Every week at Grandma’s is different now. She was chattier in December and January; she ate lunch with us sometimes. She knew me, and mostly knew who the kids were.

One week we talked about homeschooling, which she did with her youngest two boys. She watched as the kids kept coming over for me to check their work or answer questions.
“How do you keep it all straight?” she asked.
“I don’t know…how did you?”
“I don’t know.” She almost grinned. “I’m glad I had all I could handle. It was a good thing. It was good for all of us, good learning for all of us.”
It is good to have all we can handle, to be stretched beyond what we think we can do…as long as we don’t give up. As long as we lean on Him. Because in spite of what people say, He will give us more than we can handle, because that’s how we grow. That’s also how, when we do the thing that was too much for us to do on our own, we recognize His grace.
We never accomplish alone, in our own strength, by our own brainpower.
And this is good news because I’ve been feeling very stupid lately while learning Greek. It is a beautiful, aggravating language that fools you with easy words like “párti” for party, and “souper market” for super market, but as soon as your guard is down it smacks you upside the head with i̱lektronikós ypologistí̱s, which is ten syllables just to say “computer.”

I know I’ve made fun of English for being stupid, but at least we have sensible blends, like sl in slow, or br in brown. For the most part, our letters flow in a civilized manner.
But in Greek, you have hard consonants like k and t at the beginning of words like ktizo (“to build”). You have phrases like esy ftiaxneis (“you make”), and you wonder WHAT in the WORLD are you supposed to do with that second word because f and t are together at the beginning of it, and you’ve also got to figure out how to deal with that weird xn in the middle.
Hint: You almost (but not quite) get rid of the “s” sound in the x, so what you’re left with, phonetically spelled, is…
[types, then quickly deletes]…something you shouldn’t try pronouncing around your kids. Or your grandma, even if she’s Irish.
It’s sort of like learning to play violin: No one should do it until they’re an expert.
But here we are, asked to do so many things before we are experts, before we even have the slightest clue what we are really doing. Instead, we are living in ironic juxtaposition that seems to make no sense.
I do not know how we are keeping it all straight; I actually don’t think we are, at all. I think we have situations like those hard consonants that don’t normally blend, and suddenly they’re holding hands and swing dancing drunkenly together anyway, teaching us whole new sounds we never imagined. Párti.
A friend shared this a while back, and it stuck with me:

Can you handle feeling incompetent long enough to attain fluency? This is not just about languages, of course.
It is slow work, this absorbing and distilling and creating. Remember, we are not performing, we are becoming.
For it is precept upon precept, precept upon precept,
line upon line, line upon line,
here a little, there a little.– Isaiah 28:10

And more good news: God knows what we’re doing and where we’re going, long before we do. He is training us for the journey, making us like Him when we let Him.
He is putting us where He wants us, and preparing us for what’s ahead.
In the Old Testament I’ve made it to Judges, which is sort of the Best and Worst of Bible Stories. I’m currently still toward the beginning where it’s pretty normal, before you get to the what-the-what parts that remind us once again that just because we read about someone in Scripture, it doesn’t mean God wants us to imitate them.
I would, however, love to add t-shirts to our merch page that advertise “Jael’s camping gear”…tents, hammers, gorgeous rugs, mugs of warm milk…I digress.
We do need to talk about Jael though, because she’s a prime example of someone being where you don’t expect them to be, doing what you don’t expect them to do.
We’re in Judges 4, when Deborah, a prophetess, is judging Israel. She was an answer to prayer after twenty years of the Israelites’ sin and oppression, and with her leadership, they were finally ready to stand up to their oppressor: King Jabin of Hazor.
So Deborah summoned Barak and gave him the word from the Lord, telling him how to defeat Sisera, the general of the King Jabin’s army. Barak said he’d only go if Deborah went with him, and she said, Sure, but since you were a pansy, you won’t be able to take out Sisera; the Lord is going to let a woman do it. My paraphrase.
Instructions and strategy follow, and then we get to this odd sentence right in the middle of the action. No segue, no transition, no apparent reason why it’s there at all:
Now Heber the Kenite had separated from the other Kenites, that is, the descendants of Hobab the father-in-law of Moses, and had encamped as far away as Elon-bezaanannim, which is near Kedesh.
– Judges 4:11
And we’re like, Who is this guy, and why do we care? What is he even doing here? But if you know the story, you know where this is going and why that sentence is there.
In our lives though, we usually don’t know the full story. Our strange little sidebars and interruptions seem completely out of place. We often think we are out of place.
So was Heber. Heber the Kenite had moved far away…sounds like the beginning of a limerick by Dr. Suess.
Anyway, after that odd sentence we jump right back into the action again: Sisera knows the Israelites are on the move, so he calls his 900 chariots and they start to move, too, but the Lord is there and He throws Sisera’s army into a panic. Sisera flees on foot while Barak pursues his chariots and army to Sisera’s hometown, Harosheth-ha-goiim, a place that would only be harder to pronounce if it were Greek.
But Sisera flees on foot in a different direction…and we find out why Heber was mentioned earlier.
Now Sisera had fled away on foot to the tent of Jael, wife of Heber the Kenite –
(Ohhhh…but wait, there’s more!)
…for there was peace between King Jabin of Hazor and the clan of Heber the Kenite.
– Judges 4:17
Heber the Kenite had moved far away…because his family was on friendly terms with the king who was oppressing the Israelites. The King that the Lord had sold them into for their disobedience.
The king who was Sisera’s boss.
The Lord put Heber where He wanted him, because…you know this story, right?
Jael, his wife was at home for the day…
Because Heber’s wife had a destiny to introduce the temple of Sisera’s head to the business end of her tent peg.
And now our limerick is complete:
Heber the Kenite had moved far away
Jael, his wife, was at home for the day
Where Sisera had fled
Wanting drink, and a bed
But her hammer made certain he’d stay.
(Thank you, thank you.)

Let’s pause here for a few important questions:
- Can we handle feeling displaced long enough to defeat the enemy?
- Are we mature enough to emotionally regulate ourselves, in spite of the enemy’s threat, and in spite of not knowing exactly what we’re doing?
- Are we going to agree with smallness and shrink back, or are we willing to go and do what He sends us to, when we don’t have the full plan?
We might be where we’re at because we need this practice.
That conversation with Grandma I mentioned earlier was one of our last coherent talks. She has been so far away since then; she can barely hear me, usually doesn’t understand me, and sometimes doesn’t recognize me. She is displaced and none of us like learning this new language.
But I know growth is happening under the surface, in relationships and minds and hearts. God is giving us more than we can handle, and we’re feeling stretched and stupid and humbled as we attain a new kind of fluency.

We are learning why certain things trigger us, why we are withdrawing, and we’re finding new words for feelings we’ve never identified or bothered to articulate before.
Still, it feels like no one should have to do this until they’re an expert. And none of us want to be experts at this.
No one wants to be an expert in grief, displacement, brokenness, or feeling stupid in the things we wish we already understood.
Instead of neglecting your garden in the hope that God will rescue you from this situation and send you somewhere else, go rake your garden. Take care of your garden as if this season was the last season and you want to leave it beautiful for the next family who uses it.
– Katie James, Tetragon Lift
Is this the last season? In so many ways, yes. We do not know how much time we have left in anything, with anyone.
Last week, Grandma gave me a long hug when we were leaving. With her face in my hair, she said, “You be safe going home, now.”
I want that for her, too. We want to steward these days well, however many are left.
What feels too hard will become more familiar. The sounds we don’t know how to make will start rolling off our tongues with a little more practice. We won’t feel stupid in this area forever. (We’ll gain fluency and feel stupid in other areas, instead.)
We cannot keep it all straight, and it is more than we can handle, but we are not handling it on our own. This is where we recognize His grace, and it is good learning for all of us.
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