Yesterday, a friend asked me to take a survey. I think it was for a graduate class she is taking. It was two or three pages long, full of statements that I could mark as “never” or “not usually” or “usually” or “routinely.” Most of the questions were about my health. Do I eat 3-5 servings of fruit a day? Do I exercise for 30 minutes a day? Do I get routine check-ups? Do I feel emotionally able to handle my daily life? Do I spend time with people who support me?

One of the questions struck me. It was: “do you have problems accepting things you cannot change?”

My instinct was to mark the “not usually” bubble. I don’t rage against life too much or shake my fist at heaven too often. But then I stopped and looked backward for a few minutes. If I reach back into my past, I can find the anger and the feelings of injustice and the disappointment pretty easily. I can see myself wishing for different circumstances. I can see myself pouting. I can see myself wasting time and energy trying to change things or people I had no business trying to change. I know I’ve prayed for the Lord to change my surroundings instead of changing my attitude.

Accepting things I cannot change takes humility. I means that I have to shelve my ideas of what I think I should have or what I want to happen. It means that I have to get out of the way while God is doing his work in my life (or rather, the life that he gave to me).

I don’t like to get out of the way. I like to help arrange things…a little too much. I like to bring my list of requests to God and hear all yes-es. And when I don’t get the answers I want, I don’t find myself accepting. I find myself worrying and fearing and complaining.

This is not a peaceful existence, believe me.

One of my favorite quotes is quite familiar, but the application is forever a work in progress for me. It popped into my brain as I sat there contemplating whether to mark the “not usually” or the “routinely” bubble on my survey.

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

Sometimes we can change things, sometimes we can’t. But something we can always change is our attitude. We can focus on God and find the peace we are seeking because our God does not change. He is and always will be almighty, loving, all-knowing, all-seeing. He is always working things out for the good of those who love him. He always keeps his promises.

I marked the “I’m working on it” bubble.

Tonight I met up with my friend to start planning this year’s Advent by Candlelight program. Advent by Candlelight is a night at the beginning of December when the ladies of our church decorate the auditorium with candles and bring in the best kinds of Christmas food to share, potluck style. But before we eat, we get quiet. We read God’s Word, listen to a series of Advent-themed devotions, sing carols, and bow our hearts in prayer. Advent by Candlelight is like a deep, cleansing, centering breath before heading into Christmas. The evening is about getting our hearts ready for Christmas, as well as celebrating together.

My friend plans it every year, and last year she dragged me into it, too. Just kidding. I’m excited to help write the program again this year. I really, really am. So we got together tonight to decide on a theme.

You know what struck me? It’s not hard to come up with ideas, it’s hard to narrow it down to just one. The enormous, complex, awesome, mind-blowing thing that is Christmas is hard to distill into a 45 minute program. There are so many possible themes, so much history, so many angles (and angels), so many players involved. There is so much to talk about, so much ground to cover.

And Christmas is just one of the stories in the Bible, just one piece of our salvation. A big piece, yes, but just one. It makes me think of that verse at the end of John:

“Jesus did many other things as well. If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written.”

You know what? That’s one of my favorite verses of the Bible. Always has been. It’s a plain statement with such reverb. I love how John just calls out at the end of his book, “Hey. There’s so much more to say, but I just can’t do it. No one could.”

So often I complain about how I don’t know enough about life or God or “his plan for my life” or “how this will all work out.” I focus on the idea of scarcity, and it makes me shrivel up with worry and fear. I complain that God hasn’t given me enough answers for my life, but I’m so wrong about that. He has given me so very much to know in his Word. Creation. Salvation. Grace. Forgiveness. Eternal life. Things I couldn’t get my mind around no matter how much I thought about them. In fact, the more I think about these things, the more amazing they become to me. Abundance produces more abundance.

It’s true what “they” say. It’s about my attitude. It’s about what I focus on. It’s about what I choose to see or not see. God invites me every day to wake up and see the abundance of Him: his forgiveness that stretches from east to west, his love that knows no depth or height, his mercies new every morning, his presence that has no beginning or end. This mighty, mighty abundance. His mighty, mighty abundance.

It makes an ordinary day like September 25th feel a lot like December 25th.

I’m the Director of Communications at a Christian school that runs a preschool through twelfth grade program. People ask me regularly, “What does that mean, exactly?”

I try to explain that the job is mostly marketing, a little public relations, a little human resources, a little bit copy writer, a little bit photographer/blogger, a little bit advancement, a little webmaster, and a lot of communicating with anyone and everyone connected to the school.

A shorter answer is, “I’m still trying to figure that out myself.” But I don’t always like to admit that.

All people seem to remember is that I run the school’s Facebook page. “She’s the Facebook girl,” they say. Which is okay, I guess. People don’t have to know what I do or how I do it, but I’d like them to.

Just last week, my husband found me in the kitchen, steamed up from something that happened over the course of my day. When he asked me about it, I threw up my hands and fumed, “No one knows what in the world I do!”

Of course, what I actually meant was, “I don’t know what in the world I do!”

I want the comfort of knowing. I don’t like the uncomfortable feeling of not knowing. I don’t like looking people in the eyes and saying, “I don’t know.” I want the assurance that if I do a, b, and c, then d will happen.

But that’s not real life.

We don’t get that kind of assurance when we parent or when we lead or when we change careers or start a new relationship. Life, unfortunately, doesn’t work that way. We don’t get a handout when we turn 18 that clearly and concisely lays out what we can do to be successful, fulfilled, loved, and happy. A lot of people disagree and encourage us to check certain boxes and for a successful and happy life. But, still, If we check all those boxes, we aren’t guaranteed anything.

As I was sitting in chapel last Friday, the PTO President tossed me a white t-shirt and called out, “I thought of you!” When I unfolded it, it had one and only word on it:

“Liked.”

I smiled for 10 minutes. This silly little reference to my role as the “Facebook girl” was one of the most spot-on gifts I’ve ever received. And it shifted my perspective.

Life isn’t about my job. Life isn’t about people knowing or seeing what I do. Life isn’t about figuring out how to be successful and well-liked. Life is about knowing that I am “liked” by a God who has it all figured out. When I get all wrapped up in what I’m doing, I lose sight of what God is doing (and what he has already done for me on the cross). I’m not the master of the universe. I’m a tool in His hands. I don’t have to worry about knowing how this all works out, because that’s not my job. It’s His. I don’t even need a job description, I just need to follow Him, one step at a time.

Daily accepting the fact that I can’t do anything on my own is a very good box to check, along with daily contemplating the fact that God loves me so much that he saved me. Other good boxes to check? Confessing my sin. Being thankful. Praying. Reading God’s Word. Helping those God has put in my life. Letting go of worry (Like, physically. Like, literally prying it out of my death grip).

Sometimes I have it all mixed up. I spend so much time trying to figure out this life that I forget that the most important stuff is all figured out.

The rest is just details.

Can I get a “like?”

I think people are a little worried about me. Since I’ve started writing again, I realize that all I’ve been writing about are my inner battles, which I think are pretty good fodder. The struggle, the problems, the figuring it out…that’s what’s at the heart of every good story. That’s why we watch movies and read books, to see how other people have made it through (or not). Even though we’d say it’s about entertainment, I think most of the time it’s about trying to find someone else who is struggling the same way we are and came out okay or even more than okay (there is hope!).

I’m pretty much okay. I’m just being honest about life as it is. I think most everyone will agree. We’re all pretty much okay. We are all struggling with stuff: family stuff, work stuff, relationship stuff, figuring-out-my-life stuff, health stuff, faith stuff. Everyone has their thing. It may seem as though some people don’t have a thing, but that’s simply because they are good actors. And if someone says they don’t have a “thing,” they are lying. This is one of the most important things I have learned since becoming a “grown-up.”

When I was a child, I was fearless. Very bold and smart and driven and active, with a hot, hot temper. I had a fierce sense of right and wrong. And then I hit adolescence.

When I hit adolescence, I began to think that I was all wrong. I was too tall and skinny with no curves, not even calves to hold up my socks (I have very clear memories of my trendy knee-length athletic socks drooped sadly around my ankles. I didn’t want huge boobs. I had bigger problems. I just wanted calves to hold up my socks). My conscience was sensitive, so I wouldn’t talk back or slack off or ditch responsibility. I also felt different. I felt too old, like a forty-year-old in a fourteen-year-old’s body. Who I was on the inside didn’t match up with who I needed to be on the outside to be “cool.” Plus, I was scared crapless of boys. Zero idea of how to talk to them.

I added up all these things in my head, over and over again, and realized that I was not pretty or cool and had little hope of ever being so. I decided that I was just plain “wrong.” I lost my boldness and fearlessness, I lost my confidence, and I lost my voice. This ushered in years of feeling unbearably self-conscious, hardly able to answer a question in class without blushing. I lowered my expectations of everything. I was surprised when anyone wanted to be my friend. I dated hardly anyone.

This part of my story makes me sad. Because I look back and realize that nothing about me was “wrong,” only the fact that I had put myself in this category. Convincing myself that I was “wrong” held me back from many good things. Feeling this way made me pretend to be things I was not. I learned how to be an actor, composing the outside of myself to hide everything that I thought was wrong or weird on the inside.When I first starting dating my husband, I was literally waiting for the moment when he would find the real me and go running. Certainly someone this cool and together could not love me.

But he did. He loved me, and in a lot of ways, this was a new beginning for me. About this time, I also met some really good, supportive friends. All these new people in my life seemed to like me. They were happy for me when I was happy. They invited me to stuff. They laughed at my jokes. I began to realize that I was maybe okay. I got a little of my mojo back.

I had so much more figured out when I was a child. I was the person God made me, because I hadn’t learned how to pretend. It hadn’t yet occurred to me to want to be someone else. I was trusting and open. I marvel at this now in my own children. Hearts on their sleeves, questions on their lips. So much personality to behold.

But then I hit adolescence. Suddenly I had this over-abundance of self-conscienceness, brought on by my awkward, growing, morphing body. I had this knowledge of people not just being different, but “right” or “wrong” or “well-liked” or “weird.” I had zero confidence. I began to think that if I wore the right clothes or knew the right people or was uber-successful, I would fit in and be “okay.” Or at least, I could fool people into thinking this. Any kind of acceptance or “rightness” was enough for me.

I’ve spent the last twenty or so years trying to get back to the child that I once was: bold, fearless, strong, trusting, unhampered by self-conscienceness. First, I tried to be something else by pretending and acting. Now I’m learning how to let down my guard and just be me.

I’m trying to do this because that’s who God made me to be. I want to be who God made me to be. I think when I get there, I’ll have a lot of peace, because my insides will match my outsides.

Honesty brings relief. Honesty brings peace. I know this because some of the most okay people I know are some of the most honest people I know. Plus, God tells me that I’m fearfully and wonderfully made. And mostly importantly, he loves me…me! The little one he created 32 years ago, the fearless child, the cowering teen, the always-learning adult, the recovering adolescent. The one he died to save. The one he wants to spend eternity with.

Water is everywhere in Miami: canals, rivers, lakes, the ocean, the rainstorms. This summer we moved into a home that sits on a little lake, like many homes here do. The first few weeks in our new home, I looked at the water first thing when I got up and last thing before I went to bed. I marveled at the light on the water, the way the surface rippled when a storm was moving in, the deep colors it took in when the sun was setting. I watched the wildlife: flocks of ducks making clean trails through the water and dragonflies dancing around the edges and a family of five turtles with long flat bodies and long, freaky necks that poked up from beneath the surface. I sat and daydreamed at my desk, out a large, sunny window that faces my backyard. The water was mesmerizing, and I loved the beauty it brought my view. I said to my husband at least once a day, “I can’t believe we get to live here.”

I was working in my backyard tonight, pulling at a jungle of weeds. I straightened up and took in my first real view of the water for days. It’s funny how we get used to things, isn’t it?

I’ve gotten used to the beautiful view. I’ve gotten used to my beautiful babies and husband. I’ve gotten used to my health and my able body and my supportive church and my pack of wonderful friends. I’m used to my bank account and my dental care and my freedom to worship my God without any fear. I’m used to my faith and forgiveness and the miraculous hope of heaven and the gift of grace.

I’m so sadly prone to discontent. I have so very much. I could make a list that went on for days. I could type out all my blessings and probably never be finished, because eventually I’d name every person in my life, every cell in my body, every fish in the sea. Instead of spending my days being overwhelmed by gratefulness, my hours are spent listing worries and wants and everything on my Christmas list.

I’m realizing how tricky of a creature discontentment is. Discontent crawls in when we already have everything we need to be content. Discontent makes itself comfortable, because it’s not a shocking sin. It’s quiet at first, just whispering ideas into our ears. But discontent makes itself at home, just like a parasite, sucking away all our gratefulness. Discontent takes a perfectly peaceful, perfectly still person and convinces her that the answer is out there in the world. Discontent sends us chasing, churning up all these feelings of scarcity and envy and jealousy and fear.

Discontent disturbs the water.

But our Savior is good, so very good. Don’t worry, don’t chase, don’t fear, He says.  He shows us again and again, calmly and quietly in His Word, that thankfulness and giving are better ways. He reminds us that compared to what is ours through Him, everything else is just plain rubbish. What we have is enough. More than enough. He satisfies every longing, he quenches every thirst, like only water can.

Some things about blogging are really weird, like the fact I’m letting people inside my head. People I know, people I don’t know at all, people who knew me when. I say things and admit things to everyone out there, no matter who they happen to be.

But when I write something, I try not to think about it. If I’m doing it right, I’m not obsessing about who is reading my posts or what they are going think of me or how many “likes” they will give me. I try to put the thought of publication far, far, far from my mind. I’ve learned that the more I think about all the possible repercussions of writing, the less I like my writing. It gets to feel contrived, or I’m just too freaked out to write anything. So I pretend that no one at all is going to read these posts.

Buuuuuuut.

I write on a blog so that I have the needed pressure to write regularly. I’ve found that when it comes to writing, it’s hard to stick with it. It’s hard to sit down and come up with something just barely coherent at times. And some days are funky, meaning funky things happen or I am just randomly in a funk. On these days, I need that outside pressure and my own desire to save-face to drag me to my laptop.

Today is one of those days. Bear with me. I’m tired. Cranky. Restless. Overwhelmed by the griminess of my house. Bored. Achy. Ill-tempered. Funky. Nothing bad or out-of-the-ordinary happened today. It’s beastly hot and humid here in Miami, so maybe I’m just mad at all the people who are pinning apple baking recipes to their Pinterest boards and getting to wear riding boots and cute chunky knit sweaters. I don’t know.

I know there’s nothing that’s going to redeem the remaining hours of this day: no glass of wine strong enough, no hot bath long enough, no sitcom funny enough. This day just needs to be in the books. So I’m going to do something Biblical and wait for morning to come. I’m going to bed.

I’m so happy that God creates regular opportunities for us to start over. I like to think He created sleep to ease the burdens of the day, recharge our physical and mental batteries, and clear the slate. Every night, he brings in the darkness like a cleaning crew. When we get up, yesterday’s sins are behind us, hope is present, opportunity abounds. Anything can happen. I’ve always wholeheartedly agreed with the passage that declares, “Your mercies are new every morning.” Thank you, Jesus. After about 16 hours in any given day, I’m so ready for a chance to start over.

It brings me an enormous amount of peace to know that no matter the funk of today, tomorrow is full of another chance.

Good night.

I have to admit, my devotional life is haphazard, at best. I got my One Year Bible in 2002ish, and it’s never been read cover to cover, just in fits and spurts. I read Christian nonfiction, self-helpish books a few times a year. Usually swallow them whole, in fact. After an intense few days with a book, I usually finish and then resume my on-again-off-again relationship with routine devotions.

The same can be said for my prayer life. Although I talk to God whenever I need to: in the shower, in the car, in those moments of mommy-craziness (pot on stove boiling over, loud making of “music” on the piano by my accomplished pianist after her second lesson, four-year-old melting down about the Avengers packaging I threw away because “IT. IS. NOT. GARBAGE.” he says ), I don’t really talk to him every day. I say my dinner prayers faithfully and pray with my children every night, but I don’t carve out a few minutes to lay everything before him, whether that be praise or petitions.

Do you know what excuses I give myself? I’m busy. Life is crazy. I’d be telling the truth, kind of. I am busy. Life is crazy. I don’t think anyone would argue with me about those two facts. Every day is different with children. Some nights are restful, others are muddled dreams of half-consciousness. Sometimes everyone is happy and healthy, sometimes everyone is sick and downright ornery.

It’s hard to nab a quiet moment. It’s hard to put down all the necessary tasks around me and think that reading God’s word is going to help the child that’s throwing a tantrum or remedy that fact that I didn’t sleep last night.

Everyone can substitute in their version of busy. If you don’t have kids, you have a crazy job or are a full-time caregiver or the only church volunteer or a grad student on the run. There is always something for everyone to be doing. Everyone’s plate is full.

The thing is I’ve never, ever regretted sitting down and reading the Bible. Ever. I’ve never thought back on my day and wished that I hadn’t spent all that time reading God’s Word. I’ve never been like, “(sound of disgust)! If only I hadn’t spent that 15 minutes in prayer I would be so much further ahead.” I don’t ever flop into bed at night thinking about how I shouldn’t have written a blog post about God-stuff.

I can use the words never ever and mean them literally in this context. And I can do that because time spent listening and talking to God is truly necessary to me and my faith. That’s why God tells me in the Bible to read his Word and pray. He says that because it is just the best thing for human beings. We were programmed for a relationship with God. When we avoid these necessary things, it isn’t good for us and our faith shrinks up like the plants on my porch that need watering.

Reading God’s Word and praying are necessary things. End of story. There’s nothing fancy about it. There’s no need to try to figure anything else out. There’s no real next-big-thing in devotional life. It’s just about reading and talking with a heart of faith, bringing our praise and our troubles, our thanks and our worries, our confessions and our awe. It’s about being reminded again and again of God’s grace through Jesus, the answer to our haphazard lives.

In my quest “to figure it out,” I’ve been saying it a lot:

I just need to get into a routine…

I just need to figure out how to deal with this…

I just need to let it go…

I just need to relax…

I just need to say no…

I just need a hot bath…

I have my little life in my inept little hands, like some Rubik’s Cube. I twist it one way and then another, adjusting this only to mess up that. I keep trying to figure out what I need to make everything feel “right.” And when I figure that out, let me tell you, I will have earned some peace. I will achieve that stillness if it’s the last thing I do.

I get to do a really cool thing every Friday. Since I work at a Christian school, I get to attend chapel with the kids every Friday morning. Most often, I go to the elementary grades chapel, because that’s where my kids are, but sometimes I go to the middle/high school chapel.

Middle and high school chapel has a great band that leads the music for the service. This morning I got to hear them sing, and they sang I song that I haven’t heard before, and it almost physically brought me to my knees. I managed not to cry in a room full of teenagers, but just barely. Here is a link to the song on YouTube, click over and listen to it:

For the last eight or nine years, I’ve worked from home. My cubicle has been my couch and the little desk in the corner of my kitchen, every bed in the house and finally a large, proper desk that my husband built for me last summer. For the most part, I’ve set my own hours and worked in my yoga pants. Only recently did I become un-self-employed and acquired pants with buttons. I work for “the man” again.

It’s been exhilarating. I love having coworkers to chat with, real adult human beings who tell me about their kids and their weekend plans. After years of piecing consulting work together, I now have a real, regular paycheck and the solidarity of a salary. I work for the school where my husband teaches and my kids go to second grade and preschool, so our life is wrapped up into a neat little package there, just five minutes away. This convenience is life-changing for a working mother. Most of all, I love the fact that every odd job I’ve done since graduating from college now makes sense. They’ve all twisted together to miraculously make me qualified for this new job.

But it’s been a bumpy ride. Any change, no matter how great, is a transition. I think about my blissful, horrible first year of marriage. My husband and I never loved or hated each other quite that way in the nine years since, as we adjusted together to the idea of marriage, started brand new jobs, and made a cross country move in one extraordinary month.

And here I stand again, this September, still struggling with a job that I started in June. I like the work. I am excited for my new projects. I am exhilarated by the hours I now have to get things done since my youngest is now in school. But…it’s the drama-rama that has me reeling. All those years working at home didn’t prepare me for working with people again. I’m used to working alone.

Now I have to depend on other people. I have my hands on their work; they have their hands on mine. When I mess up, people know about it. When other people mess up, it affects me. I work with a bunch of lovely, caring, fun, committed, passionate people. But we’re all people nonetheless. It’s in our very nature to screw up. Regularly. Like clockwork.

So for a person that’s used to the safe, mostly people-free zone of consulting work, this has been quite a shock to the system. I’m ashamed of it. I feel like I should be able to deal with it. I feel like it shouldn’t have been such a surprise. And it’s stressed me out and ruffled my feathers and made me very, very frustrated with myself and my coworkers. I need to take a chill pill.

But the thing is, as I stand here trying to figure it out…how to relate, how to let go, how to play nice…I know, I know it’s the best thing for me. It’s just hard, that’s all.

When I was a baby, my mom tells me I used to line up my bath toys on the side of the bathtub. Organized. Tidy. Controlled. Not much has changed for me. That’s who I am. I like things that way. I don’t like messes. They make me nervous, like something is wrong or things are out of control.

But people are messy. Life is messy. And I can sit there in my neat little one-person bathtub or I can put on some work clothes and go outside and play with people. One is neat and lonely. One is out of control, but much, much more fun…and hard…and lovely…and terrifying…and drama-filled…and just plain awesome.

Yesterday I found myself in Struggle City. That’s what my blogging sister calls it when you are having a rough day (or month or year). Today, I’m exiting Struggle City, but I didn’t get a post written. I thought I’d give myself the day off. Instead, I’ll share my sister’s most recent post. She wrote it on Monday, and I loved what she had to say about struggling. Follow this link for a good read, especially if you find yourself in Struggle City, too:

http://strugglecityblog.com/2014/09/08/mini-struggles/