Blurred Lines

I work hard to keep in between the lines.

When I go to work, I dress professionally.  I take extra time with my make-up.  I often wear heeled shoes that make that satisfying professional click-clack noise in the hallway so my students hear me coming.  For those moments as a teacher in a professional setting, I separate myself from mommy-hood and the messiness that comes with it.

But today the lines blurred.

As I was instructing away, a student quietly pointed out a Doc McStuffins sticker stuck to my black jacket. Lines blurred.  Mommy world invading academic world.  I smiled, blamed my daughter (to the students "awww"'s and chuckles), and moved on with my lesson.

I don't really mind the occasional blurring.  It keeps me human.  It's not like my students don't know I'm a mother.  They've all met my daughter.

The lines have blurred before. It's unavoidable, really.  On days when childcare has unexpectedly fallen through and my husband's and my schedules have clashed, I have brought Jacie to class.  And tried to maintain the balance between professionalism as a teacher and comforting mommy to a bewildered, unpredictable toddler.  It almost never goes well.  Either the students can't focus with an adorably cute little girl in the room (yes, I'm quite biased) or my daughter decides she won't sit and color but must be held the entire class period or draw on the whiteboard behind me.

Blurry lines are messy. So I work hard to keep in between the lines.  I work hard to maintain the appropriate face for all occasions, but sometimes real life leaks through.  Sometimes messy emotions kept at bay for too long bubble over and lines become blurred.

Maybe, just maybe, the lines are supposed to blur.  Maybe being genuine means I don't have to compartmentalize quite so much.  Maybe, probably, life is too messy for straight lines.  And so I smile as I pluck another sticker from my hair and wonder how long it's been there.

Five Minute Friday: Crowd

Crowded. Bumped. Jostled. Shoved.  My three-year-old does this to me all the time.  In a careless manner, with all the less-than-gentle grace of a young child, she disturbs my balance and ultimately my equilibrium.  You see, I don't like crowds and I don't like feeling crowded.  I like my own space and I like to be treated with care.  So what spills out when I'm jostled?  On my better days, it's just indulgent exasperation. Understanding mingled with a gentle reminder to my daughter to be more careful.  On other days, it's an irritated scowl and an impatient reminder to be more careful.

Jesus was jostled by the crowds.  He was bumped, robbed of personal space, disturbed.  What was His response?  "Who touched me?" The disciples were shocked by such a question.  EVERYONE was touching Jesus. Touching was an understatement.  Everyone was pressed close.  Personal space was violated on all sides.  What could Jesus mean by such a question?  But in the crowd, through the press, Jesus saw the individual.  He saw the need of the woman with the blood disorder who reached out to Jesus in a cry for help, in a faith-filled plea.  And he understood the motive and the reason behind the touch.

What would happen if I thought like Jesus?  If I looked beyond the crowding, jostling disturbance of a grace-less, clambering little girl and saw the need of her heart, the need of the moment? Would I respond with more grace and love?  With a directed gaze to see beyond the momentary irritation to the childlike exuberance or plea?

"Crowd my heart, Lord, 'til it is filled with You, 

so when I'm jostled, only Your love spills over!"

God is Bigger

Just finished the book of Job today.  The takeaways from this study are huge. I've learned a lot, though I've read the book before thanks in part to the For the Love of God blog commentaries I've been following along with as I've been doing the Bible reading.

One -- Job's friends are harshly judged by God; however, they really don't say anything about God that isn't true.  God does punish the wicked and reward the good.  This theme is repeated elsewhere in the Old Testament, even from God Himself (see the Pentateuch).  So why are the friends judged? Where is their error?  It seems to be found in misjudging Job -- in presuming on his motivation, assigning fault to him when there was none. For God Himself vindicated Job as a righteous man, both in the early and latter chapters of the book.  What does this mean for us?  It seems rather shocking to me because judging people, assigning fault to them  is a common practice among people in general, and believers in particular today.  Is  misjudging God's people really so grievous a sin that Job had to offer sacrifice on behalf of his friends in order for them to be acceptable before God (forgiven)?  Apparently so.

Two -- Despite popular opinion that we can rail against God and it's okay -- "God is big enough to handle it" some say -- Job is rebuked by God for accusing Him and for calling for a court-hearing as if God is a peer to be evaluated or judged.

"There is no “outside” place from which to judge him. To pretend otherwise is futile; worse, it is part of our race’s rebellion against God—imagining he owes us something, imagining we are well placed to tell him off." ~ For the Love of God blog

God's rebuke of Job's presumptiousness gives us some of the most majestic descriptions of God and His creative genius.  It's not ok to take God to task, but, even so, the greater sin and God's greatest displeasure is unquestionably reserved for Job's friends who malign Job instead of comforting him, who heap condemnation on him instead of being ok with not having the answers to the why of his suffering.

Three -- God never gives Job a reason for his suffering.  He never reveals the behind-the-scenes chat with Satan. Instead He reveals Himself to Job, and it is enough.  Enough for Job to realize he is out of his depth when it comes to understanding God and His ways.

And so it must be with us.
It must be enough to realize that God is bigger than we will ever know or ever imagine.
It must be enough to simply trust Him, realizing that His ways are beyond our capability to fathom.

A Gift Broken, Bent, Beautiful

Ann Voskamp's Joy Dare prompt for today defied conciseness -- at least for this wordy writer! It also prompted a photo.

Enclosed in my Bible next to Proverbs 31 are the first little wildflowers that Jacie every brought me as an almost-two-year-old.  In the years of praying and longing for a child, I promised myself that I would keep the very first posies brought to me by my child.  So I pressed these in my Bible as my perpetual broken, bent, beautiful reminder of the gift of motherhood that God has given me.  It's in that exact spot -- next to Proverbs 31 -- as a reminder of the high calling that accompanies being a mother to my little girl.

I couldn't help but think of the spiritual parallel the description "broken, bent, beautiful" begs in my own life -- the breaking of me, the bending of my will to His in order to create something beautiful in His sight.

Conversation with Self

Journal Prompt from Sometimes Sweet:  "They say hindsight is 20/20, and with good reason- looking back at something always gives us a better view. We're often able to really see how our choices and decisions then shaped our today, and examine what we would have done differently given the chance. When looking back though, we often look way back, but for this exercise stay a little closer to present time and look back just 12 months. If you could go back just one year, what would you tell yourself? What advice would you offer about everything you've experienced?

What would my January 2013 self say to my January 2014 self?  "Self," I'd say, "Self, you must hold on for the long haul.  You must not give in or give up.  You must believe that God works behind the scenes even when you don't see anything happening.  The seeds that you are sowing today will bear fruit tomorrow.  Have patience and allow God time to do His thing."  

My January '13 self saw last year going a little differently.  My January '13 self failed to recognize the value of what she was doing at that moment, and my January '13 self saw only a certain solution to her prayers and worries.

So my January '14 self would remind my January '13 self:  "Self, you have no idea what God has in store for you.  You cannot imagine the depth of His wisdom and the direction of His plans.  So serve Him today and let Him take care of tomorrow's results.  Pray fervently today, trusting His plans to be the best solutions to your cares and worries."

I'm really not that far removed from my January '13 self.  I still want to run ahead and figure out how to solve my problems and the problems of those I love.  I still find it hard to pray with an open hand and a trusting heart.  But perhaps this little exercise has been useful in causing me to pause and learn from the ways God has worked in the past year.  May the next 12 months find me becoming one whose trust in God runs a little deeper and whose faith in her God stands a little stronger.

What would you tell your January '13 self?

Gagging on Hope

I don't want to hope anymore.  

I want to turn it off. 

But it rises up of its own accord  ~  it tantalizes and appeals, so strong that I can taste it in my mouth. Tears well in my eyes with the strength of it.

It's so much easier not to feel hope, not to think about it, not to give in to it.  So much easier on the heart to press forward, to focus on my full and blessed life, to attend to the needs right in front of me.
But hope won't allow itself to be ignored; it presses in in the quiet, unguarded moments  ~~ in the moment when I am sitting in church, my heart raw and exposed before God ~~  in those moments it comes back.

Hope wells up and won't be shoved down. 

From nowhere, it fills my mind and heart, until I am gagging on it, choking it back, blinking away tears with the effort, bewildered and blinded.

And because it is hope, I waver unsure whether to banish it completely or to allow it in measure, under control, tamped down.

But hope isn't like that.  It's immoderate, brash, a force of its own.  

It won't be shut into a corner or constrained.  It's all or nothing.  

But still I fear its power.  I fear that it will break me.  And so I gag it back.   I refuse to allow it full rein. Like water bursting through a dam, I know it will return eventually.  I know it is irrepressible.  But for now, I tamp it down yet again.  I summon the strength to rein it in and to turn my head and move on with life.