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Waiting.

Oct 20, 2020

Waiting. It started when we were kids. The waiting drove us crazy as we in turn drove our parents crazy. The “Are we there yet” and “How many more days til Christmas” questions were as plentiful as VHS tapes in the eighties. After more questions than we could count and our parents answering “How many more days til my birthday?” one last time, we reached adulthood. And now, for the most part, we accept that waiting is a part of life. We wait patiently for food without having a meltdown. We remain calm when the carpool line inches along. We can even enjoy the last few days before Christmas without becoming overly anxious.

Although we’ve come a long way, there are still times when we struggle. There are trivial things like a slow checkout line when we are in a hurry. We may tap our foot, look at our watch, and by the time we reach the cashier, our motions are huffy and our face has a plastered smile that lost its authentic shine three customers back. But then, there are more serious waiting periods. Waiting for that test result. Waiting for your child to come clean. Waiting for the right guy or girl to come along. Waiting for that job promotion or for the right house or piece of land. Waiting for the pain to stop or for grief to heal.

I floundered during the longest and hardest waiting period of my life. The struggles of infertility came unexpectedly, and not only did it try my patience but it shook my foundation. This was an adult size life lesson: You don’t always get what you want when you want it. It is a hard lesson to learn as a child wanting dessert before dinner and an even harder lesson during adult years as your perfectly planned out vision for life gets twisted. I often questioned God from my shattered world, not understanding why things weren’t working out as I had planned. But I look back now and see how God used the waiting. The most painful waiting times of my past are now beautiful stories of God’s goodness and healing.

I didn’t understand it then, but the waiting forced me to sort things out and face a reality I too quickly forget: I’m not in control, and God doesn’t work on my time. Waiting patiently for God’s timing is a beautiful act of faith as we surrender our timeframe and plans for God’s. And while we often find it hard to hand the tightly clenched reins over to God, in that surrender, we will never be disappointed. Sure, it will sting when we don’t get the job we really want, when the perfect piece of land goes under contract before we submit an offer, or when what we thought would be a lifelong relationship ends too soon. We will sit frustrated and full of emotions. Waiting. The moments spent waiting when we are disappointed are exhausting and painful. We sometimes feel forgotten. This is exactly how I felt during the long waiting periods of my life. But what I viewed then as cruelty, I see now as mercy for it was in the waiting that He taught me that He is in charge, and I am not.

Just as we set boundaries for our children because we love them, God sometimes gives us waiting periods to bring security in knowing that all does not rise and fall on us. God isn’t a permissive Father but is a devoted One who is willing to teach the hard lessons of life and make us wait, not to be cruel but instead to demonstrate His infinite love for us. He cares enough to allow seasons of waiting, knowing these periods of learning are essential to bringing us into a better understanding of His love and goodness. And once we realize God is for us, this brings more rest and peace than we could ever know otherwise.

As you wait for Him and surrender your ways for His, He is working all things for your good. Just you wait and see.

Psalm 27:13-14

I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord.

Reminiscing Norman Rockwell

Sept 10, 2020

I remember the first time I saw a Norman Rockwell painting. I was probably 11 or 12 years old at the time, and I was so captivated that I asked my parents for a book of his paintings for Christmas. I laughed at his candid depictions of childhood, and little did I know how accurate his brush strokes were of little boy mischief and fun.

Yesterday we set off to feed goats and ride bikes. But one thing led to another, and I soon found myself sitting on a dock watching my boys net fish with peanut butter crackers. You may say you’ve never heard of using crackers as bait, but it was all we had, for this after all was an impromptu fishing trip.

The scene that unfolded before me made me wish I could paint. No doubt Norman Rockwell would have splashed that inspiration into a masterpiece. I could try to paint the outlines and smudge some color, but in the end, it wouldn’t come close to capturing the adventure, emotion, and beauty of that afternoon fishing trip. Whether we view life with a quiet smile in our eyes, capture it through a lens, share it through writing, or recreate it through brush strokes, one thing is certain. We have a loving God who has given us a beautiful world. And while I’m grateful for talented people like Norman Rockwell, I’m even more grateful that we can know the One who created all talent and beauty. Whether it’s gray misty fog, deep blue skies, snowy white clouds, or a glowing orange and pink sunset, He’s the One who has gifted and inspired. He paints beauty for us every day, and all of our art and creation is just a reflection. I see the glee on the faces of my children as fish swim near their nets of peanut butter crackers, and my heart swells with gratitude at the goodness of our Creator.

Colossians 3:17 And whatsoever ye do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God and the Father by him.

Homeschool Day

Sept 9, 2020

I don’t know about everyone else, but we’ve had an especially riveting day of homeschool.

Here are a few highlights…

Emmett started out strong until he got an ear cramp and then it was all downhill from there. (Yes, I didn’t know ear cramps existed either.)

I praised Everett for spelling all his words correctly to which he lamented, “But I don’t know how to spell long words like hippopotamus, dalmatians, and Hakuna Matata.” I don’t either, buddy. That’s when spell check takes over.

I asked Emmett to count the syllables in broom, table, and computer. He asked me to count the syllables in stinkymalinky. There are 5 in case anyone else needs to know.

I was checking over Everett’s work and called attention to one he skipped asking why. He said, “I don’t know, Mom. I guess I got exhausted.” Mind you this exhaustion occurred while he was still writing the first number.

The only other noteworthy occurance of today has been that our dog has dug a hole in the backyard that Emmett can fall in up to his chest. Ask me how I know.

Graceful Monday

Aug 31, 2020

Mondays are the toughest. All chores that were neglected over the weekend surmount and span into every space of my house, leaving no corner kempt. Snack wrappers, yogurt containers, coins, treasures, rocks, puff balls, stringing beads, crayons, bits of paper, old French fries, gobs of squished blueberry, and dirty single socks are what you’d notice at a glance on any given Monday. Having three little boys and a clean house seems like depending on a Christmas wishlist in July.

Growing up I worked in my family’s cleaning business. While a lot of those days past are now a blur, there’s a couple incidents that I remember vividly from one household. It was the house of a family that had many little children. We usually cleaned around the bustling kids who were always into one thing or another. One particular memory came just as I had wiped out and cleaned a bathroom sink. In walked a little boy with contented adventure in his eyes and with cheeks that hadn’t even lost their baby chubbiness. His belly was peeking out as he squeezed his lumpy upturned shirt obviously carrying some precious treasure. I was slipping out of the bathroom just as I saw him lean toward the freshly cleaned sink and turn out tumbling rocks of all shapes and sorts. He twisted the faucet to wash his fascinating finds as bits of grass, leaves, and dirt splattered. I began to wonder why this family even hired us.

The second incident came from the same household only this time it was a thirsty little girl I remember. I had finished cleaning the kitchen and was just mopping myself out, when I saw little hands opening up the refrigerator and confidently taking hold of a full jug of orange juice. I probably was debating on whether to step in to help as she skirted to the cabinet to grab a cup. I then watched her climb up on the counter and before I could assist, she poured the jug of juice into her little cup, all over the counter, and onto the freshly mopped floor. I honestly can’t remember whether I re-mopped the kitchen that day. But that was exactly when my young mind began to marvel at the furious dichotomy of clean houses and motherhood.

I don’t know how that precious mother of so many young children felt back then. She always seemed calm, but now as a mother myself, I intimately know the struggle and wonder how she managed.

It’s a season I am told. One day I will clean the house and it will stay uncluttered with no crumbs. One day I won’t have toys in every corner, squished food under the table after every meal, and dirty little hands and feet making marks. The early years of motherhood is such a precious time and yet such a struggle. The balance is a fine line between becoming a frustrated tyrant who screams at every muddy boot print and an “over-it” Mom who aimlessly bats a stink bug as she sits in the middle of a cluttered floor watching the roomba struggle with a half eaten cheese stick. I have been both of those moms. In fact, every other Monday I feel the pull from each extreme and tend to sit fixly in either of those roles. Finding that balance is a struggle and every day I have to choose. But instead of looking at the extremes and seeing failure, I realize insurmountable grace is needed. Grace for myself who is trying to do all things with a good attitude and many times falling short. Grace for the kids making the muddy prints, forgetting to clean up, and not washing their hands before dinner. Grace for the husband who comes home to a tired wife who starts a conversation by saying the goats and chickens haven’t been fed, the kids are hungry, and supper isn’t cooked. And the good news is that in the midst of my mad little world, God has all the grace I need. At any point, I can come to Him and know he loves me and accepts me, messy house and all.

Far-fetched Faith

Aug 30, 2020

I thought about how far-fetched it all sounded. Did I really believe that God created a world with Adam and Eve in a garden and that all was peaceful until a tricky snake caused humans to sin? It sounded fanciful and ridiculous to my common sense. All my life the stories from the Bible were taught to me as truth yet my mind wondered how it was any different than a page from mythology or a story from another religion.

The alternative was to believe that the world came from a bang that happened out of nothing and we are here for no particular purpose. I looked around and saw how beautiful and amazing our world is – our planet is the just right distance from the sun, the vibrant orange and pink sunset, the salty ocean waves, the tiny acorns that fall, the strong oak trees that grow and breathe out the exact substance that humans need to breathe in. To my common sense mind, believing that all the beauty and order came from nothing was just as hard for me to grasp as the idea that God created it.

But I felt left out and sometimes forgotten. I heard testimonies that I didn’t have. I wondered if everyone felt like me and just talked assuredly. Or was there really something more?

Years passed, and life happened. The faint glimmer of hope stayed kindled. It struggled to burn and often teetered between the crux of flaming up and being snuffed out. Yet I found that the tiny spark of faith I had was all God needed. My faith didn’t come as something I had to muster or strain to feel. It wasn’t about fooling my mind into making the stories more believable. I didn’t need to figure out how a bush could continously burn. Or how Jonah survived in the belly of a fish. Or what instinctual phenomenon would have caused the lions to take a pass on eating Daniel.

It wasn’t that easy. It took hardships and honesty. It took me laying all of it before God – my doubts, fears, even anger. And once all the trials had been endured and the honesty of my human condition was laid bare, the little flicker of hope remained. And that’s when Jesus showed up. He erased my struggle by arranging circumstances and creating my own old testament miracle. What a merciful God who didn’t condemn my unbelief but showed up to convince me. I could not explain it away. I couldn’t argue. He was there, and I simply believed. He took a little flicker of faith and ignited a fire. He did what I could never do on my own. When time allows, I love to tell others the whole story of what He did for me.

It’s all true. The garden, the snake, sin, death, Jesus, salvation, heaven. Every bit of the Bible is true. And it’s how we come to know the truth and live a purposeful life of hope. I still know it sounds far-fetched. But so does the miracle of life itself. We think it is unbelievable that Jonah could live for 3 days in the belly of a fish but how much more amazing is the fact that each human grows for nine months in the belly of his mother? Miracles are all around us and that’s why I could never satisfy my need for faith with common sense and science. We sometimes try to smother this need for faith. We pad our thoughts with moral thinking and cushion our actions with good deeds. We crowd ourselves with earthly comforts of things we understand. Yet all this is never enough to fill the void our Maker placed in us – the one that is only filled by having a relationship with Him who created us and everything we know.

If you’re struggling with just a flicker of hope, I pray you hold on. Don’t give up. Keep searching and hang on to faith. God sees and hears you. Cry to Him for what you need. Then wait and hope, for the touch of Jesus is unmistakable and will change your life.

Psalm 90:2 “Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God.”

Finding Faith

Aug 30, 2020

But I felt left out and sometimes forgotten. I heard testimonies that I didn’t have. I wondered if everyone felt like me and just talked assuredly. Or was there really something more?

Psalm 90:2 “Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God.”

But Have Not Love

Aug 16, 2020

𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘺𝘮𝘣𝘢𝘭. 𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘐 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘢𝘴𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘐 𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. 1 𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘴 13:1-3

This passage gets me every time. Did you read all the good things we can do? Have faith that can move mountains? Give everything we have to the poor? As humans we herald and praise anyone who does such deeds, but Corinthians says all that can be done in vain. It isn’t enough to do good things, but too often I’m satisfied with and feel justified by my actions alone meanwhile my motives and attitude are miles away from Christ’s love. I allow myself to focus on frustrations with others and dwell on the negativity of the situation. Yet this is exactly what the next few verses say not to do.

𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥. 𝘐𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘷𝘺, 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘢𝘴𝘵, 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘥. 𝘐𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧-𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘪𝘵 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘴. 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘫𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩. 𝘐𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴. 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘴.

Years ago when I taught 9th grade, you can imagine how much we used to talk about attitude. The students and I would set personal goals for our attitudes and revisit those goals throughout the school year. I have to admit that I’m finding it’s easier to teach good attitude than to have one in all circumstances. So often it feels like a giant wall comes between me and having the right attitude. Perhaps I need to get out a good ol’ index card and write out some goals again. And may be I will. But more than writing on any card, God has been working to show me that this is the battlefront where Satan is able to render Christian witness ineffective.

When we do the right thing without love, we risk marring the name of Jesus and others may decide they want nothing of Him. That’s why Satan fights us so hard on this. He knows he will lose as soon as you and I come into communion with God and our bad attitudes change. Satan uses the cares and circumstances of this world as daily distractions to keep us from being with God. It only takes a few difficulties with situations and relationships, and soon we find ourselves spinning our earthly “wills” and fighting this futile battle alone. I will be kind. I will not get frustrated. I will smile and be loving. I will…

This is what I’ve found myself doing lately and let me just say it’s not going so well. You know how some people have a fake smile, the one they use when they are frustrated deep inside but still smiling on the outside? I don’t have that. And you know how some people have a filter that screens things before they come out? You guessed it. I don’t have that either. But whether or not we are good at pretending and filtering, God desires to push all of us past the faking. So how does someone like me do the right things without having frustration and frowns written all over my face? That’s just it. I can’t.

My attitude behind my actions has to come from something deeper than a pep talk in the mirror while practicing my smile. In fact, this is where all fake smiles have to fade. I have to come face to face with the fact that I have a sin nature. This is where the earthly meets heavenly, the carnal collides with the spiritual, and my sinful nature clashes with God’s holiness. We have to realize that there aren’t enough pep talks in the world or sufficient human willpower in ourselves to love others the way Jesus did. Once you and I admit this truth, we can stop the struggle. Our earthly “wills” come to a screeching halt, the grit of our own tactics relax, and relief floods our souls as we realize that loving others isn’t a feeling we muster or something we do on our own.

And, this is exactly where God wants us to be – in need of Him. When we realize that on our own we can’t love our enemies, we look to Jesus. When we admit that we’ve been holding a 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑤𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑠, we humbly come to Jesus for help. That’s how we love others, by surrendering and letting Jesus’ own love flow through us. And once we’ve spent time with Him, we stop looking in the mirror to practice a fake smile and instead look at our reflection and realize that Jesus has forgiven us for all the same things we find frustrating in others. That is how we change the fake to real. When we recognize that Jesus loves us just as we are – flaws and all – that sets us free to love others the same way.

Memaw’s Party Pickles

July 30, 2020

There is a first time for everything. And this is my first year making cinnamon party pickles like my grandmother used to make. Growing up they were the favorite canned vegetable of all the kids. And I use the term “vegetable” loosely. Nevermind the wholesome field peas or the healthy tomatoes, it was the red hot candy, sugar loaded, oh so crunchy cinnamon pickles we wanted. And Memaw always had them. Until now, I never knew how much work went into making those pickles. It takes hours to peel, cut, scoop, and prepare, and 5 days to complete all the steps. I remember a large gallon size jar that would sit on Memaw’s counter with the ringed cukes covered in lime. But most of all I remember her opening the bright red jars of syrupy deliciousness much to the delight of all us kids. As I stood there tonight chopping cucumbers, I tried to remember the last time I had her party pickles. I think I would have cried right then if you’d told me it would be the last time I’d eat them. Now I’m covered in cucumber juice and good memories wishing I could thank her for all the work she put into making red pickles for her grandkids for so many years. We surely loved those sweet pickles, but more than that, we loved the sweet woman who made them.

Life is a Blessing

July 21, 2020

I remember the blackberry picking excursions and mom’s silent prayers that we wouldn’t encounter a snake as we wound our way through briers and came home covered in deliciously staining blackberry juice. I remember the many times we walked acres of plowed sweet potato rows finding flint and quartz arrowheads, old marbles, and once an antique gold wedding band that sadly must have slipped off someone’s finger long ago. Every one of us creates and carries times like these. In our youth we often take them for granted, not realizing how quickly they pass. Days turn into years and while we never can put our finger on the exact moment, all at once we leave childhood forever and slip from youth into adulthood, and then before we know it, we can’t sit cross legged on the floor without a backache. This is usually when we begin to reflect and reminisce the “good old days.”

This weekend we had a family campout with grandparents, parents, cousins, and siblings. There’s no need to tell us that there had been a heat index advisory because we sweated every bit of it. As adults, the joy and excitement of making memories is still there, but anyone who has camped with kids knows just how much work it is. You need water and food and bedding and tents. But you also need smores and campfires and music and favorite stuffed animals. There’s a fine balance between becoming overwhelmed in the details and putting in just enough effort for things to run smoothly. This often looks different as the years go by. But it only takes one fretfully sleepless night to realize that the belovedly soft fox blankie named “Bowm” is just as essential as food and water.

Whether it’s the wrong words vowed at a wedding ceremony or a thunderstorm during a river tubing trip, often it’s the imperfections that we enjoy retelling the most. And it isn’t always the big events that impact us. Just the same, it can be the little things that add up to unforgettable memories.

Daily I watch my boys speed past on bikes wearing a football helmet and muddy boots with endless youthful energy. I watch them splash and play in our pool and then drape freely over a float enjoying a popsicle in the sun. I watch them run to check the garden and excitedly shout, “Mom, here’s a humongous squash!” I watch them outside playing with trucks in the dirt, making all kinds of motor sounds. I see how quickly it is passing. I know one day they will wake up an adult. But knowing all of these little things will become memories within them makes me cherish this time all the more.

The awareness of passing time makes us as adults view life a little differently. Admittedly we have likely given up the youthful spunk, but the mindset that we’ve already lived our best days is trifle for each day we live is tomorrow’s memory. No matter the age, we still have memories to make. This is why we camped out this weekend. It’s why we sweated through the tent setup and take down with heat advisories. It’s why Mamaw slept in a small tent with her grandbabies enjoying the stars and soaking in the moments. Every day is a good old day. Go make memories. Life is a beautiful blessing.

I Can’t Handle It (and that’s okay)

July 15, 2020

Are you ready to give up today? Yeah. Me too. And that’s okay. It’s okay because we weren’t made to handle everything. Often we have unrealistic expectations of ourselves. “Relax,” we say. But when we stop to relax, we simply lie there worrying about all the things we should be up doing. I know this because it’s a constant cycle in my life. And that’s when I have to remind myself that it’s God’s rest I need. It’s letting go of my expectations and surrendering. It’s also admitting that I can’t handle it all. I wasn’t meant to. I have to be reminded that pushing myself to be self-reliant and strong isn’t God’s calling. Rather, he calls me to rely on His strength and lean on His grace. It’s humbling to admit I can’t handle it on my own.

The world tells us we have to be everything and has us comparing ourselves and never measuring up. But His grace is sufficient because His strength is made perfect in our weakness. Not only does He allow for our imperfections and weakness, but he has us covered. So we can’t handle it? We are ready to give up today? Perfect! Now this is where we admit we can’t do it all and hand it over to God. We will soon realize that all the unrealistic expectations fade away when we let God’s grace wash over us. He is for us and doesn’t expect perfection. We may be weak, but He is strong, and His grace and strength are always enough.

Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need. Hebrews 4:16