resilient: the trait that covers a multitude of sins

Posted on by February 16, 2024

Friends, this is an excerpt from Work That God Sees. Enjoy!

We avoided ER visits at least three times that spring day: Once, a sibling left her baby brother alone on the couch (but he didn’t fall on his head), and twice, another child was caught carrying a knife the entirely wrong way (but no one was stabbed). The dryer was busted, so we were channeling our inner Little House on the Prairie and clothes were hanging everywhere to dry. Also, our ice maker was on the blink because it didn’t like the glitter that fell into it.

resilient: the trait that covers a multitude of sins

We had tears during math, so I grabbed a file full of stickers – big stickers, little stickers, one sticker for every problem, I didn’t care how many stickers it took as long as she found joy in it – and suddenly I realized that I need the same thing sometimes, too. Not stickers, but whatever will bring a little more joy to the day and its drama: a fresh cup of tea, a few minutes with the cat, or an hour of outside time for the kids so I can read for a while in a quiet house.

I came across this verse, and in a moment of homeschool rebellion, wrote it in our math textbook:

Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins.

– 1 Peter 4:8

This verse was good news because we had a multitude of sins that day on top of the chaos already mentioned: broken dishes, tantrums, yelling, an almost-ruined camera, blaming…I’ll stop there. But if we could love each other earnestly at the end of the day, those loud memories might quiet a little under His covering, and we might have a little less chaos tomorrow. 

I won’t pretend it’s easy, though.

We moved on from math to science, and my oldest son was reading about the discovery of protein structure. It was a hard process; scientists had already figured out how to find the structure of a molecule, but proteins were so much smaller and more complex that it made discovering their structure that much harder.

And I think it’s sort of like how I can understand how love covers a multitude of sins, but I am still trying to learn how to consistently stay loving in the midst of the chaos. Not everything is solved by a handful of sticker sheets or a fresh cup of tea. So many small humans, so many complex behaviors, and I am so often out of answers, out of energy, and out of patience.

Some days are full of life-changing events that threaten to devastate us: A diagnosis. A confession. An announcement. An event that happens so fast, we don’t have a chance to prepare for how it is going to shake our reality in the days to come. A multitude of sins.

Sometimes facing tomorrow is more than we think we can handle after the day we’ve just walked through.

“But,” as my son’s science book said, “some people have dozens of times more perseverance than the rest of us.”

And that’s what I want to be: Persevering. Steadfast. But also, resilient.

If steadfastness is pushing through to breakthrough, resilience is rising again after devastation or loss. They both move forward and they often go together. We are steadfast when we have survived the waiting; we are resilient when we have survived the breaking. And there are many days when motherhood breaks us wide open.

Now may our Lord Jesus Christ himself, and God our Father, who loved us and gave us eternal comfort and good hope through grace, comfort your hearts and establish them in every good work and word.

– 2 Thessalonians 2:16-17

We moved on to a Bible lesson, and the kids and I talked about Jericho: The marching, the yelling, and the walls falling down. The obedience, the declaration, and the miracle.

“It doesn’t make sense!” Chamberlain said. And she was right; it never makes sense. Marching around a city can’t make walls fall down, right?

But it did, because God told them to. Obedience is powerful. Especially when it doesn’t make sense.

Forgiveness doesn’t always make sense. Reconciliation doesn’t always make sense. Most big moves – starting a business, a mission, a family – don’t always make sense. Mothering in the midst of the overwhelm, in the clutter and the mayhem and the mess, and then getting up to do it all again the next morning in spite of how the day before attempted to break us, doesn’t make sense.

But here we are, you and I, doing it. Over and over again.

We can do whatever He’s calling us to: Adopt, give birth, defend the helpless, write the book, heal the breach, comfort the hurting. Cover the multitude of sins, earnestly love the sinner. We can survive the breaking, and rise from ashes. We can do whatever He says.

When school was done, we got in the car. And I don’t remember where we went that day, but I do remember that the trees were budding and it was in the sixties, and we drove with the windows down so everyone could hear our Alaskan kids complain about how hot it was in the Stagecoach. 

But all those tiny green leaves had a sermon, and they still preach to us: In case you ever think your story is over, God has given us nature to show us that a season of bleak winter is never forever. 

Go pray circles around that next step and kick up some dust, because this is how we cover the multitude of sins, and how we rise from the ashes. The Lord has given us the city.

You can find Work That God Sees here, and if you’d like future posts sent directly to your inbox, you can subscribe here.

in january: how fasting declutters our soul

Posted on by January 2, 2023

I heard a book slam shut, and Vin announced, “Now that it’s January, I have no motivation to finish that book.”

“Which book?” I asked, not looking.

“Any book,” he said.

“I hope you’re not referring to the one you’re supposed to be writing.”

And praise God, he wasn’t.

in january: how fasting declutters our soul

We’re only a couple of weeks into the year and I’ve already slammed a book shut, too. It started promising but then sunk into coarse humor, and while snark is probably both my highest spiritual gift and my love language, I have no patience for vulgarity.

(I guess I should point out that I’m not referring to the book I’m writing, either. It’s a fair question, though.)

So out those books went, along with all the other things we’re decluttering in the New Year.

The need to declutter is more dire than ever because Kav hit the fast, destructive crawling-standing-grabbing stage of babyhood months ago and he’s going to start walking any second. But it’s okay; now that Vince and I are in our forties, as parents of eight kids with miiiiles of experience behind us – a whole toolbelt of wisdom, an armory full of tactics and methods to navigate every stage of childhood –we now know exactly what to do:

It’s called “choosing your battles.” Which means, we just started moving things to the library.

And this, too, is wisdom.

First it was a coffee table and then a huge potted plant, but then we added the Christmas tree. And then we squeezed in the card table for Christmas puzzles.

I should point out that the library is only 9×11, and it already contained floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and an upright piano. By the time we were done, it was so stuffed that you couldn’t reach many books without first moving a small piece of furniture or an umbrella plant the size of a mini-fridge.

But now we are moving things out in reverse, both in the library and the rest of the house. It’s a deep breath in, and a long exhale, and the white space is reemerging. Christmas décor, unworthy books, jars of unidentifiable pantry items, unmatched mittens and gloves worn to shreds: all packed, given, or thrown away.

For the last several years, January has been a season of prayer and fasting for our family, and that is a refining, purging, decluttering work in itself.

I will take my stand at my watchpost
    and station myself on the tower,
and look out to see what he will say to me,
    and what I will answer concerning my complaint.

– Habakkuk 2:1, ESV

Every year it brings layers of breakthrough, but never in the ways we expect. And the answers usually come in phases – a little clarity here in this season, a little more direction a week or two later (sometimes in an entirely different area), and some serious resolution after a month or two.

And the Lord answered me:

“Write the vision;
    make it plain on tablets,
    so he may run who reads it.”

– Habakkuk 2:2, ESV

I’ve been reading about the watchmen in Habakkuk and the weeds in the garden in Matthew – and God is extravagantly efficient, unwilling to let sin continue because He loves the sinners so much, but He’s also equally unwilling to waste such an opportunity to grow His people.

In this season He is also cleaning house — washing us clean, because we are His temple. He is revealing, exposing, and taking care of the clutter, clearing the way for margin and white space as He aligns things into the right places. But He’s also addressing grime and dark corners of vulgarity, pulling things into the open so the atmosphere can be one of fresh air and light, as it’s meant to be.

And sometimes during fasting there’s this gnawing pit in the stomach that has nothing to do with food hunger. It’s a heart-hunger that wonders if grief – this fasting from the thing we’ve lost, or waiting for the breakthrough we feel desperate for – is accomplishing anything. We wonder if anything is happening while we wait.

“For still the vision awaits its appointed time;
    it hastens to the end—it will not lie.
If it seems slow, wait for it;
    it will surely come; it will not delay.”

– Habakkuk 2:3, ESV

I’ve shared before that when we moved to this house, we learned about fasting, non-food-wise: We were fasting from everything that was packed up, and also fasting from our sense of home and having a place to settle into. Keep in mind, we still possessed all those things, but they were packed, so we were choosing not to access them. And as we felt the absence of those things – fasting from them – we prayed for breakthrough, for answers, and for a place to settle in. Just like we do when fasting from food, we feel the hunger, and the hunger triggers us to pray. This kind of fasting was just a different kind of hunger.

It turned out though, we were already home, and God knew all along, of course.

And praying for breakthrough is a fast of its own, when we are fasting from the things we are longing for – the answers, the provision, the specific things we are wanting and hoping and praying for. It reveals the things we’ve been distracted with, and realigns our priorities, and declutters our soul.

“Behold, his soul is puffed up; it is not upright within him,
    but the righteous shall live by his faith.”

– Habakkuk 2:4, ESV

We still have antique Christmas ornaments hanging in our front windows, and a family of porcelain snowmen congregating above our kitchen cabinets. This weekend they’re finally getting packed away – and with any luck, we’ll even finish that puzzle we started at Christmas.

Copperlight Wood: In January - how fasting declutters our soul

And we are fasting, and the words go in, and the words go on paper, and the words are spoken, and He, the Word, is teaching us the awe-full power of words because He is the Word Himself – and He will always have the first word, and the last word, on our situations.

comfort & joy: finding our identity in the Word who became flesh

Posted on by December 11, 2024

Last week I finished reading the New Testament again, and turned back to Matthew. And I might as well confess to you that my first thought was, Oh, goody. Seventeen verses of genealogy. Go ahead and judge me.

comfort and joy: finding our identity in the Word who became flesh

I happened to be sipping bone broth at the time, which is almost as much fun as reading Abraham was the father of Isaac…and Isaac the father of Jacob, and a few dozen more generations. But I needed to do it; I’ve dealt with postpartum eczema after our last four or five babies, and my right hand in particular is fairly gruesome. My handwriting is worse than normal, I have a hard time opening things (or turning doorknobs), and some days even typing hurts. It keeps me up at night. But bone broth helps, so…drinks it, we does.

…And Salmon the father of Boaz by Rahab, and Boaz the father of Obed by Ruth, and Obed the father of Jesse…

– Matthew 1:5

The verses also go in and do their own form of healing and restructuring. Like the bone broth, they are nutrient-dense regardless of appeal, going inside and bringing healing in increments. The broth boosts immune systems and digestive systems, and you could sorta say the same thing for reading the Bible, as it builds our spiritual protection and helps us process daily life in the healthiest of ways.

Whether we understand it all or not, whether we know we need healing or not, it goes in and it changes us.

…And Jesse the father of David the king.

And David was the father of Solomon by the wife of Uriah…

– Matthew 1:6, ESV

It takes no time at all to read seventeen verses of genealogy – less time than it takes to drink the mug of bone broth, sigh – and then suddenly I’m right in the middle of the season and confronted with the birth of Jesus, though I didn’t plan it that way at all.

Now the birth of Jesus Christ took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been betrothed to Joseph, before they came together she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit.

– Matthew 1:18, ESV

Now friends, if you’ve never read the Christmas story – the real one, not the cartoon special, the Hallmark movie, or the VeggieTale – it’s well worth the four minutes of your life it will take to do so. In Matthew it’s from here to here, just eight verses. Luke’s account is more detailed, from here to here, roughly 75 verses.

In those same four minutes, you could mindlessly scroll social media for all the cat memes, store ads, and political spin you can stomach…or you could tuck the original account of the birth of Jesus into your soul and let it do its work. Give it four minutes. The internet will still be there when you’re done, and you’ll begin to see it and everything else with new strength and perspective.

You might not notice the change at first. But like that bone broth, the Word will go in and make you more like the person you were made to be.

And Mary said,

“My soul magnifies the Lord,
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has looked on the humble estate of his servant.
    For behold, from now on all generations will call me blessed;
for he who is mighty has done great things for me,
    and holy is his name.
And his mercy is for those who fear him
    from generation to generation.

– Luke 1:46-50, ESV

When we don’t know someone, our mind and thoughts exaggerate them into caricatures. They are all this, or all that; the little we know isn’t enough for a full picture so we fill in the blanks with assumptions. They become the cartoon version of the real thing. Without abiding and being in the Word, we’re in danger of doing the same thing with God, mistaking Him for all sharp lines, zigzags, and exaggerated curves.

But we do the same thing to ourselves, too. Sometimes we take on our pain, or our circumstances, or some other imbalance as our identity, though we were never meant to.

I’ve been talking (and writing) a lot lately on how we act out of our identity:
When we know who we are, we act like it – and this
is why we need to know who (and Who) we’re dealing with. Because when we don’t, we act out in sharp lines, zigzags, and exaggerated curves. And we were never meant to have such inflammation, imbalance, and pain.

Research has shown that once a person believes in a particular aspect of their identity, they are more likely to act in alignment with that belief….

After all, when your behavior and your identity are fully aligned, you are no longer pursuing behavior change. You are simply acting like the type of person you already believe yourself to be.

– James Clear, Atomic Habits (p. 34-35)

When we understand who God is, and who He made us to be, we will act like it. The only way to be comfortable in our own skin is to get to know the One who designed it.

He knows our hearts better than we do. And that means that He knows how we are better than we give ourselves credit for, and also the ways we are worse than we realize.

He knows the things we don’t take credit for, but should.

He also knows the things we don’t take responsibility for, but should.

There are areas in our lives where we are doing better than we think we are – but there are other areas we’re blind to that need correction and alignment. Our minds are constantly renewed through abiding with Him.

God rest you merry, gentlemen,
Let nothing you dismay;
Remember, Christ, our Saviour
Was born on Christmas day
To save us all from Satan’s power
When we were gone astray…
O tidings of comfort and joy.

It’s one of the oldest carols, dating back to at least the 16th century. There’s no known author to credit. And even though we sing it all season long, the title really doesn’t make any sense – unless we understand what the word “rest” means in context.

In the 16th century, this usage of rest meant to keep, cause to continue, to remain. Or, as we say, abide.

And, because punctuation matters (high five to my nerdy friends), note that the comma is after the word “merry” and not before it. Literally, the message is along the lines of “God keep you merry, friends” or “God abides with you for joy, friends.”

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth. 

– John 1:14, ESV

The true story brings down our inflammation and offenses, brings balance to systems and habits that are off kilter. It renews us at a cellular level, giving us strength to reject the things He knows will harm us and the maturity to make healthier choices, for our own comfort and joy.

He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. And the Lord God will give to him the throne of his father David,and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.

– Luke 1:32-33, ESV

The Word goes in and changes us. It – more accurately, He – makes us more like the way we are supposed to be:

Whole. Free. Comfortable in our own skin. Because our joy is at stake.