Pursuit of a New Normal

I see the divine in their eyes, the precious innocence that keeps their wellspring pure,

And I am keenly aware of the pressure to get this right.

And by get it right,

The only possible thing I could refer to is grace,

Becoming a woman who embodies and extends grace,

As there is so very much I have received.

Their normal is one I have never known.

Even I am learning, perceiving, taking in, absorbing.

The baby slept as we prayed over a mad man in the den.

He was clothed in prayer, and then our own rags.

The eldest watched on, unphased by the happenings.

She knew it was time for the divine.

A life undisciplined will not bear the sweetness of vines tended.

But a life of routine risks ruts and roots lacking passion.

Teetering between the two, desperate to stay centered,

That their laughter is ever grounded in the security of the Father.

Steam rises, dances from the tea that sits before me now.

Like a worshipper, dancing around the fire

Lifting holy hands to God, offering whole self as living sacrifice.

The worshippers are gathering at the circle,

Acutely in tune, in sync, in rhythm with the community as it dances together,

And yet all eyes are focused on the Throne alone,

As if there is no one else in the room.

The gaze of the King embraces, warm and focused, yet gentle and cushioned.

Of all the worshippers in the room, the eyes of the Almighty see me.

Emotions balls at the throat, climbing higher.

Breath escapes me, stuttering, stammering

Unsure of whether it is tears or laughter that are soon to belt out,

The body explodes in praise.

And the dance grows wilder and the voice grows louder

Because love has set me free with eyes to see the divine.

Gratitude meets grace

And a new normal defines us all.

Today I am linking up to Imperfect Prose at In the hush of the moon. I'm excited and certainly humbled to join this community. Hop on over to take in some amazing prose and poetry.

Called By a New Name

There was a time in June when I met with a group of amazingly godly Maasai women. These women had been trained previously by other Kenyan women in biblical storytelling, and I was there to follow up with the women and hear their stories. I have written previously about the experience here. It was humbling and beautiful and inspiring and sad and challenging and so much more, all at the same time. These women toil, often in places where there are no other Christians. They alone are the pillars of the Church, carrying the torch of salvation to regions who have not yet seen the Light yet.

When our session came to a close, the ladies were milling around, chatting and gabbing as only women can, (that doesn’t change from culture to culture) when it was asked if I had been given a Maasai name. When I answered an honest, “No,” it was decided that today was the day that I would be called by a new name.

And so they stood and discussed for a moment, and then announced.

Nassirian, meaning “Woman of Peace.”

At first I was taken aback, humbled, embarrassed.

In my head, I heard this: “It’s only because they don’t know you. If they knew you better, they’d take it back. Your life is full of turmoil, strife. There is no peace in you about anything.”

And yet the name was spoken, and in all grace, I received it, holding back the welling up in my eyes for fear that they might be misunderstood. My heart swelled, suddenly blocking my throat, making it difficult to swallow, as it thumped louder and stronger there.

I smiled humbly. “Thank you for that name. I am greatly honored. I will treasure it for life.”

And the conversation quickly moved on to name others. But me, I was stuck there. My world paused. No one knew it but me. They will never know how that one moment in time will forever be memorialized in my heart. It will forever be a stone that I carry with me, just as the Israelites carried a stone up out of the Jordan River.

Thus far has the Lord brought me, and I have this stone to show for it. Nassirian.

One other name was given, and then the rain began to fall. Gently, softly, big cleansing drops pouring forth from Heaven.

He has heard the name. Nassirian. Woman of Peace.

He ordained the name, and though I am not yet who He has created me to be, He is doing a new thing, and new Name has been given, so that I too know where He is taking me.

The water of Heaven baptized my hair, running a stream down my cheeks, dripping off the end of my nose. It has been washed. I have been washed, and He is doing a new thing.

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God.

I have read it often. I have pondered what it would be like to be called a peacemaker, and not in the sense of pleasing man, but in the sense of embodying grace and mercy, letting gentleness be evident to all. I can see her, the woman who God is calling out. I can almost touch her, and on good days, I feel my heart consumed by her. She is gentle in tone. She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue. She demonstrates mercy to all other fellow sojourners, knowing that not one of us has yet reached our destination. Her hurts have been many, her bruises in various stages of healing. Because she knows the pain of mankind, and knows the comfort of the Comforter, she is able to offer comfort to all others in her path. A safe place to land.

I can see her.

And on quiet, dark mornings, when I beat the sun and children in rising, and I greet my Savior with crusty eyes, bare feet, opens hands, and moldable heart, He welcomes her to the day, this woman of peace.

He calls me by a new name. And I will ever praise Him.

Today I am linked up to ShoutLaughLove, as we journey to joy together.

The Ahhh of Life

So for the past two weeks, my husband has been traveling and training. I tend to not talk about him being away while he is away because I prefer not to broadcast that news, but currently he is back in Kenya with us. Now, when we are in the states and he travels, it is a challenge. Being home with 3 young girls is exhausting. But when we are in the states, there is a bit more of a support system in place, most of the time. I have a vehicle, most of the time, and am able to go places, be active, get out with the girls. I can go to the gym to burn off excess stress, or calories. I can meet girlfriends for lunch and have adult conversations. I have family and friends around to help me with the girls occasionally if I need a break, or need to run an errand alone. I have options.

But when he travels and we are here in Africa, that support system is not in place, and life is a bit more exhausting than normal, to say the least. So the past two weeks were certainly a challenge. There were days when all patience was gone, but snippy, kurt responses were just flowing. There were days that early bedtimes were just flat-out necessary for sanity's sake. There were days that I just could not come up with enough things for them to do to keep their hands busy and out of trouble. It was rough, and I was more than ready for my husband to come home.

Truth be told, though, those rough days are not only limited to my husband's travel days. Sometimes, it is just downright hard to be passionate about staying at home with the kids. I worked hard for my education and loved my career, though it certainly took a toll on my heart. But I loved being able to contribute to something bigger than myself, to be a part of the world and be passionate about giving of myself, and receiving gratitude, or any feedback at all, for the work that I did. Some days, it is really hard to get passionate about changing one more diaper whose stench could make your eyes water. It's hard to get excited about cleaning up yet another spill, or finding yet another pair of lost shoes, or washing the laundry again, not to mention the dishes. And the mouths to be fed, floors to be cleaned, beds to be made, etc. etc. etc. There are days when those sibling squabbles are just more than I can handle.

To hear that familiar wail of:

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMM! Toria hit me!" 

or 

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM! Juju pulled my hair!" 

or 

"MOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM! Toria is looking at me!!" 

or 

"MOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM! Juju won't leave me alone!" 

or 

any combination of the above, plus many, many more, 

for the umpteenth time in a day, 

it's enough to throw me over the edge.

Last night one of the girls came to with one of the above listed complaints, I think it was that her sister hit her. So I, in my pure apathy and lack of desire to play referee just one more time for the day, told her to go hit her sister back. She looked at me, puzzled for a moment, then quickly said, "OK" and turned to pursue the offender. There are those days when I just reach my absolute end, and would much rather throw the two girls into a ring and let them battle it out to see who will be standing at the end, declare the winner and send them all to bed. 

My husband looked at me in wonderment as he stopped the offended from going after her offender. It's OK. He hasn't been here. There are those days, though, when I just wonder what my contribution is, or if I have just faded into some invisible vacuum of mommyhood that has swallowed my identity whole.

But then there are other moments, when I am reminded of what I am building into. When one of my little girls looks at me and says with a genuine heart, "Mommy, I want to be just like you when I grow up." Or another will take my face in hands and say, "Mommy, you are the best mommy I know." There are those redeeming moments when I am reminded that I am building them, that I am contributing to the future by letting these girls know that they are worth everything, and more. 

There are things that I am doing for myself these days, healing journeys that I am on, issues that I am tackling that I was never willing to venture on before. There are things that I am doing now for myself, because of them. Because I don't want them to take the path that I did. I don't want them to struggle as I have. I don't want them to make the same mistakes that I did. I want them to know their worth, their dignity, their value. I didn't, and I paid dearly for it. Still do. But them, no...I'm building into them so that they know. 

Sunday night we picked my husband up at the Nairobi airport as he was arriving back from the Congo. Our nephew was driving, and as we drove home, my husband was sitting in front passenger seat, and I sat in the back seat with the girls. The baby was on my lap, sitting on my left thigh with her head resting on my chest. Her left hand had reached up to stroke my cheek (she loves to touch my face) and came to rest there. My middle daughter was sitting on my right side and had laid her head down on my right thigh, my right arm resting on her back. My oldest daughter was sitting beside her sister to my right, and she had taken my right hand in hers and was resting her head on my forearm with my hand in her lap. My girls were all over me, resting and loving, and I was at complete peace with them. And then as we drove, my husband reached his right hand back around his seat and wrapped his hand around my lower right leg, resting it there in love and consolation. 

It was in that moment as we drove home from the airport, when the weight of exhaustion and loneliness was at its heaviest from two weeks without my husband, it was in that very moment when all hands were on me, claiming a part of my body to lay theirs to rest, that the Ahhh of life settled in. It was an Ahhh of peace, an exhalation of relaxation to know that I am paying into something so much greater than myself. It was a settling confirmation that my mundane, often unnoticed contributions throughout a normal day, have, in fact, not gone unnoticed. Because they want to be like me someday. They see something, something that I have not yet even seen fully in myself. Something strong. Something of dignity. Something of worth and valor. They see it. And my Creator is giving me eyes to see it as well.

They see it. And they want to be like me. 

She is clothed with strength and dignity. 

I am praying for the perseverance and wisdom to continue to contribute to this cause. To their cause, which ultimately, is my cause. It gives me pause to exhale, and say Ahhhhh...

Check out Suzannah's blog to read about other pilgrims' journeys, that we may all shout, laugh, and love together. 

Standing in Awe

When I read about what love is and what it looks like, how to live it out, it is full of actions that have become almost foreign to me. To trust, to hope, to be patient and kind, to overlook offenses and not be easily angered. All of these actions go against every grain of my natural body. Life has taught me otherwise. Life has taught me that these actions are foolishness. Life has taught me that people will walk all over you, take advantage of you, slander your character, all for their own gain. Life has taught me that you have to stand and defend yourself, as no one else will. But these days, God is doing a new thing in my life, and some chains have been cut loose.

For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved, it is the power of God. -1 Corinthians 1:18

Soften what has become hard. It is time to love again. Open your hands, unclench your fists, release to Me all that you have been clinging to, as it has only hurt you more. Soften what has become hard.

It turns out that I have a defender, I have one who speaks on my behalf. I have one who has lavished His love upon me, in such great magnitude that He even went as far as to crown my head with glory and honor. My head! Yes, even my head.

It seems that I had gotten in the habit of acquiring knowledge, but not experiencing the truth of God in my life. I wondered and fretted about my own apparent lack of growth, and blamed God for abandoning me, turning a deaf ear to my cries, neglecting my broken heart. And then I came across this today:

A man's own folly ruins his life, yet his heart rages against the Lord. -Proverbs 19:3

Hmmm. Yes.

In a very bad habit of anger, bitterness, resentment, my heart ached and burned against the Lord, as if it were His doing. But now it is His undoing that has set my heart free, and I could feel the stone within my chest melt, as my body relaxed and I made a choice to forgive and not react. I made a choice to focus on what God had done for me, and allowed His strength to be present in my weakness. And now this captive is being set free, chains of insecurity, doubt, mistrust, and hurt that have held me in fear and bondage for most of my life are falling away and I am feeling how easy His yoke is. I just can't even tell you the freedom that I am experiencing, even in the midst of turmoil and hurt. And yet, I have a peace which passes all understanding, and I just know that the victory will be His alone, for my good and for His glory.

He is that good, yall!

So these days I am absolutely standing in awe of who He is and He power to work in my life. Somehow it is easy to get into routines and habits, which may enhance knowledge and build up the mind, but neglect the growth and experience of God himself. Yesterday I laughed out loud because of how good He is and the peace that He had put in my heart. I was down-right giddy! And now I am reading His word with fresh eyes, not simply taking the words to heart, but taking the promises to heart and expecting Him to move. This one touched and inspired me:

In him and through faith in him we may approach God with freedom and confidence. -Ephesians 3:12

Seriously! We may approach the King of the universe with confidence, and ask Him to do in us what His word says He can (and wants to) do. This has changed everything and I am almost overwhelmed with this love that He has lavished upon us!

What about you? Are you experiencing His power in your life? Are you expecting Him to set you free, or just hoping to make it through your days with fire insurance? We all have stories (which reminds me that I need to start writing mine!) and we all have baggage of some sort. The question is, who is carrying it? I am praying that you would allow Him full access in your life, to move and cut some chains loose!

The Terrifying Truth

I talked with my dad while he was in the hospital, and in his doped up state, he shared with me that as soon as he arrived at the hospital, his thought was that I would be there to take care of him. Because that's what I do. Except that this time, he was over 900 miles away, and I have a family to care for here, so I couldn't just drop everything and drive to Texas, though, truth be told, that was my first instinct. Drop everything. It's time to go.

When I hung up the phone with mom that morning, I sat on the floor weeping, working out in my head how I could get my family squared away and hop in the car headed for Texas. I was working it out. And the question came again.

Do you trust Me?

Well, yes, Lord, but...who's going to take care of him? who's going to ask these questions? who's going to take care of my mom? who's going to be sure he's getting the best of care? who's going to follow up with these issues? who's going to be his advocate? who's going to get him cleaned up when he vomits from the anesthesia? who's going to call for help when his pain gets worse? who's going to do all the things that need to be done so that my daddy gets the absolute best of care?

Do you trust Me?

Well, yes, Lord, but...You are so unpredictable. Can I trust you? How do I know You are counting these tears of mine? How do I know they will make a difference? How do I know that if I cry out to You, You will hear me and answer? How do I know that I can trust You with this? This is my daddy we're talking about. How do I know I can trust You? I've seen Your haphazard ways and You terrify me.

You terrify me.