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Yesterday, I fell apart.

After a whirlwind week… at the end of a whirlwind month… following a whirlwind season, I just caved in.

I couldn’t make decisions, form complete sentences, or remember where I put my phone. Or my sunglasses. Or the boarding pass that would get me on the plane to take me home.

And I know that real life gets busy, that even Jesus worked to the point of exhaustion at times. He was harried by crowds who wanted too much, pushed by men trying to control the uncontrollable. He, too, got tired.

Yet I see a pattern in my own life that cannot be healthy—does not feel like His way:

First, I work way too hard, too fast, too much. My shoulders tense, the clock ticks. I work harder. I wake in the mornings to the press of hurry. I can do it. I will.

And if I’m honest, sometimes I crave the addictive rush of planning and crossing off and getting all that doing done.

But it’s not sustainable. Before I should, before my list is marked all through, I drop. Like a pricked balloon I leak. And then, like every woman I know, I look for someone to blame. I resent the unseen enemy who made me work too hard.

Poor me.

Then, zombie like, I rest by doing nothing. I withdraw into myself. I sleep too long, do too little, hide too deep. All the while feeling guilty and slovenly and shamed.

Even my rest seems too… much.

Yet as I read through the bios of Jesus, those stories recorded by always busy Matthew, and excessively dramatic Mark, precise Dr. Luke, and friend-of-God-John, I cannot help but see that He did life different than I do. There was a steadiness to his rhythm, a calm amidst the chaos.

He didn’t rush.

And so, I propose that we follow in His footsteps.

I propose that for the month of November we refuse to rush through our days leaving our people neglected, our space demolished, and our souls depleted.

I propose that we institute No Rush Novembers into the rhythm of our lives.

And maybe we is just me, but I dare to think that I am not alone in this need to slow down, to do life better… to intentionally take more time to engage.

And so, this morning I have been talking to the Father and asking how to be a woman who embraces life at a pace that allows me to live and love and work and accomplish… from a place of rush-less rest.

Instead of a list of what I will not do, I’ve found a strange urging to make room in my life for doing more… living better, steadier, more bravely.

Here is my list for me, things I am going to do this month on purpose:

I AM GOING TO… walk in the rain.

Living here in the Northwest, it rains a lot. As in nearly every day. Which means that to go outside at all is to get wet.

Most days a mist falls, a gentle leaking from porous skies. But some days the clouds battle unseen forces, lashing rain on the world, throwing branches to the ground in a fierce show of fury.

Those are the days I stay inside, safe, protected— and limited.

Not this month. During No Rush November I am going to walk in that rain and let it soak into my skin, and with it, this truth: that He is Living Water, Master of Storms, Soother of Seas. That to hide is to limit His use of me.

I AM GOING TO… build a fire in the fireplace.

Even though it’s messy. Even though I don’t need to. Even when I don’t have time to clean it up or pick up pieces of pine needles and bark that follow sodden footsteps from the wood pile to the inside.

Because I do have time. Not for perfection, but for rest, for warmth. And I am going to take time to draw near to the fire of a love that is all-consuming.

I AM GOING TO… make a big pot of chili and let it simmer all day.

Hot and red, spicy and rich, I am going to breathe in the scent of home. And then I am going to fill every bowl for friends and family, and a few more besides. To celebrate our not-aloneness. To relish those relationships that chase the chill of loneliness away. To open my arms and my kitchen to souls who hunger with the want of a shared bowl of goodness.

I AM GOING TO… clean out the garage.

You’re laughing now, but hear me out. That garage has been bothering me and shaming me and confusing me and making me feel like life is too busy to live well. Every time I open that door I see chaos. I feel the defeat of disorder.

My messy garage has become symbolic of a life hassled by hurry.

In no great rush I am going to finish sorting through the excess. I will keep only what I use, what I need, giving away the dishes I haven’t used in forever to someone who will.

I will lean into the whisper I heard months ago— to SIMPLIFY FOR THE NEXT SEASON. To actively choose to live with less so that I am useable, available, free.

For this one month I will recalibrate. I will re-think and re-order and remember. I will rest. I will create. I will make room in my life for surprises.

Will you join me?

From my heart,

Diane

Show us how you’re engaging in Now Rush November by taking a picture and posting on Instagram.

Use the hashtag #norushnovember so we can all join in the fun.

And check out our new Instagram account, @hespeaksinthesilence for more ideas on how to live at rest in the midst of real life.

I’d love to read your own ideas in the comments. Let’s keep this conversation going all month!

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The past month has been, for me, packed full of goodness: family, laughter, beauty, relationship, memories, joy. Firwood cottage opened her arms to embrace people I love: her cozy guest room in constant use, the kitchen a gathering place for ongoing conversation.

Yet one morning, right in the midst of wedding week fun, I made my way out to my tiny refuge in the backyard, that “shed” I claim as my own, and wondered why I hadn’t heard so much as a whisper from God in all the raucous clamor of celebration.

Why are You silent, Lord? Why can’t I hear?

And slowly, imperceptibly at first, I heard hints. I sensed the Spirit stirring me to lean in, to listen, to pay attention.

Opening my bible, I curled up in my big cushy chair, pen in hand, journal in my lap. I settled in to wait.

What would He say? Something encouraging and lovely? Quotable and profound?

No. Just this:

Though the LORD is great,

He cares for the humble,

but He keeps His distance from the proud.

He keeps His distance from the proud. Me? Are You talking about me, Lord?

And I knew before I asked that yes, my pride had pushed Him away. The distance I had suddenly sensed that morning had been growing for days, for weeks. Unrecognized, unrepented pride had worked its weasely way into my soul and now I felt the loneliness of that distance I had created.

My pride propels me into loneliness, pushing God aside, pushing my self forward until all I am is me.

And I hear Him speak, this time so fast I can hardly keep up while I write it down. He wants me back, tucked in close, reveling in the intimacy of connection, enjoying this time of my life with Him.

He knows I hadn’t noticed the emptiness of that place only He can fill. But I notice now and He fills me fast, He fills me full, I am bursting with the richness, all those aching places soothed.

But I don’t want to go there again. Because I didn’t mean to, didn’t even know I was wandering in that direction. Somehow I drove off on the wrong road and ended up with only a hint of God in my rearview mirror. What did I miss?

As I ask Him, a list forms in my head and my pen scrambles on the page to get it down. Too much for one post, I’ll give the first four here:

Subtle Signs When Pride Is Distancing Me From God:

1.    Self-sufficiency

When instead of praying about everything, I blunder through my days “accomplishing what concerns me”. I do it because it needs doing. My list leads.

I can do this. I can work harder and longer and better. I can get it all done!

That is pride disguised in the rigid uniform of work.

2.    Worth

When my achievements define my value; when I am what I do or I am what I have done or I am what people think I am.

When my value is caught up in my ability to do, that is pride.

3.   Insecurity

This is the reverse: When my failure defines me and I think I am merely the sum total of everything wrong with me. That is pride. It is making too much of my efforts, measly though they are, and making too little of God in me.

4.    Entitlement

When life goes bad and I get mad because I think I deserve better.

No, it is not okay to get angry with God! Who do I think I am? When I think I deserve more, deserve to be shielded from ugliness, deserve to be blessed just because I’ve been good, that is pride.

My list keeps growing, a living breathing knowing that this distance is my own doing. But there is joy in this knowing- because He welcomes me back, delights in my turning, soothes the rawness of my repentance. He doesn’t want to stand away from me. My Redeemer died to bring me close… to bridge that yawning fissure my pride opened between me and the One who made me for Himself.

I’ll be back with more to chew on next week.

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. Do you have a list of your own? Have you seen the subtle signs that keep you distant from God and wondering why? Let us learn from your stories, its so much better than failing in our own.

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Reaching back into my journal from my summer of silence…  

WORK or PLAY? 

Yesterday I cleaned the garage.  It was a hot, dusty, spider-filled day.

And, as it was my long procrastinated attempt at sorting through my too-much stuff again, I was fairly overwhelmed with decision-making.  I’ve struggled and failed to find a matrix that works for sorting through 36 years worth of accumulation. Throw in a few childhood memories and I’m sunk.

By the time I came inside to de-cobweb my hair and wash off the sweat of a hard summer day’s work, my little cottage was filled with all manner of pretty things stacked in haphazard disarray. My grandmother’s china overflowed a table in the hallway, vintage creamware cluttered the kitchen counter, boxes and boxes of books awaited my attention.

Isn’t that just the way of life? One mess leads to another until cleaning up messes overrides the best of plans… and I think that maxim applies to relationships as much as to garage cleaning…

So when I woke up early this morning with a rare day alone on the agenda I was torn. Should I spend the day studying for that Pastor’s Conference I am speaking at in Uganda? Or… should I play house with all my pretty things and spend my day creating beauty?

I did neither.

Instead I picked up a catalogue and feasted guiltily on pictures of cozy rooms and elegant arrangements. Between sips of steaming tea, I glanced at my Bible and tried to ignore that insistent sense that I really ought to first listen to the One I’ve given my life to.

I wanted to decorate all day… but I was certain that He would tell me to get to work. And so I stalled and sipped tea and wondered where to put what, feeling like a naughty girl ignoring her chore list as if I was ten years old again. Memories of sneaking a few pages of my Nancy Drew mystery instead of dusting my room came flooding back.

Guilt, guilt, guilt.

Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I tossed the magazine aside and picked up my Bible. How can I call Jesus my Lord and ignore Him as I ready for my day?  With a sigh I opened to where I’d left off the day before, ready to listen yet secretly wishing for the freedom to do what I wanted.

What I read… and heard, made me fall in love with my Father all over again. Because He’s not who I seem to consistently think He is: He’s not a taskmaster cracking the whip or a teacher clucking His tongue at my flakiness. He is not waiting for me to open my Bible so He can show me my chore list.

Yes, I listen for instruction. Of course He often corrects me. And sometimes He calls me to deny what I want to do in order to accomplish what I am called to complete. But that’s not the whole picture, not even close.

Here is where my morning reading took me:

“Do not let your hearts be troubled.

You believe in God; believe also in me.

My Father’s house has many rooms:

if that were not so would I have told you

I am going there to prepare a place for you?

And if I go and prepare a place for you,

I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.”

John 14:1-3

I could fairly feel the brush of His Spirit against my soul as I breathed in His truth— He’s not mad at me for wanting to decorate my little cottage on Firwood Road!  In fact, He is spending His holy hours doing the same— preparing a place for me, a place where we can relish intimacy, a place of rest, a place of untangling troubled hearts caught up in self-imposed pressures.

His love wafted over my stringent should’s like the fragrant candle burning on my bedside table. I breathed deep— and smiled.

And so, this morning, before I get up and putter about arranging my pretty things, I want to remind you what I am just now remembering for myself. Because some of us get it wrong sometimes… and we lose peace… we miss His joy and stagger under a load He hasn’t meant for us to carry.  And then we work too hard and feel guilty because we’re crabby and short-tempered and generally hard to live with. (yep, that is me confessing who I’ve been this last week!)

This, then is truth:

Jesus is… a Redeemer lovingly restoring a broken world back to Himself.

He is… a Creator inviting you to play along with Him.

He is… a Maker of Beauty.

From a heart delighting in who He is,

Diane

P.S. Are you like me? Do you impose rigid rules on yourself that actually aren’t from the Father? Can you name a few to help us recognize them in ourselves?

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As I write these words I am nestled in a soul-refreshing nook carved deep in a canyon in the hills above the Pacific Ocean. There is a camp here, built in the 1960’s, restored recently, used by those who need to get away and think.

I am with a small group- less than 100 of us— talking about global church planting. Phil and I are the older, more experienced, supposedly wiser couple, though Chris and Meryl Wienend of Genesis Collective are the real brains behind all that’s going on here this week.

Last night we answered questions and I was surprised by how few wanted strategy and how many wanted to know about life and love and ministry and how to manage all the important pieces well. We feel honored and humbled by their queries, knowing full well how often we have stumbled and failed and managed nothing well.

I look into their faces and see courage.

Trust.

A choice to leave the comfortable place and dare— to dream and do.

I see greatness.

And I know that these choice men and women will struggle. Planting a church is by far the most difficult, challenging, stretching, exhausting endeavor we have ever undertaken.

I wouldn’t want to do it again.

Yet…

I am so glad we did.

I don’t tell them that. Instead I pray and give courage where I can.

I scurry back to my room to write their names down because, gosh, they will need me and anyone else they can gather as stand-in-the-gap prayers.

I want to hold them close and remind them that it is worth it- that He is worth it.

And I want to hand them each a great big stash of cash so they won’t have the worries inherent in any act of heroic faith. I want to take all the girls shopping because doesn’t a new outfit just make everything easier? 

Instead I know that they have chosen to do without. To leave comfort to embrace a vision. They have heard God beckoning them to come, to follow, to trust.

I am so proud of them I could burst.

And so are you.

You are listening, seeing, hearing God in the moments of your days. You look for Him. You find Him, sometimes in surprising places. And when you point Him out to others, to me, to us here on this site, we see Him too.

That’s why we are starting an Instagram called @hespeaksinthesilence. And that’s why we are inviting you to send us your own glimpses of God in the moments of your every days.

So that we can see and hear together.

In the innocence of your toddler’s joy, in the comfort of your friend’s embrace, in the beauty of something God has created and called to your attention— in any and every place you see and hear and delight in this One who we get to call our Father.

Want to know a strange thing about me? I am deaf woman who hears God better than she sees Him. So when people take pictures or create beauty of their own, I feel like a blind woman seeing for the first time…and I love that.

So, if you’re a lover of Instagram like I am, I invite you to join us. Please. Show us what you see in your own moments by tagging your pictures #hespeaksinthesilence. Tell me what you are hearing.

Then let’s see and hear together and call out our absolute delight in a God who speaks. 

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. Here’s a great spot to tell us what you’re hearing and seeing. And how you hear best. One thing I love about listening to God is the discovery that He adopts our own dialect to make sure we get what He is saying.

P.S.S. I’m keeping @dianewcomer too just for fun and dedicating @hespeaksinthesilence to listening and seeing God in the moments of every day.

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Wedding Week has come and gone.

All that remains of months of work are the pictures of a day so filled with beauty, so packed with goodness, so overflowing with love that a sort of mystical halo will forever surround the memories.

I thought I’d share with you some of my favorites:

(photos by my friend Jodi Stilp)

Simona’s mom, Natalia. She radiated joy, peace, serenity, knowing, wisdom, gentleness. She is the softest strong woman I know. A woman who stays in the background serving. A woman who loves with the fierceness of one who has known pain and chosen to embrace grace rather allowing herself to be distorted by bitterness.

(photos by my friend Jodi Stilp)

Scarlet’s march down the aisle way ahead of the other flower girls who were dutifully following instructions to sprinkle rose petals along the way. That look of sheer determination, along with her cousin, Sunday’s look of chagrin (she was supposed to be Scarlet’s keeper, but who can “keep” a girl with that kind of moxy?) started me laughing and set the tone for the entire wedding.

(photos by my friend Jodi Stilp)

John Mark’s little brother jokes. All the formal, Romanian loveliness of the day combined with the hilarity of my preacher-son’s memories of his little brother’s antics had our family laughing out loud and elbowing each other right up to the vows.

(photos by my friend Jodi Stilp)

Matthew’s tears. Gosh…

(photos by my friend Jodi Stilp)

Simona’s vows, which included: “You are my Hans Solo…” slipped in between profound words of commitment and honor. I don’t think she could have said anything that would have cemented Matt’s love for her more. Wise woman, my girl!

(photos by my friend Jodi Stilp)

My dad. Thirty-six years ago he walked me down the aisle, this time I escorted him. Slow, careful, loving the moment and hanging on to some of these last times together. How I wish every girl had a dad like mine.

The dancing. Which was really more of a bunch of grown up children bouncing, laughing, shouting, reveling in shared joy. So wholesome and good. Fun.

(photos by my friend Jodi Stilp)

Rebekah and Steve, John Mark and Tammy, Jude, Moses, Sunday, Brook and Elizabeth, Scarlet, Duke, Phil, me and Simona's whole family… surrounding Matt and Simona with our love and prayer and teasing and support and advice and commitment to be a family. This is the kind of community we are made for, the kind we are called to bring to the church and to the world. Imperfect but faithful.

And I feel a little bit of what God felt all those millennium ago… when He rested… and saw that it was good.

Not perfect, but good. Very good.

From a heart at rest,

Diane

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 Be careful! Never forget what you have seen the LORD do for you. Do not let these things escape from your mind as long as you live! And be sure to pass them on to your children and grandchildren.

Deuteronomy 4:9

NLT

Yesterday I got a note from a young mother who reads my words in the early morning hours as she is nursing her baby. She had carved out time to write me in one of those rare moments when her two-year-old was napping and her six-month-old was playing contentedly.

And I felt as if I’d been given a treasured gift. As if this woman somehow knew I needed something only she could give… and she weighed the repercussions, thought about what it would cost her… and gave away her time wrapped in loving words, courage giving words.

I found myself thinking about her early this morning, praying that God would give back to her one hundred times what she gave to me. Because she’s one of my girls now, though we have never met, and I see her as I write.

If you give, you will receive. Your gift will return to you in full measure,

Pressed down, shaken together to make room for more, and running over.

Whatever measure you use in giving— large or small— it will be used to measure what is given back to you.

Luke 6:38

NLT

She just let me know that my life is making a difference. That my words have helped. That her life is better now because of me. That my stories, all of them about “what I have seen the LORD do…” have helped her to notice the same.

I see her in my mind… toys strewn around the room, dishes piled in the sink, a dishwasher needing emptying. I see the diapers bought in bulk and I wonder how many hours of her week are spent in front of the changing table, wiping bottoms, soothing fussy babies, trying to get the toddler to hold still.

And I wonder if she could have possibly known this time was coming.  When she was studying for an exam at a university far away, dreaming great dreams, trying on her wedding dress amidst giggling friends. She couldn’t see these days.

And then I see her later.

Still beautiful, but with that kind of worn-in beauty now.

You know what I mean: crinkles along her eyes, but her cheeks are smooth, her smile welcoming. She’s a woman comfortable in her never-perfect skin.

The kind who looks elegant because she wants to— first thing in the morning while she’s sharing a cup of coffee with her husband, and then later as she’s doing something— something significant, something important that requires the skills of a capable woman who has lived well and wisely.

And I wish she could see what I see.

I wish she could know that someday she’ll have hours and hours to write notes and give courage. That younger women will need her stories then, that she will be the one with “more life-giving encouraging words” from “lessons learned” as she so beautifully wrote.

I wish I could hold her when the storms come, when the doubts and worries and grief keep her awake at night. I wish I could point her to the words God has used to feed me full in the early morning hours when it’s just Him and I.

I wish I could bring her with me this week as I prepare to entrust my baby boy— the one grown tall and strong now— into the capable hands of a woman who will commit the rest of her life to him.

I wish she could see me as I pick up my once-babies at the airport, as we hug long and close, as we cry and laugh and empty our words all over each other.

I wish she could see how all those hours were worth it.

That out of the loneliness comes an intimacy that cannot be bought or achieved or had in any other way than what she’s doing now. That the babies whose bottoms I wiped are now my best friends, my stalwart loyalists.

I wish she could see that my baby boys, those toddlers who didn’t nap when I wanted them to, who worried me every day for too many years— how they grew up and they married the best of women. I wish she could see how those girls are now my girls. Women who love me too, just because of all those lonely hours when all I did was work and nurse and rock and take care of the boys who would become their men.

I wish she could see the future while she’s in her present because the future turns the present into the best days of her life.

Not the easiest— never that— but the most valuable, the most effective, the most investment-worthy.

I am like a wealthy man who looks back and sees the brilliance of the risk he took early on when the company whose stocks he went without extras to buy, went world-wide and made him richer than he ever could have imagined.

Because I am richer than I ever could have imagined. And this is one of those weeks when I am counting the gold. And someday she will too. But she won’t have enough time to count it all because her kids will be calling her to come, to talk, to see, to be a part of the beautiful times of their lives. Because she’s mom. Because she did what she needed to do, and then did more. And then did it again.

I wish she could see…

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. If you are one of those who “needs to see that the future turns the present into the best of days”, will you let me know? I would be honored to pray for you even as I relish my present-future.

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Jesus Christ is the same

yesterday

today

forever

Hebrews 13:8

Today is the first day of Wedding Week at my house.

WW has been the endpoint on our to-do list for months. Actually, that’s not completely true— WW has been the focal point of my to-do list. Even with all my hints and reminders and notes and suggestions, it has not entered Phil’s head that Wedding Week is the deadline when everything Must. Get. Done.

And maybe that’s why he’s positioned to have fun this week and I’m up ridiculously early, uptight and anxious because of all the to-do’s not crossed off The List.

I know that if I stay up late tonight and get up early tomorrow and work like a crazy woman I can still do it. The garage that resembles the aftermath of an earthquake, the books still in boxes that crowd my creative space, the guest room comforter that I haven’t replaced with that charming crisp comforter I saw in the catalogue— that catalogue that followed me to Firwood Cottage as if to say,

“Uh, Di… you really need newer, better, brighter, nicer stuff… let us help you! And we’ll offer you a discount so you can feel like you got a deal! Then you can put the old one that’s too-good-for-Goodwill in the garage…”

In just a few days everyone will see my not-doneness.

My sister, who is the best decorator in the world—the one whose Pinterest page I copy shamelessly, whose garage has never, ever been messy.

My daughter who been hearing stories about our new/old, way smaller, and more charming home but still hasn’t seen it and probably imagines it is nicer than it is.

And the rest of my kids whose eyes grew round with incredulity as they watched the process of turning what was a stinky, ugly 1969 ranch into a home their perfectionist mom can find rest in… and still cannot quite believe that I’ve really adopted the minimalist mentality they embrace.

And oh— I need to wash my windows! Add that to my list of not-dones.

Or… not.

Maybe the garage will wait for a day when I have time to dawdle through memories before I give the rest away. Maybe the rain is coming in a couple of days to wash the dust off the windows. And maybe I like those little hand prints silhouetted on the door to the patio— because when baby Scarlet comes this week she’ll see those markings of her last visit and feel right at home, right welcome at Amma and Pop’s house.

Maybe my list needn’t drive me. Maybe I am more than the sum total of what I haven’t got done. Maybe clean windows don’t define my worth as a woman.

Maybe.

And maybe it’s time I do what I’ve been learning. Because starting last spring and all this summer I’ve heard the wind of the Spirit whispering rest to my striving. I’ve been in a sort of remedial school of the Spirit— hearing, feeling, sensing an invitation into a new way of experiencing His love.

Of living fully in the present, of listening to Him in the moment— this moment.

A way of being that unchains me from my self-imposed obligations, setting me free to be aware of His speaking to me now, not later, not when my list is done, not when I have time.

All summer I’ve been going on worship walks. Not to be confused with power walks or prayer walks or the-dog-needs-walking walks. These are more like rambles, strolls through the woods near my house. No watch, no phone, just me.

And I notice.

How the wind cleans the firs and cedars of excess needles, blanketing the ground with pungent softness. The freshness of the sky, the pokiness of blackberry bushes, the spinning of spiders.

Mostly I notice Him; the maker of beauty, redeemer of wrecked things; this One whose specialty is bringing order to chaos and beauty to brokenness.

And on these rambling forays He has been teaching me to notice the now. What He is doing now, what He is saying now, who He is wanting me to love on right now.

Now is so entirely unnatural for me. I am a dreamer; a woman who lives in her head, who thinks up ideas and possibilities and plans. I live by lists, all those things I want to do in the hopes that I can capture that elusive sense of completion. Of dreams achieved.

I live, not in the now, but in the when.

When the children grow up, when the cottage is finished, the bills are paid, the book written, the garage organized…I’ll be done: happy, complete, and at peace.

And some of you live in the then. The happy days of how it used to be. You fill your moments with memories of a time that seemed less stressful, better, fuller, more satisfying and safe. You’re thankful… for the past, for what used to be.

When your belly didn’t bulge, when children didn’t bicker, when you were being pursued. You mourn days lost, a way of life you will never have again.

You live, not in the now, but in the then.

I think God is all for memories, and certainly all for dreams. But those are places to visit- occasionally. Take a vacation into the past. Go on an adventure into future possibilities. But…

Live in the now.

And so, I tuck The List away this week. I file it under “later”, close the drawer, and look up. I catch His grin and smile back.

He is here and He’s been here all along. He loves this family of mine, loves the way they laugh and tease and shed tears so easily and have to apologize so frequently. He loves their passion and their personalities, relishes their genuine, rare, flawed-but-faithful love for each other. And so do I.

I am drinking it in, great gulps of now.

Will you join me?

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. I am loving your comments! I felt welcomed back all week as I read your words and heard your hearts once again. Thank you. I feel richer when we’re talking.

P.S.S. If you want peeks at my week, I’ll be posting pictures shamelessly on Instagram. @dianewcomer is my moniker there, a fun place to notice the now. 

still trying to reconcile my list with my reality

the one whose minimalist message has tugged at my too-much sensibilities long enough to convince me to learn to live simply.

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Dear Girls,

I have been, for the past several months, cocooned in quiet. No new posts, no fresh thoughts, rarely peeking my head out into this big wide world of the web.

I didn’t plan on this; didn’t intend to take a Sabbatical from blog writing. I just lost steam. Too many items on my to-do list that weren’t getting done but that needed doing— combined with a subtle shift in my motivations that I hadn’t detected… and I found myself with nothing to say.

A strange condition for a woman who often has to purposely shush the onslaught of words in order to clear her head.

And yet, even in my silence, God has been speaking: soothing, convicting, teaching, revealing things that needed uprooting down deep. I’ve filled journals with lessons learned, with Scriptures He has etched into my soul, with warnings to myself, and with tidbits of His grace.

And I’ve been writing my book. The rough draft is done and now I’m in the process of following the wisdom of my editor. It’s a slow process but I am learning so much and having more fun with it than I ever thought possible.

Sometime about mid-summer I started to ask God if He still wants me to write via the blog. Assuming nothing, I felt the need of a mandate once again. What a terrible waste of time if I just keep doing what I’ve done without His power— and so, borrowing Moses’ plea, I cried, “If You don’t go with me, I’m not going!”

I heard nothing for a long time.

Yet I felt that tension too— like a weighted pause. As if He wasn’t speaking because I hadn’t been listening, not really listening. You know, like a mama who throws out questions but doesn’t stop long enough to hear the answer?

Eventually His silence got my attention.

As I carved out time to really listen, leaning in and waiting, I heard the words of Jesus to poor, conflicted, feeling-so-sorry-for-himself Peter: Feed My sheep. 

And as He often does, I heard Him whisper with the gentlest answer…

“Di, do you love Me more than these?

Yes, Lord, You know I do.

Feed My lambs... take care of My sheep… feed My sheep.” (read John 21- so rich!)

And sometimes I think we need to hear that… both the challenge and the clear direction. Because it takes a love more than these to keep doing what we’re called to do day after day after day. It’s true for the mother of little ones, for the woman who works to provide, for the student and the caretaker and the teacher and the business owner and… the blog writer.

My more than these includes all the pressures I put on myself to live perfect. Perfect order, perfect balance, perfect words. To love Him more than these means to live at rest with imperfection so I can serve Him in this messy, mixed up world of ideas and relationships.

Will I ever really figure it out? All I know is that…

I feel as though I have so much to say that I’m going to burst if I don’t start writing it down! 

Lessons about prioritizing, about doing less, about living in the moment instead of always fussing about the next thing… as well as good books I’ve been reading that I’m wanting to recommend to anyone who loves to read and longs to learn.

And so here I am, heading into a fresh season of writing for this blog, excited about where He is leading and what He is saying.

We will be posting on a schedule (for those among us who want to know all about order and structure and what to expect!) that goes something like this:

Mondays: Our House

For those of you who followed Letters To My Son, these letters are a continuation of the story. Matt and Simona are getting married on September 27^th and I will begin posting a week later on October 6^th.

For the better part of the first year of their marriage I will write letters filled with lessons I have learned… things I wish I’d known… advice… and encouragement.

Some letters will be directed to Matthew- and men in general. As an older woman— a mom— I have some things I want to say that I hope will help men know how women think and process and what we need in order to thrive.

Other letters will deal with women, written to Simona— and all my girls.

And many of the letters will be to the both of them— to men and women who want to understand a better way of loving well, who want to learn how to…

“walk in the way of love,

just as Christ loved us and gave Himself up for us

 as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.”

Ephesian 5:2

And as an added bonus, Hillary has agreed to illustrate these posts in her beautifully creative and often symbolic expression of truth.

Wednesday or Thursday: Glimpses

These are short (well, at least in theory) spill-overs from my times of listening to God in His Word. My chance to open up my heart to you and let you know what I am learning and how He is speaking into my very real, ordinary life.

I’ll also review books I am loving. As a voracious reader, I’m dying to connect you with authors whose words are making a difference in my life.

On Some Fridays: The Kitchen

That’s right! Elizabeth is cooking up a storm in her tiny vintage kitchen in the heart of L.A. And maybe, if we’re especially lucky, she’ll post a few video clips of her trusty sous chef, aka Scarlet. There will also be several guest foodies contributing recipes and instructions from time to time.

As always, I crave your comments. Your words open up a conversation so that I know who I am writing to.

With a heart rested and ready,

Diane

P.S. Do you have a particular need you’d like me to address? A question that’s been bugging you? Please leave it in the comments and I’ll do my best to listen well.

P.S.S. If you haven’t already subscribed via e-mail, might I suggest you do so now? And follow me on Instagram (@dianewcomer) if you’d like to see pictures of the wedding and all the fun that surrounds it.

Dear girls, I’ve been away awhile… unexpectedly kept from this place of talking with you about all the things that we, as women learning to love God, wear on our hearts and weave into our lives.

Some of you are wondering why… and I know it seems as if I’ve dropped off the face of the world— disappearing from every place I normally talk and listen and generally engage with women I love.

I’ve left Facebook, been absent from Twitter, have hardly Instagrammed, and haven’t written a post in who-knows-how-long.

The fact is…

I’ve been in hiding.

Wrapped myself up tight in my little cottage, hardly venturing out except for long meandering walks and a few leisurely bike rides to clear my head.

Is something wrong?

No! In fact, something is delightfully right.

I’m writing my story.

All about that terrible, horrible, beautiful time in my life when I began to lose my hearing and chose— instead of thankfulness— rebellion. And how this Redeemer rescued me and picked me up out of that pit and washed all the mud and muck away and began teaching me a new song.

I am relishing this foray into my past.

It’s like remembering how you fell in love all those years ago; reliving the sensation of infatuation, of that sense of eager anticipation for what may be ahead.

It is a re-visiting of darkness.

Because if I am to write my story honestly, I have got to delve deep into what I felt, why I rebelled, where I was heading, as I hurled into that place of willfulness— when I declared, with hands on my hips, Not Thine will, but mine be done!

What I didn’t know when I started seriously writing my story was how intense this time would be. I thought I could write a little each day, then go about my normalness: blogging, talking, e-mailing, connecting.

But I can’t.

It’s just too much.

Too much emotion, too many memories, too little mind-space to do normal-life. I’ve been caught up in Dorothy’s tornado and carried away to this an Oz-like land of discovery… or maybe it’s really rediscovery.

Add to that…

Elizabeth moved to L.A.

And since she’s the one who takes my words and weaves her magic by arranging and formatting and entering all the extras into the backend of this blog, it seemed best for a while to give her space to get settled.

But she’s been calling and emailing and texting me insistently with, “Mom, we’ve got to tell them what’s going on!”  

And so here I am, emerging for just a moment to tell you what’s going on:

What: I am furiously writing the first, roughest draft of my book. I’m new at this; a novice at writing chapters, weaving story with teaching, finding the balance between what I remember and what I’ve learned. It’s one thing to write an 800 word blog post to women I feel like I know— quite another to keep a stranger’s interest for the 50,000 words I’m slated to write!

When: Though the book will not be published until fall of 2015, it is due much sooner. My hope is to get this draft done this summer and then work closely with my editor to hone and craft it into something legible by my due date.

(yes, this is definitely reminding me of those 4 pregnancies that seemed to consume every second of the nine months!

Why:  I just cannot seem to create enough space to write this initial draft of my story and write anything else. I need to get this down on paper and I need to allow myself to be all in on this project— fully present, completely focused.

And…

I’m thinking that is really the best way for all of us, no matter what it is we are called to do--

Being fully present in one place at a time…

Rather than…

Being all over the place, scattered, divided, rushing frantically to catch dropping balls and neglected needs.  

So…

I’ll be back

But…

I don’t know when. Soon, I hope. But since this process has taken me by surprise, I’m loath to make any promises, though…

In the mean time, Elizabeth is taking the devotional series I wrote about the Names of God and reformatting them to post for the next little while.

This was her idea…

to remind us about what we know about this One we’re in love with.

We’ll take these weeks to delve in to who He is, how He works in our lives, what it is about Him that wraps our hearts in wonder.

But know this…

I miss so much the interaction I love with the women I love…

It can get a little lonely, talking to myself.

If you see a woman out walking her brown and black and white spotted dog in the woods… stopping to type furiously into her IPhone before she forgets… and singing tonelessly while she wanders the lanes… please wave!

It’s undoubtedly me, taking a break to think… so I can go back to write some more.

Thank you, my dear girls…

for praying for me and encouraging me in this grand adventure of writing. I’ve wanted to write this story for so long… and feared writing this story for so long…

Will you pray that I listen well?

Because that is the only way to write a book about listening to God.

I can’t drum this up on my own. Yes, I’m doing the study, yes I’m working hard… but ultimately it is by listening closely that I know what to write.

“ ‘Not by might, nor by power, but by My Spirit’, says the LORD of Hosts.” Zechariah 4:6

And…

“… as long as he sought the LORD, God prospered him.” 2 Chronicles 26:5

Listening with my whole heart,

Diane

P.S. I would LOVE to hear from you…

• How is God leading you into a place of listening?
• What are you hearing?
• What is He showing you about who He is?

P.S.S. Keep watching for new posts… or sign up to have them sent to your email… I’ve so much being stored up to say!

(source)

Once upon a time I thought I knew everything I needed to know about raising children. Then I had kids. And every year since I’ve been learning a whole lot of things I didn’t know and couldn’t have known without these four humans who have the courage to call me mom.

Here are just a few things I wish I’d known right from the start.

1.    That every child is made in the Imago Dei… the image of God.

Not in the image of me. Nor in the image of someone everyone thinks they should be.

God created that little one to be an unhindered expression of who He is, highlighting specific facets of His beauty in surprising combinations. No two will be alike. Not one of them will fit a mold. They are incomparable and impossible to define.

Because of that, we must approach each of the children in our lives with deep respect for the One who created them. To be rude or harsh or disgusted or rejecting of one of these little ones is an affront to the One who crafted them uniquely in the womb. To deface His masterpiece in any way is to dishonor God.

It is therefore a mother’s honor to go on a quest to uncover her child— not to force him into a mold of her own making.  It is her honor to spend the rest of her life helping him to discover those unique contributions to the kingdom only he can bring.

 2.    That I am exactly the one God wants to mother my child.

Not someone better, wiser, calmer, richer, more patient… or more anything.

Somehow, in some way I cannot understand, He wants me to be the one to help my child become fully herself.  So instead of cowering in fear or hiding in shame, I can listen confidently to the Spirit of God within me for specific ways to mother well and wisely.

It is therefore a mother’s honor to believe that He has given me all that I need for the job, along with His heart wide open to pour out more love and more wisdom than I’ll ever come up with on my own.

3.    That nothing I will ever do will compare in importance to my role as this child’s mother.

Not a career or a clean house, not achievements or riches, nor the esteem and approval and friending of anyone. All those things that crowd my time and leave me stressed and worn out will never compare to the monumental impact of my role as this child’s mom.

Somehow I thought that maybe I had to prove something to someone in order to be important. Little did I know that the only ones who need proof of anything are those little ones in my own home. And the only proof they’re looking for is my unbudgeable love for them.

It is therefore a mother’s honor to sacrifice the more urgent but less important to see her child impact his world in unfathomable ways.

4.  That the mundane moments matter most.

When your child is sick and finds comfort in your arms.

When your son is stressed and finds relief in your words.

When your daughter is afraid and finds safety in your presence.

Those are the moments when you insert earth-shattering truths about God deep into your child’s soul.

It is therefore a mother’s honor to be alert to her child’s needs. To meet those needs with all the loving flourish of the Father— laying a ground work for that child’s faith to be  real, honest-to-the-bones, felt faith.

5.    That the busiest mother can still be bored.

And boredom is exhausting!

A woman who is not engaged in creativity that meets the challenge her own soul needs will wear out from all the work motherhood demands. There is always room for the busiest woman to squeeze in the pursuits that fill her full and energize her for more.

Whether it is learning or art or writing or fashion or science or order or beauty or design, there is time. There must be time.

Therefore it is a mother’s honor to keep feeding her own intellectual/creative/people needs so that she is in a place of thriving while she is busy growing her children into thriving adults.

6.     That our kids need to know that we like them.

Somewhere in all the correcting and training and disciplining and warning that happens from the moment our children are born until we wave them into their future, we inadvertently give off the impression that we don’t like them very much.

Our kids are haunted by the sense that we would like them if only… or when…

They grow up in good, loving, well-intentioned homes convinced that they are not enough… or too much.

It is therefore the honor of a mother to shower her children with affirmation. It is our mandate to assume nothing— to use our love for words and conversation to drill into our kids that we like them RIGHT NOW.

7.    That what we don’t say is often more harmful than what we do say.

Silence is not golden to a child. Or a teenager. Or a young adult.

The withholding of interest in what interests your child suggests somewhere deep inside that he is not interesting.

It is therefore the honor of a mother to be interested. To make a concerted effort to loudly proclaim that interest. To see her child  and then to say what she sees.  To offer her approval on a silver platter. To give voice to all the beauty she sees in her child. And then to keep that conversation going through every episode of that child’s life.

8.    That a specific, no-excuses apology from a mother opens floodgates of grace and forgiveness from a son or daughter.

That in fact, our shame-filled history of failure can be rewritten into stories of delight and joy if only we will own up to our mistakes. Our kids want to remember the best times… and willingly overlook the mess that we were so sure would mess them up forever.

But only if we admit the truth. Pretending just doesn’t cut it with kids.

It is therefore the honor of a mother to humble herself on a regular basis. To point out her mistakes and missteps and purposefully ask her child’s forgiveness for blowing it so badly.

9.    That my children would one day grow to be my most intimate spiritual brothers and sisters.

No one told me this! I’d only heard the horror stories of fractured relationships and rebellious teenagers. At best, I’d heard, children raised in “religious” homes might settle into an uneasy compliance to the standards set by rigid parents.

No one mentioned those exquisitely vulnerable moments when the people who know every hidden corner of my soul dish up wisdom and grace and reminders of our Redeemer’s mercy.

When the daughter who sees right through me refuses to allow me to stereotype teenagers with tattoos and piercings and mohawked hair.  Instead, urging me to see hearts courageously declaring a war on sameness.

Or when my son grows up to be my pastor, teaching me and opening my heart to worlds of wisdom I knew nothing about.

I had no idea the joy waiting for me.

It is therefore the honor of every mother to be taught by her children. To listen and to learn and to joy in the mystery of being joint heirs together. 

10. That my success as a woman does not hinge on the success of my children.

Because what I really want for my kids, the thing I hope for more than anything else is not health or achievement or good marriages or fat paychecks. It’s not even a good life.

What I long for more than anything, is that my children will know the incredible riches of God’s grace. That they will long for Him.

What I really want for my children is for them to spend every day of the rest of their lives reveling in this Redeemer whose shocking choice to love them in the midst of their ugliness brings them to their knees in worship.

And for that to be true they’re going to have to mess up. To fail. To make mistakes big enough to embarrass them— and me.

It is therefore the honor of every mother who has been covered in that grace to cease the strutting and pretending and Christmas card cuteness and to allow our children to fail. And then to weep and worship with them when they discover the riches awaiting every one of Christ’s redeemed ones.

The truth is, I didn’t know any of this on that day my firstborn son came rushing, red and squalling into my arms. And he loves me anyway. They all do.

John Mark and Beks and Elizabeth and Matt you’re more than I ever dreamed possible. You’ve led me in the way of grace straight to the Father’s heart. And for that and a million other reasons, I love you.

From my heart,

Mom

(source)

So dear brothers and sisters, you have no obligation whatsoever to do what your sinful nature urges you to do. For if you keep on following it you will perish. But if, through the power of the Holy Spirit, you turn from it and it's evil deeds, you will live…And since we are His children, we will share His treasures-- everything God gives to His Son, Christ, is our, too. But if we are to share His glory, we must also share His suffering."

Romans 8:12,13,17

NLT

Just this moment I sit in Terminal Six of LAX. A plastic seat is my spot to spy on a whole world of people rushing to somewhere. And since I missed my flight by just a few minutes, I now have hours and hours to wonder where they’re going.

While I wonder, the woman who wouldn’t let me check-in because I was two minutes past the deadline walks by. She’s smiling now, lost her scowl somewhere in the last couple of hours. For at least twenty minutes I was so mad— a victim of her crabbiness, held back from being where I wanted to be by a woman who insisted on controlling the one thing she could- me.

Choking poor-me tears, I had not choice but to surrender. But even as I gave in and paid the fees and trudged to my corner to wait, I heard that insistent tugging I’ve come to know so well.

That voice that beckons. The One whose whispers my self-pity nearly drowned out.

Choose, Diane. You can choose.

Really? Again? Isn’t that just denial? Shouldn’t I allow myself to connect with what I really feel— right now, right here?

And all the long way past the crowds of rushing people to the Starbucks in Terminal Four, I wrestled with the choosing. I wonder if anyone was watching me then as I’m watching now. Did they see the tears pushing close? Hear the thundering fury at my little-bit-of-day at home lost to lateness?

By the time my London Fog[1]was done, the choosing was easier. I heard Him clearer now.

Look for Me here.

Here in LAX, one thousand miles from home, surrounded by strangers. Really? Could this be His plan for me today— not just my mess-up? Could He possibly want me here right now, waiting in a crowded terminal instead of resting in my cozy cottage?

If some well-meaning soul were to flippantly toss out a “God is sovereign” platitude about now, I’d be more than a little annoyed. Sometimes, it seems, that’s just the easy punctuation point to silence someone else’s disappointment. Probably ought to be struck from the Christian phrase book lest someone like me say something less than Christian in response.

But the truth is, I believe it.

Here I sit, a surrendered-to-Jesus woman. How can I not view these “wasted” hours as His? How dare I believe that a tired, cranky airline employee is at fault? Or that I shouldn’t have stopped to talk with Veronica, the very woman Elizabeth is called to bring the love of Jesus to in her new apartment complex?

I am here on purpose. Maybe not something grand and applaudable. Maybe I’ll never know why. Maybe a fully-surrendered-to-Jesus woman doesn’t need to know why.

Maybe she just needs to surrender. Again.

Because when we dare tell Him, “Anything, anywhere, anytime”, He takes that seriously.

Sometimes that means big changes like moving from the comfortable to the daring.

But lots of times it just means allowing my own lateness to lead me to a place of watchful expectation… in Terminal Six at LAX… or in traffic… or in the budget that won’t quite balance… or anywhere.

I am waiting today… and somehow there is joy in this choosing. It’s not what I wanted… but I suspect it is what He wants for me.

God moves in mysterious ways… I believe that. But mostly He just moves in my every-days.

From a heart learning to choose,

Diane

P.S. I’ve been so cheered by your comments this week! Can you tell us what it is you are learning to choose?

---

[1] A delicious, comforting concoction of hot Earl Grey tea with steamed milk and a bit of vanilla sweetness

I sit, this morning, propped up in bed, given a couple of hours to spend as I wish. And what I wish most of all is to reconnect with you, my girls, in this over-the-top, crazy, transitional, less-than-controllable time in my life. And since I’m as confused as anyone about why everything seems so bone-jarringly bumpy right now, I thought I’d ask myself a few questions to see if I can clear my messy mind.

Diane:  What do you see from where you sit?

Me:  A worn-at-the-edges sheet covering my window, clothes hanging to dry draped all over my dresser, a suitcase half packed, a desk piled with stuff that needs doing right-now-this-minute!… and baby Scarlet’s new red shoes pattering by while she chatters joyfully to her Amma about who-knows-what.

Diane:  Why is your life in upheaval?

Me:

1.  We just moved into a not-yet-finished house.

2.  A few days after the move, our daughter and her family moved in with us for a couple of weeks.

3.  All their boxes joined ours in our garage, leaving the smallest pathway possible to the jury-rigged washer and dryer.

4. Two days ago Brook, Elizabeth and Duke climbed into a moving truck to caravan to their new home in L.A.

5.  I’ve been teary over the move for weeks.

6.  Scarlet stayed with us because her parents couldn’t quite fathom the 20-plus hour drive down I-5 with a two year old.

7.  And I couldn’t quite fathom saying good-bye to the two-year old. And like said two-year-old, I’m employing strategic delay tactics.

8. Soon I’ll fly with Scarlet to L.A. I’ll stay a few days to help Elizabeth get settled and spend some time with my other daughter, Rebekah, who lives just 15 minutes away.

9.  I’ll be home for one day, then fly to San Francisco to teach an Intentional  conference with Phil at Reality S.F. to a really great group of young parents wanting more than anything to raise children who are passionate about Jesus.

10. Then we’ll rent a car and go see my parents in the mountains east of San Francisco for a couple of days, checking in on both of them as their health declines, wondering aloud with them what the future holds.

Diane:  Just normal life stuff, it sounds like. What’s the big deal?

Me: I am supposed to be writing a book… and writing for this blog. And I’m not.

Diane: Well, girl, you’d better just work harder and longer and faster and smarter!  Clearly you’re not doing what you should… you’re not enough.

Me:  Hush! And stop all that incessant scolding!

I am listening to the Spirit of God, not to all the worries and fear that suffocate my spirit and leave me crabby and anxious.

He promises rest, and peace, and strength, and honor to His name. He says He’s enough so I don’t have to be. (Ps 23).

And He says things like: “The LORD leads with unfailing love and faithfulness… He will show them the path they should choose… Delight yourself in the LORD and He will give you the desires of your heart…”[1]

Diane:  Oh, sorry. I thought scolding myself was the best way to avoid failure. You know, motivation to get to it.

Me: I am learning that scolding myself makes it all about me. As if it’s up to me to control every aspect of my life. As if worry whips me into shape.

I am choosing to take those runaway worries captive— catching the fiery arrows before they sink deep.

I am determining to stay sheltered close to the Shadow of the Almighty so that He can be to me all that I need.

I am recognizing that His way of working through me is different than my way of intimidating myself into productivity.

Diane:  What advice do you have for other women in a season of too-much-to-do?

Me: Carve out space to listen closely to the Master. Is it His voice that is driving you? Or could it be the spirit of guilt and obligation? In busy times we need to purposefully listen… to Him. And when life is hectic and less than perfectly tidy we actually need more time for the silence.

Diane:  Then what?

Me: Do each day with determined joy, deciding to hope, to trust, to believe God. At the end of the day go back and thank Him for His presence in each hour. See Him and listen to Him.  His presence makes all the difference in our days.

Diane:  Have you heard or read anything lately that is helping you figure this out?

Me:  I just closed the last page of a book that is so full of wisdom I want every woman to read it. It’s called Restless, by Jennie Allen. I plan to write a full review next week (but who knows, at this rate?!), but for now a quote or two:

“As you become more secure in Christ… you will feel a new tension surface: a life that feels semi-chaotic. You realize that what you had been calling “balance” in your family was really a determined effort to control your life at all costs. You see, God never promises balance. So this new life that feels semi-chaotic is likely a symptom of a couple attempting to follow the leading of the Holy Spirit.” (from the author’s husband)

“I wanted to be comfortable more than I wanted God’s will for my days.” (from the author)

And this…

“Great people don’t do great things. God does great things with surrendered people.”

So here I am surrendering the order I crave. Not passively shrugging my shoulders and simmering below the surface… but really surrendering to the One who knows me and wants to do great things through me— in spite of my mixed up, semi-psychotic self.

I’m surrendering my daughter too. To run with the Spirit into all the beautiful, chaotic, mess He wants to use in her, through her, for her.

And I’m praying for you, my girls. Because I believe that God has great things for you… things only you can do… things that won’t get done unless you choose to surrender, to listen, to face your fears, to let go of comfort, and to fling yourself unreservedly after the One who is leading you.

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. You know I’m needing to hear from you too!  Are you learning to delight in the chaos of a life lived hard after Jesus? Can you tell us about it? Please?

---

[1] Psalm 23, Psalm 25, Psalm 37

(source)

It’s time for an update on some of the changes swirling around my life, in case you’re wondering where I’ve been.

First:

We’ve moved into Firwood Cottage (photos coming soon!) and I have fallen head over heals in love with my new/old little home! It’s cozy and fresh, full of light with warm wood floors— and the kitchen is a better cook than I am.

There is still plenty of work to be done but now that we’re settled in we can take our time. Stay tuned for my “Garage Give-away”, when I’ll finish sorting through my too-much stuff and spend a Saturday giving it all away. A great way to meet my neighbors and let others enjoy pretty things.

Second:

I’ve started in on writing my book.

It is the story of losing my hearing and all the anger and grief that I handled with so little grace… and God’s amazing grace to me in spite of my wrong reaction. It is a story about learning to listen to God and falling intimately in love with my Redeemer.

Many of you prayed as I gathered up the courage to submit my proposal to my agent who in turn submitted it to several publishers. Now I’m hard at work, learning how to do this— still scared but confident that God will not leave me to do it on my own. I signed a contract with Zondervan publishers and have a wonderful editor working with me.

Third:

Drums roll… Matt is engaged! If you followed my year of writing LETTERS TO MY SON, you’ll know that he asked me what to look for in a wife. Little did he suspect that his question would prompt such a long reply!

Matthew and Simona met at Bridgetown and have been dating for over a year. The whole Comer family is delighted and filled with joy over their love story. I am hoping to post their story in all its wonderful detail one of these days…

Since Matt just proposed this week (in New York City!) I haven’t yet heard a firm date… details to follow!

And fourth:

My daughter, Elizabeth, along with Brook and their two children are moving to L.A.

I am sad… I have loved being so close to my daughter, who is my close friend. I have cherished the hours spent with Duke and baby Scarlet. Now those relationships will look a little different as we connect from a distance. They will, however, be living just 15 minutes from Rebekah— I expect to gain a whole lot of frequent flyer miles in the years to come!

At the same time, I couldn’t be more proud of Brook and Elizabeth. They are following God’s clear leading to be used by Him to influence and impact one of the culture centers of our world. To do this they have chosen to make significant sacrifices, choosing His way over comfort and ease.

Years and years ago, Phil and I were mentored by two missionary couples (Bill and Laurie Keyes and Norm and Muriel Cook) who pressed into our hearts a saying that we, in turn imprinted into the lives of our children.

We were, and are…

willing to go anywhere… at any time… to do anything.

And so, it shouldn’t surprise us that our children are following hard after the God they have seen to be so fully trust-able in our lives.

Times of significant change, I have learned, either leave us insecure and sad, frantically trying to control the inevitable… or thrust us closer into the heart of a God who never changes.

His sameness becomes our comfort. His faithfulness to care for us becomes our story, and His.

I love this wild adventure of following Jesus. After all these years and decades of tentative trust, of risking and worrying and believing and seeing Him write beauty in our story, I have learned that He is trust-worthy.

For those of you just starting those first wobbly steps of walking after Jesus, let me give you a bit of my courage— it gets easier, it really does.

At this point in my life, to not trust Him would be a flagrant insult.

Now…

when I worry and fuss and lose peace, I sense almost instantly that nudging back into God’s comfort and intimate care.

And...

I know with a knowing of many years, that clinging to Him is the only way in to that place of rest I crave.

Give yourself the grace of time to gather up your own stories of God’s trust-able-ness. He’s writing those stories every day. Don’t just skim the headlines, you’ll need those details to help nudge you back to His rest.

One last word: I picked up this enticing nugget of gold from a book by Amy Carmichael…

“And all through, the brave little sister held fast to Him who she believed…

and was held fast by Him.”

May we hold fast all through… and be held fast by Him,

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. Are you learning that God is trust-able? Can you share a verse or a story or some word that is helping you to hold fast? 

(photo by Abi Porter)

repost/5.2012

This morning I woke up with tight shoulders, jaw clenched, an anxious knot in my gut…

worried.

Tossing my hair in a pony tail, I fed the dog, started the water for my tea, lit a candle, gathered my Bible and books, cuddled into my big chair and…

worried.

Stirring milk and sugar into my steaming mug, I reached for the yellow pad of paper that serves as my journal/planner/thought catcher and…

worried.

I scribbled down all angst about being too busy…

and not having time to do the important things…

and when will I ever accomplish what I want when I have to clean the basement… and the garage is a mess…

and I’m clean out of veggies…

and how in the world can I eat a plant-based diet…

when I don’t even have time to go buy the plants we’re supposed to eat?

No wonder I woke up worried.

By now you’re laughing at me… I can hear it… or maybe that’s my Father chuckling way off where I’ve been ignoring Him in the midst of my fussing.

Because all I have to worry about is not worry-worthy.

No catastrophes, no fearful awfulness invading my world.

Unlike so many women I care about, I’m not awaiting tests to determine if something terrible is wrong. The bills are paid on time. My husband still loves me despite my glaring deficiencies…

John Mark and Tammy and Jude and Moses and Sunday and Rebekah and Steve and Brook and Elizabeth and Duke and Scarlet and Matthew are all learning and growing and tucked into the Father.

And yet… I am worried.

And my Father knows all about that. With gentleness He pries my eyes from my worries to the pages of His Word.

Romans 12 is His feeding for me today:

“And so dear brothers and sisters, I plead with you to give your bodies to God.

Let them be a living and holy sacrifice— the kind He will accept.

When you think of what He has done for you, is this too much to ask? 

Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world,

 but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think.

Then you will know what God wants you to do,

and you will know how good and pleasing and perfect His will really is.”

Bingo!

Lights flashing! Load rolling off my uptight back!

God wants to change the way I think.

To take this roiling, messy, time wasting worry away from me and show me what to do.

Something good and pleasing and perfect in every way.

And He does. He did.

Speaking in tones so calm and firm and sure and just a little bit stern,

I hear His Voice over all my worry and I listen to His way for my day.

So simple. So right.

Why didn’t I think of that?

I smile and sip my tea and the rain outside seems soft and good, my day lined up all pleasing and perfect in every way.

His way.

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. How about you? Have you heard His words to you today? Have you listened? Can you tell us how He’s met you in the midst of your worry and shown you His way? Your story just might be His way of transforming us by changing the way we think…

I’ve told you about my dad— how, without actually meaning to, he’s shaped my faith in God.

(my daughter, Rebekah and my dad)

My dad has shown me in his own way— in his way with me, how the Father is.

How He loves…

How He welcomes…

How He wants to be with me on those early, intimate mornings.

Because of Dad, trusting God has been, if not exactly easy, at least simple for me.

One night, many years ago, when my old nemesis, Fear, started to choke the joy out of my daily life, the memories of my dad’s way with me broke those chains…

It was late and I lay in bed wide-awake. Alone and afraid.

My husband traveled as a part of his job in those days, sometimes for weeks at a time. On this night he was an ocean way, unavailable, unreachable, unable to calm me down or cheer me up. I’d suffered the insomnia of fear every night he was gone.

Too exhausted to sleep, too afraid to allow myself to rest, my façade of courage was crumbling.

My fear teetered towards terror.

A deaf woman alone at night with three children sleeping blithely in their bedrooms— every possibility presenting itself in colored array as I desperately prayed those demons away.

What if someone breaks in the house? Would I hear them? No.

What if there’s a fire? Would I hear the alarm? No.

What if someone big and mean and bad comes barging in the front door… no, no, no!

I can’t hear! I can’t protect my children! I can’t be safe!

I sat awake, hearing aids at full volume, baseball bat at hand.

I prayed, of course. 

Desperate liturgies for protection: for angels, for hedges, for walls and warriors to watch over me.

And I laugh a little now, but at the time, that helplessness felt immensely more real than any assurances of the safety of my neighborhood or the ridiculousness of my fears.

Yet still…in spite of the unreasonableness of my angst, God brought Himself into my runaway fears.

Instead of scoffing: You’re a grown-up, Di, get over it!

Instead of shame: Where’s your faith?

Instead of platitudes: Angels are watching over you…

He reminded me of my dad.

Every night when I was growing up, my dad walked through our house just before going to bed. He checked doors, turned down the heater, closed windows, peeked in on each of us kids.

Making the rounds like a night watchman.

Making sure I was safe.

Making me feel safe.

Never once, in all my years at home did I beg Dad to take care of me. I didn’t plead for protection from the invisible bad guys. Didn’t remind him to lock up. Didn’t keep a baseball bat close just in case.

Why?

I didn’t need to ask for protection because I slept close to my protector.

God, I realized, is just like my dad!

In fact, I began to suspect that all my begging might be an insult to Him. Of course He’s watching over me! 

Instead of desperate rituals of praying for angels to surround me, instead of walking through every worry, and making sure He knew all about how He should handle it, and why, and what I wanted Him to do…

Maybe I should just thank Him for all the nights He’d watched over me.

Just like Dad.

Years and years and decades of nights. No bad guys, no break-ins, no monsters under the bed.

Just my great big God watching over me while I slept.

I drifted off to sleep that night whispering thanks.

And every night after that, whenever the reality of being a deaf woman alone started to feel unsafe, whenever fear threated to keep me up, I felt that grip of safe assurance— of my Father being just like my dad—steady, dependable, present.

He loved me… just like Dad.

He was up to the task of taking care of me… just like Dad.

I could practically feel Him locking up tight, making the rounds, checking in to be sure I was okay… just like my Dad.

My dad spent all my growing up years watching over me. Sometimes in simple ways like locking up at night. Sometimes in harder-to-swallow ways like restricting my freedom lest my naivete leave me unprotected.

I wasn’t always grateful. I didn’t always understand. I wasn’t always nice about not understanding. In fact, he could tell you stories about me not being nice or grateful or understanding…

But that didn’t stop him.

Because my dad cared enough to take care of me… and so does my Father.

From my heart,

Diane

THINGS MY DAD GOT RIGHT:

1.    He watched over me.

2.    He was there— down the hall, next to mom, no matter what.

3.    He didn’t mock my fears.

4.    He kept watching over me even when I didn’t think I needed him.

5.    He showed me what the Father is like.

P.S. Have you learned some things about the Father from your dad? Can you tell us what?

Or are you just now learning that the Father is different than the way your dad was to you? That He loves in a way your dad was not able to love?

(image by abi porter)

 “One of the true hazards of writing is that you yearn to write deeply honest things that rise up from lessons learned the hard way… then you have to learn those lessons the hard way.”

~ Shauna Neiquist in Cold Tangerines

This week I have been unpacking. A little early perhaps, as Firwood Cottage is not move-in ready just yet, but life does not wait and I’ve got things to accomplish. And so I pad about in stocking feet on a floor still hardening, trying to figure what to do with Too-Much-Stuff.

Way too-much-stuff. 

Which leads me to worrying. Where will I put it all? What should I get rid of? Those dishes I’ve had since our early years that I still like but don’t need? That pine hutch that takes up so much space and sticks out so far into a room too small but would be perfect for our too-big TV.?

I ask Phil.

Eyeing my too-big stack of pie pans waiting on the kitchen counter for a place to live, he answers honestly, “You don’t need pie pans. You don’t bake pies, Di.”

And just that fast I’m ruffled and annoyed and ready for combat. Because, you see, Phil’s mom made pies, and so did mine. Delicious, memory-making, mouth-watering pies: rhubarb, French apple, Boston cream, cherry- with real, straight-from-the-tree, pitted-one-at-a-time cherries.

Real women make pies. 

And now I’m not worrying about my too-much-stuff anymore, now I’m feeling my identity crumble the way my once-upon-a-time pie crusts did. Before I stopped making pies.

I live with an image of who I wish I were, of the woman I want to be: The woman with a perfectly ironed apron tied around her perfectly tiny waist, pulling a perfect pie out of her perfectly clean oven to feed her perfect family in her perfectly tidy-all-the-time house.

And then I look at me. Covered in dust from pulling boxes out of a disastrously dirty garage. Disheveled and discombobulated over too much stuff with a mind that can’t stop writing words when really I should be figuring this out.

And I don’t make pies.

Which I could excuse away if I could just keep my house perfect, but I can’t… or at least I don’t.

I want to, you see, but I live with two big men who live big lives.

My son, saving for his future, rushing off each morning, returning late every night, building, dreaming, doing, working… and messing up my tidy little house.

And Phil, that man I love, the one who reminds me that I don’t make pies— whose list is always too long and whose life is always too full. The one who dreams big dreams and packs life tight and invites me to join him in his journey.

How in the world am I going to live in this little house with two big men… and their piles of Too-Much-Stuff?  Too not-very-tidy men whose image of who they are is not in the least tied to how perfectly kept this house is. 

I go to sleep under the itchy wool of all my worries, waking up wound tight, uptight. It is dark, rain washing the coming day like those German hausfraus of my growing up years, who scrubbed the front step first thing every single morning, their own beauty all caught up in the cracked concrete.

Is that me?

Do I really believe this house is too small? Or is it just right? In our budget, with room to spare— for being generous, for living free. Just the right size for doing life different, the way God is calling us, the way we are longing to live in this fun, no-pie-baking chapter of our lives together.

For this former ugly-house to become home, our home— home for my two messy men and me— a woman learning to be who I am, learning to let go of who I am not— I am going to have to do more than unpack a few boxes. In fact, in order for Firwood cottage to become a place of rest and refuge, a place for refreshment and fun and good times, I am going to need to hang on to truths I know, but too soon forget.

1. That real women aren’t perfect.
2. That real women don’t expect perfection from themselves or those they love.
3. That real women aren’t afraid to let go of the past because they’re so excited about future hope, they hardly notice old glories.
4. That real women always make room for more life.

And that, my dear girls, is what living my life “hid in Christ” is looking like right now.

Messy, confusing, satisfying, exhilarating, daring, unconventional, and clinging close to the One who promises to finish this project of remaking me into a real woman.

And so, I ask you the questions that woke me up this morning:

Can we… women fitting ourselves tight in the Shadow of the Almighty (Psalm 91), learn to be who we are by simply coming in close to who He is?

Can we… women of such worth, such intrinsic value, (Matthew 6:19-34) stop trying to be perfect in order to learn to be holy? Wholly His, caught up in Him? Lost in His perfection?

Can we... women set free, (Galatians 5:13-15) give others room to become who they are? Letting go of tidy theories, those expectations that tie them tight and choke the life out of every one of us?

Can we live large and small at the same time?

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. Are you like me? Do you cling to an image of who you wish you were but in honest moments, realize you’re not? And that, indeed, you’re not meant to be? 

Please grace us with your stories, your wisdom, your struggles… we learn from each other…

P.S.S. I gave my pile of pie pans to a friend who makes pies…

(image by Bethany Small)

…and all the people in that region begged Jesus to go away and leave them alone…

Luke 8:37

…the crowds received Jesus with open arms because they had been waiting for Him.

Luke 8:40

I sat before the fire this morning with a cup of steaming tea in one hand and my Bible in my lap. Groggy from sleeping too late, restless and needing real rest, I felt all unsettled inside.

The words caught me.

The story of a whole town pressuring Jesus to leave after He’d done good— rid a crazy man of his demons.

Why weren’t they okay with that?

And then right up against that question, rose the story of a whole town pressing in around Jesus for help and healing.

How did they know?

On one side of the lake an immense crowd gathered to beg Jesus to go away. To leave them alone.

On the other side of that same lake, equally insistent crowds waited with open arms to invite Him right into the midst of their stories.

Why?

Why would one person push Him away and another pull Him close?

And aren’t I just a little spiritually bi-polar too?

On some things down right rigid in my strict adherence to His Word…

and on others clearly disobedient and mostly unapologetic.

Why do I ramp up the intensity of my words in order to get my own way… when I well know that what God relishes in a woman is a gentle and quiet spirit?

Why do I lay awake at night worrying about my kids… when He has so clearly stated that He loves them with a greater love than I could ever grasp?

And why can’t I help myself?

Why don’t I stop?

Fully awake now, I scoot forward, lay aside my tea and sniff around these stories. What I find gives me much more than a caffeine jolt.

The ones who wanted Him away were afraid. Not of the stark naked, demon filled, manic man who broke through chains and dominated the countryside. They were used to him. Had it under control.

What scared them witless was Jesus’ undeniable power to bankrupt their undercover pig operation. Here was a kosher Jewish town making a killing on hogs.

They had a secret that Jesus knew about and they thought by pushing Him out of the picture they could keep stockpiling all that lovely stash without the whole world knowing.

And maybe I have secrets too. Secret pride. Secret fears. Secret things that feel safe to me. And I don’t want Jesus to have anything to do with my hog business.

Mmh.

Then there’s the other guys. They welcomed Jesus. Held open their arms and fairly wrestled Him into their lives.

A leader fell flat on his face before Jesus, blithefully ignorant of what everyone else might think. His daughter was dying and by golly this guy was going to do everything in his power to get the help he needed to save her.

He was desperate.

A woman grabbed onto the tassle at the bottom of His robe and held on for dear life, stopping Jesus’ journey through the crowds. Nothing and nobody was going to stop her from getting from Him what she wanted more than life itself. Weak and weary and tired of the isolation of illness, this woman would go down in history for her insistence that Jesus help her.

She was sick of being sick. 

I think there’s a treasure to be unburied in these side-by-side stories.

Something about fear and faith. And how you can’t have both. One cancels out the other.

Faith overrides fear and fear deletes faith.

I chew on this all day. Keep coming back to the stories. What am I missing?

I don’t want to be a bi-polar believer.

Moving from crisis to crisis, one season all good and peace-filled and other’s centered…

Too soon swinging to anxious, overwrought, ready to burst into tears because life is hard and how come that happened and why me?

Jeez.

And while I am praying and seeking and wondering, words jump out at me:

Faith.

Peace.

Believe.

Trust.

I know those words. And I know something else—

that the life I long for cannot be had as long as I insist on holding God to my way…

and

the life I long for is mine for the taking if I’ll only refuse the fear by fully entrusting every single teeny tiny facet of my life to Him.

Everything.  Everyone.  Fully.

And so I get up to face my day with three treasures tucked into my heart, stored in my mind, settled into my soul…

1.  It’s usually when I’m up against death and desperation- really scary stuff— that I come begging for Him.

2.  Not until I get sick and tired of being sick and tired will I live the life I long for.

3.  Fear is what gets in the way of what I really want.

These are three things I cannot afford to keep forgetting, and neither can you. But I’ll need the help of other women who want what I want.

Women who’ve declared themselves all His.

Women who are daring to trust Him even when they’re really not crazy about all that desperation and dying talk.

Women who are willing to call me out when I start hiding hogs again.

Women like you…

From my heart,

Diane

PS:  Can you write us some stories of times you fell on your face in full on faith that only He could fix those broken places?  We need to hear your songs of deliverance to help build up our own wobbly faith.

repost: 4.2012

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(image by Bethany Small)

He calmed the storm to a whisper and stilled the waves. 

Psalm 107:29

The boys in the boat were in their element.

Fishermen raised by fishermen, these guys lived, breathed, worked, played, dreamed to the rhythm of the lake. So when a squall came up suddenly, surrounding them with gargantuan waves, swamping their boat, heaving their bellies… they knew enough to be legitimately afraid.

Hadn’t they heard the stories?

Of men lost at sea, bodies washing to shore months later, of widows wailing beside the graves of men too young to die?

They knew enough to be afraid. Desperately afraid.

In the front of their boat, Jesus seemed impossibly unaware of their troubles. Curled up to keep warm, his head nestled into a pillow, He slept right through— oblivious.

This week, I have been just like those fishermen.

Storms threaten to swamp my boat. Hard things: squalls, upheaval, unrest. Too many things coming too fast and I feel swamped, overwhelmed, afraid.

Afraid for my father, whose body is fighting too hard to breath. How do I live and laugh and joy while my dad, this man who has been my refuge, my picture of the Father, faces agony?

And then all the other minor waves which, alone, are entirely doable, but added together, swirl into a deadly undertow.

How do I do this?

I keep coming back to these men, boys really— rough and tough, confident in that swagger of strength that comes from a life well lived.

They know it all. They can do it all.

They’ve set goals, figured it out, worked out.

And then the storm hits and all they know to do doesn’t work.

And so they panic. And so do I.  And so do some of you.

But Jesus doesn’t get mad at our fear. He doesn’t slap us down, shame us, trade us in for someone braver and better.

He doesn’t even rebuke these guys for their audacious shouting in His ear.

Jesus was sleeping at the back of the boat with his head on a cushion. Frantically, they woke him up, shouting, ”Teacher, don’t you even care that we are going to drown?”

When he woke up, he rebuked the wind and said to the water, “Quiet down!” 

Suddenly the wind stopped and there was a great calm. 

You’d think the next words out of his mouth would have been lined with disgust at these wimps. After all, they’d been with him long enough to know him as not only a miracle maker, but as a man with a message of a kingdom yet to come. Of God’s upside down kingdom where everything is not as it seems.

They were supposed to know by now that life is about more than success and tranquility and hunky-dory dreams come true.

And so should I. But sometimes I forget. And then I panic and get overwhelmed and frantically fearful.

But listen to what Jesus says,

Why are you so afraid? Do you still not have faith in me?

I hear his words and my soul stills.

There are lessons here for me, for us.

These men saw the waves and panicked.

I do that. Anything out of the ordinary mixed with a little bit of too much, thrown in with a cup full of liquid gunk and suddenly I’m sinking.

The key, I am coming to see is to trust God before hand.

To live as if difficulties are normal. To live unafraid of loss. To live unafraid of death.

And the only way to do that is to let go of my Christian bumper sticker view of life, instead, soaking my mind in Jesus’ words and stories. 

Jesus didn’t panic because He lived at peace with the imperfect.

These men saw the waves and assumed the worst.

And so do I. Give me enough waves; enough conflict, enough stress, enough bad news, and I assume the worse. I’m going to drown.

Two plus two equal the end. Woe is me. I can’t do this.

But it’s not true. I can do this.

I can do whatever He allows in my path because He is in me and He has overcome all my not enough-ness.

These men saw the waves and got mad at God.

I do this too! Don’t You care that I am going to drown?

There He is, all curled up comfortable, blissfully unaware of their sinking ship—  and they get mad. I mean major mad. Shouting in God’s face mad.

Can you relate to their reaction? Do you do that? Shout in anger when really you’re scared witless?

These guys knew His power, they knew He could save them, so why didn’t He? There He is, seemingly passive and unaware while their lives sink into despair. Right when they need Him the most, He falls asleep on the job.

Is it any wonder they got a little miffed at Jesus for sleeping through the storm?

But, I am coming to learn, sometimes storms are needed. And I don’t know all the reasons why, but I do know that He uses those sinking kind of circumstances to bring me in close, to draw me near.

Jesus didn’t always understand either.

And the not-knowing hurt. And yet, still He chose to believe— not in fairy tale endings, but in the great heart of His Father.

He chose trust.

And that’s where I am today. Done with the panic. No longer waiting for the worst. Believing and trusting because I’ve been doing this for long enough that to not trust Him is just... wrong.

Today I chose to believe that He is good and He knows and He cares.

Today I chose to believe that He calms my storms with His whispers…

From my heart,

Diane

P.S Are you facing some storms that threaten to do you in? Can I pray for you? I would love to hear both your fears and your trust… 

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