friendships, interesting jobs, and successful ministries, we will never hunger for God’s best. We will never worship. I’ve come to believe that only broken people truly worship. Unbroken people - happy folks who enjoy their blessings more than the Blesser - say thanks to God the way a shopper thanks a clerk.” —LARRY CRABB
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I don’t think of myself as a broken woman.

But I do think that once we’ve experienced a true winter of the soul - once we’ve fallen one too many times, once we’ve desperately clung to sanity by a mere shoestring, once we’ve felt the pain of life shattering about us - we are never the same again.

I wouldn’t want to be the same.

I am whole today and, in that wholeness, I am confident, self-assured, and rest entirely in Him. But that wholeness does not hide the scars that my years of brokenness left in their wake.

Instead those very scars serve as daily reminders that I am incomplete and undone on my own.

I never intend to try life on my very own again. Any strength I may have, any gift I may have to offer, is only because of His far-reaching grace and His fathomless love for me.

It’s one thing to trust God in innocence, long before anything bad has ever happened to you.

It’s one thing to trust God theoretically, but yet still attempt to handle the tough stuff on your own.

It’s one thing to trust God in good times, when health, and prosperity, and the richness of relationships make your life a pleasant place in which to lie down.

But once you’ve fallen into a chasm and have been lovingly and heroically rescued, you begin to develop a new trust that’s like no other.

It’s an absolute confidence in His love and in His ability to intervene supernaturally in your life.

It’s not until you’ve experienced a winter of the soul that you learn once and for all the warmth of His arms and the gentle touch of His hands as He begins to bind the wounds and heal the hurt.

The brokenness is gone, but the scars remain behind.

They are all that is left after the harsh, unrelenting winter of the soul. They are the purple hearts of the spiritual battlefields.

If we are courageous enough, and if we can corral our pride enough, these scars have the power to be ongoing testimonies of the heroic rescue of our soul.

I’m not broken.

But I am scarred.

More and more every day I am becoming okay with this.

More and more every day I am wanting to let the wounded, hurting women I encounter know about the Great Rescuer.

God can do a lot with brokenness. He can do a lot with pain. But He can really do very little with our good Christian woman facades.

He wants us to be real.

He wants us to be honest, with Him and with each other.

He wants to bring springtime to souls who’ve fallen prisoner to winter.

He wants to take our brokenness and turn it into beauty.

March 21, 2008 @ 10:43 am | Filed under: The Fit Life, The Solid Rock

“Sometimes when we read the words of those who have been more than conquerors, we feel almost despondent. I feel that I shall never be like that. But they won through step by step.  By little bits of wills.  Little denials of self.  Little inward victories. By faithfulness in very little things. They became what they are. No one sees these little hidden steps. They only see the accomplishments, but even so, those small steps were taken. There is no sudden triumph, no sudden spiritual maturity. That is the work of the moment.”

                              —from the journal of Amy Carmichael, as quoted in Holy Sweat: The Process of Peak Performance

“What is WRONG with me?” I limped into the house, scraped my running shoes off of my feet, and all but collapsed on the living room floor. “I don’t understand this.”

“Your knee again?” Mike had become quite adept in noticing when my right knee - the definite weakness in my body - was once again making its presence known.

“Not just my knee. It’s both legs.”

This was Saturday and, for the third day in a row, I’d suffered a horrible case of shin splints. I’d not felt this kind of discomfort (and, at times, downright pain) since last summer when I was in the beginning stages of training for the 5K.

“Last Saturday I ran 4 miles, without even thinking about it.” I was in full-on whine mode and - unfortunately for him - Mike was the only one within earshot. “Today I ran only two and the last half I was in HORRIBLE PAIN.“

Irritatingly unfazed by my drama, my sweet husband had the good sense to just humor me. Or so…I thought…

“Okay, let’s think about this. Have you done anything differently this week?”

“No.”

“Are your shoes still in good shape? Are you lacing them properly?”

“Yes. To both.”

“Still stretching first, aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Hm.” Mike continues to be maddeningly unfazed even as I continue to bemoan my sudden, unexpected fall from runner-girl-goes-far status.

“Let’s go over this again. Have you done anything differently?”

Uh-oh.

A little niggling of something remarkably akin to discomfort began to worm its way through me.

“Well, have you?”

“Not really.” I hedged as much as I dared to. “I mean, I increased my speed…some.” The truth was that for the past week I’d spent three days on the treadmill, rather than outdoors, working on taking my speed from 5.2 to 5.6.

“Uh-huh, that’s what I thought. What about stretching? Are you compensating for the extra stress by doing extra stretching?”

“Not really.” This time I didn’t even try to hedge. The picture was becoming crystal clear and it was letting me know that I’d made some simple, stupid mistakes.

Not only had I not done extra stretching but I had become so comfortable and complacent in my running routine that I’d all but told myself I didn’t really need the stretching anymore.

“I get it.” I held up a hand in protest when my kineseology major husband opened his mouth to say more. “Believe me, I get it.”

And I did get it.

Before I ran early this morning - I followed ALL that I knew to be right. I spent the needed time in stretching. As I worked the muscles still sore from days of neglect and (okay, let’s call it what it was - abuse) I was struck by the odd feeling the stretching gave me.

It hurt…so good.

There was soreness, definitely. Even a few twinges of pain. But the longer I stretched, the better I felt about what I was giving to my body. It hurt…so good.

God began to speak to me like He does during times like these, this time giving me an analogy that was very personal, very timely. Very real.

These past weeks have been such a growing time for me. Over and over, I have found myself being challenged in ways that are taking me to a new level. He’s calling me to new places, new levels of ‘fitness’, new dimensions of awareness, and new endeavors.

At times it is pure delight. Still - many other times, it’s quite painful.

He’s shaking up my complacency, calling me to spend extra time in ’stretching’ in order to be flexible enough, limber enough, strong enough - for the course He’s setting me upon. I can’t get away from the feeling that He has much He wants to say to me, but I have to get myself out of the way in order to hear it all. I have to let down the masks I wear, the disguises that I use to hide my imperfections, my weaknesses. He wants me, real and honest.

He knows those ‘weak’ spots too. Just like my right knee, He whispers words of both, caution and encouragement and I know I’d be wise to listen, to pay attention to the ways I can compensate for those weaknesses. My weak spots need not be a hindrance; they can just serve as a reminder that my only chance of true strength is when I place myself completely under His care.

He’s calling me to something ‘different.’ All my past training is just that - in the past. This is a new thing - a fresh thing - and requires a fresh vision, fresh faith, a fresh anointing.

These are those baby steps, revisited.

But I’m excited. I want to be ‘more than a conqueror.’

That can only happen in those little steps.

Those little bits of wills.

Little denials of self.

Little inward victories.

By faithfulness in very little things.

This new call to more is not always comfortable.

There is soreness, definitely. Even a few twinges of pain. But the longer I spend in these new things, the better I feel about what I am giving to my soul.

It hurts…so good.

August 4, 2007 @ 2:26 pm | Filed under: Soul Food, The Solid Rock, Uniquely Me

Dear Me in 1983,

I’m sure that receiving a letter from me is the last thing you expected, huh? I can practically read your mind. Though I must seem impossibly old and out-of-date, considering that you are fifteen and a freshman in high school, here’s the deal. I see you struggling with so many things right now - things like love, friendships, and your purpose in life. If I had it my way I’d fix it all and pave the way smooth and straight for you. Unfortunately, life doesn’t work like that and, in the long run, you’ll be happy that it doesn’t. You’ll find your own way in time, though you’ll grow mighty impatient in the process.

You’ve only been out of the back brace for a few months now, but you still haven’t become accustomed to the fact that it’s not tightly fastened around your torso, holding your spine securely in place. The many months spent wearing it and feeling curious eyes upon you as you walked the school halls in dresses two sizes larger (to accommodate the brace) still plague you. I know it seems as though you’re the square peg trying desperately to fit into a round hole, but the reality is that all of your friends are also square pegs in disguise and - if the truth be known - there are no round holes.

Life is the great equalizer. But that’s another truth that you won’t learn for some years. In the meantime, treasure your friends, even when it feels like they are loving you one day and whispering behind your back the next. Girls are funny like that, but they truly mean no harm. These same girls will one day grow up with very real needs and you will be one of the ones they turn to to help them pray. How’re you going to pray for them if you allow bitterness and fear to creep in now?

You are a true romantic at heart, with a vivid imagination and a passion for something deep from life. Right now you think that finding love will be much like your daydreams and that this passion is meant to be spent on this elusive special person. I wish I had the words to gently tell you that real life love and passion are quite different than what you are finding on the pages of the novels we both love so much. They are no less real, or exciting, or breath-takingly terrifying - just…different.

Right now you feel like the traditional ugly duckling and you are sure that no boy, let alone any man, will ever want you for his own. But baby, this is just not true. I want to tell you to be patient, but I know you will not be. You’ll make decisions because you feel like there just aren’t enough choices. You’ll feel like Life is going to just zoom right on by you and you’ll be left behind and alone, so you will leap before looking a few times. It will hurt, I hate to say it, but you will survive and you will learn that Life is much bigger than you give it credit for. You will be a grown woman with babies of your own when you finally realize this, but that’s okay. It is during these years that God becomes vibrantly real to you and you will be a woman forever changed.

You WILL find great love and great passion, but it will come in a way you never expected. This love will fulfill you and grow you, both, as a woman and as a human being. Your life will be better for having been touched by this love and, in turn, the love you give in response will be a blessing as well. You will learn that love is a multi-dimensional thing and that, when left in God’s hands, it will continue to grow and thrive and excite and endure. Nothing can stop it, nothing can alter it. It just is. You already know that you have a heart that is meant to care and to shelter and to give. Protect that heart and just rest in the knowledge that - in good time, GOD’s time - your heart will find it’s permanent home. Again, it won’t necessarily be like you are expecting. It’ll be much better. I promise.

I know you envision yourself one day cuddling a daughter, but - guess what? You’ll become a mother to two little boys. Even though you’ll have to forego the hair bows, the Martha Miniatures, and the baby dolls, you will find endless delight and joy in these two blond-headed wonders. They will try you to no end at times, that much is for sure, but being their mom will be the best thing you will ever do. They will grow up SO fast. Do your best to treasure each moment, each milestone. Before you know it, they will be leaving home for college and you will have to release them, praying and trusting that they’ll always remember some basic truths you’ve endeavored to instill in them. Truths that you, yourself, have yet to discover. 

You know how you write in your diary each night? How many diaries have you filled up in your fifteen years, anyway? A lot, I know that! There will be a good many years when you give up writing down your thoughts, your hopes, and your dreams. Life will become tough and complicated and keeping a daily or weekly record of it all will be the last thing on your agenda. But then one day you’ll begin to write again. And this time you won’t stop. Journal entries will turn into essays and essays will turn into articles that you’ll eventually - hesitantly - submit for publication. After a few of them make it into print, you’ll grow brave enough to tackle the stories that have always lived inside of you. Characters like Grandma Hogan, Grace, Jackson, and Ella and Luke will come to life on the computer screen in front of you. They will bless you as you pour yourself into making their stories into books for others to read and to share. It will be your hope that these stories will encourage and uplift, that they will point others to truths that God shows you while you spend so many solitary hours in writing.

You’ll one day be living your dream. But it will be for real, and it will be yours. Your future is bright and beautiful. The tough times will soften you. The scary times will bolster you. The loving times will deepen you. What you will eventually embrace is that you are "fearfully and wonderfully made." Psalm 139:14 will become YOUR verse. If I could tell you anything right now, it would be to trust God. Laugh, love, and live your life. It’s really that simple. Everything else has a way of working itself out. You are going to be fine. No, wait. You are going to be more than fine.

Love and prayers,

Your 2007 Self

 

July 10, 2007 @ 2:13 pm | Filed under: The Solid Rock

A close friend sent this to me a few weeks ago. I stuck it in a "to be saved" file and came across it again today. I think it is most blog-worthy…Enjoy!

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1. Your thumb is nearest you. So begin your prayers by praying for those closest to you. They are the easiest to remember. To pray for our loved ones is, as C. S. Lewis once said, a "sweet duty."

2. The next finger is the pointing finger. Pray for those who teach, instruct and heal. This includes teachers, doctors, and ministers. They need support and wisdom in pointing others in the right direction. Keep them in your prayers.

3. The next finger is the tallest finger. It reminds us of our leaders. Pray for the president, leaders in business and industry, and administrators. These people shape our nation and guide public opinion. They need God’s guidance.

4. The fourth finger is our ring finger. Surprising to many is the fact that this is our weakest finger, as any piano teacher will testify. It! should remind us to pray for those who are weak, in trouble or in pain. They need your prayers day and night. You cannot pray too much for them.

5. And lastly comes our little finger - the smallest finger of all which is where we should place ourselves in relation to God and others. As the Bible says, "The least shall be the greatest among you." Your pinkie should remind you to pray for yourself. By the time you have prayed for the other four groups, your own needs will be put into proper perspective and you will be able to pray for yourself more effectively. !

May 31, 2007 @ 4:16 pm | Filed under: Friends, Soul Food, The Solid Rock

Forty-eight hours ago, I sat in a doctor’s waiting room, nervously and mindlessly flipping through the worn and smudged pages of one magazine after another. For two solid hours I sat in that black vinyl chair, all the while my heart was somewhere in the depths of that doctor’s office, in whatever room Nate was in.

As a half-hour turned to one, then an hour and a half came and went, I gave up all pretenses of reading or people-gazing or anything else that one tends to do in those type of settings. I gathered my purse and moved to the edge of my seat, and was truly only a nano-second away from barging behind The Door and finding my son all on my own.

And then these words begin to spill through my mind in the sweetest possible way:

"Peace, peace. Wonderful peace."

"Coming down, from the Father above."

Just like that my twirling thoughts stilled and my pulse returned to normal. Even though I sat here, in the one place, facing the one thing that I feared most during my kids’ growing up years, I felt the peace of God. I wish that I could control heredity, that I could somehow shelter both boys from the pains and trials of life, whether it be physical, mental, spiritual, or emotional. And yet - just as I could only sit with them held firmly in my lap during those awful visits for shots, for ear infections, for chicken pox - now I could only sit in a lonely chair in the waiting room, knowing that my firstborn was on his own this time. Besides my presence and my prayers, I was helpless.

"Peace, peace. Wonderful peace."

"Coming down, from the Father above."

Again, that peace moved through me, smooth and undeniable. See, those words had recently been sung in my living room, around my own piano, just the day before. Some of our best friends had gathered in our home for a Memorial Day lunch. After eating, chatting, celebrating a birthday, and laughing the afternoon away, we became serious. One of our own was going in for a medical procedure, a grave one, and though little was said about it, it was on all of our minds. His wife had received her miracle just months before and now we, as a solid group of friends, were standing on the promise of one for him. As we prepared to gather in a circle around him and pray before everyone left, Rochelle sat down at the piano and the girls and I stood around, harmonizing as she began to play the first, soft strains of this very song.

Little did I know that the words would minister to me in such a mighty way just hours later.

By the time Nate emerged from The Door, my mother’s heart was warm with the knowledge that - though I have very little control these days - my God has all control. He is my peace. Even later, as we pulled into the driveway and I grabbed the mail from the mailbox, I felt that rich flood of "it’s going to be all right." Even after I slid open the envelope from my publisher and learned the news that the editorial board had decided to not publish Finding Faith this fall, after all - still I felt that peace.

I stood in the living room, clutching the single crisp sheet of paper, feeling my husband’s eyes on me, and knowing he was waiting for the waterworks to begin. I, too, waited for the barage of disappointment to come, for the feeling of rejection that even the most politely worded letter of its kind tends to produce in a writer’s gut.

Nothing. Except this,

"Sweep over my spirit, forever I pray,

in fathomless billows of love."

Whether it was the nights lately spent at the Rock, or merely the recognition of priorities after my day in the waiting room, I felt nothing except peace.

I don’t understand a lot of things. I don’t understand how a mother’s heart can possibly bear some of the things it must endure. I don’t understand why heredity can be, both, so glorious and yet at times, so mean. I don’t understand why contracts are broken, why publishers make the decisions they do, or even why I continue to write and worry and mother and care about each and every single little detail in this life of mine.

I don’t understand.

But I have the peace that passes all understanding. And, really, that’s everything.

Far away in the depths of my spirit tonight
Rolls a melody sweeter than psalm;
In celestial-like strains it unceasingly falls
O’er my soul like an infinite calm.

Peace, peace, wonderful peace,
Coming down from the Father above!
Sweep over my spirit forever, I pray
In fathomless billows of love!

What a treasure I have in this wonderful peace,
Buried deep in the heart of my soul,
So secure that no power can mine it away,
While the years of eternity roll!

Peace, peace, wonderful peace,
Coming down from the Father above!
Sweep over my spirit forever, I pray
In fathomless billows of love!

I am resting tonight in this wonderful peace,
Resting sweetly in Jesus’ control;
For I’m kept from all danger by night and by day,
And His glory is flooding my soul!

Peace, peace, wonderful peace,
Coming down from the Father above!
Sweep over my spirit forever, I pray
In fathomless billows of love!

And methinks when I rise to that City of peace,
Where the Author of peace I shall see,
That one strain of the song which the ransomed will sing
In that heavenly kingdom shall be:

Peace, peace, wonderful peace,
Coming down from the Father above!
Sweep over my spirit forever, I pray
In fathomless billows of love!

Ah! soul, are you here without comfort and rest,
Marching down the rough pathway of time?
Make Jesus your Friend ere the shadows grow dark;
O accept this sweet peace so sublime!

Peace, peace, wonderful peace,
Coming down from the Father above!
Sweep over my spirit forever, I pray
In fathomless billows of love!

May 14, 2007 @ 11:52 pm | Filed under: The Solid Rock

this is all I know to do.