Put in my place

Today, I have a hotel room to myself for the entire business day. That may sound boring to some of you (especially if you're an extrovert), but to this introverted mother of 3, it spells glorious reprieve.

This prolonged period of silence lends itself well for me to connect deeply with the Father. It somehow allows my heart to unfold and expose itself with freedom and vulnerability more so than when I'm rushing to squeeze my quiet time in between kids' naps and chopping tomatoes for supper.

There's a particular trial I've been enduring for a little while now that I've just had trouble putting to rest. Every day I seek His power to gain victory over this. I have even pursued counsel on the matter, but it seems like I gain minimal ground before sliding back into this rut. I have no doubt that I will ultimately overcome it; it's just taking longer than I'd like.

Because of my extended time this morning, I felt the courage to address the Lord with my "beef" about Him not coming through and just rescuing me. So I said,

"God, I know You want me to listen to You and fight for You, but sometimes that feels like a one-way road."

I slowed down and stopped at "but" (yes, I pray out loud). I did finish the sentence, but mostly based on principle. I wanted to get the words out-- to dig up and release the feelings I had been sweeping under the rug of avoidance.

However, it was simultaneously humorous to hear how ridiculous the sentence actually sounded, escaping my lips. By the end, I was shaking my head and had a giant smile on my face. I sensed no condemnation, but a humble reminder of my smallness.

How short-sighted I can be, to think that I could possibly be carrying the heavier work load in this relationship.

It was just an interesting moment I thought I would share.

Feeling so small, yet so adored

Disclaimer: The blog post you are about to read is a little heavy on nature and other such Jesus-loving, hippie themes.

We are on our way out to Salem, Oregon for a business trip. Last night, after 2 full days of driving, we were about 3 hours from our final destination. We tossed back and forth the idea of pressing through and arriving at midnight or stopping short and “roughing it” in the kind of motel that's spelled with flashing lights and has bullet-proof glass shielding the check-in counter.

Rodney, being the tough, manly leader that he is made the executive decision to stop-- because he didn't want to miss out on the beautiful scenery by passing it all under the cover of darkness. I love that guy :)

I do have to just interject quickly and say that he was right. I'm typing while we're driving, and this is quite possibly the most beautiful view we've had over the past 1,800 miles. There's a tremendous, white-capped river to our right and mountains engulfing everything around us-- like a bowl. Double-stacked trains chugging out of Portland are slithering by between us and the river basin. The sky is clear, and the sun is bright.

Today was simply birthed as amazing.

That first morning out West is always great because that the 2-hour time difference hasn't set in yet. So I “slept in” until 7:00 my time, but was awake with the morning's first blush here at 5 am. I eagerly threw on my running gear and quietly slipped out the door.

Our hotel was nestled beside a smaller river, which made for nice company while running. I found myself surprised at my own surprise, however, when I lifted my head and noticed that I was surrounded with mountains. I knew they were there, of course, but the darkness from the night's drive and habitual Wisconsin programming in my mind's eye rendered me forgetful and caught me completely unaware of the silent towering giants.

I rounded a curve in time to see the sun just cresting the tip of one of these majestic beauties. Without hesitation, I turned around and jogged straight back to my hotel room to find my camera.

During this trek, I discovered an awesome little spot to sit and connect with my Jesus. So I ran to snap the picture that you see at the top of this blog, ditched the rest of my run, and showered so I could meet up with my Love. It felt a little like primping for a morning date :)

I snatched my bag of reading and writing supplies and started my little journey to the meeting place. Unfortunately, by then there was a man working to repair a gazebo very near my spot. Who cares about a gazebo at 6 in the morning? Seriously.

Anyway, I detoured around him, hoping to spot a park bench bathed in sunlight to escape the chilly air. No such luck. But I didn't care; my heart was full. So I sat down on a cold, metal seat and allowed time to take in the river against it's tall, rocky backdrop.

I cracked open my Bible (well, Rodney's Bible, but that's a long story) and discovered broken bits of sweet sunshine dancing through the shade trees onto my pages. It felt like a divine, loving, playful "elbowing" gesture, which swept a smile over my face.

My bookmark directed me to 1 Corinthians 12 which is about believers being part of a body-- one working entity, not unlike the river before me. The passage goes on to explain how He gives us each something different to contribute to that body. I thanked Him for the ways that He uses me, despite my constant weakness and occasional rebellion. I reveled in His patience and His heart for me. Me!

By the time I was done reading, the bench I was seated on was still blanketed in shadows, but a familiar, comforting heat rested on my shoulders. I imagined my Father spreading the branches above me just so-- affectionately knowing the depth of my heart and how it connects with the warmth of the sun.

For a long time I gazed at the river and mountains ahead of me. I thought about how the calloused, rugged hands that molded those unfathomable stone fixtures were the same scarred ones that tenderly crafted my heart and lungs, skin and eyes-- all in a mother's womb.

I am ashamed to think of how I limit Him. That I respect Him in the grandeur, but lose Him in the little things. When I can't sleep or when I'm not immediately rescued from a trial or temptation, I forget that He is everlasting-- the Beginning and the End. He is radiant. He is just.

I felt that I could die and be no closer to Him than I was right then. This world really isn't my home. Someday, this morning's moments won't be an excerpt or a memory, but my living, breathing, waking, eternal life. For He makes everything glorious!