Sacred Mundane: The Blog

“Throwing a party?” The cashier asked. I blinked hard. “Oh, my daughter’s turning … 16.” My voice cracked on the last word and I looked down into my purse, pretending to look for something.

She filled the bag full, the glittery Happy birthday sign, the balloons and streamers and crepe paper balls, the golden 16 cake-topper. The perfectly-worded birthday card.

But as I’d walked the aisles and filled my arms with celebratory items the aching reality kept running through my mind, “I can’t buy what I want most for her.”

I sat in the car and couldn’t stop crying.

Earlier that week I had asked her who she wanted to have lunch with on her birthday and she said Oma.

My heart busted straight open.

Life has its ups and downs and that week had been a down. I guess disappointment is the word we use to describe when life’s circumstances aren’t what we had hoped they’d be.

Sixteen wasn’t looking the way she thought it would.

And why was this hitting me so particularly hard? Harder than her. Because those of us who’ve lived a few decades more have so many more memories associated with those feelings of disappointment. Though not cynical or jaded, there is still a deep recognition that that pain of disappointment will happen more times than you can possibly know, dear girl. And though I hated to say it, I had texted my friend:

I’m really struggling with feeling like her “welcome to womanhood” is a huge dose of pain and can I just be honest and say that feels sadly symbolic?

She feels a sting, but I feel gutted.

We love and get hurt. We love and they die. We birth humans and our bodies literally give themselves over, up, deplete in ways in order to give life.

We decrease that they may increase.

It’s so good and so gospel but sometimes hurts so much.

And I see this depth in my daughter that is beautiful and captivating and everything I ever hoped she’d be. But with depth comes pain too. Sometimes I feel like she’s had more than her share of sorrow.

And then my mind trails to a dear friend, with a dear daughter, who certainly has had more than her share of sorrow. We had just sat over her dining room table and ached together. I know for a fact there are things she wishes she could buy for her daughter who has physically suffered more than most of us could ever dream of.

We can’t buy new hearts, literally or figuratively.

But I hear His voice, that whisper, and He says, “Behold, I make all things new.”

And with shaking hands, I sit at Starbucks and turn the well-worn pages of my Bible to that chapter. The same one we read at Oma’s burial.

No death, no mourning, no crying, no pain.

I glance up just as a boy walks in, his face badly disfigured. Badly. My breath catches.

I bet sometimes he aches for new things too.

New things you can’t buy.

And I find myself grateful for God’s little gift of perspective. Am I the only one who aches for all things new? I think not. None of us can buy what we want most of all.

Perfect peace. The deepest soul rest that says, God’s got it. Renewed hearts, minds, bodies, souls.

Can I be grateful for the glimpses of grace and glory we get this side of heaven without demanding the fullness before the time?

Will I wait for the truly Happy Ending? With patience. With endurance. With joy.

I’ll try. {Thanks for reading.}

This picture captures it — joy. It was a hot July day, we took the boys down river to the rope swing. It’s deep there, you can’t see the bottom, so we cinched up the boys’ life-jackets and went for it.

At first Ben clung to us, but Heidi let him in on the secret: “Ben, you have a life-jacket on, even if you stop paddling, you can’t sink.”

He considered. He tried it. His face LIT up as he shouted with joy, “I can’t sink!”

—

Joy. Right now Jeff is preaching a series called Branches: Full of Christ’s Life. He’s going through the fruit of the Spirit, and today was on joy.

What is joy? I’ve often heard it touted, “It’s not the same as happiness! You can be joyful without being happy.” Ok, but I also take issue with the idea that somehow joy is so far “down in my heart” that virtually no one can detect it! Can you be joyful without any trace of happiness?

I appreciate Dallas Willard’s definition, that joy is a “pervading sense of well-being in your soul,” but I also would argue, couldn’t that be the definition of peace? Is joy really no different than peace?

I’d argue joy is in fact its own thing. Peace can be completely inward, but joy has a sense of outwardness to it.

And further, we are commanded to REJOICE. We aren’t told to “peace” we are told to rejoice.

It’s outward. It should be observable in some sense, at least detectable. Yes?

Tim Keller described joy as “a spiritual buoyancy that comes when we are rejoicing in God.” He goes on, “This Joy, this buoyancy, does not mean we are impervious to suffering, it means we are unsinkable. We are constantly getting wet, we are constantly being pushed down. However, we do not stay down. We don’t sink.”

We don’t sink.

Yes. THAT is how I experience joy. It isn’t that I’m constantly above the waters, it isn’t one long spiritual high, but it is buoyancy. We do walk through the valley of the shadow of death. We suffer. We get disappointed. We have days we’re just tired, we’re irritable, we’re frustrated by the ways our world isn’t working as it should.

But we’re buoyant.

As I sat there in church this morning I reflected on what it is the buoys me during dark seasons. I thought of the days walking with my parents into death, I thought of the days of miscarriages, lost friendships, church difficulties, marriage difficulties, parenting difficulties. I thought through, specifically, what is it that has buoyed me most?

Of course first of all is gratitude, a habit of gratitude is what most contributes to joy. But in terms of TRUTHS. These are the truths. These are the life-jackets that consistently bring me back a buoyed joy, time and time again. These aren’t hypothetical, not something I read in a book somewhere. They are truly what buoys me:

1. Everything is being used for my good. No exceptions. This is life-changing. Romans 8:28 tells God is working all things for my good. 1 Cor. 4:17 says my affliction is working for me, preparing a glory for me. James 1:2-3 says I can rejoice in trials because they are producing in me good things. I can see suffering as hand-weights making me stronger and better.
2. God sees all. When the biblical writers talk about suffering injustice, they always bring it back to knowing God is our master and HE doles out eternal reward. No matter what I can rest in the fact that God sees all, He is who I serve.
3. Everything doesn’t depend on me. While yes, I am responsible for my actions and I want to honor God in my actions, this whole thing doesn’t depend on me. God is so gracious, He will accomplish His work through imperfect people who fumble on the regular. Example: Whole Bible.

Friends, I truly believe that joy is the secret to the victorious Christian life. For the JOY set before Him Jesus endured, conquering sin and death to give us new life! We have LIFE. He has conquered sin and the grave. We have the power of the Spirit. We have HOPE. We of all people have reason to be the most joyful.

We can’t sink. {Thanks for reading.}

I paused, considering, then answered:

“Sure, I think going fishing sounds great and I’d love to go with you. We can do that after dinner, once we get our stuff put away.”

The child let out a little sigh,

“No, that’s ok. I don’t want to go fishing later. I only want to go right now.”

I smiled. I know that attitude. It’s the same I often sport, the same one a different child had donned just moments ago when she sighed about the dinner menu. She had hoped for bean burritos, not chicken legs.

Downcast face. *sigh*

I smiled, and told them I had a secret to share with them. A secret that would serve them well all their days if they’d remember it. They leaned in a little, a bit skeptical, but willing to listen.

I held my hands up in front of me, palms closed together like a prayer posture, then separated them about 4 inches apart.

“See this sliver here, between my hands. This narrow space between my palms represents all the things that are exactly as we want them to be. This is getting to fish at precisely the moment we have the urge, this is the meal we most want, this is the game I want to play, the plans I want to keep, the way I want it to go. This represents the circumstances I must have in order to be happy.

When I have high preferences, picky tastes, particular wants, I narrow down this slice of life with which I can be happy. My joy becomes very narrow. Every time I narrow in on what I want, I exclude more and more of life that I’ll be eligible to enjoy. Pretty soon, there isn’t much left. That’s narrow joy.

They were listening. Then I slowly widened my hands, out, out, out, until my arms were stretched wide, as far as I could reach, palms no longer facing inward, but stretched out, like a giant embrace of life. I smiled into their faces.

THIS is what happens when we let go of our high preferences, our picky tastes, our particular wants. This is what happens when we say, “Well, this isn’t my favorite food, but I’m so glad I get to eat. It’ll do just fine.” When we say, “Well, I’d love to this activity now, but I’m grateful I’ll get to do it at all.” When we say, “That’s not the way I’d like it done, but I’m grateful we get to do it together, and it’s better than being alone.”

This is what happens when we decide that no matter what way it happens, we’ll be grateful. We’ll make do. This makes all of life eligible as a source of joy. This means circumstances can vary widely without depleting our joy. This is WIDE JOY.

They understood. And so did I. And we munched our meal with gladness, and fished ’til past bedtime, and we will continue to pursue wide joy with all our hearts.

{Thanks for reading. Originally shared 7/15/2017, now these Littles are Bigs and I’m teaching these lessons to a new set of Littles 😉 }

“I know how to live on almost nothing or with everything. I have learned the secret of living in every situation, whether it is with a full stomach or empty, with plenty or little.”

Philippians 4:12

Wow, it’s almost noon already. I saw the other person heart my message so I added another log to the fire, put Dutch’s clean laundry on the stairs, and headed to the kitchen to heat up leftover tortilla soup for lunch.

The morning’s conversations still floated through my head. Of course I wondered some if I said some things right, wished I’d maybe added this or that, but for the most part I had a clear sense of time well-spent. Yeah, it was the better part of two hours. But people were counseled, Scripture was shared, prayers were prayed, confusion was cleared, hope was (I think) instilled, and faith was (I hope) fanned just a bit into flame.

I didn’t have a lot to show for it, visibly, but it was a worthwhile investment.

As I shared here, I’ve been praying about what this next season would hold. Though my schedule opened up quite a bit, I was hesitant to automatically add anything else in, sensing the need to just wait. Rest, pray, consider, be.

And today it became so clear: I guess my job in this season is simply to be an Available Person.

I was on a trip this past year that took an interesting turn. I had no official job or role on the trip, and I sensed, even as I prepared to go, that my role was to be an unofficial come-alongside-person.

In short, I wanted to Be Available. I wanted to be available to pray, to listen, to counsel, to help.

And the only real way to be that is NOT to be too much of anything else.

Those who are in full-time official positions of work or leadership have an important role to fill. They are able to be in certain circles and decision-making situations, and that’s awesome. We need them! And sometimes I’m in those roles, as a speaker or what not. But the people in those roles can’t always be an Available Person. They’re busy. They’re official. They’re not there to pray with you or notice if you’re sad. They’re not there to run an errand for you or text you Scripture when you’re struggling.

During this trip, I found nearly every hour of every day filled with relational needs of some capacity or another. I came home tired but also so very grateful and with a sense of satisfaction.

I did my job. I was an Available Person.

These days I am realizing that Available Person is what I’m called to be. For my kids first and foremost (between teens and tikes there are almost constant conversations and teachable moments taking place all day long!). But also for others. And I know I’m not alone. Even today several messages have been from a couple other friends who are Available People, constantly available to so many for counsel, encouragement, prayer, practical help. They are available to care for other children, counsel, pray, provide meals, care for aging parents, listen to their own children, run errands.

My dear friend Anne is my first and foremost Available Person. For 12 years she has just constantly been available to me — to text, to pray, to listen, to bring me meals. Right after Mom died, when I was sick with Covid and couldn’t get out of bed and also trying to care for a baby, she came over and folded all my laundry. Yes, this is friendship, but it’s more than that:

It’s availability. It reminds me of Prov. 27:10, “Better is a neighbor who is near than a brother who is far away.”

Why would a close-by person be better?

They’re available.

The other day I was listening to a man who was wishing he could help others more, and therefore was trying to think of a way to start a ministry to help. That might be totally awesome (and I’ll encourage him if he does!) but I also was saying, Just be an Available Person.

Often the greatest ministry isn’t an official ministry at all.

It is the ministry of being an Available Person who lets the life, love, and truth of God flow through their lives.

One of Heidi’s go-to lovely people is her vocal teacher. Yes, she has an official role in Heidi’s life that we pay her to do, but her influence outside vocal coaching has proven to be even more valuable. Her role in Heidi’s life as an Available Person is what has truly proven life-changing for Heidi.

If we do have an official job, let us always be aware that our unofficial influence may prove of far greater value than whatever the official role is we play in someone’s life.

Go geek with me for a minute and consider that that’s really what the Desert Fathers were. They were godly men and women who left the business of society in order to seek God and … Be Available. People would trek out to the desert in order to seek their wisdom and counsel, in order to be helped.

Please hear me, I’m not trying to say I’m a desert father … but do you see the idea?

Any of us who are truly connected to Jesus can serve as an Available Person.

In fact, you probably already are.

I write this not by way of telling anyone what you should be doing, but more by way of hopefully encouraging you — If you are seeking God, connected to God, abiding in God, and you are not sure exactly what your role is, ask God to simply help you be an Available Person to others.

Be ready with God’s Word on your heart, be prayed up each morning, try to keep plenty of margin in your schedule so that there is the space to be available for others. Check in on people, be pro-active in asking what’s going. Bring prayer into every conversation. Seek, if possible, to truly see and understand what others are feeling.

Do we do this perfectly? Never. I know I say the wrong thing, mis-step often, make messes as I go. But can God do beautiful things with Available People when they simply offer themselves for others?

Absolutely.