Walking in Humility: Honest Self-Assessment

"She's so open about her shortcomings that it makes it really hard to use them against her."

It was a line spoken in jest on the Best Friends Whenever episode my daughter wanted to watch this morning. 

Huh, I thought. Isn't that freeing. 

Jesus said, “If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples. 32 Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” {John 8:31-32}

The truth breaks down walls, unlocks chains, and sets captives free.

Not only the truth about God and what He thinks of us but the truth about everything. The truth about relationships, gifts, talents, personality, limitations, resources, and support.

Lies in any form will keep us behind bars and from reaching our God-given potential, but so often we choose to live there, closing the door of our prison cell with our own hands. We lie to ourselves for many reasons but mostly to try to meet a legitimate need in an illegitimate way. We are desperate for love and affection, we long for approval, we don't want to be in pain, and so we lie.

He would pay more attention to me if only I....

They didn't really mean to treat me that way. I must've just misunderstood.

If only my life were like hers, if I had what she had, then I'd be happy.

I'd be more attractive if I were a couple sizes smaller.

They are really awful people, so it's okay if I rip them apart on social media.

I mean, I know some bad things happened, but it all worked out okay. The past doesn't matter.

Every time I see her, she's so calm and patient with her kids. She's a much better mom than I am.

Those people are all addicted to drugs and don't deserve my money or resources.

This food/person/relationship/workout/thing will make me feel better.

If I'm able to live up to the ideal image of a _________, then I will be satisfied and fulfilled.

Facing the truth about reality is often painful, so painful that many people will go to great lengths to avoid ever having to think about it. We bury the truth, subvert the truth, mask the truth, avoid the truth, and hide the truth, even from ourselves. The truth, while sometimes more painful than we care to imagine, is also more beautiful and freeing than we dare to admit.

We have to be willing to look at things for what they truly are and grieve, if necessary, to live free and out from under the heavy burden of lies that hold us captive.

As a young mother, I lived with the weight of the ideal homemaker, Christian, and wife on my shoulders.

It was exhausting.

Certain ways of doing things, which in and of themselves were efficient and exemplary, were, at least in my experience, portrayed as "the only way." Anything short of that meant, well, you're not very good at this. You failed. You haven't measured up.

I lived in the shadow of this ideal for years, and it literally gnawed away at my soul to the point where I wanted to give up and throw in the towel on the Christian life. I told a friend in confidence on a retreat that I was done. Done trying, done striving. I knew how to "play church" as well as anyone, and I would still show up on Sundays with a smile on my face, but it wouldn't mean anything. I didn't know what else to do.

She didn't know either, but she listened. She welcomed the opportunity to know the real me, truth and all. We half-heartedly agreed to spend more time reading our Bibles.

But as time unfolded, I began to lay those ideals down and grieve their passing. To admit, yes, I will never measure up. And you know what? It's okay. Because I realized "the only Way" that was true and good and perfect and right was Jesus, and there was nothing more I could do then what He had already done for me. Furthermore, His relationship is different and unique with everyone. It's certainly not a one-size-fits-all gig.

It's freeing to realize a lot of the "how to's" preached in Christian circles cater to disciplined, type-A personalities.

Wake up early in the morning, before anyone else, to spend time in the word and prayer. 

Read your bible every day.

Journal and apply scripture to your life. Doodles and embellishments optional but highly encouraged. 

Get your Read Through the Bible in a Year Plan and start checking off the days. 

Make sure to attend a bible study to continue learning and growing.

It's also incredibly freeing to realize that I am not one of those type-A people...

But I spent years upon years trying harder, vowing to do better, setting resolutions, and journaling apologies for my failures, again. Until I finally was able to see the truth that God just didn't make me that way, and it's okay. 

Although I may not read my bible daily, the Holy Spirit is ever-present in my heart and ear, and I can meet with Him just as deeply poring over the Word as I can pouring water out of dirty dishes at the kitchen sink. 

I can learn about Him while attending a bible study or Christian conference, but I can also learn about Him in the eyes of my children, in their gaze of unwavering love and trust. I can smell Him on the wind as fresh air breathes life into my lungs. I can walk with Him in the cool of the day and know the sound of His footsteps. I can hear His still, small voice as I go about the mundane tasks of my day.

The truth breaks down walls, unlocks chains, and sets captives free, but we have to be willing to humble ourselves to see it. We have to be willing to look it square in the face and own it. 

And it's worth it, friends, because when we finally surrender, we find victory in Christ. Walk with Him in humility today. 

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This post is part of a series I’m writing for the month of October called, Walking in Humility: Learning to Abide with God in the Everyday. If you’re interested in the reading the rest of the series, you can find it here. Enjoy!

Walking in Humility: His Kindness Leads Us to Repentance

Jesus Calls His First Disciples {Luke 5:1-11}

One day as Jesus was standing by the Lake of Gennesaret,[a] the people were crowding around him and listening to the word of God. 2 He saw at the water’s edge two boats, left there by the fishermen, who were washing their nets. 3 He got into one of the boats, the one belonging to Simon, and asked him to put out a little from shore. Then he sat down and taught the people from the boat.

4 When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, “Put out into deep water, and let down the nets for a catch.”

5 Simon answered, “Master, we’ve worked hard all night and haven’t caught anything. But because you say so, I will let down the nets.”

6 When they had done so, they caught such a large number of fish that their nets began to break. 7 So they signaled their partners in the other boat to come and help them, and they came and filled both boats so full that they began to sink.

8 When Simon Peter saw this, he fell at Jesus’ knees and said, “Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!” 9 For he and all his companions were astonished at the catch of fish they had taken, 10 and so were James and John, the sons of Zebedee, Simon’s partners.

Then Jesus said to Simon, “Don’t be afraid; from now on you will fish for people.”11 So they pulled their boats up on shore, left everything and followed him.

I love how quick Jesus was to say, “don’t be afraid.”

It’s okay. It’s all good. Peter had no reason to be afraid for doubting, for messing up, for thinking he knew better. Not only did Jesus refuse to leave him to wallow in his failure and sin as he asked, He did the opposite. He invited him to get up and follow Him.

Don’t you see how wonderfully kind, tolerant, and patient God is with you? Does this mean nothing to you? Can’t you see that his kindness is intended to turn you from your sin? {Romans 2:4, NLT}

I have known for a long time it’s His kindness that leads us to repentance, but if I’m going to be honest with you here, I had no idea how to translate that to real life.

A kind word turns away wrath, yes.

Do good to those who persecute you. Incredibly difficult, but I understand.

But with God as our Father, how does that play out in parenting? When my kids majorly screw up, the last thing I want to say to them is “don't be afraid.” Maybe "afraid" isn't the right word, but I want life to be uncomfortable enough that they will think twice before making that decision again. 

I’m quick with thoughts of well, if only you had listened, this wouldn’t have happened, and, that's exactly why I told you not to do that. Depending on how riled up I am by the blatant disrespect, screaming, and disobedience, well, I might just have to restrain myself from screaming right back at them. Other days I fail miserably at the restraint part.

I often think, why don’t they get it yet? Why are we still fighting these same battles day after day after day?

One day as we were pulling out of the driveway and I had tell the boys in the backseat to buckle up yet again, it occured to me that this was a conversation I've had with them daily for years. I wondered in that moment exactly how many times I’d uttered the phrase “put your seatbelts on.”

Let's assume we put the oldest in a booster seat at age four. He’s now two months shy of 10. Let’s assume also, as he was in preschool at the time, that on average, we left the house once a day, which would involve buckling up twice. I’m sure there were days we stayed home, but there were also days we went multiple places, so it’s probably an incredibly low estimate. Let’s assume, just for fun, I had to remind the children to buckle up each time.

With the oldest being 9 years old, it’s a total of at least 3,650 times.

3,650 times I have instructed them to put their seatbelts on, and they still haven’t "gotten it." 

Let that sink in for a moment. I have told them thousands of times to perform the this task, the same task they need to perform each and every time we enter the vehicle (it’s not like it’s an oddity), and it still has not become habit.

And honestly, sometimes when I look in the rear view mirror and see them positioned in such a way that would make it impossible to indeed be belted, and I have to again utter the phrase "buckle up," my hands tighten their grip on the steering wheel and my jaw clenches as I listen for the clicks from the back seat. 

I think to myself...why do I always have to tell them this? Why don’t they get it by now? It’s not that hard. Get in the car, sit down, and put on your seatbelt. Agent Oso would have boiled it down to those "three special steps" and the child would've mastered it by the end of the 20 minute show! Why must I always remind them?

Every time we get in the car, I pull out of the driveway with a small, subconscious glimmer of hope, thinking maybe, just maybe, today will be the day. Maybe today they will remember to buckle up on their own. 

But you don’t see that at all in Jesus.

And I realized that my perspective as a parent has been... wrong.

You see, while Jesus is aiming for the perfection of eternity, He also fully expects their humanity. He makes room for their doubt, their failures. He makes room for their imperfections and sin, allowing them to learn from their mistakes with an air of patience and grace I often don't possess as a parent. 

With Jesus, it's not about all the times you got it wrong. It's about the one time you got it right.

Expectations pave the way for either contentment or disappointment, so it's vital we set them accordingly. Because the reality is, there will be some things that, on this side of heaven, the kids will never master, even as adults. But it doesn't mean we shouldn't keep trying or we shouldn't keep training them: we just need to allow for their humanity with a God-given patience and grace. Lord knows I can't do it on my own...

It's a welcome paradigm shift:

Harping on failures  > > > > > >  Celebrating victories

Condemnation  > > > > > >  Grace

Anticipating achievement  > > > > > >  Anticipating repeated need for instruction

Frustration  > > > > > >  Patience

Expecting mastery/perfection  > > > > > >  Expecting sin/humanity

Jesus isn't surprised or caught off guard by our humanity. He fully expects it. He tells us not to be afraid, because He sees the struggles that war within. In His kindness and grace, He knows that the only way to overcome our sin is to stand up and follow Him. To allow Him to fill the spaces in which we are weak.

It's not about all the times we messed up.

With Jesus, it's about the one time we got up and chose to walk with Him in humility. 

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This post is part of a series I’m writing for the month of October called, Walking in Humility: Learning to Abide with God in the Everyday. If you’re interested in the reading the rest of the series, you can find it here. Enjoy!

Walking in Humility: There's Freedom in Embracing the Tension

I tied a knot on our busy morning by vacuuming the floor just before I laid the kids down for a nap. My daughter promptly came back downstairs to tell me the dog was playing with a toilet paper roll. 

Eh, it doesn't look like a full roll, I thought when she handed it to me. Thankfully.

I assumed we dodged a bullet until I rounded the corner and saw a healthy pile of shredded tissue all over the black rug I'd vacuumed just moments before. I followed the trail and located ground zero in the bathroom upstairs. 

Sigh. 

When all parties were tucked back in bed and the dog wrangled downstairs, I proceeded to pick up all the tiny bits of white by hand. The article titled, Motherhood: The Big, Fat F*ck You, came to mind. I have no idea why. But to this thought I said, yes. And amen.

I'll raise you pet ownership, too, if we are, in fact, going to add to the list.

This was a prior paper towel incident. While I was downstairs cleaning the basement, she was upstairs happily uncleaning the family room. Dogs these days. Sheesh.

I'm sure you all have your own personal chips you could throw on the pile.

Some days the lack of recognition, the seemingly futile attempts to train the future generation, or the muddying of your hard work seems like no more than a big middle finger.

But other days... Other days you're sitting at the kitchen table painting your daughter's tiny toenails, while she makes her brother laugh in his seat. You marvel at the sun shining through the window at just the right angle, creating a halo-like glow in her silky blonde hair. Their eyes light up as they smile at each other and carry on, a blessing of the close bond of siblings. 

Amazing also are the colors she picks out, each toe something different. Colors you'd never have thought to put together, but somehow, it works well. Your hand rests on her warm little leg as the polish dries and you study their little faces, their eyes and their smiles, how her head tilts to the side when she laughs just so, how he points with his cubby little finger, bringing it up to his pursed little mouth. You want to etch this moment in your memory so you'll never forget the lines of their faces, their Chiclet-toothed grins, the joy filling your soul.

Love and gratitude begin to well up in your heart to the degree that you realize this must be how God Himself feels when he gazes upon His children. And in that moment, no article in the universe could do more to convince you this is the absolute best job in the world. The rewards may not be quantifiable, but they are deeply fulfilling, and there's nowhere else you'd rather be than painting pink sparkly polish on stinky little feet.

I don't know what you contemplate while vacuuming, but today I thought about how motherhood, as with most situations or vocations in life, is a reflection of the mysterious "both/and" tension that orders the universe, and even our human hearts.

Cherish every moment, people say. They grow up so quick!

Now, I don't believe that every moment is cherish-able. Because sometimes? Motherhood is a big, fat F*ck you. Sometimes it just downright sucks. There's no need to sugar-coat it. In fact, I'll even go as far as to say it's detrimental to sugar-coat it.

But, it does go quick. I know there will be a day I'll brush cobwebs away and pull the etchings of their tiny, sweet faces out of a dusty memory vault, wishing so desperately I could be back at the kitchen table for one more moment. 

It's both/and.

Big middle finger/best job in the world.

Exhausting/Exhilarating.

This also applies to the human heart: Sinner/Saint. The beating heart of an individual is capable both of incredible atrocities and immense good.

Wretched/Redeemed.

God of Wrath/God of Love. Spend any time in the Old Testament, and you'll walk away with a view of God that may surprise you. Vengeful, jealous, and full of anger and wrath. It's hard to reconcile with the God portrayed by Jesus in the New Testament. 

Law/Grace. 

The one thing all of these both/and's have in common? The /.

Jesus is the / that makes it work. Only He is able to bridge the gap, to allow the two opposing forces to exist in a mysterious tension. 

Because of Jesus, the drudgery and frustration of motherhood doesn't have the final say. Even on the worst of days, He can turn it around in a "slash" and use it for good if we let Him. When we have nothing left to offer, He is able to provide. When we're fresh out of mercy, He can calm the storm.

Even though Jesus took my place on the cross, I am still a sinner. But because He died for me, I'm no longer just a sinner. In Him, the sinners become saints and the wretched, redeemed.

God isn't a God of scarcity, limits and boxes but of abundance, possibility, and hope. And because of Him,

no past,

no label,

no identity, 

no choice, 

and no day 

will ever again have the final say. 

Walking in Humility: God Chooses to See Only Jesus in Me

It was one of those days. 

A dreary day at the end of July found us at each other's throats by the time breakfast was finished. Disobedience and sass, yelling and screaming, bothering and being bored.

Normally, I don't mind our small house. We have what we need and utilize the space we have, so nothing is wasted. Clutter is overwhelming in small spaces, so it's a great reason to not go crazy buying things and to get rid of the extraneous crap we already have. All in all, it's a great system.

Except in the summer.

I love my children dearly, but they drive me a little crazy those few months. Mainly because we're all on top of each other like little, pink, baby hamsters, and I have nowhere to run and hide. With all the whining and squealing and begging and fighting, I can totally understand why a momma hamster would want to eat her young. Just for some peace and quiet.

Not all days are like that, but certainly, there are some. And this particular day at the end of a finally-hot July had been one of them.

To put things in context, this day had been preceded by a couple months which left me feeling like a failure of a mother, a shell of a human, and a mess of a Christian. I preached a sermon (I don't think I will ever get used to saying that, but I guess that's what it was) on Mother's Day about the Proverbs 31 woman, which I think I will include in this series at some point, and God met me that day. He helped me get over my fear of speaking and present His truth in a way many had not considered it, for His glory.

Then I fell of the spiritual bandwagon and hadn't picked up my Bible since.

Our dog of twelve years got sick in early June and we had to put him to sleep. And I just couldn't stop crying. My postpartum depression reared it's ugly head and refused to depart, no matter how hard I tried to snap out of it or will it away. I'd always just dug my heels in and got through it, but this time my out-of-control hormones were clawing those around me and biting them with sharp teeth. Sometimes a sullen, numb and disconnected beast, other times unpredictably wild and nasty, and I couldn't rein it in.

To lose control of your own mind is a humbling thing.

July arrived with little blue pills from my doctor, which, thankfully, helped me find a middle ground again, and my first case of head lice, courtesy of my son. I graduated childhood without a single louse, and here I find myself at 34 years old with a head full of them.

When my husband came home that day, I took the opportunity to get out of the house and walked to CVS for some lice shampoo. As a mother of five, sometimes "getting out of the house" isn't glamorous, but you have to take what you can get.

Yes, mommy is leaving. I will be right back.

No, you can't come with me.

I trudged down the sidewalk in flip flops and house clothes. I inhaled the fresh air and exhaled in stride, thankful for some silence and space to think. But my thoughts immediately wandered to my shortcomings:

I yelled and screamed at the kids today.

I took my own stress and issues out on them. 

I suck as a mother because I can't seem to keep the house together, the laundry from living on the couch, or the dishes from overflowing in the sink.

I haven't picked up my bible in months. Why would God want to talk to me now? I'm sure He's disappointed...

Grabbing the generic lice shampoo from the shelf, I took a little time to wander the isles, looking for clearance nail polish and scoping out the dollar section. Not finding anything I couldn't live without, I checked out and headed home after chatting briefly with the cashier. 

The words of a friend from the week before echoed in my ear. Questions about why God always referred to Abraham as faithful, yet he doubted. David was known as a man after God's own heart, yet he committed adultery and murder.

How can that be? 

It occurred to me in the discussion that because of what Jesus did for me, God sees only Jesus in me. When my sins are forgiven, they are removed as far as the east is from the west, and He literally can't see them anymore. He only sees Jesus, who paid for them with His blood.

He only sees the good.

And sure, He knows what we've done. He's God. But He chooses to call us redeemed, to refer to us by the good, by the moments we sought Him in humility and repentance. 

The dingy blanket of cloud cover began to shift, and rays of warm light burst through. I could feel the sun on my skin, a tangible outpouring of His love and grace. It was the reset my day, and my life, so desperately needed.

Looking up at the sky, I closed my eyes and breathed it in deep: the truth that I'm not what I scream; I'm not how I feel. I'm not my failures or my mistakes. I'm not the lack of checks on a bible reading plan. I'm not all the things I didn't get done or the things I would still like to do.

I'm just me, in all my humanity, and He loves me because. 

Because of a man hanging on a cross, making a way for me to be free. 

Free from the burden of measuring up, from figuring out my own way.

A way for God to call me redeemed, to see only Jesus in me.

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This post is part of a series I’m writing for the month of October called, Walking in Humility: Learning to Abide with God in the Everyday. If you’re interested in the reading the rest of the series, you can find it here. Enjoy!

Dear Doctor, I Need Help

Over the summer the postpartum depression I experienced after the birth of our fifth child took a nosedive into unbearable. In hindsight I believe I experienced it with all of our children, although I didn't know until it had passed. Suddenly, around the nine month mark, I would begin to feel a renewed energy and hopefulness, only to realize I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt like singing or smiling without effort. 

This time was different because it was worse. It was bad enough that my husband encouraged me to seek help, which I did reluctantly and only briefly. I'm a terrible patient. But each day is better, and throughout the process, the Lord has sewn badges of honor onto my heart, stitch by painful stitch. Symbols of suffering and the lessons learned therein, lessons I wouldn't have understood any other way but walking through the valley in humility. 

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Casualties on the Postpartum Battlefield

In the eyes of another mother today, I saw a reflection of me

Like staring in a mirror, barely here, a shell of numbness and grief

Blank expression, listless gaze, trying to find her way out of the maze

Of sleepless nights, an infants cry, her whole world turned around

Even mad at the baby and wondering if maybe they made a big mistake

Because what the books don't tell you, what everyone fails to say

Makes you feel quite crazy, like a failure, in the worst possible way

You wonder how you'll get through it, these days barely staying afloat

The raft drifting farther and farther from shore, no hope of ever getting out

The people ashore can even see you're gone, standing there so helplessly

They don't know what to do, how to help, immobilized by uncertainty

Sometimes when you've floated so far, it seems no rope or rescue could reach

The depths in which you're drowning, no longer visible from life's beach

Days feel like years, soul weary, eyes sleepy, and mind unable to function

The after school craze creates a mental haze, a heavy fog of suspended chaos

My mind starts to tremble from overstimulation, unable to process the imput

Like an overloaded circuit internally imploded, my rational mind turns mushy

Liquified sanity runs out of my mouth, uncontrolled, unrestrained and nasty

There are no winners here, not one is unscathed, just a mess of tears and apologies

Always hormonal in desperate search of normal, tomorrow hopes for healed

The dawn cries and I arise; I take my medication and pray.

Maybe this dark and heavy cloud will find flight and lift today.

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This post is part of a series I’m writing for the month of October called, Walking in Humility: Learning to Abide with God in the Everyday. If you’re interested in the reading the rest of the series, you can find it here. Enjoy!