Getaway Pictures

Winter break seems long past already, and I sit here tonight feeling grateful that the first two weeks back at our regular routines are behind us. They were a super-charged two weeks with much to attend to; it's a relief to be sitting on this side of the pressures. 

Jon, however, keeps moving forward full throttle. Maybe if rest cannot be afforded, it's not truly needed? No, not true. He tried to lay down this afternoon for a short moment before hitting the road once more, only to take a phone call instead. I don't know how he keeps up the pace. As for me, I'll have the bed to myself and I think I just might sleep-in tomorrow morning because it's a holiday Monday. And as I always do, I'll remember to pray for my husband, asking God to grant wisdom to lead and strength to persevere. Sometimes rest comes in different ways than by sleep. Refreshment can come through relationships and conversations, and on Jon's behalf I am grateful for these provisions even today.

We took a few nights away as a family last month, and I'm posting a few pictures before more weeks of time fly by. We spent our first night in Hollywood. We explored that area at night, then ventured up to Griffith Observatory. The next day we walked through down town before heading over to Malibu. Then we travelled up the coast to our old get-away, Santa Barbara, where we stayed for a couple days and rang in the new year. (Santa Barbara pics will have to be posted another time.)

Not all my kids have clear memories of The Walk of Fame, or the theaters, Hollywood streets, and sights in general, so it was fun to show everyone around once again.

Jon took us to some of his old vendors and contacts. He knows this city pretty well and loves it so much. Some of my kids have a natural comfort in the city, while others, like me, have an appreciation that lasts for a limited time.

We made a late lunch stop in Malibu at the fish place we used to take our family to when they were babies and toddlers. Sometimes we'd get clam chowder and take it to the beach. It was like playing a real-live game of Frogger to get across the PCH, so that part of the memory I don't miss.

It's a terrible picture we took with the camera set on the table, but it's my only group shot from our entire trip. Then the camera kept shooting, and some preferred expressions appeared.

Driving up the coast as the sun set was a lovely way to wrap up the day in L.A. The two of us who take pictures insisted we pull over.

Fire. There's always fire when the opportunity presents.

A few closing thoughts as this day wraps up:

1.  People are weird and they do weird things. That's surely something we can all agree on, yes? I witnessed some truly weird stuff again today, and remembered that people can be pretty blind to their weirdness. The most astonishing kind of weird is when people think their behavior is acceptable.

2.  Being weird is not the same as being original, creative, and different from the masses.

3.  I had a refreshing conversation with a dear friend tonight. To speak candidly and openly about the things of the heart with a trusted friend is a gift, but when those conversations are saturated with encouragement from God's Word, it is life-giving. We talked about Christ and his promises to us, we talked about the goodness of God, and about the results of trials. We shared our contentment in knowing Christ still more as a result of suffering. We noted that although God promises to work all things for the good of those who love him, we are not ensured that our trial will give us some sort of award or happy ending or increased virtue or testimony we can share in this life. He promises good, yes, but we don't set our eyes on looking for that good as though it is the prize. In fact, we may not ever know what that good is on this side of eternity. We can be 100% assured that his promises are true, but we are not always privy to the whole story he has fashioned, nor are we to set our hope on finding some sort of reward as though we are waiting for due payment. No, that is not where our hope resides. We set our hope and our gaze on him alone. The suffering and the trials drive us to him. Perhaps this is the good. Perhaps his promise is fulfilled in our knowing the Lord still more, and in a deepening relationship and love for him. Shouldn't that be more than enough?


~Katherine

Some Feelings on Thoughts

There is a moment here tonight to complete the notes started last week. We are a household of tired people. My younger boys are completing their work for the day- history, literature, and guitar practice- and I hope to see them tucked in by 9PM. Gone are the days when bedtimes were predictable. Michael has a late night with an English paper due tomorrow and a math test to take before his 7AM class, while Olivia plans on doing some exercise before setting up for her day of work/internship. Jon is at a meeting this evening. Here I sit with my workout clothes and apron, typing. 

We’ve had some weather recently in our part of the world. That is to say, there’s been a little change from the near constant sunny and perfect temp to coldish and wet. It seems ridiculous to say and almost like an insult to those enduring actual long, bleak months, but this “winter” seems to be dragging on!

The parts I like best about all the rain is how the world seems to be pressure washed clean and the ground is sprouting greenery in abundance. The urge to be in the wild has been strong, so this past holiday Monday we took the opportunity to romp around in the wild.

We stopped on our drive up to collect moss and fern for the boys' terrariums. We later discovered that the road was washed out; we had a grand time slipping and bumping precariously along to the trailhead.

Nature escapes are escapes indeed. It’s a break from the constant, never-ending tasks of life. It’s a place to just be, a place to exhale and breathe anew. For as long as I can remember, nature has been a safe place to feel, or not feel, to think, or not think. Whatever is needed deep in my spirit, nature is like a gentle balm that nurtures my being. It’s a place where I don’t have to just do the next thing, but simply let enjoyment and restoration have its way. This is weird to most people, I’m sure, but how thankful I am to know such a place exists for my well-being.

“Just do the next thing.” This has been a motto for me when the tasks seem overwhelming, when the immediate needs are beyond my ability to meet, or when the sorrows of life inundate. I believe this motto was popularized by Elisabeth Elliot in years past. It was a calming phrase when my kids were little and when chaos seemed to describe my daily existence. “Just do the next thing.” I’d tell myself to just get up and work, to focus on the task at hand instead of worry about the enormity of all that needed to be done; to keep moving, to disregard exhaustion; to strategize and plan for the sake of maximizing efficiency; to meet needs as they came, triage and prioritize when they came in waves. Then when my head would hit the pillow at night, and many things were left undone, I’d know that I was only responsible for doing my best. If I had kept myself from slacking off, then I could have confidence I had done everything in my power to faithfully carry out my work.

I’m still a lot like that.

“Just go.”
“Just do it.”
“Next thing.”
“Push.”
“You can do this.”
“Don’t stop.”

This mental discipline has been a huge help to me. It’s a mental discipline that says, “Do what you’ve committed to doing without thinking of why you don’t feel like doing it.” In other words, “Stop thinking about how you feel about it.”

I’ve come to learn that my feelings want to bully my resolve to accomplish a goal, until my mind begins to justify why I should give up. If I’m not careful, I can then give in to what my mind is telling me. On the other hand, I’ve also learned that if I succeed in keeping my feelings and mental dialogue in check, I will be surprised and thankful for what is actually possible. Side note: Running has made this particularly plain to me, and I love how discipline in one area of life is reflected in others.

My kids see me doing this as a way of life. For instance, with running and the unfavorable recent weather, my words come out forbidding my complaint and urging resolve. The clouds loom dark and near, my skin protests in goose-bumps, and my kids hear me say, “I just can’t think about it. I’m just going to go.” And I do.

Again and again recently, I find myself miles from home pressing my body into the wind, numb, but moving. Then the rain comes, sometimes like cold crocodile tears, or like prolonged, sloshy, cold mist, or like sharp needles jabbing with the cold Pacific wind. The other day was my short, but intense, running day; I had intervals and hills to conquer. I misjudged the sunny sky and wore shorts and a t-shirt… and then got pelted with hail.

Sometimes I wish for someone to come rescue me, someone to drive by and offer a ride, or my husband or daughter to come find me. But then I wonder if the joy of finishing despite the discomfort is better.

Running often makes me think of life: Maybe God doesn’t rescue us from trial because he knows perseverance is better for us than rescue. Or maybe rescue only comes after perseverance has been learned- two gifts rather than just one. Probably there’s no easy, blanket statement answer and we must just press on.

I’m good at commitment. Is that OK to say? I see that I probably stick to my commitments a little more resolutely than most, and sometimes I would do better to be more relaxed, less personally invested, and more accepting of the fact that not all commitments are equal. I can be committed to commitment.

But I am learning there are times when just doing the next thing isn’t best. There are times when the resolute mind must give way to feeling; the mind must take into account the senses, the gut feelings, the emotions. There can be huge problems with thinking without feeling. God created both internal faculties for our good. Feelings have to inform our thinking, or we can become numb to life and robotic, even becoming legalists hardened to grace.

God doesn’t desire mere sacrifice. Scripture passages that comes to mind right now are regarding the sacrifices of thanksgiving and the sacrifice of a repentant heart. These are precious to God. They are both sacrifices that are expressed by feelings far more than action. Action that is pure and without hypocrisy will then follow the feeling.

I think we err greatly when we believe and teach, “Just obey. It doesn’t matter how you feel about it.” Why doesn’t it matter? Surely God wants our feelings to be rightly aligned. It was so helpful for me to realize that God’s sanctifying power reaches even to my emotions. Of course we must not let our emotions rule us, but that doesn’t mean they don’t matter.

Feelings matter tremendously. For example, how your children feel about your rules and commands do matter. Yes, obedience must be required, but conversations about feelings are not to be view as a threat to parental authority. The weak parent is personally treatened and seeks to suppress opposing feelings; the wise parent seeks to draw out the deep things of the heart. What if you found out something about your child’s heart that leads to closeness in relationship, or deeper conversation about eternal things? What if allowing them to verbalize their feelings exposes YOUR sin of harshness, unreasonable expectation, pride in wielding your parental power, or tendency to exasperate them? Wouldn’t that be far better to know?

Reject emotion and you reject the person. Think about that.

Also, we can easily settle into routines of merely doing without feeling in marriage: doing what we've mentally learned we should do, but doing it without affection. We “obey” God in the sense that we are performing our marital roles, but we can do them entirely without emotion. I’m pretty certain that is never what God intended in relationships. Is it possible to love without feeling? I’m so tired of hearing that love is an action! I don’t want such a puny little love of duty. No. Train your mind and heart to cultivate loving feelings. Pray earnestly for it, with perseverance. Don’t settle for being at the mercy of feelings haphazardly coming or going, or believing that nothing can be done.

I feel compelled to pose the question because of the prevalence of certain situations: What about the toxic relationship wherein your feelings are screaming at you in desperation, your whole being is coming apart because of the wicked (demonic) behavior of another? Should it still be mind-over-feeling?! God didn’t give you feelings about the situation merely to torment you further.

Thoughts and emotions are both vital, God-created both elements of our personhood for our good and well-being. We are not meant to employ one over the other.

I have erred greatly in this area over the course of my life. Emotional preservation and responses became default patterns in situations where preservation was no longer needed. When backs turned and there was fear, hurt, and loss of security, I intentionally ignored feeling. I learned to “Just do the next thing.” I taught myself to suppress negative feeling, to reject emotion. How evident this was to me when I recently heard myself repeat out loud, “Just don’t feel,” in the midst of a painful situation.

I don’t think we ever succeed at this scheme of not feeling; we only damage our willingness and ability to experience ALL of the rich array of emotion we’ve been gifted, even the good.

But we must never lose hope. We are never too far gone, too far down the road of life to learn anew. There is always opportunity to unlearn or relearn. We hope in God who creates new life— he is the giver of life and he gives it abundantly. And we can find further hope in knowing that God binds himself to us through a promise (a binding contract that has no basis in emotion), AND a loving, personal, emotion-filled relationship. He has pledged to me his love, and he is shaping me more and more into his image so that I can emulate him and love like him.

I don’t pretend to have the answers for how to manage thinking and feeling... or anything else in life. Life and circumstances are complex. All I know for sure is that I am desperately needy for help!

I have hope in God: He helps his children through his Spirit and his Word, and by the use of my mind AND my feelings, I can follow with perseverance and faith.

~Katherine

Nurtured

These words were typed out several days ago, maybe even over a week ago. I can't remember. As I often do, I hesitated to post and spent a few days asking myself if I'm being too vulnerable for public content. I'm not sure I can ever fully resolve my quandary; maybe I am hopelessly introspective and far too concerned about how I will be perceived. I settled on posting because this is me being me, humanly flawed and affected by difficulty, with crooks and crannies of my heart that are tender and untidy.

I could be wrong, but I think at the core women are more similar than not. Maybe my daughter will be able to find a connection with her mom someday that she cannot just yet. Maybe you can relate. Then again, maybe not.

As for me, I'd rather live in a way that leans towards vulnerability than artificial sterility...

>:<

I won't lie. The last few weeks have been tough. It's so much nicer to come here and remember happy events, but I'm committed to representing myself authentically. That commitment is not so much about what I choose to write publicly (every aspect of life is not meant to be public), but I can't sit here tonight and communicate as if life is all rosy. Pretending life is perfect is an empty, exhausting pursuit. I would know. I read somewhere that perfectionists lack the courage to be imperfect. In other words, they lack the courage to be themselves. It's okay to not always be okay. I'm not always okay, obviously, but take it or leave it. This is me, not always doing okay.

I am a crier. I always hoped I'd grow out of it, or that I would learn how to hold back tears more effectively. I hoped to learn how to cover up, to pretend. I have wanted to feel less deeply, to feel less of me, even less of what I imagine others feel.

One time when I was little, maybe 7 or 8, my brother kept little tally marks on the corner of a chalk board in our house of all the times I had cried in one day. I guess he must have been feeling pretty exasperated by me. It had been a particularly bad day, and after I had cried over something once more   he showed me the collection of tally marks. I cried again, proving his point.

I'm a tiny bit better at holding tears back now. But not always. I hold back till I just can't anymore, and the tears come as a collective flow, every tear that had been repressed breaking free.

And so it has been. Tears in the shower, standing over the sink, driving in the car, my face against my husband's neck... all those repressed tears breaking free. There's something therapeutic in a good old fashion cry, because some things are worth crying about. Maybe there wouldn't be much to cry about if we didn't let ourselves love deeply.

I have thought on occasion that I still need to be mothered. A friend who has a few years on me validated this for me. There are times when adults still need to be mothered. 'Nurtured' may be a better word.

I went for a run in a quiet, unfamiliar neighborhood last week. I picked this area because it seemed safer for a night run in the area of town I was in (waiting for one of my kids). The streets were steep hills, the sidewalks were lit by a soft glow of newly built homes. The burdens and difficulties of my life weighed heavy, my thoughts running faster than my feet, my heart pumping, my head pounding. I ran uphill, looped through some side streets, down the back side of the hill, around the base and up again. And again and again.

Just like a good old fashion cry, running is therapeutic. But when the heart beats from the burden of emotion more than it does from the burden of running, and when the tears turn into sobs, and the lungs can no longer accommodate the simultaneous demands of both running and sobbing, then neither running or crying is therapeutic anymore.

There has been so much going on in my personal life. There's much going on in the world around us. Much disconcert, darkness, depravity. Whether I want it or not, I get a glimpse into the personal lives of many people because of my husband's work, and the things I don't want to see are unsettling. I stood reading from Psalms 46 one morning, comforted by the familiar words, "Be still and know that I am God" and the following, more frequently omitted words, "I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth." Behind me on the kitchen island lay the morning paper with headlines of devastation from hurricanes, and influential, crazy words from powerful and deranged men on both sides of the globe.

"Be still and know that I am God." Yes. That is what I want; they are words spoken directly to me. All nature, all nations will exalt Him. He's got this.

But the pain of trials is still very real. There is suffering and anguish. Our hearts long for others to be reconciled to God, our hearts break at their rejection. We are personally rejected, and that hurts real bad too. We still live and feel and cause real pain.

In the pain, though, He tells me to be still, to know that He is God. I am like a child, pained by something real, but being comforted and nurtured by a trustworthy parent. More than that, though, He is God.

Parenting. Let me just say that is not always an easy walk in the park. It's a grueling uphill run that sometimes leads to a sobbing parent who can't breathe. I have learned, though, that every single trial is an opportunity for me to be either tempted to despair or for my faith to be refined. I may teeter on the edge of despair, but by grace I choose to tighten my grip on faith still more. If a trial leads me to stronger and more resolute faith, then the trial is a kindness from God.

Here's what I've learned in the difficulty of parenting: The Lord parents me through it. My sin is exposed, my dependence on self and lack of faith is brought to light, my idolatry is revealed. I have experienced His promise to work all things together for good to be true, that trial is for the benefit of my sanctification. So just as I pray for my children and attempt to show them their need to turn to God in complete dependence and faith, God is calling out my very same need. He parents me. He nurtures my faith through trial.

This is a grace.

"Be still and know that I am God." In all situations, in every place, He is exalted on His throne. And He cares about these legs that run away and this heart that beats in pain and the sobs that keep air from filling my lungs. He is a personal, nurturing God that has perfect power. Yes, I can learn to be still even in the midst of this imperfect, painful life. His love is steady, secure, and unfailing. There is no safer place to rest or to hold on to in faith.

>:<

When I scrolled through pictures on my computer, these stood out because I see my boys nurturing things that are small and fragile. I realize they were not doing this intentionally, but rather they were driven by interest and curiosity. Still, I see boys skillful in one small aspect of nurturing.

The first set (above) were orphaned ducklings found in our pool one morning; the butterflies all came from caterpillars found, fed, and observed as they morphed; the lizards came from eggs which were found and secretly kept hidden in a bedroom till they hatched (hoping they would be snakes); and Jacob frequently brings me the creatures he finds and talks to me through the screen as I work in the kitchen.

~Katherine

Easter 2017

So Easter happened. I saw lots of happy family pictures posted on social media, all pretty in Easter Sunday best. I didn't take one of my crew. For a fleeting moment I thought of taking a couple shots, but I really wasn't into imposing that on us. The boys would have grumbled, Jon would have accepted the interruption though his focus was intently on the sermon, and I was wearing a dress I've worn for 8 years or so. Blah. Olivia looked cute, that I did notice.

But Easter picture wouldn't do one single thing to prepare my heart for the significance of Christ's resurrection, and really, that's what I wanted most.

I had made some Easter plans as an attempt to make the day stand out from the rest. We had a special breakfast together, and preparations were made to have several families from church for the day. Oh, and the egg toss which has become something the kids look forward to now. I never really know what the plan is any more. I've tried to become flexible enough in my hosting to include more people than anticipated. I want holidays to be celebratory and inclusive.

Yeah, but an Easter menu and a decorated table and laughter over splattered eggs doesn't equate true celebration. This I know and feel.

I didn't grow up with particularly festive holidays and we didn't have many traditions. As frequently happens, people grow up and decide they want to do differently from how they were brought up. I am sure my kids will look back and decide that they don't want to repeat certain things I've done. This is to be expected. For me, though, one thing I wanted to do differently were holidays and celebrations. I wanted family traditions and festive celebrations. I've had to work at this, learning the how-to of hosting and preparing for such occasions. I have seen that my efforts have enriched our family life, but I've also grown acutely aware that special days of worship can turn into distracted days of human tradition and entertainment.

This isn't worship. Yes, I want days like Resurrection Sunday to stand out as being special, but I desire this to come from humble hearts of gratefulness and true worship. We should be able to do this  regardless of the menu and decor and entertainment. I want to learn how to do this.

In the car today, I told the boys that every single day my desire is to communicate to them just how wonderful God is. In a big huge way I want them to know this... To taste and see that the Lord is good.

But I don't have the words. I told them I fail at communicating what my heart longs to say, longs for them to know. So despite my difficulty, I pray daily that the Lord's face would shine on us, that we would know him, that our eyes would be opened to the Truth that changes hearts and lives.

I want every cell of my body, and the entirety of my soul to be oriented to God and to know him for who he really is... and then to be able to express it appropriately.

But I find myself stuck, distracted, wayward, and stone-like at times.

Then Easter comes and all I want is for my mind and heart to truly celebrate. And I'm unable to do so beyond surface type praise.

This side of eternity, I will not be able to fully grasp the depth of my sin or the vastness of Christ's love and sacrifice. I won't fully understand the significance of his resurrection with my finite heart and mind. It's too wonderful for me.

In the car ride today, I encouraged the boys once again to go before God in complete honesty. If they don't believe, they should tell him so. He already knows it, and there is no use pretending with him. If they don't love him, they should ask that he would change their heart. I told them that sin will happen. It just will. The good news is that God always forgives. The proud, unrepentant heart, however, is to be feared. We ought to pray that God would orient us toward him... because we cannot do it on our own.

I tell God I don't love and worship as I should. I tell him I want to, but I need his help. I hope this humility, though terribly small in terms of gifts or expression of thanksgiving, is pleasing to Him. He knows my heart and how it needs to be sanctified.

He promises to do it, and his word is always sure. He resurrected, just as he said he would, and  he will surely return. Then I will know true worship.

>>:<<

We had a wonderful spring break last week. We were able to get away as a family for a few days and enjoy this season of our lives. We went through Santa Barbara, our get-away town during the years we lived in L.A., and we recreated the very first picture I posted on this blog. You can see the original picture HERE. 

~Katherine

Honestly Speaking

Sometime before the new year, I made it out for a hike with just my kids. I love our winter hikes. I obviously use the word "winter" loosely.

A "winter" flower, maybe?

It's the closest I may get to fluffy white.

We love the dark shadows of the forest best. It's where there are more mysteries to imagine or uncover...

We take the 5 mile loop, with a very long stretch of uphill climb. Olivia and I are always far ahead of the boys.

Little gentleman Jack insisted on carrying the pack for me.

The plan was to hike up far and away, then to find a place beneath the oak trees and settle in for a while. I had brought a few snacks, a light blanket, and my Bible and journal. The boys were planning on exploring, while Olivia probably had a book or her sketch pad. I was looking forward to this down time, this quiet, restful time that my mind imagines when it needs rest the most. But alas, boys take a long time just walking. They seem to stop every few steps, bending down to look, feel, discover. I know it's good for them in ways our modern culture overlooks, so I don't mind. Eventually I could feel the temperature begin to dip as the sun neared the mountain edges, and our sunlight began to fade. We had just enough time to complete our loop at a slow, take-your-time-to-smell-the roses kind of way. It was nearly as good as the original plan.

This tree is our favorite place to catch our breath after the climb. 

Some boys think outside the box and climb up the branches, others are interdependent and look to a brother for help. Both methods have their advantages. Actually, Michael hoisted me up too, because there's no such thing as being too old to climb a good tree.

I'm sure the boys covered more ground than the 5 mile distance of trail; their path criss-crossed back and forth over the footpath. 

Finding trapdoor spiders... 

(impressive little home-makers)

I spy with my little eyes... one girl having a snack.

Tender, fresh green growth makes its way up and out after the rains...

Kind of like sanctification.

Around here, "winter" comes sometime mid-December; spring apparently arrives later in the same month.

The boys carried home samples of various mosses for their ongoing experiments and plans. They were impressed with all the varieties we found.

Homebound. 

>>:<<

I’ve always desired for this little space of mine on the internet to be honest. Not that I have to write about every aspect of life, but honesty should characterize what I do share. That said, it’s perfectly honest to only write about the good stuff of life, perfectly honest to post a picture of something I find pretty even if the surrounding area is not, and perfectly honest to keep private the issues that affect others. ‘Honorable’ might be a better word for that last part, but the point is that I don’t owe anyone here the entirety of my thoughts, circumstances, or story. It is the responsibility of the reader, I think, to understand that people and situations and life in general is multifaceted and often complex. Obviously.

Blogging is so weird. You, dear readers, are a mysterious group to me! I have some indication of who you are among family and friends, but my stats show that thousands visit this space each month. With few comments, I have always been left wondering who you are. Interestingly, the occasional feedback I get from friends and strangers is often related to honesty, or at least about so-called “transparency” regarding the things I share.

So here’s something honest and very human. Despite the very real and true and honest fact that our holidays were sweet (as I have previously posted), I entered the new year with a fizzle. I rang in a NYC new year at 9 PM on December 31, with a tired, forced, and very difficult-to-muster type of smile.

The Lord has determined to bless me with a physical trial on a regular basis. This one started sometime in November and rapidly brought me down by the end of December and into January. I'll get to the blessing part of it in a moment (the honest good stuff), but the trial part is very real too (the honest difficult stuff). And it is a trial. This physical trial leaves me in a state where I am gasping for oxygen from the inside, but the real trial comes as I grasp and struggle to live well in every other sense. The feeling of inability, failure, and depression (gasp!) hangs like thick darkness.

It's more than "just tired."

I have spent an extended period of time in survival mode. I struggle to sleep because the arms and legs are freezing to the touch, despite extra clothes and mountains of blankets. I struggle to wake because I am always exhausted, my whole face hurts, and my limbs heavy. I am fragile in every way, especially beyond my physical state. I lay there each morning quoting Psalms, begging God to sustain and strengthen me, and asking for His supernatural assistance. And I thank Him for loving me enough to bring about that which He knows is for my good.

But I am highly vulnerable. Edgy. Severely and embarrassingly foggy-brained, light-headed, often assaulted by emotion, and keenly aware that I'm fighting a spiritual battle most of all.

Psalm 71 has been my standby scripture...

 "...forsake me not when my strength is spent" (v. 9)

"Your righteousness, O God,

    reaches the high heavens.

You who have done great things,

    O God, who is like you?

You who have made me see many troubles and calamities

    will revive me again;

from the depths of the earth

    you will bring me up again." (vv. 19-20)

But I fail. For instance, one misinterpreted/imagined sideway look from my husband at the late hour of 8AM, and I think he is looking down on me for laziness. My heart sinks further. Later, the boys and their jokes are loud and stupid to me and I snap. Too often I am in my head, partly by default and partly to protect myself from sinning with my words, but also at a cost to relationship with those around. I often succumb to emotion. Emotion, I have learned, is never a good controller.

It's a lonely place to be, but not hopeless. I have learned that my trials hold a promise of bearing fruit in due season, even if I don't feel it in the "winter." My ugly behavior horrifies me, so I learn to take my guilt back to God. I am humbled in my weaknesses and in my sins, but I remember that my righteousness was never, ever the result of any perceived goodness when life was easier. This humbled place -- though dark and painful -- reminds me of who I really am, and especially that I am a desperate sinner in need of a good and compassionate God. I am comforted to know these thoughts are simply and truly evidences of grace and the result of sanctification from past trials, and to know that it is through trial that I grow. Never do I feel my need to cling to God as desperately as I do when enduring trial, though the need at all time is very real.

He is my righteousness, and my hope. He is my salvation. His promises of deliverance are trustworthy, His character of compassion and steadfast love are sure.

And there is more goodness all around. There are simple joys and triumphs when I set myself to seeing. For instance, the ability to just leave the house and get out in nature with my kids for an afternoon hike, or a 30 minute bout of exercise, is reason for thankfulness. This does me such good, and controlling a tired body brings a small sense of accomplishment, rather than allowing how I feel to keep me cooped up only to rot some more! Also, the warm feeling of laying in a beam of sunlight on the carpet in the afternoon, or hearing the three boys talking together like great friends for an extended period of time soothes my bleak outlook. With the help of the Holy Spirit, I feel a small victory when I can offer help with sincerity to those around me. And then laying skin to skin in the night...

Oh, of course I can't forget the fact that help is on its way now that I've received two IV infusions of iron. When my appointments were set, I told Jon it felt like I was way out at sea in a tiny little dingy at night but the rescue ship was shining in the distance. So for this I am very thankful!

It has become trendy to enter the new year with a chosen key word or two. If I were to pick I think it would be the words brave humility.

Sometimes it takes bravery to stop trusting in our own devices, bravery to sincerely admit from the depth of our soul that we are in fact useless for righteousness without God. We walk around saying we believe this, but not truly living it from daily conviction. This is humility. It takes bravery sometimes to humble ourselves in repentance before people, and bravery to say to the outside world, "Hey, don't look to me 'cause I'm pretty messed up. I am what I am by the grace of God alone, so look to Him!" ...and then actually live it. It's takes bravery to raise kids this way, too. Humility is absolutely necessary to trust God's backward way of living when my flesh thinks, "I can do it myself!" with a toddler-like attitude.

I read these good words to the kids this morning, and as they come to mind again tonight I think of brave humility to simply trust God with my all...

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts,

    neither are your ways my ways," declares the Lord.

"For as the heavens are higher than the earth,

    so are my ways higher than your ways

    and my thoughts than your thoughts."

So there. Cheers to brave humility despite the degree of happiness we feel in the coming year! Joy, satisfaction, and confidence in God will always beat a fleeting, fickle feeling of happiness!  xo


~Katherine