Speak in the Daylight What You're Told in the Dark
"What I tell you in the dark, speak in the daylight; what is whispered in your ear, proclaim from the roofs." Jesus tells his disciples this in Matthew 10, and as I read it tonight, I felt challenged to be a bit more intentional to share a glimpse into my recent season of darkness, and of God's faithful care.
Back in the Fall, I really began to feel challenged that some of the truths I knew, and the way I lived, didn't exactly line up. That head knowledge needed to settle a bit deeper into my heart, and change some of the ways I lived. At the time, I was regularly yelling at my kids and trying to find out why I was so gosh darn angry. And then, out of nowhere, I began to cry. The days felt dark, lonely, and wearisome. The tears were not comfortable for me. It was a new way altogether for me to respond to life and stress. It was kinda like the "red flag" that rises up sometimes that forces you to step back and say, "Ok, wait a second here....what's going on? Something isn't right."
In this season, I came across a book called, "You Are Free: Be Who You Already Are" by Rebekah Lyons. She shared much of her personal story of depression and anxiety and God meeting her in the midst, and surprisingly (to me!), I related to her on many levels. I read the pages of her story and journaled, let many tears fall, and cried out to God to change me and where I was and help me see correctly.
One of the things that has really been highlighted by the Holy Spirit, gently, but in a "it's-time-to-deal-with-this-now" way, was to address three big weights I lived under. God has urged me to come up out of the ruts I have dug, and name the lies:
Weakness is lame.
Asking is needy.
There is no time to grieve.
Our culture gives silent nods to these thought patterns, and to dig the ruts even deeper, I have had some solidifying moments in my life where I uttered a vow of, "I will never...." unintentionally shaming these themes of being weak, asking, and grieving.
Jesus sees us not as we are, but what we could be. God has gently shown me there is so much more for me. He has helped me see the error to my thinking and let me see afresh the damaging patterns I have liked to stay safely inside. Desperate has been my word. I'm tired of being tired. I'm desperate for a new heart. This has been my prayer, "A new heart, God...not one that is bandaged or healing up, but a new one, one that's alive and loves and doesn't guard and stand alone." And so He is delivering. It's messy, but right. It's a faith walk and I can't see all the potential hard days ahead, but I'm saying bring it. He is propelling me with peace and an assurance that this is His work, one He will be faithful to complete.
With this work, I have felt very emotional. I'll cry when I least expect it, no matter the audience. A big slice of humble pie for this non-crier. There was a day of weakness and tears not long ago. Not my norm. I have years of tears stored up somewhere inside of me that have struggled to make it to the surface. I see the beauty in others genuine release of tears. It inspires me. But it has often felt like trying to get through a guarded fortress to unleash my tears. The emotions get stuffed and come out in bouts of anger or bitterness. Misguided yelling or internal fuming. Not the way to go, but the pattern I've walked in for years. I like strong. I like happy. I like maintaining on my own.
Oh, but on our own, that's not how we are made to live. And this life, here on earth, isn't my end goal.
That morning had been stressful with the kids, with one in particular. I was knee-deep in a battle I felt like I'd fought a thousand times and my husband was gone until the next day at work. This particular morning I felt done and was just tearful. In desperation, I called my Mom to see if we could come there for the day. We could. As we were gathering things, I hit a moment of weakness again and went to the hiding place -- the bathroom -- to regroup and disclose my tears from the four little ones in my midst. Levi came in. I told him he didn't need to be in there. I explained I would be alright, I just didn't want to burden him, as an 8 year-old, with my adult problems, as I wiped tears between words.
He came near to me. Came near, in my weakness, and wrapped his arms around me for a hug.
And the floodgates opened.
I cried; he hugged.
He stayed; I sobbed some more.
Faced with my weakness, he didn't run away.
In my grief he met me with staying power.
He had no agenda, but to hug his crying Momma.
I finally gathered myself and looked up at him. I looked in his handsome little face, his big green eyes tender and locking with mine and said, "Thank you. Thank you. You knew exactly what I needed. God used you to give me just what I needed. That was a gift." Wasn't this all backwards? I'm the Mom, right?! I'm meant to impart and come alongside in times of need. But in that moment I knew it was right -- it was a God moment, working in both of our hearts. My walls were breaking down, stuffed emotions allowed to come up and be felt, and Levi was being used with wisdom and empathy beyond his years. He stood a little taller and wasn't "damaged" from seeing me cry, from letting him hug me. He was seeing His part in God's Kingdom, to be like Jesus, tender and available when people are hurting.
I hugged him back. He looked at me and said, "It's OK to cry, Mom." Then he named one of his tough-guy friends that he saw cry that week. "Even he cries, Mom." Sweet boy trying to comfort me with the ultimate picture of strength in his mind. I grinned. There he was speaking truth right to my heart. Words I needed. A license to let tears fall. So many have been stuffed, for far too long.
God's Kingdom is upside down. In our weakness, He is made strong. In our dependence upon Him, we are most healthy. In our reliance on the body of believers, we are made more whole.
There is no shame in asking.
There is no shame in being weak.
There is no shame in grieving.
Life is hard on this side of eternity. He doesn't expect us to keep on trudging along, worn-down with some false strength as our mask. We are made to cling to Jesus. He is our source. He is our strength. He is our rest. I long to be free. Desperately, I will cling to Jesus.
In this season, I came across a book called, "You Are Free: Be Who You Already Are" by Rebekah Lyons. She shared much of her personal story of depression and anxiety and God meeting her in the midst, and surprisingly (to me!), I related to her on many levels. I read the pages of her story and journaled, let many tears fall, and cried out to God to change me and where I was and help me see correctly.
One of the things that has really been highlighted by the Holy Spirit, gently, but in a "it's-time-to-deal-with-this-now" way, was to address three big weights I lived under. God has urged me to come up out of the ruts I have dug, and name the lies:
Weakness is lame.
Asking is needy.
There is no time to grieve.
Our culture gives silent nods to these thought patterns, and to dig the ruts even deeper, I have had some solidifying moments in my life where I uttered a vow of, "I will never...." unintentionally shaming these themes of being weak, asking, and grieving.
Jesus sees us not as we are, but what we could be. God has gently shown me there is so much more for me. He has helped me see the error to my thinking and let me see afresh the damaging patterns I have liked to stay safely inside. Desperate has been my word. I'm tired of being tired. I'm desperate for a new heart. This has been my prayer, "A new heart, God...not one that is bandaged or healing up, but a new one, one that's alive and loves and doesn't guard and stand alone." And so He is delivering. It's messy, but right. It's a faith walk and I can't see all the potential hard days ahead, but I'm saying bring it. He is propelling me with peace and an assurance that this is His work, one He will be faithful to complete.
With this work, I have felt very emotional. I'll cry when I least expect it, no matter the audience. A big slice of humble pie for this non-crier. There was a day of weakness and tears not long ago. Not my norm. I have years of tears stored up somewhere inside of me that have struggled to make it to the surface. I see the beauty in others genuine release of tears. It inspires me. But it has often felt like trying to get through a guarded fortress to unleash my tears. The emotions get stuffed and come out in bouts of anger or bitterness. Misguided yelling or internal fuming. Not the way to go, but the pattern I've walked in for years. I like strong. I like happy. I like maintaining on my own.
Oh, but on our own, that's not how we are made to live. And this life, here on earth, isn't my end goal.
He came near to me. Came near, in my weakness, and wrapped his arms around me for a hug.
And the floodgates opened.
I cried; he hugged.
He stayed; I sobbed some more.
Faced with my weakness, he didn't run away.
In my grief he met me with staying power.
He had no agenda, but to hug his crying Momma.
I finally gathered myself and looked up at him. I looked in his handsome little face, his big green eyes tender and locking with mine and said, "Thank you. Thank you. You knew exactly what I needed. God used you to give me just what I needed. That was a gift." Wasn't this all backwards? I'm the Mom, right?! I'm meant to impart and come alongside in times of need. But in that moment I knew it was right -- it was a God moment, working in both of our hearts. My walls were breaking down, stuffed emotions allowed to come up and be felt, and Levi was being used with wisdom and empathy beyond his years. He stood a little taller and wasn't "damaged" from seeing me cry, from letting him hug me. He was seeing His part in God's Kingdom, to be like Jesus, tender and available when people are hurting.
I hugged him back. He looked at me and said, "It's OK to cry, Mom." Then he named one of his tough-guy friends that he saw cry that week. "Even he cries, Mom." Sweet boy trying to comfort me with the ultimate picture of strength in his mind. I grinned. There he was speaking truth right to my heart. Words I needed. A license to let tears fall. So many have been stuffed, for far too long.
God's Kingdom is upside down. In our weakness, He is made strong. In our dependence upon Him, we are most healthy. In our reliance on the body of believers, we are made more whole.
There is no shame in asking.
There is no shame in being weak.
There is no shame in grieving.
Life is hard on this side of eternity. He doesn't expect us to keep on trudging along, worn-down with some false strength as our mask. We are made to cling to Jesus. He is our source. He is our strength. He is our rest. I long to be free. Desperately, I will cling to Jesus.
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