Wings || Guest Post

Written by my dear friend Katie, mama of five and faithful follower of the Lord. Katie girl - thanks for letting me share your words. ;)
You can get a glimpse of her beautiful life here; you’ll be encouraged.

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I reach a point during the day - usually before 10am - where I wish I could grow wings and fly away.

Far away from the constant screaming. The fighting between siblings. The noise and clamor.

And when there is a brief moment of peace, there will always be the never-ending questions from inquisitive little toddlers. Multiple demands for juice. And the diaper changes. The many, many diaper changes.

I find myself only saying the words, “What is it?” “Don’t do that.” “Stop it.” “Not right now.” “Please wait.” I forgot what it is like to put complete thoughts and sentences together.

My heart is racing purely because I am on high alert. The adrenaline is rushing through my system at the sound of each shrill scream. Who is hurt? Who hurt who? Who needs discipline? How should I discipline? “Give me wisdom, Lord.”

My head is pounding. Another pregnancy migraine. I wish I could rest. And so I lie down on my unmade bed, hoping the children will realize I need a moment. Maybe the show I put on for them will keep them distracted for 30 minutes. But they find me. Rest is over. “Give me Your solace, Lord.”

I set the four kids up with dominos and Magna Tiles in the play room. They are playing peacefully. I slip away for 2 minutes to take a quick shower before the speech therapist arrives. But not even a minute in, I hear the toddler crying, and big sister close behind her. I get out of the shower, dripping wet, ready and armed to comfort and correct. “Give me gentleness, Lord.”

Crisis over for now. I glance at my phone, purely out of habit. Maybe something will distract me. There is a message on my blog from a woman who just found [my Facebook] page. She is reaching out with questions. I wish I had the answers for her, but I don’t even have the headspace to open up the message. If I turn my back for one second, or set my attention on my phone for longer than one moment, I don’t know what might happen. Chaos. And so I stay focused. In the moment. My eyes fixed on the children and their needs. The message will have to wait for later. “Give me purpose, Lord.”

My mind is working overtime, all the time - but then why am I drawing blanks all day? Why can I not be creative with the kids? I have no energy. It takes every bit of it out of me just to stay calm, present, in the here and now. Lunch on the table, dishes washed, children clean. I play peaceful piano music in the living room, desperate to bring an atmosphere of peace and calm to my home. But the music becomes just another annoyance, another noise to bear, and I end up shutting it off after only one song. “Give me Your peace, Lord.”

As I write, a child is crying. I don’t know why, but can probably guess.

Yes, I wish I could fly away and be at rest.

But here is where I am.

In the noise, in the chaos, in the unsettled.

I am undone.

My world is not right side up right now.

And yet in this place, I worship. I bow down, I lay down every burden, and I lift up my voice. I let go. I cry from the depths of my soul, “God, You are good! I love You! I worship You!” My voice weakens as the tears close up my throat. I drop to my knees, and am overcome by an immense, overwhelming realization that God loves me and is enough for me. In my mess. In my weakness. He is there, and He is ready to uphold me with strength in my soul.

He gives me wings. His wings of courage. Peace. Joy. Strength. My feet do not budge from this earth, but my spirit is lifted high. In this place of worship, I break free from every burden that would wish to weigh me down. Every lie from the enemy that would make me question His love and care for me. Every wrong attitude that would cause me to look at my children and despise my motherhood.

I have to go back to this place every day, this secret place with the Lord. My prayer closet. My resting place. It doesn’t look like what it used to. It is not always a physical place, but a place I go to when my heart is overcharged, and spirit overwhelmed.

Before children, my times with Jesus were carefully carved out every day. Some would call it “morning devotions” or “quiet time.” I sat in my clean bedroom, candle lit, hot tea in hand. Open Bible and pen ready to journal all the things I had on my heart. My mind was fresh and clear. There was no noise or clamor outside my bedroom door. Those days are but a distant memory to me.

But now. Now, the desperation I have for God to speak to me, to comfort me, to uphold me in the middle moments brings me to a different kind of “quiet time.” In this place, He meets me while I wash dishes. While I change the 10th diaper of the day. While I break up another argument. While I want to hide my face in the covers, blocking out the noise. While I simply do the next thing.

Have you met with Him today? Has your trouble made you run into His arms? Is He your hiding place and your shelter from every storm?

In this this place, you will find your wings to fly. Perhaps not away from your trouble, but towards sweet Jesus. Let Him be your song in the night. Your light in the darkness. Your joy in the mourning.

You can bear all things, believe all things, hope all things, and do all things through Christ who gives you strength.

"I said, Oh, that I had wings like a dove! I would fly away and find rest… As for me, I will call upon God; and the Lord shall save me. Evening, and morning, and at noon, will I pray, and cry aloud: and He shall hear my voice. Cast your burden upon the LORD and He will sustain you; He will never let the righteous be shaken."
Psalm 55

Celebrate Thanksgiving!

Freedom from Want, the Thanksgiving print. One of my favorite paintings, created by Norman Rockwell and made alive in my grandparents' home. Rockwell made this as one of four "Freedoms" in conjunction with President Roosevelt's State of the Union address in 1941. Freedom of speech and expression; freedom of worship; freedom from want; freedom from fear.

We crave freedom. We want to be able to say what we have to say and have it listened to. We want freedom to worship as we please. We want freedom to not be in need - freedom to provide for ourselves and our families. We want freedom from fear, when we can trust people around us and not have to live on the defensive.

These freedoms, and our desire to be free - they come from God. He made each of us in His image, those who believe in Him and those who don't. We have rights because He gave them to us. We can read through Proverbs and find that He desires us to be diligent, provide, and live cheerfully. We can see in Genesis that He gives us land to work and cultivate. In Leviticus we see His laws that protect and provide for His people. In the Gospels and Romans especially we see the ultimate freedom, freedom from sin through Jesus Christ.

It is because of our Creator that we can maintain earthly freedom as a good thing and desire to have it. Freedom for me, freedom for you.

This, my friends, is why it's important to fight for freedom. We fight for freedom because it's what God desires. Unjust rule and reign is contrary to what He wants.

"For You are not a God who takes pleasure in wickedness, nor shall evil dwell with You. The boastful shall not stand in Your sight; You hate all workers of iniquity. You shall destroy those who speak falsehood; the Lord abhors the bloodthirsty and deceitful man" (Psalm 5:4-6).

Celebrate Thanksgiving this week, and may it be joyful. 🥂

Hope is not Named Boaz

Some things feel too vulnerable to share.

And while I’d prefer to keep the deepest layers of my heart tucked safely in, sometimes we just need the relief of realizing that someone else walking a similar path has experienced the same emotions and reactions we’re experiencing.

So while it feels a bit risky, it’s worth it if it lifts another sister up, redirects our heart and helps us live where we are and love where we are.

Because I was caught off guard at how soon after Dan’s death I became obsessed with remarrying.

I don’t use that word lightly. It preoccupied my waking moments and became the longing of my broken heart.

When I read grief books by other widows, I’d flip to the last chapter to see if she had remarried. How long had she waited? How had they met? Was she happy?

God, please don’t make me wait ten years, I’d pray.

I had loved Dan deeply. And I had loved being married.

But oh, the conflict.

I’d steal glances at ring fingers and become simultaneously horrified at the possibility of even making eye contact.

I was madly in love with Dan and desperately wanting to remarry.

Even in the rawest ache of grief, my mind churned with when, where, how and who God might bring into my life. For more than 20 years, my heart had been given to one man. And I missed it.

Wait for your Boaz.

It’s the heart cry for the single Christian girl waiting on a godly man.

When you’re suddenly thrust into the club of young widows, the possibility of a Boaz holds out bright hope.

I’m sure it’s the same for my other single sisters.

When friend after friend gets engaged, part of you celebrates wildly while the other part wonders when your Boaz is gonna show up.

When you’ve gone through the nightmare of rejection and betrayal, you dream of a Boaz who will love, honor and cherish you.

Wait for your Boaz.

The story of Ruth spells hope for every single girl, every widow, every woman who’s heart has been crushed.

It feels like God tucked the best love story ever into the Bible just so we’d know it can happen.

And happen better than any Nicholas Sparks novel.

Ruth was a young woman in Moab who married into a Hebrew family. Elimelech, Naomi and their two sons left their hometown of Bethlehem and migrated to next door Moab when famine hit. Their sons married Moabite women – one named Orpah and the other Ruth.

That’s when the bottom dropped out. First patriarch Elimelech died and then – unbelievably – both sons. Naomi was left without husband, without sons, and both Orpah and Ruth became young widows. In ancient times, this was beyond heartbreak. This was desolation.

In deep grief, Naomi was hopeless. She could offer nothing to her daughters-in-law. She’d go empty and bitter back to Bethlehem. Orpah returned to her Moabite family and Ruth alone vowed to go with Naomi.

But not because of Boaz. It was never Boaz that made Ruth move forward in faith. Ruth had never heard the name. She didn’t know Boaz existed. She wasn’t going to Bethlehem for Boaz or even for a Boaz.

Ruth’s longing was not for Boaz, but for God.

“Your people will be my people and your God my God.” Ruth 1:16

Ruth could move forward into her bleak and empty future because she placed her hope in God.

And this is where the violins cue to fortissimo. Ruth found provision as she gleaned in the fields, protection as she gleaned from Boaz’s fields and then full out prosperity as Boaz redeemed his right of kinship and took her as his wife. The book ends as Boaz and Ruth have a child, whose grandson would one day be King David.

All the satisfying sighs as they lived happily ever after.

Because isn’t that what we single girls want? We desperately long to live happily ever after with our own Boaz.

So often we look at the book of Ruth and think, Yes! God can do the impossible. He can bring a wonderful, godly, successful man to my life. Look — it happened to Ruth! And it can happen to me, too.

So we join the singles class at church and scour the e-dating site and begin to view every event as the ONE possibility that will introduce us to our Boaz.

I’m not knocking the singles classes at church or e-dating sites.

But we’ve read into Ruth a message that God doesn’t give.

Because the hero in the book of Ruth is not Boaz.

The hero in the book of Ruth is God.

Ruth sought God, not Boaz, with her whole heart. Ruth trusted God, not Boaz, with her whole heart. Ruth went to Bethlehem for God, not Boaz.

It was God who provided for Ruth.
It was God who protected Ruth.
And it was God who prospered Ruth.

I realized a long time ago that I had to deal with my own longing for Boaz. It was taking up valuable soul space, misdirecting my hope and healing.

God is my hero. God alone can give me hope, ease the raw ache of my broken heart and prosper me to live well where I am, and to love well where I am.

I had to long for God alone.

I’d like to say it was easy to lay it down. But it was an over and over again process of giving my heart, my hurt and every hope to God and trusting him. Over time, my preoccupation to remarry began to fall away. I still have dreams tucked in close, but they don’t redirect my heart.

God is my Boaz. And he’s yours, too.

Originally written by Lisa Appelo of True & Faithful. Used with permission.

Hope

HOPE. We throw it in like a pseudo-synonym for crossing our fingers. But lately the weight of the word has been sinking deep in me. 

I work at a day job where I stare into faces devoid of hope. And it isn’t just my students in their too small jeans and unkempt hair- traces of an old bruise that I can never be sure came from typical kid blunders or a parent’s heavily thrown backhand. 

It isn’t only the dads with altered smiles due to the meth that took their teeth. Or the mothers who roll in wearing overly low tank tops, fuzzy jammie pants, house shoes, and what appears to be a countenance of confidence but really comes across as fear in the way they won’t hold eye contact. And it isn’t even the other teachers who confess their frustrations in a way that makes you know the only hoping they do is hope the school day ends without any major screw ups or another blow of devastating news. Really, it’s all of it. It’s everyone. It’s no one. Hope is hard to find. 

Sometimes I feel like the life I lead is small. I’m Kathleen Kelly - I feel like a lone reed leading a valuable but small life. I’m caught up in paperwork and planning, reading data and high stakes testing. It’s easy for me to forget that’s not why I’m there. CRTs are never someone’s ministry. My ministry is HOPE. I have it. I point to it. I wallow in it, so Jesus can leave traces of it everywhere I go. 

When I took this job as a teacher, I thought I knew what I was getting into. We never know. Why do we always think we know? Sometimes I even catch myself saying, “I finally understand what God is doing!” Even in my mind I’m cracking up at that ridiculousness. 

I thought I would teach kids things like math and reading strategies. How to master an outline like a boss. Maybe even how to navigate a relationship with a peer. Instead, God knew what he was doing. Because HE knows the plans he has for me. HE knows. So instead of teaching writing and reading and science, this month alone (9 days into October) I have done what feels like everything except teach letters and numbers. 

This month I prayed for a woman who was trying to decide whether or not she should abort her baby. She’s well into her second trimester, but the doctors think the baby will be deformed. No arms. “There’s no HOPE.”

I also held an 11 year old boy while he sobbed on the playground because his mom is going to jail. He’s the oldest of many children. He’s without HOPE. 

I spent time at the broken home of a student and watched as mom, dad, and stepmom tried hard to be civil and push their hurts and insecurities down deep. Their HOPE is small. 

I prayed for a co-worker who is at the end of her choices before chemo and radiation are her only HOPE. 

I watched a little girl attempt to navigate the trauma of learning people in her extended family were murdered. She missed school for the funeral. She said she’s fine. She doesn’t need to talk to anyone. And it’s true that her face is straight and she seems unscathed by it all, but when we ask mom about it, she begins to list the trauma this little girl has already walked through. It’s heavy enough to make my eyes get misty and forget for a second where my HOPE comes from. 

As I took it all in, I tried to come up with all the ways I could fix these problems. Some great plan to help everyone not hurt so much. But every plan seemed to only put me in the way—God’s way. I needed to love in small ways and leave room for God to be powerful. If I don’t, then I leave no room for HOPE. there’s no space for God to say, “I got this”.

I don’t know how any of these stories end. I don’t know if that woman chose to terminate her pregnancy - a little girl who I call Hope when I pray for her. A little girl I would scoop up myself and let her use my arms to hug us both until our hearts burst if God would just say the word. 

I don’t know if my co-worker will live. I will never see that little girls family reconciled with a life cut short. I don’t know how to help any of them. Not on my own. 

But I can share my HOPE. I can give it away. I can recognize that I was created for such a time as this. I can be a lone reed standing tall and burning brightly, pointing the way toward HOPE. 

Jeremiah 29:11 says, “’For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’” We can be tempted to look at this verse and get caught up on the part that says God has plans. But maybe the more important part is that God knows the plans. He knew our hardship was coming, and even better, he knows exactly where it’s going. And the whole time we can confidently trust in the God of Hope.

Written by Shontell Brewer, blogger and author at www.shontellbrewer.com. Used with permission.