I Will Lift Up My Eyes

For the most part I’ve accepted that CFS is just something I have to deal with. I take each day as it comes. Until I don’t. Until I find myself struggling with low to no energy for too many days in a row. Until my emotions end up scraping the bottom of the barrel as well. Until I’m crying out, begging for healing. Asking how this or that is supposed to happen.

Each and every time I come to this place he asks me to trust Him. To rest in the knowledge that he’s got this and he’s got me. Though I can’t see the bigger picture, he can. Just believe.

I realised the other day that it’s nearly the anniversary again of when this all began. 23 years ago. It’s been an emotional week as I process how I feel about that. But it’s also been a time of renewed hope.

Realising what the date was didn’t come on its own though - It came wrapped with memories of his faithfulness.  When I was tempted to overthink it all, finding myself focused on the waves instead of Jesus’ face, he spoke a Psalm to my heart. Returning to that place of acceptance once more he brought me full circle (undoing me again) with the same old hymn that he used way back at the beginning as I came to grips with it all for the very first time.

I suspect I’m not on my own with these struggles. So I’d like to share a sample of where my head’s been at. I pray, if you’re reading this, you’ll find encouragement too…

May the grace that sought my heart on that first day

Be the grace that binds my heart to stay

May the truth that opened up my eyes on that first time

Be the thoughts on my mind that never go away

For you are a lamp to my feet

A light to my path

You’re the hand that’s holding me

Faithful God, every promise kept

Every need you’ve met, Faithful God

All I am and all I’ll ever be is all because you love faithfully.

Faithful God.

May the love that caught my heart to set it free

Be the love that others see in me

And may this hope that reaches to the depths of human need

Be the song that I sing in joy and suffering

For you are the love that never leaves

The friend that won’t deceive

You’re the one sure thing

How deep how wide the love

That pierced his side, the love

Redemptions mine, O Love that will not let me go

(Laura Story – 2011)

...

“I will lift my eyes to the hills, from whence comes my help?

My help comes from the Lord the maker of heaven and earth.

He will not allow your foot to be moved;

He who keeps you will not slumber.” (Psalm 121: 1-3)

...

And that, that is well with my soul.

A Drop of Sunshine

Why did God create flowers, fluffy clouds and good picnic weather?

Why? Because He loves us.

They are a gift. Simply to be enjoyed.

A lover’s note whispering sweet nothings on a gentle breeze, which is absolutely something to the deepest depth of our soul.

The exuberant bees hanging out in my overgrown pak choy patch? The essence of sunniness.

Perhaps you need some joy today friend. This post is dedicated to you. I’m passing on a hug, a smile, a drop of sunshine.

Wherever you are, whatever you’re going through right now…

He knows.

He sees. 

He loves you.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

^{-Romans 15: 13-}

^{Linking up with: Essential Fridays, Fellowship Fridays}

In His Time

Lately it seems I'm back on the road of learning (again, and again, and again) the need to go easy on myself and rest in God's good timing; 

the fact that he holds the bigger picture; 

that he knows where I'm at; 

that he's okay with that.

Five Minute Mercy

Join me in the Five Minute Friday Challenge hosted by Lisa-Jo Baker. Participants write for 5 minutes with no editing, no over thinking, and no backtracking. This week’s word is: Mercy.

 

(Go)

So I did something the other day I shouldn’t have. I read a blog post. Yup. Guilty as charged. It was in fact a very good article - about how this particular lady organises her afternoons.

I won’t say who she is or provide a link for you. Not because I don’t want you to read it. (There were lots of great tips) But rather that it just wasn’t a good choice for me. I generally avoid conversations about housework and what others can achieve in a given timeframe as I just can’t. I find it disheartening to know that what would be considered a good week for me, is somebody else’s afternoon. Not even a whole day!

It really didn’t help. It was the final shove I didn’t need to push this exhausted, inadequate Mama over the edge and into depression. I have no-one to blame but myself. And I have spent a good chunk of the week battling those inner voices and struggling to smile much. So I let myself be sad. My eyes persistently leaking as I once again mourned what doesn’t belong to me; deciding that I might as well embrace my feelings and acknowledge them instead of wishing them away.

The beautiful thing in all of this? He met me there. Held my hand. Let me cry for a while. Then a bit more. Gently lifting my chin He offered to take my pain, my frustrations, my shortcomings. Reminded me that it’s okay not to be perfect… That I am loved in spite of me.

^{Hebrews 4:15} For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet he did not sin. ¹⁶ Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need. (NIV)

(Stop)

Now, your turn…

Unfold and Refresh Yourself

‘Unfold and refresh yourself’…

Maybe it’s my wacky sense of humour. Maybe they should have worded it better. I’m not sure. But who really cares? Gets me every time.

Things round here have been, well…stressed – to put it mildly.

My stepson has been here now for a little under a week. I know there has to be a ‘settling in’ phase. I know that whatever I’m feeling, he no doubt, feels ten times more. I can’t say I’m a fan of this. Kind of stinks sometimes.

Little things, that shouldn't feel big, do. Like the way he seemingly has no table manners -or at least, not the ones we wish he had. Like the way he unknowingly uses words and phrases that don't belong here. Like discovering his hair in my brush (what the?!). We said we’d love this kid where he was at. And we are. And we do. When he’s around.

Last night in whispered tones I confessed to my man, how I was really feeling. That even though it felt silly, the truth is I am struggling.

We said we would buy him stuff he needed. Knowing full well that there would likely be quite the list.  And there has been. The budget has suffered quite a beating. I’m tired and I physically ache. I just want to take a break. Spend some money on a meal out and maybe some entertainment for the kids. Run away and forget the real world for a while. But we must eat and there is no money left for fun.

I lay in bed last night and cried. Let the stress out.

This morning he rang the bank. Or rather the computer system there. We needed to be sure of where the funds were at so we could spend them wisely. He gets a silly grin on his face. Puts the phone to my ear. It says we have enough. More than we were expecting. Far more… The automated voice asks if I’d like to hear it again. I pushed the button. Yes please!

Turns out we qualified for a payment we were blissfully ignorant of. And there it is. God knew. And God supplied.

Now, I can unfold and refresh!

Matthew 11:28  If you are tired from carrying heavy burdens, 

come to me and I will give you rest.

Real Friends

Join me in the Five Minute Friday Challenge hosted by Lisa-Jo Baker. Participants write for 5 minutes with no editing, no over thinking, and no backtracking. This week’s word is: Friend.

(Go)

Moving towns multiple times leaves friends behind like taking a beautiful handful of fresh picked daisies. The roots are still in the ground. They stay behind. The new folk are lovely, kind and welcoming. But they haven’t left their beginnings somewhere else. They are still attached. They don’t need us in quite the same way we need them.

Or maybe if we had more time and energy we’d get to know them better? Maybe if we could keep up with them it would help?

This different kind of friendship thing is blessing that goes deep. An answer to a lonely heart’s desire. A God who sees. And hears. And knows.

We chat and laugh. Sometimes we cry. We share our hearts. We are real with one another. Raw even. We pray. We rejoice. We encourage.

We may never get to embrace this side of heaven. We have never met. And though I long to behold them in the flesh, to sip tea without a monitor in between - these friendships are just as real and precious as any.

(Stop)

Now, your turn…

New Every Morning

Today I'm linking up with Create With Joy for Wordless Wednesday. Here we share our favourite photos with or without words...




Here's a snap I had fun taking one morning out in the rose garden. (Hint: Click on the image to see a larger version)

Two Little Smiles From My Week

‘It takes both sunshine and rain to make a rainbow’ – I’m sure you have heard that one before. But did you know it takes sunshine and rain to grow roses? I mean, seriously, I did know that. But I was so focused on the individual elements that I couldn't see them working together – in my own front garden.

We had sun, so much sun. The plants we wanted to grow in our garden were really struggling. Only the weeds seemed to thrive. Then we had rain, so much rain. And when that got done drowning everything, all I could see were those thriving weeds.

The sun came out again. It was hot and humid. So I stayed indoors with the fan.

Now it’s raining again. A lot.

We were getting ready to go out. I was almost at the front gate when they waved at me. Two most perfect little rose buds. I looked up at the dark clouds looming overhead and ran inside to grab the scissors. The rain was not going to ruin these. We would enjoy them inside instead.

Apparently my eyes have not been working so well. The more I looked, the more I saw. Initially, I had planned on collecting just two rose buds to enjoy. I came back inside with a handful numbering twenty one!

That friends, right there, is heart medicine. The kind God prescribes.

Here’s another dose…

Six years ago, I sat and bawled my eyes out to the Newsboys singing ‘Blessed Be Your Name’. My (then) four year old looked at me worriedly and told me not to cry. He was too young to understand that Mummy and Daddy so desperately wanted him to have a little sister or brother (ok, we were leaning very heavily on the sister side). It wasn't happening as easily as we had hoped.

I took some pictures a few days ago. Despite the blurriness, they are too good not to share.

Here is my (now) four year old dancing his little heart out to the Newsboys singing ‘Blessed Be Your Name’. 

 He doesn't understand why Mummy has a tear in her eye either.

Got a moment of blessing you'd like to share? Tell us all about it in the comments below.

Table Therapy (part 2)

Today’s post is a continuation from last week. If you haven’t caught up with part 1 you can do so here before continuing...

Table Therapy – part 2

The following day I busied myself with the wood putty. There is something glorious about mixing and squishing that stuff in your hands, slowly but surely making a new colour from two. Perhaps it has something to do with old childhood memories of play dough or is the reason pigs revel in mud? Whatever the reason, I gently pushed the putty into the larger cracks with the aid of a small spatula, smoothing the lumps over with my fingers. Standing back to admire my handiwork the stirring movement transposed into a soft hum.

With anticipation I watched as my husband fastened the support beams he had fashioned earlier that day; loathe to add something so unoriginal to a vintage item but knowing we had little choice. The time to reattach the table top had finally come. My task was to hold the planks down as firmly as my strength would allow while he crawled underneath with a drill and screwdriver. The table was soon whole again. 

All along I had been conscious of a developing refrain but experienced the magnitude of its power while working my way around the table top, encouraging the beeswax polish into the grain. The table had beauty despite how dry and parched the wood had been from so many years of neglect. Now it absolutely sang as the fibres drank up the moisture - a rich soulful harmony from deep within the heart, starting out gently and increasing in intensity. I revelled in the silent symphony. 

Somewhere in that profoundly healing moment the realization came that I was experiencing soul therapy. Pausing, rag in hand, I pondered the table’s song. A chord resonated deep within me.

My soul had been dry and my paint was chipped. Cracks had appeared. Life’s dings and bangs and bruises covered me. Broken, I had foolishly believed that nothing valuable was left to offer. And yet…there was.

‘A bruised reed he will not break and a smouldering wick he will not snuff out’ (Isaiah 42:3).

Though my very being desperately desired to hide these imperfections from the world, the graceful old table boldly proclaimed that evidence of such things is what gives rise to character…

Lost in my reverie, little attention had been paid to the polish in my hand. Dabbing the rag in to get some more I happened to glance into the tin. At the bottom where the polish was gone a heart shape emerged in the wax.  

‘God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.’ (Romans 5:8)

Never believing for a moment this was mere coincidence, a smile spread across my lips as my soul joined in the chorus…

The table is finished now. Is it perfect? No. Does it still bear the scars of its life? Yes. Is there evidence of where we have fixed it? Absolutely! But it is well loved all the same; a table with a story to tell. God has used this table to remind me that ‘he has made all things beautiful in his time’ (Ecclesiastes 3:11).  If only we will allow him to.

So often I get frustrated with my inabilities, my perceived areas of failure, and my stumblings. My chipped paint and cracks leave me feeling weak. But then God speaks. He says, ‘“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.’ (2 Corinthians 12:9-10)

Table Therapy

“Snooze and you’ll loose,” it said. “Renovators delight,” it said.

These were the very words in the newspaper advertisement that described our dream home.

Yes, I said dream home. Maybe not everybody’s cup of tea but definitely ours. A faded old beauty – originally built about 130 years ago. Not renovated for a good twenty years or more. The current (ahem…dated) décor pays homage to the 70’s and 80’s. The walls and ceilings sport cracked, peeling paint with a grotty overtone. The carpet is held together by masking tape. Yes, masking tape (you read that right!).

Slowly but surely we are rediscovering the old girls soul. If only the walls could speak.

This January (our summer break) we are taking on the next project. The next room. The next tree in the forest. This one also requires renovating an assortment of vintage and second hand items of furniture. Something happens deep within me each time we get out the hammer; replace worn out fittings; open a tin of paint. God reaches through to my heart.

Last year when we repaired a table I felt compelled to write the story down. Now as I delve into the healing properties of paint therapy once again, it seems an appropriate time to share it with you.  May you be encouraged and blessed…

Lizzy xx

(ps – it’s kinda longish so we’ll split it in two).

Table Therapy – part 1

The table arrived at my house looking rather forlorn. The top was in five pieces, very nearly six; though it should have been just four. The paint on the detached legs and base was badly cracked and bubbled - in some places non-existent.  A very rusty towel rail, a few little odd chocks of wood, a smaller piece that had clearly broken off from somewhere and a handful of corroded nails and screws completed the collection that arrived that day.

This sorry looking little heap was a piece of my family history - an antique table that had belonged to my great great great aunt, and most likely to her parents before that.

With some gentle encouragement the dovetail joints fit together neatly like a jig saw puzzle. I rested the top planks on the frame to get a sense of the overall picture. Not that this was entirely possible. The two middle boards, which are pine, sat on easily enough. The two cedar ends were a different story. One was completely snapped off. The other was within centimetres of suffering the same fate.  A testimony, of sorts, to having lived the last forty odd years in storage with other unused belongings piled on top. My husband held one of the ends in place and I stepped back to take in the view.

My first impression was that of a table in an old cottage kitchen – like those often seen on display in a historical village or museum. The kind of table that folk like me practically drool over.  The tops of them are dry and well worn from years of use. I tried to imagine the assortment of utensils that once sat on it and the people who owned them. My mind conjured up images of a butter churn, wooden chopping boards and a metal mixing spoon so well used the edge had worn flat…

A voice broke through my daydream.

“I’m sorry it’s not much and is so shabby.”

Sorry? This man was sorry for bringing this to me!

“Don’t be sorry,” I told him “It’s perfect! Just what I wanted.”

Indeed the picture standing before me was not a pretty one. The old polish that peeked out, in places, from underneath the dirty cream paint looked as if coarse sand had been added. The amount of paint that was missing left the viewer with sentiments of misery. The top panels had warped with age and were covered with various scratches along with multiple dents of varying shapes and sizes. A small section containing borer activity and a paint spot or two rounded out the image. Yet it had a depth of character that a newer, smoother, cleaner table could not possibly hope to match. Despite the ugliness there was beauty too; just waiting, longing to be shown again.

Life has a way of becoming hectic all too easily and an opportune time for repairs was elusive. When passing by though I often stopped to contemplate how best to bring back the table’s song, just plain admiring it too.

Eventually we armed ourselves with glue, syringes, putty, paint and clamps. Our first mission was to mend the damaged ends. Carefully glue was pasted onto the broken pieces with an old brush and the raw edges were pressed together. After living apart for so long the two halves of the plank had twisted, no longer able to rest snugly against each other. Clamps became indispensable assistants whilst everything dried. We filled as many of the finer cracks as possible then turned our attention to the legs and base. Ample opportunities for gluing and plugging gaps presented themselves here also. The odd little chocks and broken piece of wood returned to their rightful places and I wondered how long they had been separated. Judging by the paintwork, other misplaced fragments had departed quite some time ago. Despite my longing to continue and remain up all night until the finishing touches were in place, patience was the only requirement at this point. Something was beginning to stir...

Stay tuned for part 2, coming next week…

Just Because

He sat there, smiling, as the tears ran in rivers down his freckled cheeks. Finally grasping the meaning behind the symbolism in his story book.

We bought it for him when he was about three or four. Love is not a strong enough word. We would read it over and over again until he could quote it word for word even though he could not yet read for himself.

Several years have passed. He has moved on to other stories now.

We have also learned more about him; that he takes everything literally. That he needs help sometimes with comprehension. All part of the Asperger's he was finally diagnosed with last year.

He gets down on himself. Really down. He does not require anyone’s help to do that. So when other kids at school notice him, notice his quirks, and comment - it’s not good. Maybe they do not even realise what they said. Or that he would take it that way. Maybe they were not even being nasty.

Determined not to let him spiral any further down in this latest ‘I’m no good’ session, I stepped in. Or rather God did – and He let me help. It was Mummy and her boy time.

Gathering Max Lucado’s ‘You Are Special’ and leading him by the hand to a quiet chair at the far end of the house, we read the story together. And then we did what I only wish had occurred to me much, much sooner; years sooner.

I explained what it all meant; who the characters represented. What their actions symbolised. He had never understood any of this. I told him over and over again, “You are special because God made you. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks or says. He doesn't make mistakes. You are special just because.”

He cried. I cried. It was sacred…

Dear friend, I share this with you because I want to be sure that you grasp this all important truth too. Let God take your sweet face (yes, that’s yours) in his gentle hands and listen to Him say, “You are special just because I made you. You are loved. You are enough. That is all.”

NB: I am in no way being compensated for sharing about Mr Lucado’s book. I simply believe it contains truth that every heart needs to know.

Just Hold On!

After a long day, the kids' bedtime had finally arrived. We were going through the usual motions. If you’re a parent you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.

“Did you really wash your face? The remnants of dinner are still plastered on your cheeks.”

“Now go clean your teeth, and try not to swallow the toothpaste before you begin!”

“Please don’t forget to hang up your towel.”

Daddy was helping the youngest get dressed when he (unknowingly) said something really profound. Immediately I reached for the laptop and made note of his wisdom. Dumbfounded he looked at me, “Huh? What did I say?”

Working very hard on his balancing skills, my son was trying to get his feet into the pyjama pants held out for him. But without taking his usual grasp of sturdy arms, he wobbled all over the place and was unsuccessful. Until Daddy said, “I don’t want you to balance. Just hold onto me.”

Hmm…

I married a very wise man!

How many times do we try to figure things out on our own? How many times do we think it’s all up to us?

But God says…

^{1 Peter 5:6} Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. ⁷ Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.(NIV)

^{Philippians 4:6} Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.⁷ And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. (NIV)

A very busy couple of weeks are staring me down. How am I going to get everything done? I get overwhelmed and exhausted just thinking about it. Like my son, I’ve been trying to put the pyjama pants on in my own strength.

My husband may have been directing those words to our son, but really I know that God was saying them to me.

I don’t want you to balance. Just hold on to me!

Nifty Notion #1: Sweeping the Room with a Glance

No, this is not a joke. Neither is it really a cleaning tip. What it is though, is a necessary place my heart had to come to - in order to love and accept myself right here where I am at.

It is permission to not be okay. Authorization to acknowledge a day that is just plain ‘blah’; to sit and listen to music, to sew, to read a good book, to put my feet up, to ignore the housework. Why? There are days, dear friends, when my body (and possibly yours) just needs to rest. Pushing myself to achieve things on those days would only result in being extra useless for the next few.

With a certain amount of awe, I have listened to other women discussing how long it takes to clean their houses each day. The sheer number of tasks they can achieve.  My comparing mind works overtime, soon leading to frustration. Discouraged I focus on the negative and forget to see the positive.  I become depressed.

But this is not God’s plan for my life. While we are called to be good stewards of all that He has given us, He does not intend for us to be overwhelmed by it.

^{Matthew 11:28} “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. ²⁹ Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. ³⁰ For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”(NIV)

Consider the story of Mary and Martha.

^{Luke 10:38} As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. ³⁹ She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said. ⁴⁰ But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”

⁴¹ “Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, ⁴² but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”(NIV)

This passage is not suggesting we should never do housework (wouldn’t we all love a verse like that!). Elsewhere Martha is acknowledged for her contribution.  But Jesus clearly states that it is not the be all and end all.  

Today, if it is not possible to be a Martha, be a Mary. Sweep the room with a glance and rest at Jesus feet.  

For more nifty notions click here.

Consider the Lilies of the Field…and the Tiny Sea Shells

Do you ever doubt that God cares?

I must confess to thinking like that from time to time. Let me tell you a story of one such time…

I was over dealing with life’s daily issues, tired of not knowing how to communicate properly with my Asperger’s son, and frustrated with my own physical limitations. My soul was dry. I needed a hug and a holiday. I needed to know and feel that somebody cared.

Thankfully school holidays were fast approaching. Recognising the need to just get away and have some fun as a family we booked ourselves a week of camping in a quiet little coastal town we had never been to.

Somehow we managed to squeeze everything we needed (minus a few things we forgot) in our not quite big enough car. Day one began with a happy morning splashing about in the beautiful clear calm water. I ran my fingers through the wet sand intending to show my youngest how to make sand ‘dribblies’. Something caught my eye. Not much bigger than the rough grains of sand was a teeny weeny but perfect little shell. I absolutely adore miniature stuff so was delighted with this discovery. 

  Over the next few days, each time we went for a swim, I kept an eye out for more miniature marvels.

   

By the end of our trip it had dawned on me that God was pointing out these tiny treasures just for me.

  

Studying each little shell I quickly came to realise that just because they are miniscule does not mean they are simple. They are just as detailed as their bigger counterparts. 

 

The thought came to mind, if God takes the time to make these so perfectly detailed - how much more does he care for us?!…hmm this is sounding familiar…

  

'See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labour or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendour was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you...' (Matthew 6: 28-30)

 Yes! God cares. He cares that life can overwhelm at times. He cares very much. He cares enough to put such intricate detail into his creation and then makes sure that I see it. Like a little love letter I am reminded just how treasured I am.