In the Midst of the War

I am two very different people.  And they are at war with each other every day.

One of them operates without the Spirit (flesh), while one is walking in the Spirit (Spirit-led). They bring me to drastically different responses to a variety of situations. The spirit ushers me to Jesus where I get more of Him. The flesh creates responses that cause separation from Him. The flesh seems a much easier and more readily available response.

For example,

I tell my daughter that it's time to walk the dog.  She responds with a look of death topped of with rolled eyes.  The flesh wants me to say with a prideful tone, "How dare you look at me like that.  I am your mother and I have loved you through every difficult day. I give my life to you.  I love you when your breath smells, and you smell, and when you look weird, act weird, and make my life so hard."

Yet, if I respond in the spirit, it creates a different atmosphere.

"Babe I know you don't want to walk the dog but thank you so much for helping out. It means so much to me," I say,  "Come give me a hug my lovely daughter."

(Of course, I struggle to speak those words without sarcasm.)

The spirit-led response is difficult. But, when I choose it, something happens to both her and I.  I feel warmth from my Father and she does too.  His love absorbs all pride and anger. We both win.

Another example:

My son looks me straight in the eyes and tells me a lie. I know it is a lie and he even has a smirk on his face to intensify things.  My flesh is screaming to let loose and yell like a crazy woman.  Lying for me is a huge betrayal and it really burns me up.  I want to yell "how could you lie to me?"  "I am your mother and I love you!" "Don't you dare lie to me!"

I have that look in my eyes, wide-eyed, leaning forward a bit, over enunciating every word because I have to; I mean it.  That is, of course, the time my child clams up and is afraid to even look at his crazy mother. My flesh is being fed and I want to yell even more now that he can't talk.

OR, I could respond differently and say:

 "Son, I don't think you are telling the truth.  I know how hard it is to tell the truth; it takes courage.  Let's pray and ask God for that courage." Then, I hold him near me while we pray.  I wait and see what God is doing here.  I often underestimate what God can do without me and my words.

As I ponder these things, I think of How my heavenly father deals with me in my sin.  He is not yelling at me from across the room or looking at me with disgust.  He is near me with eyes full of grace.  There are often consequences for our sin, just like for our children. It's a part of loving.   But even in the consequence, He is near.  He is warm and understanding.  He is holding me and encouraging me to live holy and blameless in the midst of the war.  I love this thought and as I so often choose the flesh as I parent, once again it reveals the holes in how I view my Father.  If I am to imitate Him, my reaction cannot be in the flesh.  When I teach and discipline my kids, it will not be from afar.  It will be close and it will be good. It will be filled with grace.

If I want to be near my Father where it is safe and warm, I must choose the more difficult path.  The road of love and grace, delivering consistent consequence, is the hardest road in the heat of every moment.

This road is narrow but, it is filled with light and warmth. It is where joy can be found in the midst of the struggle.

A New Place

We are getting close to four years since we first brought our 3 children home from Ethiopia.  The memories of where we've been are still clear, but these years have been so hard and so crazy that it seems like a compilation of hard places.

It seems almost weekly I hear of a disrupted adoption or of families in great despair as they try to hang on and love there children through deep heart wounds.  I ache for them. As our family continues on this journey, I am able to feel their pain. It seems to consume every moment of every day. My own wounds have been triggered. There is no hiding from the way I feel or how I react in my most painful places. My heart is exposed. More than that, it has exposed a false view my heavenly Father.

BUT GOD is not leaving me there.

I am asking and He is listening.  I am asking for a more intimate place and He is answering.  I am asking for freedom and He is giving.  I am breaking the friendships I have made with fear, disappointment, and frustration.  I am building new friendships with joy, love, and peace. And patience, of course.  As the years go by, I ask myself, 'Why so much pain?'  Is it because we said 'yes' to three children who are deeply wounded, or is it because I am expecting God to lead me from afar while he is asking me to walk closer to Him?

I am starting to see that the issues are more embedded in the way I view and relate to Christ, and less about how my children relate to me.  He's taking me to these places for a reason.

My days are often overwhelmed with hard moments: uncontrolled emotions, inability to express true feelings, meal-time fear, hurtful words, and awkward hugs that don't quite feel at home yet. In the midst of it, I see Christ summoning me from the end of the church aisle, like walking toward Jake on our wedding day.  I am crying just like I did at my wedding, yet these tears are different.  I am crying with fear; fear to get too near to Him.

Why am I afraid of my loving Father?  On this journey, I often feel like he's a coach, asking me to do hard things from afar. Yet He's not far at all.  He wants to lead me through this from a very intimate place; our secret place.  So I take a few steps towards Him, all the while trying to carry burdens in my own strength. He continues to call me down the aisle. I stop, I stumble, holding onto the pews for support, not sure I can do it.

I know the closer I get the more broken I will be. I will let out deep cries of pain in the safety of his embrace.  I will lose it.

But, what if I don't want to lose it?

I have so many things to take care of, so many conversations to have, and so many hugs to give. He keeps calling me. I want to run but I drag my feet. I take little steps, just like my Addie when I make her practice running to me for a hug.  I am not much different then my beautiful twelve year old that spent the first eight years of her life in constant pain.

Still, he calls me down the aisle.

Sometimes, I run out and leave the church alltogether, trying to find a place where I won't feel so vulnerable. I always end up crawling back up the steps.  I just can't stay away from Him.  The closer I get, the warmer I feel.  Each pew I pass reveals new things in my heart and I have to lay it down.

I have to lay it down.

I am tired of asking God to lead me from afar. I want to be close to him. As my friend Sara Hagerty says, I want to be 'close enough to smell him.'

So, I am going to keep going. I am going to keep asking. I am going to get there. I am on my way.

This is a new place for me.