victory

Oh man. 

They say parenting teens will kill you. 

And it's true.  But it's not the rolling eyes, the huffing puffing, the socks strewn everywhere or the drama. 

It's the growing up.

It'll kill you.

Tonight Lily was off to her first high school dance, but first we went to dinner (another gracious date night from Dawn!), and the Lord used it to remind me that He is hearing my begging-teenager prayers, and that He's got them even when I fear I don't. Because. I don't.

The last few weeks, Ben, Sofie, Nora, Emma and I have been reading through the days of the Israelites brought out of Egypt, and the forty years that followed in the wilderness. Those dear Israelites.  They turned to grumbling and complaining so many times that even Ben has finished countless stories for me with, "they started complaining again, didn't they!"

We've talked about how easy it is to complain when we need or want things. We've talked about all the ways God provided, again and again. We've talked about how offensive and ridiculous to forget the moaning and groanings and slavery of Egypt and wish they could be back there every time it seems like another nation has more than they do, or they show up to a new place thirsty and there is no water.

But Monday, we read through the very rare occasion they did NOT complain, and it really has had my mind this week.

Numbers 21-22, they'd just gotten through the poisonous snakes biting and killing because the people were tired and unhappy and complaining against God, when they arrive in Arnon, and of course, there is no water. 

"But this time," Egermeier's Bible for Children recounted, "This time they did not complain. Instead they trusted God. Moses told the chief men of the tribes to dig a well in the sand. While they dug, all the people sang praises. They believed God would fill that well with good water long before they saw it bubble up from the deep springs. Their faith pleased God, and how He loved filling their well, and how the people enjoyed drinking deeply from it."

As the kids and I were standing in that wilderness with them, I could see the men with their shovels and their sweat, not despairing. I could hear their strong voices rising with the women's, not grumbling and complaining, but singing praises to God. I have watched men build roads in Haiti in long lines of pick axes and with five gallon buckets, one man drumming out a lively cascade and everyone working rhythmically and unceasingly, with joy and in harmony.

We could see the children gathering 'round, watching the dry ground expectantly because their parents led the way.

And the Lord was glad to fill their faith. And the people drank deeply and joyfully from Him. That beautiful image of God and His children is sticking with me! 

As Lily bubbled over last night at dinner with excitement over her first high school dance, the Lord reminded me not to cringe and not to complain. He reminded me not to have watched Him bring our children THIS far, and abandon my faith for them now that the years have grown awkward and emotional and heavy. 

It's so easy for me to see all the wilderness places in my four teens. Attitudes that come up short. Unkind words that leave me despairing. Moods that terrify the babies. Efforts to be like the world. Laziness that has me worrying about the future. Desires that are falling so short of His.

I find my heart lean towards whining. Grumbling. Talking to God again and again about how here I am, working my butt off to see springs of Living Water in my children, and instead I'm finding dry ground and getting scorched.

I find His heart handing me a shovel and asking if I'll sing while I dig deeper. If I'll praise Him while I get callouses for my children. If I'll worship while I dig my holes, showing Him the places I need Him desperately to fill. If I'll believe God will fill my gaps with GOOD water even before I see it bubble up from His deep springs. 

I don't want this to be my once-in-a-rare-while response when my middle girlie is harsh and impossible because she's worried sick over a school presentation, or my number two lost something I JUST bought her...again. I want "dig and worship and just wait" to be my daily, and I love that when I'm trusting Him to fill the holes, to meet me in the wildernesses, it pleases Him.  

I have the chance--in dry and weary places I wanted water and found sand--to bring Him JOY as He does the work, as He provides, simply by preparing the way for Him to work with faith and praise. 

Having dinner together before the dance last night, I realized that Lily was way more looking forward to doing the Cotton-Eyed-Joe with her girlfriends than she was consumed with how she looked, or the fact that her mom and dad wouldn't allow her to go with a date, or that some of the girls were having a sleepover and she hadn't been invited, or that the dance had a designated cell phone room for selfies and social media updates, and she doesn't have a cell phone. She picked her own dress and it was modest and cute, not one argument, and she wore the same shoes she wears every day to school without even wishing otherwise. I've been so frustrated by all the teenage drama and growing pains over this thing, so broken by a lot of unkindness and worldliness, but at dinner the Lord helped me to see that she was genuinely joyful and hilarious over what she got to do and not bitter or angry or focused on what she didn't...and He is at WORK.

During the morning school rush this morning, she went out of her own way to see Sofie's hand-drawn poster-board presentation and to tell her how good it looked. While the sixth grade class is going on a three day field trip next week and our number four can't go with them, she has looked for the sunshine and been content, never once complaining, even as I have complained to the Lord over it.

The kid's Bible called this story at Arnon "Victory for the Israelites", and it WAS.  They chose to trust Him, and He rejoiced in them. 

The Lord's at work in my hard places, and I'm gonna keep being at work, too, remembering to sing.  I'm trusting Victory for These Children, even before I see it bubbling up. 

Grab a shovel, dear ones.