Peacemaker.

"God blesses those who work for peace, for they will be called the children of God" Matthew 5:9 NLT

I kept telling myself this over and over again yesterday.  And still it was hard.  This morning, I went to look up the reference, and I noticed something about the Beatitudes- each of those Christ calls Blessed- it isn't easy, fun, or even generally desirable.  Poor in spirit, those who mourn, meek, lowly, merciful, hunger and thirst for justice, peacemakers, persecuted, mocked. 

Doing what is right, trying to mend those relationships torn by hurt feelings, misunderstandings and such is hard and heart-wrenching.  I think it gives us a glimpse of The Father's Heart- if we can see the brokenness, and cry for those relationships- how much more does it hurt Him to watch his children squabble?

So many times this happens to me.  It's part of who I am that I tend to see both sides of an argument- and feel the validity of each point.  When the conflict is between two friends, I cannot take sides. 

I end up in the role of peacemaker- or at least trying- to help each side understand the other- translate the points into what the other will understand.  It hurts, and oftentimes I am accused of being wishy-washy, not being a good friend to one or the other, or just flat ignored.

I think what seems to make it worse is that on the outside, I don't appear to be as broken as I feel about it all.  Between the anti-depressants I take, and the fact that I've had to train myself to keep my emotions inside, I may look calm, but my heart is weeping. 

(Josiah overreacts to other people's emotions and pain- especially mine, so I have to keep it from him. I grew up being told I was overemotional, so I hold it in as much as possible.)

So my heart cries today.  I did what I could yesterday, trying to help, trying to keep my focus and attention on what needed to be done- loving everyone in my circle, being teacher, mom, and friend.  Now I have the opportunity to let it out, to curl up on the couch with my snuggly Gracie and whimper, and hope that in my own struggle, I've not lost the closest friend I've had in years just because I'm trying to be a peacemaker.

Loved

Sometimes it takes falling flat on your face to see how many hands are there to help you up.

My allergies kicked in yesterday.  My first reaction was "Great- the day before I have a solo."  I medicated, warmed up, hydrated, and prayed.  (notice the order..)

This morning, my thoughts were still the same.  I kept trying to figure out why this had to happen today.  Eventually, I thought I had it- trust.  I needed to trust and give my voice over to the One I sing for- let Him sing.  I prayed and tried to get my heart right in the last 15 minutes before the offertory.

I strode up there, ready.  Then... well, as Josiah and others reminded me- at least I didn't give up.

When I finally opened my eyes and started walking down from the platform, I saw two friends waving me over to them from the front pew.  I collapsed into their hugs.  As the service ended and people started moving around, I was surrounded by more and more hugs.  More 'good job's than if I had performed perfectly.  And one of my little girls telling me that it was okay and I should stop shaking.

And in the middle of all that, I had almost missed something so sweet:

  I always bring a mug of tea with me to drink during Sunday school.  After class, I've finished it, so I rinse it out and re-fill it with a can of DrPepper.  A few times lately, I haven't had enough change, so I've had to skip the DrPepper.  Josiah noticed.  Today, when I got into the sanctuary, he handed me a DrPepper can.  I found later that he had brought change from his piggy bank to make certain I could have my drink.  I was so worried about that song, I'd almost missed what a beautiful thoughtful thing Josiah had done.

Tomorrow I'm wearing a t-shirt that says 'princess' on it.  I surprised myself a bit that I even bought it.  And I nearly balked at ever wearing it.

But I can, and I will, because I am loved.

Distractions

I often do crochet work during the sermon at church.  (Yes, the pastor knows- Josiah insisted on the front row for a couple years.) 

For a couple decades now, I've had trouble staying awake during the sermon.  I doesn't have anything to do with the subject, preacher, or how much sleep I've gotten.  (though the sleep issue does help)  I noticed I had the same problem staying awake during classes that were between 10 and 12 as well.  (Angela- if you're reading this, I know you're laughing!)  I sat in choir lofts most of my college years- and several after that, and the job of the person next to me was to keep me from falling over.  Most of the ways I could think of to stay awake were to distracting, and I still would miss the teaching.

So eventually I discovered if I did some sort of work with my hands that didn't take much concentration, I could stay awake and be able to pay attention to the sermon.

Learning how to crochet made it easy.  I keep a project in a bag and ready to go every Sunday.  Scarves, blankets, etc.  I consider them extra-blessed since the majority of the work done on them is during the sermons.  They take a long time to finish that way, but the point is to keep me alert.  With my fingers busy, I can focus on the lesson- on the Word, and not be distracted my trying to stay awake- or anything else, really.  (And I get distracted pretty easily these days.)

Right now I'm working on a baby blanket.  It's taken long enough that who it's for has changed twice, and may again.  I've been going along well on it, but the skein of yarn got so tangled, I'm having to re-roll the ball- while it's still attached to the partially-made blanket.  So that's my Sunday project at the moment- untangling yarn.

A few minutes into the sermon, I heard the lady behind me 'whisper' to her husband that my yarn was too distracting.

My Yarn? 

I could understand if made noise, or I was throwing it around, but it was all either on my lap or beside me on the pew.  And I admit I've done far more potentially distracting things over the years, including nursing Grace.

And this after a reminder to not let my Worship become distracting while on praise team.  I didn't think distraction would be a problem on one of the back pews...

So there was my quandary:  Do I put away the busywork that's helping me focus because it is disrupting someone else?  Or should I continue my focus on what I'm learning, and not worry with what someone shouldn't really be bothered with in the first place?

I know I put this out on Facebook- and even on a couple other sites as something written by a fictional character, but here's my resolution of sorts.

To be bold in love
To believe in God working through me
And to believe that I am lovely too

You are Beautiful

You are Precious

You are Worthwhile

You are Amazing

How often do I say this

And mean every word?

How often do I show love

Though the other may not see?

Tell someone they are wonderful

Tell someone they are good

Beg them to see themselves

The way my heart does

All are beautiful the way they are

Their stories worth telling-

Worth being heard.

One only do I not say this to

One only I do not hold as dear-

That one would be me.

So I write this for myself now

Inscribe it on my heart

Write it on the walls

To remember at every turn:

Tell the world it is Beautiful

Never forget that you are too.

The love, the grace you show

Given so freely to all

Is given to you as well.

You are loved just as you are

Be bold with your heart

Knowing this does not change.

You are steadfast

Believing the best of others

No matter what may be

Know others see you

With the same love you show

Listen

Believe

You are beautiful as well.

Courage

Courage.

I wrote the word on my arm yesterday in sharpie, and re-wrote it today.  I'll go over it again in the morning.
Why?

I stepped out on a limb a couple times last week- told some dear friends exactly how bad I've been feeling.  How broken I've been.  Apparently I've hidden it well- too well.  "If you're having that much trouble and still laughing, I'm really worried about folks who aren't..."  I decided on Wednesday I would talk to one of two friends.  I ran into both together in a hallway with noone else.  Coincidence?  ha!  Then Sunday I snagged another dear friend and talked with her too.  I got this from her the next morning.

When I asked God what He would like me to pray for you - what His heart and will are for you, He said one word "courage". So I am praying for you to be filled with His love, to sense the greatest measure of His Presence in your daily life so that you can be filled and empowered with the courage that emanates from Him. (Eph 3:16-  May He grant you out of the rich treasury of His glory to be strengthened and reinforced with mighty power in the inner man by the Spirit. )

 It wasn't the word I would have chosen or expected.  But the more I dwelt on it- the more I prayed, I saw how truly I need it. 

I am constantly in fear that what I do isn't good enough, my gifts and skills are not sufficient to the task.  And this is where my insecurity lies.

But -my- gifts and -my- skills aren't what counts.  It's God's grace and power working through me.  The talents He's given me.  And He's more than enough.

All I need is the courage to step back and let Him work.

Broken

A few weeks ago, the pastor gave a description of someone who is broken.  It was like looking in a mirror. 

That's the best way to describe how I've been feeling.  Broken.  Heart, soul, body.  I can't seem to get things together, and feel like I'm falling so far short of what I should be- who I should be.  Even when I know the only person whose expectations I'm not living up to is myself.

And it's not getting easier.  For hours every day I want to curl up in a corner and bawl my eyes out.

Where do I start when the weight of everything makes my back ache more than carrying Gracie on a fussy day?  What can I do when I'm fighting to keep my family happy, but can hardly find any joy myself.

Tears are falling now.  Tears that have been held back for weeks.  I have to hide them from Josiah, and it's not easy.  I tell Matt it's just the 'yuck' and go on.  Not that he believes me, but he'll leave it at that. 

Lord help me.  Only You can provide the bandages, the cure I need.  I cannot do this alone.

fear and wonder

I've been working with kids, mostly through the church, since I was probably 13. VBS, Sunday school, camps- tons of them.

I was sitting with a darling little first-grade girl this morning, and realized that dozens of times I've brought a child to the brink of salvation- and deferred them to someone else.  I guess part of me had decided my job was before and after that step:  bring them to the door of the Throne room, then disciple them once someone more knowledgeable led them to the Throne itself.

Today, there was no one to defer her to.  She wanted to ask about it, and she trusted me with it.  I stumbled over my words, trying to come up with a way to phrase questions, to see how much she understood.  I know I must have said some of the same things more than once, but there was understanding in her face.

An inaudible "Daddy help me" prayer later, and she began spilling out her heart.  She understands.  I have no doubts this little one is firmly in His Hands.  She told me how desperately she's been trying to tell her family and friends about Christ.  She gave me a long list of names, telling me she tries, but they just won't listen.  I asked how old the kids were she was talking to. Most were 10-15.  So this is an 8-year old fervently witnessing to her dad and teenagers.  She wants them to find a church, but mostly, she wants them to love God like she does.

I encouraged her as I could, and prayed over her.  As I told folks later, though she may never have gone through the process of 'being saved' in a church setting, she is.  Her heart is firmly His.  This was childlike faith sitting in the hallway on the old choir risers with me.

She may not have prayed aloud with me, but I know God knows the heart.  As one of the songs we're learning this week says, "He hears every prayer before we even pray it."  It's the change in the heart, or the reassurance in Mandy's case, not the words.

He can use even my stumbling disorganized mess.