Yes, here it is again, the yearly "marriage anniversary" blog. I may make this an annual thing, share what I've learned each passing year of marriage. We'll see how quickly I run out of revelations and life lesssons. Ha.
Our first year of marriage was filled with all those crazy moments of learning how to do life together - navigating the beautiful mess of blending two, individual lives into a single, shared life. It was a year of discovery, new surprises and blunders along the way. Year one was learning what it meant to be a wife, learning to adult (semi-successfully). This year, we found a rhythm, learning to predict, swerve, and adjust when life throws little curveballs. In this second year, I feel I only learned a few things, but they touch all areas of life, of our marriage.
Year one was about learning the little ideosyncracies that make up the man I married.
Year two involved discovering more of who he is, inside and out, knowing him more deeply and completely, learning just we were in for in this crazy, beautiful life. This year, I learned more about the man God is making and has shaped him into. These are the lessons and revelations from our second year.
First, I learned it doesn't matter if money is tight. By this I mean - no matter our finances, I love that man more than ever. Comfortable finances may equal more vacations, fancy things, and I know it tends to equal less daily stress, but it does not and cannot measure the amount of love in my marriage. And I am overjoyed to walk into the rest of my marriage knowing that Tanner's love for me, and mine for him, is in no way dependent upon a bank account balance. To know that whether we have $1 million or $10, whether we have "wiggle room" or are living hand to mouth, I love that man to the moon and back - I have since I was 18, and I always will. To know that love and committment is not tied in any way to financial security or uncertainty gives me great joy.
Second, they say before you get married, one of the most important questions to ask is, "Do I want to suffer with this person?" Because one guarantee in life is pain - it will come, regardless of finances, class, job, color, or any other factor in life. We all walk through pain and sorrow. I remember telling Tanner a few months before our wedding that he was the one I wanted to experience life's joys with, and the one I wanted to walk with me through deepest sorrow. And this year, I began to experience the importance of having chosen the right person to suffer with. And, Jesus be praised, I have chosen well.
This year, we have faced and are facing a good deal of uncertainty and sorrow in our difficulties starting a family. And through every meltdown, every negative test, every tear-filled evening, Tanner is there. When I am a mess, he is steady and sure. He loves, comforts, protects, and prays for me and with me. When I feel like giving up, he hold me, he remains supportive and sure, ever hopeful and encouraging. He has researched other ways of being a parent - if it ever comes to that - and shows me ways in which my longing to be a mother is even now being fulfilled. I chose the right man to suffer alongside, and that makes the joyful moments all the more full and refreshing. My only hope is that I have been as faithful a comfortor to him in his sorrows as he has been to me
In conclusion, this past year held more routine than our first year, but the stakes are also higher in some ways. As I look back, I'm thankful for the journey God is leading us on, even when the way is steep, narrow, or painful. For it is those times that teach us the most about who we really are, about the person we married, and about the faithfulness of God.
And I eagerly look forward to this next year, and decades more to come.
Friday, August 11, 2017
Tuesday, June 13, 2017
Trust - Surrendered or Lip-Service?
Let me begin by confessing - I SO wish trust was easier. There are some for whom trusting God seems to be second nature, and I long to join their ranks. My prerequisite for trusting God seems to be, "Ok God, tell me when, where, why and how, and then I can trust this to You." But alas, that is not trust at all.
In my current struggle (if you don't know what I'm talking about, click here: http://kcslittlelifelessons.blogspot.com/2017/05/sanctification-perspective-and-pink.html ), and before this struggle, I thought I was getting a good handle on trusting God, surrendering control to Him. Also, for so long, I thought I was giving my struggle to God, giving Him my pain, and placing it all in His hands. So then why was I continually falling apart at the slightest reminder of my pain? Why was it still there, thinly veiled beneath the surface, continually threatening to break through and consume me? Surely trusting God, resting in His care, didn't mean barely holding on, scarcely holding it together.
As I cried and prayed and pondered, God slowly began to show me things, to help me understand. God is so faithful - I come to Him broken, hurt, angry, seeking His help and he shows me pieces of Himself, of His heart. And it is beautiful. And in these moments, at the end of me, humbled and broken, God began to teach me - all along I had been saying "Ok, I'm gonna trust God with this. It's His, it's in His hands." I was saying all the right words, but in my heart of hearts, I was using those words to feel like a good Christian, and just shoving my pain away, stuffing it deep into the recesses of my heart. And there, in darkness and in secret, it would fester, an open wound, ready to cause pain at the slightest bump. I know what to say - I've gone to church my whole life, learned the verses, studied in Bible college. The attitude and condition of my heart did not match the words coming from my lips. My "trust" was lip service, not surrender. And only surrender can begin the healing process.
Giving something to the Lord means acknowledging the pain, feeling the heartache, letting the hurt matter. I had to let myself feel the pain, the ache, to tell God how I felt. Placing a deep desire, and the pain and fear that accompany it, into the hands of God requires hard work. A deliberate choice. It means cutting that desire and pain free from my need to be in control. Cutting through the thorns and brambles into the deepest places in my heart. Feeling the raw pain of both my longing and my flesh as I deliberately uproot and place it into the hands of God. And you know what? I can't do it.
And that is precisely the point.
I told God, "Oh, I want to dig this up, to uproot it and give it to You. But I can't. It's too hard, too painful. But I also know I can't carry this anymore. It's too heavy."
And in that moment, it was as if God gathered me in His arms and said, "Don't you see? I don't want you to dig it all up, uproot and unpack your pain and give it to me then. I want to sit beside you and help you each step." And once again, as with every other moment of need in my life, and I'm sure every moment of need in the future, God came through, and showed me a piece of His heart.
He will sit beside me and gently help me untangle every root, every thorn, every obstacle between me and my surrender,
He is there to weep with me in my pain.
He is there to sing sweet songs to strengthen my soul.
His hands hold me together, and His shoulders are strong for me when I fall apart.
He is there to impart His all-sufficient grace.
HE. IS. THERE. Immanuel, God with us. God our provider. God the healer. The Lord Almighty.
I am one who finds emotional release and relief through music and praise. And in this time, God brought me two new songs. One is "Trust His Heart"
In my current struggle (if you don't know what I'm talking about, click here: http://kcslittlelifelessons.blogspot.com/2017/05/sanctification-perspective-and-pink.html ), and before this struggle, I thought I was getting a good handle on trusting God, surrendering control to Him. Also, for so long, I thought I was giving my struggle to God, giving Him my pain, and placing it all in His hands. So then why was I continually falling apart at the slightest reminder of my pain? Why was it still there, thinly veiled beneath the surface, continually threatening to break through and consume me? Surely trusting God, resting in His care, didn't mean barely holding on, scarcely holding it together.
As I cried and prayed and pondered, God slowly began to show me things, to help me understand. God is so faithful - I come to Him broken, hurt, angry, seeking His help and he shows me pieces of Himself, of His heart. And it is beautiful. And in these moments, at the end of me, humbled and broken, God began to teach me - all along I had been saying "Ok, I'm gonna trust God with this. It's His, it's in His hands." I was saying all the right words, but in my heart of hearts, I was using those words to feel like a good Christian, and just shoving my pain away, stuffing it deep into the recesses of my heart. And there, in darkness and in secret, it would fester, an open wound, ready to cause pain at the slightest bump. I know what to say - I've gone to church my whole life, learned the verses, studied in Bible college. The attitude and condition of my heart did not match the words coming from my lips. My "trust" was lip service, not surrender. And only surrender can begin the healing process.
Giving something to the Lord means acknowledging the pain, feeling the heartache, letting the hurt matter. I had to let myself feel the pain, the ache, to tell God how I felt. Placing a deep desire, and the pain and fear that accompany it, into the hands of God requires hard work. A deliberate choice. It means cutting that desire and pain free from my need to be in control. Cutting through the thorns and brambles into the deepest places in my heart. Feeling the raw pain of both my longing and my flesh as I deliberately uproot and place it into the hands of God. And you know what? I can't do it.
And that is precisely the point.
I told God, "Oh, I want to dig this up, to uproot it and give it to You. But I can't. It's too hard, too painful. But I also know I can't carry this anymore. It's too heavy."
And in that moment, it was as if God gathered me in His arms and said, "Don't you see? I don't want you to dig it all up, uproot and unpack your pain and give it to me then. I want to sit beside you and help you each step." And once again, as with every other moment of need in my life, and I'm sure every moment of need in the future, God came through, and showed me a piece of His heart.
He will sit beside me and gently help me untangle every root, every thorn, every obstacle between me and my surrender,
He is there to weep with me in my pain.
He is there to sing sweet songs to strengthen my soul.
His hands hold me together, and His shoulders are strong for me when I fall apart.
He is there to impart His all-sufficient grace.
HE. IS. THERE. Immanuel, God with us. God our provider. God the healer. The Lord Almighty.
I am one who finds emotional release and relief through music and praise. And in this time, God brought me two new songs. One is "Trust His Heart"
"God is too wise to be mistaken
God is too good to be unkind
So when you don't understand
When you don't see His plan
When you can't trace His hand - trust His heart"
And the other "What If Your Best"
"And I want Your best
But what if Your best is brokenness
Would I be broken?
And I want Your best
But what if it's less than what I ask
Than what I'm hoping?
And what if Your best is here in the waiting
Here in the going through the motions?
I'll still be trusting all I am
And all I have
To nothing less than the Potter's hands."
Therefore, in light of all these things, I find that for surrender to be more than just lip service, it's going to take more than just me. It's going to require me drawing on the inexhaustible strength of I AM to walk through the pain and fear that accompany surrender. It will take time. And sometimes it takes coming to a place of complete brokenness to receive the humility to surrender.
And that is why I am convinced that sometimes God's best for me is brokenness.
For only when He brings me back to brokenness and humility can I truly rest in Him. Only when I stagger and fall under the weight of my struggle and my stubbornness can He show me how He alone is strong enough to carry my burdens. Only when I reach a place where I am weak can He show me how truly strong He is.
To be honest, God and I are still in the unpacking and uprooting process. But here, in brokenness, I can see the beauty in what God is doing. I can see there is purpose to my pain. I can see, firsthand, the risen Lord bringing beauty from ashes, bringing about something new. And what He has shown me not only teaches me to trust Him for all I have not yet seen, I also know this - if He can use this pain to bring fame and glory to His name, then I will be still, "Be still and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations; I will be exalted in the earth."
Be exalted O Lord, my Rock, my redeemer, my strength.
Tuesday, May 16, 2017
Sanctification, Perspective, and Pink Lines
"When through the deep waters I call thee to go
the rivers of sorrow will not overflow.
For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless
and sanctify to thee thy deepest distress."\
So goes my favorite stanza from the old hymn "How Firm A Foundation." The piece which has always stood out to me is the idea that God will not only be with me during times of sorrow, but to sanctify to me my deepest distress.
Sanctify - to set apart or declare holy. God can take my trials and deep sorrow and sanctify them to me - so I see as I look back the good those troubles brought (yes, I said the good) and even declare, "Thank you, Lord, for my sorrows." But how? In the middle of those deep waters, when I feel that water try to carry me away under a rip current of pain - I wonder, "How will God ever sanctify this to me?
No.
Not this.
It's too much."
I wrestled with this for quite some time, and I think it is no accident that I still wrestled all the way up to Resurrection Sunday morning.
If you think about it, what we call "Good Friday" was truly a terrible day. God the Son falsely accused, beaten, mocked, spat upon, and crucified. The Holy One, the Messiah, put to death, a criminal's death, a death of shame and agony. It was a day of pain, of suffering, of injustice.
But then, the third day - Jesus rose from the dead - sin had been cleansed, death defeated, and hope for all sinners declared when the Son of God rose with power.
Suddenly, we see the pain, suffering, and injustice of Friday in a new light. Because of the resurrection, all that pain and suffering was not in vain -the penalty for sin is paid, and life, new life is accomplished, scripture fulfilled, and man brought back into fellowship with God. Because of the resurrection, we can look back on the day Jesus was crucified and call it "Good Friday."
What deeper distress than God the Son betrayed, beaten and crucified? But because of the Resurrection, it is sanctified - set apart and declared holy. And so, in light of all this, I see that the God can take the deepest distress of all, and have the plan to make from it something beautiful. How much more is He able to take the deepest, darkest times of my life - the worst distress, the hardest days, and sanctify them!
If you read the title of this post, you're probably wondering "Ok, KC, I see the sanctification and the perspective, but what in the world do pink lines have to do with what you're talking about? Well, this post is a synthesis of two journal articles, written separately, but that I've come to see are really about the same thing. (I LOVE how the Holy Spirit works).
Those who know me, know that I journal to express the things on my mind. And right now, the topic on my mind is babies. In the morning when I wake up. When I'm at work. When I'm sitting at home in the evening. Before I fall asleep. I have an intense desire and longing to be pregnant right now. And truthfully, sometimes the longing is so intense and raw that I hold a baby or see a picture of a pregnant woman, and my heart, soul, and womb physically ache.
I have wanted to be a mother for as long as I can remember, and I can't adequately express the longing and want, that desire to see two pink lines on an EPT. Test after test, and every time - one bright pink, lonely line, mocking my heart's desire.
I've hoped and hoped, and even tried to give up on hoping each month - but to no avail. And to add insult to injury, I'm having trouble even ovulating - month after month of erratic temps, etc. And yet, test after test, even when I KNOW I'm not pregnant, I can't help but hope.
My darling husband knows how much I want a baby, and if it was completely up to him, we would be parents. Sometimes I wonder if he truly knows how much I want to be pregnant, that it's on my mind every minute, that sometimes I can't even focus at work because the longing takes over. He is so good to me in each moment of the journey.
I originally ended my journal entry saying,
"I don't know how to end this entry. I usually have some sort of wonderful realization or something. But right now, in this moment, all the answers ring hollow, resounding back to me my longing, all the comforts and assurances of others leave me only to shrug, and say 'I guess. Yeah.'
The reason it all feels so hollow and falls short of comfort is that every inspirational statement, every empathetic reassurance cant compare to what I want most.
2 Pink Lines
The flutter of new life in my womb
My precious child in my arms.
To be a mother - I ache, I long, I wait. Tearfully, patiently, impatiently, with hopeful anticipation."
But friends, the wonderful thing about our great God is that if we seek Him with all our heart, pour our honest sorrows and burdens at His feet, He shows us wonderful things, and envelops us in His vast love. And in that moment, He showed me what He was teaching me about distress and sanctification.
Because, in that moment, I knew two things to be true -
1. I want to be a mother more words can express.
2. Even if that were never to happen, I know that my faith and trust in God, my trust that His plans are ultimately good, that He has a good purpose for my life - is not dependent on whether I have a baby or not. I will fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God, and follow Him all the days of my life. Even in the ache, HE is my sufficiency.
And so the rivers of sorrow do not overflow.
Sanctification of distress does not mean that those times aren't terribly painful. It does not mean that I will ever want to repeat them. but rather, what I see is that those times have a purpose. It will be used for good, and for the kingdom of God - to draw me closer to Him, to draw others closer to Him. Some of that purpose I will get to see in this life, and the revelation of some of the purpose lies on the other side of eternity. I set my eyes on the unseen, and place my trust in God - knowing that the when and how are in His hands, but I rest assured, He can and He will "Sanctify to thee thy deepest distress."
the rivers of sorrow will not overflow.
For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless
and sanctify to thee thy deepest distress."\
So goes my favorite stanza from the old hymn "How Firm A Foundation." The piece which has always stood out to me is the idea that God will not only be with me during times of sorrow, but to sanctify to me my deepest distress.
Sanctify - to set apart or declare holy. God can take my trials and deep sorrow and sanctify them to me - so I see as I look back the good those troubles brought (yes, I said the good) and even declare, "Thank you, Lord, for my sorrows." But how? In the middle of those deep waters, when I feel that water try to carry me away under a rip current of pain - I wonder, "How will God ever sanctify this to me?
No.
Not this.
It's too much."
I wrestled with this for quite some time, and I think it is no accident that I still wrestled all the way up to Resurrection Sunday morning.
If you think about it, what we call "Good Friday" was truly a terrible day. God the Son falsely accused, beaten, mocked, spat upon, and crucified. The Holy One, the Messiah, put to death, a criminal's death, a death of shame and agony. It was a day of pain, of suffering, of injustice.
But then, the third day - Jesus rose from the dead - sin had been cleansed, death defeated, and hope for all sinners declared when the Son of God rose with power.
Suddenly, we see the pain, suffering, and injustice of Friday in a new light. Because of the resurrection, all that pain and suffering was not in vain -the penalty for sin is paid, and life, new life is accomplished, scripture fulfilled, and man brought back into fellowship with God. Because of the resurrection, we can look back on the day Jesus was crucified and call it "Good Friday."
What deeper distress than God the Son betrayed, beaten and crucified? But because of the Resurrection, it is sanctified - set apart and declared holy. And so, in light of all this, I see that the God can take the deepest distress of all, and have the plan to make from it something beautiful. How much more is He able to take the deepest, darkest times of my life - the worst distress, the hardest days, and sanctify them!
If you read the title of this post, you're probably wondering "Ok, KC, I see the sanctification and the perspective, but what in the world do pink lines have to do with what you're talking about? Well, this post is a synthesis of two journal articles, written separately, but that I've come to see are really about the same thing. (I LOVE how the Holy Spirit works).
Those who know me, know that I journal to express the things on my mind. And right now, the topic on my mind is babies. In the morning when I wake up. When I'm at work. When I'm sitting at home in the evening. Before I fall asleep. I have an intense desire and longing to be pregnant right now. And truthfully, sometimes the longing is so intense and raw that I hold a baby or see a picture of a pregnant woman, and my heart, soul, and womb physically ache.
I have wanted to be a mother for as long as I can remember, and I can't adequately express the longing and want, that desire to see two pink lines on an EPT. Test after test, and every time - one bright pink, lonely line, mocking my heart's desire.
I've hoped and hoped, and even tried to give up on hoping each month - but to no avail. And to add insult to injury, I'm having trouble even ovulating - month after month of erratic temps, etc. And yet, test after test, even when I KNOW I'm not pregnant, I can't help but hope.
My darling husband knows how much I want a baby, and if it was completely up to him, we would be parents. Sometimes I wonder if he truly knows how much I want to be pregnant, that it's on my mind every minute, that sometimes I can't even focus at work because the longing takes over. He is so good to me in each moment of the journey.
I originally ended my journal entry saying,
"I don't know how to end this entry. I usually have some sort of wonderful realization or something. But right now, in this moment, all the answers ring hollow, resounding back to me my longing, all the comforts and assurances of others leave me only to shrug, and say 'I guess. Yeah.'
The reason it all feels so hollow and falls short of comfort is that every inspirational statement, every empathetic reassurance cant compare to what I want most.
2 Pink Lines
The flutter of new life in my womb
My precious child in my arms.
To be a mother - I ache, I long, I wait. Tearfully, patiently, impatiently, with hopeful anticipation."
But friends, the wonderful thing about our great God is that if we seek Him with all our heart, pour our honest sorrows and burdens at His feet, He shows us wonderful things, and envelops us in His vast love. And in that moment, He showed me what He was teaching me about distress and sanctification.
Because, in that moment, I knew two things to be true -
1. I want to be a mother more words can express.
2. Even if that were never to happen, I know that my faith and trust in God, my trust that His plans are ultimately good, that He has a good purpose for my life - is not dependent on whether I have a baby or not. I will fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God, and follow Him all the days of my life. Even in the ache, HE is my sufficiency.
And so the rivers of sorrow do not overflow.
Sanctification of distress does not mean that those times aren't terribly painful. It does not mean that I will ever want to repeat them. but rather, what I see is that those times have a purpose. It will be used for good, and for the kingdom of God - to draw me closer to Him, to draw others closer to Him. Some of that purpose I will get to see in this life, and the revelation of some of the purpose lies on the other side of eternity. I set my eyes on the unseen, and place my trust in God - knowing that the when and how are in His hands, but I rest assured, He can and He will "Sanctify to thee thy deepest distress."
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