Today is my dad’s birthday.

Today would have been my dad’s birthday.

Today I would have called him, and we would have talked. Not long— between his deafness and mine we would have strained to hear each other. Despite all that, he wanted to hear me, to connect, to be part of my life— and so he would have asked me to talk slower, to say it again.

My dad would have asked about me and about my book, then about my kids and what they’re doing. Because that is what my dad did, he listened, wanting to know about me— wanting to know me, to share in what mattered to me.

I would have told him that my book is finished and it’s more than I thought I could write. That I run my hands over the cover of my pre-release copy and can’t help but cry. If I was feeling really brave I would have told him that people I care about read it and wrote such soul-thrilling reviews that I barely recognized myself in their words.  He would have told me he’s proud of me, that he knew all along that I had it in me.

I would have changed the subject then because of the tears threatening to burst like a dam, flooding me with more loved-ness than I know how to contain. To have a dad who believed in me even when I couldn’t believe in myself is the greatest treasure.

I would have told my dad that my kids are thriving and they’re more than I dared think they would be. He would have asked why. I would have stumbled over words in reply: how can I construct a frame of words around this family I get to be part of?

I would have told Dad about John Mark and the way he has become a man I admire, how I love the way he thinks and writes and preaches. But even more, how my firstborn son chooses, everyday to follow Jesus fearlessly and love people purposefully. I'm sure he would have read John Mark's book by now and he would have loved it! My dad was all about work and calling and setting out every day to make a difference.

I would have told him about Matthew, the baby— now a man. About how he claims he has the best job in the world. We would have laughed together, my dad and I. Two overly serious introverts chuckling over my son, his grandson— and his love for middle-schoolers and late night kid-parties and Jesus.

I would have told him that Elizabeth is glowing and growing with his seventh great grandchild growing in her belly. That she is creating beauty in her corner of ugly, dirty east L.A.

Then I would have told him about our Bekah and he would have been smiling. That little one who tried her best to boss him around when he was building a swing just for her. And now she runs a business, using all that charm and drive to make it work. I would have told him that she is on her way to Japan, a country he loved. I would have told him that her husband cherishes the tools he passed on before he left us. He would have loved that.

Gosh I miss him. I miss the way he loved me— us— so quietly and so well.

And even as I ache with the loss of my dad, I hurt for those who will never mourn for what they didn’t have. All those little girls, now women, who didn’t have a dad to cherish them like my dad cherished me. And all those little boys, now men, whose dads didn’t know them as my dad knew my sons.

And all day I will be watching, hoping, waiting for that Someday when every little girl and every grown woman and every boy and every man will know the love of the Father. That Day when there will be no more tears, no more mourning, no more fear or loneliness or sadness or not-enoughness. All because of Him.

That is why this day brings joy through my tears, why I celebrate the day my dad was born— because my dad showed me the Father.

From a heart longing for everyone to know what it feels like to be loved and known,

Diane

P.S. If you ache to know what it is like to be so loved, will you let me know who you are and how I can pray? Because I cannot think of a better way to celebrate my dad’s birthday than to pray for those who have not known the kind of love I lost.

… He dismissed the crowd.

Matthew 14v22

In my quest to learn the Quiet Life— that daily living tucked into God’s presence, being who I am made to be, doing what I am directed to do— I am mulling over the ever popular topic of Time Management. 

For years now, God has been opening my eyes to the way He uses time to His purposes. Maybe someday I’ll gather all those pieces in one place and post them here where everything going in me seems to eventually come out. But this morning, these words about Jesus won’t leave me alone:

He dismissed the crowd.

These were people He cared about. People who were hungry for His story, desperately thirsty to know the Father. They were not nuisances, time wasters, hangers-on. These people were His mission.

And yet He left them. He demanded that they leave. He dismissed them.

Sometimes— often— we must dismiss the crowd. Just like Jesus.

If you are a mother (dare I say it?) that may mean your children. I shudder when a mother proudly boasts that she’s never left her kids overnight. Really? As if that is a badge of honor for Most-Needed Mama. It’s also a citation for a much-neglected marriage.

Sometimes, for the sake of sanity, a mother needs to dismiss the crowd.

If you are well on your way to win the most successful employee of the year award at your work, you may well need to dismiss the List Of One More Thing To Do. One more call to make, one more evening spent organizing for productivity, one more schmooze after work with the boss.

To work and work and work makes for some twisted brokenness in any of us. Nobody is as impressed as we wish they were by our constant pushing of ourselves. Especially when it leaves us prickly and crabby and hinting that if only everyone else would work this hard then we wouldn’t have to.

Sometimes, for wholeness, hard working do-ers need to dismiss the crowd and (gulp!) do less.

If you are, like me, driven by the compulsion to keep everyone happy, you may need to do exactly what I need to do. I need to dismiss the expectations. I need to face the fact that the cost of pleasing everyone will bankrupt me. That I’ll have nothing more to give if I’ve turned myself inside out to try to be more than I am.

Sometimes, people-pleasers need to have the courage to dismiss the crowd.

The other night, Phil found the movie Chariots of Fire on Netflix. He insisted that we watch it together because he had a point to make. It’s in a scene where Eric Liddell is explaining to his sister that he cannot yet go to China where he is going to spend the rest of his life as a missionary. She’s disappointed in him and clearly disapproves (my worst nightmare!). This is what he says: “I believe that God made me for a purpose--for China-- but He also made me fast. And when I run I feel His pleasure."

Because after writing a post about The Rhythm of Slow, my husband affectionately twisted that memorable line to encourage me to say,

 I believe God made me for a purpose... but He also made me slow. And when I mull and think and read and learn and write, I feel His pleasure.

He was reminding me with all that charisma that makes him able to say hard things well, that I am best when I am who I am. That when I try to be like someone I admire or someone I think I should be, when I hurry at a pace that is theirs and not mine, I inevitably stumble.

But when I’m me— when I dismiss the crowd of unrealistic expectations— when I plod at my own pace, that’s when I am the me I am meant to be. 

I don’t know who or what is your crowd to dismiss. Who you need to get away from in order to come back and love them more and better. What you may need to turn off in order to be content with who you are. (hint, hint, your iPhone!)

What I do know is that Jesus dismissed His crowd to be alone with the Father for a while. He needed to reconnect, to remember, to think and pray and rest in His presence.

After He had dismissed them,

He went up on a mountainside by Himself to pray.

Matthew 14v23

I think that’s what He is whispering to me today. That managing my time means going at my own pace and being okay with slow. Dismissing my own expectations of me. And being okay with those who aren’t okay with that.

He is showing me the way to freedom to do what I need to do. And He is giving me permission to do what it takes to be more with Him, so that I can be more who He wants me to be— more at rest in the quiet.

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. Is the Father whispering in your ear? Is there a crowd to dismiss? I would love to know that I’m not alone in this…

I had big plans this morning.

A long list of to-do’s on a project I want finished in the next few days. To get it done I’ve been up extra early every morning, focusing on what needs doing, falling in bed at the end of the day so tired all I feel is numb.

I thought I needed to work this relentlessly… for God… for my husband… for the ministry to parents we lead together.

I’ve pushed away Phil’s hints that maybe it can wait, that I’m trying too hard, that this pushing isn’t worth what it does to me.

Surely, I thought, God wants this now. He needs this book to inspire parents. All these interruptions just need to be managed better, I need to be more organized, move faster, push myself just a little harder to eek out a little more.

Then this morning something changed.

A friend had sent a homemade candle in a canning jar along with a bag full of fresh greens from his garden. This friend is under real pressure, the kind that only a single dad with a heart full of love for his children can understand.

Me, I’m under pressure because I chose it.

As I lit that little candle and watched it flicker in the shadows of my cabin in the woods— its fragrance reminding me of lemons and verbena and salads fresh from the earth—I couldn’t help but wonder how he’d found the time to make something beautiful for his friends.

A song of my childhood sounded like the tinkle of a music box to my ears that hear nothing,

This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine…

let it shine, let it shine, let it shine. 

And then His words filtered through the lingering melody and I heard,

In Him was life and the life was the light of men. And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it… those who were His own did not receive Him…

John 1v 4,5,11

His own had missed His coming into their world.

And for just a moment so had I. Caught up in serving Him, I’d somehow forgotten.

I’d pushed myself past my God-tuned rhythm and tried to be better, faster, more disciplined and committed and… I’d become tense and uptight and too tired to be who He made me to be.

I am not a super-achiever. I am not a multi-tasking, amazing spinner of many plates at the same time. When I try, I leave a trail of broken china and love-deprived people behind.

God made me slow. A ponderer. A delighter in beauty. A relisher of words. A tidier of cupboards who finds wonder in small things.

That’s who He wants me to be— the true me.

When I rush and manage and go faster than I can, I deprive Him—

and my people— of me. The one He likes just as I am.

I stare outside my window and see the glistening of silk strands in the spruce tree. A spider’s trail.

My dog lies waiting for his walk, his limpid eyes letting me know he’s willing whenever I am. Soon the day will radiate the heat of the almost—summer sun and neither of us will want to go.

Could my list wait? Might He bring inspiration on a platter of trust? Might slowing down to the rhythm of God-in-me be just the way to what He wants… for me, for mine, for the work He’s assigned for me to do?

Everything changes with that love-made candle. Such a simple thing. I am righted once again, smiling, listening.

Maybe I won’t get my project done on my self-imposed timeline. Maybe it will take longer and end up better just because I listened to the tune of His song for me.

Maybe I’ll go on a walk right now and listen just a little more.

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. What are you learning about your own pace? Are you slow like me or a sprinter who loves the feeling of rushing between rests? I’d love to hear.

… make it your ambition to lead a quiet life.

I Thessalonians 4v11

Several days ago my heart caught on this phrase and grabbed hold of someplace deep in my being. A place that longs for a quiet life.

I read the words over and over, looking for context, searching for clues. Like a blinking marquis, I cannot tear my thoughts away from what I know are words meant for me. I am convinced that the Spirit is whispering these words to me, that the longing I feel is His allure.

Not so much a command, as an invitation.

I sense a beckoning. A tantalizing summons into a life freed from this seemingly incessant pattern I keep falling into— of stress and conflict and fret-filled worry. Of angst and uptightness and all the confusion that comes from that feeling that, as busy as I am, I am doing nothing well.

For a long time now I have sensed this summons into life that isn’t about catching up or getting ahead or striving for better. A life of rest, of peace that comes from keeping to a pace that works for me.

It is a life of beauty that I crave.

Of not needing to apologize every few moments for bumbling and fumbling awkwardly once again. For being me. I want to go to bed at night satisfied with the way my day unfolded and what I accomplished… and what I didn’t cross off my self-imposed to-do list.

I want to know that every part of my day mattered, that I stuck to the path laid out for me by God, the One who says:

I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go:

I will counsel you with My loving eye upon you.

Psalm 32v8

and

The LORD makes firm the steps of the one who delights in Him;

Though he may stumble, he will not fall,

For the LORD upholds him with His hand.

Psalm 37v23,24

Sometimes I know that quiet. Early every morning when I cozy up in my chair by the window, as I watch the sun peak tentatively through the woods, with steaming tea and my bible open… that is for me a quiet place.

It is there that I realize how un-quiet I march through the rest of my day.

Especially if something or someone interrupts my list. Or if I cannot manage to do all I think I should. Or if I am not as there  for someone who needs me because I am working hard to be present in my work.

What I long for is a consistent sense of rightness about my days, and my weeks, and my months and seasons and years.

A life of sweet balance between achieving and loving well.

My bookshelf tells the story:

A Circle of Quiet by Madeleine L’Engle,

Keep A Quiet Heart by Elizabeth Elliot,

The Rest of God by Mark Buchanan,

Choosing Rest by Sally Breedlove.

These are books I relish, reading the words over and over, barely scratching the surface of what I know I want… and what I know I do not yet own in my every days.

I dare think that my own longing is yours as well.

I do not have pat answers for living this Quiet Life. No ten steps guaranteeing that I’ll never get upright again. But I have picked up some treasures as I’ve tried, as I’ve brought my longings to this One who promises to direct my steps just because I delight in Him. I want to share some of those jewels with you in the coming weeks in the hopes that some of the wisdom I’ve gleaned from others will make sense to you.

And I invite you to speak into my life the wisdom you have acquired in yours. I want to learn and I think you do too. And I am not so naïve as to believe that there is one magic formula, which, when followed, produces bliss. Or peace. Or rest or quiet or calm in the crevices of my soul.

I hope that you will share some of your wisdom with me.

For now, let me leave you with this:

“If God works all things together for good for those who love Him and are called to His purposes… you can relax.

If He doesn’t… start worrying.

If God can take any mess, any mishap, any wastage, any wreckage, any anything, and choreograph beauty and meaning from it, then you can take a day off.

If He can’t, get busy. Either God is good and in control, or it all depends on you.”     

From The Rest of God by Mark Buchanan

From a heart yearning to stay in the Quiet,

Diane

Since ancient times

no one has heard,

no ear has perceived,

no eye has seen

any God besides You

who acts on behalf of those who

 wait for Him.

Isaiah 64v4

My listening in the Word this morning took me on a wild ride that started in Matthew chapter 3 at the fascinating moment of Jesus’ baptism. My heart caught at these words:

At that moment, heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased.” (v16,17) 

It’s that “well pleased” comment that has always drawn me. The idea that now, because I am adopted by His Son, I am included in that phrase. Not because I’m good or I try hard or I somehow stand out—but just because Jesus brought me into Himself.

Will I ever grasp that?

But this morning I heard that softest whisper from the Spirit on this phrase:

At that moment, heaven was opened…

I’ve seen heaven opened.

And the story is longer than I can include here, but it’s true. When the elders of our little church in Santa Cruz circled ‘round me to anoint me with oil and pray that God would heal my broken ears… right when I hit bottom and the blackness in my heart threatened to sink me,

I saw… or felt… or experienced… heaven opened.

Light streaming through, engulfing me, surrounding me, warming me in those frigid recesses of my soul. My rebellious, angry, blasphemous soul.

And ever since then I have been different.

Like Moses when he stumbled down the mountain after meeting with God… Like Peter and John and James when they heard and felt and experienced God on the mountain. Like Paul when he was “caught up” and saw things he could barely describe.

Imperfect, mixed up, broken people who caught a glimpse of… Glory.

This morning as I curled up with tea and a soft blanket out in this cabin in the woods where I meet Him early, I realized something wonderful, something I’d not noticed in all the telling of my story. Just this:

Every time we turn to Him, every time you or I open His Word and ask Him to speak. Every time we ask Him to show us His glory…

He does.

Not normally in a nice zap that would make for good T.V…

Nor usually in grandiose Las Vegas style glitz…

Simply because His glory isn’t mostly like what we think…

His glory is Himself.

When we come messy, needy, desperate.

When we know our own limitations and despair at our ineptitude.

When we get to the place of such poverty that we cannot go on.

And when we wait, hands open, heart yielded, wanting only Him,

That’s when He shows us His glory, Himself.

I want to be that one He finds waiting.

I think you do too.

I want to wait every day, not passively wishing for a zap, but actively waiting on tippy toes for His glory.

Listening, looking, hoping… for Him.

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. Can you tell us how you hear Him? How you see His glory? Because He speaks in the ways we can hear and shows Himself in ways we can see, sharing His glory with each other opens our ears and eyes to Him in new ways.

(image by Abi Porter)

(source)

For the next few weeks we will be reposting from He’s Not Your Prince Charming, reaching way back in the archives to remind and reteach and rethink what we’ve been learning together. I have asked my blog team to help choose their favorites, and I am hoping you will add fresh comments to shed new light on these posts.

In the meantime I will be writing ahead for the new series, studying, reading, thinking, and praying about what to say and how to say it. Any suggestions and thoughts about what you’re wondering about will be most welcome— after all, you are my girls! 

From my heart,

Diane

Dear girls,

Last week I ended my letter to you with a sort of wish… a prayer… a benediction:

May this be the time of our lives to tell a different story, a story of a love so great we overflow it onto that man who cannot be enough.

May this be the year we learn what it really means to find all that emptiness filled up with Him.

And one wistful comment, left by a woman willing to be honest, caught my heart:

Oh if I could have internalized this lesson years ago… I hear it over and over and over, from so many women. Jesus is enough and should be enough, so why isn’t he enough for me? I want him to be enough, but the flesh screams more.

And then another one, from a woman named Anna, in response to a post I wrote about my dad last week:

Diane, this is a beautiful story. Almost one a child dreams about. But what about us who didn’t have this kind of Father?

I so desire to be this kind of woman but have failed over and over and that has left me defeated. The word “Father” also has never set right with me. I know we are to see God as our Father, but I have never known what a real Father looks like.

How do I get to this similar place as you or do I just accept that this is not the woman that I am?

And here is what I wrote in response…

Oh Anna, do not swallow the lie that you are not this woman! Because it’s not about you… or me… or even my dad.

Meeting God early and with delight-filled expectation is about Him!


And I’ve been wondering what to say to all the Annas of the world ever since.

How do I describe the rest my uptight-self receives every morning when I wake to His presence?

What words do I choose to open my heart wide enough for real women to peek into this mystery? That He comes to meet with me in a garden so rich, so beautiful, so home, that I cannot stay away.

Because that is why I wake up early. And that is why all throughout the day I run back into Him, relishing quiet moments to hear. That is why the silence is my friend.

Because He is there, bidding me to come, to listen, to know.

And I want all the Annas of the world— wounded, shame-filled, wishing for more— to see the way back to that garden.

To Him.

And so, for the next little while, for however long it takes for me to stumble out the words, I want to write about the how. Because even though I don’t believe in formulas, and even though 10-steps have not gotten me anywhere but frustrated, I know you need more than theory.

You need to know how.

How to find so much peace in His presence that you no longer demand life all lined up just so.

How to stop trying so hard to be more than you are, and instead losing yourself in who He is and finding to your own surprise that just being with Him begins to make all your ugliness beautiful.

How to fill so full of Jesus that you no longer crave the attention of a man who would devour you with his own need. And how to then overflow the love you find there onto a man who doesn’t deserve it any more than you do.

And so, if you will allow me to, I’d like to take you by the hand, as a woman older and maybe a little further along the path, and lead you to that place where I have found the satisfaction and rest my soul— your soul longs for. We'll keep talking about relationships- about loving a man well and about being well-loved, but I think we need to talk more about the how of finding all of your enough in God.

So please come on over next Monday. Bring your friends, your honesty, your wide-open heart. Brew a cup of tea, settle in for a good, long conversation for the next few weeks. Let’s find this thing we’re craving together.

But before then, here is what I told Anna about how to begin every day relishing the presence of the One who satisfies every need:

Here’s what I suggest (way too simplistic, but all that will fit here)

1. First ask God to make you want to… really, deeply want to experience intimacy with Him.

2. Ask Him to begin to wake you. Really! He will, I know by experience. But you’ve got to be ready to listen, to do that hard choice of getting up on the faith that there’s something for you.

3. Thank Him over and over again when He does. Fill your mind with recognition of how great He is and how much He loves you, reminding yourself how much you want Him.

4. Go to bed every night with Him on your mind and in your heart. (a short Psalm works wonders to put you to sleep with Him tucked all around you.

5. Then… start all over again.

I know that, given time, mixed with many failures, and more time, you will someday LOVE your mornings with Him.

That’s a strong way to start, girls. But there’s more, so much more to talk about.

And remember, your stories really are giving the rest of us hope. I keep hearing it— that by sharing your brokenness and your wantings and the ways God has met you with His amazing grace, more and more women are finding hope. Keep those comments coming!

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. Want some really great Scriptures to ponder while you wait for next week? I love this one:

Hosea 6:3  

Oh, that we might know the Lord!
Let us press on to know him.


He will respond to us as surely as the arrival of dawn 
or the coming of rains in early spring.

And this is worth pondering long:

Hebrews 10:22,23

Let us go right into the presence of God with sincere hearts fully trusting him.

For our guilty consciences have been sprinkled with Christ’s blood to make us clean,

and our bodies have been washed with pure water.

Let us hold tightly without wavering to the hope we affirm,

for God can be trusted to keep his promise.

For the next few weeks we will be reposting from He’s Not Your Prince Charming, reaching way back in the archives to remind and reteach and rethink what we’ve been learning together. I have asked my blog team to help choose their favorites, and I am hoping you will add fresh comments to shed new light on these posts. In the meantime I will be writing ahead for the new series, studying, reading, thinking, and praying about what to say and how to say it. Any suggestions and thoughts about what you’re wondering about will be most welcome— after all, you are my girls! 

From my heart,

Diane

(image by Hillary Kupish)

Healthy people do not need a doctor— sick people do.

I have come to call sinners, not those who think they are already good enough.

Mark 2v17

God blesses those who realize their need for Him, for the Kingdom of Heaven is given to them.

Matthew 5v3

It is early.  Deep dark, winter cold…quiet and still and… welcoming.

No alarm clock woke me, just a quiet whisper… an excited urging… an expectant sense of something more, of something I need.

Something I want.

And this: the certain knowing that Someone wants me by myself… for Himself.

That He has something to say… to me… today.

And that if I don’t get up I’ll miss it.

I’ll miss Him.

And so, hair wild, barefoot and barely awake, I shuffle to the kitchen to start my tea. While the kettle heats, I make my place: furry blanket, shiny tea cup, pretty napkin, scented candle.

Like a fort for a grown-up girl, this is my tucked-in place, my refuge before the day begins.

And He’s there, I know He is, with a knowing that cannot be explained and will not be denied.

I relish my first cup with Him. Heart open, mind still half asleep, I sink deep, listening.

I bring no list, no worries.

I don’t pray.

I just listen… and sip tea.

And after a while I open His Book of Words to the place I left off the day before, reading, listening, talking, asking, taking notes.

Hearing.

It didn’t used to be this way for me. For years and years I got up because I had to. Because someone told me I should. Because I needed to be disciplined and do my duty and do it right and do it every day, no matter what.

Because I like rules and this was rule #1: A good Christian reads her Bible every morning. Amen.

And so I’d be up when the clock said seven and I’d put in my time. No yearning, no feasting, no wanting, never listening. Just a list and my Bible and the clock ticking.

And sometimes I’d miss and feel terribly guilty. Ashamed. Less-than. So I’d resolve never to sleep in again, never to miss my “devotions”, lest I mess up somehow and miss the mark.

That went on for years.

Until one morning. A morning seared into my soul as if it were yesterday. Not a memory so much as a mark on the inside of me. Forever I will call it The Morning After.

That morning I woke up early too. Mind racing, questions clamoring for answers, I snuck quietly into the living room while three children slept, hoping they’d sleep a little longer than usual.

Desperate to hear.

The night before, at my husband’s urging, I’d met with the elders of our little church in Santa Cruz. In a cramped back room they’d prayed for me, prayed over me, anointed me with drops of less-than magical oil and asked God to heal me.

For no reason any doctor could find, my hearing was failing. And I was terrified… and angry… appalled that the God I had dutifully served would allow deafness to swallow me.

I’d come to these men wanting healing, willing to beg God in their presence as I’d been begging Him every day for months.

And as they prayed, something happened.  Something magical and mystical and biblical and wonderful— I heard God.

I mean I really heard Him. Not an impression, not an idea or a quote that somebody else had said about Him. I heard Him.

I heard words.

Not the words I wanted to hear, in fact, the words He gave me sounded much like the ones my dad had used when, as a little girl, I’d panic and he’d calm me with a stern sort of love. Nothing sweet or quaintly Christian.

To all my begging for healing, for ears to open wide, for the deafness threatening my world to go away— for the healing I knew He could do if only He would… I heard this—

Diane, it’s okay. It’s okay, Diane, it’s okay.

And let me tell you, girls, those were the most beautiful words I have ever heard. Rich with knowing, dripping with the kind of love I had only dreamed about, His words enveloped me in… glory.

In that moment of NO, I felt more joy than I’d ever felt before. It was okay! Gloriously, beautifully, magically okay.

I floated home from that impromptu prayer meeting, holding His words close in. I’d heard Him, really heard Him. He’d called me by name.

God spoke, He speaks… to me!

That is why I was up in the dark hours on that Morning After. I had to know if it was true, if I’d heard what I thought I had… or if I was just overwrought and delusional, a pathetic mess.

And that, my dear girls, was the beginning— the first morning of my love affair with the Savior. Because He met me there, filling my heart with more words— stern words, truth words, words about life and joy and trust.

He wrapped me in words and drew me into an intimacy I’d never known possible.

By the time the children got up and Phil started coffee, I was ablaze with joy. Spilling with hope, feeling so loved and known and cherished and full.

And every morning since it’s been the same. Quieter, for sure, less drama and more restful entering in. I come to meet Him, to talk and more than anything else, to listen.

Every morning, with the house all quiet, I come to Him— the One who knows me, all of me, and still wants me for Himself. I open His Word and let His words speak deep.

Sometimes, to tell the truth, I can barely hear Him. On those mornings I wait. I sip tea, I make another pot. I read further or I read it again. And slowly, if I’m willing and wait long enough, He quiets me enough to hear.

Because He is always speaking. Through His Word and around His Words, using words to love and teach and reveal and convict and set free. But sometimes I cannot hear… and always I hear imperfectly, like the deaf woman I am.

I know this post was a bit rambling again… but next week I have less mystical, more practical thoughts to share with you.

For now, know this:

• God speaks… really says things… to you and to me.
• He speaks mostly and most clearly through His Word.
• We hear best in the quiet, and it’s up to us to clear space for that restful listening.
• He speaks loudest to those who come in need— the ones, like me, who fail and cannot get up. The broken and thirsty, the desperately repentant.
• He wants to be felt— experienced, heard, seen. He has sent His Spirit to make sure that happens. And He has given instructions to pave the way, with guidelines to keep us from getting… sort of… well… weird.
• If you can’t seem to hear Him yet… be patient. He knows you want to and He’s helping you even now. Nothing happens fast in His Kingdom. Just let Him bring you close and teach you.

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. If you’ve heard Him, will you say so? Will you leave us a note to encourage those who are still wanting to hear but frustrated in the silence?

And if you’re one of the many who’ve told me you’re still waiting… will you leave just a simple message so I can pray alongside you?

Just your name is enough… and maybe “still waiting”.

(source)

I wake up ready to write. Words are on the tips of my fingers as I rummage around for tea things and my Bible and all the pens and odds and ends that make up my morning time of listening.

I know what I want to say, where to go with this post about the how… how to really, honestly make Him— Jesus, the Redeemer, the Father, the Spirit, the I AM— my Prince.

How to find all my peace and satisfaction and balance and wisdom in Him.

How to love Him in real life.

And then something comes up. A conflict I can’t control. Two people I care about at odds. Both right, both wrong.

I want to fix it… I would if I could but clearly, I can’t.

And so I get mad. Furious inside. No one’s here to hear but none-the-less I’m silently ranting and raving and bashing heads.

So much for writing. So much for anything.

I sweep the floor, clean the sink, anything but write. All the while I’m talking to an invisible someone, no one, scolding and telling and setting them straight.

A crazy lady.

Tired of my own out-of-control emotions, I step into a hot, steaming shower intent on washing away the dirt and grime and product in my hair and on me.

That’s where I am when I hear His voice:

Di, are you really angry? Or is this fear? 

What are you afraid of that I cannot handle?

It takes another hour to let myself fully hear His words. Because…

The anger feels good… the fear feels real… letting go feels unsafe. Or untrue. Or something.

And then I remember one comment left with a question I couldn’t really answer and it’s been bothering me ever since.

I know that I am writing this on a good day, so do you have any pointers on how to stay focused on the real prize of Jesus’ love when my mind starts to run wild?

And here I am with my own mind running wild and my emotions drug along behind in a chaotic chase to nowhere. On this not-good day I wonder, where is that bone-deep peace? How do I get back to that place?

A friend texts me. She knows enough to be on the look out, to be listening for me.  And sometimes that’s just how God speaks His peace, through another who is in a better place to hear. 

Read John 6:30-43. I think there might be something in there for these guys…

I read these words and they’re for me, I know it. I need this. Peace begins to come before I even know why. I read again.

The story is about a group of honestly seeking people, asking what to do. Like me. Like you.

And Jesus cuts through all the mix of emotions and motivations and sides and says it simple:

 “This is what God wants you to do: Believe in the One He has sent.”

Just believe.

I know enough to know what His choice of words is about. I’ve studied this before.

Believe means trust. Or entrust.

And suddenly it’s all clear, His voice so loud it stops all my crazy-lady ranting.

He wants me to so fully and entirely entrust this conflict to Him that I let go of all need to control. To be right. To tell everyone what they-ought-to-do-and-think-and-say-and-feel because I said so and now let’s all be happy.

Because my way won’t work… and I know, after all these years of watching Him, that His way will.

Maybe not exactly the way I want it to, maybe not all neat and tidy and happily ever after, but somehow, someway, He will triumph.

Chaos and churning calms and I enter that oasis of quiet. Rest. Peace. A chest full of joy.

Nothing has changed. Everything has changed. I have changed.

Not because I followed ten steps or imagined what I wanted.

But just because He spoke.

And that, my dear girls, is the answer to the question I didn’t know. When bad days come and I am a mess, when I cannot or will not and don’t even want to cleave close because all my way seems safer… He speaks even then.

That, my dear ones, is grace. Amazing grace.

Being intimate with God, being close to Him, hearing from Him, isn’t about me following a certain set of steps or rules. It isn’t about me getting it right.

I shake my head in wonder. Who loves like that? Only one… only Him.

And yet, the truth is, I must obey. I must take at least one small step in the direction He says. I must choose. He won’t do it for me unless I take that tiniest step towards Him.

A pithy quote I retweeted this week becomes more than pith…

There are no "little obediences." Every opportunity to obey prepares us for greater challenges of faith in the future. -Dr Bruce Ware

Today’s messy story prepares me for tomorrow… and all these years of yesterdays prepared me for today.

I’d heard Him before and so I knew it was Him. I’d heard these same words from the Word before and delved deeper because I hadn’t understood and so when I needed them just now I knew what He meant.

Every single morning when you choose to get up earlier than you want, to deny yourself the warmth of bed and make room to hear by pushing your nose into His Book and staying there with wide open ears… those are the “little obediences” that prepare you for the greater challenges of faith that real life brings to every one of us.

Even when you feel nothing.

And now I’ve told you a story instead of giving a list. Instead of telling you how as an expert, I’ve shown you how in my own mess.  Because this is truth.

This is how He meets me, how He speaks. Right into my world where people do conflict imperfectly and I cry and rant even when no one’s here to hear.

Right here in my not-so-happily-ever-after life, the one I can’t seem to fix to my own satisfaction. He brings me in tight and let’s me be me… and makes me more than I am.

He is enough.

And that’s what I mean by he’s not your Prince Charming. No man can do this. Not even my godly, good man who has loved me so well all these years.

And truth be told, I’m glad he wasn’t there in my mess. I would have scared the guy half to death.

From my heart, still learning, still listening,

Diane

P.S. There’s more, so much more, but this is what comes first. Brokenness, obedience, daily-ness.

Will you help continue this conversation with your own stories… and keep the questions coming, I’m listening.

 (source)

God has told his people, “Here is a place of rest; let the weary rest here. This is a place of quiet rest.”

Isaiah 28:12 

Remember the Sabbath…

Exodus 20:18

Fog wraps the morning in magic.  Shimmering like a woman’s gown, sheer as finest silk, it hides the world beyond the trees.

And I sit wrapped in warmth, watching the Artist create. Soaking in His beauty, soul filling with wonder.

What was it I was worried about?

All those frettings seem silly now. Petty, unimportant.

So what if I don’t get it done? Isn’t this more important? This watching, waiting, listening?

And so again this morning He speaks to me.

Hush, Di, I’m working. This is My world, not yours.

Just watch a while.

Listen in the silence.

Learn.

And so I choose rest today instead of striving, peace instead of churning, less instead of more.

I choose to notice God today. All day.

To stop all my fussing and just make space for Him in this cluttered soul of mine.To push aside the messiness of my needing to do more and allow my body and my mind and my imagination to simply stroll today.

I’ll walk through His woods, crunch leaves underfoot, breathe deeply, notice the faintest fragrance He leaves behind.

 I’ll sabbath.

From a heart needing rest,

Diane

repost: december 2013

Dear Son, Many months ago you came to me with a pressing question. I could see all the bottled up worry working its way through your limbs… fidgets, incessant nose rubbing, scratching imaginary irritants—you were itching and twitching with anxiety.

And of course, that got me worried! What’s going on? What’s the matter? I barely got my concern out of my mouth when your words burst like an unkinked hose.

“I don’t know what’s the matter. I want to move deeper into a committed relationship with this girl. She’s perfect in every way. She loves God passionately, likes me, encourages me, shares my goals, is funny and gorgeous… but I feel like God keeps saying ‘No, wait’. And I don’t know why. What’s wrong? Is it me? Is it her?”

On and on you spilled your angst at not knowing what God seemed to be saying to you. You thought you knew your own heart, but not God’s. And that bothered you...A lot.

So I told you what I learned, "You are experiencing what the preachers and writers and listeners from times past used to call 'a check in your spirit'”.

My advice? 

Wait... “If you do not know what you ought to do stand still until you do.” F.B. Meyer  wrote that  Be still... Shh. Quiet all that noisy self-talk   Stop talking... to your friends, to yourself  Listen… until you’ve had a chance to hear that voice and figure out what He’s hinting at 

What do you hear in the silence?

Is there a nagging worry you’ve tried to ignore? Something not quite right but not blatantly bad?

Or are you just afraid...

That you’ll be labeled a player if a few weeks from now you realize you just don’t click?  That you might get hurt? Embarrassed? Rejected?  Or are you, perhaps, still ingrained with the mystic idea that ‘the one’ is waiting just around the corner to fulfill all your dreams? The perfect match. Your soul mate.

Son, you know,  I don’t believe in perfect-soul-mate-matches-made-in-heaven. More often, I see two God-centered people blending and giving and compromising and rubbing off rough edges and working it out and figuring it out and becoming one… and that’s rarely easy or ideal or especially romantic. 

Too many soul-probing questions without definitive answers?

I have learned not to push those questions underground because God speaks so quietly. He presses on our soul subtly. He asks us to lean in a little closer, He invites us to linger over Scripture a little longer.

So here’s my list of mom-made advice:

• Wait
• Watch
• Stand still
• Lighten up
• Go play soccer with some friends
• Savor a cup of coffee and a good book
• Relax
• Don’t force it
• Have fun

And then go talk to Dad, because he’s not so mystical about finding God’s path. He’ll ask questions and write pro’s and con’s charts on yellow pads of paper.  He’ll say, “Invite her over!” and then he’ll embarrass you and make everyone laugh and you’ll know a lot about how you really feel.

And so next Monday, I’ll post just what your dad has to say. Maybe he’s got a story to tell…

From my heart,

Mom

Questions & Comments: Go ahead and ask and I’ll try to answer as best I can.

• How this looks in real life?
• Do you have a question about what I mean? 

TWO KINDS OF WOMEN:

GOD-NEEDING

OR

MAN-NEEDING

Dear Matthew,

There are, I have come to see, two kinds of women: God-needing women and man-needing women.

God-needing women are women who are learning and growing and practicing what it looks like in everyday life to “hope in God” (see I Peter 3:5). They’re not perfect, not by a long shot. But they’ve figured out that only God can satisfy the craving in their hearts for more. And they’re pursuing Him actively and purposefully, gaining wisdom and knowledge and intimacy with God.

These women intentionally reject the notion that a man will make them happy. Instead, they look to God for all that He has to say about happiness and joy and serving and giving out of the overflow of a heart that belongs wholly to Him.

That’s the kind of woman I pray you find when the time is right.

Man-needing women are pursuing men.

They’re sure that a man will quench their raging thirst for affirmation and affection. The right man, they dream, will sweep them off their feet and carry them away to a world of beauty and romance and love, love, love.

And they’ll drain you of every last drop of your hayil in their frantic attempt to find what they crave.

Now, let me tell you the real truth about me.

When I married your dad I was just 19 years old. I had grand dreams of being a godly women, wanted with all my heart to serve Him and honor Him. I knew I was marrying a godly man and I loved everything about the life he offered me. With my head in the clouds, I imagined that being married to a leader would offer me security and a place in this world. It would be like being at church 24/7. All happiness and singing praises and satisfaction at the deepest level.

I was wrong.

In reality it felt like the church wanted everything from Phil and I was supposed to be chipper and happy and smiling and nice all the time.

But I was lonely.

And needy.

And not happy.

Somehow we survived that tumultuous first year of adjustments and my unrealistic expectations and I began to realize that my good and godly and loving and romantic leader of a husband would never fulfill me.

In fact, the deeper I delved into Scripture, the more it dawned on me that it was not his job to fulfill me!

Yet that yawning hole inside my soul beckoned to be filled. With your dad’s wise guidance and many hours spent with godly older women, I began to understand that my desperate neediness was meant to drive me into an intimate and satisfying relationship with Jesus. And that He alone could fill those empty places.

But, Matt, it wasn’t a pretty process.

And that’s why I want to warn you away from women who erroneously believe that a man— any man— even you, will make them happy.

With Lemuel’s mom, I want to warn you away from such a woman- a woman like I once was. Because the truth is, I was sucking the life out of my husband, trying to grab all his strength and vitality and attention for me.

And you know the rest of my story.

How God let me get to a place of deep surrender and how He has been filling me and feeding me and satisfying me all these years— not by my good and godly husband, nor through my super-smart-absolutely-perfect children, but just in Himself.

Lemuel's mother cries out for her son to listen! listen! listen!

She knows that the wrong woman will ruin the king. The word there in Hebrew means to “wipe out”. And that is exactly what can happen if a leader marries a man-needing woman.

And it is almost what happened to your father— because of me.

Next week, I’m going to write out another one of those lists for you. I know how men think in tangible, identifiable terms. But for now, just listen, my son.

Don’t be fooled by the giddy idealism of a girl who thinks you will sweep into her life and carry her away on your gleaming white horse and make life perfect.

You can’t.

What you can do is invite a woman whose heart is filled with God to join you in serving Him. You can offer her the breathtaking adventure of following at whatever the cost. You can point her to the security that can only be found in Him. You can point her to the Cross, and all the life that dying to self offers to everyone who chooses His way.

I love you, son. And I’m praying that you will have the discernment to know the difference between a woman who needs God and a woman who needs a man.

From my heart,

Mom

To the women who are reading this:

Can you offer some practical pictures of what a God-needing woman does with all that desire for more?

Would you help me explain what it looks like when a well-meaning woman thinks a man might fill that emptiness?

 After all, I’m thinking there must be a whole lot of women like me who are learning the hard way how to find all our hope in God.