Adequate

I have this huge post titled "Conviction or Condemnation?" in which I ponder endlessly the phenomenon of not measuring up to standards I place for myself especially when I compare myself to others. 

(This was all started by the cleanliness of a friend's oven. Really.)

Wow. It was kind of nice to summarize all that drivel in one sentence.

The conclusion I was coming to, before I gave up trying to sort it all out with words, was that sometimes those compressions spur me on to work harder, improve in some area and/or re-evaluate if I am putting forth a consecrated effort or simply slacking. 

(And perhaps clean my oven.)

And then other times they just make me feel like crap.

I really should try this sort of blogging more often. I'd like to point out that those are four scant paragraphs on a subject I've been wrestling with for several weeks.

I think I need some sort of blogging award.

Or chocolate.

One morning the Lord handed me this verse:

"Not that we are adequate in ourselves to consider anything as coming from ourselves, but our adequacy is from God." 

2 Corinthians 3:5

It jumped off the page and landed in my lap. 

I was struggling with huge feelings of inadequacy. 

I can't do it all. 

Beth Moore reminded me of it again this week:

"I am too much and not enough."

~sigh~

And then God handed me that verse. Once He hands me a verse specifically, I know I have to do something with it.

So I pondered it. 

It seemed a little strange. God promises us that we are "adequate."

I don't recall recently telling one of my kids, "Way to go! You are adequate!"

"Adequate" to me said that you fell far short of what is good and acceptable, much less excellent.

Just good enough.

Like I get a grade "C" in life.

Great.

But as I pondered this verse, I knew there had to be something more.

I have an unnatural affection for the dictionary. I love to look up words, even words I already know the definition to. It's a weird addiction.

So I looked up the word "adequate." Surely there was a hidden meaning to that word that was going to shed new light on this verse.

Sure enough, this is what I found:

adequate: Sufficient for a specific purpose.

Huh. 

I am good enough.

Well, that's more encouraging. But why, Lord? Why not make me stellar? Why not make me awesome? Why not empower me with amazing shows of wonderfulness?

Because.

 Then I wouldn't have to lean on Him ever second of every day. Because then I wouldn't have to trust Him to get me through my days. Because then I would think that I have something in me that worthy, good, able and... sufficient.

If He gave me too much sufficiency, then I wouldn't have to trust Him second by second to uphold me, guide my step, lead and direct me. 

All of my sufficiency comes from Christ. And only Him.

Being sufficient (in Him) reminds me of this.

If there are times that I do coast, thinking, "Hey, I got this...!" I can be sure that a crash is coming right around the corner. (And it always does.)

I am sure now more than ever that I am only usable by Him when I am clinging to Him in desperation.

So what does that look like long term? I believe that I am going to be crippled, clinging to him in the midst of the storm that I am for the rest of my life. (I am my own hurricane.)

And you know what? That's good. I want my weakness to showcase His glory more. I want to tell people, "I can't do it at all. But He makes me able. Sufficient for this purpose."

Whatever that purpose is. 

Even if it's just getting the laundry done.

Baby Hands

I noticed my daughter studying the four year old's hand the other day. 

"What are you doing?" I asked her.

She replied, "He still has baby hands" while holding his hand in hers. 

I dropped down beside her and studied his hand. It didn't take but a few seconds for him to snatch his hand away, poking out his tongue at us at the same time.  Yep, that's Zane. Never one much for sentiment.

It's true, though. Even as time slips toward his five year old birthday, there are still remanents of babyhood that I can catch a fleeting glimpse of - his cheeks, a few of his words and those hands. 

Maybe we cling to the baby parts of him because he is the baby of the family. As much as I love having big kids, and as much as I love reveling in the ease that having older kids bring, I still mourn the baby days at times. And as I feel those baby hands rub my arm or pat my back, I fully realize that these days are quickly coming to a close.

And I'm okay with that. I don't have to think back too far to remember how hard those days were.

Whew.

God is good. 

I'm thankful to my girl for pointing out those baby hands. I need help in slowing down to notice the little things that will all too soon be gone forever. As I drove down the road and noticed that baby hand out the back window, it made me smile. 

Lord, help me notice and be so very humbly thankful for the little things.

Song in the night

Reading Acts 16 this morning~after Paul and Silas had been beaten and thrown into jail, and

"...about midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns of praise to God..."

Oh Lord, that you would always be my Song. Day or night. Good times or bad. You, Lord, are the Giver of songs. Songs sung in the darkness of night...

"His song with be with me in he night, a prayer to the God of my life." Psalm 42:8

I love what Spurgeon says:

"Any fool can sing in the day. It is easy to sing when we an read the notes by daylight; but the skillful singer is he who can sing when there is not a ray of light to read by...Song in the night come only from God; they are not in the power of men." 

"I will bless the Lord at all times; His praise shall continually be in my mouth. My soul will boast in the Lord... Oh magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt His name together." Psalm 34

Lord, You are not only my song, You are my happy ending.

President's Day

We headed to a President's Day celebration on, well, President's Day. It was a perfect field trip that went so well with our American History study.

My self portrait

I got Thomas Jefferson scratching his nose, I think

Playing colonial games

Wonder what her sermon would be?

The chapel is beautiful

Elijah and I watch the fun

Nice to meet you, George Washington

And some how I managed to not get a picture of Jennifer. How is that possible?

 

Here we are at the last field trip we had at this same place. There. I feel better now :)

Lighten up

I am going back through this blog and editing and organizing it to make it easier for me to find things. As I was doing this the other day, I was struck by how much this blog used to chronicle our life. I started it mainly for that purpose. Once I realized I probably was never going to have time to scrap book again, I wanted to have a place to document their childhoods. Then, some how, for some reason, this blog morphed into a place for me to unload my brain. How sad!

My challenge to myself is to start documenting again. The kids love to look at old pictures. They love to read snippets of every day life from when they were little. So I'm going to do better at doing that. 

There is certainly enough material around here for that. And my brain is too full to remember all the good stuff that happens.

Friendship

I love this picture. I love this woman. She represents a plethora of women God has given me to encourage and bless me daily. I do not deserve the love and loyalty they give so freely to me. They put up with me, listen to me, encourage me and challenge me. They care for and love my children, bring meals when I'm sick, and have watched countless movies on my couch. The love and serve, counsel and advise. The commiserate and ponder with me. They laugh oh so much. They have flown to the rescue at a moment's notice and planned in detail sweet surprises. They have been there when I had babies and buried family. They have kept me accountable and disagreed with me on more than one occasion, both of which I'm thankful for. They are wise beyond their years and more fun than I can describe.

I am so thankful for the sweet ladies that walk with me on this journey. I would do it all alone, but I'm so thankful that I don't have to. I don't deserve them, but I love them dearly.

The Bruised Reed

"A bruised reed He will not break, And a dimly burning wick He will not extinguish; He will faithfully bring forth justice."

I heard this verse spoken by a woman on the brink of destruction. Death even. She uttered it in desperation to God- that He would sustain her as she struggled to find the will to live. 

That made my soul heavy. 

That was awhile ago. I looked back on that verse with uneasiness. It reminded me of her. Of the real struggles that face us-that threaten to overtake us. 

I didn't expect the verse to welcome me this particular morning. The words lept off the page and twirled around me. They didn't offer the expected comfort. They offered condemnation. 

Psalm 1 says I should be like "...a tree firmly planted by streams of water...and its leaf does not wither..."

I should be an "...oak of righteousness..." says Isaiah 61.

Not "...like the surf of the sea, driven and tossed by the wind." Dear James (1).

I was the opposite of 2 Corinthians - crushed, despairing, feeling nearly destroyed. 

Bruised. Nearly crushed. 

Slowly, like a warm embrace, came the words, "...He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds..." (Psalm 147:3)

I faltered again. In this long marathon I stumbled and fell. It felt good to lie, curled and still. To rest. 

As these thoughts filled my mind this morning, my eye came to rest just a few short verses past the bruised reed:

I am the Lord, I have called you in righteousness, I will also hold you by the hand and watch over you...

It is okay to fall. To fail. To suffer... 

I see the intimacy it brings with the One who will not rest until He has finished the good work He has begun in me.

This song found its way to me. That was a sweet blessing: