It is no secret that my family has been in a difficult place for the last several months. . . that I have been in a difficult place. While I try to be respectful with the pieces I chose to share (after all, much of the story is not mine to tell) I have tried to balance that with honesty and transparency. My hope is that other mommas might feel a sense of solidarity and know they are not alone in the midst of a whole lotta hard. And honestly? I am honest because I don't want to feel alone. I want to be known and loved even in all of my sin and struggle and failure. Isn't that the cry of our heart?
So I struggle to walk the balance beam. To share enough, but not too much. I post blogs that others have written and express it so much more eloquently than I could. I wonder if anyone reads them and gains a glimmer of understanding, or maybe hope for their own hurting hearts. Sometimes, in my least attractive moments, I just pull the covers over my head and hide.
Today was one of those days. As my family got ready to head out the door for church, I chose to stay home, unable to face the world outside. I don't know how to explain to someone who has never experienced the panic of trying to walk out your door and put on your game face when inside you feel like you are drowning. The desperation of knowing you need to reach for a lifeline, but feeling in all truth as though you are trapped in quicksand and cannot free yourself to grab hold of the raft. So instead of going to church, I stayed home and listened to worship music on Spotify and podcasts by Francis Chan and begged God to meet me, even in this lonely place. I begged Him to take my heart of stone and give me a heart of flesh, that loves His word, that loves Him, above all else. I sobbed my heart...the truth that not one ounce of me felt capable of loving in that moment and that I feel like a failure for not loving as I am called to love. Chan's sermon drew me to these Words:
"I know your works, your toil and your patient endurance, and how you cannot bear with those
who are evil, but have tested those who call themselves apostles and are not, and found them to
be false. I know you are enduring patiently and bearing up for my name's sake, and you have not
grown weary. But I have this against you, that you have abandoned the love you had at first."
Revelation 2:2-4
The truth is, right now, in this place I often do not know how to love. I feel empty. How can I love when I feel so completely unlovable myself? I know the answers, but applying them in the context of such desperation can be impossible. Still, as I struggled to cling to truth, I was drawn to some of my favorite Scripture in all of the world. I read a section of Psalm 119 every morning to prepare my heart to interact with the Word. This morning, as I grappled with this idea of fighting for my first love, and of fighting to love those He is calling me to love, I scanned through some of the underlined verses from this beautiful chapter of Scripture:
"In the way of your testimonies I delight as much as in all riches. I will meditate on your
precepts and fix my eyes on your ways. I will delight in your statutes;...
Take away from me scorn and contempt...
I have chosen the way of faithfulness
Let your steadfast love come to me, O Lord, your salvation according to your promise;
for I trust in Your word...
The earth, O Lord, is full of Your steadfast love;
Before I was afflicted I went astray, but now I keep Your word. You are good and do good.
in faithfulness you have afflicted me. Let Your steadfast love comfort me according to Your
promise to Your servant. Let Your mercy come to me that I may live for Your law is my
delight.
In Your steadfast love give me life...
Great peace have those who love your law; nothing can make them stumble. I hope for Your
salvation, O Lord, and I do Your commandments. My soul keeps Your testimonies; I love them
exceedingly.
And in those moments, I chose to fight for love. And I was reminded that I have been choosing the wrong weapons. "The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have the divine power to demolish strongholds. We demolish arguments and ever idea that sets itself up against the knowledge of God. We take captive every thought and make it obedient to Christ." 2 Corinthians 2:4-6
So I stayed on my knees and fought, for love and for peace and for joy. And I begged God to fill me with a love that overflowed. And I begged Him to show me His love in this moment, in this day.
Then my family came home. They came home, and the house filled up with noise, and chaos, and whining and arguments and attention seeking behaviors and stress and all of the resolve and quiet joy I had found in the Word that morning faded as quickly as it had come. And there was my failure, smacking me once more in the face. Why was I so fickle? Why was I so quick to fold? Why could I not cling more tightly to obedience Why could I not clothe myself with compassion and gentleness. I did manage to whisper a quiet prayer for the strength to fight for love.
We made it through lunch and finally, finally, we pulled on coats and scarves and hats and piled into minivans to go pick out a Christmas tree. Friends, this is literally one of my favorite days of the year. I love holidays, I love tradition, and above all, I love, love, love Christmas! As a kid, even before the days of Pinterest, Mom made this holiday so, incredibly special. She found boundless joy in every bit of it - the tree, the decorating, the baking, the hospitality and gathering of family, the chaos, the Christmas music, the gifts. She went all out. I remember the excitement and anticipation as she would hoist me into the storage room above our basement stairs so I could hand down the dusty decorations and lights and ornaments. She made it magic and it has remained so for me even as an adult, so in the midst of the chaos, I fought to find joy for this moment.
We pulled into the lot and crowded into the small store to claim our cider before we set off to find the perfect tree. As my crazy family crammed into the shop, smearing finger prints over the glass that encased the sweet treats, I smiled despite myself. I still struggle to understand how happiness and grief can live together in such close quarters, but that is exactly what they do.
My load continued to lighten as we made our way outside to examine the virtues and flaws in every tree. The cider, the crisp air, and the infectious delight of the kids as we laced our way through the rows, exclaiming, "Look at this one!" "Oooooh! What about this one?!" was enough to lighten the weight and force the sadness to give way, and after much debate, we settled on a tree. A ridiculously huge, beautiful, pine-scented, mammoth of a tree. I am not even sure what happened from that point, or why, but as I began to herd the kids back toward the store, Stephen grabbed my arm, leaned toward me, and said in a low voice, "She just pulled the tag off of the tree and said, 'Merry Christmas.'"
"What? She ...what? She did what? Where is she?"
He pointed, "The lady in the red vest."
I weaved my way through the tress my eyes already brimming with tears as I grabbed her. "Thank you. Thank you so much." I wrapped my arms around her,wondering if she had any clue what her incredible gift of kindness meant to me. I choked out an awkward, "Merry Chrsitmas" and retreated in a bit of embarrassment at the wave of emotion. The rest of the trip was a blur, picking out a huge wreath for the barn since the tree had been gifted to us, letting the kids pick out sweet treats - fudge and frosted sugar cookies and chocolate covered pretzels, piling back into the vans to head home. As I considered God's extravagant answer to my prayers that morning, a tangible sense of His grace and love washed over me. I grabbed a card from the floorboard of the van and scribbled this note,
"My family has been through a phenomenally hard couple of months. You could not possibly know how much your kindness meant to me. I pray that you are blessed as much as you have blessed us."
And I was reminded again...even when my love fails, Yours never does. Today was exhausting and hard and beautiful and filled with joy. Tomorrow, I will get up and fight for love again.
