Small Stories

I found myself aimlessly wandering the internet tonight when I came across a new post from a dear friend (and kindred spirit when it comes to our passion to write combined with our impossible realities pulling us elsewhere. always.).

She shared how the Lord had been pressing her to write, and she argued that she didn't have anything to say or any time to say it, and He continued to silently whisper that He had something to tell her and that's why she needed to write. Not for anyone else, but so that HE could speak to HER.

And. Well. I can't tell you what else she wrote in her post. Because I clicked off and came here.

These friends who push me, words can not describe the gratitude I feel for them. And so I will begin my post, exactly as she began hers.

Tonight, I write out of obedience.

My heart feels vulnerable. My thoughts jumbled and confusing, and my confidence definitely wobbly.
I can't seem to find my voice anymore. I know how intimately God has worked in my life. I know how powerfully He has spoken to me. How clearly He continues to open my eyes to His truth and then pour into me a frustratingly desperate desire to help open others' eyes as well. But I feel small, I feel silly and self-indulgent and terribly insecure that no one really needs one more girl taking up cyber space with her words and 'wisdom'.

But I know He wants me to tell my stories. Because my stories, though fairly mundane and ordinary, carry deep wound and beauty and redemption. And because they are ordinary, they are likely to be shared by the masses. Change a handful of the details and circumstances and I bet I could be telling your story, save one possible difference. God has given me eyes that see. It developed slowly, over time; I used to attribute it only to drama and heightened sensitivity. Now I believe it is how He made me.

See, I haven't had real pain and tragedy in my life. Not anything that could even scrape the surface of fairness to those who survive true suffering. And yet I have wept, I have crumbled, I have wilted in fear and writhed in pain over things that from the outside should simply not warrant these kinds of reactions. I feel things deeply and it can be my greatest weakness.. but it can also be the very thing God designed in me to use for His glory. Because He is teaching me to see in my tiny wounds that birth big feelings, the thin connecting line for all of us. Daily struggles or earth shattering tragedy, the questions, the fear, the doubt.. it can all sound surprisingly similar.

Let me tell a tiny story tonight, and see if any of this comes out clear.

Someone misunderstood me. 

That's all. There are details and specifics, but the bottom line of the story is this. They simply misunderstood me. They didn't hear my words, they didn't trust my heart, they didn't know me or my motives and so they made a snap judgement and misunderstood and said some pretty hurtful things as a result. It happens friends. All. The. Time.  Honestly, we're not talking Jerry Springer episodes here, yes the words stung, but in light of real world problems, I get it, this is kid's stuff.

But me? I am wrecked. Wrecked. Not outwardly to many people, but inwardly destroyed. So shaken, so sad. I am reeling in self pity and insecurity. I spent a good couple weeks licking my wounds, babying my fragile heart and hiding from the world, I've spent the last couple weeks spiraling in self doubt and disillusionment, and discouragement. I feel silenced, I feel cowardly, I feel weak. Because why in the world should I ever put myself out there if I can so easily be misunderstood? How scary! How stupid! How incredibly, unnecessarily, painful! Self pity, staring me straight in the face. It took my ever so gentle husband to give it that big old ugly name, but he was right, I can't call it anything else.

And so my eyes begin to open, and slowly I can see.

I have a deep, DEEP need to be understood. I have an even deeper, desperate, almost primal ache, to be approved of. It feels like air to me, I honestly get a suffocating sensation from the thought of not being able to change this person's opinion of me.  And yet I hear Him whispering and I know what's coming. I feel panicky and dizzy at the request for surrender.

"What will you do now Katie?" "Can you lay it down? Can you love them anyway, even if they never change their mind?" "Can you serve and teach and continue to press in to vulnerability, even if there are more to come who simply will not 'get' you?" "Even if it means more hurt, even if it means walking straight into your fear of man and not actually coming out on the winning end, can you be okay knowing I am the One who sees you, calls you, loves you, knows you and validates you." "Will you still trust? Will you still obey?"

It's becoming clear now, I know He's right.  He's shown me it over and over, it used to take longer to give my answer, now it comes fairly quickly. HE is the One who knows me, HE is the One who has asked me to speak, and to lead and to teach. I keep my eyes fixed on Him and I don't worry about the rest.

And yet when the blow came I crumbled so quickly, I hurt so badly, I'm still in a tail spin from the from the fall out. Why?!

Because it's bigger, it's simply so much bigger than her. The blow isn't the words from one person, it's  the accusation of a thousand voices over decades. This is pain rooted in fear. Fear that I am unacceptable. Fear that I will be rejected. Fear that I am too much. Fear that God's approval and love for me will simply not be enough and this longing will swallow me whole.

I don't combat these fears by running around like a puppy desperately hoping to please all my masters with tricks and charm. And I don't combat them by cowering in the corner and crossing my fingers that invisibility might minimize the amount of darts thrown my way. I combat them with truth.

I am accepted by One who knows all there is to know about me. He understands me, He made me the way He did on purpose and He is pleased with me. He knows my flaws and faults and they DO NOT disqualify me from His love or His service. And though it may feel like the desire to be understood or accepted by my peers could steal the very breath from my lungs, His word is truer than how I feel and it says He breathes resurrected LIFE into those that look to Him.

If I want to be free. Not a performer, not a prisoner, but FREE. Then I stay the course. I fix my eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of my faith, who for the joy set before Him (which was seeing ME restored to a relationship with HIM by the way!) endured the cross.

He is the stronghold of my life, of whom shall I be afraid?

Love in training.

To my Future Daughter in Laws,

I think about you.  Actually, thats probably a gigantic understatement. I think about you ALOT. There will be four of you ya know. Four of you and one of me, and that is a bit terrifying when I think of all the ways we will affect each other's lives and yet so much of what's making you you and what's making me me is developing independent of each other for these next 20 something years. It's a lot to take in for an over thinker like myself.

So I guess I just wanted to share how you were on my heart last night; and how I hope maybe I'm doing at least one little thing right by you even all these years before I meet you.

Last night 4 handsome little gentlemen came to my door.

Okay in the name of authenticity, only three of them came to the door, one was hiding down the street refusing to take part because he'd had a different picture in his head of how this all should unfold and well, if you are the daughter in law who ended up marrying this particular gentleman..I probably don't need to explain much more about how well this change in plans was received! And while we're being honest I should mention that among the open doors, grateful hugs and perfect manners included in this night, there were also fights over seats, tears over dinner choices and frustrated wiggling bodies over long long lines. We're not writing perfect movie scripts over here, there's 7 real human beings making a go of this thing, so it's gonna be messy. We're okay with that. 

I digress. 

Regardless of how the play by play unfolded, in the grand scheme of last night, four mini men and their dad took their big sister and mom out for a night of Disney on Ice to celebrate Valentine's Day. At this point only the two year old even cares about Disney characters, but the tickets were given to us and the chance to do something out of the ordinary is all that's needed to make a memory. So Ryan gathered the boys together and involved them in the plan to surprise their mom and sister with a night in their honor. And with a ringing of the doorbell our 'simple made special' began.

There they stood, button up shirts, hair swooped to the side and silly little grins on their faces. And as I looked at them, I thought of you.

Because one day, these boys will be grown. And they will be yours. So even though for right now, I get to enjoy their beaming eyes and hilarious not-so-subtle excitement at the 'secret surprise' they are plotting, I am hoping beyond hope that when they get older it feels natural and normal and even obvious to them that they would take these silly little holidays like Valentine's Day and use them as an excuse to stop for a second and celebrate you. The girl in their life.

It's not so much about Valentine's Day. I'm not even sure you'll grow up caring about Valentine's Day, or liking surprises at all for that matter. But I can't think of a girl who doesn't like to occasionally feel thought of and celebrated. Who doesn't want a guy who sees value in taking the opportunity to turn simple into special from time to time.

It's fun for me, and it's great practice for Macy as I help her manage her expectations and even allow the simple to speak love and thoughtfulness to her heart despite all it's hiccups and imperfections. But ultimately I want you to know that when Ryan and I were scheming up this night, I was honestly mostly thinking of you.

I'm so glad I married a man who's parents went on date nights every single week. We can't make that regular of a thing happen at this stage in life, but dates are certainly a priority and the idea that we need to keep doing special things just the two of us is not anything I've ever had to convince Ryan is important. It's normal to him, it feels obvious. I was also lucky enough to have a mom who got me all dressed up for my own dad to take me out on multiple dates during my childhood. I felt extremely special in those times and I learned how to allow someone to treat me as such.

Sweet daughter in laws, I don't know what crazy habits my boys will bring into their marriages with you that will drive you nuts because it's just so completely off from what you consider normal. I am sure there will be plenty to laugh about, and a few serious ones to apologize for. But at least in this area, I hope that in some tiny way we're building in to them the habit to cherish you.

Because yes, right now, the thought of girls may make all of them crinkle their noses and stick out their tongues. But I can see the future. And I know one day they're gonna be head over heels crazy in love with you.

I'm just trying to teach them how to show it well.

Oh the Insanity.

So awhile ago I began writing down a list of all the rules I had no idea I would ever EVER need to make into rules. The sheer lunacy of the things that come out of my mouth as I daily police these mini people is beyond explanation. That must be part of the loneliness of motherhood as well as one of the biggest reasons the 'mommy blogger' world has exploded the way it has. So many hours, of SOO much material, being poured out in every direction from the mouths of our wee ones.  It just begs for an audience. Sometimes I go about my day imaging there is a live studio audience just watching the sitcom that is my life. Cracking up at my perfectly timed double takes, or my witty replies, or my wide eyes as I carefully turn my head so the child causing such bewilderment can't see. In my head, the sane adult people in the room are sympathizing with me, giggling with me and covering their mouths in shock with me ... and yet, in reality all around me it's crickets.  Because the crazies causing the crazy, have no idea it's crazy! Somehow in their little minds, it makes perfect sense to ride your bike down the hall, or start a cheerio war in the living room, or bring giant bowls of water into their carpeted rooms to 'cook' with. 

Ah, but blogging, and Facebook can help this phenomenon immensely! If you can remember the moments long enough to post them, at least you can get the pay off of the cyber world joining in the fun and laughing with you for a bit. And it can also serve as a mini memory-proof bank, since as I told you, some of the things that happen are so completely illogical that the likelihood of me even believing my own memories is extremely low.

So for your studio audience, viewing and laughing pleasure. 

May I present to you, the top 10 things that yes, have in fact at one point or another actually happened enough times to warrant needing to be addressed and explained as actual RULES in our home.

10. We do not roar at strangers. 

9. You may not have 5 bananas in one day. 

8. We don't give out bandaids at bedtime. Go ahead and judge me moms, but try it once, it will NEVER END.

7. You may not make mommy the super villian in your game.

6. When in the shower, you may not throw full cups of water straight up at the ceiling ...and consequently ALL over the entire bathroom.

5. You may not bite my shirt, put your head under my shirt, or reach your hands up my shirt. 

4. You may not call me anything that rhymes with Mom. Responding with 'Yes Tom.' (or Dom, Som, Fom, Pom...) is not an acceptable substitute for 'Yes Mom.'

3. You may not get up at 3:00am, wake up your other two brothers, turn on all the lights and play dart gun tag up and down the hall.

2. When you are told to take a shower, and it's earlier than you'd like to wake up, you may not go get in the shower and lay down on the floor of it and fall back asleep for 20 minutes before someone finally comes in to check on you and wakes you back up.

and finally, to be said with the straightest and sternest of faces, so as to finally end the complete madness ensuing in the bathroom...

1. Everyone gets a turn to flush their own pee! You may not flush anyone else's pee but your own!

Enter gigantic SIGH (here)

Tip toes.

I think I've forgotten how to write.

I've been gone from this blog for years now. Yes the occasional, once yearly post might have popped up here and there, but really, my commitment to pushing myself to articulate the unfinished, pre-processed deep changes and soul stirrings going on inside me has been on pause for quite a while now. At least as far as this blog has been concerned.

I'm not apologizing for it. It was coming, it was time. I know there was a mighty work occurring in my heart. One that needed to plant into the deepest, darkest, most private places where I could be okay knowing there was only One who saw, One who understood, even all that I did not understand, of how I was being changed. What was being birthed in me.

It began before I knew there would be a fifth baby. It started with an urging toward simplicity. And an assurance that I was seen. It called for quietness. It called for patience. It called for trust. It asked me to take all that I wanted to be; all my longings to be recognized, understood, significant, to bundle them all up in a blanket and plop 'em down at the foot of my Lord and find peace. Rest. And as I did my heart suddenly felt less grabby, my thoughts less panicky. I was discovering a secret. And it felt good to know it, instead of write about it.

It continued as I learned of the newest and most unexpected life growing inside me. But now this call for quietness no longer felt like a struggle. In fact all I wanted to do was be quiet. And hide. And grieve. And wonder if I'd ever be okay again. You'd think this would feel shameful. But my God is a God of grace, and intimacy and kindness. And He again promised me He saw me. And that I needed no one but Him to understand what was at work in me. He urged me to feel all the feelings. To lay the mess and the confusion and the fear before Him and again find peace. This time He took my offering and He used it to propel my heart into a swell of compassion and mercy and reverence that my old self hadn't even known was missing. It was a time of humbled gratitude, but for me, there could be no writing about such mystery. It would all come out flat.

It went on. There was a journey of stripping bare and laying down. As my eyes opened to see how desperately I sought to secure, provide and protect my own little bursts of joy throughout my days. Again He whispered to my heart to trust. To believe that He really could be my whole portion. And that I would never ever be able to taste His fullness until I stopped filling my hands with my own trinkets. I burned them up right there at His throne, trembling and skeptical but relieved that the battle was over.

And then came the waves. Currents of grace and abundance and humbling, shocking, unspeakable kindness. And His voice. So near. So real. Asking me one more time to trust Him. To believe that it was HE. Behind it all. To bury every bit of skepticism and judgement and pride that had kept me at bay as a servant; instead of a beloved, doted upon and intimately tended to, daughter of the King.  I spoke of this some, I shared it with a few. But I didn't write it down. There was too much awe, too much wonder. The blank screen and blinking cursor felt overwhelming.

And now, here I find myself, a good three years later at least. And I think I've forgotten how to write.

Everything is different now. The propensity toward quietness seems now to be the dominant force. My need to be understood, far smaller. And it's been so long, it should be easy to walk away. And yet the restlessness is there. Urging me to speak. To articulate. To process and share and push myself once again in this fashion.

So I'm going to try. But the beginning feels daunting. So bear with me as I tip toe back in. It might take a while to find my new voice.

Thanks for journeying along.