strength comes in strange ways
September is staring me down. She promises to be a long, hard month, and I can feel her taunting glances today. I’m choosing to ignore her while I still can.
Sigh.
So I sit here looking back at all my old August posts. I’m seemingly always working on seeing myself in the light of God’s truth. And in the past few weeks I’ve been processing my difficulty to really hear compliments. Again. Hmph. I wondered why the view looked familiar—I’ve been around this mountain a time or two before.
I still use a buzzy toothbrush. And I still don’t often realize what I’m missing until I get it back or see it in others’ lives.
My heart’s been challenged again to check my motives, pray paradoxical prayers, and trust God to defend me. I’m still doing most things afraid and trying to catch up on my backlog of lost sleep. I needed the reminder that God is writing my story and, unlike me, He needs no backspace.
I’m always blown away by how wonderfully everything has always been about Jesus.
A year ago I had my first meet-up with blogging friends. My reunion with Mandy and Cathi couldn’t be summed up in just one post, and of course it had to be documented on video. I’ve been amazingly blessed with friends over this past year, many of whom I met right here in the blogosphere. God is undeniably good to me.
Two Augusts ago I had this overwhelming sense that my life was about to change. Drastically. Forever. I couldn’t put my finger on it and I didn’t know exactly what it meant, but I can remember right where I was and what I was doing when the feeling rushed over me like the morning fog swallows up the mountains on our property. Looking back on it now, my breath catches in my chest. Because it turns out I was right. That very month, the pieces of my life began slowly shattering… until they all ended up in broken fragments at my feet a few months ago. Shudder.
Somehow, being reminded of all that again, I am left more aware of the grace of God in my life. My brokenness is more apparent, yes, but so is His hand on me. He has carried me through much more than I ever thought I could endure.
So, September, I seem to have mustered up some strength. I’ve still got some fight left in me, and I’m glaring right back at you. After all I’ve been through in the past two years, what’s another month?
Bring it on.
the best surprise
I was snuggled up in bed, sound asleep. Still in the same position I’d fallen asleep in, which means I was sleeping hard. I thought I heard something, but couldn’t make out what it was. And then I felt something.
I opened my eyes.
There was a face right in front of me, but it didn’t make sense. I must be dreaming. I closed my eyes tightly and pulled my sheet over my head. After a few moments, I pulled back the covers and peeked again. And as my eyes came into focus, I realized I wasn’t dreaming. My sweet friend Tracee—who lives in Virginia!— was next to my bed, her face inches away from mine.
I looked over at the doorway and saw Ked standing there. Trying to make sense of it all, my eyes bounced back and forth between my two friends. Being so eloquent when I first wake up, all I could think to say was, “What the frick!?”
Next thing I knew, Tracee was hugging me. And I was smiling really big.
My friends masterfully pulled off the best surprise I’ve had in a very long time. And I am not easy to surprise. They made me feel completely and totally loved.
And that is officially the best way I’ve ever been woken up.
the God who restores
God will restore me. That short sentence packs a serious punch. I keep finding myself repeating it with the emphasis on each word. And the significance of the statement changes for me each time.
God will restore me.
God will restore me.
God will restore me.
God will restore me.
The truth of all four of those statements is wrapped up in this one verse:
I am desperate for God’s restoration in my life. And I need to trust that He’s already in the process of restoring me, even when it doesn’t look or feel like it. He is the God who restores.
He says He will restore—
- my health
- my path
- my comfort
- my fortunes
- my soul
- my life
- twice as much
- the joy of my salvation
- the years that were stolen from me
- the places in my life that have been devastated
God will restore me. And then I will be strong, firm, and steadfast.
And that gives me hope.
in God i (want to) trust
I trust God. I do.
But I don’t always live like I trust Him.
So I’ve been talking to Him about that lately. Because I want to trust, not just in theory or words or intention, but with my whole heart. I want to trust His everything with my everything.
I started listing out the things I have the hardest time trusting Him with. But He interrupted me. And with His perfectly simple statement, He summed it all up:
“Trust Me in this — what I say about Myself and what I say about you.”
His words got my attention. It’s true—Since I don’t trust who He says He is, I can’t trust who He says I am. And those two foundational things are at the very core of all I need to work through in my life.
It’s time. I’m being intentional about growing in those areas of trust.
Because I don’t want to just say I trust Him. I want my life to actually show that I do.
when i walk through the fire
For the past few months, I’ve been stuck on the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. I’m sure you’ve heard it. They were thrown into a fiery furnace because they refused to bow before the king’s idol. And they lived to tell about it.
My favorite part of the story has always been their pre-furnace faith. When told about their punishment, their response was, “The God we serve is able to save us from it… but even if He does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.” I’ve always wanted my life to be marked with such deep conviction, with such resolute faith.
In many ways, I’ve been in my own personal fiery furnace for the past year. So lately, as I’ve camped out in this story, I’ve paid more attention than usual to what happened after they made their bold confession of faith.
The Bible tells us that the three Jewish boys were tossed into the furnace firmly tied. But the king saw them walking around the fire unbound and unharmed. I smile every time I see that phrase. Because it seems to me it’s just another way of saying “nothing missing, nothing broken”—God’s promise of wholeness and completion. My heart’s prayer is that I would be seen walking through my personal fire unbound and unharmed.
Even better than them being protected from the flames, is the fact that they weren’t alone. A fourth man was seen walking with them in the midst of the fire. I so want Jesus to be visible in this with me. I don’t want to do it in my own strength. I can’t do it in my own strength. I need Him, and I want it to be so clear, even to others, that He is right here with me. I think the evidence that He is walking me through this, will need to be in my words, actions, and character.
When the Hebrew boys were brought out of the fire, not a hair on their heads was singed. Their clothes weren’t burned. They didn’t even smell like smoke. That gives me chills. And it gives me hope. I’m praying that my heart won’t be blackened by the soot of bitterness, that my soul won’t be darkened by the ash of unforgiveness. I want to come out the other side of this without even the smell of smoke on me.
When you walk through the fire,
you will not be burned;
the flames will not set you ablaze.
-Isaiah 43:2
i speak southern
I’m a New Yorker, born and raised. A total Yankee. And then I up and moved to rural Africa.
I’ve certainly gotten used to small-town country living, but I still chuckle (with a disbelieving shake of my head) as I drive by fields of hay bales, herds of naked sheep, or rogue cows on my way to buy groceries. The irony of my life never ceases to surprise me.
And now, here I am, spending an extended period of time in America. And even more shocking than this indoor girl moving to Africa, is this Yankee taking up residence in the dirty south. No offense intended. Alas, I find myself living in Hotlanta.
And my brother Andrew finds it a bit comical.
Just yesterday, he was teasing me about living in the south. Joking about southern accents, he blurted out a phrase that’s at the heart of a Ronzino family joke—“Djoo-waaanna-sukka?” And I couldn’t help but laugh at the memory.
When I was in high school, we drove to Georgia to visit friends who live in the gorgeous Blue Ridge Mountains. Needless to say, everywhere we went, we stuck out like the loud Italian New Yorkers we are. (“Oh yeah, you blend.”)
One day we stopped in some little country store in some little country town. The shop owner was a bubbly old woman in a floral dress, her long hair tied up in a bun. Andrew looked up at her with a polite smile when she approached him. He was only, I don’t know, maybe 8 or 9 years old at the time.
“Djoo-waaanna-sukka?” she asked.
Andrew just stared at her, wide-eyed.
“Djoo-waaanna-sukka?” she asked again.
Andrew’s forced smile got even bigger. He had no idea what she was saying.
The woman was probably getting a little flustered, but of course her southern hospitality wouldn’t let her show her annoyance. Bless her heart. She patted Andrew’s cheek and mumbled something about how cute he was. And then she asked again.
“Djoo-waaanna-sukka?”
Andrew glanced over at mom and dad for assistance, but they looked just as confused as he did. Clearly, it was time for me to step in and help.
“Andrew, she’s asking if you want a lollipop.”
“Oohhhhh! Yes please,” Andrew responded, with a “Why didn’t she just say that?!” look on his face. The woman promptly handed him a sucker lollipop.
We had a good laugh about it on the phone yesterday. And then Andrew ended with, “I guess you’ll do okay down there. You always knew how to understand Southern.”
shoulds
I’m not as brave or as strong as anyone thinks I am.
Yes, I often choose hard. And I’ve endured a fair share of crap in my life. And I try to carry myself well, live worthy of my suffering, and make wise choices.
But most of that isn’t because I’m brave.
It’s because I’m driven by shoulds.
I’ve always done what I should do. As a child, a student, a missionary, a wife, a leader. Even now, I’m making choices because they are the right thing to do. It’s the should factor that got me to attend the new members class at church. It’s the should factor that made me sign up for a small group. It’s the should factor that keeps forcing me into awkward situations. And I hate awkward.
For the most part, the shoulds always pay off. They’re supposed to anyway. In the long run, I’m usually glad when I finally get to the end result of all the shoulds. When I look back over my shoulder at my path from should to should, I’m typically glad I walked that road.
But I feel a tinge of guilt and shame when I’m applauded for my bravery. For my strength. For my resolve. Because deep down I know the truth, that it wasn’t any of those things. It was just the shoulds.
Maybe that’s okay. Maybe I should be okay with that being okay. Sigh.
I guess I shouldn’t mind if the shoulds are what give me the initial kick in the pants. Maybe it shouldn’t matter what my motivation is at the start, as long as I learn through the journey and make it to the finish line.
I don’t know.
I just know that right now I don’t feel brave. Or strong. Or resolute. But I’ll face what comes today simply because I should.
And hopefully that will be enough.
fill in the blank
I crave ___________.
Okay, I’ll go first.
…consistency.
Your turn.
souvenirs from cali
My time in California was bittersweet, and filled with a strange mixture of emotions. But underlying all of that, it was a wonderful gift to be with April for her wedding.
Being able to help with last-minute details—from late-night Walmart runs to putting on her veil before the ceremony—made my heart feel full. I’ve never gotten to help any of my friends with any part of their weddings before. So every moment made me feel very blessed.
Though I don’t have children of my own, I think I know what parental pride feels like. I felt it in a thousand different moments over the past few days. I am so proud of April. For her depth of character. Her resolve. Her patience and grace under pressure. Her wise choices.
And while there is a lot about April’s year in Africa that I wish I could change—for her and for me—I am unbelievably grateful I had that time to get to know her and pour into her in some small way.
I know I often begrudge the revolving door of my life. But after a week like the one I just had, I can’t help but lift my eyes and thank my Jesus for bringing so many people through that door.
My life is certainly richer for it.
jabberwacky: california
I’m declaring today a play day. It’s been a while since we’ve had one of those at the Grit. So let’s play some Jabberwacky.
Just write the first word or phrase that comes to mind when you read the comment above yours.
That’s it. Easy, right?
Come back and add to the mix as often as you’d like.
In honor of my travels today, the starter word is…
California.
