Formation

 

I have to tell God I am sorry. 

For doubting Him.

For my impatience in the waiting, and for becoming distracted by hypothetical narratives and possible exit strategies. 

I ask for wisdom, but what I really want is to know the future. Now. I give Him credit for calling me to a thing while the thing is pleasant. But should unpleasantness arise, I want out. I want to quit. I want to run.

I second-guess the hearing . . . and the answering . . . His and mine. Though I would never verbalize it, His goodness can feel unstable . . .  at the root of things, belief becomes entangled with distrust, and everything shifts in the darkness.

But I stay. Scant faith mixed with residual, reverent fear of His power and presence keeps me in place.

And I wait. 

And I wait some more.

Not like sitting still in a lobby. More like attending to a crowded table with courses and refills and the bussing of plates.

Busily waiting on Him. 

Endurance seems hard and unhappy.

His ways are higher though, and His desire is for me to be holy. He wants me to live free. He wants me to be transformed. 

I see it now . . . the way challenging circumstances prod me toward humility, and how discomfort drives me to pray like never before. I see it and I am [ultimately] grateful.

I'm thankful for the relief and renewal that I believe will continue to manifest, but I am also grateful for the stretching and the sorrow in the suspense. My capacity for compassion miraculously continues to increase. 

God is indeed good and kind and wise. 

And He is able . . . to forgive me every time I have to say I'm sorry.

*The Hope Cycle from Romans 5 . . .

And we boast in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.

Wake-Up Call

 

📷 Katy Roberts 2016

✍️cdj 2020

During one of my most desperate days of covid, my blood pressure and heart rate rocketed and richocheted, and I secretly wondered if I would make it through the night. In the darkness of isolation I lay silently blinking away hot tears. My mind was calm and fearless even though my body felt frantic and frail. My soul was oddly at peace. 

I low-key texted my older kids and intentionally made amends for some recent revelations, asked forgiveness, and told them how much I loved them. I made sure to speak to the younger ones before they went to bed and to affirm the wonder I see in each of them.

There wasn't anything I felt like I needed to say to Philip. Considering my dad died in the middle of a sentence during our second year of marriage, we've always done our best to remain up to date, in right standing, and with nothing fruitful left unsaid. (It's a great idea to keep the unfruitful stuff unsaid as often as possible ha!) So our regular hug and prayer good night was sweetly sufficient.

The next morning I realized I was still breathing. Still and breathing while solitude persisted through another dawn. My body had found the calm of my soul, and my mind awakened to clarity. Tears spilled onto my pillow as conviction and gratitude filled my consciousness. 

The night before I had not given one thought toward my place of work, or my house of worship. I hadn't reached out to any friends or worried over regrets. I certainly had no concerns for household duties or pastime pursuits. I had simply offered love to my family. 

If, when faced with the possibility of death, they  proved to be my pure priority, then as long as I live, shouldn't they remain as much?  

Dear God, thank You for today, for breath, for truth, for healing, for love. It's all from and through and in and to You. Help me order my affections so that loving my people stays a close second to loving You.

Foundational

 

My journal pages from January 2020 herald "hope in Jesus!" 

I boldly proclaimed him as my "rock", my "firm foundation", my "all in all!" 

Except that - evidently I was wrong. By mid-March, I had fallen very much apart, and it was not because Jesus shifted his focus or diminished his influence. 

What crumbled beneath me were my predictable plans, my assumptions about control and convenience, and my intentionally established boundaries. All of that imploded, and so did I.

This is the sin that the pandemic exposed. My lip service to a sustaining faith in Christ alone was put to the test and I was left wanting. In all practicality my hope and faith had been firmly planted upon my own schemes and schedules. 

And that's not the worst of it. Had quarantine not ambushed us all in the way that it did, it is possible that I could have lived foolishly blind to my own entrapment for YEARS. I shudder at the thought.

As time passes, the humiliation of oblivion and failure is slowly being replaced with willful humility. 

Jesus sustains me as I sketch my plans lightly, committing to anticipate and receive the unexpected with gratitude.

God provides for me as I relinquish my desire for control and rebuke my idolatry toward convenience. 

Spirit helps me look for healthy boundaries in order to increase my freedom to show love, not decrease my opportunity to do so. 

And I leave the rest to rest. 

Every quarter hour, I might falter in my mind, and have another opportunity to re-engage my heart to trust the Lord more.

"On Christ the solid rock I [try to not try so hard to] stand. All other ground is sinking sand." 

“Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.” Proverbs‬ ‭13:12‬ ‭ 

"Hallelujah! I have found Him

Whom my soul so long has craved!

Jesus satisfies my longings,

Through His blood I now am saved."

Gentle Lighting

Dear God, help us live this moment present and fully aware that You are with us and for us.

When we feel overwhelmed, we'll look to You for peace. When we feel stuck, we'll look to You for hope.  We trust Your plan and the perfect timing with which You allow it to unfold.

Help us keep in step with Your Spirit and find our joy in Your goodness.

For those who feel frustrated and fixated on future things, open our eyes to the good gifts surrounding us today and soothe us with Your peace.

For the ones who feel trapped in the trenches of today, lift our eyes to see light and strengthen us with joy as we hold on to hope.

Thank You for being near no matter our situation. We trust You to work Your plan for our good and Your glory as we wait with patience and expectation. Amen.

Groom to Grow

 

My tallest, blondest child is getting married this weekend!

I remember being SO geared up for his birth. Not like the other time, with that first baby, when I was kuh-loo-less.

I had two years of parenting experience, a precious little compliant child that followed my instructions and proved my sketchy theories perfectly, tons of nap times in which to read dozens of parenting books, and thanks to daily stroller walks, I was ending this second pregnancy lighter than I started the first, I was gonna be ALL kinds of ready for this child!

I seriously had his proposed nursing schedule on a legal pad weeks before he was born. I know. Shaking my head and squinting at myself right now.

And that is all I can write about "how I was gonna be unstoppable" with Luke.

His labor took days. I wanted to give up. But eventually I birthed that melon-head, and I loved everything about him with all my heart.

At three weeks old, he contracted meningitis and we were hospitalized for a week. (It was the week that Monica Lewinsky was plastered all over every channel day after day after obnoxious day.) I wanted to leave for so many reasons.

Philip says I never really trusted that Luke was healed after that. He says I treated him differently.

Perhaps. Spinal taps and tubes in skulls are scary. Memories leave scars ... even after healing.

Ok, cut to Luke's second Christmas. I sat the boys down and explained that the candy canes on the tree were to offer our holiday guests. If they took one, they would get a spanking. I asked if they understood. They each said, "Yes, Ma'am."

We were "hands in, 'Reindeer' on three" and that was a good talk. Until I watched Luke leave my inspirational speech, walk over to the tree, take two candy canes, and bend over the couch cushion to receive his licks.

What I intended for self-discipline, he perceived as negotiations.

And that is all I can write about "how I kept thinking this thing might get easier."

He is the reason we began to home school. He was three years old. He and Landen were riding in the backseat while we ran errands. He asked if we could go to the dollar store. I said I didn't know because I only had a five dollar bill and I needed to buy stamps. I was really just tossing out possible excuses to get him to hush. Fail.

"How much do stamps cost?" he asked. I said, "a couple dollars." Immediately, he spouted off that we could totally go to the dollar store, because "if you pay your five dollars at the post office, the lady will give you three dollars back, and there are three of us, so that would be one for each of us to buy one thing at the dollar store."

He was barely three. What in the big wide world was I supposed to do with him for two years until he was invited to Kindergarten where they would want him to say his numbers and identify the orange triangle??

I remember his first T-ball game. He was precious. He was scanning the infield from his position at shortstop . . . intuitively knowing what strategies needed to be implemented . . . mumbling instructions and reminders under his breath to his teammates.

I sat on the second bleacher, and thought, "Dear Lord, he really is going to be the managerial type."

He was the youngest Johnson to harvest a deer. His passion for the hunt, skillful marksmanship, and impeccable vision (inherited from his father) earned him the nick-name: "Dead-eye Johnson".

When he was a toddler, he would call from his bed in the morning, "Momma! Kin I git up???" If I said yes, he would hurry in to hop in bed with us. One morning when I was pregnant with Ardyn, I had to climb over him to exit our bed. His peppy preschool voice declared, "Wow. You are large. Large like an elephant."

And that is all I can write about "how honesty is/is not the best policy."

I remember the day his Sunday school teacher called to say that he had confessed to the class that if his options were sheep who loved Jesus, or goats who didn't, he wanted to be a goat. (complete with horn-shaped hand motions above his head and the "nyeehhh" sound. Have mercy.) Philip and I were so concerned that we began to pray immediately. I honestly thought we would have to pray diligently for decades to see him come to the Lord.

Two days later, he came into our room while Philip was getting dressed for work. He began to cry, "Mom & Dad, I've been playin' on the devil's team, but I wanna change my heart and play on God's team from now on." Philip picked up the phone and called in late to work. He knelt with Luke in the corner by our bed to talk and pray. Then he showed Luke how he was writing that day's date in the margin of Romans 10 in his Bible.

He is not that little blond-bowled, dimpled guy with bright blue eyes who couldn't whisper in church. He is tall and handsome, smart and sweet, driven and determined. I love his logical outlook on life. I love his sense for humor. I love it when he hugs me like he means it. I love it when he is sweet to his sisters. I love it when he laughs with his brothers. I love it when he [thinks he still can] arm wrestle his dad.

Since before Luke was born, we have prayed for his wife. We figured she would need to exhibit a quiet confidence and quite a bit of style. We knew the importance of her devotion to Jesus. We hoped her gifts and strengths would firmly fit in the gaps of Luke's greatness. We wished for someone fun and easy to like. We never dreamed her parents would live a mere 8 miles from us. Won't the Lord do it.

Father in Heaven, thank you for today. Only You can see all the many choices that have brought us to this point, and only You can see the future blessings that will emerge because of Your presence here with us.

Through the indwelling presence of Your holy spirit, You show Your kindness by supernaturally infusing temporal things with meaning, purpose and memories. 

We thank You. 

We confess our dependence upon You. 

Jesus, be near. 

May every spoken word, every shared seat at the table; every gift of thanks (both hard and happy) that is offered this weekend bring honor to Your name.

Bless Brendan Luke and Macie Jane.

Amen.

Grace & Peace

As a follow-up to my adoption post, I want to be sure to shed light on two things.

First, I know it is frustrating to think of how many children need families, but in our case, birth mom relinquishing her rights was the selfless act that paved a path toward healing for both her and her baby she loved. I affirm with deep and terrible gratitude her decision which I will never fully understand. 

Discussions of dependency and addiction make me think of Paul in Romans: "I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do."

I thank God for loving each of us in our chest-high struggle to re-align our affections.  Life is hard.

Second, I know this isn't the norm, but we enjoy a miraculously gracious relationship with Asa's birth mother.  It was tragic and trying in the early days, but we all stayed the course. It is one area of my life in which equal parts of bravery and boundaries have made the daunting doable. 

Because of the complexities, I wrote out Asa's narrative in book form when he was an infant. He's heard/read those words a hundred times: "Aunt Samantha is my birth mom." Though His understanding continues to develop and expand, the truth of the matter seems wonderfully familiar and normal to him. 

She is my sister-in-law, my son's birth mom, and she is my friend. Jesus has done powerful work in each of us and we give Him all the glory. If you'd like to know more of her/our story, you can read more here.

Photo: The rose Samantha gave me for Mother's Day a few years ago. It dies away and blooms anew . . . speaking grace and peace to my heart.

For Starters

Did you know that once an adoption is finalized, the authorities craft a new birth certificate? Same time and place; new parents.

Rebirth. Adoption literally rewrites the child's story by going back to the beginning and granting a fresh start with a new identity, an amended name, and proof of never not belonging.

This is my favorite part about adoption!

Not only has Asa's story been rewritten, mine has too!! I have a legally binding court document stating that I was somewhere where I was not on that gray winter day in 2013.

This brings me to tears.

God, our true authority (AUTHOR-ity) is simply not limited by time or space. Nothing is unredeemable because His love cannot fail.

I hope this truth infuses today (however hard or heavy it appears to be) with freedom and fresh faith.

He's got this. He's got you!!

09.29.2014 👈🏼

Happy Gotcha Day 🎉

 "Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us,  to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen." Ephesians 3:20-21

Silver and Gold

I got a new phone. 

I kangaroo-jumped over all thirteen models that have debuted since my last update. 

It kind of makes me sad to say goodbye to the device that served me so well for so long. Not only had it survived a 12-mile trip up highway 59 on the back of a Nissan Sonata, it helped me organize and facilitate a dozen small groups, a children's camp, and a senior adult retreat. It captured who-knows-how-many baskets, pitches, tackles, and awards. It was with me for baptisms, weddings, funerals, and groceries. The calculator had crunched budgets and checked homework too. I found a house on realtor and sold the other on zillow. Kindle, Audible, Words with Friends. Hilarious and helpful text threads sit beside hoarding stacks of emails. All in a pocket, ready to go.

What a rich farewell.

As I load a brand new small group into the sleek new model, I notice that even with a factory fresh start, there remain a few of my contacts with no last name. Just plain "Rebecca". Plain "Lauren". Plain "Rhonda". Remnants from my first phone with its Friends & Family plan which allowed me to connect with ten people of my choosing for free. Everyone else cost 25 cents per minute.

With only ten primary contacts, there was little need for last names way back when. Especially considering the labor intensity of tapping the 7 button three times to even access an R.

Through the years, the plain names have persevered.

Lauren lives a few hours away now. We saw each other out of the blue a couple summers ago when we happened to choose the same lake community for vacation. We met at the pool like we had planned it. Bobbing in the shallow end with ball caps and sunglasses, we briefly volleyed a few updates on our families then plunged happily into a lengthy discussion of philosophy and education. She is much younger than me, but she has taught me loads about ministry all the while modeling a calm independence that shapes my own courage and contentment. She is goals.

Rebecca lives terribly far away. I dream of the days when we shared Creme Brulee candles, episodes of 90210, and sizzling bean dip in our scratched-up skillet. She married my brother the month before I married Philip. They would drive over for game nights and BlueBell then spend Sunday afternoons lounging until John Madden was the only conscious voice in the room. She beat me to marriage and parenthood, but what a gift it is to walk the path so closely, just a step or two behind her. She leads with humility, grit, and a surprising amount of goofiness. She is simply the greatest.

I see Rhonda every week. I see her three kids whom I nannied and their spouses just as often. We don't have to meet for lunch or talk on the phone as if our friendship were a plant in need of water. We thrive as spring-fed evergreens. Rhonda was there when I birthed my babies. She is the first to cry when one of them starts kindergarten, or trusts Jesus, or gets engaged. For decades we have crafted and worshipped and whispered hard truths. Along with quiet wisdom and quick laughter, she has consistently offered me love, mentorship, and a standing invitation to be exactly me. She is a gift.

I have lots of lovely Laurens in my life now, a few especially fun Rhondas, and some of the sweetest Rebeccas you can find. All their last names keep things neat and tidy in my new phone, while the plain names are still there too. To stay. 

They remain and remind me of how far we've come and how incredibly rewarding the journey together can be. 

Make new friends, but keep the old . . .

A Hundred Percent

Often, people will say to me, "I just don't know how you do it all?!?" 

Well . . .

1. I am not doing it all. I draw the court's attention to the hall bathroom. And the flowerbeds. Clearly I am not.😔

2. I am not doing it all. Regarding the things that ARE getting done, I am surrounded by helpers: my phenomenal husband, a fantastic set of kids, wonderful friends and stellar coworkers. Their collaboration maximizes my efficiency. Sidebar: if we are doing life together, and your efforts hinder progress, you'd better be a toddler or have a note from your doctor.😏

3. I am not doing it all. I mainly do what is important to me. There is a boat load of things you might assume I do, but [not sorry] I don't. For example, I don't: separate or pre-soak laundry, make breakfast (except for Thursday supper), watch TV, decorate for more than 3 hours for Christmas, shop in person, iron more than twice a year, call friends to chat, scrub shower curtains, watch movies, dice or mince any vegetable for any recipe (I will happily chop, but God gave you teeth ... let's work together, K?).👊🏼

4. I am not doing it all. There are so many things I wish I could consistently do better like pray with my kids one-on-one, exercise, take photos and keep them organized,  be sweet after 7pm . . . The list is long. 😶

5. I am not doing it all. Any good you see me doing is evidence of God living in me. God is doing. My part is the being. (I am old and still learning to get my part right.) To behold and become. To stay humble and hungry. To live satisfied and surrendered. To move about with power and purpose . . . worshiping, waiting, and watching as promises are fulfilled. 🙏

And for days when I find myself discontent, disengaged, or discouraged . . . God is faithful to find me, and too loving to leave me there. 🙌🏼

He really does it all.💛

As You Find Me

A click and a thud precede the rumbly bumps by about a mile.

About halfway between the towns where I respectively live and work, a flattened tire brings my Monday morning to a halt.

An instinctively quick call to my husband soothes most of the angst. Even though I am stranded in the August heat (thank you, 7a.m., for blazing in like it's high noon), he is on his way and I only need to wait a little while.

I open the back of the car and begin moving things out of the way so that the spare tire can be easily accessed. *Correction: readily accessed. Easily does not describe the escape room activity we would need to complete in order to locate, remove, and install the dusty donut caked with the roadway adventures of a dozen years.

I think back to the Summer of 1988. I wanted to take my first two-hour solo trip in the 1985 two-toned blue Chevy Citation. The pre-req for receiving Dad's permission was for me to go out to the driveway and completely replace the back left tire with the spare. Without help. Then I had to drive around the block, and return to swap them back. 

Just as I'm juggling gratitude and  aggravation for my dad and his no-joke parenting strategies, I see yellow flashes of light in my rear-view mirror. Philip's work truck boasts flashy lights, lots of tools, bright orange cones and a cable winch should he need it. 

In what seems to be an actual jiffy, he changes the tire, follows me to the tire shop, then drives me to work on his way back to his own day. 

I climb down out of the truck, and walk to my office in a haze of thankfulness, dazed by the deep peace my heart feels even though my pesky brain keeps trying to bring up the potential anxiousness peppering the last hundred minutes of my life. The anxiety seems like mist while peace and gratitude feel real.

I brew a tardy cup of coffee and think some more.

Why is everything good? Because Philip answered my call, and came to help. Not only did he provide an immediate remedy, he stayed with me until I could make it safely to a place where I could secure a long-term solution. Then he filled in the gaps and met my needs while I waited for repair. And he did it all with humility, excellence and kindness.

I sit at my desk, sip my coffee and whisper, "Just like Jesus." His ability to answer, attend, assist, accompany . . .  all with humility, patience and joy.

My pesky brain pipes in, "Think of all the people who DON'T have Philip to come to their rescue . . . "

Think of all the people who don't have Jesus.

We are commissioned to be light and love and life. Just like Jesus.

To answer, attend, assist and accompany. Providing immediate presence and remedy until a long-term solution is secured. To fill in the gaps, meet the needs, and wait for restoration. All with gentleness and joy.

Not only do I want to be ready to put love into action, I want to make connections and pave paths so that people know my number and instinctively think to call. 

Jesus, help me.

**For those who like to extend metaphors, my account at the tire shop has hazard protection, so the labor and cost of perpetual rescue and repair is included in the plan purchased for me and comes for free. Why would I go anywhere else? #Preach