Believing that I am enough

At Christmas, my church gives the children a book each. This year, Georgie got a book by Max Lucado, called The Tallest of the Smalls. He is such a good author! She likes the book. But I needed it.

Perhaps you don't know-

Or maybe you do- 

Of the too smalls of stiltsville

And their story for you

Where people like we,
Each evening at six,
Gather together,
for the purpose of sticks.

2015, so far has just been hard. I have been fighting a battle with my head, every day.

My little girl (who is not so little anymore) is about to start Kindy. And it has thrown me a bit. It's no secret that I struggle sometimes to feel like I am enough, as a stay at home mother. And now that I only have one child at home a few days a week, I feel like I should do something more, you know. Other people manage to do so much with their time after all, (oh, comparison is the thief of joy!). I have this internal list of things I try to do every day: Get dinner on the table at a decent hour, make sure I do the folding, do some form of exercise, don't stuff food into my mouth when I feel down, go the whole day without losing my temper at my kids. And honestly? Most days I'm lucky to even check one thing off that list.

Tall stilts upon which, 
A stiltsvillian can strut.
And be lifted above,
Those down in the rut.

Sometimes I imagine what the world would be like if we all walked around with big neon signs hanging over our heads, telling everyone what we are. You know what it feels like my sign would say? Inadequate. Insufficient. Found wanting.

Like Ollie, the boy
Whose pants have a patch,
Whose legs are too skinny,
Whose socks never match.

I came home from holidays, wracking my brain trying to think about what I should be doing with myself. This past week I've had all sorts of wild ideas, about things I could do. I've been looking at all kinds of study options. But to be honest, it's been a bit like last year all over again, with extra anxiety.

I know, I know, that now is not the time. And I don't actually think that study, or qualifications, or job titles will make me a better person. But yet, I kind of do. It's ridiculous, because I don't judge other people on what they do or don't do. Some of my most favourite people, don't do paid work, or have important degrees from universities. Yet, they are some of the people i like the most, the ones I know who do so much, are the kindest, and have the most wisdom.

The truth is, that deep in my heart I struggle constantly with feelings of self-doubt, and a lack of self-worth. I don't feel like I matter to the world, partly because I don't earn money or know stuff. But I also wonder, what will be enough? How many degrees would I have to get, how important would I have to be in the world? I suspect that ladder is one I could climb forever, and never reach the top. And I know I would miss out on so much important stuff along the way if I chose to put my feet on that ladder right now.

I know that what I really need is to stop listening to the lies that enemy is bombarding me with, and start listening when God tells me that I am priceless. It's just so hard, to know something, but not believe it. I am trying so hard, so hard to listen to God. The world just feels so much louder. When I first read The Tallest of the Smalls to Georgie, I cried.

Jesus smiled down and said

"Ollie. Come walk with me.

Keep your feet on the ground,

Refuse to be stilted;

Choose low over high,

Leave the system tip-tilted."

"You're precious my Ollie,

Not too short or too small.

I made you remember?

You're mine after all."

That book, was written for me. For where I am right now. I am doing my best to focus on Him, and on the truth. I am trying not to let my thoughts and feelings become bigger than they should be. I've got to believe that my value is dependent on who He is. And I am trying to trust God, and live according to his word, rather than get caught up in things that have no value. You know what a neon sign above my head would say, (if such things really existed)? Forgiven. Beloved. Property of Jesus. Sanctified. Justified. I am working on believing that.

I may not be much.

The smallest of smalls.

But since Jesus loves me.

I'm the tallest of talls.

For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted. Matthew 23:12

Too much information

There can be a mentality in the pentecostal church today that you have to "give your all!" "Go Hard!" "Give God all you've got!" and it is true. But maybe also, kind of not? I think the message gets a bit garbled at times, I'm not sure who's fault that is. I want to give God my all, I think he deserves it. But there are different kinds of all to give. Sometimes, if you push, and push, and push, eventually something breaks. Say you have a car, and you're driving along fine. But suddenly you make it go faster than it was supposed to go, you're revving it up, and expecting so much of it, and while you're doing that you don't add things like oil, or water or anything like that, you just keep putting the minimum amount of care into it. Eventually that motor is going to get fried. If you'd kept the car at a steady speed, and given it regular thorough maintenance, it could have gone so much longer,  and so much further. But you didn't, and now it's going to take a whole new motor just to get that thing going. 

There are an awful lot of burnt out people in our churches. And out of them. I'm kind of one of them, and my husband really is. About 6 months ago, we were the music directors at our church. Now we aren't, and he's not coming to church. And it's breaking my heart. I hate it. I am still going to church with the kids. But I miss him, oh I miss him. I hate going to church without him. I hate wrestling the kids by myself, and I hate not seeing him do music, because he really loves it, and its one of those things he was created to do, you know? I must admit, there's a fair bit of wounded pride in there too. It's not super fun going to church without your spouse, I guess because it's such an definite outward display of imperfection, and whether we acknowledge it or not, there is a shiny shiny mask that we wear at church. Maybe we feel like we are letting God down if we acknowledge our imperfections? I'd be lying if I said I didn't care about what people think.

There are a lot of details involved, and I won't go into them. Mostly because it's not my story to tell. But the way it affects me is. One of the ladies at church told Mum she thinks I am so courageous to keep going to church without him. The truth is, this isn't courage. It's desperation. Where else would I go?

I have been made aware of so many of the faults in us Christians. I've learned so many things about myself in the last few years. Ugly things that I wish weren't true. If you'd asked me not too long ago, if I was a judgmental person, I wouldn't have thought so. But I was. I used to look down on Christians who didn't go to church. I thought they either fell into one of two categories, the spiritual fruitcake variety who take offense at every little thing, and the uncommitted variety, who don't put in enough effort. I didn't understand a lot of things. I still don't. But I understand a little more now.

I am so tired. Tired of judging and being judged. I am tired of spiritual people who are always right, who say they never fight with their spouse, who say one thing and do another,  who don't understand so much. I am tired of the people who demand more and more and more, and they don't care. Their strength makes me feel less strong.

But still, I think (think) it is best to go to church. To accept the fragility and imperfections of the Christians around me, the same way I accept my own. To try, even when it hurts. It's a real process of not letting bitterness get a hold of you, and I'm still trying to figure it out. It's a fine line, authenticity. You want to be real, not a fake happy-clappy person who has less depth than a teaspoon. But you don't need every Tom, Dick and Harry to see your raw pain. I'm trying to walk the line. I keep overbalancing, this way and that, going too far in one direction and then too far in the other. But I hold onto the fact this it is God's church. 

Deep thinks

I'm kind of battling a fair bit at the moment. With the concept of church, and the way I do church in particular. I'm struggling to understand why we do everything we do. Why we put so much emphasis and energy into a Sunday morning, and we work so hard, to make things look so good. I don't know if everything we do on a Sunday actually achieves much, you know? There is a world full of broken people with no hope, and we are hidden away in our buildings, worrying about this program and that program, making sure the music is current, and the graphics are cool, and talking about how to reach the unchurched. But sometimes it feels like all we do is talk, and keep ourselves really busy. Somehow, we end up placing too much importance on things that really don't matter, and we ignore the stuff that is really important. We put smiles on our faces, and joy in our voices, and we put so much effort into making sure that we are all just beautiful plastic shells that are broken inside. 

It feels like we are this bunch of people who get together once a week to have meaningless superficial conversations. We have two minutes of small talk, and have these deep spiritual conversations, but we don't really know anything real about each other and we walk away lonely. I know I'm part of the problem. I keep people at a distance sometimes because I don't know how to talk to them. But I simply cannot believe that I am the only one who feels this way?

We talk lots about how good God is. And yes, He is good. I believe it with all my heart. But somehow it feels like we are talking about this superficial bandaid good. A good that makes everything look pretty, but leaves an ugly wound festering deep inside that is eventually going to cause that leg to get gangrene. I believe in the kind of good that sometimes has to rebreak the broken leg, and make you scream and cry out in pain, because baby, there's no anaesthetic. But yet somehow, you manage to walk around (much, much later) without any kind of limp.

I am so desperately tired of bandaids. I want the real fix.

To be honest, I'm a little bit broken hearted. I still love God. But I don't quite know where He is. Or something. Sometimes I wonder if I even know who He is. I get scared that I will be that Christian too busy wandering around with her head up her ass, so that she doesn't even recognize Jesus when she meets Him face to face. 

I know that people are people, and just because we are Christians does not make us programable Jesus-bots (although sometimes, I really wish we were). But still, it's hard sometimes when you feel a bit let down by people. I am hurt, mostly on behalf of some people I love, but I think I am also hurt, because I truly believed we were different. And the thing is, when I am hurt, and angry, and frustrated at people, I am also hurt and angry and frustrated at me too. Because I know that I let Him down.

When they had finished eating, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?” “Yes, Lord,” he said, “you know that I love you.” Jesus said, “Feed my lambs.” Again Jesus said, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” He answered, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” Jesus said, “Take care of my sheep.” The third time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Peter was hurt because Jesus asked him the third time, “Do you love me?” He said, “Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you.” Jesus said, “Feed my sheep." ( John 21:15-18 NIV)

I'm not feeding his sheep. I'm not. I'm the person Jesus tells three times, and I still don't get it. So how can I be dissolutioned by others who don't? Believe me, when I am sitting here having these deep thinks and pointing fingers, I am pointing at myself. I'm so bone-weary just making it through some days, that I don't even have the energy to think about feeding any sheep. I just don't know how. And of course, there are times when I am prompted to do some sheep feeding, and I always manage to screw it up somehow.

I am hurt. But I also do the hurting. I am let-down, but I know I've let others down. I am alone, but I leave others on their own too. When i talk about not understanding the church, I freely acknowledge that I am the church. And I want to be the church. But I want to be the church that I believe in, you know? I don't really know what it is I'm asking, or what it is I'm trying to say. But maybe when I figure it out, I'll let you know.

Shiny Happy People

So, lately things round here have been pretty darn great. I feel like maybe (maybe) we have reached a little season of calm. And I am just so very grateful. My babies, my husband, my life. I am blessed, exceedingly and abundantly, and I know it. I look at Georgie and Charlie and the ages they are right now, the way they are, I just feel so much more relaxed, and at ease. I feel like this is a time of less pressure, and stress with them and I just love it. 

 But the truth is, it's not all like that. It never can be all like that. There are always challenges mixed in with the blessings, and storms as well as sunshine.

You know, I think social media does us a disservice sometimes. You look at peoples facebook pages, or flick through your instagram feed, and the whole world seems to be having an awesome life. And here you are in your lonely little corner, and you've just had a fight with your husband and your dog has peed on the carpet, and everything just feels so damn ordinary.

If you looked at my facebook page, or Shane's, you would be forgiven for thinking we live the most beautiful life. And we do, but it is also intermingled with seasons of heartbreak, and loneliness, and hard work. But the thing is, that's life. And the shiny happy image, only tells half the story.

We have had a rough couple of years. Years where I wasn't sure if we were going to make it, where I wasn't sure if I was going to make it. I have been lower, and sadder and more desperate than I ever imagined possible. I have heard the enemy whisper darkness into my ear, and I have believed him.

But I am not alone. Every single step of the way, my God has been with me. He has been faithful when I was faithless. He has been strong in my weakness. He has been perfect, despite my imperfections.

Sometimes I feel a little... robbed or cheated or something. I look at photos of a newborn Charlie, and a baby Charlie, and sometimes all I remember is how hard it was. I feel like I have failed my children, and my family so much in the past few years. I've been selfish, oh so selfish! And I feel guilty.

But you know what God sees? He sees a beautiful history, filled with growth, and change. He sees the times I fell down but, instead of failure, he sees that I asked for his help. He sees all the times we were broken, and we allowed him to do work that he has been desperate to do.  He sees me. He is proud. And he Loves me. That's what I need to see too.

I don't want to compare myself to the pretty pictures anymore. Real life is hard, and beautiful, and raw, and awful, and lovely. But it is just so much better.

A bit of honesty...

Today, after all my excitement and big thinking, I have un-enrolled in my nursing degree. My feelings are a little... mixed, about it all.

I know it's right, I'm sure it's right. But still.

I still want to do it, someday I think. I would like to be a nurse. But not right now. I knew, I think I always knew that something about it all just wasn't sitting right. I probably tried to ignore that not-rightness for a while. But this morning, I took the kids for a walk, and really, really talked to God for the first time in a long time. And I just got that knowledge, (that still small voice) You need to un-enroll in university.

If I'm being really, really honest about it all. Which, lets face it, has always been my goal in this blog. I don't think I had my priorities right. I would like to be a nurse, or do something one day. But much of this stemmed from me searching for some kind of validation, I guess.

Because this. My life. So, so much of it is really unrewarding. I spend so many moments of my life feeling inadequate, feeling frustrated, feeling guilty. I often feel like I am doing so many, many things wrong in this parenting gig, and often I struggle to see the bigger picture.  I'd like to feel important. Like who I am, what I do, what I contribute to the world matters. And I don't really get that feeling from motherhood. Often, I don't feel like I am enough.  I thought I could get that feeling from doing a little bit of something extra that was for me. Honestly I guess I really and truly believed that that piece of paper I would work to achieve would make me matter more. And that's a lie. I know it. But at times it feels true. 

I didn't take into account what would be best for my family, for my little people, for my husband. In different circumstances it could work. It might have been more possible if it was a different kind of study, one that didn't have so much prac involved. It might have been easier if we lived somewhere different, if my kids were older. It certainly is possible. But right now it wouldn't have been what is best.

Often the task of raising my babies feels like something that is too hard, and often it feels like it should be my turn to put my own needs first. But I know that is my own selfish nature talking, and it is not the one that will lead me the right way. I am in a position where I am blessed enough to be able to stay home and look after my children. It might be different if I wasn't. Even though I feel some days that there is space in my life for study and a career.... If I want to be the mother I am supposed to be, if I want to be the person that God created me to be, right now, in my life? There just isn't.

This isn't easy. But really, neither was study going to be. I had enrolled in my courses for the semester and I was excited, but it was a kind of nervous, frantic excitement. It didn't feel peaceful, or right. It was just making me feel overwhelmed, and stressed.

I need to learn how to be more disciplined in what I do now, before I even think about trying to add more into my life. I need to be mindful, and have purpose in raising these tiny humans. Not just lurch from one disaster to the next. I need to learn how to do more than survive. I need to wait on God's perfect timing, not rush ahead and try to pretend like I know better than He does. I need to do my best with what I have been given now, not act like a petulant child who wants to go on and do something else because the task in front of them seems too hard.

I need to believe that I am enough. That who He is makes me enough. That being who He has called me to be is enough. I don't want to be lied to by the world, and fall into the trap of believing that a woman who spends her days looking after her children and her household has no value. Who I am, what I do, has value. Because of Him.

A post in which I talk a bit about Church

So, recently I was chatting to a friend about our church, and my faith a little bit. And you know what? That stuff can be really hard. Because I love my church, and I am happy with my faith the way it is, but at the same time, I am aware that from the outside looking in, it can be a little weird. It can be a difficult thing to explain well, so I kind of stuttered and stammered and went off on silly tangents and probably said all the wrong things. But that's just the way it goes sometimes when you're in a conversation I guess.

But it got me to thinking, and in case you haven't noticed already, my mind kind of works in metaphors. The parables are probably my favorite things in the bible, they speak my language. So as I was thinking to myself, I kind of likened church to football.

The thing is, there are a lot of different churches out there. They have a lot of different beliefs and sometimes they're right and sometimes they're not. But the most important one, the one they have to get right, and the one that should be the most important to them, is the fact that Jesus is God's son, that He died on the cross to save mankind, and that we are redeemed because of His sacrifice. All you need to do to gain eternal salvation, is believe in the God of the bible, repent of your sins, and accept His son Jesus as your personal saviour. There is a lot more that we add on to it, and we all have our own ideas and interpretations of the Bible about what you need to do, and how you should act, but essentially, it all boils down to that. Essentially it needs to boil down to that. The two greatest commandments Jesus told us, were to love God with all your heart, and love your neighbour as yourself. So those two indicators are pretty crucial to whether or not a person or the church they attend is Christian.

I've never understood football. I know it exists, I have a very basic knowledge of what is involved, but it's never 'caught' me, you know? I don't know the rules of the game, or the different codes, or the players or the teams. I've got no clue about the difference between NRL and AFL... as far as I'm concerned it's all just football. I'm not familiar with the lingo, I couldn't tell you what a try is, or how many players are on a team... or anything really. It's never appealed to me. I don't understand how people can get so passionate about it, I've just never really got it. I suspect that unless you know the game, it doesn't make sense.

I attend a pentecostal church. It's what I know, it's what I'm comfortable with. I don't expect it to appeal to everyone, but for me, it works. I don't believe Pentecostals are perfect or more enlightened. We've all got our issues.

Each church has it's own rules and routines and ritual. Some sing hymns, some sing along to the guitar. Some sit on pews, others sit on plastic chairs. Some have stained glass windows, others have lights and sound equipment. Some wear robes, others wear jeans. We all tend to drink a lot of coffee.

There are an awful lot of people who are the exact same way about church that I am about football. They have a basic concept of it all, but they walk into church and we're all singing these songs, and standing up and sitting down, and waving our hands, and listening to some people talk (and talk and talk) and drinking coffee and chatting.... and it doesn't make sense. Church doesn't really make sense.

But once you get to know the creator, and realise that all those Jesus people are actually doing what they are doing because of Him, you might start to understand the game. You might get to know just Who we are serving when we do what we do, and why we do what we do.

Church can be weird. It can be great. It can be difficult sometimes too. It can be a good place of community, and relationship. Church can be, and is, many things to many different people. But to truly 'get' church, you need to know God.

On burst water pipes and other such things

 After yesterday's post, I've just been feeling really horrible. It's hard, when you really start to look at some of the yuck that goes on in the world, not to feel yuck. Does that make sense?

With researching for that post, plus hearing about what happened to a poor baby in China (no I won't link it, you can find out if you want to, but it was just awful) my heart just heart a lot. I prayed about it all. But at the same time, it all just felt a bit too much.

I've been thinking about those people who picket abortion clinics, write petitions, wave flags, and march in protests, and wondering if that's what needs doing? But I've often wondered, if it's easy to let that kind of thing, become your religion, and your passion, your driving force... instead of Him? And that's not what I want. I'm not trying to put down what other people do, but at the same time I guess I just don't know that Jesus would be organizing protests, or writing petitions if He was here. He just seemed to live. And love people.

I want to be passionate. I want to help. I want to make the world a better place. I think I need to. I think we are all called to do different things, have different passions. But I think we are supposed to keep God at the very center of our focus.

Say you have a burst water pipe in your kitchen. There's water spilling everywhere and it's a huge mess. You can get as many towels as you can, and soak up as much water as you can and use up a lot of time and energy. You can devote your whole life to all that water in your kitchen. But unless you go to the source of the mess (the burst pipe), all you'll be doing is cleaning up a mess. Forever. You need to call in the plumber to fix the broken pipe. Once he comes in, and fixes the source of the problem, you're much less likely to have water everywhere. You can make the call, you can do everything you can to help the plumber in his job, and you can do your best at the damage control. But ultimately, the fix is up to the plumber and the pipe.

I think the world is a lot like that. I know there are a lot of people who have a lot of different ways to clean up the mess. You've got some people arguing about the best towel to use, some people using a towel that is clearly too small, there are some people using a towel that is too wet, some people arguing that a mop would be more efficient, and some people who are just so tired from mopping up all that water. There are people too busy arguing about the best way to help to actually help, and there are even people who think you need a special license and equipment to help, and will actively stop those who don't do it their way. There are those who really want to help, but their efforts just seem to create more work. There are those who want to help clean up, but are put off by the look of those who are, there are some people just pretending to help, some people living in their own little fantasy world where the mess doesn't exist, and some people arguing that the mess is actually okay, and that everybody should just leave it alone. Unfortunately there are an awful lot of people who ignore the plumber.

I think our primary focus always has to be on helping heal hearts. We should be mess cleaners, but we should know that the heart healing is much much more important, and act accordingly.

It's a bit like the saying Give a man a fish and he eats for a day, teach a man to fish and he eats for a lifetime. If you show someone that abortion is wrong, that's great. But tomorrow they might be beating their child. If you can help people change their hearts, by inviting Jesus in.... that's going to help fix so many of the problems.

And no, I'm not saying that all Christians are perfect, or even good. In fact, sometimes being Christian means you need more work done on you than most. But, I do believe that when Jesus is truly in your heart, that helps.

You kind of wonder sometimes, why God just doesn't say Enough. There is so much pain and sorrow, and we just seem to be making an awful mess of things. But... He hasn't yet. For whatever reason, He is not finished with this world. So neither should I be. And for every tear that is cried, and baby that is unloved, and person that is hurt... there is joy, and children that are adored, and people who are doing good.

The thief does not come except to steal, and to kill, and to destroy. I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly.

John 10:10


God told us, over and over again in the bible, to be joyful, to rejoice in the Lord. I think he told us so often, because we really do need reminding. This is a big world, with big problems. But He is a Big God.

Grace (and poop)

So, this morning started off wonderfully when the kids didn't wake me up until 8:30am! I woke up, and got a bit scared because they hadn't woken me, and I knew Shane had left for work hours ago. So I rushed into their room, to see them happily chattering to each other, having a grand old time in their beds. It was a good start to the day.

Unfortunately, it all went downhill from there.

We had breakfast, and as I wandered past the lounge room I noticed a wet puddle on the floor in the corner (I am so glad we have wooden floors in there). I immediately called Chloe and stuck her outside, but I wasn't really that surprised, considering how late we slept.

Later, as the kids finished breakfast I disinfected the puddle and then flicked the T.V on and the kids went into the lounge room to watch Peppa Pig. I came in soon after to get them dressed and spotted a little poop on the floor. I shrieked at the kids to stay away from it and then rushed to clean it up, trying to identify if it was human poop or dog poop. (This story has a lot of poop by the way, in case the title wasn't enough to clue you in). I decided it must've been a little dog poop I had somehow missed.

After I cleaned it, I could still smell that lovely poopy aroma, but I couldn't find anything, so I opened the windows and then went to get the kids dressed, thinking one of them might have a dirty nappy. I jumped into the shower, and then when I came out I noticed what looked like a whole lot of mud near the toy basket, that Charlie was rolling his truck in.

I got closer and almost vomitted. Yep, more dog poop. At that point I kind of went into panic mode, I furiously cleaned it up, bathed the kids, soaked toys, cleaned up more poop (Charlie decided to drop one in the bath... awesome) and as I was cleaning I was getting angrier and angrier.

My inner monologue was basically going "It's not fair, I am the only one who ever deals with any messes in this house! Poor Me!" I was really ticked off, and was swearing my head off. It was really ugly and I'm not proud. I kicked the kids outside on the deck while I scrubbed at my floor, and I just basically had a big angry sorry for myself session. Blaming Shane, because you know, he was at work instead of helping me clean. Blaming the damn dog (I so wanted to kick her, but don't worry, I didn't). Afterwards I looked around my house and I just hated it all, it all just felt too hard, too much, I didn't want to wash clothes or do the dishes. Sometimes I don't mind being the designated housework fairy, and other times it angers me beyond belief, constantly cleaning up after everyone else. This time, I was angry beyond belief.  My house still smelled like poo and it was filthy.... I was just so frustrated.

I went outside with the kids, and just sat on the steps and watched them play and I cried. Big heaving sobs. Just over it. I didn't know what to do or where to start and I didn't want to be the one to have to do everything or anything, you know? I was just raging inside, until I had nothing left "It's not fair!!"

And then, that still small voice.

No. It isn't.

And my mind was flooded with the image of Jesus on the cross. Cleaning up the mess of this world. So much mess, so much pain and sorrow and wickedness that he had to deal with. It wasn't his fault, he didn't deserve it, he shouldn't have had to do it. But we couldn't do it for ourselves. And he did it because he loved us. Loves us.

I cried and I cried, so sorry for all the pain and the hurt we cause him. So much evil that is so awful I can't even begin to comprehend it.

If He can love the world so much, love people who don't even acknowledge Him, and do it with such grace "Father forgive them the know not what they do"..... surely I can clean up a bit of poop.

And so eventually I stopped crying, picked myself up off the ground, and I started cleaning up again.

Happy (Belated) Easter

We had a pretty quiet Easter. It was nice to just be at home. Shane and I have both been a little frazzled in these past few weeks. I had a particularly rough patch a couple of weeks ago, and have relied heavily on my Mum, who is amazing. So four days off to potter and eat chocolate and play and chase babies and be... was like a breath of fresh air. I remembered that I actually really do like my husband (which is always a good thing!) and we got to enjoy being Mummy and Daddy.

This year, I found myself focusing less on the sacrifice Jesus made on the cross, and more on the joy and wonder of his resurrection, and that hasn't been a bad thing. It can be easy to only see the painful  part of what Jesus did. Now don't get me wrong, his death on a cross was so important, but what is equally important, is the fact that he rose again and he defeated death, forever. And this Easter, the wonder and power and joy of it all has just blown me away. I am so grateful.

If my heart is overwhelmed
And I cannot hear Your voice
I'll hold on to what is true though I cannot see
If the storms of life they come
And the road ahead gets steep
I will lift these hands in faith,
I will believe

I remind myself of all that You've done
And the life I have because of Your Son

Love came down and rescued me
Love came down and set me free
I am Yours, God, I'm forever Yours
Mountain high or valley low I sing out, remind my soul
That I am Yours, God, I'm forever Yours

When my heart is filled with hope
And every promise comes my way
When I feel Your hands of grace rest upon me
Staying desperate for You God
Staying humbled at Your feet
 I will lift these hands and praise, I will believe

I am Yours, Yes, I am Yours
All my days, Jesus, I am Yours

In which I discuss man's version of God

A week ago, Eden wrote a post, and in it she wrote about some of her experience with Christianity.

It broke my heart. And just made me so incredibly sad.

I love my church. I grew up here. It's my home. It's my family.

I watch my little girl dance around in church, and I know that it is one of her safe places, I see her get excited when she knows we are going to church and it makes my heart happy.

But, the thing about church, is that it is made up of people. God's people, yes. But people all the same. And people can be really stupid sometimes. People can be wrong.

Faith is between man and God. Religion is man's version (and at times, mess) of it.

There are many, many things I love about my church. But there are some things I don't.

However, it is the place I have chosen to call home, and put down my roots. At some point, I think you either need to make a decision to be in, or out. You can dance around the edges of it all, but that can sometimes just be a different kind of superiority really. And a coal that isn't in the fire may die. My church is my fire. I have made a decision and I will do my best to stick with it. I am not completely and wholly loyal to it, the way I am to God. If I had big, unresolvable problems with our practices or ideas I might have to find a new home. But right now it is mine.

I don't agree with every little thing that we do. But the thing is, it's we.... I am the church. The church hurts people, it does things wrong sometimes. I have been hurt and disillusioned by people in the church. But I am people in the church. I have hurt people too.

We make a big deal out of things we shouldn't. We place importance on things that are not important, and we ignore the things that matter.

What happened to Eden.... it was wrong. It shouldn't have happened. I am sure that it made God sad. And unfortunately, she isn't alone. There are people I know that have been hurt. There are things I watch us do, things that I do, that I am not 100% happy about. I worry that we are not the church God wants us to be.

But I am just trying to be the best church that I can.

A new season

We are coming into a new season, Shane and I.

We have decided to try to stop letting our feelings and our difficulties and our emotions and our circumstances dictate our life, and we are trying to make space for the things we believe in.

It is hard.

We are stepping up, and we are trying to make our lives work around our faith instead of the other way around. Shane is planning to go on a missions trip in another month, and we are taking on a new role in our church. Sometimes it feels like it's really no big deal, but at other times it is scary as hell. I don't think that I am qualified for it. I am terrified of us doing it badly, but I am excited.

I don't want to just exist, you know? I don't want to just survive parenting and marriage and life. I want to thrive and I want to grow and I want to be what I was created to be.

I have no idea if this is going to be good. I have no idea if this is right. But I am determined to do my best and make my time here on earth matter. I know the truth. I need to do something with my knowledge.

Something worthwhile....

Tonight we had the Watoto children's choir come do a concert in our town.

Wow.

Watoto Children’s Choirs have traveled internationally since 1994 as advocates for the estimated 50 million children in Africa, orphaned as a result of HIV/AIDS, war, poverty and disease.

These are children who know suffering. They know pain. But they also know Jesus. You can see it all over their faces, hear it in their beautiful voices. They really, really love God. It's wonderful to see.

I almost didn't go. Shane is still quite sick, which meant I had to go alone. It was on at 7pm, and at 6:30pm I was still not sure if we were going. I fed Georgie, bathed them both and packed them in the car, but I was still in two minds about going. We were running late, an excellent reason to turn back. Charlie was hungry and I was not excited at the prospect of trying to feed him there. I was almost going to turn around and go home as soon as I parked the car. There were just too many cars there, and it had already started. But then I saw my sister arriving with her children and thought 'What they heck, just try. If it just doesn't work you can always go home.' But we stayed. I parked Georgie on Jenny's lap (because she's wonderful like that), and just stood up the back with Charlie next to my friend who was there rocking her baby girl... and I just took it all in. And I am glad. It was amazing.

You want to see Joy? You look at the beautiful smiling faces of rescued Ugandan orphans. They know Joy.

 

It was like a drink of water when I have been so thirsty. These children, who have suffered through far worse than I ever have, reminded me about the joy of the Lord. They just absolutely love Jesus. It's not just a show, it's not an act. They are so in love with God, and it just radiated from them.

I know the blogosphere has been abuzz about Africa ever since Eden went there. And since then I have not written so many posts because they seem so trivial, and insignificant and unworthy. But this is worth talking about.

It's not about comparing. My pain, my problems, they are still problems. They may not be the biggest problems in the world, but they are still my problems. And they are still valid. But it does give some perspective. If these children can worship and praise and love God so much, despite all their circumstances, surely I can too? And if I can do something to help more children to rise up out of horrible circumstances, then why don't I?

Kate, at Kate says stuff recently had her sister share on her blog about her experience in Zambia. In it she mentions how vital it is to support the smaller less visible organizations. I think that the Watoto group could be one of those, The work they do, and they way they do it, looks pretty amazing. I don't normally do this on my blog, but if you want to, go check them out, and see what they do!

Easter

On Thursday I did my grocery shopping. In retrospect it was a stupid day to do the shopping. Especially when I could have just as easily gone shopping on Tuesday or Wednesday. But I went Thursday. Just after I'd been to the Doctor's with my sick kids. Just before my town got crazy busy with it's annual Easter celebrations. I would have put it off, but by Thursday we really needed food. And even if it could have waited until Friday, the shops would have been shut. So we braved the supermarket.

As I was circling the car park searching for a park, with two miserable children in the backseat,  cursing myself for being so stupid, the radio was playing. And then a guy started talking about Easter, and the meaning behind it, and what Jesus endured on the the cross.

He spoke in detail, in vivid detail, about the way Jesus suffered as he died for us. The physical suffering. And it really was just awful. I'm not going to rehash it, you can look it up in detail if you want. But suffice to say that being hung up on a cross was the least of Jesus' suffering. What he went through for us. As I was sitting in my car, circling round and round, I started crying. Suddenly finding a park seemed like the most unimportant thing in the world.

You know what? I still don't understand it. When you think of all he suffered, it sounds impossible that anyone could withstand it. I cannot fathom how he endured so much, why he endured so much.  I honestly don't think we're worth it.

But I am immensely grateful that he did.

I am so thankful that he suffered so I don't have to. I am so glad that he died because he loves me that much. And I am so glad that he didn't stay dead. That he rose again, and defeated death, so that I can have eternal life.

Power in worship

For the past week Charlie has slept through every single night. It has been great. Unfortunately, Georgie has not. She has been suffering from a viral bug, and last night she was up often. It takes a good hour to settle her once she is awake, as she gets quite upset. So this morning I was feeling a bit crap.

The crapness continued after I had gotten up for the fourth time with Georgie at 5am, to go back to bed at 6am, after saying goodbye to Shane, who went to work early, for a tiny bit more sleep before Charlie woke up. I had just gotten back to sleep only to wake up to the sound of a dog vomiting. It seemed that Chloe had snuck into our room at some point in the night to sleep on our bed. She's not allowed to, but occasionally she does it, and this morning she did it, and then vomited all over my quilt.

I was not amused, and took her outside. I cleaned up the bed and soaked the quilt (surprisingly both kids slept through it all) and then when I let her back in, she immediately jumped on the couch, and vomited again. I thought (and said) all manner of bad words, and took the couch cover out to soak too and then locked Chloe on the tiled floor.

The day didn't get much better. The kids woke up, and the whole morning was just hard. Charlie was a bit unhappy and had a pain in his belly, and Georgie was sick and didn't know what she wanted, but it was whatever she didn't have. The Wiggles helped us through. I had a solid parenting moment when I was bathing Charlie, and Georgie came up next to me to watch with half a weet-bix in her mouth. I wasn't thrilled, but thought, 'Oh well she must have just gotten into the pantry.' However, when we finished bathing Charlie and I went out into the kitchen, I saw that the pantry door was shut and the childproof hook was locked, which begged the question... where did she get that weet-bix from? Parenting at it's finest, I know.

By lunchtime we were all tired and sick of each other and my temper was fraying badly. I was in shouty mode and it was not good. I put Georgie in her chair with some lunch, then sat down next to her to feed Charlie and promptly burst into tears. I got angry at God and was asking him why things had to be so hard. After a good cry I settled and then I started singing. I just sang regular praise and worship songs that we sing in church. And it helped.

I was just reminded of how much power there is in praise. How powerful it is when we bring a praise offering to Him, especially when we don't feel like it. It's easy to sing praises when things are good and when you feel like it, it's much harder when you don't feel like it. But I think there is so much power in honoring God when it doesn't come easily.

And I think it is so important too, to remember to honour God, not for anything he has done, or is going to do... but for who he is. I think we Christians sometime have a habit of talking about how great God is because he did this, or he has done that. But we need to remember to talk about how good God is simply because he is God, and he is holy and righteous and perfect. We need to honour him, for being him.

I'd like to say that the day was wonderful after that. But it wasn't. It was still hard work. Georgie was still sick, and life was still life. But it was easier. I was easier. It made a difference. There is great power in worship.

*This post was originally started on  Friday, but has taken me a few days to finish.

Linking up with Jess for IBOT.

Again and again and again...

Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding~ Proverbs 3:5

Our town has flooded. We experienced terrible flooding in March 2010, and again in April 2011. Now, February 2012 will go down in local history as a time when the waters rose higher than ever before. It just keeps happening. Again and again and again.

You start to wonder, what is God doing? Is he taking a holiday, and one of the angels is up there going "Uh-oh...'? Maybe he's punishing us? Or does he just have a permanent blind spot where we are concerned?

The devastation is just tremendous. So many people, who have just been through so much. You wonder how it is possible to come back from this. Again and again and again. Surely people have had more than they can bear?

It's times like these, when you can't reason. Can't explain. Have no hope of understanding.

Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good; his love endures forever.~Psalm 118:1

I know it's easy for me to say this, especially when I'm sitting pretty in my nice dry house, surrounded by my family. I'm not sure how easy it would be to say this if it was my house flooded.  But I have to believe that My God is greater than circumstances, more important than stuff, and more powerful than anything the world can throw my way.

And I just have to trust Him, and Love Him. Again and again and again.

Freedom

Today it is Australia day. We don't necessarily do much in celebration. The greatest lengths we go to might involve a BBQ or get together with family or friends.

But I was thinking, what do I love about being Australian?

My Answer.... Freedom.

I love that as an Australian I can be free to be a Mummy, or an office worker, or a fireman if I so choose. I love that it is possible for me to have a good education, and that as an Australian I can access good healthcare services without having to pay any money for insurance. I love that I am free to walk down the street without fear of gunfire or violence, and I can wear whatever I want to wear. Most of all, I love that I am able to worship the God that I choose, without fear, and that in Him I have the ultimate freedom.

It doesn't matter whether it's celebrated with flags flying high, or with quiet cuddles with your baby. You can celebrate with a BBQ on the beach or a piece of your sisters leftover lasagne. But it's worth remembering that we are free.

I am Thankful for that freedom, and am linking up with Kate for Thankful Thursdays.

The Lost are Found...

We have been doing this song recently at church and I absolutely love it. It's easy to just live life and kind of put God on the backburner.... after all he doesn't clamour for our attention like small people. But at the moment I think I am being reminded how important it is to remember the fact that we serve a powerful, amazing, almighty God for whom nothing is impossible.



The lost are found
The blind will see
The lame will walk
The dead will live
And You Are God
Forever You will reign
The lost are found
The blind will see
The lame will walk
The dead will live
And You Are God
Forever You will reign



Keep an eye on eternity.

Imagination getting the better of me....

Last night I was putting Georgie to bed. I'd been feeling a big gross all day and was wondering if maybe the night would be the one when the baby would decided to arrive? (and no, it totally wasn't) But as I cuddled my little girl and put her to bed, I thought of my Aunty Jenny.

If you haven't already heard the story, my Aunty Jenny died years ago, from a complication in childbirth. When she was having her second baby, some of the amniotic fluid got into her bloodstream. And I just thought, did she do the same thing? Tuck her little girl in to bed with an 'I love you' and then go to hospital never to come home? It's times like this I hate my imagination, because it's all just too real.

And it just hurts.

It's not that I have any horrible premonitions about this baby's birth, I fully expect to have everything go fine. But it just makes me so incredibly sad. The idea of a little girl, the same age as Georgie, to just not have her Mummy anymore. To leave a little baby boy, newly hatched, motherless? A husband, to cope all alone? It's when I dwell on things like this that I don't understand God very well. And I don't like him. I understand why my Grandma had so much trouble dealing with it. Because it's just not right.

I don't have any answers. I know that God is holy and righteous. I just have to trust, and believe that some things are beyond our comprehension. And I know that God weeps for us just as much as we do.

Today I'm trying to take the time to make the most of my wonderful family.

It's not fair!

I grew up listening to Relient K during my teenage years, and the other day I found an old CD and have had it on in the car all week. I've been listening to one particular song 'Be my escape.' Because there's a line in there that just really struck a chord with me.

The beauty of Grace is that it makes life not fair.

That just really go me thinking. We're very good at noticing when life's not fair and we're the ones who suffer.

It's not fair, she ate the last ice cream and I never got any.

It's not fair that he speeds all the time and has never gotten a ticket.

It's not fair that I'm stuck at home with our children all day while he gets to be off having the time of his life.

It's not fair that she got that promotion over me when I've been here longer and am just as qualified.

It isn't fair that there are people in the world who are dying of starvation when there are others struggling to lose weight.

It isn't fair that there are so many victims of rape, violence and abuse in this world, and the innocent always seem to suffer while the guilty go free.


How often do we complain that life's not fair on us? And the truth is it isn't. It isn't fair that so many bad things happen. There is an immeasurable amount of unfair that goes on in this world.


It's not fair that Jesus died on the cross for our sin.


I am good at focusing on the times when I'm the one who loses out. But what about the times that I come out on top, when I should suffer the consequences? It's so easy to remember the bad and forget the good. But really, we are fortunate that life isn't fair. If it were, nobody would stand a chance of making it to heaven. He took upon Himself the consequences of my sin.

I'm not saying we have to be happy about the unfairness all the time. It's normal to struggle and hate some things. But I also think it's very important to recognise the times when the balance goes in our favour, and rejoice in it. Grace makes life not fair. And that's a really good thing.

The thief

 

I love this song by Third Day. It gives me tingles. And hope. So much hope.

There is also just something about Mac Powell's voice that I absolutely adore.

You might not know the story behind the song. But if you're curious and have never heard it before, it's in Luke 23:32- 43.

I was going to write more about it. But I have actually decided I shouldn't. The song kind of speaks for itself.

Here are the words:

I am a thief, I am a murderer
Walking up this lonely hill
What have I done? I don't remember
No one knows just how I feel
and I know that my time is coming soon.
 

It's been so long. Oh, such a long time
Since I've lived with peace and rest
Now I am here, my destination
guess things work for the best
and I know that my time is coming soon
 

Who is this man? This man beside me
They call the King of the Jews
They don't believe that He's the Messiah
But, somehow I know it's true.
And they laugh at Him in mockery,
and beat Him till he bleeds
They nail Him to the rugged cross,
and raise Him, they raise Him up next to me
 

My time has come, I'm slowly fading
I deserve what I receive
Jesus when You are in Your kingdom
Could You please remember me
and He looks at me still holding on
the tears fall from His eyes
He says I tell the truth
Today, you will live with Me in paradise
 
and I know that my time is coming soon
and I know paradise is coming soon.