Mataniah Elam

This post is raw. Full of God’s sweet love alongside of deep sadness. We just had a miscarriage. Our first. Something I prayed so hard that I would never experience, such a painful and heart wrenching road to walk. I want to tell the story from beginning to end, in all it’s raw pain and beauty-because even in the pain, God’s sweet, sweet love was present, and has kept me from going off the deep end. Some moments, that’s all that holds us together from completely losing it. God’s grace and love.

The story begins back a few months-at the end of March. My husband and I were married on April 12, and he has an alarm on his phone to alert him two weeks beforehand so he has time to think of a gift or date night plan. 🙂 He was struggling to think of what to give me, and so he asked the One who knows all: “Lord, what should I give her for our anniversary?”  and he felt the Lord reply kindly “Why don’t you give her a baby?” Which is a funny thing- we don’t use birth control so we purposefully leave that decision in God’s hands anyway. I had just had my first period after our fourth child, about 18 months post partum. Hubby pondered God’s idea and thought “Well, I’ll give her a pregnancy test. The only place I know to get those is Dollar General.” He told me that God had told him what to give me, and that he needed to go to Dollar General for it. That was pretty funny-I had quite the time talking to God about what on earth hubby could get for an anniversary gift from such a place. Hubby kept trying to go to the store, but it didn’t work out until we were camping for Passover on the week of our anniversary. He got it just in time.  On our anniversary he handed me the test, with a sweet and eager little smirk on his face. We both knew that this was God’s doing, and I eagerly took the test. Positive! Oh, we were so happy- giddy even. 5 children! A handful! We had our 8 year old come in and check that we read the test correctly. 😉 She was so excited as well, and we told each child right away. We calculated baby’s due date to be the same day as my husband’s birthday, another special treat! That evening hubby and I took a walk around the campground, sharing the testimony of God’s sweet gift with other friends who were camping also. I didn’t have any crazy pregnancy symptoms, other than my milk supply dropping slightly for A. I have never had super strong symptoms from pregnancy, I am very thankful for this! We finished up the week of camping and headed home.

Over the next two weeks I had no special symptoms, other than an occasional feeling of implantation type discomfort. A couple weeks after our camping trip my friend and I planned a yard work day, and we kept busy all day, mowing, hammering posts in, stretching fencing, and hoeing the garden. I was tired, but felt very satisfied in what we accomplished. The next morning I woke up to some light bleeding. My first thought was “NO, NO, this is NOT happening.” That morning I took things as easy as possible, lying around and not lifting anything. The spotting did not let up, however. I struggled to keep from inwardly panicking, and tried to downplay to my children that I was sticking so close to the couch. We kept praying over the baby, declaring life, healing, and interceding for this little life that God had purposed from the beginning. After two days of this, I was emotionally exhausted as well as physically feeling like I had been hit by a truck. On the third day, I felt that I couldn’t continue this way forever, that I was going to have to live life and just trust that if baby was going to live, I would be able to take care of my other children also. I still rested a lot that day, and did a few extremely light household type things, avoiding lifting or stairs. It was the 7 week mark in the pregnancy. Later that evening, the bleeding suddenly spiked and I began passing clots. At this point I totally lost hope for life-I assumed this was good bye to our baby. Hubby and I were very distraught, and I’m so thankful Hubby was home at that moment to hold me so we could mourn together. After a while, we decided to tell the other children. One was very matter of fact-“God gave this baby, so this baby can’t die.”.  Another was absolutely heartbroken and wailed in our arms. The others were too young to understand. We kept praying for life, for a miracle- even though it was such an feeling of whiplash between grief and faith that it felt cruel to even try. I’ve never been in such a faith battle before. I still don’t know what to quite do with it. My God is good, and I will praise Him no matter what. On one hand we had people standing with us saying “We will pray for life, even when it doesn’t seem like that’s what’s happening.” and on the other hand we had people crying with us. Several people told us stories of how they had bled heavily during their pregnancy, and yet their baby survived and was healthy and happy. So on one hand, we were being given hope-but meanwhile my bleeding kept increasing, and I just had a feeling the battle was over. I will be brutally honest-after the point when the clots started, I mostly didn’t want to pray for life any longer. It was a battle to keep praying, and even then my heart wasn’t fully in it. I just wanted to know for sure one way or the other, to not have the emotional whiplash of going back and forth. After 3 days of passing increasingly larger clots, the bleeding slowed back down to light spotting again. I never did see anything that resembled a child, and that makes me wonder how old Mataniah was when he/she passed away-perhaps much sooner than the 7 weeks the bleeding started. My strength began to return, which was a huge relief. I didn’t realize before how hard a miscarriage hits in every way possible- physically, emotionally, spiritually, and mentally. Thankfully others had warned me about women mentally beating themselves up with the “what ifs” during a miscarriage that I mostly didn’t allow myself to go there. My midwife helped me with that also, reassuring me it wasn’t my fault. I have in the past mowed and done lawn and garden work until 9 months pregnant without issue, so it wasn’t unusual for me to work hard outside and expect everything to be fine. The part I have struggled with is the faith part- what if I had more faith when we were praying for life?? What if I chose to believe life when everything pointed to death? But as my husband is continually reassuring me, one can not live that way. I must trust God for faith, and not think it’s something I make happen on my own or condemn myself for not having. I know God will be glorified through little Mataniah’s life, no matter how big of a victory the enemy thinks he has won.  Therefore I will not give the enemy the pleasure of binding me with condemnation or fear. The victory belongs to God. Period.

After the bleeding stopped, I took a pregnancy test-the line indicating the presence of HcG was almost indistinguishable, barely visible in only the brightest of light and at the correct angle. At this point I knew. My husband decided to keep hope until I tested and there was no line. A few days later I took another test and there was no visible line at all. We were surrounded during this time with people who care-who desire to support us. Most of them did a great job. If you ever want to know what NOT to do for a women who is miscarrying, do not tell her God wanted another angel. Do not try to comfort her by saying “Oh, don’t worry, you’ve already got four children, at least you know you can have another.”  I was so horrified by some “comforts”, it was all I could do to not let my jaw drop. Very eye opening. These ladies didn’t understand, and I hold no hurt towards them. It just amazed me, shocked me, that one would think of that as a strong comfort! The ones who reached out to us who knew just how to comfort were those who have been there, as is often the case with grief. You have to experience it to know how to love in that time. Several women who have experienced miscarriage, as well as a couple men who went through it with their wives, reached out to comfort us and offer their support and counsel. Something that was recurring was the advice to name our baby. This seemed more and more important to me as days went by. It was difficult and painful to refer to our sweet little one as “The baby we lost”. I began searching for names that held special meaning based on the situation. I wanted a gender neutral name, one that would fit when I meet my baby in heaven.  None of the names I found were gender neutral, so after a while I gave up on finding one, and just focused on finding one with significant meaning. I found the name Mataniah, meaning “gift of God”, and Elam, meaning “Hidden, eternal, or forever”. To my sweet surprise, when I looked more closely at the name Mataniah, it is a name that can be for male or female. I also thought of the nickname “Mattie”, which I’ve heard used for both genders. This was very comforting to me. Hubby was very gracious to me during this time of processing, talking through things together and discussing possible names.

Our baby, Mataniah Elam- Gift of God hidden in eternity, has been with Jesus for four weeks now. I still struggle with faith-the big fat WHY. I know God did not want this baby to die, so I kick against this happening. It should not have happened. The enemy got a victory here, so it would seem.  But we see things now very dimly, like through one way glass-you can sort of see a shadow, but not very many details. I know God will be glorified through Mataniah’s little life, and some day, one day-I will understand what happened fully. Until then, I must keep throwing myself upon the mercy and love of God, resting in Him. I am thankful He loves me even when I’m struggling, even in the moments where I just crumple in His arms weeping for the life that was cut short. I know He is weeping with me. I know He weeps at every life that is over too soon. He is my comfort and my stronghold, in Him will I trust.

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New Mornings

Behold, I make all things new.

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases… His mercies are new every morning

GREAT is His faithfulness!

 

So my absence can be explained in two ways.

  1. I had another baby
  2. Depression snuck in

Honestly, even with having a new baby, I had time to post. So the real culprit is depression. I felt sad that I didn’t really have anything great to say- anything I felt would make a difference-an impact. Sad that my heart was so overwhelmed that I felt I couldn’t offer anything helpful to others. Recently my hubby and I sat down and I poured out my heart to him, asking for his input and support. One of the lies of depression is that you are alone and no one really, truly, cares. My Love listened to me, held me, and when I was ready, kindly told me what open door he felt I had given the enemy to let depression get a foot hold. Self pity-that insipid yet very dangerous bugger that loves sneaking into a wife or mom’s heart and wreaking havoc. Self pity comes camouflaged in such honest looking, innocent packages.

“I carry such a heavy load around here.”
“Why am I the only one who notices that ______ is a problem in our household?”
“I don’t have time to take care of myself, I’m too busy making life happen around here.”
“Hubby has no idea what a struggle daily life is for me.”

Justifiable complaints in one light- yet a cesspool of self pity blah blahs that creates a tailspin in life. If a mom needs help-she should communicate that instead of throwing dark glances in the direction of those who love her most, wishing those people would “get with it and notice the struggle”.  The moment I opened up to my husband, sharing my struggle honestly, the enemy’s hold on me was loosened. The moment I listened without anger to Hubby’s kind and loving assessment of the situation, I took a step away from the lies. And the next minute when hubby led me in repentance for allowing such thoughts to take over my mind and heart, freedom was attained. It is a daily choice of if I go back there or not. I am choosing not to.  Daily life is much better now. I’m taking better care of myself, my children are happier, and communication with my Husband is much more open and free. I have a choice to meet life’s issues with tailspin attitudes or honest, “I want to deal with this properly and enjoy the life I have” attitudes.  If you are struggling, find someone you can be open and honest with. Don’t ignore the red flags, convince yourself they don’t exist or justify them. It is scary to make yourself vulnerable in that way, but please do not give up. Freedom is too valuable to be set aside just because it’s too hard to keep. It’s worth the hard long looks into your heart to see what’s set up camp there. If something is physically wrong with you, do not feel bad going for help in fixing those issues. I’m not trying to insinuate there is nothing physical that causes depression. Personally, my depression is almost always started from hormonal imbalances. I could get this treated medically, but it’s always gone away slowly but obviously when I deal with my thought life. Hormonal imbalances are very deeply controlled by our thoughts and life attitudes. So when we clear up the “stinking thinking”, our hormones often come to a much better place (can take a little time) so we can deal with the true physical issues on hand. A simple test if perhaps your emotions could be influencing your depression, is to ask yourself what you think is causing your depression. If you bristle at the thought that it may be a spiritual or mental decision you’ve made-you may have just found a rat. Find someone to help you think through the WHY it makes you bristle or cringe. Past hurts? People dismissing that you are struggling, telling you it’s all in your head? I assure you it’s not. We have an enemy who attacks us from all sides. We have a Father Who loves us so much and offers us freedom. Our thoughts do seriously influence our physical bodies, so don’t dismiss the importance of clearing your mind of stink bombs and inviting the Holy Spirit to come through and set up His camp in your heart and mind. Do some housekeeping. It can’t hurt, and it very well may seriously help you see and think more clearly. This is what it means, to be a fully surrendered mama. A life long path of growing and learning. Giving up. Rising to the challenge. I do not say any of this lightly, so if you have concerns or questions, please feel free to challenge or ask me. I appreciate honest discourse, sharpening each other in our walk with God. If you’re struggling, I would like to offer to be a safe place of encouragement. If I do not know how to help, I’ll point you to some people who have more experience than I, or resources that have been life changing to me.  Peace to you today!

Water Works: Home Edition

We each have those messy moments as parents that literally take your breath away. Lately I’ve been reminiscing over the “highlights” of those in my mothering journey thus far. Funny that most of those involve copious amount of water. Perhaps you need a laugh today and could laugh with me.

S is now 5 years old, and her water messes have toned down quite a bit the last year or so-but about 1 year ago her worst one happened. (Perhaps my reaction to the WORST WATER MESS EVER made her think twice before splashing away, I don’t know.) We have continued on our “fixing up the house” journey, and the project then involved having the downstairs bathroom walls torn out and all the plumbing exposed. The recently finished upstairs bathroom is directly above it, and they share a “plumbing run”- a wall that is just chock full of pipes, including the sewer vent.  After a horrible wind and rain storm one day we had had a roof leak around the sewer vent pipe, and water had trickled all the way down to the ground floor. After replacing the sewer vent boot and drying out the plumbing run, we thought we were ok against future leaks. The wall stayed open to allow for us to work on the plumbing during our remodeling adventures. This story has to have this background info for you to understand what happened this one calm, lovely day. I was busy working on homemaker-ly things, when I heard what sounded like water dripping very slowly. Because of past water escapades, I have a very keen sense of hearing when it comes to water. So I tilted my head and tried to locate the sound. Several minutes later I walked by the downstairs bathroom again and heard the dripping, still slow… but a little faster. I went into the bathroom and was horrified to realize that there was a slow WATERFALL silently flowing down the last bit of remaining drywall, puddling on the floor, leaking under the wall and into the living room. The drip came from the ceiling, which was quite soaked and looked like it could begin losing a chunk of drywall at any moment. I made a very unladylike screech noise, and about high jumped up the stairs. Sitting on the sink was my adorable 4 year old, sopping wet and looking up from her imaginary world of fun waterworks with wide and frightened eyes. I could hardly speak-and probably a good thing, as my words at that moment were not very constructive or loving. Apparently the one thing on the bathroom floor that we had failed to complete, was caulking around the base of the toilet. The flood of water that was poured onto the floor was slowly finding it’s way under the toilet, across the downstairs ceiling, down the wall, and to it’s final puddling place on the living room/bathroom floor. I couldn’t have been more thankful at that moment that the downstairs bathroom wasn’t finished yet!

I’d go on with more water messes, but I think that’s enough reminiscing for one day. 😉

Remembering Our Blessings

I was very blessed to have a grandpa who was present. Not just around, but really and truly present. 8 years ago he went to be with Jesus. I found this tribute in my old Facebook posts and felt it good to share it here as well. May we all live life well and leave such a beautiful legacy behind.

 

Lewis William Carl Sr.

Born November 15, 1934
Died November 9, 2007

7 children
25 Grandchildren
7 Great Grandchildren

As of 2015 his legacy has grown to 29 Great Grandchildren,  with 4 more on the way!



Grandpa married Grandma when she was 16-he was 19.
Grandpa served in the US Army for two years.
After the Army, he worked up to three jobs at a time, sometimes getting only a few hours of sleep a night. He did this to provide for his 7 growing children.

As a Grandpa he excelled. He took us fishing. He gave us “airplane” rides around the house, using the coffee table as a runway, and making airplane noises as we flew around corners. He took us with him when he went dowsing for water. We had many good talks on those trips, and many good memories of Grandpa telling people about how Jesus is the Living Water, and He put the water in the ground. Grandpa told us stories. Many stories. Stories of how God brought him through the most amazing circumstances in miraculous ways. Tuberculosis. Snake bite. Difficulties in the Army. Hardships at home and work. Stories of his growing up years on the farm. Grandpa will probably be remembered best though, by his jokes. Oh he could dish them out for hours. We grew up hearing about how to catch a unique rabbit, and also a tame one. Being told we were a “cool kid” because we weren’t wearing shoes when it was cold, or our hands were cold. Laughing at him as he grinned and said “Well, if I behaved, you wouldn’t recognize me.” in response to Grandma’s outcry at too many jokes for one day.
Oh the memories that flood in- running down the sidewalk as fast as we could as he left so he could clock our speed on his speedometer. He would yell it out the window as he turned the corner, and oh how we would beam with pride that we had kept up with a van… 15 miles an hour must be really fast! Grandpa would come over during his grocery shopping trips just to drop off candy and see how we were doing. We would sit on the porch swing munching on cookies or candy as he would tell his stories yet again.
Even as he lay dying, his ornery spirit showed itself alive and well. We would hold his hand, and if our hands were cold, we heard the familiar, “ooh, you’re a cool kid!” sometimes coupled with a big smile if he could handle it. We would laugh and say, “It’s a good thing you’re still being ornery! We might not be able to recognize you if you were behaving.” Oh how he would grin when we said that. Grandpa’s fighting spirit came out strong during his last days. Always a bit of a rebel, Grandpa would always have a piece of cake (preferably a big one) with ice cream on the side in spite of diabetes. Even when his eyesight was too poor to be driving, he hid it as well as possible-he loved his freedom! Sadly, that freedom ended when he passed out at the wheel, probably because of diabetes or low blood pressure. He was admitted to the hospital, where they discovered he also had a slight case of dementia. Grandma revealed that for quite a while he would forget how to get to certain places he knew very well, and sometimes get confused and forget basic things. This became evident to us soon, as he would forget where things were in his own house, and would sometime draw a blank at first when we walked in the room- he had to think hard to remember who we were. After the hospital he was taken to a elderly-rehab type place (the name escapes me) unfortunately the doctor’s notes somehow did not all reach them, so they didn’t know Grandpa was diabetic! He didn’t get insulin for 3 days, and his blood sugar went wild. After this he was taken home for a few days, but he deteriorated quickly. His heart was really weak, and his balance severely impaired. He tried walking around the house with out a walker, and fell a few times. The last fall had knocked him on the head, giving him a big welt and bruise. Since he wasn’t able to get up on his own, and Grandma sure couldn’t help him, he was taken to a nursing home, where he was taken care of quite well. He was stubborn and had a fighting spirit. He would not lay in that bed and let his wife stay at home by herself. They had to put an alarm on his bed so that when he would try to get up the nurse would come running. He hated that place. They took good care of him, but he wanted to live, wanted to be with his wife, and the dementia didn’t help things either. We would explain everything to him, only for him to fall asleep in the middle of our explanation, and wake up five minutes later crying out that he was leaving and you’d better help him out of here. He was holding water badly, and his lungs were beginning to fill up. His condition was to the point on Tuesday of this week he was taken to the ICU at Community in Springfield. Tests revealed his kidneys were failing, his liver was being damaged, and his heart was shutting down. They put him on two medications to help his heart keep going steadily, and to help his body get rid of the fluid. The heart medicine worked, but his kidneys were too far gone. They failed on Wednesday afternoon. We spent as much time as we could with him, because he would sleep at random times, but occasionally he would wake up and be lucid, talking with us for a few minutes or a half an hour- we never knew what to expect. Thursday morning they took him off of medications and put him on morphine for the pain-there was nothing more to do-his body was shutting down.
On Thursday night, all his children were there with him, as well as a bunch of his grandkids. Grandpa woke up perky and smiling, joking with us and smiling for pictures. He stayed awake for a few hours total-with small cat naps thrown in. It was a precious time-and a gift from God. All this excitement wore him out, and about 10PM I needed to go home. Grandpa was sleeping, and I thought I could say goodnight and give him a kiss, then slip out without waking him-I didn’t want him to see me leave. Well, I whispered goodnight and kissed him, but as I started to turn to go, he woke up, eyes wide. I leaned back down and said “Goodbye Grandpa, I love you” and gave him another kiss on the cheek-but to my surprise he returned my kiss, and said “I love you too, Jessica”. That is the last thing Grandpa said to me directly. I came back the next morning, Friday morning. Grandpa was sleeping soundly to morphine, but his heart had slowed to 70 BPM. When we talked to him his snores would change, and his heart rate would climb for a minute. So we talked to him. about mid afternoon-3 or so, his heart rate was about 60, but I needed to run back to Cedarville at 4. So I left for a bit-my cousin would call me if there was a sudden change. At 5PM she called me, saying his HR had dipped to down in the 20’s and was now at about 40. She said to hurry, she wasn’t sure if he would last much longer. Josh prayed with me on his way out to the programming competition, and I drove back as quickly as possible. Thank God there was a truck in front of me going the speed limit the whole way- it was a nice restraint. The whole way there I was crying out to God that Grandpa would hang on for me to get there. When I arrived, his HR was still at 40, and the family was singing hymns around his bed. Not all of Grandpa’s sons were there yet-two were still on their way. We kept singing, it helped to calm our hearts, and I think Grandpa liked hearing it too-his heart rate would stay up while we sang, and then when we stopped it would go down 5 points. The two missing children arrived, and we kept singing. At about 7 his HR dropped and fluctuated from 40 down to the 20’s. Then it stayed in the 20’s for a few minutes. It was hard to watch the numbers change, not knowing what would happen next, or how long it would take. At ten til 8 we started singing Blessed Assurance, and watched the numbers drop to the teens, then 8, 6-and then -?- the monitor couldn’t find a heart beat. Grandpa died just as we finished the last verse to Blessed Assurance.

Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine!
O what a foretaste of glory divine!
Heir of salvation, purchase of God,
born of his Spirit, washed in his blood.
Refrain:
This is my story, this is my song,
praising my Savior all the day long;
this is my story, this is my song,
praising my Savior all the day long.

Perfect submission, perfect delight,
visions of rapture now burst on my sight;
angels descending bring from above
echoes of mercy, whispers of love.
(Refrain)

Perfect submission, all is at rest;
I in my Savior am happy and blest,
watching and waiting, looking above,
filled with his goodness, lost in his love

Vulnerable.

Lately I’ve found it hard to post much of anything personal other than family pictures on Facebook. Life is moving at a breakneck speed, it seems, and my emotions are all across the board. I would overwhelm a lot of people if I just splatted my heart across Facebook, and honestly I’d probably walk away more hurt by people’s reactions than if I had just kept quiet. Thus, this blog. 🙂 I’m thankful for the Lord’s sweet peace in my heart sustaining me, my husband’s friendship and leadership, and for the many many blessings poured out daily. I know I really have it “easy” in many regards, but that honestly just makes the emotions I feel sometimes seem like they are over the top and “unchristian” to share with others. *gasp* They may judge me!   I know this feeling of being overwhelmed and emotional will pass with time as I’m patiently attempting to be careful to express and process the different emotions properly. (Well, at least I’m trying!! It will at least lessen them, of that I’m confident.) I’m thankful it’s nowhere near the feelings of depression I have had in the past. I used to bury all my undesirable emotions under a thin layer of “Everything Is Fine”, until it would just explode to the surface and surprise those I love the most with their intensity and ugliness. With much love and grace from my husband that habit has been greatly reduced, and I’m usually quite outspoken with him about the way I feel now. A practice we have that helps with the habit of “stashing trash” is what we call Dirt Slinging sessions. This is when one of us will say “Ok, I know you’re feeling upset or bothered about something. I don’t care if what you feel about me is correct or not, just start spilling it out. I’ve got my armor on, I’m ready. Starting throwing it at me.” And when it’s all said and done, the yucky stuff is all out, repented of, forgiven, and we can move on with life as a solid unified team. Sometimes those sessions are very difficult to get through. The person being “slung at” has to be super careful to not take anything said to heart-we know the enemy would just love to use the dirt he’s been giving us to hide to wound each other and build up offense. Not allowing bitterness or a record of wrongs to build up is a huge deal in marriage or ANY relationship, and we can tell when we’ve been starting to gather a pile and haven’t dealt properly with it. While we are doing fine in our marriage right now, it’s been very difficult to find time to wind down and “breathe” together lately. That makes being open and raw with each other much harder. It’s WORK some days. Hard work that’s totally worth it, but that doesn’t make it a ton easier! 😉

I think what has brought a lot of this stuff to the surface of my mind is that Hubby and I have been learning this week about the power of being vulnerable from a small group study. It’s really…. hitting me. Convicting me of being quick to give advice instead of hugs-convicting me of acting raw and open when I’m really just sharing a tad bit of my heart and hiding the rest. Convicting me of saying “I’m fine” when I’m really a big knot of struggle. I’m SO grateful for a few choice people in my life that I can be truly open with. No matter how crazy or depressed or upset I am, they approach me with love and grace, “hear me out”-then give me a gentle kick in the rear, a big hug, or advice- depending on the situation. This is so vital on so many levels! I want to be able to be that for other people as well, and not be quick to think I have the solution or answer to their struggle. But to be willing to enter into their heart struggle and feel it with them. To love them as Jesus would-to enter into it with them but simultaneously care too much to leave them there. To bring them Jesus love and peace, and guide them to His ways of LIFE and JOY!

It’s a challenge to be vulnerable. It’s also a challenge to be someone others feel safe to be vulnerable to. 

Life Goes By-one day at a time.

Lately, the useful part of my days have been filled with homeschooling, trying to keep up with housework (and usually failing, in all honesty), and eating and sleeping constantly to keep baby bean happy.

Blogging went out the window.

In fact, I kinda sorta forgot I had this blog.

Whoops. Sorry guys.

My heart is in a funny place right now. Part of me is super excited about the future, waiting to see how God is going to work things together, and hopeful that His promises will come to be in amazing technicolor beauty. The other part of me is a little….well, bland. Weary. Uninterested in growth. Apathetic. Pathetic, in all honesty. Just give me a comfy chair by a cozy fire and some mind numbing activities, and it would seem “happy”. But it’s not happy. The truth is, that ravenous apathetic part of me isn’t going to be satisfied with just ruining part of my life. It doesn’t play fair. I can’t let it take over-and by that I mean I have to give it all over to my Father. Constantly. Daily. Hourly, lately.  I’ve got to press on, to press in-and REST in His love and care. It sounds impossible. But I know that I know that I know, that all things are possible in HIM. So God, take me and change my heart. I want to be soft in your hands, to be made into your image, your instrument. I know you will change my heart. Thanks Abba.

Worship

Jesus, Sweet Jesus, You are my guiding Friend.
You save me.
You love me.
I worship You.
I thank You for what You are doing in our family’s life.
I thank You for what You are doing in our home.
I thank You that You are in charge, not me.
I thank You that You are helping me learn to rest in You.

You are Holy.

You are Mighty.

You are God.