Choices

I’ve taken to quiet drives recently. When it’s just me and Lennox in the car, I often just enjoy the silence (as long as he hasn’t decided to lose his mind) and take time to pray, or just consider things. 

The Lord reminded me of something last night on my drive home. I’ve been thinking a lot about brokenness recently, you see. Not just because of our own lives, but because I’ve seen so many close friends walk through brokenness in the last year and a half. 

I felt like the Lord showed me that brokenness does one of two things. It drives us in, or it drives us away. 

The reality is that either way, it’s our choice. We make the choice to draw close, or run away. 

Often, running away seems like the better choice. And we can make a compelling argument for why that is. We’re very good justifiers, I’ve found. 

I think there’s a very simple reason we want to run away. We want to run away because we’re afraid to be vulnerable before the Lord. Not because we are naive enough to think He doesn’t know how we feel, but because we feel like we’ve been disappointed or let down, and if we draw close, it’ll happen again. That might be too real, but there it is. I can say it, because I’ve had to face that reality in my own mind. I want to be a little mad. I want to ask the Lord a lot of questions. And ultimately, the really ugly, fleshy part of me doesn’t want to draw close, because I’m afraid of more disappointment. 

And then the Holy Spirit reminded me of this: the enemy wants to use my brokenness for isolation; the Lord wants to use it for intimacy. 

Isolation is quick to show it's face. It seems like the place of safety and comfort we need. But isolation is far-reaching. It will never stay in the box you put it in. It creeps into every area of your life. It will lead you to a place where you don't run to the Lord, and then it will convince you that you don't need other people, that they can't understand and won't try. Let's just make it plain: that is a LIE.
We aren't meant to do life alone. Isolation will kill your perspective about other people; it will tell you things are true that are not, and you won't be able to see the difference because the lie will sound a lot like the truth.

I can give into the isolation. Or I can choose intimacy. I can draw close, even though I feel disappointed. Even though I feel like I’m waiting for God to show up in a big way, and it doesn’t seem like He does. I can still choose to be close. 

Psalm 34:18 says that the Lord is close to the brokenhearted. He knows our brokenness. And He is waiting for us to draw close. He rescues those whose spirits are crushed. Don’t get me wrong, He might not change a thing about your circumstance. But He’ll change you. He’ll change me. Intimacy changes everything. It sustains. It refreshes. It comforts. It somehow reaches into every hurt place and heals. We need the intimacy because when the broken season is over, we’ll be different people because of it. 

Isolation only distorts. It can’t heal, it can’t help, it only hurts. It’s a lie we can’t afford to believe because we’re meant to be close. We’re meant to be close to Him and close to each other. 

And close means vulnerable. I know, it’s scary. It’s hard to really let go of all the parts of yourself you’re trying to protect. But you can’t protect them. Not really. Another lie we’re too quick to believe. 

One final thought: vulnerability isn’t weakness. It’s strength. 

So here’s the bottom line: don’t give in. Don’t run toward isolation. Run towards intimacy. 

Run towards vulnerability. Run towards humility. Run to Him. 

Proverbs 18:10 

The name of the Lord is a strong tower;

the righteous run to it and are safe.

New Wine

I was singing this song today as I was getting ready for the day. And the Holy Spirit reminded me of months ago when I first started singing this song. 

“In the crushing, in the pressing 

You are making new wine.” 

And then He reminded me that the season we’re in is an answer to that prayer. There has been crushing. There has been pressing. On every side. I’m not sure if it’s over yet, truthfully. But the Holy Spirit reminded me that this was what we asked for. When I sang the words “make me a vessel, make me an offering, make me whatever you want me to be”, there was already a plan in place to allow that to happen. 

This has been a difficult year for Sam and I. Not many know the depths of the darkness we’ve been navigating. And it’s not time to share the details of it, even now. We’ve seen a lot of things die in this season. Dreams, hopes, and plans. What we’ve spent 10 years building was reset back to the beginning. It has been painful. It has been hard. There have been a lot of dark days. 
The good news is that I've never been so proud of my husband as I am now. He's an amazing man. Sorry, but it just needs to be said. He's digging deep and all the gold that's in him is shining through. It's incredible. But that's a side note for another time.

There's no need for a pity party. This is a part of life. A part of life we certainly couldn't have predicted, and certainly wouldn't have chosen for ourselves. And there is so much to be thankful for, even in the midst of this crazy time. We have the most WONDERFUL baby we could have ever hoped for. He has truly been our Anchor in this season. 

But the sweet Holy Spirit reminder today sparked thankfulness in my heart. He is using this season, this pain, this difficulty to make us who we’re supposed to be. He is answering our prayers. 

Sometimes I think we sing songs, and pray prayers asking God to make us who he wants us to be and we think we’ll read a nice scripture and that will do the trick. That we'll learn without having to let anything go or giving anything up. How can we truly become who he wants us to be without a breaking? The breaking is what pulls us in closer. The crushing opens the door for a new place. We’re not who we were before. It's what ruins our pride. We can't know best anymore and we're glad for it. 

Be careful about the songs you sing, and the words you pray. Will you be ready when He answers your prayer to be made like Him? When you sing the words “I give you everything”, do you really mean it? Do you mean “I surrender all?” Because the moment will come when it’s all on the altar. And you’ll be left wondering how you got there. You’ll be left wondering how everything could be taken from you. But isn’t that what you asked? 
Don't miss the season you prayed for because it doesn't look like you planned. 

Be encouraged. He’s there in the crushing. In the breaking. In every dark day. In every moment that feels like there’s no hope, He’s there. When you wonder where He is, He's there. And someday, when you’ve crossed the threshold into the next season, you’ll be closer to who He made you to be. The glory to glory we’re living in isn’t always spotlights and sunshine. Sometimes it’s days and days of darkness. But if we’ll only press closer, He’s there. Our comforter. Our faithful friend. Always working everything for our good. No matter how bad it is. Even what was meant for evil. He did it for Joseph and He can do it again.

All I know is that He is GOOD. In every season. Every mountain and valley, He is FAITHFUL and He is GOOD. Even more than we can know. 

2 Corinthians 4:8-9 

We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; 9 persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.

Matthew 21:44

Anyone who falls on this stone will be broken to pieces; anyone on whom it falls will be crushed.

Lessons

Today, my perfect, little almost 3-month old taught me a valuable lesson. 

You see, up until today, I’ve held him until he falls asleep and then put him in his crib for a nap or for the night. I love these moments because I absolutely ADORE HIM and would gladly hold him FOREVER. 

I’ve been testing out putting him to sleep in his crib while he’s awake and letting him fall asleep on his own and it’s been going really well. 

However today, I settled down on the couch after feeding him and tried to put him to sleep and he just fussed and fussed. I tried all the usual remedies, all the usual tricks. Nothing. He just kept fussing. Finally, I thought that maybe I should just lay him down in his crib and see if he just wanted to cry, or just maybe he would calm down. So I wrapped him up and put him down in the crib. 

He immediately settled down and just laid there quietly. He stayed awake, looking around, for a few minutes. But before I knew it, he was sound asleep. 

I am both incredibly happy and sad at the same time. I am so glad that my almost 3-month old can lay in his crib and put himself to sleep (even without a pacifier). How amazing!

And suddenly, so sad because I realized he didn’t want to be snuggled to sleep. 

And then my physical-touch, love language heart shattered into pieces. 

Now I realize that might sound ridiculous, because tomorrow he might ONLY want to be snuggled. 

But for me, it opened my eyes to a bigger picture. I’m seeing in action, how what I want, what I think is “best” is not necessarily best for him. I have to watch and learn and understand what is best for HIM, and do that. Even if it’s not what I want. Even if it doesn’t fill my emotional need. What’s best for him is what matters. What will be most healthy for him, what will help him grow in the best way possible. Even down to his sleep pattern. Long-term, it will be better for him to be able to fall asleep without being held. And as much as I love and utterly cherish those moments, what’s best for him is more important than what I might feel is best for me. Making sure he gets lots of sleep and has a good schedule will help him feel secure and be healthy. That matters more to me. 

I’ve only been a mom for a minute period of time and already I have been shown over and over again more opportunities to die to myself. I know that’s a phrase we don’t use much anymore in today’s society. The idea of dying to ourselves is rather preposterous to most, even sometimes in the church world. We’re very big on what WE think. Because we think we know a lot. But being a mom has already humbled me in more ways than I can count. 

I don’t know best. 

I don’t have all the answers. 

I can’t have all the answers. 

I can’t let fear control me. 

I can't parent my son out of MY need. 

I have to rely on the Holy Spirit. 

I have to seek the Lord for wisdom on what is BEST for Lennox.  

I have to be ok with not letting my emotions tell me how to be a parent. 

I have to parent my son based on HIS need.

I have to practice self-control on a daily (and/or minute-by-minute) basis. 

I have to remember that His ways ARE higher than my ways; and His thoughts are higher than my thoughts* - even when it comes to being a parent (even in the nitty-gritty of nap time).  

Ultimately, I have to remember that my son is the Lord’s, and I need to hold him with open hands. 

This all might seem a little silly to you, but I look for the Lord in every situation. No matter how silly or insignificant it may seem. Because I know that He cares about the little things. He cares about the details. 

Being a parent is no joke. It is challenging me and changing me in ways that nothing else could, and I am only at the very beginning. But I love that every season of life is so intentional. I love that even the small beginnings** hold so much for us if we’ll seek it out.  

The Lord has the BEST for us, he really does. Don’t miss out because you get distracted trying to make YOUR best happen. Everything He does is perfect and right. 

We can trust Him.   




*Isaiah 55:8
"My thoughts are nothing like your thoughts," says the LORD. "And my ways are far beyond anything you could imagine."

**Zechariah 4:10b
"Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin." 

Lennox Anchor

I’m not much for details. But this was too significant of a moment in our lives to not write it all out at least once. 

It was Sunday night, Father’s Day, and Sam and I had decided to watch a movie and stay up late together.

I honestly don’t even remember what movie we watched. I was sleepy half way through the movie but didn’t quite make it to sleep. The movie ended around 1:30am or so and at 1:36am I felt my first contraction. At that moment I wasn’t sure it was even a real contraction, but it felt different than the Braxton Hicks ones I had experienced. I mentioned to Sam that I thought it was a real contraction and he asked what I wanted to do. It all seemed pretty mellow at that moment so I said I wanted to go to bed and try to sleep, just in case it was the real thing.

We went to bed but I couldn’t sleep. The contractions stayed pretty consistent, so after laying there wide awake for an hour I decided to get up. It was 2:30am and I figured I should start keeping track of the contractions, just in case it was the real deal. I also had realized that I didn’t have anything ready to go to the hospital since it was almost 10 days until my due date. So I did a couple loads of laundry, packed my hospital bag, washed clothes for Lennox and re-read everything I could find about how to figure out if you’re in labor or not. None of it was helpful.

At around 5:30am I decided I should really start timing the contractions because they hadn’t gone away and seemed to be getting stronger.

I found it confusing because all the books talked about the 5-1-1 rule, but my contractions all seemed to be 1-3 minutes apart. The books didn’t talk about that at all. Nor did anyone in the birth class we took. Useless.

Around 7:20am I decided I should wake Sam up (I let him sleep, obviously) and go to the hospital just to get checked out. I figured they would be able to tell me if it was real labor or not, so if it wasn’t I could relax. So Sam got up, quickly packed his bag, lectured me about not waking him up sooner, and we headed to the hospital.

I found it funny when we got to the hospital because the admissions person asked me why I was there. I literally laughed out loud. What other reason would I be at admissions desk for labor and delivery? It was just too funny to me.

Anyway, we filled out the necessary paperwork and got taken back to triage so they could check everything out.

I got changed into a hospital gown and we settled into the little triage room and waited for the nurse to come do her thing. She commented from my demeanor she didn’t think it was real labor. I guess I didn’t look stressed out enough? Haha.

The nurse strapped me into the fetal monitor and then the contraction monitor first. A few minutes later she came back and did the internal check. To her (and our) surprise I was 4cm dilated and 90% effaced and my contractions were consistent and strong at 1-3 minutes apart (again- useless books never even mentioned that as a possibility).

She declared that I was in active labor, so they were admitting me and would get us to a room shortly.

Once we got settled into our room the waiting game started. The contractions were consistently getting stronger, but I wouldn’t say they were ‘painful’ at that point. Uncomfortable, sure, but not bad. Me and Sam hung out and talked, and tried to relax as much as we could.

A couple hours later the nurse came back to check me again, but this time, she accidentally broke my water. She had commented the last time she checked me that the waters were “bulging” (sorry, gross), so it wasn’t too surprising, I guess? 

This was my one disappointment about childbirth in the hospital; once your water breaks they don’t let you move around anymore. Since Sam and I had decided on a natural birth, being able to stand or move around was important to me to help alleviate pain. So that was a disappointment as they had me get back into bed and I had to just settle in and hope that things moved quickly.

I noticed the contractions got a lot a stronger after that. I remember being frustrated about being stuck in bed, because the only thing to look at on the wall across from me was a clock. So I was laying there, literally watching seconds tick by. But thankfully, time did pass and the nurse came back to check me again, and I was at 7cm. After that the contractions started getting a bit more intense. I would like to say that I was totally relaxed but by that time all I could do was focus on getting through each contraction.

Quick side note: I can’t give Sam enough credit for being so AWESOME the whole time I was in labor. He was the exact support I needed.

The nurse told me after hitting 7cm that we would be probably be having the baby in a couple hours. That was super exciting to me, so I tried to focus on that, and not stare at the clock on the wall, counting every single minute.

Fast forward an hour and 45 minutes, I was in quite a bit of pain, and starting to feel like I needed to push. I told the nurse and she checked me again and said I was at about 9 1/2cm, so then she asked if I wanted to get out of bed and stand up. I said YES, because that’s all I had wanted anyway. Why I could get up then and not the whole time is beyond me, but whatever.

I stood up for a few minutes, and then sat on the birthing ball and then with one contraction I knew I needed to push. I told the nurse again, and she said ok and to just wait until I was in the bed again.

Somehow I managed to get in the bed, contracting away, and got positioned to push.

The nurse talked me through how to push and said I could push on the next contraction. So that next contraction I started pushing, and that was a whole different type of pain. Not as bad as I thought it would be, just different than sitting there, enduring contractions.

Once we started that I didn’t keep track of time anymore, thankfully. I asked Sam later how long it took, and he said 45 minutes of actual pushing. So not that bad, it didn’t seem that long to me. I felt no difference in pushing, some women talk about the “ring of fire”, I never felt it. Couldn’t have told you when that happened, or when I tore (mildly). Never felt any of that, somehow.

The doctor encouraged me to push beyond the 3, 10 second rounds almost every time, so I tried to do that. I felt very determined to make it happen quick. Haha.

The only time I felt like I wasn’t sure I was going to make it was when one of the nurses told me it could take up to 3 hours to push out a baby. I remember looking at Sam and telling him I didn’t think I could do that for 3 hours. The nurse quickly assured me it would take less than an hour. I sure hoped so.

The most exciting moment before he came out was when I was pushing and Sam looked at me and said “he’s almost here!” So even though I wanted to take a break, I kept pushing. Before I even knew it, he was out and they were laying him on my chest.

There he was, all red and crying his little eyes out. I was a little concerned about the pretty good cone head he had, but he was absolutely perfect to me.

Nothing mattered as soon as I got to kiss his sweet little face and talk to him.

I didn’t care when the doctor gave me a few stitches, or when the placenta was delivered.

It’s pretty nuts how none of that is relevant once you hold that sweet baby.

At that point Sam and I hadn’t been able to settle on his name. But the nurse was filling out his little birth cards and doing his footprints so she asked us if we had a name. I looked at Sam and asked him what he thought. Without hesitation he said “Lennox Anchor.” I think that was the name I really wanted, but until he said it, I didn’t know for sure. 

And so, there he was. Our perfect little, 7 pound, 15 ounce, 20 1/2in, baby boy, Lennox Anchor Madrid.
And our lives will never be the same. 

Valleys

I had an epiphany the other day. It’s not that shocking, I promise. But I do think it’s important.

As followers of Jesus, we should be professionals at pain. Not that we’re masochists and long for pain, or relish in it. We don’t wallow and gain a sense of pride about our pain. We don’t turn our pain into our identity. We don’t become it. But we should be pro’s at facing it. At walking through it. Psalm 23 is a beautiful illustration of our walk through the valley- the valley of the shadow of death. I think sometimes we read that scripture and interpret it as once. We walk through the valley once. There’s nothing in the passage to confirm this thought process. I think we just like to think we have the hard trial once, prove our mettle and then we’re done. We imagine a time when we’ll look back on the valley with fondness because it’s a distant memory. And we will. But what if there’s more than one valley? More than one shadow of death? Here’s the shocking thought: What if we NEED the valley? Maybe we need multiple valleys, tempering us for different things. Preparing us and softening us. Calling us once again to draw close and cling to Jesus. 

We should be professionals at pain. Meaning we know how to respond. We respond with faith. We trust. We rest. We sit down at the table prepared in the presence of our enemies, and we eat in peace. 

We don't pretend things aren't difficult. We’re ok with grief. We’re ok with the tears. But we don’t allow the walk through the valley to become the road to despair. The valley is just another passage on the walk of faith. Take a moment and grieve. But then gear up. Because the valley is really one of the most incredible adventures of our lives. 

Monuments

I've been thinking. And I know that I'm late to the conversation, and the world has moved on. Harvey has come and devastated thousands of people in Texas, and our focus has shifted. And that’s a good thing. The precious people in Texas need support, so let's focus on that. 

But I want to go back to this conversation about monuments. I understand there’s a lot of controversy. I understand that it’s contentious. I don’t agree with the mob mentality that is being created in taking down these monuments. I don’t agree with the constant extremism and polarization of races. It’s not helping us. 

But here’s what I keep thinking. 

If what a monument represents is hurting someone, we should take it down. 

I understand the idea of preserving history. The removal of monuments doesn’t take away our history. Calm down. 

We can preserve and honor our history whether a monument stays in place or not. 

Honestly, I don't even want to get into the "political argument" of it all. 

Instead, consider this for a moment: 

How can I look my brother who is hurting in the face and choose a monument that is made of metal and stone over the flesh and bone standing in front of me?

That’s what keeps plaguing me. How can I say I love my brother when I choose the worth of a monument over his? 

I have friends that have told me stories of what their parents have experienced as a result of  segregation. And many of these monuments are nothing more than reminders of horribly painful experiences. I don’t like that. 

I understand that there can be a level of emotion involved in this. I understand that there is potential for it to be irrational, or illogical. I understand all that. But it’s not my job to govern somebody’s emotions. It’s not my job to sit here and point out how incorrect their emotion is, or whatever it is that crosses my mind that “needs to be said.” 

It is my job to be kind. To be loving. To listen. To hear. To respond. 

1 John 4 says that if I say I love God, but hate my brother, I’m a liar. 

The truth is, I can’t choose some monument, over my brother who is hurting. 

I want to gain my brother back, more than I want some monument to stay in place.

I don’t need a monument. But I do need my brother. 

For me, that’s what it all comes down to:
If it’s a statue or my brother. I choose my brother. 

Perfect or Process

I was looking at my husband while he was on stage the other day, and so many thoughts occurred to me. While he is not perfect, he is perfect for me. While he is not perfect, he is in process. He's not the man he was 9+ years ago when we started dating. He is better. He's a better man now than he was then. And he was pretty great. Just saying.

But I couldn't help but ponder about perfection. About process.

Sometimes we get caught up in looking for the "perfect" person. And while yes, we do want the right person- right doesn't equal perfect. Here's the truth: I know my husband isn't perfect. And neither am I.

But it's not about perfection. It's about process.

I don't like big qualifying statements like "don't look for the perfect person." Because I think that's fine. But rather, as you look for the perfect person, look for one that's perfectly in process.

I imagine we all like to skip ahead to the end, when we're all perfectly mature. When we always say the right thing. When we always do the right thing. When we're always calm. When we always communicate exactly what we should. When we never lose our temper. Where the relationship is always good, and there are never any misunderstandings or miscommunications. When we are that fantastical, storybook version of ourselves that we've imagined.

But here's the truth about skipping ahead to the end.
You miss everything that got you to that place.

And when you really break down what that means, it means you'll miss all the little moments. All the sweetness. The day after day, night after night of just being together. The laughter. The little glances across the room. All the little secrets you share. All the blow-out arguments that made you want to scream, but when you finally persevered all the way through changed everything. All the moments you have to ask for forgiveness because you were the one who was wrong. All the hard work that made you who you are.

And that’s just it.
But for the PROCESS, we would never be who we're meant to be.
It's slow, because refinement isn't instantaneous.
It's painful sometimes because refinement sharpens the best parts of you, while destroying the ugly ones.
It’s scary, because it means letting go of what is comfortable, and convenient.
It’s faith, because sometimes it doesn’t look like what you thought it would.

We underestimate the importance of process. The beauty of process.
Process is building something of substance.
Process is building something that will last.
Process is building something that will endure the end of time.
Process is refining us, slowly, one day at a time to reflect Jesus.

So the truth is, perfect is great. But it is impossible without process.
So as you're out there, fighting the good fight, looking for that soul mate, just remember: Perfect is good. Find that person who is perfect for you. But find the one that is perfectly in process. Then be ok with mess that comes with it. Commit to the person, and to the process.

We have a Father who is on our side. A Father who is an EXPERT at building a city out of ruins. A Father who can take ashes and turn them to beauty. A Father who takes process and makes it perfect.