Hillsong: Touch The Sky
Dark swiftly falling. It’s me and little ones. Son, 8 and my three wee girls. Still little though each turn of day moves us away. Away. Ribs suck. I am missing. Am I treasuring?
I am undone. I have Backpack. Snacks. Coloring supplies. Germ-X. Wet Ones. Purse. Keys. Phone. House is locked. Before that, a quick trip to get shoes for one youth who unexpectedly outgrew their concert black. Pants, shirts, skirt, tie, tights, everything. Found. Organized. Albeit later than it should have been. Every little one in Christmas clothes with photos taken. With grand hopes, we are now heading to watch the older kids in their Winter Recital. I am so unused to being alone with littles, that when I am, it takes the level of concentration and effort required to the next level.
(Note: For anyone who might be tempted to think I am more than I am: I had to leave the recital early. They lasted one hour and 30 minutes and I saw three of the kids and they did not last well for that. These littles reflect my season so accurately. It is unrelenting. Just because I trained their older siblings, doesn’t mean they will suddenly be well-behaved by osmosis. O, sometimes I wish it was so! And sometimes, I just let more things go. And sometimes, I just know when I am at my limit and so are they- and pack up, we go. And I have to think: is it still important to me(little ones who bring rest rather than frazzledness)? I think it is. Help me, Lord.)
Behind the wheel, I gasp for breath. Music floods the car and I am wrapped round.
I found my life when I laid it down
I am caught up in an illuminated moment. One of those anointed “Kairos” moments when everything is clear and the curtain wavers. And in those moments, I am washed in the Presence of God and know myself fully known and realize that in my lost-ness, I am found.
I have entered the busiest season ( I think) of my life. This past semester has been hard. The Moms, they tell me, it just gets busier. I gasp. What can I do? Hold on for the ride, hold on to the Lord. Give it my best. Pour myself out.
I have resolutely and fixedly always turned my face to the Lord. Again, again. I have welcomed the gift of life in womb, in home. I have treasured with great thankfulness the fullness of my family and my heart. I have chosen to say as the Lord says, always,” Lo, children are an heritage of the Lord, the fruit of the womb, a reward.” I have never, never chosen to complain about any season. Am I complaining now? To share its hard? To feel the stretch? To live so beyond myself…all the time.
No. But I am saying it out loud. It is hard. And I am pouring out. I am choosing a poured out life. And I have to say it again, and again. To myself. Because I grow weary in my ideals. I grow weary in life. I grow weak. I tire. But I have the choice. With every day, I have the choice in how I am going to respond, confess, repent, re-orient.
And I choose. I choose words of life and words of grace. I chose to fight for beauty and goodness. To draw close, again,again to children who bristle and prick as they grow through their many stages. To be the life of Christ to them- He who pursues me relentlessly. So, I will pursue. Help me, Lord.
And in that moment, in the car. I know. I am found. I choose the poured out life because I find myself when I come to the end of myself. I find myself in You. And me in You is more real than anything anywhere (except perhaps Heaven…all that mystery and beauty waiting for us).
I am still open Lord. I am open to Your Hand. I am open to You. Seasons change. Child-bearing ends.
Mothering never ends. Life-giving never ends. Birthing something new and precious in God, walking in His Spirit, growing in His grace, basking in His touch upon this life is available for every season. The anointed joy of knowing I am walking in Your will and in Your miracles is for me now just as it was in 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2004,2006, 2008, 2011, 2013. In Pennsylvania, North Carolina, Maryland. Just as it has been all my life, placed in the family I was placed in, schooled where I was schooled, INFP as You created me.
This is the hardest season (of the year) for me and I need this reminder and truth more than ever. I choose to live poured out. I say yes. I still say yes, Lord.
“The High Places,” answered the Shepherd, “are the starting places for the journey down to the lowest place in the world. When you have hinds’ feet and can go ‘leaping on the mountains and skipping on the hills,’ you will be able, as I am, to run down from the heights in the gladdest self-giving and then go up to the mountains again. You will be able to mount to the High Places swifter than eagles, for it is only up on the High Places of Love that anyone can receive the power to pour themselves down in an utter abandonment of self-giving.” Hinds Feet on High Places by Hannah Hurnard
What does living a poured out life mean to you?