one is not the loneliest number for those who are in Christ

Charlie has been addicted to Iceland for two weeks now. The whole country. He loves the music, the landscape, the culture, the whole package. He would fly us all there tomorrow if he could. Being the most rational, reasonable person I've ever met, he is confronted with many mental obstacles as he assesses the possibility. Not remembering this steady part of my husband, I have been determined to add my voice of reason to his. Total bummer for both of us.

What these conversations sparked in me was fear. Panic, almost. A desperation for him to be content in his unexciting job and predictable life. To stop dreaming and start trudging. The past two weeks, I have pulled out all the stops. Until today, when I finally stopped. I started crying when I thought about leaving, and I was amazed at what God showed me when I started praying about why.

Charlie and I have taken trips to Europe together before. And they have been a little bit terrible. Our reunion in France ended up in a devastating break-up. He drove off into the French countryside and I was literally left crying in the dust. Alone. In Spain we had some great times, but there was a shadow of fear following us the whole time. I self-protected, and in doing so I walled myself off from Charlie. Alone.

This morning I suddenly wondered: what if I chose my loneliness? That seemed like a very church-like thing to ask, but I decided to go with it. God immediately showed me it was true. I wanted to be alone, to be the martyr, to suffer. That's a familiar, albeit miserable, place for me. Alone and suffering.

What if I chose not to be alone? What would that have looked like? Again, the answer came quickly: To stay in relationship with Charlie instead of walling off in bitterness. To stay in relationship with Jesus instead of walling off in fear. What if I hadn't self-protected?

Then it hit me.

To feel alone is not the same as being alone.

My feeling of aloneness didn't change the fact that I was never alone. And I will never be alone. Jesus was the only person who was ever truly alone. Only he knows what that feels like. It must have been terrible for him. I feel really sorry that he had to go through that, being actually separated from God, not  just feeling like it. He suffered the most. And his pain wasn't just from a feeling.

And then the kicker: he experienced true aloneness so that I would never, ever truly be alone. That's the truth, the fact. It's a hard-won reality for me. Precious. A precious promise that he secured for me on the Cross. I will never be alone. I have never been alone. Even though I've felt alone, I wasn't. And that is precious. Because it also means I will never be alone. Not here, not in Iceland, not anywhere.

You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me. 
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high; I cannot attain it. 
Where shall I go from your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, you are there! If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!
If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, 
even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me. 
If I say, "Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light around me be night,"
the night is bright as day, for darkness is as light to you.

I had never realized that I had let my feeling of being alone become my ultimate reality. I have been calling God a liar, saying that I was alone, utterly alone, and that he wasn't with me. I feel so sorry for not having given weight to the great and precious promise, the costly assurance, that I have never been alone and forsaken, and never would be. I treated it like nothing.

It has been my fear of being alone and belief in the possibility of this that kept me miserable and running before, and now clinging to my safe life here and fearful of the future. It guided my thoughts and decisions. Now that I know 100% that it is not true, that I truly could go anywhere and Jesus could be just as close and present, I feel less bound and enslaved.

Within my fear paradigm there were only a few options for the path my future could take, and they all lay within about a five-mile radius. For the rest of my life. Which sounds a little boring, but safe. Now, since I know my my aloneness is not at stake, that no matter where we go or what we do, or what Charlie decides or does, I will never be alone, a lot more possibilities open up! I feel so much more free.

Charlie's dreams of traveling or moving had threatened to bring about the one thing I feared most in the world. The past two weeks I had been doing anything I could to stop him from wanting it, to squash his desire for adventure and convince him to be content. But he didn't stop, and I'm glad because otherwise I'd still be enslaved to a lie. I'd be believing the Devil. And bound to a life of boring predictability.

I feel more free now to follow Jesus wherever he leads us. Less scared of the word "adventure." Calm knowing I'm safe in him no matter where I go. Totally assured of his presence. There is no such thing as "alone" for those who are in Christ. It is imaginary; it does not exist. It is made up. I am almost laughing at myself imagining I was ever alone! Silly!

I can do anything! Go anywhere! Have adventures! Have fun!

Off to revel... :)

Tuesdays with Lacey

Charlie has started getting interested in photography again. I call this an answer to prayer. My husband is so creative, so talented, and so enthusiastic about the things his heart loves, and I am excited to see what comes of it.

A good date night tonight made me want to learn the art of Italian cooking, or French...the finer things in life. I have realized lately that somewhere along the way I decided that if something wasn't functional it was irrelevant to my life. Which meant everything pleasurable, fun, those gifts of God simply meant to be enjoyed, became either extinct in my life, or got categorized as chores.

This is, yes, as depressing as it sounds.

However, the repentance for this is just a barrel of monkeys! Seriously. What does repentance look like for making everything into a chore? Enjoying each task. Singing through it. Relaxing sometimes. Resting. Sipping a homemade pumpkin spice latte and spending time with Jesus. Um, awesome. What does repentance look like for ridding my life of the frivolous and only pursuing the "functional"? Doing things just for the (heaven) of it. Reading a book for its own sake, not as a means to an end. Researching not just the most efficient recipes, but the most decadent ones too. Savoring a piece of chocolate. Sitting. Just sitting.

God made things into gifts. I can bless my family by allowing joy a place in our home. So for date night I bought an expensive bottle of wine ($10 instead of our normal $3 or $4). I didn't force my husband to talk about serious things. I intentionally avoided the subjects of budgeting and scheduling which drive him crazy (in the bad way) on date night. We went to a movie. Didn't discuss anything deep the whole time. Normally I would see that as a waste of time. Tonight, it was fun. Enjoying it together was an end in itself.

Charlie says he thinks his style of photography has changed. I asked how. He said he would like to take pictures of normal scenes. Not close-ups of objects that are just meant to impress, or abstract lights and shapes. He pointed to our living room. Piano against the wall, booger sucker and toys on the ground, stools and chairs pulled away from the table. Lived in. Loved. Home. And I think both of us have changed in the same way these past few years. We are learning to appreciate the normal. We don't need to be thrilled or excited all the time. Sometimes it's nice. But not always. We don't have to go somewhere exotic or do crazy things to get the good photos, the best memories. Our cherished place is here.

I don't mean to sound like a Hallmark card, but I've realized recently that this is the stuff life is made of. I keep waiting for my chores to end so that I can relax and enjoy life, but I've been deceived - I've made everything into a chore, and so they will never be done. I need to enjoy the living room even in its comfy mess, I can appreciate the process of making a meal instead of rushing to be done so I can get to the dishes, and then the tidying, and then bed, and then...I can live right now. In this photo. In this memory. Because they're all I've got.

This post is starting to read like Tuesdays with Morrie. It's time for bed, which as I'm also realizing, is not an obstacle to my productivity but truly one of life's great pleasures.

growing soft in my old age

You know, Charlie and I both wanted a baby so bad. And simultaneously I dreaded Judah's arrival. I worried about how our marriage would change, how having a baby would interfere with my friendship and time with Charlie. So before Judah was even born I was strategizing about how to make his arrival as un-transformative as possible. How to get things back to normal quickly. How to have a baby while continuing to live as if we didn't.

Wait, what?

I know, it didn't really intellectually make sense to me either in those months leading up to his birth. Why would we want a baby if we weren't actually excited about the change? I don't know. But so many solemn, gloomy warnings that "things will never be the same again" made me determined to beat the odds. Yes, it was as confusing as it sounded.

So when the little guy was born I worked hard to keep him at arms' length and did all I could to prevent from squirming his way into our marriage. In my heart I wasn't warm and inviting, I was fearful. And anyone who's had a newborn knows how futile my attempts were. Judah's an intractable part of our family, and I'm growing more and more grateful for this.

And as the months have passed, I've really grown fond of the little guy. At the beginning I couldn't wait to transition him out of our bedroom. And now, while I will say it's really nice to be able to talk above a whisper while we're getting ready to sleep, I'm sitting here on the couch with our little man cradled in one arm, staring obsessively at his tiny features, touching his soft baby feet, and feeling really grateful to have an extra hour or two holding him tonight before he gets tucked away in his crib.

A few nights ago I asked Charlie, "Well, he's so far away when he sleeps, do you think maybe he should come sleep in here with us?" It's funny that I'm having soft feelings toward Judah now, five months in, that I thought I would have had within the first few hours of meeting him. But better late than never! You know, as my fear has decreased there has been more room in my heart for love to grow. Or maybe it's the other way around.

"There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear" (1 John 4:18).

happy birthday, beautiful.

It's Judah's five-month birthday today. Yay, little boy! 

Tonight Charlie and I created a well-devised bedtime plan. Diaper, pjs, sleep sack, check, check, check. If you keep the pacifier in, I'll change him, you zip the sac, keep the lights low, I'll sit in the chair, we can go straight into nursing...I pulled Judah out of the Moby and carefully laid him on the changing table. Our plan went off without a hitch. In fact, our stealthy, efficient movements in the dim light slowed as we realized our little boy was groggy, he wasn't about to lose it, his eyes sleepily stayed half-closed, his pacifier wasn't falling out. We stepped back for a moment and watched him fall asleep on the changing table, and we looked at each other in amazement. Maybe... I won't nurse him? Should we just... put him in his crib? The pacifier, for one of the first times in his life, stayed securely in his mouth as he sucked. Charlie lifted him carefully off the changing pad and set him in his crib. We tiptoed out of the room, and I wondered at what just happened. 

Tears started to well up once we got back to our bedroom. I asked Charlie if Judah still needed me. He said yes, he was probably dreaming about his mom as we spoke :) Not likely the case, but it made me feel better. 

Things have been hard with Judah. Objectively hard, subjectively really hard. He rarely falls asleep unless he's nursing or taking an ounce or two from a bottle, and during the daytime he's needed to be Moby-ed as well. Nighttime routines have lasted upwards of two hours, a seemingly endless cycle of nursing him, giving him a bottle, carefully laying him down, only to wait for his cry five or ten minutes later and returning to start the whole thing over again. I have never known such frustration and despair as I've experienced during these evenings. Jarica said it's sanctifying. I didn't see any progress in my heart so it seemed unlikely :) I know, I know...

At some point during one of these cycles I got so upset at Judah and asked Charlie why we ended up with a special needs kid. At that exact moment, as he once again began to encourage me, and gently but firmly remind that I was talking about our little boy, it became exceedingly clear to me that maybe it wasn't that we had a special needs son, it's that Charlie had a special needs wife. I told him this, and I think he agreed. 

But here we are, five long months since our little guy made his big debut. It's hard to believe this season is passing; I truly thought it never would. I am down from four Moby naps a day to maybe one or two. What?! The past couple days Judah has fallen asleep in his stroller, while normally he'll only sleep when he's wrapped up with me. They all said, "This too shall pass," and I said, "If it's not passed by tomorrow I'm done." But the tomorrows have come and gone, and they were right. 

I feel like one of Satan's biggest ploys in my life during this baby season has been to convince me that things will be like this forever. He has tried to steal joy from this season by replacing it with despair. I sit here in bed, with Judah contentedly asleep on his own in the next room, with no nursing or rocking from me, and am stunned to realize that everyone was right. My little boy is really becoming a little boy. And as all the hard things of this season slip away, they take some really sweet things with them. 

To be honest, it didn't often feel helpful in the moment to try to convince myself that someday I would look back on this time with fondness, but I am truly thankful for everyone who urged me to keep the shortness of this season in mind, and to savor every moment I could. The tears coming down my cheeks now, just a day or two into the next stage, are evidence that they were right all along. The strange thing about how God designed time is that no matter how slow it seems to creep, it only moves in one direction. 

I know there are good things ahead. I mean, I am trying to convince myself that there are good things ahead! The truth feels so hard to believe sometimes, especially in this area. Discontentment has always been one of my greatest spiritual struggles. Greed for what will be but isn't yet, or what was but is no more. 

So tonight feels bittersweet. I am deeply feeling the grief of something precious slipping away, sweet moments with Judah and a season of perseverance and struggle that's resulted in so much growth and dependence upon Jesus, alongside a sense of celebration. We've been through so much together already, and as I watch Judah turn this corner I feel so relieved, so hopeful, and already so nostalgic. My heart is full. 

Thank you to everyone who has walked with me through this season, even just for a moment of prayer or encouragement. I am so grateful to all of you and really believe you are God's grace to me, his love note in a season that has so often felt hopeless and lonely. I have never been alone. 

Praise God from whom all blessings flow.