Peace Without Quiet

We so often associate PEACE with QUIET that we’ve actually coined the phrase “peace and quiet” as if the two are inseparable. As if we can’t have one without the other. 
It’s hitting me in a new way lately, and I think I’m finally starting to understand: I don’t need to have quiet to be at peace. It’s like an epiphany. Peace and quiet are not one-and-the-same. 

This is very good news for me because quiet is a real rarity here these days, with a 4-year-old and twin 3-year-olds who don’t nap anymore in the daytime, and a 10-month-old who doesn’t sleep through the night. 
Too often these days I find that I’ve lost my peace of heart and mind because I’ve believed (even without realizing it) that I needed things to be different for me to be ‘at rest’. 
Jesus gave us a really good example of peace like this when he was sleeping deeply in a boat that was about to capsize in a storm (not remotely quiet) while his disciples panicked and screamed at him (Mark 4:35-41). 

He’s called the “Prince of Peace” (Isaiah 9:6)... not the King of Quiet. 

It’s the heart at PEACE that gives life to the body (Prov. 14:30) ...not the quiet (or clean) house; and I forget this (and need to be reminded again) daily. 

Jesus also said (John 14:27): "Peace I leave with you; My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Do not let your heart be troubled, nor let it be fearful.” The world would have me believe that peace and quiet must go together, and that peace has everything to do with tranquil surroundings and relaxing sensations, calm background music, a trip to the spa, steamy drinks and cozy blankets or hammocks on the beach. (NONE OF WHICH WOULD I TURN DOWN; BUT) the truth is: peace has nothing to do with any of that. The peace that Jesus gives is “not as the world gives”. It’s a steady heart and mind in the midst of chaos, noise, unknowns, mess, looming pressures, sleepless nights and difficult mornings. It passes all understanding (Philippians 4:7) and isn’t logically explained. 

Not all of motherhood is chaos and noise and unknowns and mess, NOT AT ALL; but the point is, as I’m finally starting to understand, when those moments arise, and when it’s anything but quiet -outside and inside my head- when I can’t even read my Bible and have some ‘quiet time’ alone (as pictured); 
I CAN BE AT PEACE. Because Jesus said I can. It’s as simple and as revolutionary as fixing my thoughts on HIM instead of the surroundings. 

“You will keep in PERFECT PEACE all who trust in you, all whose thoughts are fixed on you!” (Isaiah 26:3).

Changing Seasons

I sat down cross-legged on the kitchen tile yesterday afternoon, the season’s last piece of pumpkin pie, leftover from Thanksgiving, on a plate in my hand. My three toddlers crowded close, mouths open like little birds, clamoring for bite after bite. We scarfed it down before even having lunch. It was our last hurrah to the season of the year that I always think I love best; our bidding adieu to what had been the best Autumn I could remember.

I pulled down all the Fall decorations and piled them on the table... the pumpkins, the coloured leaves, the stuffed Mr. Squirrel Nutkins who’d been hugged countless times by googly-eyed girls as we read stories of Fall and pumpkin picking and Thanksgiving, cuddled on the loveseat under a blanket.

I won’t deny it: I was a little sad that Fall had come to a close once again. I’m not ready.

I don’t like change, people. At least, I think I don’t.

My in laws came and put up the Christmas lights outside. I brought up the bin of winter decorations from the basement, set up a manger scene, introduced the girls to Mr. Nutkins’ replacement, namely Sugar the stuffed snowman, and sat him on the mantle next to all the wintery board books I could find… but, truth is, I’m still dragging my feet into this new season.

My babies? They turned one today. One whole year. Just like that, an entire year just flew by. Gone. Over. Complete. Engraved into my history.

Twins do that, you know. They make time fly twice as fast. I guarantee it. Just yesterday I was holding both tiny, swaddled newborns in the same arm. I know it was just yesterday, there’s no way it’s been longer than that.

I remember the four dragging days in the NICU, the first wakeful night with them in our own room… the adjusting, the learning, the praying for grace… the two of everything, the explaining to each and every visitor every time which baby was which and how one could learn to tell the difference.

But then, of course, just as I think there’s no way a whole year has passed, I think of all the other things this year has held and I know it has been a very full, very busy and very long year after all.

So many milestones, so many memories to cherish. I don’t think I ever realized, before now,

...just how much can take place,

...just how many changes can happen,

...just how many seasons there are

in just one year.

One year ago at this moment I was breathing through the pains of labour, soon to birth these two daughters of mine into the world. And not one day has passed since then that I haven’t laboured to nourish, to nurture, to care for, to teach these daughters of mine, to make sure they make it in the world, but more than that: to make sure they make it into the Kingdom of God. Labour doesn’t end in birth, it has only just begun.

There have been many a night when I begged God to make these babies go back to sleep, and prayed for grace to change my attitude because, honestly, at three in the morning the very last thing I would really like to do is get up and change two diapers, then prop up all the pillows on my side of the bed to nurse two babies back to sleep in the dark and the cold. Some nights I get so frustrated. Some moments I just lose it. And then I labour again to find the grace I need to be the mama they need.

But the seasons keep changing. Already they are sleeping better (or am I just totally getting used to it?) and they definitely don’t go through as many diapers now as they did in the newborn stage.

So I can say “I don’t like change”, but then these changes, of course, are welcome ones.

Hmm. My heart attitude is coming into full view now. Who am I to pick and choose which changes I’ll give thanks for, and which changes I will whine and complain about?

We don’t get to choose the seasons, but we do get to live them. They make us who we are.

Sunday evening I was doing my best to hold it together inside. There’s another season I’m dragging my feet into, and it’s a season of mothering three toddlers and saying goodbye to their babyhood that flew by all too quickly. Because the twins aren’t the only ones who had birthdays this week. My first daughter, the one who opened me up and made me a mother in the first place, she turned 2 on Sunday. Two whole years. I’ve already reminisced about this last year and where it went, but what about the year before? How did it come to be that that tiny treasure whose name means praise no longer wakes up in the middle of the night squalling until satisfied with milk and her mommy’s warm touch? How can it be that she no longer needs to be swaddled or bounced or carried everywhere? When in this spinning world did that little tiny baby-miracle of mine learn to walk on her own, talk on her own, feed herself, put on her own socks, pull up her chair to turn on a lightswitch, pretend to read a book aloud and care for her dolly like a miniature mother? When?!

When did I become mother of three toddlers?

And quite frankly, when did I become a mother of three?

Because if yesterday I was holding tiny newborn twins, it surely was the day before that I was welcoming my first daughter into my arms and whispering her name over and over. And undoubtedly, it was just the day before that that I was walking down the aisle to those babies’ father, the love of my life…. and just days before that I was travelling through Romania, El Salvador, Honduras, Uganda. RIGHT??? How can it be that years of my life have gone by in the blink of an eye? Where does time go and how does it drag and fly all at the same time?

Breathe. Slow down, Self. Breathe. I must remember to breathe through this labouring.

Breathe and remember. Breathe and give thanks. Breathe and rejoice in the changing of the seasons of life.

If seasons didn’t change-

No, seriously. If seasons really didn’t change-

I say I don’t like change, but if seasons just stopped changing; if, let’s say, at some point when I was feeling really very happy and content everything just stopped changing and stayed the same from that point on: look what I would’ve completely missed out on!

I might still be in Africa: loving it, I’m sure, but living an unfulfilled life because that was just part of my life story.

I might still be single: permanently lacking my other half.

I might still be enjoying our honeymoon in Hawaii, but would have never had the joy of knowing my three precious daughters.

I might still be sharing our bedroom with two babies. (Um, that season also just came to a close on Sunday when we moved them into their new nursery. Yes and amen!)

I might also be starting to get really tired of Pumpkin Spice Lattes. If seasons never changed.

Change is good. Change is how we grow. Changing seasons let us experience joy in so many different, beautiful forms.

And, okay. I admit it.

One year old twins? Two year old daughter? Time isn’t really passing me by thaaat fast.

It’s not like they’re leaving home yet or anything. However, I may refer myself back to this post tomorrow when she’s walking down the aisle on her wedding day.

And in the meantime? Alright. I get it. Breathe and give thanks. Give thanks for each moment while it lasts. It’s time to enter into the new season my Father has so thoughtfully prepared.

Breathe and remember: Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever. (Heb. 13:8)

He doesn’t change with the seasons. He gives more grace for each season we walk through and He continues to satisfy our hearts and our souls with all that we need throughout each season. He stays the same, His love endures: “He delights in unchanging love.” (Micah 7:18)

So I’ll pack away the last of those infant clothes, store the baby rattles and chew toys in the basement until next time, and embrace this new season of full-blown toddlerhood-times-three that He has put before me.

I’ll finish putting away my Fall candles and pumpkin spice, pull out the advent calendar, and dig out the stockings. And while I get dinner going, I may just turn on some Christmas music and make myself a peppermint mocha. And I will give thanks to the Giver of all good things, because this season, too, will be blessed and beautiful because He made it.

He makes the seasons, and He makes the changes.

And I will labour 

to take hold of the grace I need 

to embrace the changing seasons.

The Roses

Originally written in April 2008, this story allegorically depicts my heart's desire to see each one of brothers and sisters in Christ choosing to live in patience and purity as we wait for Father to bring us our soul-mates. He does make all things beautiful in His time... but will we choose to patiently wait as He does the beautifying???

 

There was once a father who had three sons.

To each of his sons the father gave a small rosebush which he helped them plant by their windows.

"Be patient," the father told his children "pray that your plant grows strong, care for them tenderly; and one day you will be rewarded for your waiting."

The children each purposed in their hearts to watch and wait, excited at the prospect of a reward.

The seasons passed and the plants grew.

Springtime finally came 'round and the the boys watched their rosebushes in eager expectation.

One morning the youngest of the three boys threw open his window and laid eyes on a tiny rosebud peeking out from under the leaves of his rosebush. Exclaiming in delight, the child reached down and plucked off the bud. He held it up triumphantly in his hands and cried, "Look! Oh, come and see! I waited patiently and now I have my reward! I have a rosebud now!"

The other two boys came running to see the treasure that their brother held. Seeing the new bud, they shook their heads. "Ah," said the second child "you were not patient enough. Had you waited longer you would've had an even greater treasure than you have now." 

The eldest son nodded in agreement. "You should have let it grow and mature." he said sadly "Now all you will ever see of it's beauty is what you see now."

The two older brothers left the youngest son feeling quite disappointed that he had acted in such haste only a short while before. Indeed, he had received his reward, but he would never see the full beauty or enjoy the fragrance that the rose was meant to have.

He would have to be satisfied with the tiny and incomplete rosebud.

Several days passed. 

One morning, bright and early, the second child hurried outside to see if his rosebush had changed overnight. Much to his surprise and delight, he saw a rosebud, reaching up toward the sunlight. "I will not be like my brother," the child decided quickly "I will keep waiting patiently and see my rosebud grow."

He skipped away to play.

A few hours later he returned to gaze at his rosebud. His smile faded when he saw that there was still no visible change. Looking up to heaven, he asked God to make his rose grow big and strong. The child asked God for the rose to grow quickly because he was eager to pick it and have it as his own. When he finished his prayer the child felt happy once again, so he left his rosebud and went inside the house. 

After hardly an hour had passed, the child returned to his rosebush again, expecting to find there a fully-formed rose waiting for him. 

Letting out a little cry, he knelt down beside his bush and observed the rose from every angle.

No change.

Did he not ask God to make it grow, and grow quickly?

Suddenly he had an idea. Maybe his rose needed a little help from him. Carefully, he reached out and touched the rosebud's soft petals. Taking hold of the petals between his fingers, the child began pulling them apart, trying to unfold the rose with his own hands.

But, alas! A rose can only be unfolded by the hands of God.

It didn't take long for the poor child to realize that he had completely ruined his rosebud.

Letting the petals fall to the ground, he let out a sob. Never would he get a chance to even enjoy his rose.

He had done worse than the first child; now he had nothing at all.

Meanwhile, the eldest son watched his rosebush carefully. On it, too, had appeared a rosebud. Every day the child prayed that his rosebush would grow strong and healthy in order to nourish his one and only little rose. He prayed for sunshine, he prayed for rain. When the storms came during the night, the child would awake and go to his window. As he watched the raindrops fall heavily on his rosebush, the child asked God that his rose would not be damaged but rather grow stronger and healthier as the result of the storms. 

Days turned into weeks, and the young but wise child continued to wait patiently. 

His rose began to unfold, slowly- yes- but surely. 

Every day the child thanked God for his rose and for the growth he could see in it. He continued to pray that it would grow until it reached maturity. 

He prayed and he waited, but it was not always easy. There were times when he wanted so badly take it away from its bush.

"How can it get any better than it already is?" the other children would ask, trying to persuade him to pick the growing rosebud.

But the child stood firm. He learned to be patient, and in time he was rewarded.

One morning in mid-Summer the eldest child opened his window and was greeted by a beautiful fragrance. He looked down to see that his rose was no longer a bud. It had finished unfolding its petals during the night and it stood before him now fully opened; radiant; waiting now only to be picked by the child.

The child knew it was now time.

Waiting was over. This was his reward.

He reached down and pulled his rose gently from the bush- his very own rose.

It seemed to be smiling as he held it in his hands.

Throwing his head back, the child laughed.

It was worth it to wait.

Bloom

I read the words that wrap around that mug all the time.
I like that mug. I use it often.

But every so often I read them and actually think about their meaning again.

 (Seems I forget some things way to easily)

"Bloom where you're planted"

Yes, that message was definitely meant for me. I needed to be reminded of my purpose today.

Bloom.

Do you know what the words "bloom" means? It means simply "to produce flowers".

Flowers? Those are the seed-bearing parts of the plants (the parts that die to produce more plants and more flowers), which are normally surrounded by brightly-colored corolla (or what we call petals), and more often than not emits a beautiful fragrance. 

You know. . . flowers?
      The things you brighten rooms with?

BLOOM. {Wow... what a thought!}

I am not here just to grow..... to take in nutrients from my surroundings, to focus diligently on just staying alive throughout the heat, the wind, the storms... and in the midst of all the trampling little feet that traipse through my serene flower bed.

I am here to bloom. Produce flowers. 

Bear fruit... learn to give of myself and die so that even more fruit can grow.

To let Him brighten the room with the joy of His presence written on my face.

To fill the house with the sweet fragrance of humility and service.

That's what I'm here for. To bloom. And to bloom right here- in my home, in this season of life, in my position in the body of Christ- right here where He planted me.

So, I've been thinking about it. Blooming.

And watching how triumphantly those blossoms are still blooming where the boys planted them that very same coffee-mug-morning in the front beds..... right through all this extra-hot summer heat.

Even when we take no notice, forget to water them, brush past them a bit too roughly. 

They're blooming.

Gloriously.

Right where they were planted. Pointing... smiling... growing... upward every moment.

Jesus, can I be like that? Can I bloom gloriously- triumphantly- humbly like that?

Will you continue to whisper reminders to me throughout my days of the grace You are pouring into me so that I can bloom?

I want to bloom where I'm planted, Jesus-
I want to bloom.

Seasons...

"There is a time for everything, 

and a season for every activity under the heavens...

 ...a time to be silent and a time to speak..."

"He changes times and seasons..."

(Daniel 2:21)

 

 

Teach me, Father, to discern the seasons.