Angela Parlin

So Much Beauty in All This Chaos

The Gift of God-With-Us

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Lord With You For a couple months, we’ve looked forward to hosting two sisters, who are orphans, in our home this Christmas. We selected clothes for them to wear, rearranged bedrooms, stocked up on groceries, and scheduled outings. We shopped for Christmas gifts, wrapped them all in red and black glittery paper, and hid them in a closet.

It’s been great fun, preparing for Christmas and getting ready to welcome these little ones into our family for a month.

But then, this week happened, the last week before they arrive. You wouldn’t believe how many things went wrong. (As in, not according to plan.) My stomach feels knotted up. I’ve had to remind myself to breathe. I’m having a really hard time slowing down, especially enough to pray.

We’ve known all along that this could be an amazing month–or it could be a very difficult month. But it’s like this news just now caught up to my insides, for the first time. All the concerns, what ifs, and fears floated to the surface.

I want to look forward with faith, to anticipate great things from God. I don’t want to feel so incapable, or worry about details. I don’t want to give fear some big, shouty platform in my life.

But I don’t feel I have much control over my anxiety right now. So last night, I put myself to bed early. But first, I read a chapter of Luke, where an angel tells Mary she’ll give birth to Immanuel (God With Us). And then I fell asleep thinking about something he told her:

The Lord is with you.

We need that reminder, don’t we? Because sometimes, we know it in our heads, but we live as if we’ve completely forgotten.

Today, I’m still fighting anxiety, so I looked up some places where the Bible repeats this truth, The Lord is with you.

I read about Jacob, who dreamed of a stairway between heaven and earth, where the Lord stood and clearly said to him, I am with you. He woke up and realized, The Lord is in this place, and I did not know it. (Genesis 28)

I can relate. Can you? I have not felt the Lord with me this week. I’ve fixed my eyes on my concerns and to-do lists, more than I’ve fixed my eyes on Jesus. But the Lord is in this place, in this week, even when I don’t feel that way.

I read about Moses, when he considered himself unqualified to lead the Israelites out of Egypt. God said, I will be with you (Exodus 3), and then showed Himself to Moses in so many visible and miraculous ways.

I found numerous reminders of God’s nearness in the Psalms. The Lord is near to His children; The Lord is close to the brokenhearted. (34) God is an ever-present help in trouble. (46) The Lord is near to all who call on Him. (145)

I read parts of Isaiah, where the prophet shares these words from the Lord—So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. (Isaiah 41)

I read about when Jesus arrived in this world, as God-With-Us in the flesh. And then before He left again, He told His followers–Surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age. (Matthew 28)

I could keep going, keep on finding this truth repeated.

The Word of God offers us this beautiful gift—The Lord is with you. It’s a truth we need to remember, and a truth we need to act on.

Whatever your struggle this Christmas, whatever your anxiety, whatever your pain, whatever difficulties you face, please remember this, friend–the Lord is with you. So take your concerns to Him!

God’s Word promises:

  • He will give you rest.
  • He will fill you with peace.
  • He will help you.
  • He will strengthen you.
  • He will give you what you need.
  • He will uphold you.

May we remember, the Lord is with us. Let’s unwrap the gift of God-With-Us this Christmas.

 

Join me over at Purposeful Faith where this post is also featured today.

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For Those Who Need Breathing Room {Five-Minute Fridays}

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Breathing Room for my SoulIt’s been the kind of week where I scurry around, trying to cross off line items, piled up on lengthy to-do lists. Then in the middle of the night, I wake, unable to fall back asleep.

It’s not an issue of trying to keep up with Christmas. Preparing for Christmas traditions was the easy part.

But the schedule’s getting all booked and bossy, and it’s always these times when I start to unravel.

In the middle of the night, the house is nothing but a whisper. Three noisy boys and a spunky girl lie tucked in tight, under cozy comforters. I tip-toe into their bedrooms and observe the way they breathe.

In—Out.

Deep—Rhythmic.

Hushed—Slow.

I think about how I’ve forced myself to breathe deeply a handful of times today. Because my daytime breath keeps coming short and shallow.

I’ve been anticipating a great amount of activity to come–and I guess I’ve been living in fear of it. Because what I really need is breathing room.

Is it even possible to find breathing room, while 8 people live under this roof?

I stumble through prayers, asking God to fix whatever’s off inside me. I’m not sure how to get out of the way. Since I’m missing out on sleep anyway, I look for a psalm to pray, and this is where I land:

Truly my soul finds rest in God; my salvation comes from Him. Truly He is my rock and my salvation; He is my fortress, I will never be shaken. (Psalm 62)

Why, yes please. This I want–to find rest in God, unmoved by life’s concerns. I open another Bible version, and end up back at Psalm 62 in The Message. It’s a paraphrase, and the words on the page are meant for me.

God, the one and only—I’ll wait as long as he says. Everything I need comes from him, so why not?

He’s solid rock under my feet, breathing room for my soul.

Did you see that? Instead of my salvation, this time, God is breathing room for my soul.

I read it again and exhale. This is exactly what I’m looking for. This is beauty, found in the middle of the chaos, this room to breathe. In, out. Deep, slow.

{Yawn}

I guess I’m feeling a little sleepy after all…

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Dear Friend Who Thinks She Should Try Harder

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giftDear Friend Who Thinks She Should Try Harder,

I sat there, while you talked about navigating life with your little people, feeling like I’d already had this conversation with someone. Probably lots of someones.

I kept nodding my head, because I understand the way you feel. Your words reminded me of myself a few years back. Motherhood is hard stuff, and you were looking for answers.

You hinted that your solution was to stay up later. To get more things done. To gather pretty pins and make more lists. To just follow through with the lists you already have.

But I don’t think the answer is waiting for you on Pinterest, at the house next door, or in those glossy stacks of magazines in your living room. I don’t think the answer looks like you doing more.

We are all sold this lie, that if we try a little harder, if we work a little more, we’ll get there. Where? The place where life—motherhood—looks a lot more fun and glamorous and just right. The place where motherhood looks the way we hoped it would look.

We are sold on high expectations and a false definition of being a good mom.

For a long time, I said I was just trying to be a good mom. Just doing the usual things, you know, things everyone was doing. Just keeping up with all I needed to do.

But later I realized the truth. I wanted to do it all. I wanted to be really good at this, at all the pieces and parts of it. Don’t we all want that? For our kids, our family, for God?

Of course, there are other reasons also–we want to keep up with our friends.

So as a Mom, for many years, I lived under an impossible list of expectations, both my own and other people’s ideals. Instead of collecting figurines or seashells, I collected so many expectations on my shelves.

friend who thinks she should try harderAt the end of those overwhelming days, I’d search for answers.

If I could just try a little harder, get more organized, pray more, and figure things out, maybe then I’d be the Mom I always wanted to be.

I usually attacked it in that order, focusing on organization. I usually tried to fix things on my own and asked God for whatever He could do to help.

But friend, who thinks she should try harder, let me tell you what’s different now.

One overwhelming year, I accepted a challenge to read through the Bible with a group of friends. In the thick of those long days, I realized something. I was ruining motherhood, by trying so hard. And somehow half the Bible spoke directly into motherhood.

That year, Jesus offered me freedom from the slavery of striving. He invited me to come to Him for true rest. He encouraged me to take my load from Him–not from what others around me were doing. He showed me how that list of expectations had become an idol I was clinging to.

It’s not like He zapped my life, and everything changed all at once. Or that I’m completely over expectations. But He began a good work in me as a Mom, when I became desperate enough to hear Him.

Days of chronic overwhelm have turned into overwhelming gifts. And when I start to feel like I need to strive to keep up again, I try to take a step back and think about what’s behind my striving.

What about you? Do you often feel like you should do more, and try harder?

 

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From Complaints to Thanks

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from complaints to thanks thanksgiving complaining discontent

I stood beside their beds in the dark, praying for each of my 3 little ones while they slept. Every night on my way to bed, I whispered thanks to God for the gift of being their Mommy. But often tears fell, because I knew the truth of that day. And the one before.

I was discontent with that season of my life, and I had become an under-the-breath complainer.

I didn’t always like that this was what God had called me to do. Because it looked like endless wiping. Wiping counters, spills, bottoms, floors, always wiping.

With a preschooler, a toddler, and a baby, my days looked like finding messes by the handfuls, like potty training and nursing and living chronically behind in housework. It was harder than I’d expected. I loved my babies so much, and yet I wished away the hard parts of those days.

One day, after lunch, I stepped in a huge blob of strawberry jam on the kitchen floor. When I grabbed for a dishrag to wipe it up, I ran my arm through more jam on the edge of the counter. I looked up to see this little trail of jam, smudged across the kitchen cabinets, and started to cry.

I felt mad about the mess, about the way I couldn’t stay on top of 6 sticky little hands, mad at my kitchen, mad at jelly, just mad.

And then, I noticed a verse I had taped onto the fridge, written in beautiful calligraphy:

Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus. 1 Thessalonians 5:18, NIV

The phrase, “this is God’s will for you” wouldn’t leave me alone.

His will for me then included days full of messes, all waiting for me to clean them up.

His will included a jelly-coated kitchen some days, and jelly-filled hands to clean.

His will included loving and serving three little people, much of which would be done from the ground, on bended knees.

His will for me also included giving thanks, even in never-ending, sticky-mess moments.

It’s easy to thank God when life feels good, when the house is tidy and the days go as planned. But thank God in the middle of the mess? I didn’t even know how. I hated messes.

I decided right then, to try, even though I didn’t really feel it. So I thanked God for the day He made, for the home we lived in, for three little people with small, sticky hands.

The more I thanked God, for both big and small things, the less I complained. And the more I enjoyed being a Mom.

I have to admit, I sometimes fall back into a spirit of complaint. But whenever I realize this and confess it to God, He is faithful to change my spirit, from being full of complaints to repeatedly giving thanks.

When we practice giving thanks in all kinds of circumstances, He fills our hearts with peace and makes us light with joy.

Do you need to confess a complaining spirit today? Will you begin to make a habit of thanking God in every situation?

Thank you Lord, for changes in perspective, for the ability to offer You thanks, even in jelly-smeared kitchens.

 

Join me also over at PurposefulFaith.com,  where this post is also featured.

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Why We Should Never Listen to Burnt Bacon

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motherhood burnt bacon

On an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, I sat at the table working on a writing assignment. When I remembered, it’s Big Salad night.

So I tossed eggs in water to boil, threw chicken on the stove, and arranged bacon on a frying pan. Our piano teacher knocked on the door. We talked, I checked in with food, and went back to writing.

The phone rang, and I talked to my Dad, who’s returning my call from earlier. I tended to food and sat down again. A kid ran in to tell me his online math lesson score. I cheered him on, and sent him off to read.

The doorbell rang, so I checked the food on my way. I chatted with a neighbor, ran back to flip bacon, and sat again to write.

Another kid happened by. Showed me the art she’s been creating. I marvelled at leaves painted different colors and pressed onto her canvas, turned over chicken breasts, cheered her on, and sent her off to read.

It’s supposed to be quiet time, which is why I’m working on a writing assignment and also why I’m cooking dinner to avoid the assignment.

I checked boiled eggs, popped outside for a minute, answered the kids’ most pressing questions, and then our little man woke from his nap. I rubbed his back, fed him a snack, called the next kid for piano lesson, remembered I still needed to clean salad greens, washed and ripped while pondering my writing assignment, and then.

Another kid walked into the kitchen, making a beeline to the stove.

Um, Mom? You know you’re cooking bacon, right?

It took a minute, but I returned to my real place in this real story. I’m cooking bacon. I just forgot. Because the greens, the eggs, the chicken, the kids, the neighbor, the music, the teacher, the back rub, the assignment, and all the thoughts pushed their way forward.

I know everyone does this sometimes. I also know I’ve burned bacon without 16 other things going on. But this story isn’t about the bacon. It’s about being a Mom.

When I became a Mom, I had all these ideas about how to be a good Mom, none of which made space for my weaknesses. Most of them were not really sustainable, at least not for me.

What I’ve learned is, There are a lot of ways to be a good Mom.

Most of those involve the kitchen, but I used to think my kitchen life had to look a certain way. I wanted to be one of those Moms with the picture-perfect meals, all shiny and healthy and planned out for weeks in advance. And while I love serving my family healthy food that will love them back, try though I did, the kitchen never became more than a great place for me to daydream.

So instead of a Mom whose life looks like a Pottery Barn catalog, I’m often the one with the burnt things on pretty plates. And it’s all going to be okay. Because today I heard this little slice of encouragement:

And I quote,  “You know Mom? It looks nasty, but it’s actually not that bad.” 

I’m still laughing. I might need to frame that quote–it’s so Tuesday-typical around here. Years ago, I might have cried because another kitchen-failure. But I’ve grown into a Mom who knows it doesn’t mean anything important about who she is.

So the next time you’re dealing with burnt bacon–or a flopped school snack or forgotten assignment or a botched recipe or any number of things that might tempt you to believe you stink in all things Mommyhood, remember this: ME, TOO.

And it’s probably not that bad. Even if it looks nasty.

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