When God Says Yes

Over the weekend, Evan and I got to celebrate our five year anniversary. It turned out to be a pretty magical weekend of solitude, just us, taking a trip and spending time together without our boys. The last time I was away from all three of my kids was when I had my gallbladder removed in July last year. Nearly nine months ago!

We got married on a Friday evening, and didn’t leave for our honeymoon until Sunday. So after our wedding night, we went out to breakfast at a great restaurant here in Fort Wayne. And this past week, we did the same thing, only five years later.

On our drive there, we talked about how incredible life has been since that morning five years ago. What if someone had told me then that we would have three boys now? That I would drive a minivan? That my husband would be working from home full-time? That our life would look just as it does? I could feel the panic rising from the stomach, just as I know it would have if someone could’ve told me all this five years ago. I know that I would be shaking my head saying, “No way! You are kidding! I mean…there’s just no way. Seriously.”

Let me be frank. I am blessed beyond belief. I know that what I have other people long for, and I wish other people had the joy I find in the people I get to call my tribe. I didn’t wait on bended knee until I had babies in my lap, a man at my side, a house to live in, a mini van to drive. And some people do, they beg with God to bless them in such ways, and it seems that He is holding out on them. Sometime we wait for yes’s that He isn’t ready to give.

You know what I have waited for, for years? A yes from God?

Comfort. Materialistic comfort.

For years, I have fought the battle of hating our minimal, frugal lifestyle. I don’t know how many times I have said to Him, “But if we just had more of _____, THEN…” I have waited for Him to say yes. And He hasn’t. Maybe He won’t. It has taken most of the five years of my marriage for me to get to a point where I can look to the Heavens and say, “It is well. I am okay. You will give me a yes when You are ready for a yes.” And if He never does, then He never does. And He will still be good.

But He said yes to me in the form of my husband. He said yes to three beautiful, rambunctious boys. He said yes to good health. He said yes to a whole boatload of people who surround us and love us. He said yes to me having 10 fingers and 10 toes. He said yes to giving me life.

Sometimes He says no. He doesn’t give to me everything I ask.

It isn’t that He’s keeping me from joy. If that’s my thinking, then my eyes are fixed on a prize that will deteriorate in time.

It isn’t that He’s keeping me from having the best life. If that’s my thinking, I have missed the meaning of my life. He gave me the best life when He died 2000 years ago. He even says He will provide for me, just as He provides for the birds of the air and the flowers of the field.

It isn’t that He doesn’t love me. If that’s my thinking, then I have forgotten that He promises to love me forever. That He has promised me a place with Him in Heaven, that He gave His Son for me, that He would move mountains to find me, that He relishes in my attention, my words to Him.

It is that He knows me better than I know myself. You know, He knew of me when He created the world. He knew my name, the mole on my neck, the size of my toes. Whatever He gives to me, whatever His yes’s are, the reason is perfect. Whatever He withholds from my grasp, whenever He says no, the reason is perfect. It may not be perfect from the worldly perspective, but from the view of eternity, I know He works all things for His good.

He is what matters, after the day ends. After my boys are asleep, after I kiss my husband goodnight, after I turn the lights out in my house. It’s because of Him. He said yes. And for every yes, for every no, I still sing His praise. Even after all this time.

Photo by my brother, Josh Hoering, from our wedding day.

 

Because of You

I’ve been praying, trying to find where God wants me to go. In what I write. In what I give away to glorify Him. He’s whispering a prompting of, “Go there. The place that is hard for you. The place that you are raw.”

I remember a night when I was 17, a night I spent visiting a new youth group at a church I had begun to attend. Truthfully, I was hoping to get closer to a guy that I liked, but I was also fully on board with getting closer to Jesus with a new group of people my age. We talked about seasons of life that night. I shared a lot more than I had originally hoped to, but I opened up about feeling like I was on my own in my faith. There wasn’t a whole lot of influence from other people except for a few friends. I remember thinking that my life felt like the end of a winter right before a crisp spring, where the ground slowly awakens and growth appears from the frost.

When I was dating my first serious boyfriend (and soon-to-be husband), I struggled with the idea of sharing my faith fully with someone else. I had worked for years to cultivate a rich fulfillment in Jesus, and a huge part of me was scared that I would lose the quality of it. I wasn’t sure the man I loved would love Jesus as much as I did. I was infatuated with God. I wanted to do more for Him all the time.

I had this crooked idea for a long time that my faith was something I had created. That the tabs sticking out all over my Bible marking important verses were signs of a true love for the Lord. That the more I journaled, the more I would love Him. The more I worshipped with arms raised, the closer He would be to me. That the more that I shared my vulnerability, my pain, my frustrations, the more real I would be. But it quickly become a facade. Just something to hide behind.

I don’t know about you, my friend. But I know about me. I know what is hardest for me. And this is it:  I didn’t create myself.

It’s hard for me to believe. I like to think that I created my desire for God by being a fiery teenager with a faith that burned bright like the lamp Jesus called us to be. I like to think that I am the one who is great at worshipping Jesus, lifting hands, loving my King with song. I like to think that I was the one that cultivated the talents of writing and journaling. I did that. I made myself.

I spent a lot of time in my late teens and early twenties believing that what I worked towards in my faith was what made me great. But you know what shatters that? The simple fact that God Himself, standing alone, does not need me. He doesn’t need my talents. Or my fiery faith. He is a God who holds planets in His fingertips. His power is unmatched.

And yet. And yet! Although He doesn’t need me, He sure does want me. He loves me. He loves me like fire on gasoline and lightening in the humid summer sky. He loves me like the wind tears through my hair and the skies opening up in storm. He loves me fierce and hard and more fiery than the faith of my 17-year-old self. He loves me more.

And He made me. He made every bit of me, and He made the intricate parts of me. Like my writing and journaling, my love for underlining words in the Bible and place tabs all over. Like my hands lifted as high as they can go and tears stinging my eyes as words like “Hallelujah!” and “You will be praised!” escape my lips. Like the parts of my spirit that long to be open, honest, and transparent with my peers. The parts of me that yearn for closeness to Him. The parts of me that ache for His presence. Every inch of my being is known to Him. Created by Him. And every bit of my faith was His working.

Let that be known to you. Let that resonate with you. That God, who you long for, is the reason you feel close. Not because you crossed a barrier. Or because you did something great. It’s because He loves you, He adores you, and He is creating a faith that lasts because you are letting Him.

Give Him the greatest credit.

Yes, Jesus, you have done a work in me that is never-ending. Some days are harder, some easier. Sometimes faith feels like my work, but let me remember it isn’t. I cannot earn my keep with You. You already covered me in sacrificial blood and said, “Her. She is mine.” And my longing for You was created by You. My love for You, it is because of You. And all of this? I couldn’t have made something this beautiful. I didn’t make this. You made it all. All because You loved me first.

 

Not I

I used to open the phone book and find the phone number to a dance studio. I dreamed of being a ballerina, or a jazz dancer, or something, since it was what all of the girls I knew did. I’d find that number, nearly memorize it, and think over and over on whether I really wanted to sign up for dance.

In the end I chose soccer. A far cry from dance, right? I played for a few years, and I loved it most of the time. I was never an aggressive player. I remember during most games parents would yell, “Be aggressive!” as though the game depended on it. Sometimes it did. But I didn’t like it much. I carry that attitude into my life all the time. I don’t aggressively go after dreams. I don’t aggressively chat with people. I don’t aggressively eat (although, depends on my hunger and hangry status). The last way I would describe myself is aggressive.

It’s why I didn’t score much, if at all, as a soccer player. In middle school, I was almost always a left midfielder. The person who got the ball to the forward so they could score. The person who kicked the ball across the goal so another player could shine. Aggressive only when need be. Hardly ever the person to be in the spotlight. I think I scored maybe a handful of goals in my whole soccer career.

There are some people who were born to be in the spotlight. Whose words seem to permeate boundaries and stereotypes and really hit to the core. I never envisioned that for me. Being the assistant to others is something I love, something I am truly good at. Organization is a forte of mine. Making the behind-the-scenes shine. I am good at that. I know I am good at that.

A few weeks ago I spent some time teaching some 7th & 8th graders about how the body of Christ is not made of people with all the same talents. We all have different spiritual gifts, we all have different roles just as our body parts have different uses to make us whole. We’re not all good at the same things. But together, the church is a great vessel that moves, breathes, and can permeate boundaries and stereotypes.Without all of its units, it doesn’t work to its greatest potential.

Sometimes that isn’t easy for me to agree with. Sometimes I wish I was better at things that other women excel at. Heck, sometimes I just wish I was funnier, wittier, prettier, or cooler. But, I don’t know that those are quite the spiritual gifts God admires.

If at the end of the day the Kingdom is furthered because the only thing I have accomplished is letting another woman do better what I cannot do as well, God would say, “Well done.”

It isn’t that I’m afraid. It isn’t even that I didn’t do anything. It is in me to let other women do what they do best. It is how He created me, to champion women. It is how He made me to make the behind-the-scenes flawless so the forefront is right in His glory.

If at the end of the day He is glorified, then it is a good day. If at the end of the day the people say of me, “Yes, Jesus is good! He is to be praised!” then it is a good day.

Not I but Christ.

Not me, Jesus. Just You. Always You.

Relent

I woke up and made chocolate chip pancakes for my boys this morning. I really wanted nothing more than to sleep, and I truly wasn’t feeling the whole make-breakfast-for-everyone thing. But our weekends (when I prefer to make breakfast) are pretty full, so I make due with weekday breakfasts to satisfy my love of all the gloriousness that is breakfast foods.

Everyday when my feet hit the floor, the devil is working overtime to make me feel it. The weight of my responsibilities. My exhaustion. My draining thoughts. He is working hard to make sure I can’t enjoy doing work for the Kingdom. Especially the work that involves repeatedly picking up the same toys everyday. Especially the work I don’t want to enjoy. He has his own work cut out for him.

Today especially, I feel like his relentless attitude has won. I don’t want to try harder. I’m finding myself longing to fight more with the people I love rather than walk alongside them. It’s as though I’m running out to battle, hoping to win wars, waging wars with myself.

My boys can be relentless. When I say the words “chocolate chip pancakes”, there is no turning back. I can’t change my mind, unless I want to make the world fall apart for them. They spend every minute until those pancakes are done asking me questions, watching what I’m doing, waiting not-so-patiently for breakfast to arrive on the table. They can devote more energy to stupid chocolate chip pancakes than I do to Jesus.

As I have been holding up my weapons, waging wars, running around a battlefield, God is right in the middle of it.

There are too many toys some days, not enough motivation for dinner prep, not enough separation in my house for me to feel remotely close to sane, too many demands, not enough of me for all of these tiny hands.

He grabs me by the shoulders and is looking straight into my eyes.

“Janelle, this is not a battle. This is not a war. There is nothing to win. There is nothing that you can do to make this a prize.”

God is more relentless than the devil. It says that when He triumphed over the grave, He went down to hell and shoved it in the faces of the fallen angels. He reminded them of His power. He made a point to remind them that He has won, not their mistaken folly. That is my God. The same one. And I put Him to the side most days, thinking that I have battles to fight, wars to win, things that take precedence over His love.

The fact is, there is no war. He has already won. He has already defeated the hard stuff, the difficult days, my frustration. I am not enough most days, but He is. I am tired 85% of the time, but He is just getting started. He is relentless. He grabs me by the shoulders and reminds me that I don’t have to run around as though I am some warrior in battle clothes with weapons to yield and people to defeat.

He has already won.

Did you hear that?

HE. HAS. WON.

He’s reminding me:  Stop fighting to win. Stop waging wars. Stop taking matters into your own hands. Stop running around as though this is all a big fight. Christ is the victor. I don’t have to live as though I’m waiting to be holy. He already has made me so. I am allowed to live on in it. I am allowed to be righteous because He has made me righteous. He has done it!

Tomorrow I’ll go through it again. The waking up, feet hitting the floor, the devil waiting for every chance to pounce and steal my day. But I can call on His Name. He’s already won. So I’m letting the Victor parade His triumph.

Soul Strings: When Everything Points to Christ

If you’ve been here before, or long enough, you’ve read why I call this blog Soul Strings. And if you don’t know, I’ll fill you in.

When I first named this site Soul Strings, I didn’t have much of an inspiration or reason. It was just a string (play on words intended!) of words I put together that sounded fitting. I didn’t put much thought into it. Quite honestly, it’s how I love to write the most. I love writing about my life, how-to’s, lists. I like blogging new stuff. But I really love writing when it’s like a fluid movement, a dance. I don’t put much thought to the words, I just let them escape me as they come to mind. Most of these blog titles you’ll see come from that space within me; in most cases, I do make sure they make sense. But I love to title my work after the inner workings, the parts of me that move like water in a river.

After thinking about it more, I realized just how perfect the name Soul Strings is. How it encompasses a lot of my heart in ways I wasn’t sure I could put into words. The point of me being here is to find ways to direct every aspect of my little life to my Creator. To His purpose for me. To His good and holy ways. I envision a horizon with ropes going straight up to the heavens.

In light of that, yesterday we bought a mini van.

I’ve never been so excited to have such a big vehicle with so.much.space, and simultaneously go into debt. I know Dave Ramsey would tell me there is another way! Maybe some day I will follow it. Today isn’t that day. We’re gonna pay the crap out of that loan.

I wish there was an easier way for us. Or an easy-to-read map that showed us the best way to do everything, because I sure could use it. God is gracious in that He gives us options and choices, but we don’t really know the best one sometimes. We hope for the best. We rely on His faithfulness and our trust in Him that things will be okay. I hate the feeling of needing to explain myself to the world. It haunts me sometimes. Like, why are you writing about your mini van woes, Janelle? 

I want to remember Who loves me most. I want to remember that He pardoned me. I want to remember that because of Him, I can walk in holiness. I can trust Him. I can believe that He will do what He promises. I want to remember that what haunts me is a cheap example of attention, whereas there is nothing unseen by Him. I want to remember that everything should be about Him, not about me.

Finn is currently in the stage of fearlessly taking steps in the hope of walking. He only gets 4-5 steps in before he plops on his bottom. And then he tries again. His failure does not hinder him. And someday far too soon, he will take off with his feet flying beneath him. A subtle and poignant reminder of what it looks like to believe Jesus when He says He isn’t leaving us. It takes a few tries. It takes a few falls. But once we know it, cemented in our souls, the footwork becomes more like flying.

Another string to plant in the ground and shoot toward the sky.

Resurrection Monday

When I was a little girl, my parents would leave a trail of jelly beans from my bedroom door to the Easter basket on the fire place. It was magical to me; the idea of surprises after a night of sleep, wonderful goodies to bring me joy. Although the jelly bean trails ended after a certain age, my love for Easter didn’t really waver. The magic did change over time.

Yesterday morning after we picked up our kids from Sunday school, we stood in the gathering space at our church. Normally when I ask me oldest, who is four, what he learned in Sunday school, he doesn’t offer up much. “I don’t remember,” is the most common answer. But yesterday, Resurrection Sunday, my son told me the story of Jesus leaving behind an empty grave.

I almost started crying right there. I had spent that morning during breakfast reminding him of the importance of this holiday, why it is glorious that Jesus lives, and what matters above all else. To hear my son recite a story from the Bible, the truth of our King….that was magic.

I’m taking it with me today. The last thing I want is to confuse the Greatest Gift with one that is replaceable, and hearing my son whisper the story of our risen King….I only hope it gets more magical for him every day. I only hope it’s a path that leads him to our God. I hope it’s a gift that surpasses all of his expectations. Because that’s what Christ’s love does for me. It puts everything else on this earth to shame.

I prayed yesterday during worship at church, that, as I feel vulnerable, emotional, and especially tender with the Lord on this weekend, that raw faith would bleed out into the next day. And the next. And the next. That resurrection Sunday truly become everyday. Because everyday, He lives! His glory only gets sweeter with time! Jesus, help me to shed what keeps me from you so I can be only closer to your side.

Yesterday we celebrated a risen Lord. Now, what about today?

Hope you’re seeing the glory.

Raising Men: 3 Reminders

“You are outnumbered!”

Yes, that’s me. I am far outnumbered by all the boys in my house. It’s just me and our dog Daisy: the reigning females.

Being a mom of boys means a lot more to me than just the idea of dancing with them on their wedding day (commence the bucket of tears because you know I’ll be a hot mess). It’s more than putting up with the stereotypical mess, smell, or quantity of food that disappears on a daily basis (it starts early). I am their first interaction with the opposite sex, after all. It’s more than just being a mom.

Set great expectations.

I am spoiled by my husband. He opens doors for me, hugs me often, tells me he loves me multiple times a day, takes care of my dirty dishes. He serves me endlessly. I give most of the credit, if not all, to his parents.

It’s not that I expect my boys to serve me. I don’t even expect them to bring me breakfast in bed on Mother’s Day, or even a dandelion from our yard in the summertime. But I do have great expectations, expectations that are realistic and learned. Things like good manners and respectful attitudes. Kind words. Listening ears and obedient hearts. Expectations that I hope will lead to men who serve just like their daddy served me.

My boys are 4, 2, and nearly 1. These are expectations they struggle to meet because, hello, they are little. They need corrected and encouraged often. They throw tantrums and cry over missing toys. They sure as heck do not have respectful attitudes and kind words when I tell them to clean their room. But I still set great expectations for them. Because in the days to come, I expect them to meet them over time.

Check your heart.

What is your motivation for discipline? What is your aim in your corrections? For a long time, my aim in discipline was so I didn’t look bad as a mom. I wanted perfection. I wanted well-behaved, respectful boys. And I expected it because I didn’t want to be embarrassed.

Check in with what’s going on in your own heart before you make a decision you regret.

Often times, when I go into a situation to correct a boy’s behavior, I am going in emotionally. I have anger. I have frustration. I have irritation. And it ruins it, completely. All they see is my crazy eyes (because for real, I can get crazy eyes). I need to check in with my heart. When I’m in the right place, I can be rational. When I’m not in the right place…crazy eyes. . And probably more yelling than I will openly admit.

Challenge yourself.

I hope in the future, when my boys are men, they think of me fondly. I hope that I was a great example of what a woman after God looks like. And I hope that I played even just a small role in their Christian lives because I longed for Christ when they were young.

Motherhood is a humongous challenge in itself, so you may think I’m slightly delusional when I say that you need to challenge yourself even more. But I mean it. Do the things that you are scared to do, even the things that you think you need to wait to do when your kids are older. Do not be afraid to be yourself, the you that is enthralled with the Most High. If that means working while your kids are little, do it. If it means staying at home, do it. If it means starting a business, do it. If it means finishing your degree, do it. Whatever you do, do it for the Kingdom. Make your life more than the growing of your boys. They will become men regardless of how much you hover over them. It’s the kind of men you want them to become that matters.

Raising boys is a lot of work. And I think it’s made easier when we put our confidence in what the Lord does, not what we do. My love for them is priceless; my hopes for them, endless. It becomes even more valuable when all that I have and do for them is wrapped in the love of Jesus. I’ll be praying for you, just as I hope you’ll pray for me too. These soon-to-be-men need us to need each other.