Category Archives: motherhood

A Chronicle of Grief

Being a mother has completely transformed the way I experience Easter. It has very little to do with hiding the eggs and everything to do with imagining Holy Week through Mary’s mind and heart. When my kids stub their toes, I cringe. The relatively few times we have had to take trips to the ER (especially considering I am raising three rowdy fellas), I was completely undone watching my children in pain.

This series of poems chronicles the three days from the perspective of Mary, the grief-stricken mother of Christ.

A Chronicle of Grief

Friday
The aroma of anointing oils,
Scents of frankincense and myrrh,
Linen wrapping and a dark cave;
Buried memories begin to stir.

I remember holding him tightly,
Two sets of tear-filled eyes locked.
All was well with the world,
As I my newborn child rocked.

Here and there arrows of fear
Pierced the placid scene,
A Jealous ruler, exile to Egypt,
Prophecies. What does it mean?

Thoughts long stored in my heart,
Reemerge as tears my eyes fill.
Deep down, I knew pain was coming;
But death on a criminal’s hill?

Crazed by love and drunk with pain,
I nearly climbed that shameful tree.
His tear-filled eyes locked with mine,
Saying silently, “Momma, you must let it be.”

As I hold his body, swaddled again,
I rock him with the sways of grief.
My baby, My Son, My treasured One,
Without you, there can be no relief.

Saturday
For a moment, a split-second
In between waking and sleep,
I thought it just a nightmare;
Then realty fell in a heap.

Eyes swollen shut from crying,
Mind splitting in throbs of grief,
Muscles aching, heart breaking;
Even sleep offers me no relief.

Trapped by Sabbath laws,
A grief with nowhere to run.
So livid I could shatter stone,
To simply see my little one.

I want to be near you, my baby,
To lay beside you in that cave.
I cannot face life without you;
How did you beat me to the grave?

Sunday
“Let me be,” I mumbled from bed,
“No visitors today,” I said in sigh.
Yet, John still bounded in,
A glimmer of hope in his eye.

Out of breath from running,
In heaves of adrenaline he spoke,
“Mary -at cave. Stone -rolled away; 
Not there; Somehow he awoke.”

Fragments of news reached my soul,
As I processed what he’d said.
“Could it be, could it be true?
My son, awake from the dead?”

An angel had announced his birth,
He was conceived in a miraculous way.
Yes, Yes, It does make sense.
My son! Alive! What a glorious day!

Leaping with life, I ran to the door
With joyful John at my heels.
Though far too frail to be running,
Joy like strong drink in me reels.

We must, we must find him.
I must hold the son of my womb!
Drunk with joy and crazed with love
I rush to His empty tomb.

I am so thankful that God enabled a very human Mary to endure the unendurable so that we would never have to. Yet far beyond that, I am eternally grateful to the Christ who through His life, death and resurrection has secured a lasting hope for the wayward children of God.  May the Lamb receive the honor due His name this Easter week!

The Brave Work of Soul-Searching

We have reached Spring Break, a much-anticipated break from zoom school and being largely housebound. As one with wanderlust raising three boys who crave open spaces to explore and tame, I want to cram these days with outdoor wonder. We are all craving vastness that remind us that we are infinitesimal while our God is infinite. Our plans to visit the Grand Canyon and Sedona will likely deliver deliciously.

Yet, this morning, I woke up thinking about the depths of wonder and unexplored territory that are contained within our chest. While many have explored and mapped trails in the Grand Canyon, few can boast the same about the hidden depths of their own hearts. Scientists chomp at the bit to explore the Mariana Trench, the deepest parts of the ocean still largely unplumbed; however, the human soul contains depths even more profound.

Though they are fist-sized, four-chambered organs, God has set eternity within the human heart and soul. Even Solomon with his precocious wondering mind recognized the wonder within one single human soul.

“He has made everything beautiful in its time. He also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end” (Ecclesiastes 3:11).

While our whole family is looking forward to travel, I don’t want to neglect the traveling within that leads us, by both desperation and awe, to look upward. I look forward to standing in my smallness before a giant crack in the earth’s crust. However, I also want to take the time to teach my children to explore the cracks and crevices in their own souls. To do that, I must first admit the longings and disappointments that befuddle my own heart.

It takes bravery to dive into the strange spaces of a soul. Thankfully, those who trust in Christ have an inner guide in the person of the Holy Spirit who searches all things, even the depths of God (1 Corinthians 2:10). The Spirit never leaves us in self, but presses on onward and upward to Him from whence shall come our help (Psalm 121:1).

As the world opens back up and travel resumes, let us not neglect to travel and explore our own souls, hand-sewn by the scarred hands of our Savior. Such soul wanderlust will lead us to wonder at the One who created and reclaimed our cavernous hearts.

Hidden Depths

The human heart has hidden depths,
Putting the Mariana Trench to shame;
Four-chambered and fist-sized,
It holds vastness difficult to name.

Yet, somehow God has set eternity
Into so confined a single space.
He laces its chambers with longings
Nothing on this earth can erase.

In wanderlust, we travel wide
To tread the wild in wonder
All the while carrying canyons
No explorer could ever plunder.

An honest inner deep dive
Must press us out of self.
Our cravings must be sated
By our Savior’s wealth.

Laboring for New Life

An entire tribe of my friends are having their first children, which means that I am a pseudo-grandmother. Nearly every month, a new little soul has been joining our growing tribe. As such, I find myself lingering in the baby section at Target and my soul remembering the pangs of labor. As my friends’ bodies repair and as they share their stories of labor and delivery, I am brought back into the agony of the delivery room. The screaming, the writhing, the soreness, the tearing. These all feel fresh and real to me again through their stories.

I am struck this morning by the reality that Jesus saw fit to use the analogy of birth pains when talking about the new creation (Matthew 24:8; . Paul, under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, used a similar analogy when speaking of the futility of the old creation as it awaits new birth (Romans 8:20-23) and also when he spoke of the process of spiritual formation and discipleship (Galatians 4:19).

The creator of the human body, the One who enabled humanity to take part in physical birth, came to the world by way of a birth canal. He who was present with the Father when He pronounced the curse of increased pain in childbirth became present on the earth through the labor pains of a young girl. It is no wonder, then, that He would delicately draw an analogy between the labor that enables physical birth and the similar labor that enables spiritual birth. He wasn’t merely recognizing the wearying, yet wonderful birthing work of women. Soon, he would be joining them in the greatest labor pains in the history of the world.

“When a woman is giving birth, she has sorrow because her hour has come, but when she has delivered the baby, she no longer remembers the anguish, for joy that a human being has been born into the world” (John 16:21).

Jesus spoke with such authority on these things because He experienced them to the uttermost. On the Cross, He labored to bring the birth of the New Creation. In a sense, He died in childbirth, bearing the unbearable weight of our sin that He might usher in a new creation. Our spiritual birth was not painless, it was purchased.

As we approach Easter, the image of Jesus undergoing the agonizing labor that would produce the new creation in His blood has me in awe.

The Labor of Love

In labor for the new creation
He was broken on the beams.
The pressure of coming promise
Ripped the Promiser at the seams.

The inexhaustible one, exhausted,
Cried out under waves of pain.
The heart of the God-Man heaved
Under wearying waves of strain.

The Son gave up His Spirit,
To usher in many more.
His broken body birthed us,
His death became our door.

The Son, risen and repaired,
Sovereignly swaddles His own.
He smiles on the new creation
For which He once did groan.

Power in the Parenthetical (Counting Cups of Cold Water)

In a world obsessed with the flashy and seen, God’s kingdom often advances through a parenthetical power. For every front-page cover story, there are thousands of unknown, unseen (by human eyes, at least) acts of obedience and faithfulness. But, if David, a human king, considered mighty a few faithful fellas who risked their lives to fetch him a cup of water, how much more does our Eternal King gladly record otherwise unseen and unknown acts of trusting obedience and sacrificial service (2 Samuel 23:15-17)?

While studying the life of Elijah, I stumbled across such parenthetical power. In the midst of chronicling the story of the prophet who played a major role in the kingdom’s advancement, the writer of 1 Kings parenthetically included an astounding feat of risking obedience, largely unknown and unseen.

In the midst of the court of the mismatched Ahab and Jezebel, whose enmity against the Lord and his people spread like an infection, stood Obadiah. As the manager of the king’s household who feared the Lord, Obadiah lived in a precarious place. Yet, when Jezebel demanded that the true prophets of the Lord be cut off, Obadiah risked greatly because of his great fear of the Lord. The writer of Kings mentions his act of personally preserving 100 prophets of the Lord in a cave for years as a mere parenthetical notation.

And Ahab called Obadiah, who was over the household. (Now Obadiah feared the Lord greatly and when Jezebel cut off the prophets of the Lord, Obadiah took a hundred prophets and hid them by fifties in a cave and fed them with bread and water). 1 Kings 18:3-4.

The faithfulness and risking obedience contained with those parentheses arrested me. Here was a man who faithfully served the Lord literally under the nose of a crazed Queen who could have easily killed him. God, who had given him a royal position for his own such a time as this, used his daring acts to preserve his truth for future generations. Yet, we almost did not hear about him. His life’s work took up a mere verse of Scripture and was included as a side-note to a primary story.

It made me stop in my study and linger. It made me wonder how much thousands upon thousands of other such stories were not included, were not recorded, were not even seen my the eyes of men. It made me marvel at the reality that our God sees each and every faithful life, each and every act of obedience, whether monumental or minute. For with our God, even the parenthetical is powerful and significant.

We live Coram Dei, before the face of God, under the gaze of God. Our lives are seen by the eyes of the eternal One. The caregiver who is driving to the umpteenth appointment or filling the fiftieth prescription is seen and celebrated in the kingdom of God. The teacher who spends her lunch hour tutoring a struggling student plays as significant a part in the kingdom of God as a seminary professor. The mother who faithfully shares her faith on a playdate is as significant as an evangelist at a revival.

Even though our God counts the stars, He always counts cups of cold water given in His name (see Matthew 10:42). Take courage, you saints who feel unseen, for your Father sees you and He works great power even through what seems parenthetical!

Tiny Worlds of Wonder

Growing up, a vacant lot and a wooded area bookended our house.  My sisters and I would put on our hot pink fanny packs, fight to find the perfect walking stick, and set out to conquer the world.  We built shanties that we thought were mansions, created small mounds that we considered challenging BMX bike tracks and got ourselves into all sorts of muddy messes.  I distinctly remember feeling so adult when my mother let us venture to “Fletcher and Maple” an intersection that we felt like was miles away, but was in reality three streets over.

We took many great vacations, some lavish and exotic; we had more toys than we would possibly use. But when I look back on the treasured moments of our childhood, they all include the little worlds of tiny wonder we were free to create and explore, even if mom did check us religiously for ticks after each outing.

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I long for our children to have the freedom and space to be creative, to interact with nature, to learn how to explore and conquer a small corner of their world.  We aren’t an REI, camping, National Parks visiting family, and we probably never will be; however, I want to pass on to my children both a respect for and a joy from nature.

I am afraid of snakes, but I am more afraid of the effects of screen time. I don’t like the idea of parasites in creeks, but I like that risk more than the risk of raising children who don’t know how to wisely risk and explore.

Of late, I have been reading two books in tandem that have been re-opening my eyes to our need for and negligence of nature and the natural.  While Last Child in the Woods by Richard Louv has been practically helping me to pass on a love of the natural world, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard has been inviting me into an adulthood awed by the little worlds around me, even here in semi-urban San Diego.

Annie beautifully writes the following:

“I am no scientiest. I explore the neighborhood. An infant who has just learned to hold his head up has a frank and forthright way of gazing about him in bewilderment. He hasn’t the faintest cllue where he is, and he aims to learn. …Some unwonted, taught pride diverts us from our original intent, which is to explore the neighborhood, view the landscape, to discover at least where it is that we have been so startling set down, if we can’t learn why.”

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Richard Louv writes along a similar vein.

“The dugout in the weeds or leaves beneath a backyard willow, the rivulet of a seasonal creek, even the ditch between a front yard and the road – all of these places are entire universes to a young child. Expeditions to the mountains or national parks often pale, in a child’s eyes, in comparison with the mysteries of the ravine at the end of the cul-de-sac. By letting our children lead us to their own special places we can rediscover the joy and wonder of nature….By expressing interest or even awe at the march of ants across these elfin forests, we send our children a message that will last for decades to come, perhaps even extend generation to generation. By returning to these simple, yet enchanted places, we see, with our child, how the seasons move and the world turns and how critter kingdoms rise and fall.”

We probably won’t go back-packing in the Tetons with our gaggle of boys, but I can first model and then teach and nurture an awe and interest in the tiny worlds of wonder right in our pavement-filled neighborhood.  During our two week spring break, we went to the movies and did other spring-breaky things. But the things that brought our children the most joy were catching shrimp and chasing crabs, tidepooling and taking care of a lame little birdie. As I have been practicing this lately, I have found my own soul soothed and sighing in relief.

The Gifts That Will Keep

Rather than teach kids wonder,
We’ve brought them to the store.
Rather than offering lasting things,
We suffocate them with more.

The free gifts are the most costly;
It’s easier to purchase the cheap.
But imagination, awe and wonder:
These are the gifts that will keep.

Free time and margins and presence,
These are the tools of the child;
But these cost us our own agendas,
So we settle for presents less wild.

 

Lasagna and Love

Twice this week I have found myself crying in the grocery store. Earlier in the week, my eyes were leaking while looking for cereal. Then yesterday, tears pooled in my eyes while perusing the pasta aisle. Supposedly when hard or strange things happen, people have a bias toward normalcy. In the midst of situations that are surprising or overwhelming, people tend to find relief in everyday tasks.Maybe that is why I found myself twice crying and processing while grocery shopping.

Dear friends and ministers of the gospel in our city are walking through the depths with Covid. Their son is my son’s age, and we adore him. The reality that a boy my son’s age should have to shoulder the weights he is bearing overwhelms me nearly to the point of paralyzation.

With that as the backdrop, the national events of the week felt like too much. My brain has processed the events that unfolded at the Capitol building, but my heart has not caught up. I saw the fear in my older boy’s eyes as we processed these events as a family.

Overcome by evil and brokenness. Helpless and powerless. Vulnerable.

Those big emotions were roiling in my soul while my cart was rolling through the grocery store. And my eyes were the release valve for the pressure that was building.

Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good (Romans 12:21).

I know this verse well. It comes out of my mouth like muscle memory when my boys are in a squabble, returning tit for tat. But this morning, my soul needs to sit inside this short sentence and nestle down into these truths.

I cannot visit the hospital. Neither can my friends, even though their father and husband has been there for weeks.

Outside of my right to vote and my responsibility to be informed, I feel helpless in the current political situation.

To be honest, I want to numb myself and run away from the uncomfortable. But God has been so clear that he wants me to sit in these feelings, to wade into these puddles of fear and dependency. To wade, but also to wait on Him.

For we serve a God who is well-acquainted with brokenness (Isaiah 53: 3–4). We worship a Savior who willingly let the weight of evil crush him on the cross (Isaiah 53:5). But He rose from the dead, overwhelming the overwhelming evil with a goodness that could only come from Him.

Even if He doesn’t immediately fix them, He meets us in the places that paralyze us. And as we wade and wait, He invites us to do the next right thing.

Which brings me back to the grocery store. I don’t love cooking, and I am not particularly good at it. But I can make a decent veggie lasagna. I can pray while I boil noodles. As I layer pasta and mozzarella, I can consider the layered love that Christ has shown for a mangled humanity.

Rejoice with those who rejoice; weep with those who weep (Romans 12:15).

This feels small, but the One who hung the stars told us this is how we move forward until His return. So lasagna by lasagna, letter by letter, small act by small act, we walk in His great love.

He will return. And all the suffering and confusion and helplessness will overwhelmed and swallowed up by life.

He will swallow up death forever; and the Lord God will wipe away tears from all faces, and the reproach of his people he will take away from the earth, for the Lord has spoken. It will be said on that day, “Behold, this is our God; we have waited for him, that he might save us. This is the Lord; we have waited for him; let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation (Isaiah 25:8-9).

Until then, we make lasagna and we trust in His steadfast love.

21 Things I Know About 2021

There is nothing I absolutely know about the coming year. But, based on reasonable evidence, I can safely predict a few things. I will burn all the cookies (even slice and bake and even when I set a timer). I will vow to try new recipes but will likely revert to the faithful few that have sustained us thus far. I will drink far too much coffee and not nearly enough water. 

Rather than waste my time (and yours) speculating, I have chosen to spend my morning guiding my mind to what is absolutely true rather than guessing about what may or may not come to be. 

  1. We will suffer, but God cares enough about human suffering to share in it and to ultimately undo it (Isaiah 53:3-5).
  2. I will hurt and disappoint those I love the most, but hope in God will not be disappointed (Romans 5:3-5).
  3. We will be shocked and surprised by events outside our control, but said events have passed through the scarred hands of a loving savior before they came to be. 
  4. My boys will continue to grow (spiritually, physically, emotionally, relationally) and experience all the growing pains that come with it. But Jesus himself did the same and faithfully walked through their stages of life. As such, they have a pioneer partner in him. 
  5. Some days I will feel close to god but other days i will feel numb to his nearness. Either way, it is in Him that I live and move and have my being (Acts 17:). He is closer than close in the third person of the trinity. 
  6. Though I intend to do good, I will be bent back toward self (in curvatus en se and Romans 7). Yet my savior straightens me day by day, realigning me to His image. 
  7. During waves of shame from sins and wrongs done by me and to me), I will try to isolate myself. But the lord will draw me with cords of love and through my own desperation to the care of the body of Christ. When we walk in the light as he is in the light we have fellowship with him. 
  8. The brokenness within and without will buffet and blunt me, but Gods word will shape and sharpen me (psalm 19). 
  9. The path to life will sometimes feel like death but I will trust the facts of the creator rather than my own feelings. there is a way that seems right to man but in the end it leads to death. 
  10. Habits will shape me far more than the seemingly huge decisions I will face this year 
  11. Though the church visible will falter, the church invisible will not fail. 
  12. I will slip into seeing the world through lenses of scarcity and skepticism but those lenses do not change the super abundance of his steadfast love. 
  13. Though the church visible will falter, the church invisible will not fail (Matthew 16:18).
  14. As much as I try to maintain the illusion of control, I am not in control. But I serve the God who is the blessed Controller of all things (1Timothy 6:13-16)
  15. I will do ridiculous amounts of laundry, but even those small chores can be done as worship unto the King of Kings (1 Corinthians 10:31).  
  16. In the midst of mundane days, there will be luminous moments when kairos breaks into chronos. I will never know when to expect these moments, but I will treasure them as gifts when they do. 
  17. I will run after lesser lovers. But, like Hosea pursued Gomer, God will pursue me, even using pain to point me back to Him, my true lover (Hosea 2:6–7).
  18. I will jealously look upon your posts and feeds, but God will wrestle me back to my green pastures and hold me at my still waters (Psalm 23: 1–2).
  19. I will exhaustedly collapse into my Sabbath time with Jesus weekly. Yet, somehow, He will revive and refresh me, sending me back out into good works He has prepared for me (Exodus 20: 8–11 and Acts 3:19–21).
  20. People who know and love me will lovingly call me out on my sin. I will initially be defensive, but God will remind me that true love mixes grace with truth (John 1:17 and Galatians 6:1–5).   
  21. Amid all the changes and curves which are heading our way this next trip around the sun, Jesus Christ will be the same yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8). 

Now, I must go burn some cookies and forget to thaw the meat for dinner. Happy New Year to you and yours!

A Declaration of Dependence

I am incredibly grateful for and deeply benefit from the Declaration of Independence penned by Thomas Jefferson; however, my soul needs to be stamped with deeper declaration daily: a declaration of dependence.

My flesh recoils against such a declaration, but my soul was sewn with its principles. I go against the grain of universe when I try to defy it, yet I wonder why I am left splintered and sore.

  • I am a dignified derivative, I was never meant to exist alone (Genesis 1:27-28). As a sentient being made in the image of a Trinitarian God, my soul craves relationship, most notably with the relational God out of whose fullness I was born. 
  • I cannot love myself or accept myself without reference to God. To do so is to love a lesser self and accept that which is unacceptable. When I love sin, I hate and hurt myself (Proverbs 8:36; Psalm 16:4; James 1:14-15). Even though sin overpromises fulfillment, it delivers only death and addiction (John 10:10). Therefore, the only way to truly love myself is to hate my sin. But I cannot do that, try as I may. I am desperately needy and sick, and I cannot earn my way out of this state (Romans 7:21-24). 
  • As prone as I am to performance, I do not trick the one who sees all things. My soul and thoughts are laid bare before him, the one to whom I must give account (Hebrews 4:12-13). Soul audits only confirm and deepen my diagnosis (Isaiah 1:2-6). 
  • I am more entrepeneurial and creative in devising ways to glorify myself and expand my own kingdom than I am in seeking to worship and glorify the only One who is worthy (Hosea 8:11-12). I am more resolute at running after lifeless idols than I am at following the One living God (Hosea 2:5; Hosea 11:2; Hosea 11:7).   
  • Yet, all these hard-to-admit realities are meant to lead me to Life. Only when I see them in all their hideousness can I find the life that is truly life (Galatians 3:24). In coming to the end of myself and my own resources, I stand at the shores of grace and find oceans of undeserved favor. 

For, the only uncreated One became dependent on my behalf (John 1). Though I hated him, he loved me  (Romans 5:6-8). Though I loved the sin that hurt me, he let himself be harmed and hung on a tree to love me (2 Corinthians 5:21;1 Peter 2:24). 

  • Now, I am able to work from my deepest identity rather than work toward it (Philippians 2:12-13). 
  • What I used to think a solid foundation for life (success, significance, comfort, approval, etc…) are exposed for the shifting sands that they are (Matthew 7:24-27). I don’t have to chase after them anymore through everyone around me and the remnant of flesh within me urge me to do so. In a world that says chase your dreams, I am invited to chase after righteousness (Matthew 6:33). 
  • I don’t have to expend myself climbing the ladder of success, because the most successful One climbed down from heaven to bring me up to him (Ephesians 4:10; Philippians 2:5-11). I don’t have to force my way, because I know that He will have his way in me (Job 42:2).
  • My own needs, though real and significant, no longer have to dictate my every action. I can entrust them to Him who delights to give me all good things (Luke 12:32; Romans 8:32). There is now space in my heart to join Christ in his sufferings and apply his sacrifices to the lives of those around me (Colossians 1:24; Philippians 1:29). 
  • In a world obsessed with power and beauty, I am free to be vulnerable and weak (2 Corinthians 12:9). In a world obsessed with prestige and honor, I can sit securely in the low seat because I know my high place in his sight (Luke 14:7-11). In a world obsessed with the big and quick, I can do little things with great love and sow to the Spirit patiently knowing that, in due season, a harvest of righteousness will be reaped (Luke 16:10; Galatians 6: 7-10).
  • I will forget this entire declaration on every day that ends in -Y. But he will not forget me (Isaiah 49:15-16; Hosea 11:8-9). He is patient with me and promises to complete what he has begun (Philippians 1:6). 

It may not be as beautiful as Jefferson’s parchment, but its truths are far more potent. While Jefferson’s declaration initiated a nation, the declarations of dependence found in God’s Word establish an unshakeable kingdom.

The Baptism of the Ordinary

His life seemed laced with a golden thread. A commander of the army of the King of Syria. A great man, held in high favor, he had experienced much victory due to his valor. Yet one dark thread threatened his peace and prosperity: he had leprosy.

Naaman likely saw this as the growing black mark on his otherwise glowing life; however, God graciously used what he thought was a harbinger of death as a doorway to life. What he thought was an obtrusive inconvenience was ultimately God’s gracious invitation.

God used his leprosy to heal of him the more dangerous pride that was deadening his soul as leprosy was deadening his nerves.

A servant girl, captured from Israel, a small and unimportant nation, another notch on the belt of the Syrian army, initiated the process that lead to his healing. That he, a captain and a wealthy man of Syria would heed advice from a female servant from Israel would have been a blow to his pride and a lowering of his position. But desperate times call for drastic measures.

With pomp and circumstance, he loads up his impressive caravan and heads to Samaria with a letter of recommendation from the King of Syria himself. How little he understood the God from whom he sought healing! Caravans and crowns, prestige and position: these meant little to him. He required humility and faith, two things that money cannot buy.

He went first to the King of Israel, with money to impress and bribe, only to be redirected to the simple, side-road house of the prophet Elisha. Much to Naaman’s chagrin, the prophet did not even greet him directly, but rather sent a message to him through a servant, “Go and wash in the Jordan seven times, and your flesh shall be restored” (2 Kings 5:10).

His pride injured and insulted, Naaman fumed, “Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Could I not wash in them and be clean?” (2 Kings 5:12).

Yet again, servants spoke sense to him. They bid him humbly honor the prophet’s request. Naaman laid down his wealth, his pride, and his national sentiments. He washed himself seven times in the muddy waters of the Jordan, and he came up healed, body and soul.

Ordinary Means, Extraordinary Means

While I don’t have leprosy, my soul is sick with pride. A true product of a culture that holds power, privilege, and wealth as the highest ends, I want to be special. I want to stand above as someone set apart.

Yet, the same Lord that bid Naaman wash in a common river, bids me to be washed in the muddy waters of common life. He bids me lay down my pride and position daily as a wife and a mother. He invites me to entrust my worth and identity to him as I follow the ordinary routines of grocery shopping, laundry washing, and carpool driving. Like Naaman, the acts of service the Lord bids me to obey often offend my sensibilities. There is little shininess or flash to such common acts of household and neighborhood service. The only caravan involved here is a caravan to sporting events.

However, these small, seemingly insignificant acts of obedience are killing the pride that is killing me. They are invitations to trust that God does beautiful things through common means. They are opportunities to actively believe that, through the means of small, ordinary, common acts of faithfulness, God is doing an eternal, lasting work. He is sanctifying and shaping me into one who deeply resembles him, even in the innermost parts.

Our salvation was secured by Christ. In baptism, we have been united to him in both his death and life. However, our sanctification involves regular baptism into ordinary, common acts of faithfulness. The Holy Spirit both invites us to lay aside pride and prestige, and enables us to dunk in the dirty waters of everyday obedience. In so doing, we are being transformed from one degree of glory to another (2 Corinthians 3:18).

A Labyrinth of Lies

Being stuck in one’s house and being stuck in one’s head are not one-in-the-same; however, they do seem to travel together. Lately, while continuing to do all the tasks of life on the surface, I have simultaneously been lost in a labyrinth of lies. I realize it’s not just me. I am watching my husband and boys wrestle through their own unique labyrinths even as I do.

I am adding the role of amateur cartographer to my resume. But before I can point them to the freedom of the truth, I have to be rescued from my own labyrinth daily. It is hard to point my children to freedom when I myself am shackled by chains of self-sufficiency. It is nearly impossible to lead my children to the adequacy of Christ when lies of inadequacy paralyze me.

Jesus knew the sinister lies of his long-time enemy. He was unafraid to publicly label him the father of lies.

He was a murderer from the beginning, and does not stand in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks out of his own character, for he is a liar and the father of lies (John 8:44).

After all, Jesus had seen the angel-turned enemy slink into the garden to spread his half-truths (which are full lies). He saw those lies gather power like sinister snowballs, wreaking havoc in human history.

But just as the Enemy speaks and acts out of his own nature, so, too, does our Christ. He not only spoke the truth, He was the truth. The enfleshed word of God came down to lead us out of our labyrinths.

When the liar attempted a desert-version of the temptation in Eden, Christ stood in the truth. Fully human, he was tempted in every way as we are, but the lies did not entangle him (Hebrews 4:15-16). Even until the night before His death, He watched the twelve struggle to understand and believe the truths he declared to them constantly. He knew that apart from divine empowerment, they would not stand in the truth. As such, he promised them a divine helper and live-in truth-teller in the Holy Spirit (John 14:25-16).

Our Jesus stood in the truth even when his feet were lifted off the ground and nailed unto the Cross. He alone can lead us from the custom-made labyrinths of lies that have us cornered and cowering. He speaks the truth to us through His Word enlivened by His Spirit. He levels labyrinth lies with His love.

Send out your light and your truth; let them lead me; let them bring me to your holy hill and to your dwelling! (Psalm 43:3).

We are not enough; He is. We are not strong; He is. We are not wise; He is. We are not adequate; He is. We are not able; He is.

Your labyrinth is not mine. Nor is mine my husband’s or children’s. Even our own labyrinths shift with the cunning of their custom-builder. But the same loving leader rescues us all. He finds us, paralyzed and powerless. He lifts our eyes to him and leads us into the wide places of His freedom (2 Corinthians 3:17).

He brought me out into a broad place; he rescued me because he delighted in me (Psalm 18:19).

I don’t know what crafty lies of the coward have you and yours cowering today. Most of the time, I have a hard time identifying and naming the walls of my own entrapment. But I do know the One that does. He still levels lies with His love. He still speaks the truth that leads His people into the fullness of freedom.