It has been quiet here lately. Sometimes my inner world and outer world both seem too immense and swirly to pin down. Or pen down.

Yet years of writing have taught me that this is my way, that life is a narrative and I am its scribe. Writing detoxes my overstuffed soul. It’s a personal sacrament that exhales the too many things and inhales the true nourishment of perspective. This space of writing the real has also taught me that there is kinship in sharing, sacred community as we pass the cup of truth to one another and sip the goodness of a real God who works in real ways through the very real life of his people.

Grab your coffee and settle in, friends. This one is more than the usual word count.

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It all began last July.

The actual decision to put our house on the market came quickly, even though we’d been thinking about it for two years. So we worked at fever pitch to ready and list our house ASAP. As is often the case, unexpected stresses and diversions showed up on the scene right after we made that monumental decision. The last half of summer was a blur of paintbrushes, trips to Lowe’s, unsupervised children, weeping, gnashing of teeth, and hiring out a long list of odd jobs.

Even though we knew we were listing at a weird time — the end of summer — we took our chances and prayed for showings. Besides, one never knows how long these things might take. {Understatement of the century.}

The showings didn’t come.

Maybe one showing in the first six weeks? All that stress, time, expense, and hopefulness — only to have no one look at our house.

And so I waited, as hope dissolved into doubt and discouragement.

Meanwhile, school started and we entered into fall season with fewer resources and greater weariness.

My friend Susan was fiercely battling her cancer by this point and I wanted to be available. I said no to other things and thanked God that He hadn’t complicated our lives with a move. Already, I was grateful that He’d saved me from the timing I thought I wanted.

In the midst of these months, months in which I continued to write heavily and work hard and wait patiently, my husband and I walked through our own unexpected season of struggle. Every day seemed like a battle and in retrospect, we realize it was.

I had to face some ugly things about myself, fighting against repentance instead of resting in it. Thanks to some accountability, I finally said yes to facing my excuses and accepting my truest priorities. We began to earnestly pray for preservation during that intense time and enlist others to pray for us too. We got proactive about protecting the foundation of our family and fought against the unseen enemies trying to chip away at us.

As these raw and tender days ticked by, Susan’s cancer continued to grow worse. One abrupt downturn. Then another.

And so I waited, along with many others, with hope that eventually dissolved into cruel acceptance. 

I fought guilt because she was dying and I was living. I swallowed regret and the heaviness of knowing that those who needed her most were going to lose her. I had to reconcile her unfair death with the gifts of my own life and honestly, there’s no reconciling these things, no making sense of it or cliché-ing our way to peace. Even now.

It was at this time — a time of grief and deep relational work, a time of being there for some extended family needs, a time of managing a family of five’s fall schedule — that our house began to show.

Gimme a T for TIMING!

Seriously, it was one showing after another as I frantically made our very lived in home looked not lived in.

I don’t know how many times I loaded all the laundry and the dog and the kids into my hardworking minivan and backed out of my driveway in anxious tears and dripping sweat, apologizing to my children for yelling at them as we made our way to the Wendy’s drive-thru for dollar menu cheeseburgers, waiting and junking up our minivan-turned-RV while strangers scrutinized our home.

Every time it was the same mostly positive feedback. Prospective buyers said it showed beautifully.

But no offers.

And so we waited, with hope that eventually dissolved into dismay. 

Within several weeks time, I lost my friend to cancer, had to keep showing my house — which seemed completely dumb and superficial in light of death — and somehow share my own story at a women’s event, even though I was terrified and still swimming in grief.

And so I waited, with hope that strength would come from on high because I certainly couldn’t manufacture it from within.

The strength did come. Along with joy, a gift I never even knew to ask for.

I started a needful and doable little business through the blog about this time and we welcomed the holidays a bit late and a lot weary. Like many of you, we waded through the flu, unmet expectations, and maybe just a little bit of relational discord in the home.

When the new year arrived with its confetti and resolutions, I looked her in the eye and said, “If you don’t mind, 2014 sort of did me in and might I just lie down for the next few weeks?”

But 2015 threw her head back and laughed. Within days and out of nowhere, I was showing the house right and left, begging the exhaustion to stay at bay for just a while longer.

While my minivan turned into a bona fide recreational vehicle with its bins of laundry and picnic basket of sandwich supplies and dog crate seat-belted in, my husband’s car just up and died. Like, for good. Y’all, he has a 40 minute commute every day and it was looking like this house would finally sell and you cannot buy a car right before you buy a house. {“T” for TIMING.}

Thanks to the use of my parents’ vehicle while they traveled, we got kids where they needed to be and prayed for a short-term car solution. I kept on making the dinner and the lunches and the lived-in / not-lived-in house.

And so I waited, with weariness as my co-pilot, but also with hope that eventually lifted into real possibility, and the patience that comes from practice.

After a week of negotiation, we had two actual offers on the same day. After the many months of waiting and grief and roller-coastering — a breakthrough. We were under contract and going through all the motions. Also — as I literally handed the keys back to my mom, a loaner car showed up on the scene. Seriously, at that very moment. Just like that, one huge prayer answered.

It was the spiritual cushion we needed.

Because when we got home that night, we received bad news about the house. {Thankfully, it had nothing to do with the “streams of toilet waters.” Nothing to do with the actual house at all.} Short of divine intervention, we may not be selling it. Not just now anyway. Late nights and long talks and a whole lot of work later, we’ve released our own expectations again.

And so we wait, as hope continues to lift because of God’s faithfulness, even in the midst of disappointment.  

Right about now you’re probably wondering if I invited Debbie Downer to write a guest post. {Insert sad trombone.}

I’ve even gone back with my editing and tried to happy-it-up a bit.

But hope and faith don’t shine bright and meaningful if not cast against a bleak backdrop. And easy street doesn’t usually take us anywhere that’s worth going.

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Though the last eight months were full of countless gifts, crucial life lessons, and more goodness than I can speak of, the most pivotal point for me came the day after the bad news.

When that audacious curve ball showed up and smashed my hope-filled mood that Monday night, I ranted and cried. And then I went to bed.

After shuttling the boys to school Tuesday morning, I came back home and settled into my assigned study for that day on the life of Moses, a study I’ve been going through all year. God held his Word up like a mirror and in it, I saw myself as clearly as ever — my ingratitude, unbelief, and lack of trust. I confessed that I prefer to see and then believe, instead of the other way around. That I prefer rational, tangible certainty instead of the ridiculousness of faith.

In those ancient words I looked upon a chosen and dearly loved people who had been delivered against all odds, fed against all odds, led against all odds, and shown God’s glory against all odds.

Just like me.

Yet they continued to grumble, to doubt God’s promises, to see the bigness of their disappointing circumstances instead of the bigness of their God. They clung to their own expectations instead of trusting in a God who had proven Himself 100% trustworthy.

And so they did not wait, as hope dissolved into doubt and unbelief.

Just like me.

The Lord broke me in the most clear and gentle way that Tuesday morning — He simply opened my eyes. Until then I couldn’t see that I was enslaved to entitlement, expectation, and even envy.

When we went under contract a couple of weeks ago, my attitude was “Finally” instead of “Thank you.”

Our circumstances haven’t changed. The crazy is still showing up. I’ve locked the keys in my van, had some epic fails as a parent, and prayed desperately for wisdom that hasn’t shown up yet, all within the last week. We still long for the outcome we’ve set our hearts upon and we’re doing what we can but not in a feverish, this-must-work-out sort of way. God has looked upon us in our weary state and He has provided exactly what we needed but didn’t know to ask for —

A renewed faith in Him. A deeper, truer, very real and inexplicable trust. A trust that feels a lot like freedom.

Seemingly on the cusp of what we’d wished for, He said —

Not yet. But I am doing something new in you. Will you trust me?

Will you stay close and cling to my promises? Will you cry out to me instead of venting to others? Will you believe that I see the things you cannot see? Will you trust in me and me alone for your provision? Will you wait, knowing that you do not wait alone or without purpose? Will you love me by remembering all that I’ve done for you? When you prefer to grumble, will you choose to be grateful? I have loved you with an everlasting love and not a single thing — from a broken engine to heartbreaking news, from continued grief to deep weariness — can separate you from that love. Will you believe me on that?

You think I’ve got a Cinderella end to this story, don’t you? That I’m about to tell you how it’s all worked out even better than we’d hoped and God was saving a dream house and also that we won a brand new car and our kids have been given early admission and full scholarships to ivy league universities?

Hardly. But it already has worked out better than we’d planned. Our anemic prayers asked for tangible outcomes and while those are totally legit things for which to hope and pray, God answered us with Himself — with his love and his truth and his presence.

He’s given us his peace and a calm{ish} perseverance and I can’t even tell you how contrary this is to our natures.

I make it sound gentle but really, every day we fight to keep trusting. We fight against our human nature and our culture’s gospel of self-reliance. We fight against entitlement and materialism. We fight to believe God’s Word is true and that He’s even there at all. At least I do.

But by His grace, I desperately fight for my faith and He lovingly hands it to me as a gift.

Just enough for that day, which is all we ever need.

And it’s a gift I wouldn’t have received if everything had worked out the way we wanted. I wouldn’t be writing this post that proclaims the goodness of a real God who works in real ways through the very real lives of his people.

And so we wait, as hope pushes its roots deeper and stretches its branches wider and will one day bear the fruit that can only be born out of waiting and resting and trusting.

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Thanks for bearing with me through this one. I’m not usually so tell-all and sad trombone-ish. Might we hope I got these last 8 months out of my system with this one post?

While I long for regular time to write during this upturned season, my day-to-day is rather unpredictable and it may be that way for a while. Know that I’ll be showing up here whenever I can. AND that I’m still planning the next sale soon. {Outfits are styled and photographed.} I’ll keep you posted! Don’t want to miss? You can subscribe via e-mail in the box below. And of course you may unsubscribe anytime you like.

What about you? Have you ever felt stuck in a waiting room, only to find that it was a secret garden for hope and trust to grow its deep roots and bear its lasting fruit?

{This is Part 2 of Figuring Out Your Priorities. When You’re Bad at Figuring Out Your Priorities.}

I spent four and half years as a graduate student, surrounded by some of the best brains I’d ever encountered. The 17th floor of Patterson Office Tower was home to tenured or soon-to-be-tenured History scholars who spent days and nights cultivating their minds, furthering their research, instructing the masses, overseeing T.A.s, presenting papers at conferences, and scrambling to get published.

I loved these people. I still do. Fascinating and novel and incredibly generous, professional academics have a way of bubbling with an ambition and enthusiasm that’s contagious. I’ll admit, it rubbed off on me during those years and I was gunning for that kind of career. The life of the mind seemed a wonderful sort of vocation.

But dialed down just a notch.

Here’s the thing about those brilliant and prolific scholars. {Keep in mind I’m generalizing here.} They were not always the most well-rounded of folks. Their life was their work and their work was their life. Many weren’t married, though a number of them had tried it.

Over time I noticed that family relationships seemed strained and commuter marriages not uncommon. The younger female professors were panicking to get tenure while pumping breast-milk in their offices. More than one of these academic moms confessed to me that their houses were a disaster and they constantly struggled with guilt.

And while I wanted this to be my life, I got a little scared that this could actually be my life.

Though I did mostly love these marvelous people who mentored me so well during those sweet and intense years, there were some sizable egos on the 17th floor and we all knew who to avoid. Academia can be a vortex of pride, ambition, brains, and sub-standard social skills. Not to mention a complete wasteland of fashionable attire. It was like drowning in a sea of earth tones, coffee-stained oxfords, bad suits, and awkward small talk

God taught me many lessons during that time in my life, most of them having nothing at all to do with academics. I learned that when you focus solely on furthering your strengths and avoiding your areas of weakness, you may be a rock star academic but a half-hearted spouse.

You may be an impressive crusader but a worn-out parent.

You may have the respect of your colleagues but no real friends.

Now before all the professionals get mad at me, it goes the other way too.

You may be killing it as a homeschool mom but your marriage is merely cohabitation.

You may be queen of the school volunteers while those who matter most get the leftovers. 

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These are simply the obvious outcomes of an unbalanced life. That’s because we’re human. And humans are finite.

I’ve been guilty from every angle.

• When I was first married, I made an idol of my husband to the neglect of my own self.
• Later on I focused too much on career to the detriment of my marriage.
• I’ve put my best energy into being a stellar teacher and been bankrupt of energy for my own young children.
• Then as a homeschool mom, I gave the best of myself to their education but had zero left for my husband and other relationships.
• Even now as a stay-at-home-mom / writer, I can easily give away my prime energy to projects or ministry or hopeful pursuits while swatting away the questions of my children or ignoring the presence of my husband.

So what’s the solution?

I don’t have it figured out. But I’m trying to dig through it and words help me do that. Here’s what I’m trying.

1. Anchoring my mind and heart in truth. As I’ve wrestled with these issues of prioritization and balance, God’s impressed certain Scriptures upon me. They’re his words to me that say, “Look, you don’t have to figure this out on your own. I’ve given you a compass. Meditate on these things and walk hand in hand with me through your days along my bedrock path of truth.” Here are some of my anchors.

• The first shall be last. Translation for me: It’s not about my big self and my ambitious goals. Not ultimately anyway.
• God is my provider. Translation for me: Give myself to the God-ordained most important things even if it looks meager on paper. He provides differently yet lovingly and personally for each of us. Sometimes this resembles lack and sometimes it resembles plenty. Take my cues from the lilies of the field, not the moguls of the world.
• Taking up my cross every day. Translation for me: Denying myself and carrying things that are unpleasant and may sometimes feel like outright suffering. Bearing burdens. Often the burdens of others. Usually the burdens of my family. It means absorbing their anger, their entitlement, and sometimes their scorn, just like Christ did for us.
• Caring more about those who can’t give me anything in return rather than the other way around. Translation for me: Don’t seek out the popular or the influential. Quit being impressed by impressive people.
• The only opinion that ultimately matters is already secured. Forever. My opinion of myself doesn’t even matter. Translation for me: “Blessed self-forgetfulness.” Because I’m in Christ, the verdict has already been issued and I can live from a place of freedom.

2. Writing down the bare bones. And I mean, the really basic stuff. Just write it on a post-it and stick it on your bathroom mirror. I’ll go first. During this season of my life, the list looks something like this.

• Love God.
• Love my husband.
• Love my children.
• Take care of myself. {Self care for me includes everything from rest and solitude to margin and creativity.}
• Manage the home and life that God has given us.
• Love those who God places in my path.
• Trust God to provide for our needs.
• Trust God to help us provide for others’ needs.
• Be available with my gifts, seeking God’s wisdom.
• Be available with my weaknesses, seeking God’s strength.

You’ll notice that I did not write down: figure out vocational stuff, read more books, be more available to others, be more involved in my church, etc.

That’s because I’m talking about the bare bones here. And the bare bones vary from season to season and from person to person.

Right now I’m in a season of needing to be very available for my family. My kids are getting older and busier. They need to get places and I’m the one who can take them. They eat more than they once did and I’ve found that procuring and preparing food is a bigger deal than it used to be. Their emotional lives are wider and deeper than when they were little and as a mom, this is way taxing. Way.

In the midst of these needs, I still have a marriage to cultivate. I long to do more than simply keep it on life support during these very full days and years of raising kids.

When my own ambition is nipping at my heels, when the tornado is swirling with blog post ideas and book proposals and laundry and other people’s expectations and other people’s accomplishments and helping out with this ministry and Marian needs a nap forthelove, I have to stop the world for a moment.

Or a long series of moments.

I have to flee from the chaotic land of All The Things and return home to a place of simple trust.

This is so much harder than I make it sound. I can write these things one minute and be in hot pursuit of something unscripted the next minute. I don’t believe that the bare bones rule out all of my personal endeavors. I hope and trust that God will allow them to fit into the small gaps as they should but that forcing them into cramped spaces squashes overrides the bare bones.

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In thinking through this issue for yourself, here’s a helpful question, one I’ve heard others ask as they’re establishing priorities:

What are the things only you can do?

Here’s what I’m talking about.

Only I can be my husband’s wife and my kids’ mom.

Only I can reflect the workmanship of God with the one-of-a-kind combination of strengths and weaknesses and backstory He’s given me. This means I choose to prioritize studying and writing, beauty and continued healing. They are the ways I reflect the world around me, give voice to the world within me, influence the community that surrounds me, and bring glory to the One who created me.

Though I’m the designated domestic engineer for now, the reality is this: Other people can prepare our meals {like the deli or a restaurant.} Other people can be hired to clean my house or get the groceries. Right now we do these things ourselves but another season may come along when I give more to a vocation and we hire out the tasks I currently provide.

What I can’t outsource is a wife for my husband or a mom for my kids or a heart that communicates exactly like mine. Though I’m tempted to think someone else would be far better at those first two, I trust that for better or for worse, I’m the one they’ve got. I might as well show up for the job like I mean it, less than stellar track record and all.

If your own life feels topsy turvy, if all the things and all the people seem important all of the time, coming back home can be as simple as pen and paper:

1. What are my truth anchors?

2. What are my bare bones?

3. What are the things only I can do?

4. How has God gifted me and how can I honor those gifts right now?

5. What are the daily non-negotiables, even though they highlight my weaknesses? Might I pray to honor even the weaknesses, to lean into the everyday less-than-loveliness, knowing that God comes in with his strength, grace, and yes, even joy?

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God has placed you in a unique place, in a unique time, surrounded by specific people, and equipped with one-of-a-kind gifts. He invites us to trust him with everything — our big ambitions and our seemingly small days.

When we begin to get angsty, envious, or discontent, we may find that it’s rooted in a lack of trust.

A funny thing happens as I humbly acknowledge that there is a time for everything and every season and therefore I will surely not squeeze a lifetime’s worth of endeavors into this one season…

Instead of frustration, I actually find freedom.

And also a place to lie down.

I suggest you find one too. Because Marian is bossy about naps and knows that rest is often the most fruitful thing an overwhelmed gal can do.

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Though I’m grateful to live in a time of so much possibility, I’m easy overwhelmed by … so many possibilities.

What are your thoughts on staking down your priorities, living a quiet life, and focusing on the bare bones in a world that invites you in a hundred different directions at once?

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