shadow sounds of true soul

One day it’s all going to coalesce.

All the pieces will fall into place, and I will finally be free to create the art I’ve always dreamed of making.

That’s how the thoughts come these days, these days holding only snippets of me-time when I get to choose dishes, laundry, email, nap OR… art.  

My pieces lie scattered: A recording system I purchased last summer but don’t know how to use.  An electric piano I rarely touch.  Journals filled with scribblings of poems, set to solfeggio melodies with chords.  Musical connections all over the world.  Thoughts and images floating through my head, scraps and shards, needing some magnetic force to draw them all together. 

I say, I’ll just sit down to the piano for a minute… And seconds later, little hands are clamoring for a turn at the keys, and how can I resist the sweetness of little bodies wanting to fight for my lap to have their turn at music-making, and the wealth of small fingers under mine?  Isn’t this art of a different kind?  Yes, of course, I think, but there is the other waiting in the wings, and part of me aches for grown-up things.  

I listen to CDs of lullabies bequeathed by a friend who’s left the country, and I listen to art made by singers become mommies, and I think, I could do that.  Why don’t I?  It’s all the pieces on the floor, and I just don’t know how to pick them up and put them together.

Wait, says that Quiet Voice.  Just wait.  We’re getting there, you and I.  I do have a plan, you know.  

I sigh.  I do know.  I just find waiting and holding my artistic breath difficult, when there is so much beauty to be created.

I thumb through emails, and come across this in blue, penned thoughtfully by one of my sweetest friends, (a breath-taking singer and a sensitive, brave mommy):

We are writing poems, memories, and songs within the hearts of our children each day, and it is there that perhaps we are the truest recording artists we ever will be, perhaps all the rest is the shadow sounds of true soul we try to capture with our instruments.

And I find my breath returning.  I am suddenly at peace.  It is there, within the hearts of my children each day, that perhaps I am the truest recording artist I will ever be.  And perhaps all the rest is the shadow sounds of true soul.  

My heart aches with truth.  I listen to Jewel’s mesmerizing voice, thankful that a mommy somewhere had all her pieces linked just right to capture these delicious shadow-sounds for my true soul.  

And I catch glimpses of my boys’ hearts growing up with memories and songs recorded on their hearts… making music of their own one day.

{Ben, trying to walk in my shoes}

counting the hard eucharisteo

Counting the hard eucharisteo.  This is not easy.  At. All.  It’s hard.

In fact, naming frustrations as blessings is completely upside-down and counter-intuitive.  Did I mention, really hard to do?

I wrote this list down in sheer, dogged obedience to the hard eucharisteo, believing Ann’s insistence that ALL is grace, not just the nice poetic moments:

“Thank you, God, for…

1041. Criticism 

1042. Being faced with my sin 

1043. Being humbled 

1044. Failing 

1045. That He promises His strength will be made perfect in weakness 

1046. That I’m not perfect (ugh!) 

1047. That life’s not perfect (ugh!)  

 

And it wasn’t until I got that far, and wearily read back over my list with a sigh, that I saw it.  How all is grace.  It stopped me in my tracks.  

I heard Jesus finish each sentence in my mind with a new ending.

So, I obediently wrote them down.  And with each addition, my joy-spring welled higher.

1041. Criticism - because it forces me to grow 

1042. Being faced with my sin - because IT forces me to grow 

1043. Being humbled - because it’s healthy and Christlike 

1044. Failing - because it forces me to depend on God 

1045. That He promises His strength will be made perfect in weakness 

1046. That I’m not perfect (ugh!) - because Christ can be glorified in me 

1047. That life’s not perfect (ugh!) - because God’s glory can be displayed all the more brightly 

1048. That God is determined to grow me in spite of myself 

1049. Grace 

1050. More grace 

1051. A husband who is usually right, and when he’s wrong, admits it

The FACT is: even my most hateful, nauseating sins and the ugly, frustrating fact of imperfection belong on my gratitude list - because ALL is grace.  Each ugliness can be transformed by grace into beauty.  

And, I get to number this daily miracle.  A front-row seat to glory.  

AND, it's proof that I am not just dreaming about growing; I am actually being made more into His image moment by moment, thanks by thanks, “gift” by grace-filled gift.  

Even the moments that don’t look like gifts at first actually are.  

{pictures of a spectacular frost last month}

cultivating trust: the triumph of letting go

If the antidote to perfectionism is letting go, and the way to let go is to trust, then the Year of Letting Go needs to be about cultivating trust.  

And the best way to cultivate trust I know of is to chew on trust-filled words of Scripture, and then put those words into action.

I open my Bible and start digging.  I make another list in my journal.  Twelve trust-passages, one for each month of this new year.  

January’s passage?  The first one to spring to mind:

Proverbs 3 

5 Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
and lean not on your own understanding.
6 In all your ways, acknowledge Him,
and he will make straight your paths.
7 Be not wise in your own eyes;
fear the Lord, and turn away from evil.
8 It will be healing to your flesh,
and refreshment to your bones.

The first eleven days of January, I mull over these words from the third chapter of Proverbs.  Every morning, as part of my morning routine, I read them out loud to myself.  I make a playlist on my iPod of songs with “trust” or “heart” in them, and treat myself to one new song every morning.  Sixpence None the Richer’s “Trust” rolls around in my heart, soothing, settling.  I immerse myself in truth.  I practice trusting.

I practice trusting in the small moments, and then one day, it happens.  

My first real test.

{Can I open my hand and receive whatever God gives?}

It’s 8:00am.  My husband should be leaving for work soon, but he’s still in the office sitting at his computer.  Soon he comes to the kitchen door, where I’m still tidying up from breakfast.  I can feel him hesitating.

“Um… how would you feel…” he’s bracing himself, I can feel it.  “How would you feel about... going into the city today?”  Over four hours in the car.  We had two families of guests yesterday (mountains of dishes), and two more families expected for dinner tonight.  My helper’s coming in an hour.  My to-do list looms.  

He’s waiting for my answer.  And now I know why he braced himself; he’s waiting for my explosion.  My heart saddens.

And I see it clearly.  This is it, the moment of truth.  Trust in the Lord with all your heart, do not lean on your own understanding rolls through my mind.  I take a deep breath.  I feel myself calm, steady.  I keep my voice light.  “Why do we all need to go today?  Why can’t you just go, and then if we all really need to come in we could go tomorrow?”  (Tomorrow my day is completely free.)  I keep reasoning: “There really isn’t any proof they need us to redo these documents - what if we drag the boys all the way in there for nothing?”  I talk him out of it.  He agrees, goes to get ready for work. 

I go back to wiping the table, but I keep thinking.  If we don’t get these documents sorted out this week, it will infringe on our holiday next week.  And today is the first business day of this week, the sooner the better.  I could tell he really thought we should go in today… 

I give in, surrender in my spirit.

I lean into the door of the study.  “Love, if you think we should all go in today, I will make it happen.  Really.  I just need to be back by 4:00 (inwardly wincing) to start the pizza dough.”  

He looks up, doubtful.  Waiting for the explosion.  Praise be, it doesn’t come.  She’s serious.  Hesitantly: “Well, yes, I do think it would be wiser to all go today…”

“Okay.” I spring into action, mentally rearranging my entire day, flipping through my to-do list to find anything portable I can bring along to make the most of those hours in the car.  Laptop goes in the bag, iPod with speakers for the boys to watch Sesame Street, stuff a ziplock with every snack in the closet… Grab water bottles, cuddlies for naptime, diapers for Ben… Quick, get the boys dressed, quick call my helper and tell her to come tomorrow.  Grab purse, hat, coat, scarf, gloves, bags, boys, carseats, out the door, into the car… 

As soon as we’re all strapped in and driving away, James says quietly to me, “Thank you, love, for being so gracious.”  And in those words are the whole world.  

We had the. best. day.  

Stimulating, encouraging conversation with my husband in the car, listening and discussing audio books; the boys were good as gold; we got all our paperwork turned in, bought the boys hamburgers for lunch, and headed home again.  We were home by 3:00.  A whole hour earlier than I asked for.

I took a deep breath, stretched my aching back, and went straight into the kitchen.  I finished the dishes I’d left behind, hung up the load of laundry that stayed in the washer all day, and sat down at the kitchen table for a quick cup of tea to gather myself, before starting to prepare dinner for six adults and six kids, arriving in an hour and a half.

The door opens.  “Hello? Aunty?”  It’s two local teenage girls, a neighbor girl and her friend, here to practice English.  

I must admit, I almost didn’t pass this second test, coming so close on the heels of the first. 

Twice in one day, Lord?  I panicked.  I can’t have them here right now!  I have so much to do!  I couldn’t think straight.  

I had literally just sat down with my tea, so I put on a fake smile, poured them each a cup as well, and we sat there awkwardly at the kitchen table while I fought with myself to be gracious.  “We just got home from the city, and we have guests coming soon,” I said in a rush, hoping they’ll get the hint, “so I really don’t have much time.”  

“Oh, can we help you?” in their sweet, stilted English.  I couldn’t even think what task I had to do first, I was so rattled.

“Oh, no, that’s ok,” I mumbled, hopping up and fiddling with things in the fridge.  Just leave, please just leave… I can’t think with you here… 

And then the Lord whispered, “Just. Trust. Me.”

So - I did.  I just trusted.  

I got out the stuff to chop for my salad, saying, “Well, actually, you could help me make the salad, if you want to…”  These girls were expert salad makers.  Their cubes of cucumber and tomato were exquisite.  They had six flower-like plates of labor-intensive malibu salat (little piles of cubed kielbasa, cheese, cucumber, tomato, canned corn and croutons with mayonaise in the middle) ready in a fraction of the time it would have taken me alone.  

Meanwhile, I concentrated on my pizza dough and my heart… as the dough rose, so did my heart.  

By the time our guests arrived, I was all ready to welcome them, and I could never have done it if I had been on my own.  The girls sweetly said goodbye and got ready to leave, and as they were putting their coats on, I looked them both in the eyes and said, “I know God sent you two today, to help me get ready for these guests.  I never could have done this without your help!  You are my helpers from God!”  

See? said that still, small, gentle Voice in my heart.  I told you so.  

* * * 

Do you have a story about letting go and reaping the rewards of trust?

Share it here!

grace poured down {Remembering December: Part 4}

For the month of December, I counted doggedly to 1000, scribbling blue-inked gifts lists across fields of white paper, pounding new habit-nails on top of complaints, criticism and stress…. Hungering for joy.  In those moments, joy came slow, if it came at all.  I didn’t feel much of anything.  

But now, warm January sun streaming through the window, paging back through lists of hundreds and hundreds of graces - all poured down in just one month - the joy begins to well, deep and strong.  

All is grace.  I lived it, counted it, for 31 days straight, over 30 gifts every day (and for each one written, so many more slid past unnoticed).  

I review the gifts of December, and I remember… 

December 26

834. Cleaning out the toy cupboard 

835. Presents to give away
836. Poor people to give to
837. Ben carrying Arli’s present all the way there by himself, bouncing the bag along the ground, refusing to let me take it

838. Boys learning the joy of giving
839. Three boys, with no common language except joy and boyhood, playing wild in a threadbare living room 840. The ability to buy this family a ton of coal
841. That Jesus loves them enough to die for them

855. Having the perfect Christmas present for a friend: bamboo knitting needles
856. Her genuine pleasure
857. Being able to say God arranged it (I bought them in August)
858. The hope that their curiosity in God will grow
859. She and her husband pairing up with my boys to “box”
860. Fits of laughter all around

861. The stars on the way home862. Explaining to William how God knows each star by name, 

and William saying, “Does He just call them ‘stars’?” 

 “No, each one has a name.” 

 “What are they?” 

 “I don’t know - why don’t you ask God?” 

 “God, what are the names of the stars?”

863. The faith of a child

December 27

886. Twenty packages of cookies assembled for the neighbors
887. Planning ahead
888. Thirteen homes visited
889. Thirteen presents given

892. Thirteen conversations

893. Two or three interested parties
894. The Holy Spirit’s discernment
895. Words to explain things in this language
896. Open homes
897. This friendly, hospitable culture
898. The hope of glory

899. Discovering that our new street has four other ethnicities besides ours
890. James serving lunch when I got back 

909. The way Ben cuddles into me when I read to him before naptime
910. Led to open the word during rest time
911. The joy and challenge of personal goal setting
912. The way my “Year of Letting Go” (more on this later) is overlapping and dovetailing with my “Year of Here” 

December 29

933. Grace for a new day

934. Avalon’s “How Great Thou Art”
935. Climbing out of the pit
936. That Your lovingkindness never ceases
937. And Your mercies are new every morning
938. Building new habits, one nail at a time 939. Hope
940. Being in the 900’s at the end of this year
941. Being blind before and now SEEING

942. Fighting crankiness with thanks 

972. Water for showers and laundry and dishes
973. When I turned Avalon up loud, Will exclaiming, “Let’s get all the instruments! PRAISE GOD!”
974. How gospel music can make it fun to wash the dishes
975. Shaving my legs in stages to get ready for our holiday at the beach in two weeks -- the bigger the smooth patch, the closer we are to having a break! 

December 31

991. Breakfast in bed! Banana pancakes and coffee!
992. 6 happy years of marriage 993. My husband gifting me time for a lovely walk by myself
994. Poetry forming
995. Glory all around: mountains, fields and sky

998. How blessed we truly are

999. My husband’s gifts to me: poetry, a promise of dates to plan, a promise of music to make

1000. The privilege of living in this place, with these people

1001. Salmon for New Year’s dinner!

1002. Fireworks in our backyard!
1003. Mulled white wine with rosemary, lemon and honey
1004. A fire in our fireplace
1005. Counting past one thousand gifts in one month, and knowing they will just keep on coming -- and coming -- forever

a new way of seeing

like a bird on a wire

awareness of grace

turns commonplace

into glory and fire

like wood to a tree

like waves to the sea

let thanks become

the fiber of me

the antidote for perfectionism

{To read the previous post in this series, click here...}

Last year, with Ann, was my Year of Here, and I did live more fully in the moment than I ever have.  But still there were these unreasonable explosions, this discontent, this striving - even striving to list 1000 gifts in December before the New Year, hoping that filling this task would bring me joy.  

It’s this drive to be perfect, this striving and pressure, that I hate in myself -  especially what it does to me and others.  But I don’t know how to get rid of it.  

One afternoon a few weeks ago, thinking forward into 2012, I reluctantly wrote these words in my journal:

Besetting sins:  

PERFECTIONISM

It is a sin, after all, not just a nice way of saying I’m devoted to excellence.  Perfectionism is a sin because it leads to other sins - blame-shifting, defensiveness, stress-imposing, anger, resentment, pride.  

And the root of this sin of mine? 

The idol of feeling competent and perfect.  

Instead of Christ, that is what my self-worth and sense of well-being is truly wrapped around.  As soon as I feel like I’m failing in any way, as soon as my competence is threatened, I explode.  (A sure symptom of idolatry.)

Almost the moment I realized this, I felt the Holy Spirit give me a name for this new year: 

The Year of Letting Go.

(The Year of Open Hands)

(The Year of Gentle Weaving)

(The Year of Surrendered Living)

(The Year of Trusting)

The year of opening my hands.  Of letting go of stress.  Of releasing expectations on myself and others.  Scary.  It totally threatens my idolatrous need to feel competent and in control.  

But then, thoughts and images started moving through my mind, hope-filled Spirit-thoughts.  A glimmer of light.   

If you let go, Carolyn, the pressure is off and you could ask nicely without demanding.  (Hmmm... my husband and I have had lots of conversations about this one… maybe this is the key?)

If you let go, the pressure is off and you could reach freely for goals without straining or pushing.  (More likely to reach them, and the process would be a whole lot healthier and more joyful...)

If you let go, you could relax and let Me lead you into what to do next.  (The whole weaving thing again.)

If you let go, you could choose to do one thing at a time and focus on doing it well, rather than forcing yourself to finish everything on your list and stressing yourself out (and everyone else).

Ok, Lord.  You’re convincing me.  The Year of Letting Go.  That still sounds, and feels... scary.

Really?  asks the still small Voice in my heart.  What exactly are you afraid of?

Um... Truthfully?  -wince-  I’m afraid that if I let go, You-won’t-come-through-for-me, and I’ll-have-an-unfulfilled-year-with-unmet-expectations.  (Whew! I can’t believe I admitted that!)

Hmm.  So the bottom line is… trust.  Isn’t it.  You. don’t. trust. that I will be all I say I Am.  You don’t trust that My plan is More Perfect than yours.

Wow.  -silence-   

Really?  I really don't trust You, Lord?  After all I’ve seen You do in my life?   That’s pretty ridiculous.  But, well, yeah… when you put it like that, I guess I don’t.  I really am hanging on to my plan, my goals, my expectations for myself, tighter than I’m hanging on to you.  

I thought you were letting go of your expectations.

Well, yes, but… how?  I desperately scribble questions across the page.  Aren’t expectations natural?  And needed?  How can I help having expectations?  How do I let go of my expectations?  And if I let go of them, how do I move forward without goals and the pressure to meet them?  How do I grow?  

Stop.  Tell Me some good, reasonable, macro-expectations you can have for 2012.  Better yet, let Me tell you.

(And here’s where my jaw started dropping, and the joy started welling deep…)

That God will do God-sized things.

That God will grow me, my husband and my children in the specific ways He wants to, for our good and His glory.

That God will bring His Kingdom on this earth, through me, our marriage, our family, and our ministry.

That God will show His passionate love for me daily in beautiful, unexpected ways.

That my husband will stay utterly faithful to loving me, like the God he loves so deeply and completely.

That my God will supply all my needs according to His glorious riches in Christ Jesus.

That peace will be mine, which passes understanding.

Wow.  I started to breathe faster, deeper.  

If I can relax into those expectations, and trust that they will be met, because of Who God is, not because of who I am or what I can do… 

and if I can let go of everything else and trust the Weaver to tell me what threads to weave… 

what a year this will be!  

So what’s the antidote for perfectionism?  

Trust.  

Letting go of expectations.

And expecting God to be God.

* * * 

Resonating yet?

What is one "good, reasonable" God-founded macro-expectation you can have for 2012?

Christmas graces {Remembering December: Part 3}

While I counted my December gifts, racing to 1000 in the last month of 2011, each new habit-forming nail pounded hard.  

I glimpsed joy now and then, but my heart wasn’t flooded.  

Now, looking back, reading through the poetry of grace after grace, joy wells deep and full...

624. Ginger cookies in process
625. Andrea Bocelli
626. Enchiladas for supper

656. Any internet at all
657. Thanks-filled heart buoyant, lifting
658. The fact of cookie dough
659. Ben learning how to pretend, exaggerated: “Shh! QUAH-yet, Mama! Dey LI-yun SEE-ping!” (the lion’s sleeping)
670. Brownies cooling on the counter

661. The hum of our happy furnace

686. Our Advent Calendar - that today (Dec 19) is the camel

692. Candles when the power goes out
693. The flood of light when the power comes back on

776. Leaving the dishes for later
777. Nice things to do tonight: mull wine, ice our Christmas cake

778. Presents to wrap
779. Stockings to hang
780. Anticipation

798. Christmas morning!

800. Jesus born as a little baby, for our sins
801. My red Christmas sweatpants from my Mom
802. Bacon and kiwifruit for breakfast!
803. Running water most of the time (we just ran out)

815. James made stuffing!
816. The smell of chickens roasting
817. Ham for lunch! A once a year treat!

818. The Christ candle lit and burning brightly

820. Spinach dip
821. Mulled wine
822. Lovely guests finally here
823. Wonderful meal my husband prepared! (roasted chicken with stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy and baked pumpkin)
824. All I had to do was peel potatoes, lay out pumpkin and stir gravy!

825. Wonderful time of fellowship, reading the Word and praying
826. Hearts connecting 

827. Boys playing wild and happy
828. Genuine compliments on my home-making from my sister here
829. Feeling full in every way

831. Boys sleeping hard
832. Surfaces re-emerging
833. A long happy day coming to a peaceful close

Christmas grace.  Delicious.  Sweet.  

{Best of all, tomorrow continues CHRIST-mas grace towards you, and me, and all!}