Because He's Not Done.

He's not done!

Isn't that the great beauty and joy of being a Christian?  That Christ has regarded us, planned for us, hoped for us, intereceed for us, and loved us!

He's not done!

What exclamation this Truth shouts!  What holy uproar it should bring?  Knowing this world is not it, this siutation is not it, this current plague is not it.

He's not done!

What action this means!  He's still at work!  He's not left us, He's not halted preparing for us. He's not forgotten our name.  He's not stopped shaping our purpose.

He's not done!

He reigns cheer over life.  He brings justice to the lacking.  He oversees kingdoms and rulers.  He listens to cries of the righteous.

He's not done!

Because He's not done, we have this hope:  that the Lord is at work for us and in us, each hour, each day, each situation, each circumstance, each relationship.  The Lord is at work, an action, a verb, a forward motion.

Oh, how we should rejoice!

Because He's Not Done!

"He who began a good work in you 

will carry it on to completion 

until the day of Christ Jesus." 

(Philippians 1:6)

Same Job Twice.

The first time I quit, she made me.  That counselor with the tough backbone and strong sense of self, with loose black dangling clothes and way too-short hair.  That one who enabled me to find my courage again, who prodded and pushed, who made me find my own muscles strapped to skeleton.

She forced my words.  Found my courage.  She made me practice.  She listened and rewrote the words over and over again until I had no emotion in them and left the job like a business transation. Rehearsing my good-bye so it was curt, prepared, final, and freeing.

She held me to it.  Made me leave and go straight from her office.  Called me an hour later to close the accountability.

I was scared, but her force gave me courage.  I was intimidated, but she made me stand up against it.

I forgot this when I took the same job again.   I took it last spring, and started this summer, seeing what good could possibly be. I should have remembered how I felt last time, I should have remembered why I left.  I should have remembered feeling inferior and little and uncomfortable.  But I instead I remembered a cute three year old with fun mornings out and cuddling at nap time and quiet afternoons.

And today, I will quit the same job, twice.

This time, it took a village.  It took the first January Wednesday at the Lawsons, their voices all stark and strong around the table.  JD's words and Melissa's protection and Sandy's stern but loving voice of warning.  It took the women of WLT to do be my enCOURAGEment, listening for hours and giving me the strength I needed to hear.  It took Marys level gaze, Anna and Lindsays empathy, Chris' hope, Patricia's care, and their chorus' of gusto and clarity at the Saturday lunch table.  It took Mark's mom listening for hours, and Mark's freedom given to me.  It took emails from Kate and prayers from Kara.  It took a village to be the voices to give me the courage to walk away and be free.

So today, I'll hand over my letter, walk briskly to my car, and drive away.  Fearful of the storm that won't have time to brew.

Today, I'll quit the same job I once took blindly, I second took hoping, and twice will quit in need of repair.  And when I do, I will hear Kelsey's voice and her words of prayer.  Her Truth spoken, that no its not me.  I'll hear WLT, Kate, and Kelly. I'll hear Mark's mom say, "Beloved" and know God speaks its true.  I'll hear Mark's words of support and knowing he always is there beside me.  I'll hear the voices of God's people, and his Word as True.

Today I'll quit the same job twice.

And I will pray, let me hear the voices that will tell me I can still be who He created me to be.

~~~~~~~~~

My life verse:
"He who began a good work in you, Christina, will carry it on to completion, until the day of Christ Jesus."  Philippians 1:6

Remind Me.

I know this is not the first time I have blogged about this.  I hope to say its the last, though that may be faulty belief.  But its about Who I Am.  Because God Made Me Who I Am.

I have been rolling in this struggle for a couple of months now.  And He is trying to speak to me through the cloudiness in my brain and my inner feelings of responsibility and personal expectation.

A few years back, during struggle where I wasn't where God meant me to be, I created a sign for myself, as a stark reminder of who I was.  It was during a time where I couldn't see the good of who He made me, and just saw all the other voices or feelings of failure.  The sign was indignant to those lies.

Recently, I've been feeling much of the same.  As if I can't get my "weekend" self, my true self, to eclipse my nanny self.  I can strive and strive and strive to hear the voice of God there, but I keep feeling like a 14 year old hired to babysit, and feel small and minor and shrunken.  No matter how much I press into it and try to read verses over it, the minute the mom walks in I am creeping inside.  I am then frustrated with myself and pile on the same of it, thinking "If my confidence is in Christ, then why I am shaken?"  But the cycle is one I can't seem to get out of.  Like a dark space clouds over me and I can't pull myself free of it to breathe.

Bible Study this week was over one of my favorite verses, one I had my 8th graders memorize:  "But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God..."  (I Peter 2:9)  And I sat there talking to the girls, affirming each of these with such great dignity and strength and foundation.

Yet, for some reason, when I am nannying, I can't seem to find this.  I just curl inside like one of those bugs that does it for protection, to hide.

Earlier this week, Star said, "This isn't like you.  This is toxic, you are lively and joyful and your whole demeanor seems to sag when you speak about it..."  I'm on a Women's Leadership Retreat with church this weekend, and these women keep encouraging and affirming me, and are trying to offer me the courage where I need it. And to be bold in who Christ made me, taking a stand for that in my life.

And it leaves me this question, these thoughts...

How do you have the courage to be who you are?  Especially when you love who you actually are?

I like this song by Jason Gray:
Remind Me

God, remind me who I am, and how to be that woman.

Dreaming Or Dying.

One of my dad's sayings, which has become my heartbeat and stake is, "When you stop dreaming, you start dying."

Why?

Because I'm a dreamer.  I live in the world of "what could be" and usually churn in what is.  I love to think of ideas, to ponder thoughts, to plan vacations, to propose decor, to dream illusions of the greatest friendships, the most fulfilling careers, the perfect dinner parties in life.

Why?

Because, otherwise, I die. I die inside.  I crinkle, crumble, crash.  I fold into a million pieces and drop down.  I become flat.  I become lifeless.  I become a raisin.

But when I dream, I sparkle.  I feel life.  I feel hope.  I feel that there is better yet to come.  That I will taste the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living (Psalm 27:13).  When I dream life, I blog like my fingers haven't left the keys for months, I talk like there is great expectation, and I pursue life like there is a reason to wake.

I can dream about flying to Kenya, decorating nurseries, traveling to Kate and her girls, packing for Milwaukee.  I can dream about making a great meal, backpacking Provence, interviewing for a job.  (Is it terrible - I love interviews?  I always feel good, confident, and ready to take on the world in them!  I texted Mark today:  "I think I'm an entrepreneur:  I love the challenge of getting jobs and writing cover letters, and starting the job.  Just not keeping it."  Oh dear, must be the dreamer in me, creating a whole.)

Dreams keep me living.  Dreams keep me striving.

Daily life gets me old.  Gets me frowned face.  Gets me narrow and hallow and sad and lonely.

But dreaming about good things to come keeps me moving, keeps me going.  Keeps me looking for more.

I know there is a strong spot for contentment, and sermons to come.  But today, I'm thankful for my dad, and his permission to dream.

So instead of dying, I dream.

Confession.

Okay, I admit it.  I miss teaching.

I didn't for months.  But now I do.

I miss kids, I miss laughter, I miss the fact that it makes me sing.  I miss coming home with stories at night.

I miss having something other than me to think about, something to learn about.  I miss having staff to talk to, conversations with students, football games to attend.

I miss having purpose that is timed, a schedule that is structured, and a livelihood that brings also me alive.

Pretty much, I really miss it.  I feel such hope when I think of bright colored classrooms and bells that ring on time and students who give me something to smile or laugh or shake my head about during the day.

I don't miss meetings.  I don't miss keeping up the online gradebook.  I don't miss pressure for students to perform.  I don't miss students who sleep.  I don't miss "black pant" drills, five day work weeks, or my crazy AP.

But I miss teaching.  There I admit.  I miss that part of me.

On Sarah, Wait, and Trust.

Sarah is both the bane of my existence and nagging hopeful encouragement.  She's this character that is a mirror reflection of everything in my heart, from the turmoil of wait to the greed of control to the thoughts of manipulation to the provoked sarcasm.  She carries the weight of womanhood, the holy desire of children, the faulty human perception, and the anxiousness to question.

I feel her story grow in me, her sin nature reflect me, and her parallels my Truth to cling to.  Her story has come to me repeatedly in the last few weeks, in contexts from Bible Study to conversation to books in my hand.  And the Lord is telling me to wait.  But I feel Sarah, restless with urges to ease the desire, to create the whole, the formulate a plan.

She wanted for more.  She waiting and tried to trust his plan, years of anxious nights and endless days, waiting a family of her own.  Hours at the afternoon well, seeing the women with what she didn't have.   She had His promise, but that wasn't enough.  She wanted more.  She wanted a child, a family of her own, and her heart was tired of enduring, of pushing to trust, of believing He had her hand.

So in her fear, in her doubt, in her clenched teeth of worry, she crafted and created a plan.  Helping God along.

A child was born to Hagar, her maidservant offered to Abram.  And Sarah casts lot on them all.  Anger with Abram, bitterness to Hagar, and still emptiness of her own.  She feared the waiting, distrusted His plan, and manipulated the time to work on her own.  But instead it cut lines through each relationship, marring the life of Hagar and Ishmael forever, and leaving Sarah still alone.

How often don't I compel to do the same on my own?  To distrust God's promise, to line up my own solution to his plan, to foretell the story as I see it told.  I don't like to wait.  I gnarl in the pain of agony of it, even when I have been give his promise in full grace and graciousness.  Its as if time is bigger than  His promise, my human desires greater than his good, and my anxiousness larger than his loyalty.

God had asked her to wait.  To wait and trust.  His words ring back to me "Wait on the Lord, be strong and take heart, and wait on the Lord"  (Psalm 27:14).  And his fulfillment years later to Sara deepen his character of Trust: "Now the Lord was gracious to Sarah as he had said, and the Lord did for Sarah what he had promised.  Sarah became pregnant and bore a son to Abraham in his old age, at the very time God had promised him"  (Genesis 21:1-2).

At the very time.  How hard is it to trust god for at the very time?  In Ruth, it is written often it just so happened (paraphrase) as the Lord's plan unfolded as he guided (Ruth).  For Hannah, her angst arose i prayers but the Lord was faithful to the cries he heard, "So in the course of time..." (I Samuel 1:20).  Each woman had to wait, to trust, to be faithful to today in order to honor his plan.

Sara gripped power and control and devastated her own.  Ruth and Hannah proceeded down the road of hurt and despair, but God gave ear to their desperation.  The Lord was faithful to each.  His concern for them out did their inner wrestling.  His love for them blanketed their longing.  And his faithfulness triumphed their fear.

As we walk throughout our roads, may we be women who are willing to wait, to trust, to release the wrestle of our fear.  To believe his Words that he will guide us, that he has our good, that his love is greater than our thoughts, our worries, our plan.  May we find comfort in his covenants, steadfast peace in his control, and faith to surrender to the God who is always present, always omnipotent, always guiding, always the Lord.

Fill My Cup.

We sat with our mutual mugs -- hers a blue Starbucks mug with North Carolina imprints, girdy in size but beautiful in composition, and mine a hand-painted happy chirp mug, scribed and textured by her artistry.  Our coffee was fresh, hers brewed in an elegant French press, and mine blended in the counter Keurig.

I was freshly sweating, still in workout polyester with-slick backed hair and she was newly woken, Nuggets sweatshirt and cutie shorts still under covers.

And she filled my cup.

I laughed with joy, seeing her face, trying to reach through the Skype screen and hug her in gloriousness.  We talked like school girls, breaking through each other's sentences, with happiness and understanding and use of words that only we can understand.  She referred to a friend as Jo, referencing the name as "like Jo from Little Women," which only girls like us get.  And guided a tour of her apartment, with framed cards and glass bottles and wooden signs and antiqued furniture, was like walking through my home.  Both of us caring about details, about color, about shape, about flow.

And my heart settled.  Her conversation filled my cup.

I love this friendship, this coffee filling, heart filling, life-giving sisterhood between Kate and I.  We palpitate for hours about Kenya, the red dirt sands and long-legged giraffes and Agape boys we've both gotten to love.  Our voices will carry about school and teaching and nannying, motherhood and men and money, between breaths of good books we're reading, Bible passages we're studying, and vacations we're amid dreaming.  Its an endless weave of conversation, flowing in and out like rabbit trails, both of us hoping along at grand paces but always connecting, gliding, needing.

Our words fill my cup.  Our mutual passions fill my cup.  Our shared emotion fills my cup.

Its beautiful to sit, to Skype, across from a friend who is so comfortable that pajamas or sweats or tears or laughter will do.  All I had to do was bring myself, and my coffee cup.

And she filled my cup.

~~~
Thanks, Kate Riedberger, for your special time and heart.  God blesses me through having you in my life.

Personal Pharaohs.

I'm in Egypt right now.  Wandering in my own life, in my own spinning soul, under the powers of Pharaohs, yet trying to be a trusting Israelite after the One True God.  I've been doing the Kelly Minter study "No Other Gods" for the past few weeks, and am reflecting on the teaching of week one: Personal Pharaohs.

What's interesting, is that my take away from this portion is probably so different, so distinct, so... me... from most others.  Because I see two sides of the coin:  One as the Pharaohs who seem to internally or externally oppress and enslave, and the other is the purposeful notion to Guard Ones Heart.

Pharaoh's push the heart down.  Suck out the marrow, drive for harder work, squish out the life.  Pharaohs can be relationships, jobs, situations, wrong emotions, critical attitudes, or life circumstances.  Some Pharaohs are placed in our lives to sharpen us, others are there to squander us.  Some are there out of our control or ability to be released from, while others we choose to stay under or are afraid to exodus from.

My Pharaohs look like many shapes and sizes...  Confining me with fear or leaving me intimidated or binding me to be less than I am.  Yet the hardest thing for me about Egypt right now, is knowing which Pharaoh's I can leave and be released from, and when the exile is allowed.  Though I know the Lord does not want to leave us bound, enslaved, or in chains, he has allowed his people to be in such, until the proper time.

While reading Kelly Minter's expository though, I couldn't help but stop and sit for a long time on the phrase, the Proverb:  "Guard your heart, for it is the well spring of life."  Because some Pharaoh's are created by ourselves, some are imposed on us, and some are just there.  But how we react to them, and how long we face them is sometimes our choice.

I think about this in two ways:  One, that ruling Pharaohs like fear or worry or doubt or distrust or unforgiving, are all internal.  We ourselves are able, with God's power, to get out from under them -- by purposefully guarding our heart against them!  We can build up our armor (Ephesians 6) with prayer, scripture, fellowship, and knowledge to make our walls stronger against these personal, internal Pharaohs  (More to come on this in another post).  Kelly speaks also about our imagination, and how that needs boundaries too, guarding our hearts and minds!

Secondly, I think in practical terms about guarding my heart.  I remember the words of Bekah when I was at my job at Wilson Middle School, the August after my mom died.  I described to her in depth what I was feeling, and she said "I don't want that for you."  But I kept the job anyway -- because people told me I needed a job, needed the money, and the health insurance, so to stick it out and suck it up and I'd be fine.  Then my friend Kate Vasey visited me that fall and said she didn't want this job for my heart and life, and wrote my resignation to help guard my heart, when I could not on my own.  This past week, I got a text from my friend Kara and she said, "I want better than that for you" and an email fro my friend Kate Riedberger, who also wanted better for my heart...  These all are reminders to me that (I have the best friends) guarding your heart is something you do, and you friends do for you.  Sometimes they can see things you can't, and can see outside the practical side to the personal side.   The see how Christ can cultivate and nurture you, and will stand like Nehemiah's prayer and power wall against Pharaoh's for you.  To guard our heart is sometimes to do the impractical in order to leave it softened, open, and malleable to God's will.

I'm finding Personal Pharaohs in all my corners, lurking like Satan to devour my heart and in situations to crumble me from the outside in.  Physical pharaohs, mental pharaohs.  But all I want is to be free of pharaohs, to live in the escape of Exodus, know these things:

1.  "Where the spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom!"  This means inward, outward.  Boldness, hope.
2.  John 10:10 promises us that he has come to give us life, and life to the full.   Living under personal pharaohs attempts to rob us of this promise.
3.  He has come to bring freedom to the captives, and break the chains of the prisoner (Isaiah 61).  This is both metaphorical and literal.  In this blog context, the fact that Jesus also repeated these words doubles the impact of their hope and presence, for he desires us to be released, and free in him.

I don't know what Personal Pharaohs are taunting you, or how to always combat or answer to mine, but these are the thoughts of my wrestling, and in sharing them, somehow, my release....

Emotional Space to Be.

My friend, Kate Vasey, and her husband have had a mentor couple since as long as I can remember.  Perhaps even since their dating years.  They now are two children into marriage and years keep coming with growth and challenges and support and friendship.

But something their mentor couple said years ago, has always stuck with me.  The wife was talking about staying home as a mom and what that means, and why that's important.  And her words were something like, "When you stay home full time, you can have the extra emotional fill take to give to your husband and children for when they come home."

I think about now, as Mark and I give our emotional fill tank to "the world" - our jobs, and try to make every effort to find some leftovers to give to each other.  And it reminds me of the woman's words.  About wanting to be filled so I am able to overflow into him.

And I think about the women I see who are working full-time and watch their scattered homes and how this one in particular feels frantic always, and the impact that has on me and her children and her household.

Then my sisters words of yesterday float back, and she said they were staying home for the day, skipping errands and playdates, because her "household needed her."  Time to play dolls with Kaylin, get on top of groceries, and rest in pajamas.  Time to, be.

I wonder what this means for us as women.  We are those who think, yes, but who live in the depth of our hearts.  And we feel in a way that is distinct.  And our hearts need to be full.  We give out, always.  But in this world, we need to be filled by the Holy Spirit and the Word, by our friendships, by time to just be.  We need space for the things that fill us -- books, music, movement, conversation -- so we are filled and able to help others Be.

I am called to be his helpmate, and her dear sister, and her close friend.  All of these things require an inward strength, and outward flow, to be giving, available, loving, patient, kind, and have the capacity to help others Be.

Lord, give me the emotion, the time, the energy, the space, the temperament, and currently, the job, to Be.  And Be the woman you created me to Be.  Fill my emotional tank so I can help my husband, and my friends, to be the people you've called and enabled them to Be.