Thankful

I'm not gonna lie. Life is hard. SO hard. But I'm remembering to be thankful. I'm remembering to savor. Because even if life is hard, it is my life. My only life. These day-to-days even when I accomplish nothing other than keeping my little boys alive and fed, these are my life. We're in the thick of it. We're smack in the middle (and at the beginning, depending on perspective) of doing the thing, and we get one shot at it.

I'm extraordinarily hard on myself. I am realizing more and more how many people are hard on themselves and I am no exception. I didn't really think of myself as a perfectionist, but perhaps there is a bit of that in me. It could just be plain ol' insecurity. It could be a lot of things. (By the way, I'm going through Beth Moore's So Long Insecurity with four precious daughters of God, and it is like a fresh glass of iced tea in July. Every person on the planet could benefit from that book and I strongly recommend you get a copy!)

But I'm easing up a bit.

I am a week behind on my scripture memory. Or a year plus a week, depending how you look at it. I started the Romans Project last year and drifted away from the habit around the end of July or August. Life happens, and I allowed it to get in the way. So I started back with it this year in the middle of July, and am behind.
I was beating myself up about this. This and a host of other 'started but unfinished' projects... like the laundry for example.

But there is grace. God offers grace abundant, and we've only but to receive it.

And I am behind on my scripture memory, but, God graciously reminded me, at least I'm doing it. God's precious words, while maybe not in the quantity or at the pace I would have liked, are still being trained into my heart. Little is better than none at all; praise Jesus.

We took a walk yesterday. The dinner dishes weren't washed. My son may have still had a bit of pizza sauce on his face.
But we laughed together.

My hair is graying and I'm not even 30.
But I have hair.

My best girlfriend is states away.
But I have a precious friend.

The sink is full of dishes and the diapers need washed.
But I have a family to clean up after.

My back aches and my arms and neck are sore.
But these are all likely from caring for and carrying my kids.

These are hard eucharisteo and gifts only from God.
Every good and perfect gift comes from God. Our father.
I have a Father.
I have gifts from that Good Father.
I am thankful.

Disclosure of Material Connection: Some of the links in the post above are “affiliate links.” This means if you click on the link and purchase the item, I will receive an affiliate commission. Regardless, I only recommend products or services I use personally and believe will add value to my readers. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

Choosing Pearls

Today, I’m drawing strength from my Jesus. The journey I’m on right now is learning to trust Him, and love Him, no matter what is going on right now. 

No matter if He’s waiting to answer my prayer.

No matter if I’m hurting.

No matter if I, secretly, deep down, blame Him for my pain.

Gasp. Yes. You read that right. No, you may not be as surprised as I was to realize it. But I did. He helped me realize it. In an ever-so-loving way, He helped me realize that a seeming unanswered prayer that has seemed to go from bad to worse has been standing in the way of my faith. Standing in the way of my love for Him.

I was guarded against my Jesus. I still am, I think, a little. It’s going to be a whole healing process, and we’re just beginning. But Jesus is up for the challenge, and so I will be too. I’m learning a few things along the way.

He does ache for the situation to be better. Not just better – resolved. Healed. Perfect. He aches for it more than I do. More than I can even comprehend.

He aches to reach in and fix it. He has to really restrain Himself from doing just that.

He can fix it. He holds the power to fix it all.

Why is He restraining Himself, then? Why, when He has the power, and wants to fix it, does He not? This was exactly my struggle.

Because He knows better. He knows that the pain is an unfortunate part of the process; of His better plan.

“Abba, Father, all things are possible unto thee; take away this cup from me: nevertheless not what I will, but what thou wilt.” Mark 14:36

Not my will but Thine, Father. Abba. Daddy. You know best.

Because He knows that to take it away now, to fix it all without due process, in this situation, is not the best way. It would not foster greater faith in me. There are numerous other effects this might have on the outcome that I could never even realize, none of them best.

Because my Daddy wants the best for me. My Jesus wants nothing less for His Princess. The daughter of the King.

So I wear my pearls today. The pearl is for me a reminder – because God knows I need visuals – that the suffering is worth the wait. That pearls come from discomfort, time, patience, more discomfort, that itch you can’t scratch, pressure, more discomfort and more waiting. The longer you wait, the more valuable your pearl will become. Bigger, more visible and more precious.

I used to not like pearls. And today I realized why. And also why I like them now.

When I didn’t like pearls, I was a little girl, and the only pearls I was acquainted with were on my costume jewelry. I didn’t like them, because the shiny coating would chip off, and I’d be left with a string of ugly off-white plastic beads – and not always even the same color as each other.

Those were false pearls.
Those were not made with the same discomfort as my grown-up pearls.

Real ones.

Real pearls made from real pressure and patience. From pain.

And so many times we look at false pearls and think they’re the real thing, and then wonder why our faith isn’t stronger. Wonder why it seems as if satan worked a little better in a situation than our Jesus did. Wonder why we’re left hurting.

Satan makes false pearls.

But those false pearls may be the very ones that leave us guarding our hearts from the very One who wants to heal it. Protecting our hearts from our Abba. Our Daddy. Our Healer and Protector and Provider.

And then one day the shiny paint chips away and the pearls are ugly and the beads don’t match. And it makes us despair.

But our Abba makes real pearls. They’re irregular and each one is unique, but the paint doesn’t chip away, and they’re worth a whole lot more. They’re stronger than plastic.

Dear Jesus, help me wait for the real pearls. Thank you for making real pearls with my life.

Not my will, but Yours. The pain will one day be worth it.