Solomon's wish

A few nights ago, before things fell apart, I was reading to the girls at bedtime, Saul now dead, David now old, rookie Solomon now stepping in.

Their children's Bible talked about how Solomon was responsible for more people than he could count, people who had a million needs and a tendency to fall away. They talked about how overwhelmed Solomon was with all of it, how impossible it all felt to do WELL, and about how desperate he was for good, true, intimate, powerful, constant, eternal HELP.

He prayed and fasted, fasted and prayed, offered a THOUSAND sacrifices to the Lord, desperate and praying and needy.  And that night as he fell asleep, the smoke still rising as he prayed and ached and drifted in and out of sleep, God met him, and asked him what he wanted, more than anything.

And so he begged God for what he wanted the very most : wisdom.  For HELP to know how to lead his people, HELP to know how to follow God well, HELP to know how to be a righteous and good and godly leader.

It's easy to think that he was some kind of stand-up guy for not asking for riches and long-life, but the reality is, when you're totally aware of your tiny-ness and weakness and facing great and overwhelming, utterly important responsibility, you're really really aware that gold or time is not what you need most.  It's GOD's help.

I can count the number of people I am responsible for.  My situation is absolutely nothing great or difficult like Solomon's. But I. Get. It.

Nora has a double ear infection.  Nora got four shots on Wednesday.  Nora hasn't seen her dad in a week.  Nora has no idea where we are or where we are going. Nora doesn't like being in her carseat for 9 hours.  Nora hasn't seen her bed or her toys or her home for three weeks.

I get that, too.

But for our family, when we say goodbye to Grandpa and Ms. Cindy, we don't know when we're going to see them again.  And when we have 24 hours to be with Molly and Payton, whom we've been waiting a year to see, we will be waiting another year to see them again. And when we have 2 hours to be with my other grandma, who is 89, it feels really, really important that the short time with them we have be GOOD. And precious. And meaningful. And happy. Even happy-ish.  Happy-ish is important when we have 9 hours in the car, 7 of it in pouring rain, without a second adult to help with the hundreds of things dropped or needed.

So when Nora screams and cries and fusses and tantrums and whines and bawls on and on through those precious and short times, through the hours in the small car...tears start pouring down Lily's face.  She is homesick, she misses her cat, and Nora is crying still, and Mommy cannot make her stop. Tears start pouring down Sofie's face, she misses Sam, she is tired of being in the car so much, she's a daddy's girl through and through, and Nora is crying in her ear.

An awesome mom Christ-follower would tell you that she was awesome and calm in the midst.

But by the time they all finally fell asleep last night at 9, two hours of driving still to go, and the car three in front of me slammed into the median in the fog and rain and we barely missed the pile-up, and Matt called to talk through his awesome night of another powerful service and preaching and great worship and good ministry and fun, meaningful time with people after....and an ice cream social.

Mama was not awesome.

I was crying by the time we got to Molly's and when she had made a cake for Nora and was abundant grace and then some...and I was crying when we left, Nora. still. crying.  I was crying when we left Great Grandma's, because you never know if there WILL be a next time, and this time was two grouchy, stir-crazy kids and Nora.  Crying.  It's hard to see grandmas so drastically slowing down year-to-year, it's hard to be in the States for the first time ever without being able to go to my home and yard and happy place, it's hard saying goodbye again and again. I was crying when we barely escaped a major accident in the rain and I was crying when Matt was trying to talk about awesome.

Whatever glam and awesome you thought we were, we are not.

We could have stayed in Haiti, and seen no one this four weeks.  Or, we could have gone with Matt to the camp-meeting and missed seeing both great-grandmas, my dad and Cindy, Molly, Payton, Aunt Lori, my brother and his family, Carl and Mary, and the doctor this summer.  I thought we made the right decision. Or, we could have done both, and made our 4 weeks out 6 weeks out, adding two more weeks to the crazy, but making room to do "it all."  I don't know what the right decision was.  We tried to make the best, knowing that for our family, being on the road a month or so a year is part of the calling to live and love in Haiti, to be good friends and family, to raise support for Emmaus.

And when I woke up this morning way too early because the girls, worrying they were waking up their cousins, when I thought of the car needing unloaded, full of snack wrappers and library books and suitcases of Haiti supplies--backpacks and lunch boxes for Gertha and Maxi and Micheline's kids, a years worth of yeast and vitamins and tupperwear and uniform shoes and --when I thought of unpacking our little suitcases back into our big suitcases, doing laundry so we could pack the small suitcases again, a late night airport run to finally get Matt, when I thought of preaching and sharing at church early tomorrow morning and getting the girls braided and dressed and out the door way early to drive another 90 minutes before the 8:30 am service, and 11, worrying about how we're going to DO all that right now, and even when Nora is finally smiling, kindof, in the bathtub...

I am crying again. 

Because while no billion people are looking to me for leadership, I, too, need something more than gold and time, more than sleeping in or coffee or a shower or my OWN space or someone to temporarily adopt Nora or Matt to come home or to have a "normal" life.

I need powerful, intimate, meaningful, personal God's HELP.  I need WISDOM. Because the world, my world, needs Jesus in me, and nothing else.

And while it is amazing to think of the Lord coming to Solomon in his prayerful sleep and offering him whatever he wanted, the Mighty God is asking You and I today the same thing : What do you want more than anything in the world?

God's Word and the last 8000 years has made it clear : When what we want most is Him...is His wisdom...is His help, He is c-l-o-s-e, and ready and anxious to BE. 

Being in a place where the most natural and necessary thing in the world to desire is HIM is a good place.  

So my girls and I might be wearing the same thing today that we were yesterday.  And dinner last night may have been fruit snacks and granola bars. And Nora might be a wailing bundle of non-joy. And we may not have any idea where we are going next, and I am giving no guarantees on anyone's behavior. And maybe I haven't shaved in...oh, yikes.  And we may be very wrinkled and a little weepy and incredibly non-inspiring.  

But we are clinging to God's help.  And He is nothing like us.

And I hope in our weakness, you will see that He is strong.  And close.  And enough.

I hope in our weakness, family, the world is seeing that He is Mighty.  That in our weakness, church, we are transparent and small, that He might be bold and clear and magnified. That it might be clearly HIM and HIS work, that He might be given all honor and credit and praise.

Because I take credit for the disastrous state of the car.  And for the teary, boogied blonds. For the wrinkles and the weepy.  But anything good and beautiful and kind and lovely you see--today and ANY DAY--will clearly be all Him. 

Anything good, people, in us is NOTHING more than the Good of Him.  Anything amazing from the Ayars is NOT from the Ayars. Anything incredible that The Potter ever does has nothing. to do with these pots.  It's all grace.

I might not remind you of that on the awesome days, but it is as true then as it is today.  

My great wish today is simply Him and His wisdom.  His help.

And I'm thankful to be needing it so badly.