There is a lot I don’t know these days.

Really, that’s true of us most of the time. There is always a lot we don’t know. There are just some days that we are more aware of what we lack than what we possess. Right now is one of those times for me.

I am aware of my own inadequacies, I realize how much I don’t know, and I am anxious about what the future may hold.

———-

Sometimes it is difficult to relate to the Psalms because David or other authors are seeking shelter from adversaries who are seeking their lives.

I don’t really have enemies. Not in the human form anyway.

Like many people, maybe like you, I do have things that I fight with on a regular basis. Fears. Worries. Expectations. Anxieties.

Sometimes my thoughts become my foes, breathing down my neck, pushing me to run and hide.

When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.
     In God, whose word I praise—
in God I trust and am not afraid.
What can mere mortals do to me? – Psalm 56:3-4 (NIV)

All I need to do is change one word the last line, and this could become my prayer for relief.

In God I trust and am not afraid
What can mere anxieties do to me?

God is eternal. Powerful. Loving. Gracious. Compassionate. Amazing. And He is with me.

You’ve kept track of my every toss and turn
through the sleepless nights,
Each tear entered in your ledger,
each ache written in your book. – Psalm 56:8 (The Message)

God knows. He sees when I struggle. The God who is with me notices my tears.

Sometimes when we are in the midst of difficulty, that is the thing we need most. Just for someone to notice. To say out loud, “I’m sorry this is so hard for you.” Even if that person can’t fix it, to acknowledge it, and to be with us in the midst of it.

But it goes further than that. God is not only with us, He is for us.

This I know, that God is for me. – Psalm 56:9b (ESV)

God is on our side against anything that would pull us away from His love. Like the hero in a romantic movie, He fights for us.

That doesn’t mean things are simple. God doesn’t always fight the way we want, in the timing we want, or against the things we want relief from the most.

I can’t explain why God works the way He does.

Yet even still, this is a truth that resonates. My heart knows it to be true, even when my mind doesn’t. Even when life doesn’t make sense, and my thoughts are whirling, I know it.

If I slow down, I can feel the words pump from my heart through my veins.

This I know, that God is with me, and God is for me.

I repeat these words as a prayer, and drive away the foes of my thoughts. If I trust in God, what can mere anxieties do to me?

I don’t know the details of what the future will hold.
Yet this I know, that God is with me, and God is for me.
I don’t know if I will be successful in my work.
            Yet this I know, that God is with me, and God is for me.
I don’t know if I am letting others down by the choices I am making with my time.
            Yet this I know, that God is with me, and God is for me.  
I don’t know if my quiet words are making any difference in this loud world.
            Yet this I know, that God is with me, and God is for me.

Add the link to your post about Psalm 56 below. Make sure to read someone else’s post, too! Or join next week with a post on Psalm 57.

Sometimes, getting a song stuck in your head is annoying. Other times, it is a gift.

As I look back on my years walking with God, He has often given me that gift. At key times of dependence on Him, times filled with uncertainty or pain or frustrations, a song has risen to the surface. A song that has just the right lyrics for me.

This song then plays on repeat in my heart. It is a reminder of what is important and why, and what the focus of my attention should really be.

The song becomes my prayer.

Right now, I am in a time of transition. Again. The questions of what this next season will bring overwhelm me at times. I wonder if I can do this new thing. I wonder what others are thinking of me. I wonder how everything will pan out.

I wonder about a lot. I am anxious about a lot.

But in the midst of this time, while I was on a run, God gave me a new song. It is a song that I knew, but it became new.

The song “Oh How I Need You” by All Sons and Daughters has become my new song. Since that run, I have listened to it every day, and sang it in my heart on repeat. It is my anthem. It is my prayer.

The bridge, especially, turns my soul towards what is true. The words lead my wonderings in the right direction- towards the God who will lead me.

This post is linking up with Lisa Jo Baker’s Five Minute Friday. A weekly prompt with strict instructions: write for 5 minutes and post. No over-editing. No do-overs. An practice of freedom. A way to let go of perfectionism. An exercise for some not often used writing muscles. Read more posts or link up over there. Today’s prompt was: SONG.
(Full disclosure: I write the post in 5 minutes, but I take a little extra time to find and create a graphic to go with it. I think that’s still okay according to the rules…)

A year ago, I wondered whether this would be the happiest year of my life.

I was turning 33, and research had come out that suggested that is our best year.

So, today, on my 34^th birthday, I am compelled to reflect.

It wasn’t an unhappy year, by any means. But I often equate happiness with ease, and it definitely wasn’t a year of smooth sailing.

In the last year, I moved across states for the second time in as many years. I transitioned from stay-at-home-mom to working-mom, back in the saddle of vocational ministry. I also transitioned into mom-of-a-school-age-child as my son entered kindergarten. (Boy, that transition made me feel old!) And, I spent much of the last 8 months sick with one bug or another as I caught all the germs brought home from the petri dish of elementary school.

I have had trouble keeping it all together. The blogging world has been slipping away from me, as I have struggled to keep up with writing posts, responding to comments, and reading the posts of others. I haven’t volunteered in my son’s classroom as much as I wanted, or even kept track of all the things we were supposed to be doing from home. There is a list of books I want to read and projects I want to do that seems to get longer every day.

It wasn’t a terrible year by any means. It fell as most years of our lives do, somewhere on the spectrum between difficult and easy, frustrating and euphoric. But was it happy?

I guess that depends how we define happiness. Is it laughter and light-heartedness, or is it something deeper?

What does happiness look like?

In the midst of transitions and frustrations, I entered another year of being me.

That means another year with the man I have been married to for over a decade. With each year that passes, with him and my children, I understand love on a new level. I experience the with-ness, and for-ness, and doing-life-together-ness of life and love, which is sometimes messy, but also amazing.

That means another year not being superwoman. Those unmet expectations and undone tasks bother me so much less than they used to. I am a human. I am not good at everything. And my worth is not defined by what I do. The deeper this lesson sinks into my soul, the more peace fills my days.

That means another year as a child of God. I am a child who is beloved no matter what, and is called to love in the same way. My faith is becoming less and less my performance, and more and more my roots.

That means another year of learning. Learning the value of pursuing possibilities instead of fearing disappointment. Learning to be in pictures instead of just taking them. Learning how much I know and how much I still have to discover. Learning to give and receive grace. Learning to stand on the solid Rock when waves of uncertainty are crashing all around my feet. Learning what are really the most important things in life.

Was this year filled with glee? No. But was it good? Absolutely.

Maybe happiness comes when we understand that it looks more like goodness than it looks like delight. And I am confident that there are more good things to come.

Steve Wiens is a gift to the blogging world. He is a pastor whose voice is a needed reminder of the power of vulnerability and authenticity. I’m lucky enough to live in the same city as him, and can tell you his real life presence is just as great as his online presence. I’m thrilled to have his words here as a guest post today.

Photo Credit: getorganizedwizard.com

If Psalm 55 were a blog post, the comments would be merciless. The writer might be reported to the police. But this wasn’t a blog post; it was a desperate prayer from a king who was at the end of his rope.

It begins with honesty: “Hear me and answer me. My thoughts upset me. I’m very troubled.”

Prayer is a time to bring to God what actually is, where you reveal the unvarnished reality of your life. And sometimes, the reality is: I’m not doing well. My thoughts upset me. I’m very troubled.

In this Psalm, it’s as if David sensed that God leaned in, paying close attention. This gives David freedom to be even more honest. It turns out his opening lines were a bit too edited.

In verses 4-5, David gets very real and very dark:

“I feel great pain deep down inside of me. The terrors of death are crushing me. Fear and trembling have taken hold of me. Panic has overpowered me.”

If this were your friend, you’d be alarmed. You’d start offering ridiculous and unhelpful things just to stop the hemorrhaging. You’d start looking for the little button underneath the desk that calls in the experts.

In verses 6-7, David seems to be suicidal, or close to it.

“I wish I had wings like a dove! Then I would fly away and be at rest.”

We finally understand why he’s so low when we get to verses 8-12: Random sinners are ruining his city, destroying the peace and he doesn’t seem to be able to stop it. And we get to the hardest truth in verses 13-15:

“But it’s you, it’s someone like myself. It’s my companion, my close friend. We used to enjoy good friendship as we walked with the crowds at the house of God. Let death take my enemies by surprise. Let them be buried alive, because their hearts and homes are full of evil.”

David is pouring out his desire for personal vindication because a close friend has betrayed him, and the pain is more than he can bear. It’s embarrassingly violent. Buried alive? How can someone pray that way?

And then in verses 16-18, it’s as if the fog clears. For a moment, David realizes that even if God answered that prayer – to let his enemies be buried alive – he needed something bigger.

“But I call out to God. And the Lord saves me. Evening, morning, and noon I groan and cry out. And he hears my voice. Even though many enemies are fighting against me, he brings me safely back from the battle.”

But then it turns dark again, beginning in verse 19 and through the end of Psalm 55. David goes from crying out to God, trusting God to do what is right, to once again praying for God to bring sinners down to the grave. No one can accuse David of holding back.

Then he ends with these five words:

“But I trust in you.”

How are we supposed to pray when we’re at the end of our rope? Here’s what I see in David’s prayer:

He’s not afraid to pour it all out, as ugly and vindictive as he actually feels. He doesn’t seem to be worried that God will edit him or tell him that praying for someone to be buried alive is perhaps a little over the top. This is bringing to God what actually is.

There are no pious clichés. It’s as if David doesn’t have time or energy for anything other than cold, stark reality. God can handle reality and we don’t have to hide behind the pretense that we believe something that we don’t.

He’s not demanding answers for why bad things happen. We can ask God anything, including the wonderful question why. But there comes a point in praying where we understand that no answer will suffice. David needs to know God is good, not why this tragedy happened. When we’re in this level of despair, answers don’t help, and God knows that.

Moses was good at praying desperate prayers as well. In Numbers 11:15, after complaining to God about how whiny the Israelites were, he prays this way:

“Is this how you are going to treat me? If you are pleased with me, just put me to death right now. Don’t let me live if I have to see myself destroyed anyway.” 

I love that prayer: Kill me now, God. As a leader and a parent, I’ve prayed that prayer a thousand times.

Psalm 55 teaches us that we need to bring our ugly, unvarnished, unedited, desperate thoughts to the one place that is safe: God’s presence.

And the more we do that, the more it really will be true when we say this to God: “But I trust in you.”

About Today’s Guest Blogger: Steve Wiens

I’m learning to embrace my actual life that actually exists in the actual universe. I’m a pastor and I love my congregation. It’s in the suburbs, where I live. I have three boys – Isaac, Ben, and Lige – little Jedi masters to whom I submit for learning the art of living as is. I’m married to a writer & poet; someone who knows how to make beautiful things and how to make things more beautiful. My blog is all about my journey in living as is instead of as if. And of course, it’s an invitation for you to join me on the adventure.

Add the link to your post about Psalm 55 below. Make sure to read someone else’s post, too! Or join next week with a post on Psalm 56.

The road to comfort is often paved with difficulty.

We often forget that part. But the word itself even implies it. If something is comforting, it’s because something happened to us, and we needed to be comforted. Comfort is a word spelled with the letters of longing and need.

Comfort does not come easy.

Even the meals that are our comfort foods are often the ones that cook and simmer all day long before their flavors reach our mouths.

The relationships we are most comfortable with? They usually have gone through many uncomfortable and frustrating moments to get to that place. We worked through them, and built trust, and now we feel, on a different level than before, that we are known.

Because in the end what comforts us most is the feeling we are cared about. And care does not come through quick fixes and easy answers. Comfort comes slowly, through crockpots more than microwave ovens.

Most of all, comfort is found in our patient God, who is slow to anger, quick to love. Who sits with us in our discomfort and comforts us with His presence to us through all the days of our lives.

This post is linking up with Lisa Jo Baker’s Five Minute Friday. A weekly prompt with strict instructions: write for 5 minutes and post. No over-editing. No do-overs. An practice of freedom. A way to let go of perfectionism. An exercise for some not often used writing muscles. Read more posts or link up over there. Today’s prompt was: COMFORT.
(Full disclosure: I write the post in 5 minutes, but I take a little extra time to find and create a graphic to go with it. I think that’s still okay according to the rules…)

It is said in the Scriptures that David is a “man after God’s own heart.” What does that mean when it describes a man who messed up in so many ways during his life?

Many people have theories. But the longer I have read the Psalms, so many of which were penned by him, the more convinced I am of why we could use those words to describe David.

David pursued God. He seemed to be, quite literally, after (pursuing) God’s heart.

When he faced a giant, he prayed for God’s strength. When he faced enemies, he prayed for God’s deliverance. When he faced his sin, he prayed for God’s forgiveness. When he faced his blessings, he prayed thanks for God’s faithfulness.

Over, and over, and over again, no matter the circumstances, David pursued God.

And what a reflection this is of God, who, no matter the circumstances, pursues us.

We seem to be fond of creating barriers between ourselves and God. We assume our sin is too much, and so we don’t want to get into the presence of a holy God before we get it under control. We absorb the messages we hear over and over again that we are “less than” and not good enough, and so we figure God must feel that way too, and we stay out of his way. We are distracted by lists and entertainment and obligations, and before we know it, all our time is spoken for, and there is none left for us to be still, and listen, and seek the presence of our God.

David lived without a barrier.

In Psalm 54, when he faces an enemy, he prays for God to save him,

Save me, O God, by your name;
    vindicate me by your might.
Hear my prayer, O God;
    listen to the words of my mouth. – Psalm 54:1-2

And he doesn’t try to clean up his feelings about that enemy before coming to God. He prays his honest thoughts. He hopes for God’s vindication, and leaves the matter in God’s hands.

And, then, while still in the midst of the difficult circumstances, David commits,

I will sacrifice a freewill offering to you;
    I will praise your name, Lord, for it is good.
 You have delivered me from all my troubles,
    and my eyes have looked in triumph on my foes. – Psalm 54:6-7

The freewill offering is a core expression of David’s faith. He is confident that nothing on this earth, trouble or enemies or the like, could keep him from participating in the practice. Nothing will keep David from pursuing the presence of God.

I went running yesterday. The first time in a long time. A very long time. It was slow and frustrating, but I showed up. I got out of bed, and I did it. I set aside time to pursue something that was important to me.

And as I ran (or maybe sauntered would be a better description), I thought about what it looks like to pursue God. To show up in His presence, over and over again. No matter our circumstances, no matter how pained or awkward or frustrated we feel, to do it. To pursue God as David did.

The sun was shining in the golden light of early morning. As I ran towards it, my headphones rang out with the anthem I needed. My heart sang along as my legs moved forward in rhythm.

“Light, Glorious Light
I will go where You shine.
Break the dawn, crack the skies
Make the way bright before me.
In Your light I will find
All I need, all I need is You.”

- All Sons & Daughters

This is the pursuit that matters most.

This is my reflection on Psalm 54. Up next week: A guest post from the amazing Steve Wiens on Psalm 55.

We often equate bravery with taking leaps. But I think more often, it is about taking steps.

It is about those ordinarily extraordinary moments when we choose to engage with life, instead of watch it from the sidelines.

We are brave when we pursue
the friendship with a new person who has come into our life.
or the difficult conversation with the person we have known for ages.

We are brave when we receive
the help when we need when we really need it.
or the compliment we tend to sweep away with our hand.

We are brave when we give
the piece of ourselves we usually protect
or the gift with no strings attached.

We are brave when we stay
when what we really want to do is go.

We are brave when we go
when what we really want to do is stay.

We are brave when we share,
when we love,
when we forgive
and when we hope.

We are brave when we bloom
without guarantee the snow won’t come back.
Knowing that we are called to bring beauty
into a dark and dreary world.
Understanding that the risk is worth it.

This post is linking up with Lisa Jo Baker’s Five Minute Friday. A weekly prompt with strict instructions: write for 5 minutes and post. No over-editing. No do-overs. An practice of freedom. A way to let go of perfectionism. An exercise for some not often used writing muscles. Read more posts or link up over there. Today’s prompt was: BRAVE.
(Full disclosure: I write the post in 5 minutes, but I take a little extra time to find and create a graphic to go with it. I think that’s still okay according to the rules…)

When I read Psalm 53, my privilege stares back at me from the page.

Psalm 53 is one of those passages many of us come across and think, “Hmm… what should I do with this one God?” It speaks in language of vindication and violence uncomfortable to our modern ears.

But the words that really get under my skin? They are words like these,

They are corrupt, and their ways are vile;
there is no one who does good.
Everyone has turned away, all have become corrupt;
there is no one who does good,
not even one.  – Psalm 53:1b, 3

I agree with this, theologically. I see brokenness in myself and in the world that point to the sin that has poisoned us all. And I believe that’s what the Bible talks about when it points to our need for redemption.

But in reality, I live as if all of us are basically good. I have a great life. It’s easy for me to see potential and beauty and positivity everywhere. Though this in some ways reflects seeing the image of God in each of us, it also reflects something else: my privilege.

I hardly ever confront evil in my day-to-day existence. Brokenness and problems, sure. The kind of evil and corruption that really show the depravity of this world? Those things are all an arm’s length or longer away from me.

I am a married, Caucasian, employed, middle class woman. I am not oppressed. I have rarely been victimized. I have access to food. In fact, I went to Costco today: I have access to excessive stores of food. I do not worry about having enough clothes to stay warm, I just worry about whether the ones hanging in my closet are fashionable enough.

I have a skewed perspective on suffering and evil.

I can analyze them and think about them, and wonder how I can help with them, but I do not have to face them. Not really. I can read a blog post that makes me think, and then go to my comfortable queen bed with the down comforter, and get plenty of rest for my day tomorrow.

And so, I’m uncomfortable when Psalm 53 says things like this,

God scattered the bones of those who attacked you;
you put them to shame, for God despised them. – Psalm 53:5b

I have some valid wonderings about where God’s grace comes into play, how all of this changes with Jesus. But also? I just want to skip these words, call them irrelevant Old Testament violence, and move on.

But then I wonder… How would I read these verses if I were among the attacked and oppressed? Would I have a different depth of longing for God’s vindication? Would I have a graver prayer, along with ancient Israel, for the time God would restore His people, bring His kingdom to this earth, and finally set things right? Would I more easily agree with God about how sinful the world really is?

Probably so.

I’m trying to become more aware of how I read the Bible, not only the ways in which original context comes into play, but in the ways my context comes into play. There are many layers to peel back. I guess I’ll take them on, one at a time.

(A side note: Psalm 53 is almost identical to Psalm 14. Interested in my reflection on that Psalm? Almost a year ago I wrote, “Am I a fool?” in response to it.)

Link up with your post on Psalm 53 below. Up next week? Psalm 54.

Friendships have always been difficult for me.

I think it’s because I put too much pressure on them to be something. To meet some sort of expectation of what friendship is supposed to look like. Before I even meet with someone the first time, I hope she will become my BFF. Then, if there is any moment of awkwardness, I become dejected, and am tempted to throw the blossoming relationship out the window.

I set friendships up for failure before they even begin.

In the past few years I have begun to experience friendships for what they are, as they go along. I am valuing the layers, the back and forth of different roles we play in each other’s lives at different times.

We don’t have to figure out what a friendship will become in order to enjoy it for what it is.

So, I am learning to pursue relationships with people, without an end goal in mind. Just during goals. To love. To see. To value. To share experiences. To do life together.

Friendships are flowers, blooming in different seasons. Their varying hues and fullness do not subtract from their beauty. The diversity is what makes them magnificent.

This post is linking up with Lisa Jo Baker’s Five Minute Friday. A weekly prompt with strict instructions: write for 5 minutes and post. No over-editing. No do-overs. An practice of freedom. A way to let go of perfectionism. An exercise for some not often used writing muscles. Read more posts or link up over there. Today’s prompt was: FRIEND.
(Full disclosure: I write the post in 5 minutes, but I take a little extra time to find and create a graphic to go with it. I can’t resist. I love that part of the process.)

Photo Credit: Susan NYC via Flickr Creative Commons

A cop pulled up behind me while I was driving yesterday.

I didn’t realize it at first, until I noticed the large grill and protruding side mirror. I looked at my speedometer. And then, became hyper aware that I didn’t actually know what the speed limit was on this road I drive every single day.

Soon, I discovered the speed limit was 25 miles an hour. Which felt like a painfully slow crawl for this last stretch of road before I arrived to work. A stretch I drive while running late, most days. Driving the speed limit was painful. I was certain a walker would pass me at any moment.

Which made me wonder… How fast do I usually drive on that road?

I mean, if the speed limit felt so absolutely dreadfully frustratingly sluggish, how far over that do I usually drive? The road is residential, but it has that wide lane, smooth blacktop, divided, and finished feel that invites my foot to press just a little harder on that gas peddle.

I know that I speed, but I am not that bad. Or am I? This scenario made me realize I haven’t been paying very close attention to how far I was pushing the limits.

Which made me wonder about something else… Is there anywhere else in my life where I have lost sight of how far I am going over the line?

One place that comes to mind is the place that always comes to mind with this question for me: my consumption of social media. I drive the road of blogging and Facebook and Twitter and Instagram every day. Fortunately or unfortunately, there is no external force that will police me. I have to keep my own boundaries. I have to ask myself, do I set limits the way I should?

Do I filter the content I read through history and academia and other more mainstream standards? Do I put down my phone enough when I’m with my kids? Do I separate my sense of worth from my amount of shares and likes and comments? Do I keep my footing on the solid Rock when the next big wave of whatever is rushing through the blogging world?

Sadly, the answer to all these questions is no.

And this post will become just one more thing to make me guilty about that. Will it change my behavior? I doubt it, to be honest. Not unless I find that thing that puts a check in my spirit like the cop car in the rearview mirror.

Figuring out how to draw these kinds of boundaries makes me frustrated about the free agency God has given us. I want to know what is right and what is wrong. How much is too much. I desperately want the Bible to have verses about how to use the Internet.

But it doesn’t. God leaves those kinds of decisions to us. Which in the end, we probably actually appreciate more. Even if it feels like it’s worse sometimes.

Perhaps, then, the best next step is to do the spiritual practice of examen more often. To consciously and deliberately and quietly think back on each day when I reach the end of it. To remember the times Jesus was with me. To feel how God was guiding me. To recognize the times I pressed that gas pedal a little too hard.

Then, the next day, I can start with that view in my rear view mirror. And hopefully, set the boundary a little tighter.

What do you think? Do you have areas in your life in which you have lost sight of the speed limit?