More Alike Than Different

Jeremy and I joined the pool. For exercise. For our “core.” For our scarred up knees that hate (HATE) treadmills.

It’s fine. Kinda. Bathing suits aren’t my friend. I refuse to get my face wet. It’s fine. There’s a hot tub.

I’m a scanner. Especially at the pool.
-You look awkward…we should be friends.
-You’re tugging at your suit…we should be friends.
-You just finished your 1000th lap…move along.

I do that with the kids also.
-You wanna read a book…Mom’s available.
-You’re begging to bake cookies…Mom’s available.
-You pooped your pants…I’m in the middle of fixing dinner.

And with Jeremy.
-You wanna go out…I’ll be ready in 5.
-You wanna keep the kids while I go out…I’ll be ready in 5.
-You wanna preach your upcoming sermon to me…I can’t put this book down.

What if our differences are separating us from connection?

Esther asks why her skin is brown and mine is white. I sit there dumb.

Then respond.
-Our skin may be different colors…But we both like smelly lotion.
-Our eyes may be different colors…But we both like pink.
-Our hair may be different colors…But we both prefer ponytails.

Because there is more that connects than could possibly meet the eye.

Y’all…a Jew named Jesus suffered for me.
He could have (should have) looked at me and said move along.

Y’all…a part of the Trinity died for me.
He could have (should have) looked at me and said I’m too busy.

Y’all…a perfect, holy God offered His Son in my place.
He could have (should have) condemned me to Hell and started fresh.

But grace.

Today…let’s live in that grace. Let’s love in that grace. Let’s see others in that grace.

Because grace makes us more alike than different.

“There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” (Galatians 3:28)

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(And yes…I’m finding things in common even at this stage.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Burial Grounds and Mothering

We tried out geocaching yesterday. Caleb found the little box.

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We also found ourselves on a battlefield from the Revolutionary War. It was pretty amazing.

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I got kinda spooked when we found the monument saying it was a mass burial ground. The boys didn’t seem to mind.

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Tonight I’ve been thinking about fighting. The idea of death and sacrifice and huge graves full of unnamed soldiers haunts me.

I think my day full of disciplining, fixing meals, and bandaging boo-boo’s is too much. Maybe some days it is. But what am I fighting for? Who am I fighting?

The soldiers who lay under our feet today died for something. They fought for something. They gave us something. Am I willing to give up my comforts to follow God’s call?

No, He hasn’t called me to physical death. He’s called me to be a Mom. To give up what I want, my peace and quiet, the ability to control and predict life. That’s what I’m called to give up.

Most days I don’t want to fight. My flesh wants what it wants. I am so weak.

But His grace is strong. And big. And it fights for me. He fights for me. On Calvary. Right now.

When untied shoes and lost coats make me want to runaway.

I lay down my arms. I accept my fate. And I embrace that “It is finished.”

No fear. Just grace. Grace that frees me to “run with patience the race that is set before me.” At home. On unpredictable hikes. Whatever lays ahead.

(Hebrews 12:1)

Speeds

Life with kids is lived in two extremes.  Jonathan pulls me through Chick-fil-a to the play area…high speed.  Caleb can’t decide which book he’d prefer for bedtime…slow speed.  Stephen has a soccer game right before church…fast speed.  All the boys have lost their shoes before we head out the door…slow speed.  Oh the days of medium speed, predictable speed, life at my pace…I miss you!  And I’m told that while each day takes a speed of its own, my time with young kids in our house is moving very fast.  Sweet peace for it to feel like that sometimes!

I also struggle with speed in my love for the Lord.  Some days our time is slow, and I steal extra moments away to grow in this love affair we have.  Some days it’s rushed, and I wonder how the Holy Spirit can speak to me in the fast glance I give Him.

Thank the Lord it’s not up to me. Do I assume I can work my way to God?  Have I forgotten the destination has already been determined?  It’s not a race.  Yes, I’m “pressing toward the mark.”  But why-“for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.”  Hasn’t that already been won?  Yes, Yes!!

I toggle between speeds because I so love these boys God has given us.  And Christ, well, He loves me through all my different speeds (and hormones) too.  More beautifully!  More perfectly!  Thank You, Father, for your faithfulness!