Speaking Truth: A Lesson from a Four Year Old

My Regan is a speaker of truth. He will tell you how he feels about a matter without much (or any) regard to how it will affect what you think about him. He speaks matter-of-factly with a strange sense of authority for one so young. There is a relaxed confidence in the way that he articulates what he believes, because in his mind, right is right and, if you know the answer then why in the world would you not speak it out!? Granted, it is going to take a bit of tweaking by the Holy Spirit, but one day this God given gift will be used to boldly proclaim the freedom of walking in the truth of God's Word.

One time when he was about four years old we were shopping for groceries. Regan was walking beside the basket holding on to it for dear life knowing that letting go would result in having to get in the basket. We turned the corner and there in the middle of aisle 9B was the source of the screaming we had been hearing for the last few minutes. A little boy about the age of two or three had thrown himself on the floor and was pitching the grandaddy of all fits. His poor mother, who was obviously embarrassed, was pleading with him to stop. Believe it or not, she had counted to three, five times, and yet that had not even been enough to quell his ear piercing tantrum. The little guy had drawn a line in the sand (or the laminate tile floor) and was determined that he would win this battle, and his momma had all but conceded to that fact.

I pretended not to notice the scene before me and busied myself with choosing the best peanut butter for my family ("Choosy moms choose JIF". I dated myself, didn't I?) Out of the corner of my eye I saw Regan's chubby hand release its hold on the basket and in an instant I knew what was about to happen. The events that followed moved in slow motion and yet at the same time in warp speed. It was dizzying and before I could get my bearings I saw my son walk right up to this weary momma, who was on the floor at this point promising her little blessing a trip to Toys R Us if he would just stop his wailing. Regan tapped the battle weary momma on her shoulder, looked her in the eyes and said, "If you would spank him, he wouldn't act like that." Then he turned on his heel, walked back over to the basket, wrapped his fingers around its bars, and stood there as if the last few minutes never happened.

I, on the other hand, was mortified! The fit throwing boy's mom and I locked eyes for a split second. We both knew that Regan had spoken the uncomfortable truth. I threw the peanut butter that was still in my hand into the basket and took off pushing my basket as far away from this whole scenario as possible. Regan held on tightly, running alongside the basket as quickly as his little legs could carry him.   

I knew at this point that the time had come to begin teaching Regan that there is a balancing act involved in speaking the truth. I certainly did not want to quench this developing gift that The Lord had equipped him with, but surely there was a way to teach him that there was a time to share his gift and there was certainly a time not to, and that it must always be done with a heart of love.

So, fast forward about ten years. I walked into the room where my boys were doing school (they are homeschooled) and Ben, my youngest, was still working on a writing assignment that should have been finished at least an hour ago. When I inquired as to why it was taking him so long he told me that after reading his paper, Regan had told him that it was not very good and that he should start over. I read Ben's first draft and I had to agree with Regan. It was subpar.

"Regan, I agree that Ben did not do his best on his paper. When given an opportunity you spoke the truth to him, but did you say it in love?"

"Oh, yes Mam, I surely did. I told him, 'This story is terrible, Ben, and you need to redo it'."

Well, I guess he got the part about the right time and place to speak the truth. Maybe the "in love" part has a slightly different connotation to one who by nature is so blunt.

I have thought a lot about truth lately and how, unlike Regan, speaking it does not come naturally to most of us. We shrink back from speaking what we know to be right. We worry too much about what others will think about us, what is politically correct at the time, or maybe seeming intolerant. We see injustice and lies, but our fear of man causes us to walk through life hunched over, eyes on the ground, hoping no one takes notice of us, and for goodness' sake never wanting to offend anyone.

I recently saw a movie that quenched my spirit and caused me to be sad for days over the Church's fear of speaking the truth. It was a great family film, but when given the opportunity to proclaim that Jesus was the Way, the Truth, and the Life, it bowed its head in shame of the cross and the blood and chose instead to speak weakly of just loving God. If all that it took to secure our place in eternity and to give us an abundant life on this earth was simply a confession of our love for God, then please, somebody tell me why was such a sacrifice as the blood of Jesus required for our redemption? Why are we so hesitant to speak in love what is true?

I tell my kids that just as there are physical absolutes there are spiritual absolutes as well. If you jump off of a building God's law of gravity says that you are going to hit the ground and it will not be pretty. Same goes for spiritual laws. There are absolutes that God, Himself authored and no amount of white washing or watering them down on our part changes the consequences of ignoring said principles. Jumping off a tall building will result in a painful fall. Walking in defiance or disobedience to His Word will result in destruction and regret. When God gives us an occasion to speak truth into someone's life and we opt instead to speak words that appease our own need for approval we have essentially robbed that person of an opportunity for freedom. We have aided and abetted the enemy in keeping them trapped in his web of lies.

Now, I am not advocating openly proclaiming everything that comes into your head. Telling someone that they wear too much make-up or that they might want to rethink that new hairstyle they are sporting is not going to usher them into freedom. So often, though, when given the opportunity to speak Life into someone's situation we shrink back and, in fear of rejection or conflict, say something generically nice and non-threatening. At that point we are not walking in love; we are walking in selfishness.

Through the years I have thought about that woman at the store, and wondered if the truth that Regan spoke to her had any affect on the way she reared her son. Actually, it would be nice to know that the humiliation I felt that day was not in vain. In reality though, we are not responsible for the outcome when we sow Truth into someone's life. That is God's job. His Word does not return void but accomplishes what He set out for it to accomplish. Our job is to simply speak it and to do so with the love of Jesus.

My prayer lately has been that God would give me such an extravagant love and compassion for people that I cannot help but sow His truth into their lives. I have been asking Him to grant me the courage to boldly speak, putting His kingdom above my own comfort. Whenever God opens an opportunity for me to share His Word, like Regan, I want to proclaim the Truth, confidently knowing that it is the only source of true and lasting freedom. I want to stop what I'm doing, wrap my arms around that lost or hurting or just plain tired soul, and thereby earn the right to say, "Let's go to His Word and see what God says about your situation."

Battling the Conquered

A couple of months ago my daughter passed the state licensing exam for social workers. The exam tested the knowledge she had acquired over the last four years and a passing grade on it was the stamp of approval from the State of Texas. She is now licensed as a social worker.

As I talked to her on the phone right after she came out of the testing area, the sense of joy and relief in her voice was palatable. The previous days had been difficult ones for her. She wanted to pass the test the first time since every time you have to take it you have to throw down another two hundred and fifty dollars, and she wanted to pass it with excellence. She had invested hours upon hours of study in preparation for the exam, uncountable prayers, and had enlisted the prayer support of her friends and family. Despite her best efforts to not be anxious she had been nursing a mouth full of cold sores, and, quite frankly, she was ready for the whole thing to be over. The weight of this test had been a burden that she was ready to throw off.

We celebrated over the phone her amazing score and the sense of freedom that she now reveled in. She had done her part in readying herself for this test and God had proved Himself faithful once again in her life.

About a day after she had passed the test, I got a text from her that stated, "I woke up from my nap in a panic about the exam..." Her next words stirred me deeply and have been haunting me for days. She typed, "...Umm excuse you! You've been conquered!"

What burden in my life am I still carrying that has already been conquered? What battle am I still fighting that has already been won? What debt am I struggling to pay that has been stamped "PAID IN FULL"?

There is a song on the new Casting Crowns CD entitled "All You've Ever Wanted" that has spoken volumes to me. 

"I just looked up today

And realized how far away I am from where You are

You gave me life worth dying for

But between the altar and the door

I bought the lies that promised more

And here I go again

Lord, I know I let You down

But somehow, I will make You proud

I'll turn this sinking ship around

And make it back to You

But all my deeds and my good name

Are just dirty rags that tear and strain

To cover all my guilty stains

That You already washed away

(‘Cause) All You've ever wanted, all You've ever wanted

All You've ever wanted was my heart

Freedom's arms are open, my chains have all been broken

Relentless love has called me from the start

And all You wanted was my heart

I was chasing healing when I'd been made well

I was fighting battles when You conquered hell

Living free but from a prison cell

Lord, I lay it down today

So I'll stop living off of how I feel

And start standing on Your truth revealed

Jesus is my strength, my shield

And He will never fail me

No more chains, I've been set free

No more fighting battles You've won for me

Now in Christ, I stand complete"

From the cross Jesus said, "It is finished." There is nothing that I can add to His work that will make it complete. He paid my debt in full. Not a few of my sins or just my biggest struggles, but all of it! He paid for my victory and gave me the right to be more than a conquerer. 

Oh, Lord, teach me to walk in all that you died to give me! When I stress and worry over something You have already defeated may I, like my daughter say, "Uhmm excuse you! YOU HAVE BEEN CONQUERED!"

 

Giving the Important Precedence

One day several weeks ago I was feeling especially stressed and pressed for time. My day had too many obligations in it already, when a few urgent fires flared up that screamed for my attention. In my alarmed state I concluded that something had to go. There was just no way that everything on the "to do" list was going to get done on this particular day, so I started the mental process of trying to decide what I could put off until another day.

I had just completed one errand and was on my way to the next. While sitting at a red light and wishing that someone had the sense to time these things better, (nope, you're right, it wasn't a God inspired thought and I did repent) I came to the conclusion that I could add an hour to my day if I cut out going to the gym. Truth be told, I really didn't want to go anyway, I reasoned, and it didn't HAVE to be done, so yea, there we go. I had just added an hour to my hectic day. I had no sooner made the decision to cut out my exercise time, when the Holy Spirit began speaking to my Spirit. 

"You just cut out the important to make room for the urgent."

Yes, that is exactly what I had done. The urgent usually screams and pitches a fit and without even thinking about it I bow to its demands. I give it precedence, allowing it to dictate to me how  I will spend the hours God has given me in a day. I get caught up in its fury and before I realize it I have spent my entire day doing nothing that has real value to it. 

Granted, there are times when the "urgent" must be moved up to "important." Let's say for instance that a certain husband and wife set about to do some rat killing. (That's what my mom called running errands.) During the course of this hypothetical couple's day the husband says that he needs to stop in to see one of his business clients. Now the wife, being what feels to her and appears to others to be about ten and a half months pregnant, welcomes the opportunity to spend a few minutes sitting in the car on such a beautiful spring day. After about thirty minutes though, the wife begins to wonder if her husband forgot she was out there. Although she has been enjoying just sitting and listening to the sounds of spring, the awful cramping pain that comes every seven minutes or so is beginning to put a damper on things. I did say that this was a hypothetical scenario, didn't I? Anyway, the wife, not wanting to interrupt her husband's business meeting, decides that walking around might help. It does, in that those nagging pains are happening every six minutes now. The wife, this not being her first pregnancy rodeo and all, makes the decision to interrupt the meeting. The urgent is now the important. She walks into the meeting that has been going on for about forty-five minutes by this point and politely lets her husband know that she is ready to go. He obviously is clueless to the fact that if he does not leave right then his wife may be giving birth on the nice guy's office floor. He puts up his index finger and says, "Just one more minute." So, the very sweet and loving wife walks out into the foyer of this business office in an attempt to buy "just one more minute" and quickly realizes that they have no more minutes. She goes back into the meeting and less politely this time looks her husband square in the eyes and says, "Let's go NOW!" From the time this couple walks through the front door of the birthing center and the nurse informs the screaming wife that there is no time left for an epidural (If this were not a hypothetical story I would be willing to bet that the husband heard about taking too long in his meeting for years to come!) to the time they are holding their precious bundle of joy was just under forty minutes. So, yea, the urgent can become important, but more often than not, it is just the squeakiest wheel whose goal is to distract me from my intended purpose. 

There will always be the voice of the urgent jumping up and down yelling for my attention. When I concede to its demands without making a conscience decision to do so though, I am under its control instead of making it obedient to my Lord Jesus. I am allowing the devil, then, to steal my time and energy. Running around all day frantically beating out fires is physically and emotionally tiring, not to mention, the toll it takes on your spirit. I must, with authority and without guilt, learn to stay focused on the important and quit allowing the urgent to suck the life from me. 

The Holy Spirit is my trusted counselor and He is very quick to alert me when I am being consumed with the urgent. My job is to be obedient to His warnings and to keep my eyes on Jesus. Like Peter, as soon as the storm captures my attention I sink and become in-over-my-head. I want Jesus to have my full focus every moment of the day. I want to stare so intently into His eyes that nothing can steal my attention away, not even an intentionally set, purpose-distracting fire of the enemy. I want to accomplish all that He has for me in a day and not miss the important by being consumed with the urgent.  

Hand Sanitizer, Fire, and a Developing Brain

Awhile back I read an article about the development of the brain. According to this article, scientific research has concluded that the area of the brain that deals with being able to comprehend the consequences of one's decisions or actions is not fully developed until a person reaches the age of about twenty-one. Well, that certainly explains a lot about what goes on at my house! I wonder how much money was poured into that research project. Frankly, minus all of the scientific and medical jargon, I could have written that article.

I live everyday of my life surrounded by young people who definitely do not fully grasp the significance of their actions nor do they understand that there could be consequences associated with those actions that are more than they bargained for. I mean really, how many times have I stood with a child of mine, both of us starring down at a hot mess of consequences resulting from a poor decision they have made, and muttering the all too familiar words, "Well, what did you think was going to happen!?" Usually their answer is nothing if not consistent, "I didn't know THAT would happen" or "I guess I didn't think that far." 

So, after reading that article I figured that there could possibly be some validity to what I previously thought was a fairly ignorant response. Maybe they really are incapable of fully grasping the consequences of their actions. If nothing else, that article gives convincing evidence of one more reason why young people need Godly parents and other adults in their life. We who are functioning with a fully developed brain (or I thought I was before walking through the dismal terrain of menopause) can see pitfalls and consequences that they are incapable of recognizing at this point in their life.

A few days ago my CJ comes running in the house after having been in the front yard for a little while. He washed his hands, hurried to grab something, and raced back out the door.

"Hey," I called after him, "What is going on?" 

"Oh, I'm rubbing hand sanitizer all over my hands and then setting them on fire. It's so cool. You should come outside and watch."

I was busy doing laundry so I just halfheartedly told him that I might be out in a minute and then, as if a switch had suddenly been flipped on, I realized what he had just said. My kid was setting his hands on fire! What!? Really!? Can these boys ever just sit quietly and read a book? I dropped the basket full of clothes and took off after him.

"Absolutely not! You are not allowed to set your hands on fire! This is over."

I had laid down the law. There was nothing more to discuss. CJ would now realize how ridiculous it was to set a part of his body on fire and once again peace and goodwill would reign supreme in the Havens' house. Who was I kidding? Within minutes CJ was in the laundry room and in his most respectful voice requested a few minutes of my time.

"Mom, please listen with an open mind. It really is not dangerous. I saw it done on the internet and it's very cool. (Great, my mind is now at ease!) You rub hand sanitizer all over your hands and then when you set them on fire the alcohol burns off and your hands don't get burned at all."

"CJ, first of all I cannot even believe we are discussing whether or not you can set your hands on fire. Second, the answer is still no. It is too dangerous and, for whatever reason, you cannot seem to comprehend the risk you are taking. What if your clothes caught on fire? What if your hands did get severely burned? CJ, God has gifted you and anointed you to play drums. You are not throwing that away over something as silly as this. There is not even an adult out there with you holding a water hose in case it was needed. No."

"Wait, Mom, you're wrong. There is an adult out there. See I am thinking ahead. Evan was out there with me."

Well, he had me there. Evan, his older brother, was an adult. The problem with Evan being out there though was two-fold. One, I have never known anyone, except maybe Evan's brother-in-law, Chandler, who is more fascinated with fire. If you read my last blog, Evan was the one responsible for the burning ring of fire in the street. On a side note, one time when he was about seventeen he wanted to have an object lesson to go along with a teaching he was doing for a group of fifth grade boys. You guessed it. The object lesson involved fire. He was doing the experiment in his room to make sure that he knew what he was doing when I came around the corner to see flames shooting from his desk to the ceiling! So, yea, CJ was not helping his case by telling me that Evan was out there with him. Now, the second thing that I took issue with was that Evan was not out there holding a water hose ready to spray his brother down should the need arise. Nope, he was armed with his phone videoing the momentous event for all of posterity to witness.  

"No, CJ. I hear what you're saying and I understand that you think this hand sanitizer trick is really cool, but no. Put away the matches. I'm sorry, but I am not going to allow this."

About that time, Evan walked in wondering where CJ was and I was quick to inform him that I had put an end to his and Fire Boy's fun. Evan's disappointment was evident.

"Mom, why did you let him buy that gallon jug of hand sanitizer if you weren't going to let him catch it on fire? What did you think he was going to use it for?"

"Well, I didn't think he was going to use it for THAT!"

Truth be told, I had missed it. When CJ purchased the hand sanitizer on a recent family trip to Target it did not register in my mind as to the intended purpose of said purchase. It did not even show up as a blip on my mom radar. I have heard it said that with each additional child a mom becomes more relaxed. CJ was number six. Maybe I had relaxed right into a coma. Whatever the reason I never thought twice (or even once) about CJ buying a gallon jug of hand sanitizer. 

That night as I prepared to get into bed I was looking over an "About Me" form that CJ had filled out for the baseball media guide at school. When asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, CJ wrote, "a drummer for Hillsong United."  All I could do was shake my head in disbelief. How could he not see that what he wanted me to allow him to do was detrimental to something bigger and better in his future? 

As I lay my head on the pillow I was reminded of a circumstance that I had been praying about and desperately wanting a "Yes" answer from God. I knew that His answer was "No" but I had been doing my best to let Him know that I really wanted Him to affirm what I wanted to do. In an instant the Holy Spirit applied to my own life what I had been trying to teach CJ.  Like my teenager I was not seeing the bigger picture. I was not seeing what I wanted through the lens of God's perspective. I had to trust Him that He had my best interest in mind and that He was not going to allow what I wanted because it would be detrimental to His master plan.

Before I drifted off to sleep I imagined myself slathering hand sanitizer all over my hands, striking a match, and then lighting them up. There I was standing in the front yard with my hands on fire. Suddenly, what I had been asking God for no longer appealed to me. I wanted His will, His way, and His path. If what I wanted did not line up with that, I was ready to release it. I was loved beyond measure and could rest assured that His plan was far superior and way cooler than anything that I could think or imagine. Besides that, in light of my conversation with CJ, I was equating what I had been wanting God to let me do with the sheer foolishness of my son wanting to set his hands on fire. This girl has seen the light, or the fire, and I am trusting God even when His answer is "No."

(Photo courtesy of Evan Havens. Had he been holding a water hose instead of his camera I suppose I would not have this great illustration of CJ's hand on fire. So, thank you, Evan...I think...)

Life Near the Stupid Zone

I grew up with three brothers and of the nine children that I labored to bring into this world, eight of them are boys.  I like to think that on most days I "get" boys. I must admit though, that there are times when I am completely dumbfounded by the thought process that goes through their mind which brings about some of the things that they do.

Imbedded deep within the soul of every boy is a need for adventure. A urning to throw caution to the wind, if you will, and just go for it. As a mom of boys, I have found it difficult at times to walk the delicate balance of letting them be boys but not allowing them to cross over into the stupid zone. Many times I have been the lone dissenting voice of reason, but more often than not I really try to let my boys be boys, pray extra hard, and limit comments like "Are you guys sure this is a good idea?" 

One time when the boys were younger they were playing out in the backyard on a small plastic seesaw that was molded into the shape of an alligator. Fairly harmless toy, one would think, so I felt comfortable going into the house and just checking on them occasionally through the kitchen window. The first few times I checked on them all was well. I rejoiced that they were not under foot and I was able to get the kitchen cleaned up and the floor mopped.

Now when you hear a bunch of boys whooping and hollering and saying things like, "Oh wow! That was cool!" and "Let me try! Let me try!" It is time to put down the mop and see what is going on. Words like that from a group of boys could indicate that they are about to cross over into the stupid zone.

Sure enough, they had attached that "harmless" seesaw to a long rope that was hanging from the poor old magnificent Pecan tree. I knew that the rope was securely fastened to the tree because several days before their dad had tied it up so that they could swing from it like Tarzan.  My concern came from the fact that I was way less certain that the boys had securely attached the rope to the seesaw and that they had loaded their four year old brother onto this makeshift flying toy and were pushing him through the air and around the tree.

Yep, stupid zone! I put an end to their fun.

A few years later the boys strung up this same brother, who piloted the flying alligator, with chains and attached him to the bicycle hooks that were screwed into the ceiling of the garage. I go into the garage and see my son hanging from the ceiling. The brothers who put him there were nowhere to be found. Matt, my young acrobat, seemed to be having fun swinging from the ceiling and the danger seemed minimal, so on this occasion I chose to let boys be boys. Eventually his brothers showed back up and got him down and the "adventure" was talked about in the Havens' house for days.

Well, I had just about mastered  the difficult balance of not being an overprotective mother but not letting my boys be stupid either, when the stakes suddenly got lots higher.  As the boys got older swinging from the garage ceiling no longer seemed adventurous enough.  Gone were the days of trying to start a fire with nothing but a magnifying glass and the sun. No, now adventure involved dry ice bombs, rockets made from everyday items like diet Coke and Mentos, and rings of fire burning in the street to greet me as I came home from the store. Did you know that if you rub hand sanitizer all over your hands and set them on fire that your hands will not burn?! (This, by the way, is the subject of my next blog.) There seems to be some law among these boys that screams,"The danger involved must escalate!"

One evening while I was in the house I kept hearing the air compressor in the garage kick on.  At first I thought nothing of it, but it was coming on frequently and I was also hearing an odd thump as well, so I decide to go investigate. What I found astounded me! The boys had made what I can only describe as a large bazooka gun powered by our air compressor. They were loading large bouncy balls into the barrel of this gun and launching them into the air. The thump I was hearing was these balls leaving the barrel. They were going so high that they disappeared until, upon their descent back to earth, you once again caught sight of them. The boys were in a state of frenzied excitement. All of them whooping and hollering and jumping with abandon. Against my better judgement and contrary to my voice of reason I allowed this adventure to continue. These boys were bonding. They were feeding their wild side. They were living on the edge. Their dad was right there in the middle of it all so who was I to throw water on this fire of manhood. By the next evening, however, launching balls no longer brought about the same level of excitement. The boys were now sending vegetables, among other things, into the atmosphere. They were even talking about stuffing their littlest brother into the tube! I knew this was not going to end well if they were allowed to govern themselves.

Turned out that my dead on intuition proved to be right. I walked out of the house just in time to see my large leaf rake soaring effortlessly through the air and headed straight for my neighbor's house across the street. It was over. They had crossed the line and were knee deep in stupidity.  Dad even agreed. The balls were okay. The vegetables were a little "iffy" but still agreeable.  Garden tools, however, were a different story and definitely the nail in the coffin of this adventure.

I love that God has surrounded my life with boys. By nature, I am not an adventurous soul. I usually do not take risk and I am most comfortable playing it safe. When we go to a theme park, I actually enjoy standing at the end of the ride holding all the bags and souvenirs.  You know what, though? I am learning from my men (and by the way, from my daughter as well, who is every bit as adventurous as her brothers, she just doesn't walk so close to the stupid line.) that life is a roller coaster adventure and not meant to be lived just sitting around at the bottom of the ride holding all the bags. 

I recently heard a song on the radio that has been going over in my soul for days. It talked about  living life "unsafe, unsure, but unafraid..."  Truth be told, that is what I really want for my kids and for me and my husband as well; to live out our days willing to take risks and walking by faith; to live with passion and without fear; to live all out with our eyes fixed on the Great I AM; to live a life worthy of The Lord Jesus and to have a blast doing it.  

 "Lord, let us live unsafe, unsure, but unafraid...oh and please keep us out of the stupid zone!"

Beauty for Ashes

At a very early age my little world spun out of control. I remember feeling lost and confused and helpless amid the chaos.  It was too big of a mess for me to ever even know how to begin to put it all back together, so I took comfort in bringing order to what I could. I arranged the books on my shelf by height, hung my clothes up in the closet according to color and style, and did my chores meticulously.  My room was organized and tidy and therefore so was my life.  Thus began my need to control what I could and fret and fear about what I could not.

As I grew so did my need to keep a tight grip on my surroundings.  The deep soul desire for security drove me to need every part of my life neat and in order.  I walked in fear of the future because it was unknown and I was unable to control it.  Changes of any kind brought on a swell of dread and anxiety.  I desperately wanted to trust Jesus, but the truth be told, I did not truly believe that He loved me and wanted His very best for me.

In Hebrews 13 it says, "... for He [God] Himself has said, I will not in any way fail you nor give you up nor leave you without support. [I will] not, [I will] not, [I will] not in any degree leave you helpless nor forsake nor let [you] down (relax My hold on you)! [Assuredly not!]"  According to His word, God could not leave me in that pit of fear and dread and insecurity.  And so at the age of 20 He set me on the road to freedom from the very exhausting need to have control.

He gave me my husband who loves me beyond anything that I deserve and who feels no need to be controlled by his wife.  None.  Not at all.  Ever.  After 27 years together I have all but given up on trying to convince him that he needs to do what I want him to do and when I want him to do it! (We are both first born kids in our respective families and anyone who knows anything about birth order might wonder if God was quite aware of what he was doing when He brought us together.)  God used the unconditional love this man has given me, to heal a brokenness in me that was deep and severe. God knew I needed a rock-solid man who would not be swayed by the tantrums of a healing wife, to birth in me a security that my heart had yearned for.

Now, in another divine intervention so as not to leave me in that pit of despair, God arranged for me to give birth to nine children.  With each new baby I became more keenly aware that I was going to have to release my need to control every little detail or I was going to have a breakdown.  If you know me at all, you know that my babies are my dreams come true, but something had to give when a momma of nine needs all the Legos arranged in plastic boxes according to type and color!  That something was about to give!

When I was about 39 God took me on a journey that at the time I thought would be the death of me, but in reality was His grace and mercy reaching down and taking hold of me and drawing me out of the deep waters of fear and insecurity. God had used my husband and my babies to plow and prepare the soil of my hardened and self-protected heart, so now I was ready for Him to teach me to walk in the freedom that He had died to give me.

Through a process of several years the Holy Spirit drew to the surface of my soul, wounds that had crippled and deformed me.  Through many a sleepless night I literally thought that I was dying.  With fear and adrenaline coursing through my mind and heart, He taught me to cling to His Word.  Throughout the wee hours of the night I would pace back and forth through my quiet and darkened living room audibly repeating every scripture I could find on fear and His love for me. I begged Him to let me quit walking through where He had me, but like my husband He was unmoved by the fit that I was throwing. 

With time I began to see some changes in me that I knew were nothing short of a miracle.  I became convinced of the love of Jesus for me.  That realization set me free from the snare of fear.  That, then, set me free to release my need to control and entrust my life into His capable hands.  Like never before in my life the Holy Spirit had become my trusted counselor and had led me to the Truth found only in Jesus.  The Word of God renewed my mind and released me to be all that God intended me to be.

I write this because I want you to know that what He did in my life, He will do in yours.  I am convinced that true freedom and healing are found only in Jesus. He cannot leave you behind in your place of despair, because He is true to His Word.  He will take every broken, devastated, crushed area of your heart and give you beauty for those ashes.  He is at work in you to bring about something beautiful that will bring Him glory and honor. Invite the Holy Spirit to counsel and empower you. Entrust yourself into His loving care and stand confidently on His Word which is Truth.  Do not be moved when the attacks of the Evil One are especially intense.  One of the last things the Devil wants is for a daughter of the King to truly get ahold of who she is in Jesus.  Trust your Redeemer who loves you more deeply than you can grasp; He is bringing you out into a spacious place of beauty and freedom!