Riches: The Present

It’s been a while since I’ve written. It’s been a while since I have looked life in the face and considered where to begin when it comes to sharing with you all. Being a writer is weird at times. There is never a moment when I’m not considering my written word.

Compelled. Convicted. Humbled.

If I could put a word to this season, maybe one of those would be it, but even they do not seem encompassing enough. It’s all about seasons, trials, discomforts, convictions, etc. in this blogging/social media world, that sometimes I miss the mark. I aim for vulnerability and only get the pretty version of it, not the raw one. The one that hurts. The one that hits the nail on the proverbial head.

Bear with me as I try to untangle heart-strings and get to the root.

This “season of our life” (or we can just call it the present) has gripped me. I have had ample time to reflect on the past year and a half of business building, family growing, loving. It’s fact to say it’s been the greatest of my life. The most joy-filled. The absolute most terrifying, but glory and grace have been furiously abundant. We have seen the face of God in our lack of faith, and it has been good. God has laughed at our worry of money and done more than we asked. We have prayed words like, “Just give us enough. Help us pay this bill. Remind us of your faithfulness. Be God, because we surely are not.” And He turns up. Everyday. Every second. Every prayer. Every day in this life renews my faith. I thought for far too long that this “season” (or, present) would only last so long before we would experience freedom and riches. I thought that my faith in God would lead us to comfort, because surely that’s what all this discomfort means, right? There will come a day of rest? We will be rich? We will have more? I’ll never worry again? But it’s not so. Oh friends, it is not so.

God has taught me patiently in this. He has been patient and persistent in my foolish thinking, and He has said this:

Prosperity is Me. I am the richest you will ever get.

And that has taken weeks and months to fully blossom in my heart.

This isn’t a “season”. This is our life. Our good and rich life. I can’t count the times I’ve voiced my anger with money. Too many times. Too often the thoughts have flooded my soul, consumed my faith, sunk my confidence in the Father. You know it, don’t you? The, “Surely this will end soon! Surely we will be floating in money and swimming in comfort! Surely you will give us all the comforts of this world!” But it doesn’t come so quickly. Or it comes, and it is fleeting. Or it never comes.

That is what our good Father has taught me. Money? Nothing to fret over, My child. It seems monumental. It seems. But do you not see? Rich in faith and love. Rich because we are loved by our Creator and taken care of.

How do I know?

Oh friend, because I live it everyday. We pray to a God who hears and sees us. Never for a moment are we alone. And I’m learning to care less and worry less about retirement savings, having money to buy a big house, having money to buy new boots, having money to have happiness because the Lord has taught me so: He is my prosperity. He is my wealth. He is my provision.

It isn’t that I never look back as we are trekking through, or that I don’t revert back to my ways of worrying. I do. I fall to my knees some days and feel like this is just too much. My faith isn’t big enough. My trust isn’t strong enough. There isn’t enough money. Some days I don’t know how to make it.

Not my ways. Not my thoughts. Not my worries.

When He is my riches, I am never poor. When He is my present, seasons stop being seasons, my vision is fixed on what is before me, not what lies ahead. I see it now.

He is the richest I will ever get.

Growing Up: Part One

For the past two months, my husband and I have been working on finishing up our kitchen renovation. Throw in having a baby, having surgery, and having kids in general, and it takes for-ev-ER. As in, I’ve been painting cabinets for almost two months probably. But you know, I am going to enjoy the crap out of it when it’s done.


  
 Sadly (and annoyingly), we’ve also had to fix our silly design decisions that we made when we first moved in. Such as painting one wall bright, safety yellow-orange. I cringe just thinking about it. We also had to repaint the cabinets that we originally painted when we moved in. The paint was peeling, the sea-foam green underneath was peaking through…not ideal. So as we’ve been updating, we have had ample opportunity to laugh about how things have changed. We’ve gone from bright colors to mostly white and grays. (Aside from our new blue cabinets.) We’ve been making permanent decisions, and also thinking of when we will eventually need to sell. Because you all know I can’t even begin to think of how crazy things will be in this male-infested home when everyone is walking.

All that to say:  I’m excited to finally feel comfortable in my own skin. Feeling confident in what I like and don’t like. Knowing what works for me and my family. I truly think it took four years to get here, but I also think I don’t mind.

I think because I’m turning 25 in only two weeks, I’m reminiscing a bit more about how far I’ve come. There was once a moment in time when I was terrified out of my mind and filled with uncertainty. But today, I feel it. I know me. And I like her. And my kitchen is going to be darn pretty.

Enough & More Than

I read an article the other day that served the purpose of reminding moms that they are enough. That it’s okay, being overwhelmed is okay, and that perfection doesn’t exist here in this motherhood situation.

But I’m gonna call it. I’m gonna get wordy and passionate, and I hope you don’t mind.

Motherhood is hard. Acknowledging imperfection is what helps make me a better mom. But I am more than just enough. I don’t like putting it in those terms, that I am enough as a mom. For some, that statement serves it purpose well. It isn’t meant to demean or belittle; I know it’s purpose is to uplift and remind. But friends, I am more than that. I want to believe more than that.

Thinking back to my 18-year-old self, I didn’t have a clue that this would be where I would be. I think back to being a first time mom with one boy. And then a loss. And then another boy. And another one. I haven’t had a lot of rest between these pregnancies, births, and seasons. I have been thrown into motherhood after only being a wife for 11 months and legally allowed to drink for five months. This has been nonstop for me. So I know. I think I understand. It is difficult. It is exhausting. I am not sure most days, and other days I feel completely lost. Mirrors are not always kind, nor is the nagging sense of Who am I? You want to know the truth about being a mom? It is lonely some days, but dripping in love of every form. It is sweet and pure, holy work.

In my humanness, I am not quite enough for this position. I have said a choice word or two in front of my boys and regretted it instantly. I’ve locked myself away from the screaming and crying because for the love of all that is good, some days leave me feeling like a true failure. It feels like I’m chasing my own tail, cleaning up after an eternally leaking trash bag, and hugging and kissing ouchies and tantrums all at once. It is a quadruple triathlon (does that exist?) with surprise land mines. It is insane and draining and…

This is motherhood. In my humanness, this is the chaos of it.

But who am I?
I am not of this world.
I am not my own.
I am covered in sacrificial blood.
I am saved and redeemed and loved by the King of kings.
In my humanness, I struggle to be enough.
In His holiness, I never fall short.

Do you hear that? You, who think you’re enough. You’re more than that. Your worth is immeasurable. Your service, immeasurable. Your value, unmatched. Your purpose, holy. Holy! Don’t accept just believing that you’re enough, just so. Your King rescued you so that you could be hidden in His perfection. Covered by Him, you are beyond enough. You are perfect for the job, and your resources are endless.

Motherhood, hard. But I have the Lord of hosts. I have Him. It is okay that this whole motherhood season, as it looks today with three little kids, is messy, hard, unorganized, and imperfect. It is okay that I screw up, and it is okay to remind myself that it is okay. But it is even greater to refresh my memory of Truth: I belong to a King. And He’s got me within reach. I am perfected by grace and re-energized by faith. And because of that, I am better than enough and okay. I am extraordinary.

4 Tips: Thriving with Three Boys

I grew up wishing I had sisters. I wanted built-in best friends, but I was instead left with two older brothers. They picked on me growing up, I screamed a lot, we fought. But I love them dearly, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. 

So becoming a mom of three boys should be easier for me right? Not really. Not at all. Actually, becoming a mom is just a crazy experience, and I really don’t think there’s much preparation for it. Being a mom to toddlers is a whole new level of crazy, and being a mom when everything is extra dirty, filled with sound effects of every facet…lets just say it’s crazy. Good. And crazy. 

So how do I do it? I’m glad you ask. I don’t have a secret. Not one. But I do have some tips for sanity, and lots & lots of grace. 

1. Close the door when you go to the bathroom. Right? Basic thing. But I got into the habit of not closing the door. I wanted to be able to see/hear if something was going on that shouldn’t be. But with the arrival of a third kid, you get kind of lax and stop caring so much about the state of things. Like the crayon on my dining room wall. It’s whatever. But I digress. Shut the door! Even if you’re just blowing your nose. Get some peace for a half second and fix your hair in the mirror. 

2. Eat. Not the scraps or leftovers your two year old refused. Don’t skip a meal. I am definitely not an expert or a good person to ask for advice on this, but I know from experience that I just binge later when I forget to eat. So eat a good meal, even if you have to do it standing up while bouncing your baby or if it’s cold from sitting on the counter for 45 minutes because you got sidetracked. Take care of you. 

3. Drink a huge glass of water when you get up. Don’t consume anything else before you drink that water!! I fill it up before bed and place my water bottle on my nightstand. I drink it first thing, and it wakes me up better than coffee. It gets digestion going, and even if I don’t get around to drinking more water til a few hours later, at least I’ve gotten a good deal in the morning. 

4. Return to the Bible throughout the day. I try to read every morning, but that doesn’t always go as planned. So I have a Bible app on my phone, and I try to squeeze in some reading every time I pick up my phone. Every time. Which is dozens of times a day. Rather than wasting time reading status updates, I’m pointed to the King. And that’s way better. And life-giving. 

One last tip. This isn’t much of a tip, but a mindset. It isn’t about surviving until bedtime or until tomorrow when you have to do it all over again. Those boys will go to sleep thinking of the grand things they will get to do with me when they wake up, not about the mistakes I made (and they didn’t notice). Today, although chaotic for me, was glorious for them. They played ninja turtles and played in sand and took the longest bath ever. There wasn’t one moment where they wondered, “Gee I hope this craft will develop my motor skills.” (Actually, we don’t do crafts ever, so it’d be more like, “Gee I hope I’m developing some kind of motor skills while throwing toys across the room.”) Girlfriend, sister, fellow mama. You are doing well, and motherhood looks good on you. The joy on your baby’s face is real and alive. And the joy of Christ compels us for them. Press on, mama. You thrive in this. 
Do you have any tips to add? What keeps you thriving instead of surviving?

Unforced Rhythms of Grace

Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me–watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.
Matthew 11:28-30, The Message

My husband and I had our first date night this past weekend since Finn was born. It was glorious, quiet, refreshing. No one else to feed but myself. Only my bladder to consider. It was good, and by that, I mean I actually felt like me. Not like a second-rate version.

I took the initiative this weekend and deleted apps off my phone so I wasn’t constantly looking to see what everyone else was up to. Instead, every time I took my phone out of my purse or picked it up off the couch, I opened the Bible app and began reading in Matthew. It felt like drinking crisp water after walking for days, and I can’t stop. You know how it is, don’t you? Every other time I begin reading a book in the Bible, only to fall off that consistency bandwagon after a few days, and I can never seem to feel connected to it. I read half-hearted, underlining single verses that sound holy, pray for people I love, and then move on. This time was different.

Sometimes I pick up my pen to journal and feel highly unqualified immediately. I get squished by my insecurities, blanketing my dreams with statements like, “What’s special about me? What’s so different about my perspective?” The resounding Hold her back! is a taunt. But oh, if the devil is only trying to keep me from moving forward, writing a blog post, being transparent, then it must be good, right? It must be Kingdom work. And I must pursue it.

Recover your life. Take a real rest. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. Live freely and lightly.

If you don’t go all the way with me, through thick and thin, you don’t deserve me. If your first concern is to look after yourself, you’ll never find yourself. But if you forget about yourself and look to me, you’ll find both yourself and me.
Matthew 10:38-39

Here it is:  I want so badly to look to my right, to my left, and to find out how I can be better. I want to compare, to seek the approval of man, to be revered. I want to be more than just a mom, and I struggle with that daily:  feeling guilty for wanting to be more than just a caretaker, ouchie-kisser, food source. But Jesus said it best:  Forget about yourself and look to me. Look to me. Look to me.

I can’t force holiness. I can’t force love. I can’t force grace. It is an unforced rhythm, something to be learned, a melody that comes from Christ and Christ alone. Women to my left and to my right are not me. This isn’t a race to the finish line, a whoever is best at being a mom will finish first with Christ type of thing. It isn’t even a race. Christ ran it, won it, and gave me the medal. I am holy because He is holy, loved because He loves, given grace because He died to let me have it.

This isn’t a single-facet life. Christ wants to recover my life, give me rest, teach me the unforced rhythms of grace, so I may live, free. So I may be great, because He is great. I want His melody to be mine. The whispers of Hold her back! Hold her back! are only flashing, loud reminders that Jesus has good, mighty work to do in me. He is mighty in me. And sister, He is mighty in you, too. Do you hear them? The whispers? They aren’t taunts. They’re clear indications that the Kingdom is better because of you.

Twenty-five and Burned

Purpose doesn’t go to work; it goes to love. 

I turn 25 this year. Still young, only halfway through my twenties. Somehow I’ve managed to jam a whole lot of life in a few short years, making my twenties feel incredibly longer than they have been. It leaves me feeling burned out. Doubtful. Questioning. Exhausted.

I woke up at 4 AM today to feed my youngest, and I laid in bed unable to close my eyes and go back to sleep. I was ticking through my list of worries and concerns, wondering how I could manage to see the new day as a new opportunity. I began lifting up these weights to a compassionate God, and I changed. Instead of praying for more of anything, I realized my limitations I was putting on Jesus. If You want to, could you do this? If You think it’s okay, could we have more of this? If. 

I don’t know how to adequately explain this. This isn’t the prosperity gospel, where I preach that if we only ask for richness, God will grant it to us. No, no…if we only know how rich we already are, it shifts our gaze away from wanting more of anything. If we only see how much our purpose is dripping with grace and the true gospel, we don’t fall into a catacomb of doubt. If we only see the cross and what it really means, why should I pray for more of anything, ever?

Purpose doesn’t go to work; it goes to love. God wants us to live on purpose–wholeheartedly with focused intention–no matter where we are. Living on purpose doesn’t mean having your dream job; it means being all there right where you are. Take every opportunity to be a light for Him. This is not to say that you can’t or shouldn’t take the leap to pursue another job, but many times there is opportunity to live on purpose right in front of us. God wants to do extraordinary things through our surrendered hearts and hands.   [Make It Happen by Lara Casey]

I thought about my resume recently and how lame it has become. I haven’t worked outside the home for a while now, and what experience I do have is quickly becoming outdated. Those thoughts, they were like a black hole of insecurity.

Laying in bed at 4 AM, I turned my prayers into surrenders and beliefs. Who I am and who I am not is not dependent on the work I do. Being 25 and a woman doesn’t limit me. Being a mom doesn’t keep me from purpose. Laying in bed at 4 AM to feed a baby doesn’t inhibit my possibility. 

I am defined and sculpted by the work of my King. What He has done for me is all that needs to be done to give me intention. I feel my morality when I think of my age (which I know is young), but it is hitting me sooner:  I don’t have all the time in the world, so how could I spend it sending up prayers for more money or time or better this or that? I have the richness of grace and love, and I am seen by my Creator. Purpose will come to me. The calling will be great. There is no limit to what is to come. 

Twenty-five and burned. That’s how it feels some days. But my purpose…burned into my soul, driving me heavenward. That has Christ written all over it. 

The Dreamer in Me vs. Motherhood

But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has?

After Finn was born, I felt deflated (literally and figuratively). It has been mostly a blur since he arrived, leaving me a little bit heartbroken every time I have to swap out bigger clothes for him. Not to mention he’s a chunky boy, so he’s flying through baby sizes like they’re nothing. I wanted, and still want, to nestle in the moments where I realize how fast this is going. I often look back, wishing time were a friendlier companion. But I don’t think it has to be the enemy, either.

I realized that in this place of being no longer pregnant, taking care of my boys, and working in the home, I was not resting in anticipation. I was tense with uncertainty. I was clenching my hands, gasping for breath, and trying desperately to take it all in before it disappeared. I can see it now, my eyes fleeting from side to side, hands outstretched trying to help everybody at once, hair in a frazzled mess. Some days, that is just how it goes. But everyday? That can’t be everyday.

I rest in hope and anticipation.

For what? For the day that I get to start sending my boys to school and out into the world? For the moment that I don’t have to carry a diaper bag anymore? For the day that I can go on a vacation with just my husband?

What does it mean to be hopeful? What am I allowed to be hopeful for?

I don’t think I have to give up much to be a mom. There are some things that do disappear or change, but I wouldn’t consider them sacrifices. I think it’s okay to be hopeful for the day when our children are more independent. I think it’s okay to anticipate the day when our eyes are no longer watching a million things at once and our hair is actually done. But I don’t want that to be my hope. No, I don’t want those fleeting things and ideals of this world to be my anticipation.

I want to rest in the hope and the anticipation of Jesus and His coming. If that’s my prize, if my eyes are fixed on the Son, my hands unclench. I don’t fear the clock as it ticks ever so quickly, and my babies become men. If my anticipation is for the King, I can shed the expectations I have for myself and motherhood, and I can see His vision more clearly. Part of who Janelle is includes being a mom. But the other facets of me are just as crucial. The dreamer in me. The writer in me. The woman in me.

Rest, Mama. Your day is not a fleeting breath, and the world will not cave if you can’t control it. Rest in the hope and the anticipation of the Lord’s coming. He is coming.

Anticipate that. Not just the moment of freedom you’re longing for with your Starbucks in hand. Be hopeful in the freedom you already have.