When All You See Is Everything You Didn't Do

We took a family vacation last month. Disneyland and ocean and all three kids.

We went, we did, and it was quality family time (except for maybe when the rain poured down and Sam screamed his blonde-fuzzed head off from under his poncho-covered stroller and I could not get out of the park fast enough. But even that we chalked up to memories).

After all we did in the name of childhood and family bonding, I wanted to do something just for my husband. I noticed a highly-rated microbrewery on our return route that advertised smoked meats and a family picnic space.

Craft beer and pulled pork sandwiches basically sum up Mike’s passions in life.

But here’s the thing:

As we were getting closer to the brewery, I could feel it right up in my throat. Whatever internal meter I have that indicates when I have spent too much energy, been too touched, used too many words, that meter was reading in the red danger zone. I know this because my default warning is tears and yelling.

If you have any measure of introverted qualities, you might identify with the desperation I felt. (I mean, six days straight, guys. They are the people I love most in this life. But six.days.straight.)

I had this internal dialogue going in my head as we drove. It was something I wanted to do. It seemed like something I should have been able to do--it's just one hour, Amanda. I kept telling myself things that started with “Why can’t you just…”

Let me tell you, nothing good comes from a sentence that starts with “Why can’t you just…”

I’m learning to assert myself and be honest about my needs (with myself too) sometime before I am crying and yelling and wishing I had just listened to my body and said no. Finally, I told Mike, “I wish I could do this. I really want to do this for you. But I have nothing left. I won’t be able to handle watching the kids while you enjoy a beer. I just know it’s going to end in tears and yelling.” {Maybe I started crying just in the confessing.}

God bless my husband, he said something freeing: “You know, it might have been nice. But it’s just really not worth that much to me. I’d rather have you pleasant than get a beer and have you feeling crazy.”

While my husband might have a knack for putting things rather bluntly, there was no mistaking the tenderness in his voice. He loves me. I have a feeling most husbands feel this way: they would rather come home to a happy loving wife than a clean home and a hot dinner and a wife who is losing her ever loving mind because she’s poured herself out all day long and never took the opportunity to allow the Lord to pour back into her.

Ask your husband, I think he might agree: the best you is better than the perfect everything you are chasing.

So, we grabbed Chipotle instead, and that beautiful man took all three kids into the restaurant, ordered the food, and brought me mine. While he sat in the sunshine with the kids, I sat in the glorious quiet of an empty car.

Instead of being hard on myself, I chose to receive that half hour like a gift. My husband had made room for me to be exactly as I am, how I am. I needed to make room for me too.

 

I was reading in the Psalms this morning and came across this: “You have relieved me in my distress” (Psalm 4:1b, NASB). “Relieved” was translated from the Hebrew word “rachab.” It means “enlarged, made room for.” I imagine the glory of unbuttoning the top pants’ button after a filling meal. God makes room for us in our distress. He doesn’t find us inconvenient or force us into some sort of generic shape of should be or should do or why can’t you just—this imaginary perfect wife and mom we are constantly striving to be. He makes room for us—as we are.

Think about this: Real love makes room.

Real love is the stretching carved out space of a woman’s body making room for new life. Real love is the gentle words on a mother’s lips: I love you just the way you are. Real love is the two people hiding out behind a locked door for just a few moments to be all about each other, to remember the love that brought forth the rambunctious kids on the other side of the door.

We are the mothers, the lovers, the nesters who pluck from our own selves the feathers that make the home for each life, each unique shape of a person, entrusted to our care.

We push aside, we clear off, we make room.

Dear heart, when you slump down tired and all you see is everything you didn’t do and you lament the place your energy gave out, knock that off. You are chasing perfection instead of God’s grace. You are striving; really, you are at odds with God, because the one thing you haven’t made room for is His Grace.

God doesn’t look at your short-comings, your temporary (or long-term) struggles, and wish he had picked out someone else to mother and wife and build your home—the callings of God are without repentance (Rom 11:29). He sees you and cares for you and rejoices over you with singing (Zeph 3:17). And the place where you run out? Oh, He never runs out. He is your strength and your refuge.

Jesus came down and stretched his body wide open upon the cross. He made room for you.

And maybe if we began to see that these gaps and cracks—our shortcomings and struggles—are the places where we are making room for God; maybe then we would see God's abundant grace shining through our lives and homes.

Yes, Jesus, come dwell here.

Come to Me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.
— Matthew 11:28-30, ESV

How do you know when you desperately need rest? How are you at communicating your need for rest?

 

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

 

P.S. This little community has more than doubled since last I wrote. (!!!) I want to tell you how welcome you are here. This space is for us—us not-enough ones, always-running-behind ones, feeling-a-little-weak ones--learning how we too shall be called more than conquerors through Christ.

A few things about this space:

1. I post about once a month right now, so if you want to make sure you don’t miss a post, subscribe to the email list.

2. If you want to keep up in between posts, you can catch me on Facebook and Instagram.

3. I love hearing from you! You can always drop a comment below a post or, if you get my emails, you can hit the reply button to email me directly. I do my best to respond as much as I am able {I do try to disconnect from social media a couple of days per week.}

4. I am so glad you are here. If you have a moment, jump over to my about page and let me know what we have in common! I'd love to meet you. <3

A Weary Woman's Guide to Making Christmas Magical {And Maybe the Best News for This Season}

Four years ago, I learned the meaning of Christmas.

We lived in a one bedroom apartment at the time. Addy was four, and Jed was eighteen months. Addy’s bed was in a small bonus space off the kitchen, and Jed slept in our walk-in closet.

Mike had just completed police academy and was in the hiring process with a few different agencies. We were just waiting and hoping for an official job offer.

A year prior, Mike had taken a job that was less pay but allowed him to attend the academy. Our finances had been tight before the job change. But the year he was in academy was so tight our purse strings stretching across our bills might have sounded like the brakes of freight train screeching to a halt.

It wasn’t just the finances. The finances were just the glaring reminder that we weren’t enough. We didn’t have enough.

I was in this season of motherhood where I felt stretched thin and lacking. I wanted to give my kids the world, but I couldn’t even keep my apartment clean. I wanted to raise up warriors-for-Christ, but I had no idea how to tame their wild defiance.

Christmas was coming, and I was so tired, and I had no money to spend on presents.

I have always loved the Christmas season, but when you become a parent, Christmas suddenly comes with a load of pressure to make memories and create traditions. It means picking out a fresh tree, gingerbread houses, deciding whether or not to mention Santa, light parades, elf on the shelf, salt dough ornaments, sugar cookies, Christmas movies, advent devotionals, and buying the right number of gifts without spoiling. Guys, it’s a lot. And it’s all good stuff. But all it did was overwhelm this tired mother.

It felt like I was about to fail miserably. My kids were going to miss the magic of it all, and I was going to ruin their childhood.

All I wanted for Christmas was to see two pajama-clad kids, hair alive with bed head, step out into the living room and watch their eyes brighten with the wonder of Christmas morning. I wanted the squeals, the anticipation, and the “Mom! Look at THIIIIS!!!” All those noises, all that delight, somehow it would translate in my ears to: “Mom, you did good. I know you love me.”

But I had a hand-me-down 3 foot tree and a grand total of five presents (two of which were for our youngest brothers) to put under that tree. That was it.

_____

That was the year I had turned on Josh Groban’s “O Holy Night” while I set out to clean my house. Addy began running through the apartment turning off the lights. She begged me to light every candle. So I did. We twirled through the living room. I picked up Jed, and he leaned his head back into the centripetal force as I spun him around. We shattered the dim holy glow with our laughter and our loud singing. Addy declared it her favorite song of all time, and I knew it was worship.

I couldn’t have planned it out if I wanted to. All I had to do was set down my to-do list and be present. That moment remains one of my most favorite memories to date. One of those times where you just know: This is it. I’m doing it. And God is right here with us.

_____

That was the year I called up my in-laws and asked to borrow all the string lights they weren’t using. While the kids dreamt of what they might awake to, Mike and I set to work, untangling cords, climbing chairs, hooking lights around the room.

I remember stepping back to admire our work, holding the arm of my husband. My face was wet with tears. Small tree, a few presents, and light glittered all over the room.

I had reached in and scraped the bottom so I could pull out everything I had. It wasn’t much. But if I have ever seen a room lit up with love, it was then.

_____

This year, as I am parenting a toddler again (and feeling so tired and so behind), I keep thinking about Mary.

How the mother of the Christ-King was simple and humble. How she gave birth in a small town far from home. How there was no room for her. How the nursery of the first-born Messiah was earth and straw and the smell of livestock. How Mary must have felt thrust into motherhood, wholly unprepared and a bit too young.

I keep thinking how Mary must have looked at that manger, primitive and plain, with tears in her eyes for all she longed to give her baby but couldn’t. How she must have fluffed straw more gingerly than she ever had before in her life and lined that manger into the best cradle she could muster.

I’m struck by the fact that of all the women, of all the circumstances—this was exactly what God chose.

It’s like God is gently whispering through this story to weary mothers everywhere: If what Mary had was enough, what you have is enough too.

Mary made Christmas where she found Christmas. It came to her. And she was caught up in the wonder of it. I know because Luke says: “But Mary treasured all these things, pondering them in her heart” (2:19, NASB).

She was struck by profound grace. She didn’t have much to give, but it wasn’t about what she could give the Savior. It's about what He gave mankind.

Listen, dear weary momma, Christ came through a mother—humble and ordinary. He came in the midst of frustrating government circumstances. He came to a lowly town and slept in an animal trough.

It’s like God wanted to make it abundantly clear: it’s not about what you can give. It’s not about decorations or sugar cookies or piles of presents. It's not even about family traditions or making memories. 

Really, all that stuff is chaff. It's the shell that covers the real kernel. It serves a purpose; it protects the kernel while it grows, but it's not what lasts forever.

It’s that God so loved you and your family, that He reached down and scraped the very bottom so that He could give everything He has to offer—His Son—Immanuel. And through Him, His Kingdom.

Whether you prepare the way with gingerbread and Christmas carols, He is still coming.

He is still coming. And He is already here.

He is with you, and that really is best Christmas news ever.

 

Raise your hand if you are feeling a bit overwhelmed this Christmas season. {And maybe tell me you are raising your hand so I can offer a solidarity fist bump and then keep you in my prayers.}

 

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

 

Sharing in this beautiful community of storytellers:

How a Law Enforcement Wife Faces Fear

It’s been a rough week for law enforcement. Five officers have been killed in the line of duty in this past week.

Maybe you’d think that a law enforcement wife gets used to the news of officers injured or killed (250 officers shot and 59 deaths this year alone), but you never do. At least, I never have. I avoid the news because my heart can’t handle the constant bleeding. I see the black band over my husband’s badge (I don’t think it’s been off more than one day at a time this year). That has to be enough for me.

This last week though, it hasn’t just been rough nationally. It’s been rough locally.

A couple Sundays back, we woke to news that the local black lives matter movement in our city had used social media to get an officer’s address. They looked through pictures of his family and the places they frequent. They did this in an attempt to protest in front of his house and, well, harass him and his family. (By the way, I have no idea if this was officially or even unofficially sanctioned by the chapter, but it happened nevertheless.) We were advised to remove our names and locations from all social media.

Later that day (in an unrelated incident), we got the news that a deputy was slain one county over. He was ambushed while alone and executed at point-blank range. Executed.

My heart doesn’t even know what to do with that kind of hatred. But I can tell you these stories cut my heart right open.

_______

A few days ago, Mike took an overtime shift. I couldn’t shake this overwhelming sense that I needed to pray for him. I pray for him every night he’s working, usually with my kids at bedtime. But on this night, I just knew I needed to pray. Like pray, pray. You know?

The next day after he’d slept the long night off, he told me about his shift. He was involved in a situation that could have gone at least ten different ways—none of which would have been good. But it didn’t turn out any of those ways. It was fine. He was fine.

In a moment where he had seconds to make life-altering decisions with limited information, he used sound judgment. He made the right call.

This isn’t the first time this has happened. Thus far, every time I have felt that call to pray over Mike, the next day my husband has a story for me. One where he’s fine, but he faced some kind of situation that could have gone so wrong so fast.

Part of me rejoices. I mean, I know that God is actively watching over my family. It’s like God is saying to me: “See, Amanda? I am with Mike. I watch over your family. I know your comings and your goings, and I will be with you.”

But there’s this other part of me that feels vulnerable.

We use the phrase “hits close to home” when tragedy strikes close. Maybe it misses our home, but it hits our faith anyways. It’s this moment where we are looking pain and loss right in the face and realizing our faith doesn’t keep us from hardships, it preserves us through them.

Can I be honest? My gut-reaction is that I straight-up want to pluck myself right out of God’s hands in an attempt to save all I hold dear. It’s okay, God. Thanks for trying. But I got it from here. {As if. Oi.}

Really, those “close to home” events challenge us to mature our faith. It calls us into the realization that God’s goodness doesn’t equal comfort and safety and homes filled with stuff. But His goodness is still good. And we can trust Him.

Fear’s aim is to sweep away the nearness of God with the nearness of death. It can get us to ignore the very present Emmanuel—God with us—for all the it-could-have-been-me’s happening around us.

Listen: it’s not about whether it could have been you or not, it’s that God is with you.

God is with us through abundance and happy times. And He is with us through storms and loss. {And he is with my husband and all the law enforcement officers holding the thin blue line.} 

These hits and near-hits are where our faith matures. These are the places we learn to trust.

_______

5 Ways to Grow Your Faith When You Are Afraid

Having walked through anxiety attacks, post-partum anxiety, and a season where tragedy kept striking, God has cultivated in me five ways to grow faith instead of fear.

1. Keep up your courage. Addy has been reading The Courage of Sarah Noble. It’s about this young girl who is faced with difficult circumstances and keeps reciting the words her mother gave her every time she feels afraid: Keep up your courage, Sarah Noble. I think there’s something to that phrase. Courage is facing your fears, even while afraid. And courage is something that must be kept up, regularly maintenanced. I love that Sarah recited it with her name in it. It’s important to remember who we are; moreover, WHOSE we are. You are a child of God. You are seen. You are held. You are dearly loved.

2. Small Victories. While in therapy for post-partum anxiety, my therapist advised me that when we encounter harm whether real or imagined, our natural response to try to avoid it in the future. But avoiding actually gives fear ground. It’s like we are agreeing with fear. The only real way to fight through fear is to face it. When the fear feels overwhelming and debilitating, we need to face it in small baby steps, celebrating each small victory. Can hardship strike? Yes. Can I control that? No. The only thing I can control is how I handle fear. I can be afraid and live brave at the same time. I can see my husband off to work. Maybe I kiss him a little longer, live like my goodbyes could be my last words to him, but I send him off nevertheless. I pray. I work at getting decent sleep. Small victories.

3. Give yourself grace. Perfect love casts out fear. So don’t go berating yourself for how you shouldn’t be afraid. Full on embrace the love of God. The LORD is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. Psalm 145:8

4. Recite Scripture. The way to expel fear is to recite the truth of God’s love for you {and believe it}. In those moments of panic, take your brain power away from the worry and use it to remember what God says. Because you can't both worry and try to remember scripture at the same time, you cripple fear (and squash a panic attack. amen.) My go-to’s are Psalm 23, 139 and the Lord’s Prayer. I made this list two years back when I first found out I was pregnant after 4 miscarriages in a row. I placed it on my bathroom mirror and referenced it often in those first months. (It's not fancy, but it has a bunch of fear-busting scriptures all on one sheet if you want something to print and hang up in your house today.)

5. Pray. I think this one scripture sums up this whole point: "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:6-7

 

Have you ever had a "hits too close to home" incident? Share with me in the comments? And maybe, consider sharing this with the law enforcement wives you know with a note that you are praying for them and their families?

 

By Grace, 

Amanda Conquers

 

Sharing in this beautiful community of storytellers:

38 Ways to Build a Marriage

Last week, my husband and I celebrated eleven years of marriage.

It simultaneously feels like yesterday and a whole lifetime ago that two barely-adults promised their unknown futures to one another. In that span, it's felt like I've learned both a lifetime worth of lessons and still have so much to learn.

I am not perfect. And neither is my marriage. But we have been so richly blessed by the wisdom others have sown into our marriage. We've listened to the advice of those who have gone before us and have been able to avoid many pitfalls. So. I am going to share the pieces of wisdom I can gather from 11 years at this married thing. I haven't arrived yet. But maybe I can help those trekking behind me.

 

Before You Wed (On Expectations):

1. You aren't marrying yourself. No, really. Your spouse is not a male version of you. He doesn’t think like you, respond to difficulty like you, or likely put shoes in the right spot like you.

2. Pre-marital counseling might just be the very best thing you do for your marriage. (I am sure there are many great options out there, but here's one workbook I can recommend: Preparing for Marriage)

3. Identify as many expectations as you and your future husband have before you get married. All the things: from whether Lucky Charms is a legitimate breakfast choice to where you spend holidays to who scrubs the toilet to how you raise your kids.

4. Neither one of you will meet the other’s expectations of what being married is like. How you handle this will determine what your newly-wedded beginning will be like.

5. And on that note: expectations can kill relationships.

On Communication:

6. It’s not that you shouldn’t have expectations; it’s that you should get in the practice of clearly communicating them and readily adjusting them.

7. Find out his love language. Learn to speak it.

8. Find out your love language. Learn to help him speak it.

9. Listen for all the ways he communicates his love for you. Love isn’t always expressed in thoughtful declarations, flowers or expensive gifts. Sometimes it’s spoken in long work hours, emptied trash cans, and in Target lines holding a box of tampons.

10. Don't ask or expect him to read your mind. It might seem infinitely easier than learning to express your own mind and desires (that maybe you don't even know yourself), but it's just not a reasonable request. He can't do it.

11. You will grow in different ways, at different times. You will rarely be on the same page.

12. Communication might be less about "getting on the same page" and more about "reading the page" the other one is on.

On Sex:

13. Savor your days as newlyweds. Savor the new love, your younger bodies, the clumsy love-making, and the empty spaces of your home. Don’t be in such a rush to the next phase that you miss the opportunity of this one.

14. Make love often. Unless there is some kind of legitimate medical reason to abstain, set a bare minimum while you are young and everything is new, and do not ever let yourselves go longer than that minimum. I have no idea if this, ahem, gets adjusted in old age, but I know (KNOW) the busy years with small children and headaches and a million things to do is NOT that time. This is the number one way you stay on the offensive against Satan who seeks to divide you.

15. I’m saying it again because it’s important: Love-making is for procreation. It’s for pleasure. And it’s also where you fight FOR your marriage.  

16. Your marriage bed is sacred and the one place God has set apart as holy to be wholly naked. Protect one another by keeping it sacred (and not telling your friends all the things.)

17. Sacred space is important for every relationship. The giant redwood tree can be slowly killed by tourists who trample the roots when they get up close to the tree. So it is with marriage. Have inside jokes that no one is in on. Keep your favorite part of your lover’s body as a secret for the two of you. And for the love, don’t share every moment on social media. Keep some memories just for yourselves. 

18. Spend less time critiquing your body, and more time attempting to see it as your husband sees it. If he tells you that you are sexy, believe him.

On Conflict:

19. Compromise is rarely equal. It doesn't often look like a melding of two opinions. It's learning when to fight, when to let go, and how to trust even when you don't agree.

20. Know this: God's faithfulness to your family doesn't depend on you having your way--even if you are certain you are right. 

21. The first time you get so hurt you aren’t sure how to forgive, that is when you make the call for counseling. 

22. You can’t take back your words. Not everything needs to be talked out right away. Sometimes it is better to give yourself (or your spouse) a few hours or a full day to let the emotions cool and think through exactly why you are so upset before you have the conversation.

23. Should you ever feel wronged by your husband, your family is not who you talk to about it.

On In-laws, family, and friendships:

24. Kids don’t make you a family, you are a family from the moment you vow yourselves to each other.

25. Understanding that you are a family from the moment you wed helps you understand that your marriage is the crux of your family life. It has been there before there were kids, and it will be there after the kids are gone. And it will be there whether the Lord blesses you with children or not. Investing in your marriage is investing in your family. Choosing your marriage is choosing your family. 

26. Should conflict or offense arise with your in-laws, allow your husband to be the one to resolve it. If conflicts arise between your husband and his in-laws, you be the one to resolve it.

27. Make a point to evenly divide family holidays between your in-laws and parents to the best of your ability. Don’t be afraid to set aside time for your own family traditions (even before kids). 

28. Establish some kind of regular routine with your in-laws. (Maybe it’s dinner once a month, a weekly phone call...)

29. “Couple friends” are much more rare than it might seem, and maybe even a bit over-rated. Nevertheless, don’t stop investing in friendships.

On Everyday Life:

30. Laugh. A lot. And don't take yourselves too seriously. Laugh through the romantic fails, the burned dinners, and the times you are left clueless at how to parent your child's most recent tantrum. Lighten your loads and the all the trying-so-hard to be a good wife/husband/parent with laughter.

31. Rejoice in the lifetime you have to “figure it out.” Take the pressure off one another having to be great from the beginning.

32. His inability to put his shoes (or dirty laundry or dirty dishes...) where they go is not an accurate measure of his love and respect for you.

33. Part of a God-glorifying relationship looks like trusting God to do the work in your spouse’s heart...in God's own good timing.

34. Make a habit of praying with each other.

35. Make a habit of praying for him. And don't undermine this humble little point. Pray for him daily.

36. No two people break the same. No two people grieve the same. When and if you face some kind of hardship or major change, give one another the gift of room to be affected differently.

37. More than he needs you to be right, he needs to know you have his back whether he succeeds or fails. 

38. Maybe you know that on your wedding day you're taking a giant leap of faith--promising to face the rest of your uncertain futures together. But marriage isn't one leap of faith you make that first day, it's a daily leap of faith--a daily re-falling in love. You have to join hands and jump into so many uncertain futures--job losses, set backs, adventures, becoming parents, moves, promotions, parenting two year olds and teenagers, illnesses, retirement, and all the ways life can change a person.

 

Which number resonates with you the most? Do you have anything to add to my list? Let me know in the comments!

 

***These are all little pieces of wisdom I have gleaned in 11 years from my imperfect, but most-often healthy marriage. These are not meant for counseling. If you are in an abusive relationship or facing a difficult storm in your marriage, please consider seeking help from a certified counselor.

 

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

 

Not Another Election Post {Or When and How to Make a Stand}

My pastor preached a message a few months back that I keep recalling through this messy election season. He was preaching from the Beatitudes. Specifically on the meek.

“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.” Matthew 5:5

If I am honest, meek is not something I have ever striven to be. It just sounds like, well, a bummer. (Is this just me?)

In many Bible translations, the word meek is used interchangeably with humble and gentle. Track with me for a minute, because I think if we can understand gentleness and humility, we can understand what it means to be meek. {And why we might want to grow in this area}.

Gentleness implies a healthy self-awareness. It’s knowing our own strengths and weaknesses and mindfully stewarding them around others. Gentleness doesn’t mean we are without cracks and sharp edges; it means that we know how to keep our edges out of the skin of others.

Humility implies a healthy self-forgetfulness. It’s not thinking of ourselves too often, and when we do think of ourselves, it’s in the light of the greatness of God. It’s not just an awareness of our smallness and God’s greatness, it’s also rightly putting ourselves in the grand scheme of God’s love and plan for all.

Between God’s love and our brokenness, here’s what the gentle-humble meek know: “If left to ourselves, we would break far more than we would repair.”***

 

Deep down, in spite of all the ways we try to cover up our propensity to break things, we know we do.

We know how clumsy we can be with our words and our actions—how often our foot finds its way into our mouth. We’ve seen our frustration bubble up and out in loud, angry words at the ones we love most. We’ve sat practically stuttering when our friend carries her heavy burden of unimaginable loss—remaining silent when we wanted to say something or thinking what we did say sounded hollow. We’ve watched our compliments get carried forward on the backside or our hand in spite of all our best intentions. We’ve cringed over the posts that we offered up too hastily that offended deeply.

For all our best intentions—our desires to be a good mom, wife, friend, and disciple-maker—we are capable of so much breaking.

We often think of meekness as looking rather like weakness. But here’s the thing: our weaknesses draw us to God’s side. It’s meekness when we choose to stay there.

The meek are keenly aware of their need for God.

 

I’ve been thinking on this through the current election season. You guys, the church has been downright nasty. The cutting remarks. The touting opinions like facts. The declaring shame on all who would vote differently. The way everyone seems to have something to say, but no one is really listening. 

I have seen division and ranting and debating and excusing away terrible behavior and proclamations of who beyond a shadow of a doubt would be the lesser of two evils… all in the name of Christianity and restoring God to our nation? We've spoken death to one another in the name of being pro-life?

And I just wonder if we, the ones professing Christ, need to get back to our basics, to the sermon Jesus preached when He laid out the foundation of His kingdom? And, guys? How can we claim to be a part of God’s kingdom, if we aren’t living like a citizen of it?

 Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.

Blessed are the gentle. Blessed are the humble. Blessed are those who realize the surpassing greatness and sovereignty of God. Blessed are those who pray first and last and always. Blessed are those who know how capable they are of breaking others. Blessed are those who walk and talk slowly. Blessed are those who listen. Blessed are those who live recognizing their need to have God WITH them every single step, with every single word.

Because it’s the slowed-down ones, the looking-for-God ones, the relying-on-God ones, the gentle and the humble ones, on whom He has bestowed the earth.

I mean, think on this: We are worried about the state of our world and the state of this country. But God doesn't promise it to the reckless and impassioned ranters. God promises it to the meek.

The meek carry the world on their prayers. The meek change the atmosphere of a world in tumult. And God gives the world as an inheritance to the meek.

Do you want to see God in this country? Do you want to see God in your everyday life?

Slow down. Pray without ceasing. Re-estimate the greatness of God. Realize we are broken people and our wholeness is found when we lean on God. This isn't necessarily a call to be quiet. It's a call to live and speak by the Spirit.

“For you were called to freedom, brethren; only do not turn your freedom into an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another. For the whole Law is fulfilled in one word, in the statement, ‘YOU SHALL LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR AS YOURSELF.’ But if you bite and devour one another, take care that you are not consumed by one another…

"If we live by the Spirit, let us also walk by the Spirit.” Galatians 5:13-15, 25

 

What do you think? {I’d love to hear your thoughts on this, and my hope is that this would be a safe place to practically talk through this.} What has been your own process for filtering your strongly-held beliefs, opinions and thoughts through social media during this election? 

 

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

 

***I am quoting my pastor from his sermon. You can listen to the whole sermon HERE. (And it covers poor in spirit and those who mourn also, and it’s really good. Scroll down the menu to Beatitudes Part 1)

Where We Find Peace After Loss

Addy was lying in her bed waiting for me to pray over her. She was looking at the wall like she could see right through it. I knew there was a storm brewing in that eight-year-old brain of hers. She was about to broach one of the tough topics of faith.

“Mom, I feel like God doesn’t hear me. He doesn’t answer my prayers.”

Tears were welling up in her eyes. Bless her heart, she came deeply sensitive, just like her mama.

“I just miss Gramps real bad, and God didn’t bring him back to the earth like I asked Him to.”

Though taken back, my first instinct was to tell her how death is hard, but how when we put our hope in Jesus, death isn’t the end.

But that isn’t what she wanted to hear.

I know, Mom. That’s not what I’m talking about.

I asked God to bring Gramps back, but He didn’t.

She was really wanting to know why God doesn’t answer our prayers, why bad things happen, why God lets us go on living with gaping voids across our broken hearts.  

And really, the truth is, I still grapple with those questions. Even though I can recite Bible verses and state Biblical theology on why bad things happen, understanding loss is a bit like hugging a sumo wrestler. I just can’t get my arms all the way around it.

 

I sat on Addy’s bed and paused. I knew this was one of the big moments of motherhood—one I didn’t feel prepared enough or wise enough for. I took a deep breath and uttered a silent prayer: Lord, you have to be here. Please give me the words I don’t have.

While praying, I knew it was time to tell Addy my story. I had avoided this conversation. Partially because I wasn’t sure my girl was ready to hear it. But also because I wasn’t sure I was ready to share it—I certainly hadn’t felt ready to live it.

Addy knew I had miscarriages—one happened after the family pregnancy announcement—but I’d always been vague about the exact number. Four before Sam, one before you. But I just knew in my mother-heart, she needed to hear my story that night. And it was okay to tell her now of the pain and the struggle to trust God. It was okay to tell her how sometimes I still ache for the five I will never know here on earth.

She began to cry. We both did.

It felt like sharing unresolved faith. But I realized, isn’t all faith unresolved this side of heaven? Don’t we now only see in part, know in part? And isn’t faith believing in what we haven’t yet seen, and don’t yet fully understand? Isn’t faith holding tightly to the hope we have in the power of the cross to transform us and the hope we have of one day reaching Home?

During our conversation, words tumbled out before my brain could catch up: “Addy, I wouldn’t for all the world go back and change what happened because it would mean you and Sam wouldn’t be here. I don’t know why I lost those babies. But I do know God has been good, and those babies are safe in heaven.”

It seemed strange to hear those words formed by my own mouth. I remember how just two years ago I was so angry at God. I remember the struggle to trust Him. I remember wanting to take the whole lot of it and tie up my tubes so I could never ever lose again—maybe I desired another baby, but I desired control too.

And yet as those wouldn’t-change-a-thing words came out of my mouth, I knew I was speaking the truth.

I wouldn’t change a thing.

I reminded Addy how we prayed for Sam. Our whole family prayed for him and hoped for him and believed for him. Maybe the road of Sam’s arrival was marked with pain, but he came. And his presence has been all the sweeter for it.

It was in the aftermath of loss that I learned how to trust my Savior. I learned how to wrestle and how to hold on to hope like it was the rope that could save my life. I can say without the slightest twinge in my heart, for there is no lie in it: Jesus is my friend. I have walked with Him through storms. And we have made it through.

 

At the end of my conversation with Addy, I brought up a trip we had taken to the snow that past winter. I reminded Addy how I had told her to wear her thickest socks and to pack changes of socks. I told her a few times. Even though it was her first trip to the snow, she thought she knew better than me and ignored me. Ten minutes into snow play, her one pair of Hello Kitty socks were wet, her toes were frozen, and she knew that her mama had known better than she did. Addy thought her imagination and limited knowledge of snow could trump her mother’s actual experience with snow.

God is like that. He knows so much more than us. He knows our hearts, our deep-down deepest desires. He knows the future. He hears our prayers. And He answers. It’s just that He knows so much better than us.

He knows so much better than us for He holds an eternal perspective. Beyond my imaginings of eternity and all that I have ever read about it, God actually knows what it is actually like.

And in eternity, five souls—whose fleshly bodies my arms ache to hold, my eyes long to look upon—reside safe in the Father’s arms. There is hope and peace in that.

 

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

 

PS If you are facing down a loss, particularly a miscarriage, dear heart, I am so sorry. I want you to know I pray for you and you are not alone. You can find my story HERE and maybe even find permission to grieve and the strength to hold onto hope.

PPS If you know someone who might need to read this, maybe I could humbly suggest sharing this with them?

 

Sharing in this beautiful community of story tellers.

When You Are Raising Both Big Kids and Little Kids

I’d forgotten what it’s like to have a toddler.

The generous ear-to-ear smiles. The fearless climbing. The insatiable curiosity.

I’d forgotten the surprise of discovering as a first-time mom that one human could need so much of my attention, so much of my time. I remember back to when Addy was a newborn and I felt like a zombie; I thought surely it was right here and now that mothering would be the most difficult and demand the most energy…  and then my baby started walking (and climbing and crashing and falling and stopping my heart right in my chest no less than ten times a day.)

I forgot the way life can feel so abundantly full, the gifts stacked right up: the bright blue eyes beneath long blonde lashes, the rough and tumble boy bouncing on his daddy’s back, the stopping in the middle of mom’s hurry to awe at open-close butterfly wings—the way the world gets bigger and smaller, faster and slower all at once when you get to re-see wonder through a toddler’s eyes.

I forgot the way life can feel so empty, the energy always lacking: the spills you couldn’t prevent, the messes that get made while you clean a different mess, the raw sinful defiance not yet tamed, the places you don’t go because you don’t see the point visiting a friend just to let her watch you chase a baby and shush his screams.

These are the days I once wrote of—the days of tied up feet, of walking slowly, of little done yet much accomplished in the unseen places of mine and my children’s selfish hearts.

There’s something so wonderful—so gracious—about being able to go back and do it all over again. I know what matters, and I know what doesn’t. I don’t need the random lady in the grocery store reminding me how fast it goes by (I think I’ve become that lady). I know. I have two elementary-aged kids. One who I think I might as well say it: I can’t carry anymore. I know that might sound silly, but I’m crying over it, because this part of me wishes my girl still needed me like that.

I am living this time around slower, less hurried. I know I am drained, but I am not anticipating the dawning of the next season where I will get more sleep. I know it will come. I want to live here now while I can.

There’s also something difficult about having kids spanned across different seasons of motherhood. I guess because Jed came right as Addy exited diapers, the different demands of mothering the two of them have always seemed to blend together. But Sam is different.

So now I have kids in sports. Kids with friends. Kids who can pretty well pour their own cereal on Saturday mornings. Kids who can take their own baths, do chores, and play independently. It’s a different season of motherhood.   

Only now I also have a toddler. So the demands of motherhood have changed with my other two, and yet I am pulled back. I am straddling two very different seasons of motherhood.

I feel stretched in two directions. One where I should be able to do more: taxi kids and tackle house projects and write during the moments of their growing independence. But I am chasing a toddler and forever cleaning the trail of crushed goldfish behind him.

In this stretch, I am finding that I have to re-surrender my life and my dreams. I am remembering that my no’s are even more valuable that my yes’s. My biggest and best and sometimes hardest yes is to love behind the curtain of our home—the unseen, un-thanked places of sweeping cheerios, singing silly songs, and cutting up nuggets for littles hands and few teeth.

I am learning to keep my eyes on what God has given me and not what God has given to, say, my friends who have kids the same age as my oldest. We are all different. We all have different capacities and different calls to live out. Some of us are done with the toddler stage… and some of us, well, aren’t.

A friend of mine shared a verse a few weeks back in a different version so that the verse so stood out and sorta broke my heart in the best way. “Know the importance of the season you’re in, and a wise son you will be. But what a waste when an incompetent son sleeps through his day of opportunity” Proverbs 10:5 (Passion Translation).

It is here right now that I have the opportunity to carry Sam, sing him songs, dice his food into tiny pieces, gently guard his safety, and enjoy his almost full dependence on me (along with those glimmers of defiant independence). It is here right now that I can have conversations with my older kids, answer their deep questions, hold their hands and cuddle up in their beds. I can watch them play and find their interests and imagine big. And though the needs from me seem great and spread wide, this is the one season I am living in. This is my day of opportunity. And by the grace of God, let me not waste it.

I want to live here and now, ever leaning on my Savior.

A Prayer: Lord God, I lift up all the tired mamas, the spread-thin mamas, the feeling-not-enough mamas. I thank You that You don't ask us to be strong, but rather grant us to fully rely on Your strength. Lord, would You bring rest and and encouragement to us? Would You give us the wisdom to recognize the season we are living in? Would You spur us onward, to seize this day of opportunity, to love those entrusted to us well? Would You help us to surrender our lives and dreams to You? We want to relentlessly follow after You and to point You out to our children. Lord, may we be the mamas who diligently raise up a generation that would praise Your name. We long to glorify You. And we desperately need You. You are our only Hope. {Amen.}

 

I'd love to hear from you! What are the ages of your kids? What are the "opportunities" you have been given in this season of motherhood? Let me know in the comments. 

 

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

 

Super excited to be able to join in this beautiful community of storytellers after a long break.