Sparrow - finally here!

It's finally finished... 

...just in time for Christmas! 

I am so excited to share these songs with all of you!  They come from my heart, and I hope they minister to yours.  

From the booklet of Sparrow: 

These songs have blossomed out of thoughts and realizations from years of living a cross-cultural, transient life.  

I’ve recorded a few songs in the past, but this is my first original album on this scale, and even just agreeing with God to start the process was a huge step of faith.  I recorded the whole thing when I was nine months pregnant with our daughter, Ruby Grace.  

The title track especially captures my relief at being able to tuck my most precious treasures - my children - under God’s wings and trust Him to be our home.  

My prayer as you listen is that God Himself will draw near and speak to your heart, and that His presence and peace will become tangibly yours.   

Some photos from the making of...

May you know His presence and peace this Christmas, kind friends!   

life is like a picture puzzle piece

Don’t you think our lives are a little like this poem by Shel Silverstein?

“Picture Puzzle Piece”

One picture puzzle piece,

lying on the sidewalk.

One picture puzzle piece, 

soaking in the rain.

It might be a button of blue 

on the coat of the woman who lived in a shoe...

It might be a magical bean, 

or a fold in the red velvet robe of a queen...

It might be the one little bite

of the apple her stepmother gave to Snow White...

It might be the veil of a bride,

or a bottle with some evil genie inside...

It might be a small tuft of hair

on the big, bouncy, belly of Bo-Bo the Bear...

It might be a bit of the cloak

of the Witch of the West as she melted to smoke...

It might be a shadowy trace 

of a tear that runs down an angel’s face...

Nothing has more possibilities

than one old, wet, picture puzzle piece.

I read that, and I think of how sometimes I just don’t feel like I fit anywhere… like a lost puzzle piece, minus its puzzle.  Sometimes I feel as though the singular little bit that I am just doesn’t make sense in my surroundings - like the colors on me haven’t found a home yet.  Do you ever feel that way?

Good thing we each are only one tiny piece in a mosaic of billions… and the God who made each one of us is patiently fitting his picture together, piece by unique piece.  

And the amazing thing is, each of us could be anything: in the hand of the Puzzle-Maker, we could become anything He chooses, and get placed any wonderful place He chooses to put us.  His puzzle is alive (I keep forgetting), and all the pieces are three-dimensional and intertwining with each other.  The possibilities are endless, really.  And yet, He does have One Perfect Plan that He’s already created, perfectly, and is bringing to pass, perfectly.  That’s reassuring to remember at those times when everything seems especially chaotic.

So the next time you’re feeling extra ordinary, or you’re worried about one of your colors not finding a home, think of that last couplet… 

“Nothing has more possibilities / than one old, wet, picture puzzle piece.”

(photo by William)

* * * *

Do you ever feel like you don’t fit anywhere?

What encourages you when you feel this way?

change poking through

When we moved into this house, it was a mess.  


The owners have a passion for fruit trees and were lavish in their planting: rows of pears all around the house perimeter, six huge walnuts by the back fenceline, tall leggy apricots in the side yard, cherries by the abandoned chicken coop.  The crowning glory is the small apple orchard that fills the backyard: thirty small apple trees planted in narrow rows with sturdy low-spreading branches.  

My husband, the farmer, was thrilled.  I, the musician-bookworm, was overwhelmed.  “It’ll be your thing,” I tell him, warning.  Abdicating.  What is this choking thing in me that makes me hesitant to try anything I don’t feel I can succeed at?

None of the trees had been pruned or tended in several years, and when we moved in last summer and looked out our back porch windows, all I could see was a jungle.  Where are the kids going to play? I wondered.  And then, with a sinking heart, How am I ever going to deal with all this fruit?

Nothing goes to waste in this culture.  Letting fruit drop off trees and rot on the ground because it’s too high to reach easily (or because you just don’t have the energy) is frowned upon.  There’s always the option of opening the gate wide and letting the neighbors in to pick (which I still might do), but all my overwhelmed-ness hadn’t counted on one thing: the rest that pruning brings.

Last fall, James cheerfully went out and bought a chain saw.  Every day when he came home from work, he went out to the backyard and I heard the engine revving its masculine roar while I cooked dinner.  He lopped off heaps of branches, whole tops of trees, even whole trees in some instances where they were half dead or just too crowded.  Our neighbors happily dragged away mountains of branches to feed their cavernous, ravenous bread ovens, leaving us with…. Space.  Open sky.  Lopped off trunks pointing stumpily in all directions.  Breathing room.

Part of me was happy about the tidying of the jungle; part of me grieved the amputations.  The part of me that wants to be a competent local housewife was thrilled to realize that ferocious pruning meant a much smaller fruit harvest this year… less for me to deal with!  

And then yesterday I made a startling discovery: if a tree is alive, it never stops growing.  (It sounds so basic when I put it like that, but I just haven’t grown up aware of nature, and each discovery is astounding.)  Right through the thick, scaly bark of those lopped limbs, some as thick around as my calf, the trees are pushing out new life.  I had no idea trees do this.  Tiny green shoots struggle to emerge, their frailty emphasized by the girth of their home limbs.  How in the world are they strong enough to get through those barriers? I wonder.

Just now, while I was peeling potatoes, I asked God if there’s anything he wants me to learn from this picture of new life.  Immediately, this thought began moving through my mind: “No matter how ingrained you think your habits are, or how neglected an area of your life may feel, or how discouraged you might feel that you’re not seeing growth, with my life in you, change is always possible.  I AM the growth-Author.  But - sometimes it might take some vigorous pruning to make way for new things.”

A mundane example popped into my head: I have never been a good flosser (of teeth).  My whole life, every six months at the dutiful and much-dreaded dentist visit, the hygenist would ask me that innocent and terrible question, “So, are you flossing?”  And I would always fudge and answer, “Weeeeelll… not every day (meaning, never)...”  So last year, my last year of my “twenties”, I decided to put “flossing” on Ann Voskamp’s daily “Do It for 100” form, along with “reading a verse with Will” and “get up before the kids to have devotions”.  And guess what?  I can count on one hand (ONE HAND!) the number of nights I missed flossing last year.  And my gums are pink and healthy and thanking me for it!  It took me 30 years to get around to making a new habit, and a whole year to hammer it in, but now I can’t imagine going to bed without flossing and if I forget, it feels weird.  

Change is possible.

At a deeper level, I can feel new growth emerging quietly in my soul this spring.  As tiny and frail as those green shoots, it’s poking through nonetheless - the result of epiphanies from Transformed Into Fire and a new, quiet awareness of resting in God’s presence and receiving his love.  It’s not every day yet that I create the space and time for intentional communion, but it’s oftener than before.  I’m starting to feel my soul (not my body, mind you) longing to get up half an hour earlier, and sit outside under some of those breathtaking trees to listen and absorb God’s presence.  

Maybe this will be the year of finally letting go of busyness and performance - with some vigorous pruning? - and allowing new green fronds of awareness to quietly lengthen into bloom.  

of trust and knotted shoulders

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.

Morning and evening, all of January, I’m mulling over these words.  I’m practicing trust.  One day, my mind zeroes in on the last two phrases, as though I’ve never heard them before: 

It (trust) will be healing to your flesh,

and refreshment to your bones.

I’m a wound-up tight kinda girl.  I’ve had chronic tension in my shoulders and neck for years.  It’s hard to fall asleep at night because my mind churns over all the things I didn’t get done that day.  

Could trusting the Lord actually heal my tight shoulders?  And what would “refreshment to my bones” feel like?  

After an evening of ending up in a sobbing puddle over tangles of addresses and spreadsheets and imperfect systems, I call my Mom the next morning.  She can tell I’m wound up tighter than a steel drum.  I snap, “Be QUIET!  Mommy’s on the PHONE!” at the boys in the first five minutes of our conversation.  I can feel her taking deep breaths (for me) on the other end of the line.

Eventually, I’m calming down under her familiar, loving voice.  We wind around through the tangles until we get to the root: In this “Year of Letting Go” (newborn, less than one month old), I just can’t seem to figure out how to “let go” of things that are actually and rightfully my responsibility.

She reads me a quote from C.S. Lewis.  We’ve always loved reading aloud to each other.  

“Man’s love for God must always be very largely, and must often be entirely, a need-love.  This is obvious where we implore forgiveness for our sins or support in our tribulations.  But in the long run it is perhaps even more apparent in our growing - for it ought to be growing - awareness that our whole being by its very nature is one vast need; incomplete, preparatory, empty yet cluttered, crying out for him who can untie things that are now knotted together and tie up things that are still dangling loose. (emphasis added)”

~C.S.Lewis, The Four Loves

"Him who can untie things that are now knotted together." 

Proverbs 3:8. [Trust] will be healing to your flesh and refreshment to your bones.  Of course.  We are holistic beings, all connected within ourselves, and something knotting up my heart will of course knot up my body as well.  

My knotted stomach starts to uncurl. 

It’s okay to be needy.  It’s okay for me to need from God. 

It’s okay to not be perfect, because that is the reality of my real relationship with God: imperfection meets endless grace.  

I take slow, deep breaths.  I work this out.  

I am incomplete.  Preparatory.  Empty, yet cluttered.  

My neediness is where God can show His glory.  (Of course - it’s all over Scripture - but now it’s becoming Real in my daily-ness.) 

I hate being needy.  I reject it and fight it.  It bruises my pride.  It feels messy and incomplete.  I don’t like receiving, or needing to receive, or admitting I need to receive.  

But... God gets most glory by meeting my need.  I am one vast need, and my craving is Him, Himself.  And isn’t my greatest joy found in His glory?  Isn’t that why I exist, in the first place?  

Let’s get down to brass tacks, here: Isn’t this really all about Him anyway?  

In the moment of failure, I am utterly miserable, because I have become the center of my own universe, and I hate feeling like a failure - that is my idol.  As I read Lewis’ words, it hits me: that moment of my abject, miserable need is not only permitted and even validated, but planned, and should be given thanks for because it is a chance for God to show His glory through me!  

And in my snapping at the boys, in my puddles of tears and panicky flailings against things I can’t control, I have a choice: will I deny my need, clench my fists, and stay utterly miserable in my failure, or will I let go and be willingly needy and let God be big and glorious in me?

Each moment is another chance to choose trust.  

*****

Two Trust-Level Checks

(I’m so glad God is practical.)

Here are two helpful tests the Holy Spirit gave me for checking my trust-level (maybe they'll help you too?:

1) How stressed am I feeling right now, on a scale of 1 to 10?If I’m above a 3 or 4, I’m hanging on to something too tightly.  {Since I can only feel one feeling at a time, I cannot feel stress and trust at the same time.  Where trust is present, stress cannot survive.} 

2) Check my tone of voice:
If my tone of voice is causing someone (including me) to wince, I’m clinging to an idol (usually control, or an expectation) in my heart and loving it more than Jesus, and more than the person I’m speaking to.

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!

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?