I had one job. To get my grandchildren to school on time this morning. The careful list of instructions left by my daughter spelled it out clearly.

“Leave the house by 7:15 am.”

I am clever. I remember the ordeal a simple task of loading the car can be. We stepped out the door at 7 am sharp with the idea fifteen minutes to load would be ample. Silly me. It’s been too long. I should have started at 3 am.

The Boston Terrier escaped when the door opened, which was no big deal because she self-potties and runs back to the door. Unless there is a raccoon in the yard. She took off like a bat out of hell and disappeared into the woods.

First the children went in hot pursuit— but to no avail. They were impressed how their skittish dog penetrated the forest with no reserve. Then it was my turn. Into the woods I went.

Looking up, I spotted Olive’s obsession in the branch over my head. Leash in hand, eventually I corralled our domesticated crazed beast and coaxed her out of the brush and back into civilization. Enough adventure for one day— these kids must get to school!

Buckled back in, I press the ignition.

“Key fob not found.”

I am holding the fob in my hand. This is a push button ignition. Ugh!!! Ok, there is an emergency manual key hidden in every fob — I extract it and look for the insertion slot.

Dashboard. No. Under the cup holder. No. In the storage bay. No. Dash again. No. By my knees. No. Ugh!!! My grandson Brave mentions the penalties levied against him for arriving late.

Ugh.

Quick thinking, my beloved searches google “Mazda Fob Reset” and gets the vehicle to respond to the fob. Off we go! Thank you, Grandpa!

I do not know my way around Nashville. But I am quick with my GPS and equipped with the address pre-loaded. Only upon arriving at the first spaghetti junction, the options the program presented me did not match the road signs. Each road may have 4 names, but only a local can supply the names not present on the sign overhead. And I am no local.

Pulling off in heavy traffic, I switch programs and the alternate app chooses a route actually represented by signage. How was I to know it was a fifteen minute diversion to make a loop back around? And loop we did.

I prayed for a miracle- a teleportation wonder where somehow we pull into car line right on time. That miracle did not happen. My grandchildren were late to school this morning, my first day behind the wheel of their parenting, entrusted with their precious lives.

But a miracle had taken place, over a number of years actually. The miracle of being able to remain calm under pressure, the miracle of not accepting the shame offered me after failure. The miracle of seeing the humor in circumstances real time, even when the outcome feels like it makes me look bad. The miracle of being present and loving life and being connected to the God of the universe who is smiling at me as I navigate loving well in the midst of stress.
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Rescue comes in the form of a Person— through Divine camaraderie and empowerment. Today, in the midst of your own story, receive His provision and watch the same miracles unfold.

I am in the middle of a bathroom remodel project, the kind of vast under-taking that guts a room and slowly rebuilds it into a place of beauty. I contracted out most of the work, like the shower demolition, re-tiling, and custom wood butcher-block counters. But I have professional-level painting skills. 

For days I have sanded cabinets, primed, and painted. Yesterday I finally finished prepping the walls and ceiling and began the arduous task of painting the room. By the time I am ready to clean my equipment and brushes, typically in the middle of the night, I am utterly exhausted. You know how projects go. 

If a quality paintbrush is not cleaned properly, it dries stiff and hard and becomes useless. It takes time to clean it properly. A thorough cleaning requires copious amounts of running water— a stagnant bucket of water will not do. A painter then uses a dual-sided tool; a metal, sharp-pronged comb on one side, paired with a metal brush similar to a barbecue grill brush on the other side. 

I use the metal brush to repetitively scratch the exterior of the paintbrush’s ferrule stroking down the bristles under a running sink facet until the brush looks clean. But a mere squeeze reveals my brush is still full of paint! The efficient way to rid the brush of the paint is to use the sharp prongs of the metal comb to pierce the brush starting at the heel, splaying the bristles, and raking repetitively through the belly and toe of the brush, all the while under the gushing spigot. This method exposes the interior bristles to the cleansing flow until the brush is squeezed and the emerging water runs clear. Last night while rinsing my brushes, I accidentally pierced my finger with the sharp prongs of the cleaning comb, commingling my blood with the freshly flowing water and fading paint. 

​Can you see where I am going with this description? We can be raked and pierced by life’s assaults all day long and not benefit in the slightest. But God has a divine purpose behind the hardships we face in this life. With the spigot running continuously, He restores us during the transformation process if we position ourselves in Him. 

I want the fruit of my remodeled lavatory, but I do not look forward to the chaos of dismantling existing structures or to cleaning my brushes. I cannot have a new room without enduring the chaos and the cleaning. Our lives are the same way. I want my life and character to be transformed by God, becoming beautiful. But the project is one of demolition and yielding to a thorough cleaning for me to emerge as hoped. 

My life and yours too require copious amounts of free-flowing Water, running constantly, to cleanse the compacted strands of our life stories  — both the washing of the water of the Word and abiding in the Spirit immersed in the River of Life. A bucket of water captured in a quick morning devotion will just not suffice. The flow of His presence must be constant. The more Water, the better! 

And it takes a good piercing under that flow to expose what is hidden. Prayers to abort the process do not yield a life usable in the hands of the Master Painter. Instead, apply more Water and benefit fully from the raking, embracing God's divine purpose and provision. Visualize the brush with each squeeze of the bristles in your Master's hand! 

Drawing blood last night created in my mind’s eye what really has to happen. It is the piercing of Jesus Christ, His blood, His cleansing flow applied to my life that leaves me restored, supple for use. And the bathroom? It is still a work in progress, but it is coming along beautifully!

Earlier this week I had worked out a deal with a Turkish company to use my photography in a product they manufacture. The arrangement crashed upon discovery that some invisible quality of my photography is not good enough, resolution numbers behind the scenes defining how large my photos can be expanded. I use an iPhone as my camera. That is all I have. It has been enough, until it wasn’t. My inventory of thousands of pictures --  not good enough. 

Not good enough for some invisible, non-rectifiable reason that I do not really understand because it is numbers and math and technology.  Numbers. In the highest reading group, I nearly failed sixth grade over my non-existent math skills. I cheated to get through summer school and progressed on to the seventh grade. I am not proud of that. 

Not good enough reverberated through me today taking an ax swing at old wounds. It is not just my cherished but useless collection of photos, but all the things my heart has dreamed and not seen brought to fruition, including certain yearnings for my adult children, and restorative work in developing nations. Hope deferred, over and over again. Pain.  

Inadequacies lurk beneath my surface— not good enough to make everything all right for those I love. Outcomes I was never meant to control. Things I cannot see or understand this side of the veil. 

Can what God brings to fruition be enough to satisfy me? In truth, I need to find my satisfaction in Christ alone, not in the realization of all I desire. I have seen many well-meaning posts proclaiming, “I am enough!” I am not enough. I am not near enough. What I am however, is beloved, and in God, doors and opportunities open for me well beyond the sum of my strengths, likability, intellect or resources. 

He is enough. In the midst of recognition there are and will always be ways I cannot measure up, things my good heart cannot resolve, today He has reminded me in Him I am everything needed anyway. 

Join me in prayer? 

Father, Jesus, Holy Spirit, 
You alone are worthy, our God of mercy and grace Who invites us into Your inner sanctuary for communion. Open palms before You, we surrender to You once again all outcomes, unresolved crises, all the ways life screams at us about our inadequacies. We declare it is in our weakness Your strength is on full display. Your power is made perfect in our weakness as we yield to You, and draw near in utter dependency. We declare Your grace is sufficient; You are enough, and that is enough for us, in Jesus’ Name.

The moment I emerged into the calm, my phone rang.

​I took a deep breath of relief with risk behind me, and answered.

On the line was one of the heavy hitters I took with me last month for Kingdom expansion pioneering work in North Borneo. She related that God spoke my name to her, and directed her to call me with an immediate message:

"I see you as the trophy. You are victorious. You are fully capable. You are well equipped. You are a leader. He is so pleased with you. Again, you are the trophy...you are His champion."

I was stunned. Timing is everything.

Then last night, as I'm sharing with my host my vision for founding a non-profit to bring autism intervention to developing nations, discussing setting up the board, the same feeling hit my stomach: rapids ahead, uncertainty, a mission seemingly without the skill set, but determination.

Immediately the affirming word returned, "His trophy, His champion, victorious, capable, equipped". His word had imprinted, and now is triggered with the internal feeling I get when approaching rapids in a kayak.

I thought of Gideon threshing his wheat while hiding from his enemies in a vat. God addressed him as "O valiant warrior!" And truly he was.

What rapids are you approaching that turn your stomach a bit, that threaten to tumble you upon the rocks?

​Listen intently for the affirmation God is poised to speak into your spirit at that very moment, to imprint upon you that indeed, you've got this. He is with you with every thrust of your oar.

I like to be “that one” who has shopping done by October and the exterior lights ready at the flick of a switch the night after Thanksgiving. I practice what I have dubbed “being good to myself”. That means I think about tomorrow and do today what will be an assist to me tomorrow. It’s why I don’t rush to grab the vacuum and find the bag full with no back-up special order replacement bags on the shelf. It’s because I ordered them last month, out of kindness. Kindness to me.  

Three years ago Holy Spirit impressed on me that the years for over the top outdoor lights had come to an end.

I love my holiday decor, and every year tried to top the last culminating with the aurora borealis over Santa’s workshop with animated elves and life-size Santa waving from his sleigh. I did not hesitate when I believed I had heard God, because I knew this purge was a difficult directive. I immediately posted for my friends to come and take whatever they wanted out of my garage.
 
Gone. Done. 

And not a year too soon. I went to India to minister that Fall, and barely got my interior decor up. Last year I was in Myanmar and the Philippines for November. This year it was Indianapolis, Augusta, Cuba, Florida and Dallas, which doesn’t even count the 5 days in Nevada that just happened. Anywhere but Colorado, but for all the right reasons. I’m scrambling to get stocking stuffers, order gifts, and here it is December 14 and my tree still isn’t up. 

​With many hot tears and great effort I refused those thought patterns real time in moments of desperation. They were lies and I knew it. I turned them into prayers of realignment with God's heart for my child and renewed commitment to respond to my child with compassion. 

It is too easy to react with anger when our child behaves defiantly. But learning to remain calm and respond through careful consideration in the midst of great provocation is a skill only mastered in the midst of vexation. 

• "You must understand this, my beloved: let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; for your anger does not produce God's righteousness." (NRSV, James 1:19-20) 
  
  
• "If you have love for those who have love for you, what credit is it to you? for even sinners have love for those who have love for them. And if you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is it to you? for even sinners do the same." (Luke 6:32-33 CEB) 
  
  
• "For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it." (Hebrews 12:11 ESV)

Perhaps the season of discipline our family was in belonged to us as the parents, rather than to our child? And the sooner we yielded fully, the more our home reflected His peace, even as we trained our children. 

Whether compliant or difficult.

There was a time in my life when rope courses petrified me. They are HIGH, and although harnessed in, the illusion was that I could fall. I’m not really all that athletic, and trying to maintain balance while leaping across boards suspended on guide wires was, well, terrifying.

So 15 years ago when I finally dared for the first time, I lied to myself in mental gymnastics pretending that the ground was only two feet down. I completed the course with great difficulty, but perhaps more importantly, I had a eureka. 

There were areas in my life where I lied to myself to get through, thinking it was necessary in order to survive the most challenging aspects of my life at the time.

One lie I told myself was that I couldn’t have a voice in the lives of other Moms until all my children were grown and all had chosen to love and serve God. This kept me less involved in transparent relationships, which was easier.

Another lie parents raising children with disabilities may tell themselves is that this season of child raising is so difficult that treating their spouses with loving deference and having a quality marriage is beyond their bandwidth and unachievable due to their circumstances. Maybe later. 

The truth was that the ground was indeed well over twenty five feet down, but fall, I could not. 

The truth was that God called me to good stewardship, and outcome was not in my hands. Vulnerability in honest conversations with other parents could have strengthened me and my friends who also struggled. 

The truth is that marriages can become more beautiful as parents offer grace to one another, look for ways to out serve the other, and capitalize on each other’s strengths rather than demanding perfection in each other’s areas of weakness because of our own perceived needs. Just like we accommodate our children to foster success, we can accommodate our spouses, focusing on strengths and capabilities. 

I stopped lying to myself and excusing my misalignment with the truth of God’s word. I began to spot the illusions in my life and renounce them. I’m harnessed. I’m not going to fall. 

God’s word is truth, and He says: 

The LORD directs the steps of the godly.
He delights in every detail of their lives.
Though they stumble, they will never fall,
for the LORD holds them by the hand.

(Psalm 37: 23-24 NLT)

I learned today that I am no longer afraid on a ropes course. I know that I am high off the ground, and that if I slip, I will dangle safely by my harness. I not only didn’t slip, but I went for a second round.

I got this.

My mother-in-law wrote my husband Chuck recently. She was reminiscing of a day we spent together in Colorado when we snapped her favorite picture of her and my father-in-law before he passed away. It's a glorious photograph of mom and dad with the foothills of Pikes Peak, America’s mountain, poised in the background. In the foreground are the warm smiles and loving embrace of a beautiful couple.

The route to get that memorable photograph was not a traditional one. It required us to pile our parents into our van and drive them up a bumpy, unfamiliar, unpaved mountain road. When Chuck turned the van off the highway and on to that road, our pace slowed dramatically. For quite awhile our vehicle bounced and bumped as we encountered rocks, switchbacks and washed out road conditions. 

In the moment, our passengers verbally and non-verbally expressed their doubts to us about having chosen to navigate that particular road. All these years later, the lasting result was worth the transient discomfort of the route we chose to get there.

I loved my husband's response and the poem he shared with her :

I had a lot of reading scheduled so escaping to the wilderness seemed like the right thing to do until this happened.

I love to camp, and Colorado provides the ideal setting. As a local, I’m particular. I eschew formal campgrounds, insisting on free range picturesque sites by creeks and hiking trails with 5-star scenic overlook finales. This weekend was no different.

Pickings are slim that meet my specs without a several hour drive. So I set out for a local standard hoping to stake claim to a particular spot popular with others who shared similar aspirations. 

My favorite roost was occupied, but undeterred I eyed another isolated clearing that could have hosted me beautifully for three days. Problem was, the creek separated my van from the mossy gap that beckoned me.

I don’t pack light.

It took me an hour to haul my equipment, piece by piece across precariously seated stones that offered me passage. Well after nightfall, I realized my heavy cooler still sat packed by my camp table and I routinely stored all my food in my vehicle. 

Overnight bear feeding was my worst nightmare. 

Next in rank was attempting to cross a swift creek at night and landing in frigid waters soaking my only jeans, hiking shoes and down coat needed to ensure a toasty night snuggled in my tent. 

Yes, that scenario happened.

Confidence shaken, alone and bruised, I stripped out of my wet clothes and mused, “This isn’t ideal!” 

That phrase has grown to be a comfort to me. My husband and I speak those words to one another when one of our children meltdown creating scenes that used to humiliate us or leave us feeling demoralized. It’s not ideal, but it is ok. We will get through this season, and so will you.

This morning I’m enjoying the campfire in my dry flannel pajamas while jeans, coat and shoes dry out. I have all day. 

And I smile, because I have grown to learn that life can be really good even when it’s not ideal.