Kookie Cut-Outs by Rachel Britz

Waiting is hard, especially when we are in a hurry. It feels like we’re always scrambling, especially during the Christmas season. We often feel more depleted, tired and totally worn out.

But it doesn’t have to be that way!

I’ve discovered that one of the greatest resources of replenishment is a few moments of quiet each day. A hard habit to form, indeed, but once you’ve pushed through the threshold of resistance…the rewards are spectacular, full of life renewed.

So, do yourself a favor this Christmas and give yourself the gift of quiet time, space to remember and dwell on God’s goodness to YOU. Reflecting, thanking and laying low are wholesome ingredients. Some of the best gifts are worth fighting for, doncha’ know!

This Advent, as you prepare to give yourself the gift of solitude, consider one of these 5 great books to help acquaint you with the Reason for the Season.

I’ve listed them for your personal preview. Click on the links below to preview and order the book that best suits you. Blessings & peace this holiday season. xo

1.) Come, Lord Jesus: The Weight of Waiting by Kris Camely

2.) A Moment of Christmas: Devotions for Time-strapped Moms by Anna Rendell

3.) The Greatest Gift: Unwrapping the Full Love Story of Christmas by Ann Voskamp

4.) 25 Days of Christmas: A Devotional for Incredibly Busy People by Ray Hollenbach

5.) 10 Days of Christmas: A Baker’s Advent Devotional by Rachel Britz

** BONUS! ** What I’m reading this Advent

The King is Coming: Coming Alive at Advent by Jennifer Hand

Julie met me at Panera in mid-September, a few weeks after Atta Girl moved in. As I slid into our booth, I could feel the net of safety wrap around my shoulders like a shawl. The weight of saying yes to something bigger than myself filled my eyes with tears, again. Julie knows everything. She’s been with me on this journey from the beginning. From that very day, nearly 5 years ago, while worshiping at church, when God chose to give me the vision of a woman in an apartment in Kasota. On that bizarre day, God spoke three words to me. “She’s in there,” the gentle voice echoed over the movie reel playing in my mind. It was a call that set a deep conviction in my bones. So I went to her. And that is how we met.

I look up at Julie and her eyes are filled with tears, too. She slides a book across the table. “You need to read this,” she says. The title of the book is When Heaven Weeps. It’s an older book written by the iconic Ted Dekker.

When I leave Panera I feel lighter. A crown of encouragement is placed on my head and it helps me to stand a little bit taller. Julie believes in me. She champions me for life the way I champion for Atta Girl.

I read the book in a few weeks, deeply moved by the fictional storyline of a strung out woman who is fleeing for her life. She has a radical encounter with a man that marks him so deeply, he cannot turn his back on her. The man has a war-torn past, and now, years later, though it isn’t the same, he has great compassion for the demons this woman is wrestling. One theme in the story seems to stand out, it’s the ebb and flow of the strung out woman. She receives the man’s hand of help and then continues to run away from him and back to her old life of ruin. Again and again. Back and forth. Ebb and flow. I’m struck by the similarities of this fictional story to the reality of ours. It’s a bit frustrating to read, more so to live.

***

It’s a cold January day and a lot has transpired since September. A lot of back and forth. The tug of war is very real. But for the past 40 days, after entering into a local rehabilitation program, Atta Girl has stayed. Her mind becoming clearer with each passing day. Her staying muscles, day-by-day, appear to be getting stronger.

My plan was to write an update on Monday night. The prior weekend was quite disturbing after I received a freakish text from Atta Girl saying that a new resident had arrived at the facility. Her ex-boyfriend! The one whom we fought to rescue her from 5 years ago. The one who broken bones and broke her face. The one who nearly suffocated her death was now residing two doors from her. We decide to go get her immediately because it is not safe for her to co-exist with this person. We pick her up and navigate the logistics of temporarily removing her from the program until the issue can be resolved. It’s a bit harrowing for three days, unsure which direction the program will take her. Eventually, we learn that the ex-boyfriend is discharged. Atta Girl returns peacefully and the world sits right on its axis. Another victory post, that was the plan.

But on Monday night, before I get a chance to sit down and write, I get a call from the program. She’s gone. She packed a tote of her belongings and left in an unknown vehicle. I reach out to her and she responds, “I’m ok. I’ll call you when I’m ready to talk…” I haven’t heard from her since.

Unlike the fictional story that ends with a bright shiny bow, we now live in the in-between. Two worlds fighting for one victory. Good vs. Evil. Light vs. Dark. Call it what you will, but Heaven weeps over a daughter who does an about face to march along pebbled paths of ruin. When Heaven weeps, it’s a rally cry for the saints.

Pray, good friends. God loves this one dearly.

To be continued…

On Monday night I received a text from her lawyer. She’s in jail. Again. My heart sank. But I wasn’t surprised by the news. I already knew. I had a feeling. A quick search gave me the inmate visiting hours. I look at my watch. I have one hour. So I grab my keys and go.

I’ve been going to her for four years. One rescue after another. One hug after another. One unbelievable story of survival and grace and Oh My God after another. We swing on a vine from freedom to failure; back and forth, back and forth.  She loves God. And he loves her. But she is bound by forces of darkness that nature’s view can plainly see. It’s ugly. A monstrosity.

Her heart, though. Her precious heart. Few can see her beauty. It draws me in. Few understand her ways. I know the bigger story. She is a daughter. A sheep. Who in the world would ever know? God does. So do I.

I know the pendulum swinging vine; being tethered to a force that pushes and pulls. I, also,  know the freedom of being cut loose; set free.

We make a plan. Once released from jail I will pick her up. She confesses her desire, she doesn’t want to go back home. So much sorrow. And misery. She confesses she’s sorry, again, for the mess. I forgive. Tell her I love her. We make a plan for a new day. I will take her in. I hope she can heal. I want her to live, to be free.

The new day arrives. My alarm goes off. It’s 5:15am. I already have a message waiting. “I’m at home,” she says. She chooses to go back to the dangerous ruin. My heart sinks. Her return will keep her bound, this I know. But the familiar old way brings her back to the fold.

The lie penetrates my inmost being and I’m shocked by the return. I wonder what in the world it’s doing here, in my mind. I hate the lie. Then God whispers, Let’s stay free. I choose to stay.

I go back to bed. I pray for her freedom, while staying my own.

Graham Cooke says, “In any fight there are two battles, one to get free and another to stay free because it’s one thing to break out but another to break in.”

This I know: Freedom from Egypt is only the beginning. Moving forward becomes an issue of territory. There is a piece of land with she and I’s name on it, a promised place, a new dwelling. In order to claim it, we must fight for it. And once we conquer it we must fight all hell to protect it.

One time, while scrolling through Facebook, I saw the sweetest picture of a mother and her high school son all suited up for his big football game. The mother’s caption gushed with goodness because her son was growing oh-so-big, now surpassing his mother in height. As I read her enduring post, the endnote caught me a bit off guard as she declared a word of encouragement to young mothers everywhere by saying, “hang in there, this parenting thing definitely gets easier.”

I wish I could agree that it gets easier. Sure, some things get easier, but in my experience there is an exchange for a different sorta hard. The truth is that mothering is hard, through all the seasons. The journey to young adulthood is complicated. Equally, the path to re-learning how to parent a young adult can be discombobulating. There is no Forever Field Guide to Successful Parenting. What works for you, may not work for me; what works for child A may not work for child B; what is easy for you might be hell for me.

While mothering may be hard, it is not hopeless.

We are all mothers. We are all nurturing, holding, loving, taking care of, or giving birth to something. The reality is that there simply isn’t a one size fits all manual for mothering our hope.

I’m enjoying this sweetly written book by Winn Collier. In one scene the main character stumbles upon a baby bluebird that has tumbled out of the nest too soon. The character goes on to say,

“Eventually, I walked on. I don’t know the fledglings fate, but I do know that mama blue did all she could manage. She couldn’t return her chick to safety. She could only circle near, watch with care, and offer the best she had to give, no matter how meager. So she stayed close and hoped favor would bend their way. I think this is how it is for most of us who love someone or carry concern for this world. We will never be able to right all wrongs or heal every wound. We cannot keep harm from those dearest to us. To love is to do our best and then hope, to have faith. Often, love means simply circling and staying near -trusting that this will somehow prove enough.”

This is the hope I’m talking about. Our mothering can carry us so far, but ultimately there will always be circumstances that fall out of our hands. The dream goes a different direction. The picture takes on a different shape. The life-form we love is still becoming. Our hope? Stay near. Keep circling. Swallow the pill of trust and let it bring life to your bones.