My daughter has the prized job of being her classroom’s “Shark of the Week” this week. She gets to bring a “show and tell” every day (or as teachers like to call it, “a drag and brag”). Her show and tell for today is a collage of pictures of her family and friends, so last night she and I sat down with our boxes of photos and searched for pictures of grandmas and grandpas, uncles and aunts, cousins and close friends. This kind of project always makes a mother want to cry.

Bringing out the photo albums is kind of like opening pandora’s box me: all kinds of emotions come pouring out behind my brave face. Nostalgia for the past. Joy over all the good times. Laughter over chubby, goofy two-year-olds. Grief over how short you get with your newborns before they are crawling then running then jumping over the furniture. There was also fear, for how short everything is, how fast it all goes, how temporary we and our children are.

I tell my daughter regularly, “That’s it. No more. You are not allowed to get any bigger.” I’m perfectly serious. She thinks it’s hilarious. I want to simultaneously cry and laugh, and it comes out like an awkward belch of emotion.

Time is never on my side. I wholeheartedly agree with what James wrote: “Why you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” (James 4:14). Yep. Sounds about right.

At the start of another September, I feel time heavy on my mind. These hours and days that run through my fingers, somersaulting into months and years, bring a constant current of change. Nothing staying the same for very long, and I suppose with this fact comes the two things that I’m bringing for show and tell today:

1. If things are bad, take heart. Nothing lasts forever. Practice patience.

2. If things are good, rejoice and drink it in. Nothing lasts forever. Practice gratitude.

I wish I didn’t have to get any bigger, either. I wish I could just stop things here for awhile and drink them in without the constant tick-tock of time in the back of my mind. But rebelling against the truth won’t get me anywhere, in fact, it only wastes the precious time that I do have. There is absolutely no stillness in longing for the past or fearing the future. Stillness can only be found right here, in this present moment, with a heart of trust on an eternal God. 

Since I’m starting lots of new things this time of year, I’ve been thinking a lot about how I want this new school year to look like. To put it another way (one that doesn’t sound so narcissistic), I’ve been thinking about how I want to react to life. 

As a human, I have free will. God gave that to me and every human being. For the most part, I have a great deal of freedom to go and do as I please. I get to make hundreds of decisions every day. Plus, I live in the bountiful country of America, the land of so much opportunity. 

So I have a free will, which I am thankful for, but the fly in the ointment for me is this: I don’t have control. Free will without control. Desires without the promise of fulfillment. Goals with no guarantees. For as much free will as I have, God is the one in control. And this is a very good thing…except that I don’t usually love this fact. If I had my way, I would have my cake (desires) and eat it, too (fulfillment of said desires).

Sometimes things go our way. Sometimes they don’t. Sometimes, later on down the road, God lets us in on his secret. He gives us a peek at his plan, and we understand in retrospect how he worked everything out, even when things were pretty touch-and-go for us. But we don’t always get that privilege. I think one of the most fun things about heaven is going to be seeing how the intricacies of my life and everyone else’s were woven together into God’s beautiful story. I’m really hoping that’s what Paul was talking about in 1 Corinthians when he wrote, “Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.”

But for now, here on this earth, as a humble, regular-old human, I have to reconcile within myself this free will-no control thing. It scares me to death, really, how much I want and yet how much it is all out of my hands: my life, my husbands’s life, my children’s lives. I can’t make myself well or succeed or live or breathe, for that matter. I can’t do that for any of the people I love either. All of the big, important things in life are completely out of my control. 

But I can do the best with what I have. I can take care of myself and those I love. I can read God’s word and teach my children about Jesus. I can spread a little love. I can make healthy decisions. AND I can control one other thing: how I react to whatever God allows in my life. 

Choosing faith over fear, choosing contentment over greed, choosing prayer over complaining, choosing stillness over worry. This is the realm of my control, and even though it seems like a consolation prize, it is within this tiny realm that we display love, faithfulness, self-control, patience…all those good fruits. God has his hands in helping us along the way, of course, but when we work with what we’ve been given, it’s God-pleasing and good things tend to happen. It is here, in these sixty or seventy years worth of free will decisions, that we get to recognize God for who He is: the wonderful, loving, powerful, all-seeing One in control. When I take the leap and trust Him, stillness comes. 

And that, I realize, is exactly what I want my life to look like.

One of my favorite books is called Bird by Bird, and it’s by Anne Lamott. It’s a book of writing advice, but most of it is life advice, too.

The book got its name from one of Anne’s childhood memories. Her brother had procrastinated on a school project, some report about birds. He sat at the kitchen table surrounded by books, completely overwhelmed and not knowing where to begin.

I’ve had many such moments, at the kitchen table and otherwise. Sometimes I sit down with my life and systematically pick it apart, frustrated by the mountains of things that I have procrastinated over or just plain haven’t done. My family photographs, lingering on my computer. My writing, always pushed off to a magical “later date.” My devotional life, haphazard at best. I look at me, and I see so much that needs fixing, doing, accomplishing.

As Anne Lamott’s brother sat there overwelmed by the piles of books about birds, the research, and the looming deadline, he asked desperately,”How will I do this?” His father simply replied, “Bird by bird, son.”

Bird by bird. Word by word. One thing at a time.

I’ve come back to these words again and again when life overwhelms me. Last week I was reading a book by Glennon Doyle Melton that expressed a similar sentiment. Glennon struggled with addiction and bulimia for over a decade of her young life, and her path out of that darkness was simply to do the next right thing. She said in her book that she just kept doing the next right thing, just one thing at a time, until she was clean and sober and healthy.

It can be done. At the beginning of big scary changes or when we’re just getting up the gumption, it’s always just one thing at a time, always just bird by bird. It’s sometimes hard to believe that one little thing can lead to life-changing big things, but that’s how it’s done. It’s how masterpieces are painted, books are written, health is restored. One stroke, one word, one good decision at a time.

It’s also how our faith grows. One silent Bible reading, one turn away from temptation, one step away from worry, one simple prayer, one church service at a time. These simple steps are how it’s done. It’s how spiritually strong people become spiritually strong. They are strengthened through the simply magnificent words of Scripture, one word at a time.

I think that’s what it means when God says He won’t give us more than we can handle. He gives us the simple things to do, one thing at a time, while he moves heaven and earth and our cold hearts to make it all work out for our good.

Some funny things have been happening lately on this blog. 31 Feet seemingly has a mind of its own.

I was going about my business this month (new full-time job, four-year-old starting school, seven-year-old back to her activities, new routine, new freak-outs), when I got a random comment from my aunt on a blog post that I didn’t post. I haven’t written on 31 Feet for ages, over a year to be exact. I investigated a little and saw that it was a random draft of a post that I never published, but saved for a later date.

Then today, two weeks later, I got a few more comments in my inbox, a random message on Facebook. I thought it was funny, so I logged in to this dusty blog to investigate. (I can’t believe I actually remembered my login information).

After reading what I wrote, the light came on. I had totally forgotten that two summers ago I started writing another monthly series and had planned to release it in September 2013. Um. Obviously I never got around to it, except for three posts I wrote and then abandoned in the drafts section of 31 Feet. Well, I guess these posts wanted out, because come September 1st, 2nd, and 3rd of 2014, they published without my knowing.

The thing is, other people noticed. And encouraged. And commented. And here I am, writing again, and Lord knows, I needed it this September.

You see, I’ve been praying about what I want to be when I grow up. I’ve been praying about writing and mothering and my new job. I’ve been praying about being the person God wants me to be and doing the right thing and following Jesus instead of all the distractions of this world. I’ve been reading about all of this, too. About being honest and truthful and brave.

It’s just plain hard to write, even though it’s something I want so badly. It’s hard to not think it’s a waste of time, when I’m not getting paid to do it or when no one else reads my chicken scratchings. Plus, “I’m a mother…hence, I’ve done enough” is a really, really good excuse not to get up the gumption to write.

But it always bothers me when I’m not writing, because writing feels honest, and it feels like me. Sometimes the version of me that I present to the world and the version of me here on the page don’t match up. And that bothers me.

Even with these really good reasons, even when I feel so much better when I’m writing regularly, it requires a lot of work and a lot of patience and a lot of courage. I don’t want to fail. Sometimes I’d rather not be honest. And getting paid for the hours I put in at my “real job” is rewarding. To be real, I’m tired most of the time. Instead of trying to dig deep and write something meaningful, I’d rather just pour a glass of wine, watch Mad Men, and call it a night around 10pm.

And then these three little blog posts appear out of nowhere. Bing. Bing. Bing. From 365-odd days ago, little encouragements from my past. And this coincidence is the tipping point to pull my laptop out, take a hiatus from Jon Hamm, and start typing again.

It’s really a funny thing that happened.

It’s not just a new routine that steals our stillness. It can be old bad habits that we just can’t kick. A big stillness stealer for me is contentedness, or rather, the lack of it in my life.

I’m by nature a perfectionist and a driven, type A personality. While this helps me get a lot done in a very efficient manner, it also means it’s hard for me to just sit and enjoy the present blessings in my life. I’m one of those people that frequently uses the phrase…”I’ll be happy when…”

Besides perfectionism, other stillness stealers come in the form of jealousy, greed, and envy. Don’t think you have a problem? Don’t tell me you haven’t played the comparing game on Facebook (or Pinterest or Instagram or Twitter).

The truth of the matter is God gives us exactly what we need, when we need it. The problem we face is our denial of that. Our society is part of the problem with its “Keeping up with the Joneses” mentality, but it’s not just an American culture thing. It’s a sinful nature thing. And it totally steals our stillness.

Trust gets replaced with worry. A peaceful heart gets replaced with frantic, breathless striving. A healthy content soul turns into an ugly, oozing sore of envy and greed.

How does this happen? Well, for one, we’re doing more looking around than looking up. Another cause is pure delusion. We’re comparing our nitty gritty life with everyone else’s highlight reel (or so the saying goes about Facebook).

It’s time to shove it all aside. It’s time to settle down. It’s time to take a deep breath, confess it off our hearts, ask for a big helping of forgiveness, and pray for the peace we so desperately need. I need it so bad.

So what’s with the name? Why have I called this new set of posts “Still September?” In danger of stating the obvious, I’ll go ahead and say that September is anything but still for me. With schoolage children and a teacher for a husband, September picks up our summer routine (ahhh…summer) and throws it out the window (eeeekkkk….). The result is a month full of change, a catapulting of our lives into the new school year.

New friends and procedures and routines for my children, a new job for me, a whole new pace for everyone. Time to go back to the to-do lists and my frantically scribbled on desk blotter.

Quite simply, September is anything but still around here.

I think September is one of those months that feels a lot like January. It causes us to reflect on routines gone by, what worked and didn’t work. It marks the passing of time and makes us nostalgic. And it’s a great month to set up a bunch of expectations and resolutions.

I learned something difficult in the past couple of years. Call me naive, but I really did believe that someday life would settle down and that I would become a grown-up that had it all figured out. But that’s exactly what you learn when you become a grown-up: life never settles down. We’re constantly readjusting, reworking, reevaluating our lives. Life itself is change. It’s not just September.

Which is when I learned that it’s not about having it all figured out, but learning how to go with the flow. Control is absolutely positively undeniably an illusion (bleh, another grownup lesson). Although we claim we have it “under control,” we don’t. We have nothing under our control, really, except for our attitudes and our outlook on life.

With all of these grownup lessons in the back of mind, it leaves me longing for something to hold on to. With the consistency of change, I long for stillness. With the absence of control, I long for something to hold on to.

Enter GOD.

He’s simply the only constant: his love, his promises, his forgiveness, his grace. He’s simply the only one with control: all powerful, all knowing, all seeing.

I think acknowledging that things are always out of control and changing is our first step, because it drives us to the only ONE answer. So that’s what I’m seeking this September. The stillness of my God.

Last year at Christmastime, I wrote a blog called A Different December. From the first of December until the twenty-fifth, I wrote a blog a day, every day. I didn’t want to wake up on Christmas morning as I normally did, with a home decorated and food prepared and presents bought, but completely unprepared spiritually to welcome the day and my Savior. I wanted that December to be different. So I forced myself to sit at the computer for awhile every day to contemplate and prepare my heart for Jesus’ coming.

It wasn’t easy to do, and just because I sat down every day didn’t mean that the distractions and to-do lists and obligations and piles of laundry magically disappeared. It was more work, yes, but it brought a wealth of spiritual blessings. And it reminded me: the truly good things in life are worth fighting for. After completing that month I was tired, but incredibly fulfilled.

That’s why it’s time to do it again. This time in September, when the school year is fresh and scratchy new. When summer is the farthest away from us, and the calendar pages feel fat and full. When routines are yet to be established, and we make our first efforts to carve new ruts of familiarity and comfort.

“If we can just make it to October…” That’s the saying in my family, among my sisters and mom, come every August when we’re pushing into new school years, new jobs, new homes. We’d all rather skip from the all the firsts, right over itchy September into the crisp, cozy days of autumn. Of course that’s impossible, but it helps us remember that all these new things, all these unpacked boxes and unfamiliar faces and unknown routines are temporary. Soon things will feel lived in and comfortable again, and that usually happens around October.

So I’m going to do what my psychologist sister tells me to do:

Lean in.

Lean into the discomfort of all the new things. Lean into the unknowns. Lean into the fears. If you’ve never heard this expression, it means to accept what’s going on and to sit with it, instead of trying to avoid it or explain it away or give up on it. It’s accepting what is, taking a deep breath, crying if you have to, and then moving onward. The shortest distance isn’t around something, it’s straight through it.

So while I’m leaning into the discomfort, I’m not going at it alone. God is standing right next to me. He made our lives with day and night, firsts and lasts, seasons that come and go. And while we’re standing at the beginning at the start of a new day, a new month, a new season, a new job or a new school year, it’s the perfect time to let the past go (he’s forgiven it all) and move forward with Him (he sees what’s ahead). As we begin, we know that we’re walking with him.

September is the perfect month to lean into Him.