The Best Worst Birthday Ever

Recently my third son (which shall remain nameless) turned 13, which to me is such a big deal age. Entering teenage-hood. Big stuff. But this kid doesn’t like any attention drawn to him ever. He’d just rather blend in with his environment. He doesn’t really like to be hugged or touched and acts like he’s being electrically shocked when he is touched. I hug him anyway and sometimes make him hug me back just because I believe everyone needs physical touch. And we play the game of him being electrocuted by my touch. I’m cool with that.

But, a week before said son’s birthday, he started saying that he didn’t want to have a birthday. Once again, I’m sorry, he’s going to have a birthday. This is just how it is. We celebrate birthdays. They’re important, no matter what age. And it wasn’t like I invited 50 people to come celebrate. We have a very simple birthday with our immediate family only. We have cake and ice cream, sing happy birthday, and open presents. That’s it. No big deal. Really.

So I backed off a little in talking about his birthday and bought a few presents anyway, even though he said he didn’t want presents or cake or ice cream. What kid doesn’t want presents or cake or ice cream? I understand not wanting to have people watch you open your presents or having a short song dedicated to your day, but it only happens once a year, so really, just suck it up.

So “the day” arrives. And it slowly unraveled. Cake and ice cream and singing did not go well. I thought I remained calm and didn’t push, not all that hard anyway. It was kind of like a big joke to me, for a while, thinking that he would eventually give in, act like he was being electrocuted and then open his presents.

His presents sat on the piano bench all day long. Second son could hardly stand it because he is such a party person. He lives to plan parties and can’t understand why someone would choose to not open their presents. So second son tried to entice third son by carrying presents around and putting them in close proximity to him.

It didn’t work. He still didn’t want to open his presents or eat his cake and ice cream that we had all gotten into several hours earlier. I had no idea this child was this stubborn. Or really, that I cared that much.

I finally lost it. Badly. Very, very badly. He had finally gotten to me, and I exploded in anger and unwrapped his presents and showered the wrapping paper all over the floor and put his now-opened presents back on the piano bench. And then, I proceeded to cry my eyes out, because I don’t know how in the world to love this kid, to really, really love him. He had just broken my heart, and I realized how rash and angry and how wrong I had been and how I had made his birthday about me.

He came downstairs and saw his opened presents sitting on the bench. And ran back up the stairs, crying like a wounded animal.

At this point, all I wanted to do was crawl in my bed and go to sleep and forget this day forever.

But somehow, I gathered the courage to go talk to third son. He was crying on his bed with his blanket covering his head, and I managed to blubber out how sorry I was that I opened his presents and how much I really do love him. I felt like he had rejected our attempts to love him, as poor as they were. And both of us just kept crying. And I’m not really sure what happened at that moment. But something broke in me. And whatever it was, that same thing also seemed to break in him.

I hauled his opened presents up to his room, and he pulled them out of the bag that I had stuffed them in and looked at each one of them and said, “Thanks, Mom.” They were all the kinds of things my third son loves.

I just stood there with my heart so gushy with all the sadness and the happiness and the love I didn’t think it was capable of after such a day. I had made such a mess of his 13th birthday, but we’d seemed to have made a break through in our moment of brokenness, making each of us perhaps realize that it wasn’t all about him or all about me. I’m afraid, it may be his most memorable birthday. It will definitely be mine.

A few days later, his grandparents brought over a cake and wanted to take us all out for pizza. And they made such a big deal over third son, I thought that he might crack under all the pressure, but he actually smiled shyly and took it. I wouldn’t say that he enjoyed being the center of attention, but he endured it in a very brave kind of way that if we hadn’t had his hell-ish birthday of confusion and clarity, he might never have withstood it. But he did great, even down to the singing of “Happy Birthday” in the middle of Pizza Hut. Wow.

Driving Miss Crazy

Jesse, my 15 year old, is now driving. He’s pretty good. He knows he’s not when I grab the van door and the armrest at the same time and hold tightly until my knuckles turn white.

This letting go stuff is hard. Really hard.

With Jesse learning how to drive and living in Nashville, where roads are busy most of the time, it feels a little out of control, and it makes me want to hold my breath a little. You either drive on interstates or back roads, and I think some of the back roads are scarier than any highway, especially with someone just learning to drive. It makes me think about all these student drivers on the roads and freak out just a little. And knowing that I have four more kids to go through this driving thing with.

When I was learning to drive, I drove around our little city of Anderson, no big deal (okay, for me looking back it was no big deal, but I’m sure there were times when my dad wanted to hyperventilate, and my mom was never involved in that process, lucky her). Ten minutes pretty much covered where you wanted to go. My dad, in teaching me how to drive, had me drive routinely to the DMV so that I could practice my parallel parking, which, to this day, I never would have passed if he hadn’t figured out that I could line up the middle of our car with a telephone pole across the street. I still don’t parallel park. Mainly because there’s no telephone pole. And for me, parking in general can be a problem. Good thing I like to walk.

My dad never let me drive on the interstate, which was safest for everyone involved. He did, however, let me drive in the Everglades in Florida when we went on vacation down there one summer. I guess he figured the worst that could happen would be for me to hit some kind of wildlife. I didn’t cause any injuries or fatalities, but, I did manage to go the wrong way, which sent us an hour in the wrong direction. Things have not changed much with me. I now have my beloved GPS, so direction doesn’t matter so much.

Jeff and I approach the driving thing a little differently. He doesn’t talk to Jesse at all unless to give some kind of warning, like “brake, brake, Brake, BRAKE.”  And I’m the running commentary, all the while pointing out the mailboxes that he’s getting way too close to as well as the oncoming traffic and telling him not to roll his stop signs (which I consequently did and failed my first driver’s test at the very first stop sign coming out of the DMV) but also telling him to “gun it” because it’s hard to see around some corners (crazy Tennessee back roads), only to tell him to slow down again because I don’t particularly like the combination of steep hills and old vans and speed so much. But I’m also throwing those “When I was learning to drive” stories in there too for comic relief. Jesse tries to listen to the radio while driving with me, which he doesn’t try with Jeff. Jeff says he doesn’t need to be distracted. Which makes me the fun parent.

I kind of like to drive, and it’s been hard for me to give up my driving time for this kid of mine, only to be scared half to death a few times.This doesn’t sound like a good exchange. But this parenting thing, it’s very rarely an equal exchange. I’m going to have another student driver next year and then again the next year after that. I may not ever get to drive or breathe again.

I’m enjoying my family more than ever these days. Some days I really wish I could freeze time, just for the moment. But probably not when Jesse’s behind the wheel. Not yet anyway. Right now, I just have to remember to exhale and not hold onto the door quite so tightly.

Kids, Diapers, and Stand-Out Moments

When you have really little kids, older moms like to say, “Enjoy them while they’re young, because you’re going to blink, and blah, blah, blah,” and I know I smiled sweetly and rolled my eyes, but in my brain I was thinking, “Are you crazy? I would give anything to have my kids grow up faster so I can have ten minutes in the bathroom to myself without someone beating down the door.”

Come to think of it, they still beat on my door while I’m in the bathroom. That really hasn’t changed all that much. But there are definitely some things that have changed; some things that made me giddy and had me jumping up and down.

Here are a of those few stand-out moments for me:

1. A few years back, on a trip I realized there were no more diapers to change. NO ONE WAS IN DIAPERS ANYMORE. I no longer had to try to change a wiggly little kid with a dirty diaper on a van seat, trying to figure out where to put all those used wipes, while trying not to get poop all over the van. And after 11 years of diapers with one year off around year 7, I was ecstatic.

2. But, even though there were no more diapers to change, there was still poop to deal with because there is the butt-wiping that takes place for a good while longer. But the day I woke up and realized I wasn’t wiping anyone else’s behind was a good day, a very good day. It’s the kind of thing that catches you off guard. It just kind of happens, and then you notice you have been freed and the freedom is, I must say, rather crazy good. So much so that you want to start telling everyone you see.

3. A while back, when my in-laws took us out to eat, I noticed I didn’t have to order off the menu for anyone. They all read and can figure out what they want. And not only that,  I’m not cutting stuff up anymore. I noticed Julia picked up her hunk of steak and chowed down. But you know what? She’s happy; I’m happy. She’ll probably eventually learn not to do that.

4. I don’t have to lock cabinets afraid that someone might drink something they’re not supposed to drink or down too many gummy vitamins. I haven’t had to call poison control for some time. That’s always nice.

5. No one has played in the toilet or put things in it that don’t belong, like say, toys or toothbrushes for a good long while. Now, they don’t always flush and since I have four boys, my bathroom is rarely clean and the seat inevitably stays up. But, no toilets have had to be completely taken apart to retrieve toothbrushes.

And, here are some really good things that stand out these days:

1. Talking. We sit around and talk a lot, which I love, since quality time is my thing. We talk about everything. Into the wee hours of the night sometimes. Like last night, my two oldest just didn’t want to go to bed. At 1  o’clock in the morning, they followed Jeff and me into our room, exhausted, but wanting to be around us some more. Very cool.

2. We play games and do puzzles. I have a few kids who really like to play games and connect in that way when connecting is sometimes difficult in other ways.

4. We watch movies that I have loved sharing with my kids, which inevitably evokes more conversation since we have to analyze everything to death.

5. We laugh and joke and have fun. And, yes, sometimes at other people’s expense. For Thanksgiving, we went to see my family. Julia got carsick and threw up. Jeff insisted that her brother Jonah, sitting beside her, hold the trash can while she was vomiting so her hands could be free to hold her hair out of the way. Her brother Jake, sitting in front of her, was holding his ears so he wouldn’t hear her vomiting. And Jesse (biggest brother, sitting as far away from her) and I were laughing, while Jeff continued to drive and insist that Jonah keep holding that trash can. I’m just not sure what Jeremiah was doing because I was laughing too hard at Jake and Jonah to notice. We finally came to a gas station, where we all tumbled out of the car. We all talked and laughed and replayed the whole thing again while Jeff washed the trash can out in nasty, leafy, drainage water. More laughter, of course. And then we all piled back into the van and continued on.  Julia was fine, by the way.

6. We camp. And even though a couple of them aren’t that fond of it, they humor me. And we have a good time. Together. And even though we’re together all the time (due to homeschooling) we’re really together in a tent, out in nature, and it’s great most of the time. Unless you bring one scooter and have four kids who all want to ride that one scooter at the same time, the whole time. Will be camping. Won’t be bringing the scooter.

7. They run around like a bunch of crazy lunatics who are completely out of control. And they’re big; they could knock each other and me down, and it would hurt. A lot. They have no common sense when they get like this, and their hearing becomes impaired (I read this in a magazine somewhere), so I get out of the way and laugh. And say things like, “Watch your brother’s neck” and “Please, don’t drop him on his head.” Even though I know they can’t hear me between my laughing and their lack of sense.

So for any moms out there who still have little ones, they really won’t stay that way long, (blah, blah, blah), hang on and enjoy. And please, by all means, share your stand-out moments.

All Being Equal

I really like to camp. I love the family time and being around the campfire eating good food and the talking and the hiking and the camping equipment. I like everything about it (well, except for the packing up, maybe). I recently found myself in a Coleman store filled with camping “must-haves,” and I lost myself for a while.

A few weeks back, we went camping with some friends. During this trip, I realized something about myself. It was like a voice, not necessarily God’s, but I don’t discount it, because I heard truth. In my head I heard, “You’re not as laid back as you think you are, or as much as you would have people believe.” And I realized that I have not been honest with myself or with others about the persona I sometimes portray.

During this trip, my friend talked about one of her relatives being like “whatever” about everything. Her description of this person gave me clarity about who I’m not, realizing that I’m not totally relaxed about everything like I would like to think I am. And that that’s ok. And that in realizing this about myself, that I have expected that in others and that I need to cut people some slack, especially those closest to me.

Because heaven help Jeff if he takes a tone with me or is not as relaxed as I think he should be. And my seemingly favorite words to a couple of my kids are, “Chill out” or “Relax already.” The irony being that at the moment these words are uttered through gritted teeth, I myself am neither chilled nor relaxed. I happened to catch myself saying this just a few minutes ago to the one who looks a lot like me.

And that’s where the problem lies…thinking others should be as relaxed as I think I am…

I lost my keys the other day for a few minutes. I have a habit of laying things down places and not having any idea of where I’ve put them. But when I use to lose stuff, it would make me angry, and I would have these outbursts of rage, unable to believe that I had actually lost something, meaning that someone else must have taken the thing and put it where I couldn’t find it.

After I located my keys, Jeff complimented me by saying that I didn’t rage nearly as often as I used to. And I commented that I never did do it very much. However, he kindly refuted my statement about myself by saying, “Oh, no, you used to do it every couple of weeks.” I had to chuckle because I think he’s right; he remembers these outbursts well because they were so over the top and apparently because they occurred more often than I recalled.

So rather than pretend I’m a totally relaxed, fly by the seat of my pants type of person or try to be this “whatever” type of person, I need to embrace who Abba has created me to be. Not perfect, not altogether laid-back, but not exactly uptight either about most things. Just me, trying to be grateful for the people gifts Abba put in my life, embracing them and allowing them to be who they are and realizing that one type of person is not better than another.

The Real Super Power

It’s the middle of the night, and I really should be sleeping now.  My lack of sleep will cost me dearly. But right now, I don’t care. The little girl inside me can’t stop jumping up and down because of Jesus. If the almost forty year old woman that houses the little girl attempts to jump and keep up, she might sprain an ankle, so writing is where it now manifests itself. (But, please by all means, continue to picture the little girl jumping and twirling because that’s what I’m really doing in my spirit).

Remembering and sharing…that’s what I’ve been doing the last few days. We have a sort of family reunion/Kuzin Kamp for the kids, and the unique thing about Jeff’s extended family is that many profess to be believers, which is an amazing thing. I realize what  a gift this is when I talk to friends who have very little family who are believers. So we get to share for three days about what God’s been doing in our lives for the last year.

But along with this remembering and sharing, Abba has revealed a couple things to me in the past few days. First, that I like to surround myself with people who are similar to me and have the same faith I do. (that’s why church can be such a crutch for me…I feel important there, and it’s not supposed to be about me; it’s supposed to be about Him) I get my “God talk” there and feel no real need beyond that to share anywhere else . Second, that I have a hard time reaching out to people who are not believers because of my fear of rejection and not wanting to be presumptuous. And the combination of those two things has left me paralyzed.  I don’t want to presume on people’s time, and I can’t face them anyway because of the lies I’ve believed about myself. Sadly, it has left me voiceless to those who need Christ so badly.

 I recently read the fiction book, A Voice in the Wind by Francine Rivers, which took place in Roman times, but applies a great deal to how we live here and now.

We must remember we are not called upon by God to make society a better place to live. We are not called upon to gain political influence, nor to preserve the Roman [American]way of life. God has called us to a higher mission, that of bringing to all mankind the Good News that our Redeemer has come…” (341)

Honestly, I have done very little of this. I have this Message of freedom, and I see so many around me in bondage, and I’ve failed to attach myself in relationships and tell of this freedom in Christ. However, I don’t look at myself with condemnation or judgment or shame or strive in my own flesh to knock down people’s doors and become the neighborhood menace, because that’s not done in relationship. It’s not about guilt or fear or shame or about doing better. It’s not the grim strength of gritting your teeth but the glory-strength that God gives that allows you to endure the unendurable. (Col. 1) It’s about listening and following Him and where He leads. It’s allowing people to look into our lives and the Spirit revealing Jesus’ power to heal and save.

Thankfully, God looks at me and sees Jesus and His righteousness. I am worthy because He makes me worthy.Which makes my spirit leap inside me (hence the jumping up and down/writing) Which, in turn, makes me want to know Him better. I’ve seen His power in my own life…power to free me from pits that I had no hope of ever getting out of in my own strength, power to love people I had no power to love, power to provide when there was nothing, and I’ve barely scratched the surface.  But when people begin to see His power and His love and not just Jesus talk (although that certainly has its place) but actual living proof of who Jesus is and what He can do in people’s lives, then that not only becomes worth living for but also worth dying for.

God’s Way is not a matter of mere talk; it’s an empowered life. (I Cor. 4:18, MSG)

too old to sled…

With all the snow we got this winter, we went sledding on a hill near our house. The second time we went, it was very cold and the snow had turned icy.

We have two sleds, so it takes a while for all seven of us to get a turn. A couple of my kids went down, and then Jeremiah and I got on our long blue sled and went down together, like we had done the day before.

I knew as soon as we pushed off that I was sitting up too high in the sled.  And, due to the ice,  the sled was going faster than it had the day before. I knew we might be in trouble, but I didn’t have time to “right” myself.

I usually laugh all the way down the hill, but when we hit the first bump, I quit laughing because I knew the inevitable was about to happen.  We hit the second bump, and Jeremiah and I went flying off the sled. I tried not to land on top of Jeremiah, so I stopped myself and landed on my hand.

I don’t do so well with pain.  I don’t know how in the world I gave birth to five kids, even with drugs. Because, I can stub my toe really badly and feel like I’m going to throw up. So when I landed on my hand, I laid in the snow for a long time and focused on not throwing up.  

Jeremiah immediately jumped up and looked at me and said he wanted to go home. I just nodded at him. Jeff thought I was ok at first and waited for me to bust out in laughter.  He kept calling my name from the top of the hill, but I couldn’t answer because I really thought I might pass out or throw up or something.

So I just laid there in the snow until Jeff came down the hill.  When Jeff reached me, he said he would pull me back to the car in the sled.  But I declined and said I could walk.  I mean, there were people standing at the top of the hill, and I’m not that much of a baby. Geesh.

However, I should have taken him up on his offer because every few steps I would get lightheaded and feel like I was going to throw up all over again, so I would lie back down in the snow, kind of like a slow collapse.  We had 50 steps or more to get to the car.  So it took awhile. Step. Step. Step. Collapse back down in the snow until the lightheadedness and urge to throw up subsided. Step. Step. Step. Lie down in the snow.

We eventually got back to the car and got home. I couldn’t move my hand, and my wrist looked broken or at least out of place. I was all pale and lying gingerly on the couch, moaning in pain.

So Jeff took me to the emergency room to have a few x-rays, to find out not only was it not broken, but that there was nothing they could even do even if it was.  But that’s a whole other thing about our broken health care system and the absurb amount of money that they now want for doing next to nothing. (note to self: never go near an ER ever again.)

My wrist and hand are somewhat better now (it’s been 3 months), but I’m thinking I might have to forego sledding in the future if I want my body to remain intact for the long haul.

Actually, the RN at the hospital said I couldn’t sled anymore. I didn’t bother to clarify with her…Did she mean just the rest of this winter or forever?

I’ve always been spastic and prone to injury, so it’s no surprise that I would hurt myself, and I inherited my dad’s pain tolerance, not my mother’s. Although I don’t think my dad feels like throwing everytime he hurts himself.

Unfortunately, one of the people who witnessed my whole sledding incident told my neighbor about it the next day when they were out on the hill.

He described it to my neighbor something like this, This girl and her kid went sledding down the hill, and they hit a bump and legs went flying in the air, and they went sprawling across the snow. The kid got up, but she just kept lying in the snow. Her husband called her name several times, and she didn’t answer. So he went down to see if she was ok. He helped her up, but then a few minutes later, she fell back down in the snow.  After every very few steps, she would slump back down and lay with her face in the snow.  It looked really bad.

Which you’d think from how I was acting, it was really bad.  But nope, I just hurt my hand.

If anyone ever tries to hurt or torture me (too much Criminal Minds), that person will definitely have some surprises coming his way…

Living on a Prayer (the dark side)

I woke up several hours ago (that’s what I get for going to bed at 9:00), thinking and worrying about things I have no control over.

Some days, I just want to throw in the towel…it’s just too hard…too difficult to walk the path He’s called me to. I don’t want to live by prayer and faith. I want things to come easy. I don’t want everything to be a struggle all the time.

But instead of going to the One who can help me shed my worries and my fears, I try to procure my own peace by escaping.

The result?

It’s not pretty. And there’s no peace to be had. Just more uncertainty and yuck.

As I sit here with tears pouring down my face, I begin to cry out to my Abba. For He alone is the One I can run to.

And He draws my attention to the small blessings He’s given me in the last few days.

• Red tulips (I saw three at the library, and I was mesmerized,  and it was like Abba said, “You like that? Just wait till you see the dozens at the soccer field.”)
• Watching 2 of my boys playing soccer on the same team with their dad coaching
• Crazy little kids that laugh loud and hard
• Kids playing outside all day long with the neighbor kids
• The date I will have with Jeff tomorrow (well, technically today)
• Sunshine all throughout a day when it was supposed to be rainy and cloudy
• Laundry blowing crazily in the wind
• Yellow air soft BB’s that you can find in the nooks and crannies all over my house
• Songs that make me cry
• Watching Julia as she sword fights with our neighbor, because she’s his “apprentice”
• Kids that go barefoot, now till Thanksgiving (and that’s probably an under-exaggeration)
• Our small family garden that now has potatoes planted, given to us by our neighbors
• Warmer days ahead
• A friend understanding what we’re called to do and lending an encouraging word and help

Many, many more blessings…too many to count.

My “stuff” isn’t fixed. It’s still there. But somehow it seems smaller, less consuming than it did before.

Don’t fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down {His peace}. It’s wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life. (Philippians 4)

fully present

Right now, I’m in the middle of learning to be fully present. Which is good, since I stink at multi-tasking anyway. I’m not the mom that can do ten things at once, which is unfortunate since I have 5 kids.

I am the mom who turns the stove top on to make an egg and then disappears into the living room to check the weather. I become engrossed in the weather and by then my egg and the stove have become a memory of the past. Being engrossed no more than a few seconds, I get on the computer to check my email, but it never ends at checking email.  I start writing a blog post.

Only then, when my kids start complaining about the horrible smell and the smoke, do I realize that I turned on the stove many minutes before, completely burning the bottom of my pan and almost setting my kitchen on fire. I think that this type of behavior might be labelled as multi-tasking ADD.

I was struck the other day as I stood washing  dishes that I need to be fully present at whatever I am doing, whether it is washing dishes or hanging laundry or listening to kids who have more words than I do. To be present and not mentally go on to the next task that needs to be completed. To just enjoy the one at hand.

When I think of everything that needs to be done for the day, it makes me grumpy and overwhelmed.  And I miss out on the blessings of the task I’m in the middle of when I jump ahead to the things in my head that I may never accomplish anyway.

But this is more difficult than I imagined…this task of being fully present.

When my older boys were little, I was physically present but not emotionally present. I was too busy looking for what I thought would satisfy my hungry heart. So my husband and children got the leftovers, and there wasn’t much left over. But, thankfully, Abba showed me grace and is even now redeeming those wasted years.

I say I want to be fully present, but I can still zone out on God and my family by the many distractions I have around me. I too often find myself trying to find life from a computer screen or trying to live vicariously through someone else’s life…trying to escape who God has called me to be and the tasks He’s already laid out for me to do.

But even in confessing that this is my struggle, I find He has given me victory for this moment. And that’s all I can ask for.

…let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus… (Hebrews 12)

 

She Speaks Conference is about women connecting the hearts of women to the heart of our Father God and that your heart is to serve Him and His daughters, as He leads. A scholarship to the conference will be awarded here.

When Stuff Disappears…

My stuff just disappears sometimes. I have 5 kids. Stuff disappears all the time.

So when I couldn’t find my tweezers a few days ago, I thought one of my kids had taken them. I looked everywhere I thought I could have put them. And they just weren’t anywhere.

So I began asking each of my kids if they had taken them.

No big deal.

I just wanted them back. I needed them back.

I really needed to tweeze before Jesse’s basketball banquet tonight (not that anyone cared what my eyebrows looked like).

So, I mentioned it again, and still, no one owned up to taking my tweezers.

After the basketball banquet, we came home and watched the movie “Nanny McPhee Returns” with our kids.

Nanny McPhee is kind of like Mary Poppins, but scary kind of ugly with a snaggle tooth that hangs over her lip, a mole that has hair growing out of it and one long unibrow that my teenage boys made fun of.

Anyway, during the movie, I announced that if I didn’t get my tweezers back soon, I would have a unibrow like Nanny McPhee’s.

I guess I scared the child that borrowed my tweezers because I found my tweezers sitting on top of our upstairs railing a few hours after we watched the movie.

You know, I could very well have put my tweezers there and overlooked them with all the other stuff sitting on the railing…

But I think it’s more likely that one of my children vividly saw that unibrow growing across my forehead and was wondering if the mole and snaggle tooth were part of the unibrow package…

Living on a Prayer

Jehovah Jireh…the Lord Will Provide.

This has been our story for over a year now. Actually, it’s been our story our whole lives, but we haven’t recognized it, not really, until this past year.

I honestly didn’t think that this kind of living was possible, where you pray and God provides either the money or the means. I mean, I always knew He provided little things along the way, but not like this.

I wouldn’t call it living by faith so much, because truly at times I had none. I feel like I spent much of the year walking around in angry confusion. I fought hard against being truly dependent on Him.

A year ago, If  I had been told that we would still be living like this, I would have laughed and cried and maybe thrown a fit or something. Believe me, I’ve thrown many along the way…fits, that is. Many have been aimed at Jeff, but the One I’m really fighting with is God.

That’s what it comes down to. I don’t really want to admit that, but there it is. If I really believe that He is in control of everything, He could have fixed this for me, and He’s done the opposite. He’s gone after the very idols I clung to and has ripped them away. Greed. Security. Safety.

I recently read a book about George Muller, and I was astounded at the way Muller lived His life, praying about everything and allowing God to lead him.

Muller ran an orphanage for the children in England in the 1800’s and trusted that God would provide for his needs and also the children’s needs (some 10,000 children over the course of his life). One lady in England said that praying and trusting God to supply all their needs wasn’t the way that they did things in England.

Muller never had an income, and he never asked anyone for money. Sometimes, they were barely scraping a meal together, and sometimes they didn’t have anything at all, but Muller prayed, and God always showed up.

I read his story, and his story spurs me on to replace all my worries and all my fears with prayer.

This year, our own bank account would be at nothing, and we wouldn’t have any way of paying the next bill or buying food, and someone would show up at our door with money or food that Abba had told them to give us. We would pray for specific amounts of money, and that amount of money would be supplied. This didn’t just happen once or twice but many times over the last year.

We fought this way of life (depending solely on God)  for a long time, but around October, we decided that we would stop with the strategies of trying to figure out how to earn our own way and just listen to the Holy Spirit and that we would walk through whatever doors He opened…kind of like surrender…kind of like allowing Him to lead….

“The person who lives in right relationship with God does it by embracing what God arranges for him.  Doing things for God is the opposite of entering into what God does for you.”

Resistance has come when I don’t want to follow Him, because I don’t know where He’ll take me…and that’s been the scary part. Still is.

But the more I read in the New Testament about following Jesus, it seems to be about being dependent on Him and allowing Him to work through me…through all of us.

I guess He knows that I become too dependent on things and paychecks that come in regularly, rather than Him. This is a lesson that has been hard for me to learn and one that I’m still learning daily.

Along the course of this year,  He’s brought odd jobs and ministry stuff for Jeff and then has taken some things away and has brought other things along to take their places.  Sometimes these things pay; sometimes they don’t. It doesn’t really matter though. He has always provided what we needed at the time.

One morning as I was lying in bed, I was stressing out about the opportunities my children might be missing out on because of the way we’re living. And then I was reminded, that Abba is also supplying for them what they need as well.

The coolest thing is that our kids are seeing our prayers answered. Real, tangible prayers that acknowledge our complete dependence on Him and Him alone.

Even with everything that Abba has supplied,  I find that I often come back to the children of Israel in the wilderness because I feel like I am so similar to them…whooping it up when God provides and then quickly turning  around and whining, “I need, I need.” 

They all ate and drank identical food and drink, meals provided daily by God. They drank from the Rock, God’s fountain for them that stayed with them wherever they were. And the Rock was Christ. But just experiencing God’s wonder and grace didn’t seem to mean much—most of them were defeated by temptation during the hard times in the desert, and God was not pleased. The same thing could happen to us. We must be on guard so that we never get caught up in wanting our own way as they did. (I Cor. 10)

Depending solely on Abba hasn’t been easy. Far from it. It has been wilderness living for sure, and I have been defeated time and time again, but I don’t want that to be the story of my life. I want my life to point to Him and His goodness…His faithfulness.

***

Jeff said to me just the other day, “What if we never run out? What if we always have enough?“

That being said, we’ve seen how God truly provides what we need, maybe not what we think we need, but what we actually need.

A while back, my fourteen year old said, “I really like living this way.”

My response, “Whoa. I wish I could say that all the time.”

Living on a prayer…

This goes against what our culture tells us we have to do in order to live the good life. But I think, in all honesty, I am living the good life, and it’s not what I thought it was…