Archives for March 2014

Today, during lunch, Brooklyn asked me a question that stopped me in my tracks. I had been washing dishes — those annoying ones that can’t go in the dishwasher — and thinking about absolutely nothing. I could hear the crunch of Brooklyn’s carrot and feel the warm suds on my hands, but my mind was at rest. This may not seem like a big deal, but for someone who overthinks and overanalyzes and always has something on her mind (just ask my hubby), that in itself was a big deal. But what was even more amazing was the question that came out of my daughter’s mouth:

“Mommy, why are you smiling?”

And you know what? I couldn’t answer her. I didn’t even know I had been smiling.

For the last few weeks, I have been spending a lot of time digging around my soul and doing some much needed work. I have been drowning out the world and seeking more time with God. I have been letting go of myself and offering my everything to figure out what is next for my life. I believe they call that surrender.

I am still digging, still praying, and still figuring it out, but in the process, I have felt an amazing sense of contentment that I have not felt in a long time. In some ways, I am emotionally exhausted, but at the same time, I have this overwhelming feeling of peace and security that comes from knowing I am living for something bigger than myself. That the world and its approval no longer matters. I am learning who I am, what I was made for, and where my heart belongs. I believe they call that joy.

Joy. It is such a powerful word. To me, it represents so much more than happiness. Too many people treat happiness as a destination, but it’s not. It’s a fleeting emotion. But joy…to me, joy is something to strive for. It is learning to live this life with hope, compassion, and love, regardless of the circumstances. To walk the walk and talk the talk with such grace that it flows freely and naturally. To smile without even realizing it.

A few months ago, someone shared this translation of Matthew 11:28-30 with me, and I just can’t stop reading it:

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” (Matthew 11:28-30 MSG)

Learn the unforced rhythms of grace… to live freely and lightly….

Yes, that is what I want. That is what I am seeking. More than answers, more than a fleeting sense of happiness, more than this world, I want those things, and I think I am getting closer. The more time I spend with Him — the more I am distracted by Him — the more I am enjoying this life.

I believe they call that salvation.

I feel a breath of relief sneak out when the service ends, my tension subsiding, until Emma asks if she can have ashes on her forehead. Kendall catches on quickly, and they are both bouncing and asking and my head is spinning. Our church has never done ashes before – this was the first time – so I don’t know if they are “too young” or if that even matters. I end up settling on “yes” because I don’t have the energy to say “no” more than once. So we all receive our ashes and walk out the door.

The night, unfortunately, only gets crazier from there, and I find myself in an all-too-familiar scenario… smiling and waving and attempting to appear calm as I hold quick conversations with friends and simultaneously search for my girls – one on wheels and two that are purposely hiding and running from me. The more I give them “the eyes,” the more they giggle. I am now literally chasing them, and I know that any efforts to appear calm are futile. The gig is up.

As we pour into the truck, snow boots stomping, doors slamming, “the church lecture” begins. It’s the same lecture I give every Sunday morning, and the one I am sick of repeating because it clearly doesn’t penetrate. The words come out stronger than they should; my tone harsh and condemning. The apologies and sniffles from the back seat fill my ears, but the pure heart I asked for just isn’t there. I am angry and embarrassed, and we drive the rest of the way in silence.

When we arrive home, obedience comes in an attempt to win back my favor. Teeth are brushed and pajamas are on in record time, but before tucking them in, I make a quick pit stop in the laundry room. Exhaustion rises up as I pick up scattered gloves and scarves, but then I quickly catch my reflection in the mirror. And that’s when I see them… the ashes.

They are black but not permanent, reminding me of the sins I am going to try and purge the next 40 days to honor the Savior who died for me. They are there to encourage me to turn those sins into beauty – the easy sins and the secret ones and the ones I can’t seem to shake and find myself apologizing for again and again and again.

They are also, I now remember, the same ashes my daughters received. The same ashes His daughters received.

Oh, Father, forgive me.  We are the same.

Humbled, I re-enter their room with the pure heart I asked for, and I embrace and apologize and explain with more love than the first time. We say prayers and repent, and while it is not perfect, it is better. Emma is at peace, but Kendall is still upset. I remind myself that dwelling is not always helpful, so I say goodnight and turn off the light.

As I head for the door, Emma asks for one more kiss.  Mustering up one last ounce of patience, I walk over to her bed and bend down to kiss her forehead, only to realize the ashes she received are no longer there. She has already wiped them clean.