lemons

The last years stateside I've stepped back in writing because suddenly my stories have felt so drab, far more familiar, and much more a struggle to work through. I have mourned the loss, these three years, of Haiti and loved ones and good, sweaty work and overseas missions and writing about it all...and lamented that I no longer have anything to say.

But He reminded me this past week of stepping away--this week of blessed stopping--that I wrote all those years in Haiti not because the stories were entertaining nor because I had anything significant to say. I wrote, I've told you, because working it all into words helps me find Him...helps me process...helps me question what is happening and where He is. Writing helps me find Him in the middle of hope and hardship...and I shouldn't have added that refining outlet to all the loss. 

When we headed to Aunt Sharon's river house last Sunday, stopping first to see Elisa in Atlanta, and then again in Shelby to finally meet a precious friend and prayer partner of 10 years, I couldn't stop crying. Every question Ana asked me, genuine care on her faithful face, broke me down. I was at my edge, my very limit. I was running on empty and pushing harder still. I was out of peace and patience and breath and courage, and we sat in the sunshine with coffee in our pajamas and she ushered me to stop and draw grace.

My normal reasons against flowed down the river before we even arrived. Aunt Sharon worried about dinner. Aunt Sharon folded the laundry. Uncle Martin made the coffee and walked the early morning baby. There was no schedule. No where the kids had to be by five minutes ago. There was no house to clean nor plan to keep nor place to go.

We hiked in the mountains. We sat by the river. I leaned back in the sunshine. Ben and Nora made river-mud cookies. The big girls took rafting adventures and river expeditions and floated down gentle rapids. Emma wandered the bank and Ben helped Uncle JoeJoe make homemade ice cream and the girls found a fawn and taught it to eat from their hands. We saw a bear. We stood on top of the world and the wind took our breath away. We got wetter than intended in a waterfall, had simple meals and all shared a bathroom and slept with the windows open, walked through the wet grass and searched for crawdads. 

I stopped. I sat a lot. I sat in one place and kept my eyes on seven heads and listened to laughter and water over rocks and drew grace. 

I realized I've been filling every gap with more and more instead of protecting gaps for Him. I realized I've been reacting and trying harder and pushing instead of pausing and digging and settling deep with Him. 

Most, I realized I have been giving my hardest, best efforts at taking the lemons He keeps giving me and squeezing them for all I'm worth into lemonade. I've been giving my all, trying my best, not coming up until I hit the wall... But my whole premise has been wrong, and making me sour and exhausted.

He's. not. giving. me. lemons. LIFE, life gives us lemons. But our Father gives us good gifts. Our Father makes the lemonade out of no-lemon-in-vain, no stinging lemon wasted.  He gives good gifts, our Father IS THE good gift, and I often miss His good gifts working so hard to turn everything that is sour, sweet.  I've gotten out of the habit of  looking for His good gifts, pointing my children to His good gifts, and dwelling there, grateful and grounded and grace-filled. I try to turn the lemons in other people's lives into lemonade so they don't have to sting from the acidity. I try to protect every child, every friend from every lemon - wearying myself to the point of exhaustion - instead of seeing that the Lord can be trusted with the lemonade stand and is giving simple good gifts. 

Sitting at the river, surrounded by His good gifts, and deep roots, and living water, and unending streams of love, I realized I often entirely miss His good because I'm working overtime to strain loss and hard and pain and broken into sunshine. 

I needed to see that. I needed to stop long enough to realize. I needed to surrender that job He never gave me, and cease my striving. 

He can be trusted with my children and my church and my neighbors and my loved ones, and He gives good gifts. When hard things come, I can trust that either I am seeing it wrong and it is His good gift for which I can be grateful and hold my peace, or that He will use those lemons for His good and sweet and can be trusted with that work, His way.

Or something like that. I'm still working it through, but I sure did make the long drive home with seven kiddos yesterday (Matt had to get to a camp meeting) a whole lot lighter and with no tears, and that's a testimony in itself :) 

Here are some good, sweet and simple gifts from Him...precious family God has undoubtedly given, glorious nature reflecting His hand and nature, children He loves more than me and whom He will NEVER fail...all with a grateful heart: