All things family-related. My husband and me, the children we made, the grandbebes that thrill us now. Our whole great big, loud, messy family. Love! *sigh…
Try this: tell your spouse, "To prove my total devotion to you, I am committing to getting up 15 minutes early everyday and just focusing on you." It may happen. It may not. Life can get hectic. See how devoted your spouse now believes you are?
"Having devotions" for most Christians, it seems, has become synonymous with "setting aside a few minutes" to pray and read the Bible. I hesitate to say, "If we committed to our marriages in the same way they wouldn't be in very good shape," because sadly, many aren't and for that very reason.
I love newlyweds. They are embarrassingly devoted. They are ooey and gooey and so "in to" each other. They actually enjoy one another. Because of all the conversation going on, they have a lot of secrets that pass lovingly between them. They sit at Village Inn talking, really talking, glad to be together and saddened by the married couples all around them who read their books and newspapers without even looking at one another and speak only to ask for the salt.
My son Rocky got married in September. Watching Jovan preparing to marry him reminded me of earlier times in my love for Jesus Christ – when I looked for Him everywhere. I wanted to hear His words, be in His Presence. His opinion mattered most. To actually be like Him was a goal to attain. A bride's whole world is in bringing joy to the one she loves. "I am my beloved's and He is mine…"
Early one morning a couple of weeks ago, I read something very simple and gentle that stopped me in my tracks. It was one of those light bulb moments. But the day wore on. It slipped from my mind (short circuit). Surfing late-night TV, I suddenly heard the author of what I'd read quoting his own book – the exact words. I am pretty sure God was trying to make sure I really heard this:
"It occurred to me one day that though I often worry
about whether or not I sense the presence of God,
I give little thought to whether God senses the presence
of me."
Philip Yancy in Prayer –Does it Make Any Difference?
What sweet invitation. I was somehow thinking that the pursuit of His Presence was elusive at times. Why, I wondered, am I so aware of Your Presence sometimes and at other times I am wondering where You are? Maybe because while I was desiring to be in that place of peace and joy, I wasn't really "there." Maybe it has been me missing from those uncomfortable void times?
Yesterday I noticed that everytime I interrupted Dave for absolutely nothing important, just something I wanted to say, he stopped what he was doing and looked at me and engaged. There have been times when he hasn't, when he has kept his eyes on his computer and said "Uh-huh…" and though we were in the same room, he wasn't really with me. That's how it can be. I am just as guilty. But Dave immediately hearing me, looking toward me – that careful attention melts my heart towards him.
I am certain that my presence toward God will do the same.
Be blessed in all your comings and goings today. I think God is looking for you. Jeanie
NOTE TO SELF:"The secret of the Lord is with those who fear Him…" Ps. 25.14 Move in close and listen for His secrets.
I cannot believe I was once trepidatious about becoming a “Grandma,” better known around these parts as *nonna.* It is true what they say: Grandchildren are your reward for not killing your own children. I won! I hit the jackpot!
As I write this – you’re innocently asleep in your bed and have no idea of the 3-D dinosaur cake I am preparing for your party and how its’ head just fell off. You won’t even wonder why my hands are dyed green when I arrive. You, being you, will just be excited about the cake and tell me it is wonderful because you are my little encourager. You’re my red-headed fella and one of the most energetic human beings I have ever known. You’re the double-sworded Leonardo who has explained more to me about “Turtle Power” than I ever wanted to know. You are my delight!
Thanks for enduring the kiss and remember: YOU CRACK ME UP!!!
I am blessed…”Nonna”
NOTE TO SELF: Try to remember – was there life before Gavin?
Twelve days “late,” she finally arrived in the wee hours this morning: Gemma May. Steph & Tris are the happy parents; Gavin and Guini, the delighted sibs. She’s 8 lbs. 6 oz. with down-soft red hair, and truly beautiful!
“Behold, thus shall the man be blessed who fears the Lord. The Lord bless you out of Zion…all the days of your life. Yes, may you see your children’s children… Psalm 128.4-6 NKJV
I hope everyone who reads this will have lots of granchildren for they are wondrous….Jeanie
NOTE TO SELF: Pray for this new new little girl for all the best God has to give!
Happy Birthday, Stephanie, my second-born, my preemie, my miracle-girl, my rainbow woman. You are the child I prayed for, and God gave me what I asked!
It is your 25th birthday. How fast the years have flown. Much like my pregnancy with you, when you arrived a full 5+ weeks early, on a beautiful lilac-scented day in Kokomo, IN, even beating Prince William, after whom you were “scheduled” to be born.
In retrospect, at the hospital, they should have stopped the labor and tried to determine what was causing the bleeding (was it “The Twister” – that amusement park ride that pinned my head to the back of the seat?).
Five or more weeks early is too early.
Instead, my doctor said I probably just mis-calculated the date and he estimated that you weighed well over 7 pounds and he didn’t even put me on a monitor before breaking my water to get labor underway. I had always liked his old-fashioned, grandfatherly ways, but being the older and wiser woman I am now, I should have slapped him a good one.
A little after 2 on a Friday afternoon, here you came, full of trust in the parents God had given you, and we, probably not worthy of it. I really couldn’t tell what was happening.
At first, they all oohed and awed, the medical staff. You were tiny. They did the first apgar and gave you an 8 out of 10. They let dad hold you while I looked on. The second apgar had dropped to 4 and they started looking frantic and they didn’t even let me hold you, you were whisked from the room. Not only did I not know what was going on, they placated me with assurances and didn’t tell me anything. They were the authorities – just “taking precautions.”
Later they told me a team was coming from Indianapolis to “help.”
By the time I saw you again at 7:30 pm, you were wired up on the sides of your head and on breathing machines and I could only touch your hand through a small opening in the incubator. A crisis life team, who had been at work saving your life when I couldn’t even comprehend how much saving you needed, was transporting you to James Whitcomb Riley Hospital in Indianapolis and I could only say good-bye.
The lady in the bed next to me and all her firends were smoking. As I watched you struggle to breathe, “pre-mature infant lung disease,” they called it (your chest caved in where developed lungs would be normally), I asked a nurse to remove the smokers. They assurred me you were safe from it. That didn’t matter. It was all I knew to do to protect you. I wanted you to breathe safely…
In what felt like the middle of the night, but was probably only 10:30 or 11:00, your doctor called from Children’s to say that they had you stabilized. In monotone, he told me it was unlikely you would leave there in anything less than 3 months and that he was giving you a “30% chance of survival.” It was a shock to my system. It was unthinkable. It was not even on my radar that you might die. He asked if I had questions and I couldn’t even think of any – grogginess? stupity? Probably both..
In those moments, I became instantly alert and I cried out to God on your behalf. I did not feel like some giant woman of faith. I knew my prayers were feeble compared to many, but I was a mommy on a mission to knock on heaven’s door for the life of my newborn, struggling-to-breathe, yet unnamed baby girl who was too many miles from me. And I will tell you that soon, very soon, the Presence of the Lord washed over me, bringing such peace, that never once did I doubt the Lord would show up for you when I could not. That night, I was not alone and I met God in a new way. I met Him as a healer. Like Hannah in the Bible, who prayed for a child, He heard my prayer. I knew He was with you, too…
When I was finally released, in terrible pain from the worst stitches ever and the discomfort of having no child to nurse (at the time, I didn’t comprehend the emotion of that – everything inside is screaming out: where ismy baby?) I prepared to go to Indianapolis to see you. A song was playing,
“He means more to me today because of yesterday
I was in the valley and I had to pray
Then He showed me His favor in a special way
He means more to me today because of yesterday…”
I cried when I heard those words, because they were true. I was getting to know the Healer in a way I had never needed to know Him before.
Ten days later, Children’s Hospital released you to come back to Kokomo because you were progressing so well every day. They were in awe. We were rare, they told us. At 12 days old, Howard Community Hospital released you to come home. They said your lungs were actually recovering and developing every day. Though you were only 4 and half pounds when we brought you home, you were gaining weight each day just like you should be – not much, but a little. It was miraculous in every way!
God healed you, Stephanie! The Creator finished the work and you came home with the loudest cry we had ever heard. And you cried a lot and I thought we were doing something wrong, but you were just working those little lungs, strengthening them up!
When I sat down to fill out the birth announcements I had chosen in the weeks before you were born, the scripture on them seemed suddenly prophetic. I had read it before, surely, but now I read it with full understanding:
“For this child I prayed and the LORD has granted that which I asked of Him.” 1 Samuel 1.27
You were a gift for Tara, you’re “Rainbow Bear,” a child of promise. You could talk in lovely conversations by 18 months, but weren’t an early walker, as you preferred to be carried like a princess. You came with the softest heart for people around you (the odd little girl from a harsh home would call you to read to her, which you would faithfully do for long periods, keeping her company – and you couldn’t even read yet!), and the most developed sense of humor – always making your sisters laugh. I remember you falling asleep in the middle of singing the alphabet song and awaking a few hours later to pick up right where you left off. At our conference with your 2nd grade teacher, she said you were the child who, when some one dropped a pencil across the room, would run to pick it up for them. She said, “That is who Stephanie is.”
She was right. You are the one in the family who makes sure everyone gets honored regularly and that they receive the most thoughtful gifts and that no one forgets special things coming up. You watch over us all with great care.
You gave us a wonderful son when you chose, so well, Tristan, as your husband. You gave us our first grandchild, Gavin, and our first granddaughter, Guinivere and they thrill our hearts and are mothered so well by you. Any moment now – you will bring us a new granddaughter (our 4th grandchild). I hope she comes today – right on your birthday – as a special gift of celebration of who you are, Stephie. But whatever – Happy Birthday, my sweet one. Thank-you for all the happy days you have brought (and I will ever cherish the extra 5 weeks we have had together!).
Great love, mom
NOTE TO SELF: I am blessed! I don’t deserve it, but I am blessed…
(pictures: Stephanie at 4 months and about 10 pounds, Stephie and me at her 3rd grade play, Stephanie (8 months pregnant and glowing!) and her family on Easter at Northern Hills, where, by the way, she and Tris helped lead some incredible worship!
Happy, joyous day to you, Norma Jean Moslander, my sweet mom!
Oh, my mamala! This is me…rising up…calling you blessed, calling on the world to festoon you with garlands of celebration, for you have exceled them all. You did it – you raised us: Jeanie, Joey, Timmy, Tami and Danny – and we all probably think that you like us best, for that is your gift (but of course, in my case – we know it’s true, but fear not, mamala – shan’t tell the others!).
A Happy Mother’s Day to my good friends and the MOPS mommies I love so dearly.
Remember this: where God has called you – He has equipped you. YOU are the woman for the job. All the seeds planted, all the tears that fall and water those little seeds – you will see the fruit. they will rise up and call you blessed!
And Happy Mother’s Day to me
For I am blessed beyond measure. God, You gave me gifts for which I can never repay You: Tara, Stephanie, Tredessa, Rocky & Stormie – mine all mine. And then You added on and I got Dave and Tristan and my newest daughter, Jovan. And then Steph & Tris gave me my first grandson and first granddaughter: Gavin and Guinivere. And then Dave & Tara blessed me with Hunter Magoo (who greeted me in church today with a big Bible under his arm – exactly the way I was carrying mine), and…and…and…thegift goes on…
Thank-You ,Lord. I am grateful that You trusted me with these people, I am truly grateful.
Blessings on you today, all the moms I know and the people who love a mom or have one… Jeanie
NOTE TO SELF: Enjoy the ones who are already here today – and keep a lid on the excitement for the new granddaughter due any moment now…
May 9, 1979 was such a special day, I could not have comprehended it at the time. There was no way for me to know at exactly 7:16 p.m. when you made your first appearance, how my life was about to change, how God was going to make Himself so real, His love so apparent, my life so blessed by your coming. I didn’t realize at the time that you were going to be a river of “liquid joy” that would wash over my heart and gift me and cause me to flourish in a way I’d never had the opportunity to before.
Liquid joy. That was a name Lisa Bierer gave you when you were about 12 or 13. It summed you up beautifully. From the time you arrived, I’d never seen such unabashed happiness and innate joy in a human being.
I was serious and sarcastic. I was un-trusting and wounded. You slid down the very rays of the sun into my house and life and arms and coaxed the hope in my heart to grow and believe life could be different. You refused to leave me in my hidden guilt-driven, shame-based stupor, but even as a toddler, pulled me into the merry-go-round that is life. You lived your whole life (almost) as a joyfully obedient girl, a big Jesus-lover, full of compassion and mercy for everyone around you.
Us. Est. 1979
You grew and you blessed us all. First, there was just me and you. Then dad came along and we were a family. Because I was so young and naive and really stupid about being a mom, you, naturally as the first born, had to help teach me what it was all about. For all the siblings who followed, you stood in the gap and represented them, watched over them and defended them.
The giggles and laughter and make-believe and street ball-games and bike races and tether-ball matches that never ended and babysitting businesses and new neighbors as friends and pretend weddings and dress-up and bread sticks from mixes and first boyfriends and ska and singing competitions and basketball and volleyball teams and Five Iron Frenzy and funny fashions and crazy hair and piercings and innocence and sweetness and exuberance and passion – these are all things Stephanie and Tredessa and Rocky and Stormie have to thank you for. I adore you for them all.
When you were 14, I was going through some heartbreak. You were praying for me and came to me with a song to listen to and you carefully gave me a word of encouragement, a word of rebuke, too, really, but with utmost caution. I listened and as I stood doing the dishes, listening to the song and thinking about what you’d just told me, I was strongly aware that God Himself had sent you and I trembled inside from both the discipline of it and the awe that my little Tara was so sensitive to the things of God.
Hope seemed lost for a time. There were those days when the enemy of your soul set out to rip you away from God’s plan for your life. It was a time of grave danger to your heart, your mind, your soul, your spirit, and even your physical being. You’d been away from home for quite awhile, but had returned for a couple of months and when you were leaving again, the enemy tried to tell me I was losing you (to this poor choice/direction you were taking) for good. That morning before you left the house (and you saw the hot, stinging tears shoot from my eyes as I plead with you not to go), I wrote this in a notebook:
8.4.02 It’s the morning of the day Tara is moving out, disentangling herself of the strong emotional ties we have – trying to make her own way, trying to shine to us, not realizing that I have already seen her light so bright – spots dance before my eyes.
Already the house seems empty. Already a void grows.
I have to trust God that my sorrows over what could’ve been –
the seeming loss of all hope will give way to what He knows can be greater-
and that in all things
He is at work, making a way and that
Hislovewillnotlethergo.
And it didn’t. His love didn’t let you go and when things seemed the most hopeless – God was about to turn it all around. Those days were hard, my love, but I am so thankful that I learned to pray during that time. I learned to battle for what was God’s and I grew in faith. I will ever cherish what was accomplished for God’s glory and for you!
You are an incredible mother to Hunter. I love how you love your husband, Dave. I am inspired by and admire your work for the kingdom of God. I am so pleased with you, honey. Your mommy is so pleased with you! God gave you to me (what a gift). I gave you back to Him. And look at what He is doing!
Happy Birthday, Tara…Love, mom
NOTE TO SELF: I was so honored to have Tara with me last night at the Chapel Hill MOPS group! Give her an extra hug for that!
(photos: Tara and I when she was 2 and Tara with her husband, Dave, and son Hunter – who is 2!)
A couple of days after splashing in the pool with our first 4 kids during an unusually hot and sunny beginning to spring in Sioux City, Iowa, a freak ice storm hit the area and there were many travel warnings. “Don’t go out in this unless you have to,” they said.
We had to.
It was high-time for baby number 5, Stormie Dae Rhoades, to arrive and luckily, we lived just a block from the hospital, perhaps 3 if you count having to go around and enter at the emergency room exit (an area where just weeks later, Rocky, age 1 & 1/2 would “drive” our car into the side of the hospital wall when we had to make a quick trip back…that is another story entirely…).
Back then, you didn’t know the sex of the baby ahead of time. It was all speculation, but a very strong heartbeat and her mammoth size pointed toward a strong, healthy girl. She had been due on April 2. Thirteen very long days later: volia! And weighing in at 9 pounds, 10 ounces, we were certain we had not mixed up the dates.
Stormie was planned as a “gift” for her brother, Rocky (in a sort of “oh, we’re pregnant again” **surprise** way). We’d had a girl…then another…then another…and one more try for that boy…we may have stopped having kids then if Rocky, the fourth child, hadn’t turned out to be a B O Y! We felt we must try for a brother for him, or at least make him an older brother to a sister so he could learn to hold his own. I would say to this very day, even as she is turning 21, she remains a great gift to Rocky (the only sister who took no crap off of him) and a great gift to us all.
How she got her name. Naturally, you have already figured out that since she was born in a freak ice and snow storm, the name “Stormie” fits, but what you don’t know is that I had almost used the name “Stormie” with every single previous daughter.
When I was pregnant with Tara, I ran across some lyrics written by Stormie Omartian called, “Seasons of the Soul.” I was so moved by them, Tara nearly had a different name.
By the time Steph came along a few years later, I had read a magazine article or two about Stormie Omartian and heard more of her music and Stephie was in line to get the name, but she ended up being premature and the name “Stormie” just seemed too overwhelming for our tiny, struggling-to-breathe baby girl. When our third daughter came along “Stormie” was on the table again, but we decided to go with “Tredessa” (the name of a sweet little girl I babysat as a teen) because she looked so exotic. “Stormie” didn’t seem right for Rocky, either, so it was still available when our last little one was born and there was no question by that time.
So, really – she was named for Stormie Omartian – an incredibly godly woman whose personal testimony and way of communicating through song has touched my life deeply over the years (not to mention her notoriety as one of the leading prayer authors/experts alive today). My Stormie reads Stormie Omartian’s books and knows she is named for a woman who trusted God to turn her hurts into healing for others, an admirable life, worthy of emulation.
The servant. Stormie is a servant-hearted girl and big giver. The whole family can rely on her and she keeps “adopting” needy children around the world to support. I have seen her quietly give big gifts to families in crisis and watched her cry big tears for the broken. Her heart is bigger than she is, held ever-so-gently by the compassionate hands of Christ, I have no doubt.
Stormie, I am so pleased with you. You have been our little Stinky, mommy’s cuddler. I have seen you play in a tutu (with your long, skinny toothpick legs) doing a roller-skating routine and watched you careen by with scraped knees chasing Rocky on rollerblades. I got to watch the woman in you emerge when, as you wore your first bra and wore a dress and tights and black, patent-leather shoes in honor of the milestone, you told us, “It feels so nice to be a lady.”
When you saw a need on a worship team and were asked to learn, you spent countless hours alone learning to play the bass to bring glory to God, to be a blessing. And just this past Sunday, on Easter, I watched you in the shadows once again, playing for His Name, His acclaim with your siblings and I loved you even more…again. I am waiting for you to go public with that beautiful voice, when the time is right and the song rises so strong within you that it cannot be silenced. I am so pleased with you, Stormie – who God has created you to be, and how you are dying to self to become that woman.
Happy birthday, Stormkins.Your mommy loves you. “As long as you’re living, my baby you’ll be…” Mom
NOTE TO SELF: Kiss my little Stormkins all over her face. Give her many, many hugs. Celebrate her life and thank God for the joy she has brought to me.
(pictured: Top- Stormie, 9 months & me in Jan. 1987; Above – That’s me and the baby on Easter Sunday 2007)
I already knew that for Easter, I wanted to talk a little about the cross because of this beautiful photograph my great friend, Amy Jo Becker, recently took. One foggy morning in late March on her way to work, she spied this display near 120th & Sheridan in Westminister, CO (Victory Church) and thought to capture it for us all to ponder.
Even now, 2000 years after Jesus’ death on the cross, this representation evokes such such gratefulness and awe in my heart.
Childlike faith…
Imagine my delight when, this past Thursday, Gavin, my 3-year-old grandson, ran into the kitchen, suddenly dropped to his knees on the tile floor and began to exclaim, “Look, Nonna, it’s God…it’s Jesus!”
I thought for a split second we were going to have to open our house for tours because it seemed he had discovered an Easter miracle on my floor. I just hoped it wasn’t the form of Jesus in a sticky dirt spot or something for all the world to see. But then I watched him as he took his finger and traced between the ceramic tiles, first up and down, then side to side: he drew a cross.
How excited, I can tell you, a nonna becomes when she realizes her toddler grandson has become aware of the cross of Jesus Christ, something one writer called “the dividing symbol of all history.”
Then Gavin and I went around the house and looked for the cross anywhere we could find it: between the panels on doors, on my old school-house window coffee table. He excitedly “discovered” my cross collection and became especially excited by my very small replica of the “Christ the Redeemer” statue which stands high on the Corcovado Mountain in Rio de Janeiro. “It’s God! It’s Jesus! It’s the cross!” Gavin would squeal with every new discovery, exhibiting more understanding than many full-grown Christians, I thought.
A little later, Gavin came out of the bathroom having found on a shelf the beautiful tiled cross my friend Marilyn had given me and reverently showed me his “find.” He carried that cross around with him for the rest of his visit while he played.
Max says it so well…The Cross by Max Lucado
It rests on the timeline of history like a compelling diamond.
It’s tragedy summons all sufferers. Its absurdity attracts all cynics.
It’s hope lures all searchers. History has idolized and despised it,
gold-plated and burned it, worn it and trashed it. History has done
everything but ignore it. How could you? How could you ignore such
a piece of lumber? Suspended on its beams is the greatest claim
in history. A crucified carpenter claiming to be GOD on earth.
Divine. Eternal. The Death-Slayer. Never has timber been regarded
so sacred. No wonder the Apostle Paul called The Cross event the
core of The Gospel (1 Cor. 15.3-5). Its bottom line is
sobering: if the account is true, it’s history’s hinge. Period.
If not, The Cross is history’s hoax.
As you ponder Christ on the Cross, what are your thoughts?…
The cross stands against the skyline of all time as the greatest symbol of the central fact of Christianity – the death of Jesus Christ in our place. Yes, He died. Yes, He was buried. But that is only a part of the good news. He didn’t stay on that cross, He rose from death, and oh – what was won in that victory for me – for me!
It’s God! It’s Jesus! It’s the cross! Yaaaay!!!
Joyous blessings to you today as we celebrate a risen Savior, Jeanie
NOTE TO SELF: See the cross. Ponder it. Understand it. Thank God for it. Sing some Matt Redman: You led me to the cross and I saw the face of mercy in that place of love…Now that I’m living in Your all-forgiving love, my every road leads to the cross..
What a summer I had last year. I had lost or damaged so many things: relationships, direction, sense of who God actually created me to be, confidence, income, health, peace of mind. My ministry was gone and my marriage was wounded. The only thing firmly in place was my pride, but God was chipping away at it. Who will I be, I wondered, if You take that away from me?
God is getting through to me
8.10.06 I finally confessed the truth to myself and God:
I need sleep. I am so tired. I cannot find peace or comfort of any kind until I get sleep. There is nothing anyone can offer me that will help me in any way until I get rest. And, God is not going to give me my next directions until, through rest, I am in a better frame of mind.
8.11.06 and the 1-2-3 punch. I sat at the kitchen table with my Bible. The only scriptures I could recall about rest were the commands to keep the Sabbath, a commandment I not only broke regularly, but had some pride in doing because I didn’t want to be seen as lazy, but rather a hard worker who earned her keep. The only scriptures about sleep in my rememberance were the ones like, “…the stouthearted were plundered, having sunk into their sleep,” and when David said he would “not give sleep or slumber” to his eyes.
Even Proverbs taunted me with, “A little sleep, a little slumber…so poverty shall come on you,” right after calling me a “sluggard,” and telling me to “consider the ways of the ant,” hard workers, all of them.
So after the revelation I received the night before, I prayed,God, please show me if this is Your word to merightnow. Could it be true that all You are asking of me atthistime is to sleep, get rest, become renewed? Is Your yoke really that easy? Is Your burden really so light? Could You teach even me to cast aside my need to beand to do and couldYou actually give me rest? (Matthew 11.28-30, please read, dare to believe).
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”
1.
God gives His beloved sleep. That thought popped into my mind right after I prayed. I had heard it somewhere (probably a few thousand times…I am a slow hearer). God gives His beloved sleep. Simple, plain. To the point. With some trepidation I searched my concordance. There it was: Psalm 127, a Song of Solomon (the wisest of men).
Unless the LORD builds the house,
They labor in vain who build it;
Unless the LORD guards the city,
The watchman stays awake in vain.
It is vain for you to rise up early,
To sit up late,
To eat the bread of sorrows;
For so He gives His beloved sleep.
Behold, children are a heritage from the LORD,
the fruit of the womb is a reward.
Like arrows in the hand of a warrior,
So are the children of one’s youth.
Happy is the man who has his quiver full of them;
They shall not be ashamed,
But shall speak with their enemies in the gate.
I read it. I read it aloud. I wrote it out, word for word. I thought about it. I looked at each phrase independantly and interdependantly. I meditated on it. I thought it through from every possible angle. It was this amazing thing I could barely believe was there for me! I spent an hour and a half at my kitchen table with my Bible just trying to grasp this wonderful news: God gives sleep. He was ok with me getting sleep. I didn’t have to do it all. I didn’t have to make sure every single thing got done before I enjoyed the restoration, the recovery that sleep brings.
It began to dawn on me that “unless the LORD builds ” it…it is futile. “Unless the LORD guards” everything, the watchman (me, usually) is in big trouble. The revelation was taking hold that I was living in the vanity of rising early and staying up late and worrying my head off over everything (the bread of sorrows/anxiety). God had actually given me permission to sleep.
God gave me, one of His “beloveds”, sleep. I wasn’t quite sure what it meant or how I would do it and I knew I was really too busy to do it, but I also knew this was a moment in time I could receive and be changed or ignore and spend the rest of my life regretting. An hour and a half of scripture meditation…I got up to start the dishwasher with wonder in my heart…
2.
The phone rang just as I got up from the table. My firstborn (see photo above), Tara, was calling. I thought maybe I would tell her what God had been showing me through His Word, but I wasn’t quite ready to come forward with the full story. It was the sin of my pride being exposed, after all.
She wasn’t waiting to hear from me anyway. She came directly to her point. She said, “Mom, I have been reading the Word and I feel that God told me to call you and tell you this-” and you are probably not surprised to hear that Tara read Psalm 127 to me…every word of it, stressing, “God gives His beloved sleep.”
That was one of those moments, even now as I write it, I am in awe that the God of the universe had time to make sure I was hearing His plan, His will, His heart towards me. It is so humbling.
The P.S. to this is, our friends are not fooled nor impressed by our drivenness. Our families do not think we are living our best life just because we are running circles around them doing-doing-doing. They’d love to have us stop, relax and be. My mom still starts every phone call from several states away with “I know you’re busy and I don’t want to keep you, but…” because she knew I was perpetually in a hurried and harried state of the most earth-shattering projects at all times for years.
The problem is, when we are not rested, we don’t allow anyone around us to rest, either, at least not without making them feel inferior. When we’re rest-less, we cause restlessness in the ones we love most. We even make them do things from our endless to-do lists.
Are you blushing with shame? Remember, I’m not judging. It takes one to know one. My poor husband, Dave, hadn’t had a day off in over 20 years, thanks to my lists and projects. Our full-speed-ahead “fruitfulness” wears out the ones we most love.
3.
Later that evening, I pulled out an article about resting in the providence of God that a friend had given to me to read a couple of months earlier. I had read it at least twice. I thought I would check it out again since it was about the Sabbath and I had a newly-increased motivation in learning to keep it, and obey it.
You are sharp enough to have guessed what I found – I hadn’t even noticed the paragraph about Psalm 127 before or the beautiful statement made by the article’s author:
“God knows that His creatures need restoration by rest, and so He not only commands but even invites us to get it.”
God wasn’t being redundant with me. He was making sure I got the invitation! He knows how slow I am to hear and learn sometimes. I mean, this whole thing is in His Word, so actually, since I learned to read, it has been there for me to read and receive. How many times had I run the other way? My husband Dave and God only know.
Two days later, God would issue another reminder as I wrestled with whether or not I would press in to accept this newfound freedom. I’ll tell you about that tomorrow (Sleep, day six). But until then, I want to tell you that I know from experience that the loss of sleep from over-work and anxiety and pressure is overcome by calling on the Lord who calls you His “beloved one.”
If you need to work hard and press in to do something difficult to feel alive, then press in, “make every effort,” to receive the promised rest, as Hebrews 4.1-11 invites us!
Think about what you are willing to give up to receive what God is willing to give you…Jeanie
NOTE TO SELF:“I cried unto the Lord with my voice, And He heard me from His holy hill. I lay down and slept; Iawoke, for the Lord sustains me.” Ps. 3.4-5 Even during the most hectic and disconcerting times in my life, I can sleep in peace knowing God will sustain me and has the whole world in His hands…
Thanks to the young girl who gave birth to you and to the family who stepped in to raise you and make sure you were in the right place at the right time so we could meet and create this life. It may have been a day of mixed emotions for some, the day you were born; there might have been pain, feelings of loss, who knows? But overall, I know heaven was rejoicing just like I am today!
So today, we celebrate you, all of us: me (the wife who loves you so), our 5 grown children, the extra 3 wonderfuls that have come by marriage, these three (almost 4) incredible grandkids. We have no reservation in raucously celebrating your life!
