Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns
If you think Jesus would have come into your home that day and not issued a strong rebuke to the head of household, you are mistaken. These words of condemnation have been haunting me for days now. They aren’t all that different than the soundtrack I play in my head on an almost-daily basis. It’s…
I am nesting. On Saturday I emptied the refrigerator. Last summer’s homemade pickles in their jars. The bread ends that seem to multiply on every shelf. The eggs. The milk. The fruit and veggies. All of it sat on the floor or the counter as I carefully removed the shelves and wiped them down with…
I’ve heard that life is like a highway. And it definitely seems like that sometimes. The pace of life swirls around me at dizzying speeds. We’re all so busy. In such a hurry. Always somewhere to be, something else to do. I’m a get-to-the-point, get-there-quick kind of girl. I don’t like to waste time on…
I have high unrealistic expectations for putting together a jigsaw puzzle with my family. I announce the plan on a Friday or Saturday, let the children choose which one we’re going to do, and fantasize about all the family bonding we’ll be doing as we puzzle over the pieces and find the right home for each one.
Inevitably, though, my expectations crash and burn.
“I hate puzzles,” my 9-year-old daughter screams. (She doesn’t.)
“I’m too tired,” my husband declares. (He is. I get it.)
Meanwhile, my 7-year-old son is turning the calm, peaceful idea of completing a puzzle into a game complete with scoring. He gives himself points for all the pieces that are ALREADY TOGETHER in the bag, then counts as his the pieces that I put together, as long as he agrees that they all go where they are supposed to. <—WHAT IS THIS MADNESS?
Then the kids get bored and decide to go play the card game “War” with my husband who has enough energy to flip cards and mediate arguments, while I sit alone at the dining room table, staring at the pieces, willing them to move to the right spots without much effort on my part.
It doesn’t help that our current puzzle is a mosaic–you know, a picture made up of pictures.
In my best moments, I relish being left alone for a few minutes while my mind focuses on this task. It’s a distraction but it’s also work for my brain, and I’m approaching an age where I’m beginning to worry about how sharp my mind will be in the years ahead.
In my worst moments, I am silently cursing my family for abandoning me to this project that was my idea but I’ve now come to dread. I wail in my mind about how unfair it is that nobody is helping me, and then when they do lean over to help, I bark about them being in my light.
Maybe none of it would bother me so much if I wasn’t feeling so puzzled about life.
Months ago, Phil and I felt like God was giving us a clear picture of what the next steps would be for us: Buy a house. Move to the city. See what I’m up to there. We thought it was a good idea, so we started putting the pieces together. Asking for help. Telling people the plan.
We are still on track, we thought. We signed up for classes for first-time homebuyers. We called a real estate agent recommended by a friend. We gave our information to the bank. Yes, we thought. The puzzle is coming together.
But the bank had bad news, or at least not good news. We couldn’t get approval for the amount we needed, even though our credit was good. On paper, we don’t have enough income to cover our debts, even though we can pay all our bills and on time. It was discouraging. A blow. Maybe we would have to postpone this next step.
We called the real estate agent back and she encouraged us to try another route. Call a mortgage broker, she said. She gave us the number of someone she recommends. The embers stirred to life. Maybe it wasn’t all hopeless.
Then came the letter from unemployment. When my husband was out of work for three weeks at the start of the year, we applied for benefits because we didn’t know how long it would be. We had no back-up plan. The little bit that we got for a few weeks ensured that our bills were paid. It was just enough. Now, the unemployment office says they overpaid us and they want the money back. It’s money we don’t have tucked away. We still just get by on what we have.
This is the part where if life was a puzzle on my dining room table, I would have flipped the table. (I have repressed anger issues. See also: Nine on the Enneagram.)
I am currently having a silent curse-fest with God, though He can hear me, so it’s not exactly silent. It goes something like this:
What gives, God? We are following the picture. We are trying to put the pieces together and YOU ARE NOT HELPING. I thought we were in this together. I thought this was going to be fun! Why is it so hard? I can’t do this anymore. I quit. Except I don’t really quit because I have to have the satisfaction of seeing this to the end. Leaving a puzzle unfinished is not in my repertoire, so You win. I’m going to see this through. But, c’mon. A little help here?
I don’t actually believe God has left me to solve this puzzle all by myself. And yes, I do sometimes shrug off the help He provides. I am a classic case of help-me-never-mind-I-can-do-it-myself.
The key to this mosaic puzzle, I’m finding, is to focus on the small pictures. As I find the pieces of the small pictures that fit together, the big picture starts to become clearer.
Maybe there’s something to that. (Okay, there’s definitely something to that.)
Most days I don’t want to participate in the small-picture puzzle of following God on this journey. Let’s just get to the big picture, God! I want to be living in the city in a house that is ours (and the bank’s!), looking for how He is working in the city.
But there are things that have to be put in place between now and then.
So, I’m putting this mosaic puzzle together piece by piece, day by day, with or without my family’s help, and the same is almost true for the life mosaic. It is piece by piece. Day by day. But I am not on my own.
We are in this together, and God is not absent, even if it feels like He is no help at all.
I make it no secret how much I love to read, and though I cannot guarantee that my tastes in books will align with yours, I generally try to review and recommend only books that are worth your time. You can be mostly assured that if a book makes it to the review space on my blog, then it’s been worth my time.
Even then, there is the rare book that rises above the worth-your-time category and rests firmly in the you-must-read category.
Loveable is one of those books.
First, a couple of things you need to know:
Now, the book. What I’m about to say is rare:
You NEED to read this book.
About once a year, I read a book that I consider a must-read, and if I consider it a must-read, then I can’t stop talking about it or recommending it. Just recently, I recommended a book I read three years ago and can’t forget. Last year, I attended a writing conference for the first time so I could tell the author who was the keynote speaker how much one of his books changed me. If I consider a book must-read, I am practically evangelistic about it. (Annoyingly so, I know.)
If I could only recommend one book this year, it would be Loveable. And yeah, I understand that it’s only March. But what Kelly has to say here is not just important. It’s life-changing.
I have a lot of favorite lines in this book, so I won’t list them all here. But I do want you to get a sense for what the book is about and what it can do for your soul.
This was one of the first lines to speak to me:
From there, Kelly leads us through three acts of this play we call life: Worthiness, Belonging and Purpose. And he reminds us that this is not a linear, straightforward climb up a mountain. It’s more like circling the mountain on the way to the top. We will likely cycle through these three acts more than once in life.
It’s a beautiful journey. By first recognizing our worth and then reaching out to others, pursuing our passions (i.e. finding our purpose) becomes more meaningful because it is deeply rooted in a confident sense of who we are and have always been
Kelly speaks often of the Little One inside all of us, and I will admit that at first that seems awkward. But, when we examine our wounds and the needs we have, it’s not hard to accept that there’s a Little One who needs to know he or she is loved and accepted. (Fair warning: you might need to read with a box of tissues in one hand and the phone number of a good therapist in the other.)
To get the most out of this book, read with your heart and mind open to the possibility of a changed life. And while Kelly is a professing Christian, this book is accessible to those who might not share that belief.
Have I convinced you? If not, then hop on over to Ann Voskamp’s blog and read an excerpt from the book. Then decide. I hope you will say yes for you.
P.S. In case you’re curious, the other books I almost always recommend as must-reads are Outlaw by Ted Dekker and Sleeping in Eden by Nicole Baart. Both fiction.