In the Ceasing: Letting Go of All the Striving

“Cease from striving.” 

‘I’m not striving, I’m working.’ 

“Cease from striving.” 

‘These are good things!’ 

“Cease from striving.”

‘What does that even mean? How do I cease from striving when I have so much on my plate?’ 

“Cease from striving.” 

This has been my dialogue with God over the last two years. A simple whisper. Almost audible. Three words: Cease from striving. 

And I’ve fought it with every ounce of my being. I have held tightly to my plans in such a clinched-fist way that my spiritual muscles cramp and yet still I have refused to admit: this is the life that God has given me and it is His to plan, not my own.

Two years ago when we made the cross-country, cross cultural trek to where we are now, no one told me how to go from the high-energy, high-need, triage of life in the Amazon to homeschool mom in the aisles of Walmart. 

My proverbial tool bag was full of machetes and stitches and tourniquets for the many crises of life overseas and now I found those completely useless in the decision making tasks of grocery shopping and picking homeschool curriculum. 

And no one understood me. Including me. 

There, our home was full of people day in and day out, friends and strangers, like-minded and nearly hostile. But we sat and we talked and we shared and we lived and it was hard but good. A rich life of relationships. 

Here, we lived an entire six months at an apartment where I never once so much as saw my immediate neighbors. (Though I know they existed because we once received a noise complaint.)

It’s taken me two whole years to decide that maybe God was not telling me to cease from working (how I had been interpreting it) but to really cease from... striving.

(Imagine that. God meaning what He said.)

But still I am left with the resounding question of, “What DOES that look like?”

I’m learning it looks like this:

If that relationship is meant to be reconciled, He will reconcile it. 

If that goal is to be attained, He will bring it to pass. 

If I am to do anything at all, He will guide me... one painstaking step at a time. 

My role is that of obedience in the humdrum, not-a-soul-knocking-at-my-door day to day. 

My role is a step of faith across the street last night to my neighbor’s house. The one I’ve chatted with across the fence line a handful of times since moving to this house a year and a half ago but never truly engaged with because I was so unsure in this culture of closed doors and busyness of how I could relate to her. 

Imagine my surprise when she pulled up a chair for me and we sat for an hour and a half in the light of the flood lamp her husband used to diligently repair his truck. The fire ants bit my leg as I strained to hear her share her story over the sound of the train in the background and the airplanes overhead. Perhaps for the very first time it felt like a taste of home in this desert land. 

And my heart nearly skipped a beat when she said she’d lived on this street for many years and still didn’t know her neighbors because it seems as though here in this culture people simply come home and shut their doors. 

“And the saddest part,” she said with earnest, “is that no one seems the least bit bothered by what they’re missing.” 

It took great restraint not to leap up and hug her in that very instant. Instead I simply stated, “YES! I’ve been saying this, too!” 

She shared of her father leaving her when she was six along with her mother and younger siblings. How she took on a mothering role and worked hard, but relationships were always of utmost importance. When they moved here to the US hoping for a better future, she discovered that there was a lot of.... striving here. But little in the realm of genuine relationships among neighbors. 

Be still my soul. 

We talked and we laughed until 10pm. 

And this beautiful conversation came hot on the heels of a day of striving. Dear Jesus, I strove that day with every ounce of human effort I could muster. And to no avail. And I’m convinced that Jesus meant for exactly that to happen. For me to strive, fail.... and then find Him in the simple obedience of one foot in front of the other across the street. No expectations or goals. Just obedience. 

I had still been rummaging through this old tool bag, the one I had lugged back with me from a life overseas, convincing myself that these tools were indeed useful for this season of life.  How could they not be? But it turns out that a tourniquet for a scraped knee was a bit excessive. And this machete was of little value in this desert terrain. 

No, I would need to trade these more primitive (though once appropriate) tools in for more suitable ones. Like maybe a pencil and a notebook to process the journey thus far. Maybe band-aids and long walks behind my kids riding freely on their bicycles. Perhaps quiet moments with Jesus without the world falling in around us. All tools that were not readily available before, in the hostile and demanding terrain of jungle life. 

I can stop all the striving now and live here. I can be present and it doesn’t negate the past. My life can not look like I ever thought it would and yet I can find Jesus here, too, patiently speaking to me. 

Two years of Him whispering. 

Not long after we moved here, He gave me a verse

“I labor for this, striving with His strength that works powerfully in me.” (Colossians 1.29)

I didn’t pay much attention to it, honestly. I read it and read it and knew it meant something for me, but I wasn’t ready yet to cease my striving so I wrote it on a chalk board and put it above the kitchen sink. I think only now it’s sinking in: 

It’s by His strength in me that anything is ever accomplished through me. 

How basic is that? (And how hardheaded must I be for it to take this long?) 

Oh, He’s a patient God. And from here on I choose to imperfectly cease from striving. To “let it be” as the Beatles so wisely admonished us. To take a step when I should and wait when I shouldn’t. Because one day I’ll need to trade out these tools for new ones as well. And He'll equip me anew. 

But for now, these are just the ones I need. 

Thankful Thursday: Spilled Water

I all but collapsed in the bed, exhausted physically, mentally, emotionally.

I had made a rookie missionary mistake earlier that day, one that cost us 3,000 liters of precious rainwater. Three. THOUSAND. Liters. In dry season, no less.

I had opened the upper tank valve to fill our cistern in an effort to prevent the pump from going dry as it often times does when it gets low. I was trying to help Richard, who was walking to town to get groceries in the sweltering heat because our motorcycle had been stolen, to check one more thing off the to-do list. In all my busyness, I completely forgot I had opened the valve until who even knows how many minutes later when Elliott came running in, “Mama!”

“Wait, son,” I quickly replied, trying to carry on a conversation with an indigenous friend who was over.

“Mama….” He said again, more persistent.

“Elliott, just a minute son,” was my answer, still not sensing the urgency.

“Mama, there is water back here.”

“Elliott, I said just a…. Wait, what?”

That’s the moment I looked out and saw our precious drinking, bathing, everything else water pouring out, watering the dirt on the ground.

It is possible you have never seen someone run so fast.

As I uttered words of disbelief and shut off the valve, I climbed up to the top water tank to see the damage. Just as I suspected, it was nearly empty. Wasted.

My efforts to alleviate one more item on the to-do list turned into a stern conversation with the kids that if they so much as LOOKED at a sink faucet without asking first, there would be consequence. And don’t even THINK about flushing a toilet unless prior approval is given.

When Richard got back, I broke the news. His shoulders slumped and he let out a sigh.

And then he said, “Oh well.”

He let it go. Just like that, he let it go.

I had just spent the last hour beating myself up and wondering how in the world I could forget something that important. I was thinking about how it had not rained for days and who knew when it would rain again and how we would have to conserve every last drop and… he let it go.

Because you know what? What else can you do? We certainly couldn’t stir up some rain clouds to refill our tanks. And we could freak out and talk about all the ways that our life just became more difficult. And we could regret mistakes and get frustrated and angry, but what would that do?

So I let it go, too. I stopped beating myself up about it and guess what: it rained last night. It didn’t rain because we let it go and we didn’t let it go because we knew it would rain. But it made the rain that much sweeter knowing that God knows our needs.

And even if it hadn’t rained, He has our back. He allows us to make mistakes like that one so that we can learn the practice of letting things go.

I am trying to apply this to other areas of my life as well. In little things, like when our son spills ANOTHER glass of water on the floor, I let it go. Or bigger things, like when our plans for the holidays are potentially changing again, I let it go. When a fellow missionary says untrue things about us, I let it go. When I am tempted to get stressed out about the future, I let it go.

If I say with my mouth that God is sovereign [Phil 2.13] and that he plans our days before they even begin [Psalm 139.16] and that He is loving and trustworthy even when we don’t understand the ‘why’ of our life [Isaiah 55.8-11], then I need to let those truths filter into my life. And that manifests itself in letting things go. It is exhibited by not getting so worked up when things don’t go ‘my way’. It is expressed when my children see that Mama and Daddy don’t get all up in arms when life gets stressful (or when it seems life is always stressful).

So today I am thankful for spilled water and reminders that life is better when we let it go and trust the Lord.

We are just walking on this beautiful, messy journey and we can do so in peace, knowing He has this whole thing figured out. And He will be sure to send the rain when the time is right.

Thankful Thursday posting began when I worked full-time outside the home and I always dreaded Thursday... because they stood in the way of Friday! So I began blogging what I was thankful for to help give a positive spin to the day. After a couple years of absence, I decided it was a good habit to pick back up. What are you thankful for today? Post it below or link up to your own blog! I'm happy for you to join me. 

Five Things You Should Know About Motherhood

I wasn't there, but I think I know the look on your face when you saw those two pink lines. And then you looked at the instructions at least 37 times because you were sure that you must have misunderstood how to hold the stick or pee on it the right direction. Or maybe two lines was a negative? Or maybe you just needed another cup of coffee and there was really only one line?

But no, it was a positive.

And for about three minutes and twenty-two seconds, you have instantly become the happiest person on planet earth.  You're thinking of how to tell your husband and then extended family and before you know it you already have color schemes and names picked out.

But then at the three minute and twenty-three second mark, you thoughts dramatically change and all of a sudden you're thinking about that glass of wine you had at dinner three nights ago and wondering if he or she will somehow glean only your less favorable features and if you will know how to properly install a carseat and before you know it you're ready to dial CPS and give them a nine-month heads up of your impending parenthood.

These things--they're normal.

For the next nine months, you will find yourself experiencing the entire spectrum of emotions from "I'M GOING TO BE A MOOOOM!!" to "I should put this poor kid up for adoption right now."

But when that sweet thing comes into this world, you find that all those emotions melt away. The pains of pregnancy will pass and you will enter a whole new world that will leave you thinking:

"Is there anyway I can stuff this child back into my abdomen?"

Here's why:

1) Parenting is hard.

The old saying is true. Any one can have a kid, but it takes someone really out-of-their-mind crazy to buckle down and parent that thing. Or something along those lines...

The reality is there are some things no one can prepare you for. Like the competition that is motherhood. How every one around you will instantly have an enlightening suggestion on how to stop the crying, get them to sleep through the night, and survive their first cold. There are hundreds of books and thousands of articles, most of which contradict and negate the others. And they are all "right". And that's just for the first year...

The truth is there is no handbook for parenting. No "one-size-fits-all" method. It's just straight up hard.

2) You will cry. Probably a lot and probably often.

There are going to be times that you collapse into bed at night (or at 3am as the case may be) and congratulate yourself on being the worst mom in the history of ever.

You will think of all the ways you should have done it differently and how you could have done better and the next day you will suggest to your husband that you go ahead and open a savings account to pay for your child's inevitable need for counseling.

You just aren't going to be perfect and sometimes you will run to the bathroom, close the door, and cry.

3) You may want to return your child. Possibly before even leaving the hospital.

When you have just finished your seventh green-poop filled diaper IN A ROW and you are covered in spit up and you can't remember if you took a shower yesterday or if that was three days ago, it's very possible that your mind will wander back to the good ole days when you slept until 8am because you could. You will be tempted to riminesce about those times you ran into the grocery store without having to unload 35lb carseat only to find that those Huggies actually AREN'T leak proof.

There will be times you "remember when" and it may unleash the floodgates as mentioned in point number two.

4)  You will be tired almost all the time and will forget everything. And you will forget everything.

Inevitably you will finally build up the courage to go to Wal-Mart after that last diaper adventure and get to the very back of the store when your baby will promptly start screaming at the top of his lungs. "That's ok," you'll think to yourself as you reach in the diaper bag (that is taking up the entire back of the shopping cart). "I have your paci... Riiiight here.... Shhhh... It's ok..... Mommy has your paci.... WHERE IS THAT FREAKIN' PACIFIER!?" And then you will glance up awkwardly as you realize the entire cold-foods section was privy to your most recent display of both exhaustion and forgetfulness.

5) Parenting will change your marriage.

It's all fun and games until your husband tries to sleep through his turn to feed the baby at 2:30am--for the third night in a row. Then it's on.

You will argue over who changed the last poop diaper and who in the world bought non-organic baby food! It sure wasn't me... Are you trying to kill our child?!

You will have times that you give him that "if-you-touch-me-I-will-show-you-seven-new-kinds-of-crazy" look because while he engaged in adult conversation all day, you washed six loads of laundry (how does this pint sized child get so dirty?!), ate leftover macaroni and cheese for lunch, changed 23 diapers, and become fluent in infantese. All on two and a half hours of sleep. The last thing you feel is "in-the-mood".

When you finally do get a child-free date, you will find yourselves talking about the baby you just high-five'd about leaving at Maw-Maw's and Paw-Paw's.

Now, before you hate me and deem me the worst friend ever for sharing these truths, let me share a few corresponding things I've learned in my the-days-are-long-but-these-four-years-have-flown-by parenting adventures.

1) You are not the first person to do this.

Generations of moms have produced children that have turned into thriving adults. After all, the human race is still here.

So while er'body and their mama is trying to tell you how it's done, follow your instinct. Pray about it. Glean advice from people you trust. Then throw out what doesn't work for your family, along with the guilt you're tempted to hold onto.

And remember that babies all around the world survive just fine without that fancy teething giraffe and baby wipe warmers.

2) Crying doesn't mean your weak. Most likely it means you are trying your best.

Those pictures you see on Facebook from those super moms who kids are always in new clothes and sporting a big smile eating made from scratch muffins? That's their highlight reel. They may have just come out of the bathroom from their hourly cryfest because she just changed her spit-up covered shirt for the third time today after she burned the first batch of sugary delights.  

No one posts pictures of that.

So let yourself cry. But also pick yourself up. You can do this and it is worth it. Some days will be easier and  there will always be bright moments sprinkled in. That's called God's grace. Bask in it.

3) There are no returns or exchanges on these little humans. I asked.

Turns out that's ok, because God picked you to be this one's mom. That doesn't mean it'll be easy (re: point number one) or that you will know what the heck you're doing at any given moment. It just means that He's going to equip you and grow you and change you and hold you and listen to you and understand every emotion as you walk this road. And He's gonna use you to have a huge impact on this little life.

So go ahead and own this little one. Cover him with prayer. Ask God for wisdom. Get in the floor and play. Laugh at your mistakes. Give yourself grace. Allow yourself to be human.

4) Try to sleep when the baby sleeps.

But also realize you're still going to wake up tired whether you sleep for 30 minutes or 30 hours (don't count on that last one).

It's just part of this parenting thing.

And you can try to pack that diaper bag in advance but you will inevitably forget something as basic as diapers from time to time. Laugh about it. And be thankful that you have 23 stores that sell diapers within a 3 miles radius of wherever you are.

5) I'm gonna park here for a minute.

Never forget that you got into this situation together and you are both new at this thing. Lean into one another, don't push against each other.

Don't push against each other.

Show grace. Laugh OFTEN. Forgive. Let go. And enjoy this thing that is the hardest job on the planet.

You can't do it alone. You're gonna need God and a lot of Him. And you're gonna need each other.

Go on dates. Talk things out. Find things to talk about besides this new addition.

And let him kiss you, even when you don't wanna. It's important for him. It's important for you. It's important for your child.

It's true when they say it's worth it. There will be a lot of really great times. So don't let these things I'm telling you discourage you, but rather motivate you to do this thing well.

By God's grace you are going to be a great mom. And when you aren't, there is more grace.

I wrote this for my sister-in-law who is expecting her first baby in October. I asked her if I could share it because honestly these are all things I wish someone had said to me before I had our first. Or maybe they did and I didn't listen. Either way, I hope this is an encouragement to new mamas out there. And if you are a seasoned mom, maybe you can shout "amen!" and give other tips in the comments section.

Five Minute Friday: Writer

“I’m not a speaker. I’m a writer.” 

I have said that many times. In this field of ours sometimes you are thought of as a speaker. But I’m just not. I fumble at my words and try to grab them back, hit the delete button and try the sentence again. The truth is, speaking isn’t as forgiving as writing. 

Writing allows for do-overs.

The last four months we have been without a computer thanks to our sweet four-year-old and a glass of filtered water. The hardest part of that was my inability to write my thoughts out.

But the truth is, I needed that time. I needed it to draw me closer to my Savior. I needed it to pour my heart out to Him instead of a blank Word document. I needed it to listen more and write less. 

It has been a beautiful write-free time. 

And now that He has blessed us with a replacement computer, my hands are aching to write again. To write of the trials of our life, the growing moments that make us more and more like our Creator. I am anxious to tell you all of the changes He’s doing in our ministry here. Big, unexpected, blow your mind changes. 

But it took not writing for a bit to see that I need to listen more. I need to hear what God is saying, not just share what I am thinking. 

Because with writing comes listening. And vice versa.

Five Minute Friday is a link-up for fellow writers from blogger and author Lisa Jo Baker. Check it out here.

We Are Those People

It's 5:30am on Christmas Eve and I'm wide awake. Not because of the excitement of Christmas less than 24 hours away, but because of a quirky little girl who refuses to fall back asleep unless I'm actively bouncing her rocking chair with my foot. In fact, if it weren't for the calendar telling me today's date, I probably would have forgotten what tomorrow is. It just hasn't felt like Christmas this year.

It occurred to me yesterday, in fact, that we are "those people" this year. The ones everyone says, "Let's remember the people who don't have anyone to spend the holidays with this year."

We have no family here. And the two friends we do have here left today to go on vacation.

And to top it off, it's day five of Elliott being sick. So sick he and Richard spent all day at the hospital on Saturday.

And I started to throw another pity party like I did when Richard and Elliott went to the States without me.

Poor me. Poor us.

*sigh*

And God said, "Really?"

"Yes, really," I said. "We are all alone here. No friends, no family. Elliott's sick. We're all tired from lack of sleep. It doesn't even feel like Christmas.... half of the Christmas lights on our tiny tree went out, for goodness sake!!"

*crickets*

*sigh*

"I thought I was all you wanted for Christmas," He said after a pause long enough to make me realize how ridiculous I am.

Well, yeah. There's that.

The past several Christmases, God has worked in our hearts about the overindulgence that Christmas has become materially. We've done a great job as a society to turn it into a self-centered, retail crazed fiasco rather than a time to remember the God who became Man to rescue a fallen world.

We've forgotten the beautiful, life-giving story behind the season.

This year He's breaking it down even further for me. Not because it's bad to be surrounded by family and friends on Christmas. No, that is in fact good. 

But because He knew my heart needed further refining. 

Because in all my efforts to eradicate the materialism from the holiday, somehow I still didn't get it.

I'm still pouting over the external when God says He wants the purify the internal. My motives, my desires, my goals, my dreams. And He loves me enough to make it hard.

So this Christmas is different. Hard even. We miss family and we long for friends. But our hearts find contentment in the one who is our all in all. The one who became flesh and dwelt among us so that we could live a life of hope and joy, glorifying Him as Creator, Sustainer, All-Sufficient One.

So, yes. We are "those people". The ones Christ died for, redeemed, and now uses every means necessary to make us more like Him. And if it takes a little home-sickness to bring me closer to Him, well, I guess I'll take it. 

"You rejoice in this, though now for a short time you have had to struggle in various trials so that the genuineness of your faith--more valuable than gold, which perishes though refined by fire--may result in praise, glory, and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ."

1 Peter 1.6-7

Merry Christmas, everyone!! I hope this Christmas brings you closer to the One it's all about!

What I Learned from Finding Nemo

What do you do with a two-year-old when it's storming outside?

Why, you curl up with a bowl of popcorn and watch "Finding Nemo", that's what!

That's exactly what Elliott and I did today while the earth soaked up the much needed rain pouring from the skies.

As I sat there with my little man watching this kids movie, I started to notice a theme. I'm sure most of you have seen it and you know that "Marlin" (Nemo's dad) is quite the worrier. All through the movie on his quest to locate his son, he is fretting and getting worked up when something doesn't look like it's going to work out. Meanwhile, his winsome friend "Dori" is always singing and swimming all around, completely optimistic that everything will in fact happen like it's supposed to.

Well, today God said to me, "Ashley, you are Marlin. And I want you to be Dori."

I am on this journey that God has chosen for me and I'm constantly being tossed about by worry and doubt all the while God is saying, "Enjoy NOW. It's what I've given you."

Jim Elliot, missionary martyr in Ecuador, once said, "Wherever you are, be all there."

Easy to say, very difficult to do.

Pray for us. This is a good, but challenging journey we are on, especially during this transition time.

Pray I can be a "Dori": enjoying the moment as I let God do what He does best--write a story that glorifies Him.

Created to Praise

We sat on the back-flap of the boat and it was Christmas Eve. Elliott was sleeping and it was an unusually cool mid-morning. The missionary kids were busy doing their schoolwork, leaving just me and Richard to gaze in wonder.

Pink dolphins at play.

We had seen the pink dolphins before, but mostly fleeting glances. This time there they were, five or six that we could count, leaping and playing in the river for nearly an hour.

Beautiful.

That was over a year ago on a trip to the Jung|e but the memory is clearly etched. Now I sit on my couch Stateside and hear the sound of birds outside my window, announcing Spring is finally making its debut.

And it hits me, though it's not a new thought: All of creation is glorifying God, yet I, in all my faithlessness and fearfulness, worry and fret.

The dolphins play. The birds chirp. The planets rotate. The stars blaze. The grass grows. The clouds pour out. The whole Universe sings His praises by doing what it was created to do.

The me tries to do life by myself.

I tell God I can handle this one. He can wait.

Instead of shouting His praises and waiting on Him, I shout my disbelief and demand He do things my way.

Little me, boldly defying the One who wrote my very DNA. Forgetting my DNA was indeed created for the purpose of praising Him.

I worry and the Holy Spirit whispers:

Look at the birds of the sky: They don’t sow or reap or gather into barns, yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Aren’t you worth more than they? Can any of you add a single cubit to his height by worrying? (Matthew 6.26-27)

I demand my way and the Holy Spirit whispers:

Where were you when I established the earth?
Tell Me, if you have understanding. (Job 38.4)

For a moment my heart is silenced. Who am I?

And all at once I realize I am tired and the Holy Spirit whispers:
Come to Me, all of you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. All of you, take up My yoke and learn from Me, because I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for yourselves. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light. (Matthew 11.28-30)

You will find rest, He says. My burden is light, He says.

That sounds wonderful, my heart says. And I continue this journey of letting go and letting God.