His Glorious Grace: A Guest Post

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My new friend Patty from Glorious Within Her has stopped by Grace to Go to share her heart with you lovely people today, and I couldn’t be more thankful. Make sure to visit her page for Biblical encouragement and practical resources for living a glorious life! (Oh, and did I tell you she has some beautiful things in her SHOP?!?) I hope these words challenge and uplift you as they did me. Take it away, Patty!

 

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His Glorious Grace

I woke up to find my website had not gotten any views- something unheard of for me. I panicked figuring it may have been hacked. On top of this, I had to feed my son, get him dressed, and keep him busy. He’s nearly walking on his own now and getting into everything so I knew he would take up most of my time that day. I had to finish getting multiple loads through the washer and dryer before wrangling my way through those multiple loads of laundry and returning them to their homes in dresser drawers.

All this combined with cleaning around the house and a host of day to day tasks that had to be done left me overwhelmed. It just seemed like too much to do with not enough time to get it all done. I struggle with perfectionism. So in my mind, if I didn’t get everything done, I failed. And I hate to fail. I wanted to do it all and do it excellently. As these thoughts were taking up residence in my mind, my son began to call out. We had just finished breakfast and I needed to brush his teeth, something he hates. While I was brushing his teeth, he began to scream even louder than usual. And as the stress mounted, I cried out to God. Actually, I screamed out to God.

And then, I felt worse than before. Not only did I still have a mile long list of things to do, but I chose to stress over and allowed myself to get overwhelmed. I had upset my son in the process with my reaction. I had cried out and he cried out, too but in a different way. When he saw me stressed out, he got stressed out. And he didn’t understand. My heart broke. My mind flooded with thoughts about what a terrible mom I was. I thought about how selfish I had been. How prideful it was of me to think I could tackle anything without God’s help!

In that moment, God reminded me of His glorious grace. Jesus said, “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28) The Lord never expected me to carry today’s burdens on my own. He instead calls me to peace and rest in Him. He reminded me that when things get crazy, when I get overwhelmed, when I rush around trying to solve problems or get things done, He is right there. God is with me in my mess. Just as Jesus chose to be with humanity in its mess when He came to this earth as God veiled in flesh and spoke those very words.

God was not upset with me. He was not even the least bit surprised by my actions and reactions. Psalm 139 reminds me that He knit me together in my mother’s womb, He knows every single word I’m going to speak before it is ever on my lips, and He ordained every one of my days before a single one of them came to pass (v. 4, 13, 16). He knew I would sin and make mistakes. He knew I would miss the mark. Therefore, He sent Jesus to soak up God’s wrath for my sin so that by His glorious grace, I could be made right with God the Father.

Obviously, God does not want me to continue in sin. In these times, I need to repent. But that’s just it. I come to Him and recognize before Him the error of my ways. All I have to do is repent of my wrongdoing and ask Him to help me turn to His ways continually.

And by His grace, His glorious grace, I am forgiven and made right with Him (1 John 1:9). Then He makes me able to be at peace, regardless of the piles of laundry or the stacks of dishes. God sets my eyes to focus on Him. And as I focus on Him and serving Him, I am better able to serve my family and meet the needs of those I am called to minister to. Instead of being overwhelmed by tasks, God helps me to accomplish each one as a declaration of love and heartfelt service to Him and my loved ones.

When I trust God in this way, my heart is at peace. And when my heart is at peace, my home can reflect God’s nature. Guarding our hearts and allowing God’s grace to keep them at peace allows our home to be the haven of rest and beacon of hope it needs to be.

Since God is not a respecter of persons, He is willing to do the same for you (Romans 2:11). Is there a place in life where you are messing up? Is there an area of struggle you are facing? Do you have a hurt or hang-up you want to overcome?

Turn to God today and to His glorious grace. Ask Him to forgive you and to help you turn away from what’s not pleasing to Him. Let His grace work in you. Let him help you through it. Don’t take on the challenges by yourself. You were never made to. He doesn’t expect you to. The Lord wants you to wait on Him and on His glorious grace. His grace that makes us right with Him. His grace that makes us able to operate in His ways. For it is by his grace that He bestows on us righteousness, beauty, love, and so much more.

Have you ever been in need of God’s grace, His glorious grace? A grace that bestows beauty and worth when you fall short of it on your own?
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I’m Patty! Christ follower. Wife to Matthew. Mom to Solomon. Daughter. Sister. Former teacher. Current stay-at-home mom. Lover of God and His Word. Sharer of joy and laughter. Seeker of wisdom and justice. Passer on of godly encouragement and wisdom. I want to see women living out the fullness of God’s goodness, faithfulness, and love in every area of their lives. I want for each woman to realize she is glorious within her.

 

Coffee For Your Heart @ Holley Gerth, Women With Intention Wednesday @ Women With Intention, #GraceMoments Linkup @ Journeys in Grace, Happy Days Linkup @ Life of Scoop

Baby, Give Your Best: Lessons in Generosity from a 4 Year Old

My 4 year old daughter has a sweet, giving spirit. She runs all over our house (and outside, for that matter) collecting all sorts of things, coloring, cutting, and pasting mashed-up masterpieces crafted by busy hands. I am walking the fine line of praising her for her creativity and generosity while challenging her to think about what the recipient of her gift might like. “Honey, I know you really like that paper scrap you tore from your pre-school workbook, but to our neighbor, that just looks like trash.”

Her eyes become big and wet with disappointment. Her lip quivers, and I want to take my words back, but I know they are true. “Let’s think about what she would like. We could paste that onto a butterfly, and I will teach you to write her name. I bet she would like that.” Of course, I know that either masterpiece will end up in the same place. Here, we call it the dustbin.

This morning, in obedience, she threw something in and spotted one of her handicrafts inside. She gave me the third degree about trashing something she worked so feverishly to create. We talk about what happens to paper scraps left in common spaces, and she finds it in her tiny heart to forgive me and promises she will keep her artwork upstairs from this day forward.

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We gather some supplies and remember the task at hand: revising this trash into a treasure worth gifting. I want her to believe that the work we do for others is valuable and that being thoughtful is an admirable trait. I don’t want to crush her creativity or squish her generous spirit. I love that she desires to make others smile and spend time creating something to offer to another. But giving hands offering scrappy seconds is not giving at all. We want to give our best. We want to give until it hurts. We want to share our bag of imported Reese cups, even if we’d rather lock them in the upstairs closet for a rainy day (bad example, I know, but chocolate is really important to me!). We drive across town for birthday gifts and sit in traffic instead of buying something cheap from the shop around the corner because we believe this. These small acts of thoughtfulness make big impressions.

I write down our neighbor’s name and send the budding artist upstairs to sit at her desk with the special markers we don’t use often and the paper bags from America we use to make puppets and to quick-ripen peaches. She painstakingly copies her Auntie’s name and puts about twelve too many hearts on her creation. The puppet’s face is smiling, and so is mine. My daughter is proud, and I am, too.

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It’s a few minutes shy of 8 am, and she is ready to walk over there and present her prize. I’m off to get her dressed for school, and we will go with dust-bin-destined art in hand to deliver this piece of her heart before her bus arrives to shuttle her to the place that overflows with paper scraps, scissors, and glue.

I’ll stay behind to clean up the debris of crazed crafting hands and smile, thinking of the baby who seems more like the child of Mother Theresa and Picasso than the flesh and blood of her Daddy and me. I bring the Reese cups downstairs, brew a cup of coffee -the good stuff- and invite a neighbor over to share.

As I sip the fresh brew and chat with a new friend, I think about giving my best to God. How so often my best, looks like nothing more than a mangled up mess of trash. It isn’t treasure in anyone’s eyes. But it is good and acceptable, pleasing to my Father for no other reason than He loves me. I seek only His approval, and knowing I already have it, I busy myself with the work He puts in my hands to do. I proudly give it back to Him, as unimpressive as it may seem, trusting He will find the good in it. Even if its creator is backwards at best, I’m hopeful that, by His grace, my offerings make a difference to someone in this world.

I trust that He will bring to light the things that bring Him glory and throw everything else in the dustbin where it belongs. I’ll try not to get my feelings hurt knowing He knows the value of all things, and it all belonged to Him in the first place anyway. I’ll practice thoughtful generosity because I remember that my doing unto others is a reflection of the God that works in and through me. Half-effort jobs and scrappy seconds just won’t cut it.

He reminds me of all the good gifts he’s buried me under and urges me to love others well out of my abundance. He says, “Baby, give your best.”

 

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Moments of Hope @ LoriSchumaker.com, Monday’s Musings @ What Joy is Mine, Glimpses Linkup @ Embracing Every Day, Literacy Musing Monday’s @ Mary-andering Creatively, Tuesday Talk @ Sweet Little Ones, RaRaLinkup @ Purposeful Faith, Tell His Story @ Jennifer Dukes Lee

Do We Have Anything in Common Anymore?

Five Minute Friday, COMMON
// indicates when my 5 minutes ran out and I kept on writing anyway!

After a year and a half in Nepal, I am returning to America for a 3 month visit in 10 DAYS. Someone asked me the other day what was the first thing I wanted to do when I returned aside from visiting my family. My mind went totally blank. I said, “Go through a drive-thru?” just because that, even after only 18 months abroad, seems like a total novelty to me.

But I also very much look forward to coffee dates and lunch meet-ups with my mom and other friends. I imagine myself sitting across the table, chit-chatting the day away, and I realize… my imaginary conversation is happening in my second language! I try to re-imagine, and I can’t think of anything to say in my first.

I wonder if they will think I’m as weird as I feel like I’m going to be. Will we still be able to hold a conversation free from several awkward silences? Will their babies I’ve never met be scared of me? I wonder if they will think the stories I tell are interesting or just strange and unrelateable. Will we have anything in common anymore?

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My husband assures me that these fears will be unfounded (although there is no guarantee their babies won’t be afraid of the crazy person declaring herself their aunt). My friends that loved me before I left have still loved me with all the distance and silence between us. We might not pick right up where we left off, but maybe that’s why it’s called catching up.

We may not find common ground in our recent cultural experiences, but we will find it elsewhere. Maybe this table where we sit needs a perspective only my strangely unique experience could bring. Maybe more, this friendship needs me to not worry and just show up. To sit across the table with my biscuits and gravy (Bob Evans, y’all) and sigh. It sure is good to see an old friend.

The Hard Fought Battle for Contentment [The Mudroom]

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He stared at my back in the queen size bed we share. The inches between us loomed like a brick wall lined with barbed wire. I sobbed. He sighed. He must have felt as helpless as I did.

I suffered under a border blockade which prohibited the entry of petrol, propane, and essential goods in a country I never planned to live in. We faced winter with fewer than four hours of electricity to heat our home each day. It seemed I was at the mercy of an evolving government, the paper-thin houses, and my freezer-burned spirit. I was furious with my cozy Stateside friends who didn’t understand and my husband who couldn’t fix it.

In the morning, as I stood shivering, waiting for the shower to heat up, negative thoughts creeped in and claimed territory in my mind. I wished desperately for the rage to run right down the drain with the hot water. At the time, I wouldn’t have admitted that I was angry at God. I would have said I was overwhelmed and exhausted. I played the victim well because I believed I was absolutely powerless.

We had endured the hardships of an international move followed by natural disaster and economic crisis, but our marriage had now been threatened. Each night, we went to bed with cold hands and struggled to turn up the heat between life-long lovers wrapped up in ice cold sheets. Our intimacy had been killed by the chaos and cold that made up our days. The negative thoughts came around again to tell me what I already knew: I had lost all control.

Continue reading on The Mudroom…

 

linking up:

purposefulfaith.com

#LMMLinkUp,  Monday Musings

 

Celebrate a Special Far-Away Friend with a “Birthday in a Box” [Women Behind the Scenes]

A birthday on the field can be a lonely time for an MK. She may remember her family and the fun celebrations they used to have back home. She may think about her favorite restaurant where she used to spend her birthdays or all the things she might receive if they were on American soil where they have all. the. things. Memories of birthdays past with special friends emerge with a longing to spend a day like those she’s spent before.

My daughter was young when we moved to the field, and the first birthday she had here was her fourth. Even at such a small age, she remembered her past birthday parties with her family. She wondered out loud if this birthday would be any fun. We included our friends here and had a small celebration a few days before, but when her actual birthday rolled around we didn’t have much planned…

Grandparents to the rescue!

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Continue reading this sweet story at Women Behind the Scenes and you’ll find a little tutorial to help you love someone special from far away, too!