being still

I have to confess, we are in a hard season. I've been in God's word and marveling at how He speaks through it, and I've been encouraged to press on in the face of every kind of trouble, but our circumstances have been pretty dismal. True, I can't even count all of my blessings - a happy marriage, a healthy child, a home, food to eat, water to drink, a church to worship in - way too many to count. And I remind myself of this often, whenever I'm feeling discouraged about all of the things that are standing between where I am and where I want to be. But the enemy is hard at work and he gets in my head sometimes, and I have those days... days where I just want to crawl under my super-cushy down comforter (another blessing) and sleep the day (week? year?) away. Some days I need a more tangible reminder that God is present and at work. A few days ago, He obliged. I was driving with my sister-in-law Heather, who was visiting from Texas. Leaving my favorite coffee shop (shout-out to Peet's!), I pulled up to a stoplight to turn left onto a very busy road. The light to turn left was green, but "for some reason" I stopped. I noticed the green light and said, "Oh hello, the light is green," and just as I put my foot on the gas to go, a car came flying through the intersection, going way over the speed limit, and running the red light. If I hadn't stopped at a green light, that car would have absolutely plowed into us. Now I know some of my friends might say that it was my occasional air-headedness that caused me stop when I didn't need to, but I disagree. I believe it was a little glimpse of God, a reminder that He is faithfully ordering my steps even when I feel like they're faltering.

I found an old CD today and was so excited to rediscover a favorite old song (shout-out to Lee U. - I can't help it, I love me some shout-outs). The lyrics are taken from Psalm 119:133: "Establish my footsteps in your word." I was spending a few minutes relaxing in my big chair (blessing!), when I heard a line that immediately brought me to tears: "While you are working, help me be still." Wow, how I need to hear that. I feel like I've finally learned how to root myself deeply in God's word and I actually want to bear much fruit and still... I am so impatient and so anxious to see my life bear the fruit I want to bear when I want to bear it. I still wake up in the middle of the night in a panic, with a sick, knotted feeling in my stomach, wondering how in the world we are ever going to get to that mythical place of "Everything's OK." In the midst of trying to work through all of the problems in my life, how desperately I need to be reminded to just... be... still. God is working. I am waiting. All is well.

the importance of sounding it out

So I have this thing about words. I hate when common words are mispronounced. I know this doesn't carry the weight of, say, global warming, but seriously, these aren't tough words. They aren't foreign words that Americans have acquired to sound fancy pants but can't say correctly ("Would anyone care for some horse-doovers before dinner?"). These are everyday words. Phonetically easy words. We can handle them. So, I'm officially calling for an end to:

• relator (as in, "Did you find a good relator to sell your house?")
• nucular (as in, "There was an explosion at the nucular plant today! I feel funny.")
  
• jewlery (as in, "Does this piece of giant fake gold jewlery make me look like a ho?")
• expecially or eggspecially (as in, "Do you carry the expecially eggspecial on your breakfast menu?")
  
• expresso (as in, "I would definitely take an expresso machine with me on Survivor.")
• muse-em (as in, "This one might get me in trouble with my darling sister-in-law, who pronounces it muse-em even though she is a very intelligent person.")

Don't worry if you're reading this right now and thinking, "Heeeyyyy... I say that!" Many good, intelligent, God-fearing people pronounce words wrongly. Maybe this is my ministry.

So remember, you need a good re-al-tor if you don't want your new house to be by a nu-cle-ar reactor, but you want to live close to the art mu-seee-um and a good eSSSpresso shop. Also, you prefer not to live in the ghetto, eSSSpecially if you have a lot of expensive jew-el-ry in your house.

Sound it out, friends. Sound it out.

homecoming

God gave me a picture this morning. It may not be the most accurate depiction of Heaven, but here it is:

I was thinking about Grandma Diehl and her hospitality. Whenever we would visit her in her little Shipshewana home, we would arrive to find freshly made beds, fluffed towels, refreshing iced tea and lemonade, and some kind of yummy treats to welcome us. She would greet us at the door with a warm hug and a welcoming smile. I could tell that she had been preparing for our arrival with great anticipation and excitement. It occurred to me (this is where God stepped in) that the very same thing is happening right now in Heaven, only on a much grander scale.

I imagine that right now, her sisters and friends who have gone before her are readying her room. They are fluffing the fluffiest pillows. They lay across the bed a beautiful quilt that they have been making together since the day God announced that June would soon be coming home. They have placed in a vase an arrangement of flowers that have never been seen on Earth - blossoms that God thought up and knew would be perfect for His daughter. They talk and laugh and reminisce, excited as little girls to see their loved one again.

Grandpa Diehl waits at the gate. Dressed in his finest clothes, he holds a giant bouquet of his wife's favorite flowers. He rocks back and forth on his heels, trying to be patient, but he can't remember the last time he felt so excited. He tries to remember how it felt to hold his beloved, and he can't believe she will be in his arms again soon. He has tears in his eyes and a permanent grin on his face.

The crowd is gathering around him. Brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts and uncles, neighbors and friends have all come to welcome June home. Her parents stand near the front of the crowd. They are so proud that their daughter has finished the race. They can't wait to love on their sweet girl. They can't wait to show her around this amazing place. A few of the Great Saints have joined the crowd - C.S. Lewis, Oswald Chambers, Fanny Crosby, the Wesleys. (They are on the official Welcoming and Orientation to Heaven Committees.)

And standing at the back, waiting patiently, knowing the exact seconds until she walks through the gate, is her first and greatest love - Jesus.

Thank you, Lord, that we have a home with you.

for the sake of transparency...

... let me share that my house is never really clean until company comes. Really. I keep my living room and kitchen clean, and I manage pretty well with the bathrooms. But that's just the "front of the house" facade that makes me feel like a very righteous homemaker and puts me at ease that if someone were to drop by unexpectedly, I could probably fool them. The truth is, my bedroom, my closet, my enormous piles of various-stage laundry... this is the truth of my homemaking abilities. I so very much want to be the Proverbs 31 woman, but who has the energy?

If you have the energy, please don't tell me.

sometimes you don't see the thing that's been coming from a mile away

Ben's grandma is dying of cancer. She is an incredible woman - warm, loving, kind, and strong. She lives and breathes Jesus' love in everything she does. My heart breaks for my mother-in-law. It might be easier to lose a parent when they are elderly, sick, or in pain... but I don't imagine it is. My dad's mother died in her mid-90s after years of deteriorating health. She was suffering terribly and so ready to go home to Jesus. But I know it broke my daddy's heart when she finally did go home - even while we rejoiced that she was free. Grandma Diehl is our last grandparent. It's so strange to think that our parents are, essentially, orphans. And it makes our own parents' mortality seem so much more real and terrifying. Yes, I believe in Heaven, and I know that seeing my savior face to face will be an experience beyond anything I can wrap my mind around. But I need my mama and daddy, and my children need their Grandma and Grandpa, and we need them for a long, long time. Ugh, this is a depressing post.

thoughts

I think what I'm about to write is considered "stream of consciousness," random thoughts that are popping around in my mind right now. But I'm going to use bullet points, because I need my stream to be tidy and well-organized.

• I've always loved to write. As a child I filled countless spiral notebooks with stories (mostly just a lot of "Chapter 1's," but still...). Then I moved on to journaling, and writing letters. I wrote a heap of letters to Ben when we were dating, during a season of separation, and reading them now both proves my naivete at the time and reminds me of all the reasons we fell in love. And now I blog, more rarely than I wish, but as often as time and energy permit. I generally consider myself a gifted writer, not Pulitzer Prize material, but enjoyable enough to read. Today, though, I had the pleasure of reading the blog of someone monumentally talented, and I felt immediately and terribly insecure about my own writing. I ridiculed myself for thinking that anyone would want to read what I write and had to resist the urge to delete this entire blog and save the blogosphere from my uncleverly turned phrases. I have no inner resolution to this just yet, but I decided to write today in defiance of my own insecurity. Ha!

• I was cleaning the kitchen today. I love to clean. I love to put things into order and make my home pleasant and cozy. It's a cathartic experience for me, and always my go-to therapy when I'm angry or upset or worried. Today I wasn't any of those things, but I am having company tomorrow and my house is a disaster. So anyway, I was cleaning. The downside to cleaning is that it gives you time to think, and in my case, lots of time to worry. I struggle with anxiety and trusting God for the unseen on a daily basis (I don't think I'm alone in that), and today as I started washing up dishes all I could think about was money. We don't have enough of it, we can't seem to make it stretch the way we need it to, and even though we spend less and less we don't ever seem to have more and more. I started my inner dialogue of shame and regret for having lived above our means for a very long time and how much that is impacting us now, and I felt a heavy sickness in my stomach. I hate worrying. The Bible tells us not to worry. Period. God provides. Period. God is faithful. Period. I have witnessed His faithfulness in my life at so many turns that it amazes me that I can still be untrusting. So today, standing in the kitchen with a hundred burdens on my shoulders, I decided to start praising Him. I just started singing, loudly and triumphantly and determinedly. And God came. I love those moments when I feel peace wash over me. More often than not I let the enemy drown out God's gentle whispers, but today I listened and heard, and I felt peace.

• Our son Eli is 14 months old, and we're beginning to see moments of misbehavior and disobedience (not to mention tantrums and fits and meltdowns), and we're really struggling with how to approach discipline at his age. We've read the books, consulted our families and friends, googled it - and we find the same advice at every turn. Tell your child to stop and redirect him. Give him a time out - a very short time out - and explain why. Tell him, "Don't touch" in a firm voice with a grumpy face and move his hand - and if he continues, give his hand a little swat (or a flick, according to the pediatrician). But all we get, no matter what we try, is the most annoyingly adorable little giggle from our son. I keep thinking, "This is just the beginning. I can't believe this is just the beginning." Of course, this time is precious and fleeting and full of delightful moments, but some days... good Lord.

• My dog has a very touchy stomach. She's been on prescription dog food since she was a puppy and as a rule, does not get any people food. Until Eli started eating in the high chair and sharing his food with "deedee." I don't know what she got into today, but she has pooped and puked all over the house. Blech.

• I wish I was pregnant so that there would be an acceptable explanation for my still-protuding tummy.

• I got a call this weekend from an old college friend, Katrina Stewart. I met Katrina in our Birds of Prey class at NNC and became friends with her and her husband Marcus. We hung out with them a lot the first year we were married, when we lived in our tiny apartment on Sunnyridge with all of our borrowed furniture. Marcus and Katrina moved to Alaska shortly before Ben and I moved to Indiana, and they sold us their beautiful entertainment center. At the time, it was the nicest piece of furniture we owned, and we were so proud of it. We've kept in touch with them through emails and Christmas letters, but haven't seen them in seven years. So I thought it was ironic (don't roll your eyes if I don't quite understand irony - I told you I wasn't a very good writer) that on the weekend when we were finally selling the entertainment center at a yard sale, Katrina called to tell me that they were in town. I asked her if they'd like to buy it back, but she declined. She and Marcus are coming over tomorrow night to have dinner and take our little boys to the playground. I'm excited to reconnect with our old friends and reminisce about the days of cookouts and pumpkin carving parties.

tiny pet peeve

I hate when someone says "each and every one." It's redundant.