Category Archives: identity

wide spaces: finding grace in the overwhelm

Posted on by October 26, 2023

I drove home from an appointment with Reagan’s team at our homeschool, leaves skipping across the road while the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band sang about fishing in the dark. Just me, no distractions, no kids arguing in the back – a good time to think some deep thoughts.

It was our annual special ed meeting, a newish development for us but also one I dreaded last year. But this year I feel like a grown up about it, which means I’ve reached a new level of maturity that borders on reckless indifference. Reagan is almost eighteen and that means nothing to her development, care, or education, but it changes a lot of things legally, initiating a whole new level of well-meaning bureaucracy in our lives.

wide spaces: finding grace in the overwhelm

In the meeting we discussed goals for math, reading, and writing. Math, for instance: The team suggested getting Reagan a watch to help her practice telling time, and we talked about what that would accomplish.

“Nothing,” I told them, “other than a broken watch, because she will get it in the water, pick at its mechanisms, and destroy it in within two weeks. We might as well find a twenty dollar bill and have the fun of lighting it on fire.” (I know, fun at parties, remember?) She doesn’t understand the concepts of seconds, minutes, and hours, anyway. She does understand days (usually), months (sometimes), and parts of the day, like evening and morning, with variable accuracy. Even on the days when she remembers how to tell time, it means nothing to her, and it was bought at the cost of weeks of frustration and often disobedience.

Money? Same thing. She knows what coins are worth, but that information is meaningless because she doesn’t understand buying, selling, earning, or spending. There are no hooks to hang that knowledge on. Yes, we take her to the store and go through the motions with her, but that’s all it is – going through motions. Her mind doesn’t understand the concepts of what is really occurring.

I flipped the blinker and turned right, wondering how many years you can teach first grade math to the same child. One reason we homeschool is to keep our kids from wasting time with busywork, but for eleven years that’s all it seems like most of her math assignments have been for her. But we’ve persisted, hoping something would finally click, or she would be healed, or we would see some bigger progress.

So how do we get more basic than the basics? Are we just pushing these things to make ourselves feel better? These are the questions I’m pondering lately. Have we wasted all this time, trying to teach her useless things? I know, I hear you; it hasn’t really been wasted. God never wastes anything. But just give me a minute so I can overthink this.

I don’t want to give up hope for her healing. I want to live in the green light and yet at the same time work with her where she’s at – where she’s still at, where she might always be at. I don’t want our days to be long, frustrating exercises in futility, checking off boxes when those boxes don’t apply to her.

I want to find the right boxes, where she clicks perfectly and thrives. And yes, we are an out-of-the-box family, I don’t have a problem with coloring outside the lines. But I’m tired of fishing in the dark, firing blind. We need structure and outlines and achievable goalposts to reach for, because things have been so “too much” and yet often also “not enough.”

There were four of us in the meeting and everyone was on our side; there was no combativeness or judgment, praise God. But there are always stark reminders that these other women, kind as they are, don’t fully grasp Reagan’s challenges. One mentioned vocational rehab as an option, and I reminded her that Reagan is cognitively anywhere from two to six years old, and you would not send a preschooler to vocational rehab.

“Right,” she nodded. I appreciate her agreement and understanding, but I’m so tired of being the only one that keeps these things in mind as we live with her limitations. I don’t want to be the naysayer all the time. I don’t want to naysay at all. But here we are: The freedom to do anything, but limits everywhere.

I read this about limits recently:

…What nuns, hermits, and students do is facilitated rather than hindered by the confines of the formal structures they inhabit; because those structures constrain freedom…they enable movements in a defined space. If the moves you can perform are prescribed and limited – if, for example, every line of your poem must have ten syllables and rhyme according to a predetermined pattern – each move can carry a precise significance.

– Stanley Fish, How to Write a Sentence

…and this makes sense to me. I need the focus provided by parameters and limits within the overwhelm.

So eleven years into this, we are reevaluating how we structure her days, and praying again about how to make them the most fruitful. And this, at least, is normal for every kid I’ve homeschooled: Tweaking and adjusting is normal, frequent, and to be expected.

We don’t want to push things for the sake of pushing them, or because they’re what’s “supposed” to happen, or because it’s what she ought to be able to do in a perfect world without FAS and other traumas. I’m all done with the exercise in futility, and yet I’m also not ready to admit she can’t be healed.

Which means I’m here in the middle, realizing for the brazillionth time that I can’t force healing, growth, or learning to happen. We need His grace; it has to be His work here. And we need to find other ways to engage and grow her that won’t be a constant source of aggravation and strife for all of us.

I heave a long sigh, and the Lord corrects me. Hey Love, you do not carry the weight of the world. I do. Agree with Me. So I do, mostly…I think 99.5 percent, at least…and I remind myself He’s doing great things. Working on our behalf. Making our efforts mean something. Giving us wisdom and discernment.

Every step forward for each of us is pure grace.

But still, I haven’t had a real vacation (the kind without kids, appointments, or interviews) in 22 years and there’s this 3-inch binder for Reagan’s paperwork and future planning that I need to look through this evening. Or at least, one of these evenings. Or at least by late November.

And I want nothing to do with it; I want to fling it out the window. I want to be Knightley, napping in the rocking chair.

So, maturity…yeah, I dunno if I’m getting anywhere with that in my own heart, either. The further we get it in this, the more I come up against my own selfishness, my own disappointments, my own imperfections and limits. My own need for grace.

I have been overwhelmed with overwhelm, and am longing for some…I don’t even know. Peace. Space. Victory. Rest.

And then a few weeks ago I read this, about the Lord leading the Israelites out of slavery and into a good land:

Then the Lord said, “I have surely seen the affliction of my people who are in Egypt and have heard their cry because of their taskmasters. I know their sufferings, and I have come down to deliver them out of the hand of the Egyptians and to bring them up out of that land to a good and broad land, a land flowing with milk and honey, to the place of the Canaanites, the Hittites, the Amorites, the Perizzites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites.”

– Exodus 3:7-8

Did you see that? Three big things are happening here. One: The Lord sees their struggle. That’s super great, we need to be seen and heard and known.

And then B: He comes to deliver them to a good place, which is filled with hope and relief and promise. I can just see that good and broad land, with rolling fields, gardens, and a little stream cutting across a cluster of woods.

But then, C: In the same breath, before He even finishes the sentence, He says the place is absolutely teeming with horrible, idolatrous enemies they have to conquer.

Record scratch. Wait a second.

But I think this is where I’ve been living. I mean, maybe there’s a pattern here: We get to a new breakthrough, we start to see light ahead, and boom – new challenge, new overwhelm, new enemies to conquer. In fact, I’m almost positive I’ve written about this before, a little over a year ago. So why are we here again?

Because it’s the next level. The Lord delivers from overwhelm, but He also delivers us into overwhelm. Because He’s doing something in the midst of it.

I will rejoice and be glad in your steadfast love,
    because you have seen my affliction;
    you have known the distress of my soul,
and you have not delivered me into the hand of the enemy;
   you have set my feet in a broad place.

– Psalm 31:7-8

We can keep pushing Reagan through math workbooks, and enjoy the predictability of knowing what we’re getting into because it’s what we’ve always gotten. Or we can toss them aside and look at a wide, new land of almost limitless, overwhelming other options. Really, it’s not that different from the deliberations public schooling parents face when they first switch to homeschool.

My friend said this the other day about her daughter:

“We never had to do more than say ‘yes’ and just be there for her and love her. As long as we were faithful to do that, He did all the rest. We could’ve just rested in that instead of all the tears and worry.”

And I know this in my head but I have had to learn it over and over – which really, does that mean I’ve ever learned it? – because I have also spent many days in long, frustrating futility with tears and worry. I’ve wasted a lot of time with that useless busywork. But I’m hoping that this time the concept of grace will stick, that it will click, because I need healing and progress, too.

Learning that I can trust Him in all of it makes all the difference. Right, I’ve said that a million times here, and I think I’ve believed it 99.5 percent of the time, even. But probably because it’s taken this long to have hooks to hang that knowledge on, I’m finally learning about grace and trusting Him in new ways – like, I’m finally feeling it in my bones, and understanding that we are bound by love, and therefore, free.

If the Lord delights in us, he will bring us into this land and give it to us, a land that flows with milk and honey. Only do not rebel against the Lord. And do not fear the people of the land, for they are bread for us. Their protection is removed from them, and the Lord is with us; do not fear them.

– Numbers 14:8-9

I can almost grasp it right here – this shift that has been so slippery, so hard to hang on to, but it’s starting to make sense and feel real: Because if I can trust Him, then the future brings more joy and rest. Because if every step forward is His grace and not dependent on my perfection or ability, then the obstacles ahead are bread for us. Instead of the expectation of more limits and more confusion and more lack or dread or any other thing not of Him, there’s something that looks a little like reckless indifference – but what it really is, is freedom. It’s the next level.

It looks like rolling fields, and cultivated gardens, and a stream running free in all the directions He sends it.

Want more posts like this, right to your inbox? Subscribe here.

beautiful mess: when our colors start changing

Posted on by September 30, 2023

I was afraid they would take over our living room, but so far it’s been okay.

About a hundred tomatoes are growing in two pots next to the couch (and a hundred more in two other pots that are growing in the basement) because the nights started getting too cold to leave them out there but they were still too small to harvest, just tiny green clusters that looked like grapes. So we pushed them up against the window where they could get twelve hours of daylight in the safety of a frost-free environment.

beautiful mess: when our colors start changing

I was also afraid that bugs would crawl out of the pots and start emerging everywhere, but so far there’s just been one little spider who built an ambitious web among the branches. For a while I let him, thinking that if there was a fruit fly problem, he would help mitigate it. But then he got presumptuous and expanded his architecture into a grand multi-dimensional Taj Ma-spiderweb that made me nervous, so I gave him an eviction notice and dusted him out of there so I could reach the growing tomatoes.

Because lo and behold, it’s working; they are changing colors. We are growing ripe tomatoes in our house. YAY. Almost a dozen are ready to be picked, and all I need now is some feta.

Fall is magical and idyllic: the colors, the sunlight, the new books, the new ambitions. Cham’s in the library rocking chair and Kav’s on the floor nearby, both reading. I’m almost done with Anne of Green Gables (which is perfect for fall) and all of Anne’s studies and concerts and recitations make me daydream about homeschool co-ops and reading groups.

Several packages of books came in the mail this week – some for the new school year, and others of our own to replenish inventory – and I’m listening to a teaching in my office while I reshelve everything. The speaker starts interceding for different cities and suddenly I don’t know why but I’m crying – and why am I crying so much lately? I’ve never been a crier, but God is changing my colors here, too, because it’s happening more and more during worship…and He’s teaching me that worship looks like a lot of different things, and most of them aren’t related to music or singing.

I know I’m rambling a little, but this is what fall is: Oh, look at that tree, and that tree, and that one. Look at all the things that are demanding our attention in new ways, all because their colors are changing.

Why do we buy, or borrow, or read all the books? Because we want something inside them to change something inside of us. We know we need our colors to change, too.

We don’t usually mind changing as long as we’re in charge of the process, or it’s gentle enough that we barely notice. But the change we most often need requires our surrender, and that’s when we dig our heels in.

A few years ago we finally made a lot of big changes after months (years) of prayer – we shed some friends, a church, a couple social media accounts – and life has been adjusting with new colors ever since. And in this season, more colors keep changing: Kids keep coming and going, another one is probably moving out next spring, two others need to transition into guardianship…and that’s one of those things where in some ways nothing changes, but in other ways, everything changes. The new colors don’t make sense and we have no idea what they’ll really look like.

Outside, most of the leaves are still hanging on tightly to branches and this is probably the last perfect week of fall before they all let go. We still have a few sunflowers and poppies blooming, and I keep checking to see if any of the ones that bloomed earliest are ready to harvest for seeds yet, but no, they’re still not, even though their petals have been gone for months. They went from enchanting violets and lavenders and crimsons whose bold petals stretched outward in every direction to these compact, reclusive green pods, and nothing to show for the change in color.

Sometimes we go through this process, too, and we wonder what God is doing with us. I used to feel so vibrant and free, and now I don’t know what I’m doing. Am I still the same person, even? Why do I feel less instead of more?

External changes are hard enough, but personal change — like when you know God is calling you higher, closer, humbler, or bolder – is a whole other process of molting and metamorphosis. But who we are hasn’t really changed; we’re just becoming more us as we become more like Him…and still, sometimes we dig in our heels, not sure if we should cooperate. Not sure how it will turn out. Not sure what we’ll have to give up, or what we’ll have to pay.

And sometimes shame and pride come in, and we dig our heels in here, too. I know this isn’t working, but I don’t want to change because that means admitting I’ve been wrong. If I change, people will see the difference between who I’ve been and who I’ve needed to be, and the space between feels embarrassing…so I’d rather just stay here.

To make it harder, some people walk in feigned maturity and make it awkward or difficult for everyone else to grow. I’m talking about the ones who drag us back in shame to our past, or speak dread over our future, and say things like, “Oh, just wait till ______ happens [insert story of martyrdom that demands your reverence to boost the speaker’s ego]. You’ll think differently then.”

These ones did not truly mature past the level they brag about, but stalled out when their insecurities outweighed their surrender. I have a theory that these are the same people who complain about all their responsibilities and never having any free time from the comfort of their easy chair while watching TV in the evenings. (They probably shouldn’t say those things to homeschooling moms who are balancing the phone on one ear while checking math assignments, washing eggs, and stirring dinner on the stove.)

There’s no shame in changing colors and turning in the right direction. Maturity requires humility. Sanctification means we are constantly a work in progress, and it’s okay to be a beautiful mess.

Let no one despise you for your youth, but set the believers an example in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith, in purity. Until I come, devote yourself to the public reading of Scripture, to exhortation, to teaching. Do not neglect the gift you have, which was given you by prophecy when the council of elders laid their hands on you. Practice these things, immerse yourself in them, so that all may see your progress.

– 1 Timothy 4:12-15

The only ones who lord it over us are the ones who refused, staying in the old phases, clinging to their old colors and baby fuzz, convincing themselves that to be perpetually in one’s twenties (or thirties, or whatever) is the ideal of happiness because it means there was never anything in them that needed improved upon. And this is why there are so many middle-aged and elderly narcissists (who, ironically, raised younger generations of narcissists, too).

The prodigal wonders, If I change now, will I be ashamed and embarrassed later of who I was, when who I am now becomes who I used to be?

– Oh My Soul

But what an amazing, holy, beautiful thing it is to allow God to change your color. We’re afraid it will take over our safe spaces…and it will. But it’ll be okay. The Lord is a strong tower; we can run to Him and be safe.

We have all these spring chicks who are almost adults now, and none of them resemble what they looked like before their feathers came in. They lost stripes, added speckles, and changed colors all over. Watching them over the summer has been a constant process of re-acquaintance as they’ve changed so fast – Oh, it’s you, Freckles. Last week you were brown with stripes, and now you are fifteen shades of chestnut, copper, and mahogany, with a gorgeous green tail that looks…suspiciously… like a rooster’s.

It turns out he is a rooster, but he’s my favorite and we’re keeping him, so there. He’s ginormous and still growing.

And those tight-fisted green pods of poppies are each growing hundreds of seeds that will reproduce themselves next year. They’ll let go, soon, too – I’ll know when I can see little windows open up at the tops of them that let the wind blow through.

One flower’s worth of lavender or crimson or violet will bear a field’s worth of color. They aren’t dying; we’re not dying. We are reproducing, replicating, propagating, spreading His colors into fields we could never reach now, far into the years ahead.

Want more posts like this, right to your inbox? Subscribe here.

know who you’re dealing with: the Kingdom’s response to insecurity

Posted on by September 1, 2023

When I come here to write to you, I often don’t know exactly what I’m going to say. I usually have a bunch of notes (sometimes way too many) and a theme (also, sometimes too many), and the first step is to do some sorting. Then fleshing out. And then refining.

It’s not a clean, pretty process. It usually involves some wailing and gnashing of teeth, a little yelling at the laptop, and lots of prayer and coffee.

know who you're dealing with: the Kingdom's response to insecurity

Today I’m looking at a document of 2418 words and counting. That’s usually too long for a post, so I have it separated into two themes (hence, two posts), and here I am, writing the intro to one of those posts at the top of the document. So far, so good.

But there’s a ton of shuffling and rearranging to do. A lot of truth to find, and some unnecessary content to sift out. Figuring out what I’m really dealing with and what He really wants to say through me can be quite an ordeal.

And as we mature and grow in the Lord, this is what He does with us, too – because life is a journey of learning who (and Who) we’re dealing with.

(Side note: Yes, I know grammatically it should be “whom” but that sounds dorky and when I wrote a chapter on this in Oh My Soul, I intentionally used the more familiar phrasing rather than the stuffy-sounding correct version. So that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.)

As I was saying, there’s a lot about the writing process that reflects God’s work in us. And sometimes the stuffiest among (amongst?) us need the most work. Sometimes we’re so consumed with being right that we forget He is our righteousness.

For example, often when pastors or writers talk about God’s goodness, they feel the need to point out they’re not preaching a prosperity gospel. They don’t want to be seen as “those people.” But why does insecurity drive us to such defensiveness and finger pointing? Why do we need to qualify or apologize for God’s goodness? If we really understood how much God loved us, and we felt secure in that love (that is, knew Who and who we’re dealing with), we wouldn’t act out of such insecurity.

Sometimes God’s people can be the biggest accusers, and the most ungentle. When we don’t know our identity we confuse ourselves with God and act like the devil, judging and accusing everyone around us. But at the same time, we’re afraid to be on the receiving end of either of those, so we try to nip it in the bud by saying we shouldn’t be lumped in with “those people” – whoever “those people” are.

It’s an easy trap to fall into when critical thoughts are the loudest in our minds, whether they’re directed at ourselves or others. Those thoughts take the veil that was torn and carefully sew it back up, keeping that intrusive, all-seeing light safely on the other side so we don’t feel exposed. Stay over there. Don’t get too close, I don’t want you to really see me.

But if we really understood how much God loved us, we wouldn’t act out of insecurity. We wouldn’t need to build up our ego or protect our fragile facades; we would know that God already sees and knows, and we would walk in the ways of the One who did not revile when reviled because He knew He had nothing to prove. This is a big reason why we’re told not to cast our pearls before swine…because sometimes people act like swine when they don’t know their identity yet.

It’s easy to find those who are secure in their identity: They’re the ones who aren’t being defensive, even when accused by the brethren. (And who is the accuser of the brethren? Not someone we should be emulating or partnering with.)

If the enemy can convince us that other people in God’s family are our enemies and we are manipulated into treating each other that way, we forget who the real enemy is. We walk with a veil over our eyes, misdirecting our attack at each other instead of at the real enemy, and we end up doing his work.

The righteousness of our culture is at stake, not because we go around shaking our fingers at others (or ourselves) in condemnation, but because when we hear and share His words, we are pointing our finger toward the One who saved us. When we do that, we are poking holes in the canopy and light pours through, pressing into dark areas that have been filled with pain. Clouds disperse, answers and clarity start emerging. This is the security of Kingdom culture.

In the Bible, Jesus was constantly poking holes in those shrouds of insecurity, and He didn’t do it in the most predictable ways, either. Let’s look:

And Jesus went away from there and withdrew to the district of Tyre and Sidon. And behold, a Canaanite woman from that region came out and was crying, “Have mercy on me, O Lord, Son of David; my daughter is severely oppressed by a demon.” But he did not answer her a word.

And his disciples came and begged him, saying, “Send her away, for she is crying out after us.”

He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”

– Matthew 15:21-24

Notice two things here: First, Jesus is answering the disciples, not the woman. Second, He’s not doing what they told Him to do.

They want Him to send her away – Look, Lord, this woman is making a scene and she shouldn’t even be talking to you – and He quietly poses the conflict to them, and you see the parallel of the Great Commission here: We start in Judea, then Samaria, and then to the ends of the earth. It was less about class and more about proximity and identity, because there is no favoritism with God.

Also, keep in mind that this passage comes immediately after His teaching on what really defiles a person: It’s not what goes in (like culturally acceptable food and traditions) but what comes out of the heart.

“But what comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this defiles a person. For out of the heart come evil thoughts, murder, adultery, sexual immorality, theft, false witness, slander. These are what defile a person. But to eat with unwashed hands does not defile anyone.”

– Matthew 15:18-20

So Jesus doesn’t send her away, and she comes closer in verse 25:

But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.”

And then Jesus does something He’s really good at doing, which is defying cultural expectations. He speaks to her. And here’s what He says in verse 26:

And he answered, “It is not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.”

Okay, wait wait wait – I know you’re reading this and thinking, Wow, harsh and rude. It does sound that way. I’ve read some terrible commentaries that even declare that this is Jesus “putting the woman in her place” even though that is inconsistent with Scripture and it flies in the face of both the rest of this passage and His ministry.

Look at what is juxtaposed here: Jesus is speaking to her, while repeating the cultural attitudes that He and the woman were both familiar with. I don’t think He was calling her a dog – I think He was challenging the cultural attitudes, and testing her to see if she believed them. This is what the world says about you. Do you follow the world, or do you believe in Me? Do you know Who (and who) you’re dealing with?

With that in mind, His tone sounds like He’s quoting a common saying and He wants to see what her response is to it.

She passes that test beautifully:

She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” Then Jesus answered her, “O woman, great is your faith! Be it done for you as you desire.” And her daughter was healed instantly.

– Matthew 15:27-28

He does it again. Defying cultural expectations, He praises her, and then rewards her. There are only a handful of times in the New Testament when we see Jesus astonished at someone’s faith, and this is one of them.

Similar to when He asked Peter “But who do you say that I am?” Jesus is asking her, Do you believe Me, or the world we’re living in? Which viewpoint do you value most? And she responds with faith in His goodness in spite of norms and common errors, and she knew He had abundance. She knew He wasn’t limited to cultural traditions and insecurities, and that she didn’t have to be, either.

Her story would have turned out differently if she had believed what was trendy. If she thought less of herself, or if she had thought less of Him, or if she was afraid to make a scene, or she was insecure about what other people might think, her daughter would have remained in torment. And she would’ve lived beneath her identity, too.

But she knew who, and Who, she was dealing with. She wasn’t intimidated by wagging fingers and condescending judgment of those around her…and we shouldn’t be, either.

His proximity burns off chaff, in us and in others: the clique-y ladies in church, the young man who always seems grumpy, the girl who comes off a little too strong in her opinions, the kid who holds back in smiling and emanates awkwardness…and even the woman who sits at the computer and wrestles with how her words will be understood by her readers.

The veil is close and we don’t even recognize these things about us half the time. The other half of the time, we know there’s something smothering us but we can’t quite identify what it is or why we do it or how to fix it.

But the Lord knows the roots behind these, and He knows how to heal and resolve them. We don’t have to strive and scour the depths of the unknown to fix ourselves.

We just need to be in proximity to the fire so He can do His work – and we can bring that fire for others in gentle power (which is what meekness is) and know He’s bringing healing and wholeness to our communities as we do it.