The Monday before Christmas, I was at home by myself. It was early in the day, and I was feeling unsettled and a bit lonely.
I can’t pinpoint an exact cause for these feelings. The stress of the season? A combination of circumstances and unknowns over which I had little control? All of the above, maybe?
A few weekends ago, I had a dream.
I don’t often have dreams—not that I remember anyway. Sometimes I can recall fleeting images, and occasionally I wake up with my heart pounding after being chased or because I forgot to do something important.
This time, though, I actually remember the story line.
I was in a house. It may have been the house I grew up in—a turn-of-the-20th-century farmhouse on three acres. It was Sunday morning and I had to be at church by 9. There was a storm under way.
All of a sudden, the storm escalated. Flood waters rose and the house—which is nowhere near a lake or river—was surrounded by water that climbed almost as high as the first-floor kitchen window.
I remember thinking, I have to get to church, and then, as the flood waters rose, I can’t go, it’s too dangerous.
I remember wondering, Will the house stand—is it solid enough to withstand the power of the water?
I continued sleeping, but that’s where my recollection ends.
When morning came and I actually was getting ready for church, a song came on the radio that mentioned floods. Just hearing the words brought my dream back in a rush, along with thoughts of a very real, very current situation that was causing me to feel weighed down, anxious and ill-equipped for the road ahead.
As I listened, though, I remembered something else. My mind wandered back to another time in my life when I felt much the same way—inadequate, unprepared and unsure of myself. During this particular season of parenting, my feelings mostly stemmed from what was going on inside me rather than what was happening with the energetic child involved.
There were times when I felt like I was drowning in a desert—simultaneously flooded and completely dried out. It was overwhelming, to say the least.
But here’s the thing about all that. I now look back at that season and see how God sustained me and brought me through it. I see what I learned from my girl as she operated in the delightful way God made her, and how my life is better so much better for it.
It was all for a purpose—I can see that now. Not through a glass darkly, as the scriptures say, but clearly.
She needed me; I needed her. God knew that when He put our family together. He gave me what I needed—what I still need—to be her mom.
This calmed my heart as I pondered my current circumstances.
Later that morning, when our church’s worship team led the congregation in singing “Oceans (Where Feet May Fail),” I just stood there, silently absorbing the lyrics. Phrases about finding God in unknown ocean depths, being guided by His sovereign hand and trusting in His unfailing faithfulness—words I’ve heard and sung countless times—brought peace like never before.
They reminded me of what I believe—the theology I cling to when circumstances overwhelm my mind and emotions constrict my heart.
Our sovereign God goes before us, every step of the way. He will never leave us or forsake us. He gently guides us, equips us and builds our faith for whatever lurks on the road in front of us.
He gives us what we need—wisdom, patience, comfort, love—sometimes even before we think to ask.
We might be weak, but He is strength personified.
We may feel as if we are drowning—we may actually be sinking in the waves—but He is always there to pull us to safety.
We don’t need to fear what lies ahead—even if we have every reason to think it might be difficult and perhaps even heartbreaking—because He is with us.
These are not clichés, cobbled together with a haunting melody by some guitar-strumming, scruffy bearded guy on a worship video. They are foundational truths of the Christian faith—truths that stand firm when we are being battered about by wind and waves, floods and fires, disease and daily life.
They hold up.
Because of that, we are held up—and carried through to the other side.
♥ Lois
We may feel as if we are drowning—we may actually be sinking in the waves—but God is always there to pull us to safety. Share on XI wasn’t planning to use Ann Voskamp’s latest book as the basis for an Author Note (the closest thing to a book review that you’ll find on this blog). But when I finished reading and started looking at the bits and pieces that struck deep chords with me, I realized I wanted to share these meaningful parts with Ann—and with you. My prayer is that the lines from The Broken Way that are speaking to me also will encourage you today.
Dear Ann,
I first heard about The Broken Way several months before it was released. Having read One Thousand Gifts years earlier, I was curious to observe the natural progression that often occurs in an author’s writing between her first and second books. I was interested to learn more about someone who seems to guard her privacy very carefully. I was intrigued to see how you would approach a topic that resonates so strongly with me—how God redeems our brokenness.
I knew what my OneWord for 2017 was going to be early last fall. I normally wouldn’t even think about such things until December, but when I started hearing a new song on the radio by a group called Jesus Culture, I just knew.
At the time, choosing this particular collection of letters as my word for the year didn’t make sense. It didn’t seem to fit me at all—quite the opposite, in fact. Honestly, I had no idea why it struck me so.
But it did.
You might think that, knowing the word so early, I would have written a blog post about it weeks before we said good-bye to 2016. Now that would be like me, to do something like that.
But again, no.
My lack of motivation may have been connected to the fall we had, which was full of events and developments—some expected, some not—that were taxing in all kinds of ways. Or maybe it had to do with the blogging tradition of recapping the previous year’s word before you talk about your new one.
In 2016, my word was “satisfied,” and it came with a daily commitment to pray Psalm 90:14: “Satisfy us in the morning with your faithful love so that we may shout for joy and be glad all our days.”
I kept that pledge, mostly, but I don’t have much else to report about it. There were no big breakthroughs, no dramatic transformations or revelations regarding contentment or satisfaction. In fact, in some ways, I may have ended the year less satisfied than I began it.
That said, I believe God’s Word is powerful. I believe He is faithful to hear and answer our prayers. So I’m holding fast to my conviction that praying Psalm 90:14 (which I’m still doing this year, by the way) is accomplishing something, even if the results are mostly hidden right now.
I feel strongly about this because of what I’ve experienced with my word from 2015. That year, the word was “fruit,” and it also came with a daily charge—to pray for the fruit of the Spirit (from Galatians 5:22-23) to grow in the lives of everyone in my home.
Asking God to allow love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control to transform the hearts of my family members had a huge impact—on me. As I prayed for all of us, I realized my own desperate need for growth in each of these areas.
And, slowly but surely, it began to happen.
More than anything else, praying for the fruit of the Spirit has made me more aware of the opportunities I have to demonstrate these attributes (or not). Even when I make the wrong choice, as I often do, I’m much more cognizant of it, which—strangely enough—somehow makes me want to do better the next time.
But it wasn’t until this past November—after nearly two years of praying this way—that I caught a tangible glimpse of the powerful impact it was having in my life. Throughout my adult years, you see, I’ve typically been very anxious during presidential election seasons. This year, of all years, I would have expected more of the same.
That’s not what I experienced, however.
Instead of fear, I felt peace. I wasn’t apathetic or unconcerned, but I wasn’t obsessed or spun up either.
It was remarkable, maybe even miraculous. And there was nothing I could have done to accomplish it myself.
A few weeks after the election, I felt like I was one thread yank away from completely unraveling. (I’m a work in progress, obviously.) But during the weeks leading up to Election Day, the peace of God that transcends understanding was clearly at work in my mind and heart.
In the most circuitous way imaginable, this all leads to my OneWord for 2017.
The Jesus Culture song that caught my attention last fall describes God’s relentless pursuit of His children in terms of His “fierce” love for us. (If you’re not familiar with the song, you can find it here.)
Fierce is not an adjective I would ever attach to myself. But the idea that God’s love for me could be fierce made me start thinking that maybe my love for others could be fierce too. And if love can be fierce, why not patience, joy, gentleness and the rest of the fruit of the Spirit?
I’m not talking fierce in a Beyonce-Ronda Rousey-Bengal tiger sort of way. Rather, I see it as an attitude that is relentless. Deep. Intense. Determined. Intentional, fervent, unwavering. Exactly how I want to be when it comes to demonstrating the fruit of the Spirit to the people around me.
Fierce.
As I look ahead to a year that promises to be challenging—perhaps even transformative—for my family, I’m starting to get a feel for why God may have impressed this word on my heart last fall. I don’t know exactly what the future holds, but I know how I need to conduct myself on the way there.
♥ Lois
When I’m reading books, I notice words that authors repeat frequently.
Years ago, for example, I read a volume of inspirational romance novellas from the Crossings Book Club. I don’t recall any of the authors, I just remember that a character in one of them “sniffed appreciatively” at least three or four times.
I’m giving myself grace this Christmas.
I don’t know about you, but it’s been a weird holiday season for me. There have been moments of gentle peace followed by periods of high stress intermingled with extreme busyness and even quiet sadness.
I could point to several things and say, “We could have done that differently, or not at all.” But some lessons are only learned by doing. And now we know.
Grace.