Entreatment

 

The silent treatment. 

A false reprieve. Passive aggression. The worst kind of tension.

There is so much that needs to be said in the pursuit of peace. And yet with willful determination, everything is muzzled into pressurized coexistence.

No clarifying perspectives, no humble apologies, no gentle rebukes. No resolution.

I despise the awful space at the receiving end. And to be honest, I have often dominated in the dreadful dishing out.

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On the other hand ...

Silence.

A holy pause. Intentional margin to listen and remain calm. Collected.

There is so much that could be said in the name of profuse progress. And yet, with willful determination, everything is muted into an expanse of hallowed hush.

No cluttering preferences, no weighing of options, no confirmation nor denial. Only resolute faith.

I resist this posture of patience. And to be quite honest, I don't practice it enough.

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People who have yet to properly process their own hurt are masters of the silent treatment. Soundly driven, the wedge forces relationships further apart and deeper into despair. 

People who are mastering the disciplines of being quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry can confidently offer the gift of silence. Quietly we are drawn into more of God's presence where healing and hope abide.

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And all the people aside ... when I think of how easily and how often I treat the powerful stillness of God as if it were some petty silent treatment … I weep.

He is never far and His purposes are pure and kind. He cannot fail.

I will not fear the silence.

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Processional

He wanted to find a quiet place to be alone. He was looking for a secret spot to read his Bible and talk to God, so he walked around until he found it.

Then he met me.

And when he decided he could love me forever ...

He wanted to find a quiet place where no one could bother us. He was looking for a secret spot to offer me a diamond ring and ask me his life-changing question. He walked me down to the water's edge to find it.

And I said yes ... to him, to all the adventurous possibilities, to the perpetual unknown, and to the protective One who knew us best and seemed to be arranging it all.

That was twenty-nine (and a third) years ago. #TeamShortEngagement

Today, when he wanted to find a quiet place to spend time with me and feel close to God, he knew exactly where we should go. 

And together we found it.

Our anniversary [re]discovery: familiar peace, our firm Foundation, and a fresh breeze of renewal and hope. 

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*Sometime ask me about our proposal and I'll tell you how Philip faked a fight just to hear me beg him not to break up, and so I had to punch him twice on the arm and once in the gut before taking the ring and kissing his giggling mouth then say that I was sorry but he should be too, and I realized I loved him so much because I wasn't even bothered by his off-pitch top-of-lungs rendition belting John Michael Montgomery's I Love the Way You Love Me with the windows rolled down alllll the way to the lake ... just a grinning.💗

RESeT

There is a corner of my bedroom that few people see. Honestly, I haven't even seen it in months! All year long it has welcomed towers of transparent tubs with clearly labeled lids. Preparations, wardrobing, and supplies, packed and stacked, piled high with hope and readiness for all things wedding.

Over the holidays, I finally got it all cleared out, and it feels new and wonderful. The lingering fullness and lack of margin certainly held meaning and purpose for a time. We have found ourselves in a season of serving and sowing along with all the celebrations. 

Sadly, without noticing, I had grown accustomed to the looming excess and crowded feelings of anxiousness, but now, in this freshly exposed space, all I can sense is a new start, uncluttered and calm. Life-giving.

With similar, happy resolve I also addressed my jumbled jewelry hanger that clanged necklaces against my closet door with each swinging entrance and exit. We all know there are only three or four that I want to wear, so the rest have been released.

All that remains is tidy and still. Quiet.

Next, I purged and organized the contents of each of my desk drawers. Nothing I don't need. Everything in its place.

There is peace in being systematically prepared with merely the necessities. Come what may.

Then I even went through my closet, giving away the clothes I only think I might wear, leaving the garments that I actually use with ample room for each to hang loosely so as not to wrinkle.

Honesty. Simplicity. Room to breathe.

Could it be true that our living spaces reflect our soul and its health? 

Well, there remains an unstable pile of papers mocking me from atop my desk, a windowsill disguised as a library shelf, the hall closet crammed with overstuffed photo boxes, and the cabinet under my bathroom sink riddled with randomness, Lord help us all. 

Nothing to fear. Plentiful opportunities to show myself some grace, a little patience, and all the freedom . . . to further explore the wisdom of less becoming more.

Pep Talk

Mommas of littles, listen. You are doing important work! We know it. Yes, it feels like groundhog day a LOT. I know that almost everything you seem to accomplish is systematically UNdone within hours. I know

I also know there is a keen sense of creativity bounding around in your soul and untapped skills just churning inside you, nagging for a vent. I'm certainly not proposing the use of alphabet sponge stamps to make spirit wear for the church softball team. That might be weird. 

But find something that brings you joy, or at least offers your brain and hands a good workout . . . a change of pace or a change of scenery, and then re-engage to keep going! 

Plan, equip, serve and train those little rabble-rousers like the elite chief operations officer that you are! These are the rich years. I promise. You might have more resources in the future; that may be true. 

But these little ones who relentlessly giggle and fight, who serenade you with original songs strummed on tennis rackets with soupspoons drumming on oatmeal containers; these impossibly adorable humans who learn new things every day, who beg to play in the mud, and then smell so delicious during bedtime prayers . . . they will be grown and even married before you can believe it.

I still can't believe it. Soak it in. Sow seeds wisely. Choose presence over perfection. Stay the course. I wholeheartedly believe you have what it takes!

-cdj💗

📷2002

Thankful & Blessed

 

A knock followed by happy hellos announces another round of fellowship. What quickly develops is another unique blend of friends who feel like family and family who have worked hard to become real friends.

Some people find a seat. Most stand in huddles at first. She listens and watches as seemingly from nowhere there is very much to discuss. Stationed in that comfy corridor between the sink and the stove, she finds her joy and purpose. She makes coffee, she wipes the counters, and she reminds the children to have walking feet. 

Often, there is a crock pot simmering, ready to feed a little or a lot at no particular time. Other times she relies on soup and sandwiches which can be made ready with little warning. There have been times when her best offering was toast and eggs. Her favorite times are when she knows there is plenty of food on the premises, but the critical ingredient is creativity. One backwoods not-quite-charcuterie spread coming right up!

She wanders from her post occasionally, but mostly she stays in that space where she feels useful and secure. Plus, the island is a magnet for great conversations and hilarity, so whether she is rinsing dishes or sipping coffee, she likes to keep her front-row seat. 

If she were anywhere else, she might feel responsible to ask questions and keep conversations going. But here, she just hovers with no eye contact, her ears wide open, her heart filling to the brim, and her mind free to dawdle in the depths. Eventually, the prepping, serving, and tidying work themselves out. 

By this time, pockets of people are sprinkled and spread throughout the home. College football, walks down the driveway, a puzzle between the sofas, lingering chats at the table, and the impromptu praise band of pianists and singers with the inclusion of a reluctant cellist, an enthusiastic baritone, and a weak, yet relentless recorder player.

People leave, but then a few more show up. The core gathering lasts for hours as dynamics revolve and refresh. And in the end, the crowd shrinks into a small herd of residential folks who resume their regular rhythms, and return to "normal". But they are better. They are satisfied and full having exchanged their gifts of unconditional love, and everyone feels thankful and blessed.

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.