There’s this little homing device I wear. It’s broken. It bumps me into things. It roams and returns me to the same old stuff, like making people happy and trying to impress them with my best dresses. It gets me zapped too. Usually by guiding me outside the boundaries of safe, where I get electrocuted by a dog fence or something like that.
Zap… You look dumb again.
Zap… You messed up again.
Zap… You are letting your kids down.
Zap… You’ll never find your way.
Are you at all like me?
Trying to adventure to more, but feeling continually zapped by failure?
I just read the book, Making it Home by Emily Wierenga. I think this girl gets me.
Her words shed light on the spectrum of my issues:
She says, “I still forget I have a voice.”
I say, “Yes, Emily. I often can’t hear myself; that voice feels afraid to stand up for itself too. It feels like no matter how loud it screams it will still be hushed and shushed rather than loved and embraced. I get that.”
Maybe my voicelessness prevents me
from hearing myself – from hearing God too.
She says, “I’ve been working all my life to make something of myself.”
I say, “Yes. I go because if I stop, I might be left with – me. And having to deal straight up with all that, well, sometimes that is even more terrifying than all the work I use to cover me.”
Maybe all my hard work,
speaks over the power of Jesus on the cross
– and how desperately I need his saving.
She says, “Because there aren’t accomplishments enough to affirm the three-year old inside who still can’t talk, the nine-year old who decided to stop eating, the sixteen-year-old who was dumped for being too nice.”
I say, “Mmm…hmmm. The voices of the past come back, but they don’t sound like the voices of yesterday, they now sound like mine.”
What was then, I claim as now.
Oh, I know, Emily, I know. I know living with the emotions called its-scary-to-be-me.
Often, the fear of self is our greatest fear.
It’s in this place where you have to come to terms with the idea that God made you alright. That he likes you alright. That you can speak inner-truth without retribution. That you can fall down and he won’t hate you. That taking the risk is worth the small chance you might fall over the cliff. Because he’ll catch you when you do. And this is the point – almost the point of life, I believe.
Unleashing the wounds under all the age-old bandages are freeing. You rip off what the enemy has placed over your mouth and again you come alive. You scream out, “I believe in Jesus. He loves me the way I am. He is healing what was broken. I don’t have to know the way; he does. You get real; he does too.”
You see his face; it looks like love.
I am approaching that.
She says, “I am learning that being a woman is about giving until it hurts and then receiving so much that my soul might break.”
I say, “It looks like letting go.”
God says, “For whoever would save his life will lose it,
but whoever loses his life for my sake and the gospel’s will save it.” (Mark 7:35)
So often, I think it is about fixing.
I think it is about rewriting.
I think it is about thinking.
I think it is about finding a counselor.
I think it is about working harder.
I think it is about fitting more into my schedule, or organizing things well or stopping bad behavior.
It’s not. Finding my way is about losing myself to love and finding myself swept up under the feet of Christ as he saves.
It is about getting so wrecked and so raw that you’re remade. This happens through little people, sometimes, small feet whose tender trust in dad, shows how much you can trust a good daddy. Or, through a book, as it sparks an area you need to stop, pray about and deeply consider. Or, through a husband, who humbly and sacrificially gives so abundantly that God calls you to scream thanks. Or, through circumstances that align, like stars, only as a loving Savior could display. Or, through a fresh encounter with God that almost leaves you breathless. Or, through prayer that works, as each word takes hold in the air.
Home is all around me. I am in the center of it, because God is in the center of me. Will I believe?
This small shift, this mustard seed belief, changes everything. For, when I get low and looking, I uncover Jesus. Then, I see me, coming to life. Rather than a dull image, I move with certainty and power. I run like a flip-book drawing galavanting to purpose. It may not look like much by the world standards. But, God and I? We know, it is power, vision and hope that are leading.
They lead home.
Thank you, Emily, for sparking this in my heart. In this case, God rushed in through small words written in a medium-sized book that was written by you; I am grateful.
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Sometimes you meet someone you immediately connect with. Emily is this sort of gal. Her honest and engaging prose lifted my heart to another place. Emily cares. This is what I felt when I read her book. I felt loved, as she grew in love for herself. Thank you, Emily.
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About the Book, Making It Home
For women who have grown up in the tension between third-wave feminism and Martha Stewart, it can be a struggle to define and embrace the meaning of home. There is constant pressure to do things a certain way, and sometimes intense criticism from those who think you’re doing it wrong. But what if home isn’t really about whether or not you homeschool or have a career? What if it’s more about who you are than what you do?
Click for more information on Making it Home.