Rest and I haven’t always played well together. It’s no secret. I’m always busy, rushing, juggling 5 to do lists at once. A lifetime of perfectionist, people pleasing tendencies are hard to shake.

A life of constant movement, always thinking, always doing seems productive for a time and then it takes its toll. I think my toll was topped somewhere back in 2006.

But this year I will be seeking to intentionally practice a lifestyle of rest.

Today I’m over at The Better Mom pondering on what rest looks like in a busy life and how do you even practice rest? Stop by and join the conversation: The Practice of Rest.

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Rest.

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To stop doing, stop running, stop trying…but to just be.

I run from rest like a doe runs from the barrel of a shotgun. Stillness raises anxiety.

I don’t know why, but I always have to be doing.

But I’m tired…and I just want to live this one life well

To smile…genuinely smile. To enjoy life. To spread my wings and fly. To not be afraid of tears and pain. To embrace all of life.

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I want to find

that place

where my soul

breathes

a deeply, contented

sigh.

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This year I rest.

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Today I’m over at The Better Mom talking about grace and women.

So often we add more to the Word of God than what’s really there.

We get tangled in what’s right and wrong, hinging our rightness before God on what we do, instead of who He has called us to be, and we run with it tacking the list of measurement to everyone we meet.

Instead of leaving the alleviating breath of Kingdom rest, we leave taxation and striving. We say grace and live works.

But what would our lives, our churches, our relationships, our women’s ministries look like if we say grace and live it?

Head on over to The Better Mom to join the conversation.

It’ll be a week from tomorrow that I found out and tomorrow will be the day I’ll know for sure. It was a surprise, unexpected…this womb carrying and caring. I laughed like Sarah laughed, shocked and surprised by it all.

And then the unexpected unwanted began. The cramping, the aching…the wondering, again? Why God, why again? Why pick me twice? Wasn’t once enough already?

Calls to the family, “Surprise! We’re pregnant, but I’m bleeding.”

A visit with the midwife, poked once, twice, three times and blood finally flows. My veins run deep and thin. I sit half smiling, hoping this thick, red ink shows a positive sign…that my hcg levels rise to normal. I just want an answer. But wait…until tomorrow I’m told.

My heart wants to hope. It really does, but somewhere down inside I fear this life has already passed and died. I say, “I don’t want to hope, because hope will only disappoint me.”

Even as the words leave my lips, I hear the Word, “hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts…”

I turn from the hard-truth words. This hope hurts and I don’t like being here again. ‘It’s not fair,’ I want to cry.

I feel the walls building up…a defense to protect my heart…the one that already feels broken. I don’t understand. Why can’t this just be easy? Why can’t a positive mean a positive? Why can’t those two pink lines mean a healthy baby in a momma’s arms?

Why the heartache? Why the waiting?

Where is the hope in this?

The numbers come back low and more lab work is scheduled. If they rise, it could be a good sign. Maybe. There’s no guarantee.

She sings, He’s always been faithful…He will be again.

But I don’t feel it. I don’t feel the power and comfort.

I want to believe. I want to know that hope doesn’t disappoint, that even this shows God’s faithfulness, but my heart wants to cry, Why God? Why again?

I don’t like when hope means a disappointment. When hope isn’t happy and glowing and joyful relief…the hope that says wait, the kind that calls “Cling to Me,” the one that says “I am your Hope, I am your Faithfulness.”

It doesn’t feel good.

It’s true. I know. I’ve been here before…and yes, God is good all the time.

But hope? Hope is hard. I want to turn my back on it, to just say “no” and save myself the heartache, but even there I know a flicker of hope flames in the crevices of my heart. I can’t help it. Because, really…isn’t that what hope is?

Perched in my soul…hope sits and waits. No matter the outcome. Hope’s there…in disappointment and in faithfulness.

My arm was pricked again. Just once this time.

Tomorrow I’ll know. And I’ll wrestle between hope and faithfulness and the meaning of it all.

{Truthfully? I want to laugh like Sarah.}

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All I have need of His hand will provide, He’s always been faithful to me.

I can’t remember a trial or a pain, He did not recycle to bring me gain.

I can’t remember one single regret, in serving God only and trusting His hand.

All I have need of His hand will provide, He’s always been faithful to me.

This is my anthem, this is my song…the theme of the stories I’ve heard for so long,

God has been faithful, He will be again. His loving compassion, it knows no end.

All I have need of His hand will provide, He’s always been faithful to me.

- Sara Groves, He’s Always Been Faithful

linking up with Joy and life: unmasked.

Today I’m stepping out of my blogging break to join in with a group of bloggers sharing their experiences and passion with different causes. I’m sharing a bit about my journey as Compassion sponsor.

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I never set out to sponsor a child. I didn’t really think about it. It just, kinda…happened. I was 21 and unattached, so when child sponsorship packets were handed out during a Compassion presentation at Spirit West Coast I took one.

I smiled at the face inside, and said, “Okay.”

I didn’t think 6 years later I’d still be writing letters and sending resources across a continent. I didn’t think about the future. There was a need, a belly to be filled, a mind to be taught, a body to be nurtured and I had the means to do it. It wasn’t some huge philosophical or theological decision I wrestled and prayed over. I was 21, I had the money, so why not?

My journey as a child sponsor with Compassion was been a lesson in humility, sacrifice, grace, need, and love.

I send dollars to Ecuador and for awhile it’s just money. I sent a check and wrote an occasional letter. Eventually set up direct deposit. It was nice. Then as the letters turned to pictures and I love you’s the more I realized that this little girl, Diana, wasn’t just a picture on a piece of paper, but a real, live person who thinks and breathes and dreams and cries. How I viewed sponsorship began to change.

It didn’t happen overnight, but somewhere along the way I made a decision to invest more than my money in this child. We exchanged letters and hope and prayer. After 3 years, Diana’s parents pulled her from the program. I’m not sure why, but it happened. Compassion asked me if I’d like to continue by sponsoring another child. I said yes. Why not? Should I quit sponsoring because I was disappointed? Wasn’t there another child out there who needed the support of Compassion?

That’s when I met Pamela. It’s been three years since her picture was delivered to my mailbox. She’s 12 now and the journey to get to know her hasn’t been easy, but in this last year our relationship has blossomed. I would love to meet her one day…to hold her hand and pray for her, with her, right there in real life.

Last year, we extended our Compassion family with a little boy named Gabriel. One day my husband and I hope to sponsor a child in the Leadership Development Program.

It’s hard to see the difference a child sponsorship program makes in the lives of children when you’re thousands of miles away, but it does. Compassion, one of many sponsorship programs, provides children with a few good meals each week, medical care, life-skills, counseling, education, and an opportunity to hear the love of Jesus in a safe place in their own language by their own people.

But here’s where I see the difference. Last spring, I received a letter that Pamela was diagnosed with a brain tumor and is being treated through Compassion. My first thought was, What’s the life expectancy of a child in a third-world country with a brain tumor? But because she has a sponsor, Pamela’s medical costs are covered. She’s receiving care that outside the provision of Compassion would have been a long shot.

I said yes, even when I was disappointed. I never thought my sponsorship could literally save a life. I thought it might bring hope and opportunities, but my monetary sacrifice–which, honestly I never miss–is saving her life.

I don’t say this to toot my own horn. I don’t think better of myself simply because I’m a sponsor. To be honest, I never really considered the responsibility of sponsorship. I just did it.

This is a journey for me. Learning that caring for the poor is real and not as distant as would be comfortable. I meet Christ as I wrestle with my wealth, the unnecessary pleasures within reach, and the reality that Jesus says whatever I do (or don’t do) unto the least I do to him. It was a simple, unthinking yes, but I think about it often.

These children…they’re real people. They are mothers’ sons and daughters and they need us, the Church, to be the Church to them. And we need them to remind us of how the Church really is to live. It’s sacrifice. It’s mercy. It’s justice. It’s humility. It’s compassion.

It’s an exchange of life.

And, why not?

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Would you consider sponsoring a child through Compassion? It’s simple.
Just $38 a month connects your child with a loving, church-based Child Sponsorship Program that provides:

• Food and clean water
• Medical care
• Educational opportunities
• Important life-skills training

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There’s something going on, but I can’t really tell. I search between status updates and find a link. I’m shocked, saddened, overwhelmed. Her? This? How could it happen? I knew her…love her…I’ve laughed and cried and hugged with her.

This…this is something I never would have expected. Me…who’s numb to so much, because “I’ve heard it all.”

Fourteen year olds with meth labs, 12-year-olds with over 100 sexual partners, parents who leave and never come back, drug dealers and abusers, cutters and alcoholics, innocence lost…all this I’ve seen.

But, my heart breaks and I find myself stopping…in the middle of a task forgetting what I’m doing…my brain feels clouded. Such sadness, such darkness.

Then I see words slung like stones,

Just kill her…If I saw her I’d kill her…They should lock her up and starve her.

My mind wanders over these insults…really? Death begets death? Dark breeds dark?

Hate only breeds more hate. The wrong committed is so, so horribly devastating, but is there not grace? What of compassion and mercy?

Have we been found to be sinless? Has Grace not reached down to save us?

The only way to bring Christ close is to love unconditionally.

If we do not show love, we do not show Christ (Jn. 13:35).

We love because he first loved us. If anyone says, “I love God,” and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen. And this commandment we have from him: whoever loves God must also love his brother.

1 John 4:19-21

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Would you pray for this family and community? So much pain…so much grace is needed.

Today I’m  at The Better Mom on The Sacrifice of Compassion, sharing my journey as a sponsor for two children in Compassion’s sponsorship program.

Compassion International is an organization I believe in and it works to release children from poverty in Jesus’ name.

It’s been 6 years since I sponsored my first Compassion child and it’s been a journey of sacrifice and blessing in a myriad of ways.

Join me?

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There’s a group of bloggers traveling to Ecuador this week on behalf of Compassion. You can follow along as they travel and meet children from different child development centers.

I’ll be watching close to see if I might catch a glimpse of Pamela and Gabriel.

Would you join me in praying for the team, the children and workers they’ll meet, and that hearts would be opened to sponsor so that even more children would be released from poverty in Jesus’ name?

“Pay close attention to what makes you tear up,” she says. I write it down, “Tears are like tiny, little messengers to what you’re all about.”

The next day I find myself sitting in a room full of writers…the pour out your soul kind…searching my laptop for something to share. Words of mine.

I’m distracted…half-paying attention to the words of the friend sitting next to me being read by a heart (in)courager. I just pick a piece from my about page…something close to my heart.

Words are shared, we talk, we cry…life, I think, is lived in words…the writing out, the writing down. Not only do we write  to taste life twice, but to digest it.

It’s my turn. She reads my words and the tears come. I choke back the emotions…embarrassed by the soul-baring.

I see pictures of people’s lives.

I see their stainless steel appliances, living rooms right out of Pottery Barn or the latest issue of Real Simple. [...]

I see them in their put together outfits looking effortlessly chic. I see them flutter off to conference after conference having the time of their lives. Learning, growing, deepening relationships.

And I wonder, why not me? [...] I feel like I’m missing out. I’m not quite part of the club.

I am a Reluctant Sojourner.

This world offers so much…it tempts with its treasures, and it lacks…my heart is broken and it calls for home.

Tiny messengers roll down my cheek as the words spill out, “I’ve moved all my life. As a kid, my dream was to live in a small town for 30, 50 years. But, but…for years now I’ve felt that God’s said I’ll never have that.”

I don’t know what God has in store for us.

I can’t say. He hasn’t said.

In the midst of this I find myself longing for someone else’s life. Their affluence or certainty, their granite countertops or trips across the country. Their stability. Haven’t I lived this nomadic life long enough?

I am a Reluctant Sojourner.

It hurts. This waiting, the unknowing. The calling that says, Sojourn in a place not your own.

I just want to be home, my heart cries.

I just want to be in that place where peace rules and there is no need for light, because He is light. I’ve grown tired of this world’s demands…of the temptings, the games, the better-than-you, addictions empty promises, the poverty, the suffering, the emptiness.

I have no abiding city here. I am reluctant toward this world. And, truth be told, there are days I am reluctant for the world to come.

Relevant solidified an answer to a question I’ve been pondering and talking over with friends for some time. My days at Reflections of a Princess are numbered. Six years I have written in this place. It’s been quite a journey.

After a much needed rest, a new home is coming. When the snow begins to melt and flowers peek from earth’s dark soil, look for my open door…a new land to sojourn,

The Reluctant Sojourner.

Until then, this place will become quite quiet. I might pop in now and then, but for the time being my energies and focus will be toward my family and home.

My mind and heart are all too hurried and they need a quiet rest. I know you’ll understand. But don’t worry…you can still find me on Twitter.

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image via pinterest

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