faith – everything He gives

when it all sits a bit heavy

February 1, 2019 MarthaKimballLeave a comment

It’s the first of February, the last day of the work week. I realize I haven’t put up a regular old blog post in a couple of weeks and wanted to say a few words here. January was quiet and simple for us, with a lot of sickness and thus we hunkered down at home. With February comes some relief and hope that we will be out and about as normal soon.

I haven’t been taking many photos at home with my camera as I usually do, maybe feeling a bit uninspired and blue. I’m sure it has to do with being sick and feeling incredibly worn out. It’s taken every bit of energy just to keep school going for the children while I’ve been sick and wanting just to lie down in bed. I’ve also been deeply saddened by things happening in the world around me that make me feel quite helpless: for one, the passing of the legislature in NY last week for full-term abortions and even post-delivery “abortions”, which hit me like a punch to the stomach. I have felt nauseous over it whenever it comes to mind. I honestly have no words to say other than I’m deeply grieved and I’m praying about ways to take action.

A newborn baby I was praying for passed away last week. A woman battling cancer dances weary at the possible end of her fight and I can’t sleep, up praying for her, a woman I’ve never met but yet feel so burdened to pray for.

Also, those in the knitting community are well aware of the deeply divisive conversation/debate that has been happening regarding racism. Though I am not anyone with a voice in the knitting industry, I’ve been reading along, at times very angry, other times anxious and always quite sad. I have been surprised at how much it has affected me. I think we can do better than this as a community, we can show more grace, understanding, and kindness. Then I look around at my own children who squabble and hurt one another often throughout the day, and I understand. If we can hardly get along with those we love the most, our very own flesh and blood, how much harder is it to get along with those who seem so different from us? How much harder to be kind to those whose beliefs we disagree with? I find myself constantly instructing my children throughout the day to love one another, “be kind, be kind be kind,” to esteem one another more highly than the object their fighting over. I weary from repeating it, yet the reminder is always needed. Left to ourselves, this is humanity. Even tightly-knit families have rifts and disagreements. Maybe especially tightly-knit families. We need to remember that peace with one another is to be treasured above being right, and is a goal worth sacrificing our own thrones and soapboxes for. Does that mean we sacrifice truth and the fight for what is right and just? Absolutely not. But I do think we can stand for what we believe in and for a better world/more equality while treating our fellow man with dignity and respect, and not adding injury to insult.

Sometimes the brokenness of the world sits on us like lead. It sits so heavy. At times if I’m honest, I want to shield myself from all the hurt and ugliness, maybe even from my own complicity. My hands are full of dishes, wiping snotty noses, throwing in the next load of laundry, pulling together the next meal, nursing the baby, teaching the next school lesson. I am hidden away in my home raising little people — what can I possibly do? I am reminded: I can pray. We can pray — with the confidence that our prayers mixed with faith are able to move mountains. Things that seems impossible, fixed, overwhelming, insurmountable — God is able to level them. Conversely, when we feel like the very ground beneath our feet is shifting and the world around us rages, we can turn to God, our refuge + strength, a very present help in trouble who tells us not to fear even when the earth gives way and the mountains fall into the sea (Ps. 46). He makes wars cease, He breaks the bow, shatters the spear and burns the war chariots with fire (Ps. 46:9). We are destined for a kingdom where peace will reign.

And then the familiar and eternally comforting words of Romans 8:

“For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hopethat the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.

Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.” (Romans 8:18-27)

He is interceding for us continually, He is working while we sleep, working in spite of and even though our weakness. Let us take heart and trust Him to move the mountains while we sow the small seeds of hope and faith in prayer. And if we have opportunity to take great steps, then by all means, let us take them!

How has January been for you? Whoever you are reading along here today, I hope you know you are welcomed in this space. Thank you for reading my rambling thoughts, however imperfect they may be.

setbacks

June 17, 2016 MarthaKimball2 Comments

It’s been hot here this week, at least in my opinion. I’m a big baby when it comes to heat. We’re keeping a little kiddie pool filled on our porch for the kids to play in and cool off, which they often swim in in their undies and then run around the yard like little wild indians. We try not to appear too white-trash but sometimes you do what you must to keep kids outdoors and away from screens while it’s hot and humid.

June has been sort of up and down. My brother and his new bride came for a visit early in the month after their honeymoon to Iceland, and we had a blast soaking up as much time with them as we could during that weekend. Phoebe is quite attached to her new auntie.

I took Phoebe for a weigh-in recently and found she had lost a little more weight and her BMI has dropped again from 7% to 4%. I know overall since her diagnosis we have seen her gain about 5 pounds and gain a few inches in height, but the fact that she keeps gaining and losing and not having the kind of “catch-up” recovery that the research suggests she should has me worried. We’ve been keeping a food journal the last week and going over her caloric intake with her nutritionist and she believes we should try and get another 400 calories per day into Phoebe. That’s NO SMALL FEAT, I tell you. It’s hard not to be discouraged and to feel like we are facing impossibilities. It’s hard to not grow weary in this work and throw my hands up in frustration. But sometimes you go on simply because you just have no other option. This is the hand that has been given us, and this is the work the Lord has given in this season. It makes me fall on my face a lot, yet I can see so much good in it all, even though I find my soul complaining often. Some days are good and we feel strong and capable, other days the fear rages and the weariness threatens. I have learned to be honest with the Lord and to just walk with Him in it all. I cannot tell you what a comfort the Psalms have been to me in this season. I am listening to them constantly on Sandra Maccracken’s new cd Psalms and also Shane and Shane’s Psalms, Vol. 2. I’m reading them daily in Tim Keller’s book The Songs of Jesus. I cannot tell you how often I don’t have words, yet the Psalms somehow impart them and pull the words out of my soul in prayer to God. His Word is like oxygen to me. We press on in hope and trust.

I’ve been helped by Sara Groves’ words in this video as she shares some about her struggle with depression and anxiety, specifically her question “What is the Gospel that saves me?” When the anxiety builds, I come back to this. What is the Gospel that saves me? Health? Ease? A thriving child? These things are legitimate longings of my heart, but will my soul survive if God doesn’t give these things? At the end of the day, my hope isn’t in a certain result, it can’t be, because that is a frail hope. At the end of the day, my hope must be in Jesus and the promise of a secure future with Him no matter what comes on this green earth, a future where He will finally heal all disease and right all wrongs. I am beginning to understand Jonathon Edwards’ plea: “Lord, stamp eternity on my eyeballs.” If I can shift my perspective, usually my view of the present changes and I am able to find my way through.

By the end of the summer if we haven’t seen considerable growth in Phoebe, our nutritionist is recommending we seek a second opinion by a pediatric celiac specialist, which will entail some travel to either Georgia, Boston, or Chicago. Pray with me for growth? And for wisdom and endurance in the journey.

In other random bits and pieces of news, I’ve been taking a few photos for my dad and husband’s building and remodeling company for their website and also to make a little extra income. We were out snapping pictures of a gorgeous deck they built recently, and the kids were happy to see daddy and what he was working on. I had to snip off my little Noah-man’s beautiful curls this morning. He needed a bit less hair in all this summer heat, and I needed to see his eyes again. I don’t do a terribly great job, but at least it’s free and he doesn’t mind my imperfect cuts.

I still love June, even with all of its ups and downs.

grief surprises

February 10, 2016February 12, 2016 MarthaKimball2 Comments

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Last week I went with a friend and all our kiddos at our local Nature Center. It’s such a fun outing for the kids with a lot of space for them to run around and explore, a nice interruption to our usual Monday activities. I think my friend and I both came pretty exhausted and spent, we didn’t cover much ground in terms of sharing updates or our hearts. We just sat together and barked occasional directives at children. It was simple, it was good.

When I got the phone call back in June of 2015 about Phoebe and her diagnosis with Celiacs disease, I was literally just getting the kids ready to walk about the door for my dad’s 60th birthday celebration. I was supposed to pick up balloons and was hurrying to get the kids and myself dressed and ready in time for the 30 minute drive to nearby Black Mountain for the family gathering. The nurse told me the diagnosis, and I could tell in her voice there was the sorrow of having to give bad news. The words hit like a punch and then like a wave, washing back and forth over me again and again. I wanted to cry but it was like everything inside me just froze and I had to press hold on it all so that we could go to my dad’s celebration. There was a swirl of emotions, even excitement and joy because we finally had an answer that made sense. After that, I never could really seem to get to the sorrow I felt. Over the next few days, I went into “go mode,” immediately researching, placing holds on every book about celiacs at the library, visiting many different grocery stores in our area, cleaning out cabinets and getting rid of food, washing and replacing kitchen utensils. There wasn’t time for anything else yet. Tears came here and there, but never a good deep cry, never the feeling that I was able to “get” down to the buried emotion. There was mostly anxiety and a tightness in my chest that just wouldn’t go away.

That was six months ago.

A few days ago I had a really difficult day at home with the children. It was “one of those days” (all the mommas said amen), everything going wrong, with lots of yelling and failure, and it felt like a heavy hand just trying to push me down flat. We stopped and prayed many times throughout the day, the children and I, but the heaviness just wouldn’t lift. After the kids were in bed, Brandon and I were talking about it, I was crying, confessing, he was listening. Then suddenly it was like something in my soul cracked wide open and it finally spilled out. All the grieving. All the fear, the terror, the exhaustion, the sorrow. The sweet release. The letting go.

See, grief is not something we manage. It isn’t something we are in control of. We want to hurry our souls through our pain — but it cannot be wrangled and managed as easily as our calendars or our laundry piles.

Grief surprises. It lays dormant for all these passing days, then suddenly it breaks open over us and we are caught in the downpour. We process it as it comes. We are not in control here, we are carried on this journey. The way of the heart is a mystery. Grief cannot be packaged, hurried, tamed. It can be silenced — but it will have its way, eventually.

Partially I think what triggered this surfacing of my grief is that most of Phoebe’s symptoms have stayed exactly the same, even with the gluten-free diet. We are in conversation with her pediatrician and we will continue to pursue whatever options necessary to help her, but it has not been as easy or as simple as most of the books and doctors have implied. A simple change in diet has not really made much difference at all, at least not yet.

It’s not spring yet. We are still in a winter. Others might think us silly for mourning so deeply something that, compared to other’s suffering and pain, is relatively minor. I even think myself silly and frequently catch myself scolding my own soul. But I am learning: grief cannot be controlled, managed, bossed around. Silly or not, it must be acknowledged and allowed its time.

Our God knows. He knows the way He has made each of us to work, He knows how sensitive we are, how slow or quick we are to process, how weak or strong. He knows exactly what He’s doing, even when we do not. That can make me angry, or it can be the greatest comfort. When He seems to apply a pressure on me that is far greater than I can stand up under, when He carves a wide open space and leaves it empty — I want to be angry with Him, and sometimes I am. But I also believe Him. I believe that He knows best. I believe His ways are higher. I believe His plan is perfect. I believe He is good, that He is light and in Him is no darkness. I believe He loves me. He loves me.

He loves you.

He is a safe place for our grief. We can lay it all out before Him, piece by piece as it comes, and trust Him to carry us through it. To show us why it hits so hard, why it hurts so much. He is patient with us, suffering long with us. He abounds in mercy and steadfast love toward us. He goes with us, never retreating from our sorrow, never trying to hurry us on without bandaging each hemorrhaging part. If we are really confident of His love for us — if we truly believe that nothing we can do can ever diminish His love for us, or increase His love for us — then we are free to come before Him in truth, without hiding.

It wasn’t coincidence, it couldn’t have been, that on Sunday as I worshipped with my church family, I held my Phoebe close as she stood on the chair next to me, singing out the words to the song “Oceans.” The words took on new meaning, as I couldn’t help but think of the Scripture the Lord put on my heart for the year 2016. I couldn’t help but think of the Scripture I had read just that morning only moments earlier in the car on the drive to church, the one I scribbled in my journal:

Let not the flood sweep over me,
or the deep swallow me up,
or the pit close its mouth over me.

Psalm 69:15

I couldn’t help but think of the lyrics:

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders
Let me walk upon the waters
Wherever You would call me
Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander
And my faith will be made stronger
In the presence of my Savior

What if the great and deep unknown He asks me to walk in isn’t some romantic call to overseas mission work, or women’s ministry, or a cute etsy shop business, or any other venture that I might find thrilling and appealing, but the hard, daily, and exhausting grind of learning how to feed my daughter, nurture her, and trust Him with her health even when it is terrifying and uncertain? What if the place “where feet may fail and fear surrounds me” isn’t the wild poverty of Africa, as I once assumed it would be, but is the place of sickness and disease in my own home? When I pray the prayer “take me deeper than my feet could ever wander,” what if He answers that by taking me through a deep grief? When her growth is declining rather than improving after being on a gluten-free diet as a family for six months?

“When something breaks down or does not go as planned, we are given a glimpse of our great need. Like a vast emptiness. We pray for solutions, crying out for immediate help, but God desires to give us more. To give something real. Something we can see with our eyes and feel on our skin.”
(Christie Purifoy, Roots + Sky)

God sometimes carves open a wide yawning space within us and leaves it, seemingly, empty. As if He is content to leave us aching, hollow, and groping. We cry out for answers, we are hungry for His voice, we wonder how this can be the abundant life He promised us.

When oceans rise, my soul will rest in Your embrace.
For I am Yours,
and You are mine.

If you are grieving a loss of any kind today, know that I’m praying for you. Spring is coming. The seasons always ebb and flow, like the ocean waves coming and going on the shoreline. A wide open space is hungry ground, open to receive seed.

Behold, the winter is past; the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come.

Song of Soloman 2:11-12

greater things

January 18, 2016January 18, 2016 MarthaKimball11 Comments

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Just a little glimpse into our week. We’ve been home a lot, doing tasks around the house, staying in instead of facing the cold or rainy weather, doing crafts and reading books. In reading Emily Freeman’s book Simply Tuesday last year (“last year” sounds weird to say, still), she talks about grounding ourselves in our present moments by keeping track of what fills our days. She does this by keeping a list called “These are the days of..” I’ve been finding myself mentally making a list, smiling over some moments, mourning others, and keenly aware that these days will soon fade into others. These things that are so common to me right now I will pretty much completely forget in a few years time, the way that winter slowly gives way to spring, frost melting and crocus pushing up through soil. These days so full of children, diapers, immediate felt needs, discipline, correction, training, tiptoeing in the early morning hours so as not to wake the baby, squeezing in tiny moments of prayer and scripture, etc.

These are the days of…
the kids banging on the window while they watch brandon leave for work
vacuuming around the toys
a never-ending laundry basket
morning snuggles
usually tidy but not always clean
philippa playing dress up in the laundry basket
noah says to me, “picture this” meaning, take a picture of this.
“adventures in odyssey” playing in the car

The year is two weeks underway, and already it is off to quite a start. Brandon and I have spent some time looking ahead and have been totally overwhelmed with some of the needs and demands this year is going to present to us. We are facing potentially one of our most challenging years yet financially. We are not seeing the growth and healthy response to the gluten-free diet that we should be seeing from Phoebe and have more medical work ahead of us to figure out why. We hope to buy our first home. We may need a new car as Brandon’s well-loved car nears 300K miles. We celebrate our 10th anniversary in May. We have a family trip planned in the summer that we don’t want to miss. We have some medical needs to deal with in 2016. Our firstborn will start school in the fall. And other things I can’t mention.

The only appropriate response we’ve been able to muster to all that is to come is prayer. We have been totally brought to our knees in dependency and pleading with the Lord for wisdom, for guidance, for provision, for help.

I asked Phoebe the other night what she wanted to pray for and she said happily, “I want to ask God to give me everything I want.” I thought to correct her at first, but then found myself nodding with understanding. Isn’t that essentially what we’re doing when we pray? In so many ways, we’re bringing our “wants” before God, asking Him to give us all the things we think we want and need.

“Keep us safe, Lord. Keep us healthy. Turn the children’s hearts to you. Provide for our needs. Work out this difficult situation. Help us, Lord. Bring justice. Forgive us. Forgive them.”

More than teaching her to be careful what she prays for, or to somehow imply that there is a right way to pray to God, I want to teach her to be real before Him and bring her whole heart before Him. I want to teach her that it’s the safest place for all her honest emotions. The place where she really can bare her soul, respectfully and honoring Him, of course, but with vulnerability + transparency. Isn’t this what He urges us to do, to bring our requests before Him, to pour out our hearts to Him and to ask for what we need and want? The beauty of children is their innocent asking, their constant and unabashed neediness. Yet as we age, we learn that usually getting everything we want strangles the life right out of the soul. We learn that we don’t really know what’s best for us, even though we think we do. We learn we can safely ask God for anything in accordance with His will, and yet we surrender all our requests to the safety of His will, knowing that even a good request, even a godly desire might be refused because He is after greater things for us.

Maybe He is after greater things than a totally safe life.

Maybe He is after greater things than perfect health.

Maybe He is after greater things than all our needs met all the time.

Maybe He is after greater things.

In our neediness, in our brokenness, in our failure, in our struggle, in our emptiness, in our loneliness–isn’t this where we grope for Him? Where we are are most reminded of our dependency?

I read this scripture the other day in Proverbs and felt like I finally understood it.

No ill befalls the righteous,
but the wicked are filled with trouble. (Prov. 12:21)

Really? No ill befalls the righteous? My life is full of ill!

Maybe the same things/events/circumstances happen to both those who follow God and those who don’t. Maybe the difference isn’t in what occurs, but the way each responds to it. Maybe all that the enemy plans for my harm, destruction, and discouragement, the Lord uses to drive me deeper into Him. Maybe what could derail me instead deepens me in Christ Jesus. Maybe that’s how whatever could be called “ill” can somehow, in the mysterious ways of God, in the wisdom of God that seems like folly to man, can somehow be called “blessing.”

When I bent to pray over the New Year in the early morning dark all alone, when I pled for Him to give me direction over this year and when I sought Him for a word over it, He clearly whispered Psalm 93 in my spirit. It speaks of waters rising, waters threatening to swallow up, to overflow, to drown. And yet, it speaks of Him reigning supreme. I believe He was wanting to tell me ahead of time what kind of year I can expect to have. I believe some things are going to come in this year that will make me feel totally out of breath, totally surrounded. (We are two weeks in and already feeling it.) He has spoken so much comfort and strength to me through the Scriptures. And this is the beauty of following Him, this is the beauty of knowing Him: He promises to go with me, to go before me, to carry me, to comfort me, to strengthen and establish me. He promises that nothing can come to me that He will not work for my good. He promises that in the end, not even death can separate me from Him. For the child of God, nothing is empty, nothing is meaningless, nothing is not ripe with blessing and fruitfulness, if we are willing to receive it, if we are willing to be open to it. The blessed life is not always the feel-good life. But what is my good? My good is to be near Him. To behold His beauty. To experience the power of His presence. To hear His voice. Sometimes the hardest of circumstances, the most desperate of times, the greatest of griefs are what it will take for me to experience Him the most deeply. He is faithful.

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
and the flame shall not consume you.

(Isaiah 43:2)

for the fearful + trembling ones

January 4, 2016January 4, 2016 MarthaKimball5 Comments

“The Lord reigns; He is robed in majesty;
The Lord is robed, He has put on strength as His belt.
Yes, the world is established; it shall never be moved.
Your throne is established from of old;
You are from everlasting.

The floods have lifted up, O Lord,
The floods have lifted up their voice;
The floods lift up their roaring.
Mightier than the thunders of many waters,
Mightier than the waves of the sea,
The Lord on high is mighty!

Your decrees are very trustworthy;
Holiness befits Your house,
O Lord, forevermore.”

Psalm 93

This is how I enter a New Year. This, Psalm 93, is the word that breaks out over it. If I’m honest, I often begin a new year fearful. Maybe that’s something that will change one day, maybe it’s changing right now. The reality is, it’s the honest truth of my heart. He knows it anyway, I might as well be honest. He receives me, even in my frailty and insecurity.

I look back over the past year and I can’t believe the trials that were faced, the things that hit us that we could never have seen coming. And I fear, what is ahead? I know that no one gets through life unscathed, no one gets through a year unscathed by hardship of some kind. I know pain is on its way to me. Loss. Difficulty. And yet, joy is on its way to me, too. Good things are coming. Great joys are coming! We end the year singing hymns of peace on earth + good tidings of great joy, and yet I start the year feeling like the floods are threatening to rise up, they lift their voice and demand to be heard. But over it all, He reigns.

Mightier than the thunders of many waters, mightier than the waves of the sea, the Lord on high is mighty!

No matter what comes, no matter what threatens to come, this is the ground beneath my feet: the Lord reigns.

It is the wonderful thing about being under His rule: it is brim-full of promise. He works all things together for my good. His purpose will stand and no one can thwart it. The good work He began in me He will bring to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. He will perfect that which concerns me. All His promises to me are yes + amen in Jesus Christ. He will never leave me nor forsake me. He gives more grace. He will make me happy by what His hands have done. All that He asks of me, His grace will provide. No weapon formed against me will prosper. That same power that raised Christ from the dead is now living in me. Christ in me, the hope of glory, the greatest mystery of all.

“For the mountains shall depart and the hills be removed,
But My kindness shall not depart from you,
Nor shall My covenant of peace be removed,
Says the Lord, who has mercy on you.”
(Isaiah 54:10)

“God is our refuge and strength,
A very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear,
Even though the earth be removed
And though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea
Though its waters roar and be troubled
Though the mountains shake with its swelling.

There is a river whose streams
Shall make glad the city of God,
The holy place of the tabernacle of the Most High
God is in the midst of her, she shall not be moved;
God shall help her, just at the break of dawn.
The nations raged, the kingdoms were moved,
He uttered His voice, the earth melted.

The Lord of hosts is with us;
The God of Jacob is our refuge.”
(Psalm 46:1-7)

This is the answer to all of my anxieties: the Lord of hosts is with us, the God of Jacob is our refuge. This is the antidote: the Lord reigns.

I don’t have to hold my world up. I don’t have to hold Him on His throne–He establishes it, He is robed in strength + majesty.

Isn’t it, in a world gone mad, in a tumultuous world where bombings, terrorism, murder + rape, earthquakes + hurricanes, failing health, failing finances, failing relationships loom heavy– Isn’t it really the truth?

The world is established; it shall never be moved. (Ps. 93:1)

It feels wild and raging and out of control. But His word says it really is somehow all in His hands. The bedrock beneath all of our quaking and heaving is still the same: His purposes are fixed, they shall never be moved, not even a fraction of an inch by the sinfulness and instability of man and the fallenness of the created order. When it feels senseless, I must remember: It is all ordered by purpose.

So maybe I’m the only one who quakes a bit at the start of a new year. Maybe I’m the only distrusting and fearful child of His that looks back over the last year and sees all the hardship that came and sometimes forgets how His grace saw me through it all. Maybe I’m the only one who felt a bit bowled over by some things that came in 2015. Maybe I’m the only one who feels the enemy of my soul breathing threats and lies at the back of my neck. But I doubt it. For anyone else who quakes a bit at the verge of a new year, for anyone else who feels like they’re standing on shaking ground, for anyone else who is staring certain hardship right in the face:

He is our constant source of stability (Isa. 33:6).

The Lord of hosts is with us. The Immanuel of Christmas, the one who came to be with us as one of us, goes into this new year with us. He goes before. His hand is upon us. He is our rearguard.

Yes, the Lord of hosts is with us;
The God of Jacob is our refuge.

So for you and I, the trembling ones, the quaking and sometimes-unbelieving ones:

May we know in 2016 that His throne is established, that we are His people, that He will establish us, that He will carry us, that His grace will see us through. May He be the security of our times.

kingdom come

December 30, 2015 MarthaKimballLeave a comment

The kids are napping, it’s raining (again!) and so I’ve made a hot cozy drink, pulled on my long woolen socks and sitting here in the quiet. I’m entering that deeply pensive end-of-year state that I go into every year around this time. This whole month has been so busy, I haven’t sat down to write hardly at all and my soul feels a bit like the ground outside.. so full and saturated with water from all this endless rain, and needing a run-off.

I spent the morning packing away all the Christmas decorations, making all the spaces seem quiet and empty. All is tidy now, but I can’t bear to put away the tree + the last strand of twinkle lights. I hate this part of it, the part where it’s over and now all the green and red seems obtuse and I feel sad that it’s done for another year. I crave the clean and empty space again, ordinary life again, but the holidays really are magical and holy and happy and so chock full of celebration that ‘ordinary’ feels strange and empty at first. Will there be any more magic to be had in our ordinary moments, our Mondays in January, where we get back to real life and attend to our lists and waistlines?

I’m prayerfully holding open hands these next couple of days, as we say goodbye to and tie up the very last strings around the year of 2015. I’m asking the Lord to show me His work over the last year, to show me the state of my soul, to speak to me a word over the year 2016. Ultimately our days are short, these years are flying by now, and I’m always left wondering if I’m living my days in such a way that count for the kingdom of God. Reading in the Gospel of Luke this morning these words by Jesus:

“The kingdom of God is not coming in ways that can be observed, nor will they say, ‘Look, here it is! or ‘There!’ for behold, the kingdom of God is in the midst of you.”
(Luke 17:20-21)

In Jesus’ day, when He walked the earth, the kingdom of God was literally in their midst because He was in their midst. Today, the kingdom of God is here because His Spirit is in the midst of us, His children. His deposit, His guarantee, His Spirit, His life + breath in us. Immanuel, God-with-us still with us and walking among us by His always-presence in us.

This has been my pondering over the last many months, the mystery of the kingdom of God. The mystery of Christ in us, the hope of glory (Col. 1:27). This has been the mystery I can’t seem to explain or to shake: that His kingdom has come (upon His arrival on this terrestrial sod) and that His kingdom is still here and active in our midst because His Spirit is in us and accomplishes His redemptive work through us, and that His kingdom is still yet to come fully, awaiting His final return. This could be the thing that gives meaning to all our moments, all our days. This could be the magic that we find in our Mondays in January, in our ordinary moments that feel empty and unholy and unnoticeable. This is the way of the kingdom, to come like mustard seeds and leaven, like a pearl of great price and treasure hidden in a field (Matt. 13). This is the way of the kingdom, treasures hidden in the small, the overlooked, the everyday.

Maybe this prayer to reign supreme over 2016: Your kingdom come, Your will be done on earth as it is in Heaven.

When Your Faith Survives

June 18, 2015 MarthaKimball4 Comments

The house is quiet. Oh, glorious quiet. The first hints of light are streaking across the sky, the earliest birds beginning their song. Bleary-eyed, I try to gather my wits, my scattered thoughts. I try to focus my mind on the words I’m reading instead of letting them run in and out of my brain like a stream of water while I keep fretting over the days’ concerns.

I hear the faint creak of their door open, the hushed padding of feet over the floor. She always runs when she turns the corner and sees me in that chair, sucking her fingers, hair wild in every direction. Warm legs as soft as silk, long and scrawny, slide under the blanket next to mine. We sit there like that for a long time, me reading quietly (or aloud if she asks) and sipping coffee slow, her sucking fingers and cozied up, skin warming skin.

It’s one of my favorite times of the day, I think it is hers, too.

When I held her for the first time 4 1/2 years ago, my heart burst wide open in love. I know I’ve probably always struggled with fear, but a whole new world of fear opened up to me when I held that impossibly tiny, wrinkly warm little bundle. This kind of love–it’s painful. To love this much is be wide open to a world of unknown hurts.

We had perplexing growth/feeding issues with her from the start. She always seemed okay, never titled “failure to thrive,” but never really thriving either. Since she was my first, I figured a lot of it was normal. Still, the niggling fear that something could be wrong, that something wasn’t quite right kept nagging me. We pursued every medical option that could have been a possibility, never finding anything. I would push the feeling down.

In the dark of night, fears would loom heavy. Please don’t allow any harm to come to her, Lord. Please keep her healthy, help her to grow. Please help her to eat, to have an appetite. (It’s funny how in parenting, you have no idea the battles you will face. Never did I expect to pray so much over a child to eat and have an appetite and to grow.) The desperate and anxious prayers of a mother over her child would roll over and over in my mind as I would try to quell them and get back to sleep.

The feeling that something wasn’t right has never really gone away. My second and third born children have not had any similarities to her eating/vomiting/growth issues. Finally, at her 4 year check-up, we pursued some testing again.

It’s been a little over two weeks since we received her diagnosis: Celiacs disease. Finally it all makes sense. Relief flooded in at the same time as a whole new level of fear. I hung up the phone after receiving the phone call and my fingers flipped through pages desperate:

Sure, in our day, we hear a lot about Celiacs, and the gluten-free diet is a current fad diet. But to hear that my “perfect” little girl has an autoimmune disease–it shook me. That trippy weird slow-realization that falls over you that nothing will ever quite be the same again. A new normal will be found, but life as you knew it is over. Part of me wanted to tell myself I was being a big baby. This is awesome news, this is SO MUCH better than it could have been, there is so much to be thankful for. And all of that is true! Still, we are not ever helped when we push down our true feelings and scold ourselves for feeling that way. No, we are to run to the mercy seat with those feelings. We run to our God, who is a refuge for us and who urges us to come and pour out our hearts to Him, cast all our cares on Him, find mercy + grace in our time of need. We let ourselves feel what we are really feeling about this news/trial/difficulty and we tell Him. We pour it out in the safety of His company, the privacy of His all-knowing, already-knowing presence. We let Him get to our hearts, tend to them. If we don’t do this from the beginning, I think we risk hardening our hearts, cutting them off, and that is ripe ground for the seeds of apathy + bitterness to grow.

So when I was honest with myself, I felt betrayed. We had prayed and prayed that God would work in her body, heal her body. We had pursued multiple tests over the years. We had fought the issue when friends + family were all saying to let it go, that she was fine, just quirky.

What do you do when God allows the thing you have plead with Him never to do?

What do you do with that?

A few days after the diagnosis, we were driving in the quiet rain on our way to church. A flood of words came to me, and I scribbled them as fast as I could into my journal:

Sometimes the greatest gift God can give us is the gift of betraying us. The gift of the bad news. The unsettling, scary diagnosis. Because when our faith survives what we thought our souls could never survive–that is a gift worth more than gold.

Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. (James 1:2-4)

In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. (1 Peter 1:6-7)

We are afraid of deep waters, resistant, and of course we would be. But our God is a perfect parent–our parent who is more about perfecting us than pampering us.

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
and the flame shall not consume you. (Isaiah 43:2)

He will at various times in our lives lead us through deep waters. How else can He teach us, how else can He allow us to experience His everlasting arms underneath that keep us afloat?

The eternal God is your dwelling place,
and underneath are the everlasting arms. (Deuteronomy 33:27)

We resist the fiery trial–but it is only in the fire that our faith is really tested, proved, purified. It’s only when we come through the fire that we can know: this ground we stand on is solid. Real. Firm. Unshakeable. The mountains may move and tremble; He remains the same.

God is our refuge and strength,
    a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way,
    though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea,
though its waters roar and foam,
    though the mountains tremble at its swelling. (Psalm 46:1-3)

We cannot hope to be unaffected by the brokenness of this world. We cannot expect not to suffer as His children the same afflictions and hardships common to man.

For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. (Matt. 5:45)

I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world. (John 16:33)

But He will carry us. He will not change. He is good, unfailing.

Let’s not measure His love for us by the hand He deals us. Look at Christ: what hand did His Father deal Him? He was perfect, sinless. Yet He had nowhere to lay His head. He obeyed perfectly, was perfectly upright; yet He was despised, rejected by men. The very ones He created, the ones He came to rescue hated + betrayed Him, cried out for His blood. He plead with His Father to deny Him the cross, to take away that cup, but the Father did not. And Jesus surrendered to His Father’s will.

He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things? (Rom. 8:32)

Let’s not measure His love for us by the hand He deals us. Let’s measure His (immeasurable) love for us in the way He gives Himself to us unfailingly, continually–the way He remains with us. The way He carries us. The way He gives more grace. The way He gives us JESUS–and all the rich inheritance of promises found in Him.

It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; he will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed. (Deuteronomy 31:8)

No matter what comes–our lives are hidden in Christ. Our future is secure. And it strikes me: this is the bi-focus of the Christian faith. What are bifocals? A pair of glasses containing lenses with two parts with different focal lengths. Our focus in the Christian life must always be bi-focal: at once seeing the present and also looking beyond the present, through it really, to the future. Let us look to our eternal future, our future grace and find strength in this moment of need.

“…looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross.” (Hebrews 12:2)

Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus,
Just to take Him at His Word;
Just to rest upon His promise,
And to know, ‘Thus saith the Lord.

Jesus, Jesus, How I trust Him
How I’ve proved Him o’er and o’er
Jesus, Jesus precious Jesus
Oh for grace to trust Him more.

L O S T

February 11, 2015 MarthaKimball2 Comments

February 11, 2001.

It looked much like this when we set out that day. The wind was raging wild gusts, threatening to just pluck us off the ridge and send us into oblivion. That’s what drove our decision to hike up the peak behind the bowl, the peak in the background that you see pictured here.

The further we hiked on our usual route around the Loveland Pass bowl on the Continental Divide in Colorado, the more tracked out and ice-crusted we realized it was, so we headed to the peak behind the bowl. It looked fresh and promising and untouched. We wanted a hard workout and we wanted a sweet ride back on our snowboards.

That decision, that little decision could have ended our lives that day. I was sixteen, my sister, Jennie, was twenty.

We rode down that peak after climbing as close to the summit as we dared, given the strong winds. The sun was stretching low across the sky, we had gotten a late start that Sunday. We strapped in to our boards and had a sweet few minutes making our lines down that peak. We soon reached the bottom and realized it was much flatter than it had appeared from the top. We couldn’t ride any further, so we unstrapped to hike back up to the Loveland Pass bowl.

Unfortunately, the snow was much deeper than we had anticipated. We were post-holing up to our waists, sometimes our chests. We quickly realized it would be impossible to hike back up where we had come from against that kind of snow with the equipment we had (which was only our snowboards). So we attempted to follow the slope downward, hoping to meet back up with the Pass road on the other side. The hiking was slow plodding, we were exhausted, wet, hungry + thirsty. We had a few ounces of water between us and our uneaten lunches were waiting for us back in our brother’s car. He and a friend were riding close to where we had parked at the top of Loveland Pass.

The sun slipped behind the peaks and within minutes our situation began to worsen. Temperatures immediately began to drop, and we began to realize we had a long way to go and very little daylight. We had now hiking below treeline and came to a clearing where we were able to look out and get our bearings. We were expecting to see the white peaks on the other side of the Loveland Pass road, believing we were in the trees just above the road. Instead, we saw a tree covered mountain ahead of us, between us and the road. Even fourteen years later, that image is burned in my memory.

Thats when a panicky pit formed in my stomach as the realization hit like a punch: there was no possible way we would make it over that mountain and down the other side in the approximate hour of light we had left.

It was terrifying and devastating. My sister and I were both in tears at this point, but not panicking. We quickly shifted gears. We had a little light left and we needed to make some sort of shelter before it was too dark and cold to do so. We began digging/burrowing a hole down into the snow and making a sort of opening big enough for us to fit in. A snow cave. Jennie had heard about it on some survival movie she had seen.

While she worked on that, I trudged out a large S O S in the snow in the clearing we had stopped in, trembling from the fear as much as from the cold. We stuck our brightly-colored snowboards up in the snow just in case someone would see them. It was strange, but instinctively we already knew we would be needing rescue. We were saying our plan was to get up and keep hiking at first light, but we were scrawling our pleas for help in the snow. We hadn’t had food or water now for about 12 hours and had fully exerted ourselves hiking in the deep conditions. We now realized we had at least another 12 hours of waiting to drink water. We knew our brother and friend, as well as our family would soon realize we were missing (we had planned to meet back up with our brother earlier that afternoon to drive back down to Denver together). We figured they may begin looking for us. We hoped.

The temperatures dropped. Dusk was settling in. All was quiet. Silent. We could barely look at each other for sake of the gravity of our situation, and the weight of the realization of how foolish we had been. We knew once we crawled in that hole in the snow, we were committed. We would be spending the night in our sopping wet gear with no food or water in the frigid February backcountry snow of Colorado.

We crawled in head first. We pulled some branches over the opening of the snowcave and packed snow around the piney fronds until we could basically seal the opening shut. We could see a little light through the snow above our heads but mostly, it was dark.

We were shivering, talking, crying off and on. Talking about our plan for the morning to get up and keep hiking as soon as it was light. We were praying. We were quiet. We worked at staying warm and staying awake. We sang hymns. We cried out to God. We waited. It was dark.

Beauty

February 9, 2015 MarthaKimball2 Comments

Is there a purpose in beauty? Why are we naturally drawn to it, inclined toward it? Why are we moved by it? Science has proven that an infant’s eyes linger longer on a more attractive face, long before socialization would play a role in their preference. In other words, even before we could be “taught” to enjoy beauty, we do. We inherently do. Is this a result of sin? Or is this a part of the image of God stamped on us? Could it be, as N. T. Wright calls it, an echo of a Voice? A beckoning within? Given to us, implanted within us, to draw us toward Something? These questions matter to me because I think often about the way I respond to beauty, the effect it has on me, my enjoyment of it, and the purpose of it all. In my opinion, how we answer these questions may seem inconsequential, but in truth has a great impact on the way we live out our faith before the Lord.

I love these words by N. T. Wright:

“The Christian tradition has said, and indeed sung, that the glory belongs to God the creator. It is his voice we hear echoing off the crags, murmuring in the sunset. It is his power we feel in the crashing of the waves and the roar of the lion. It is his beauty we see reflected in a thousand faces and forms.

And when the cynic reminds us that people fall off crags, get lost after sunset, and are drowned by waves and eaten by lions; when the cynic cautions that faces get old and lined and forms get pudgy and sick–then we Christians do not declare that it was all a mistake. We do not avail ourselves of Plato’s safety hatch and say that the real world is not a thing of space, time, and matter but another world into which we can escape. We say that the present world is the real one, and that it’s in bad shape but expecting to be repaired. We tell, in other words, the story we told in the first chapter: the story of a good Creator longing to put the world back into the good order for which it was designed. We tell the story of a God who does the two things, which, some of the time at least, we know we all want and need: a God who completes what he has begun, a God who comes to the rescue of those who seem lost and enslaved in the world the way it is now.”

{N. T. Wright, Simply Christian}

What do you think? Does beauty matter?

ps. If you haven’t read Simply Christian, it is one book you should definitely read in your lifetime. Period. Probably on my list of top ten books I’ve ever read.

Go on wild adventures

January 29, 2015 MarthaKimball2 Comments

I see my dusty, rusty mountain bike lying forlornly in our garage. It’s crammed behind things like double strollers, a dishwasher we’re trying to sell, a radio flyer wagon + tricycles.

It reminds me of former days.

Days when we had dogs instead of kids.
When we had freedom + spontaneity instead of nap + nursing schedules.
Days when we didn’t have to schedule a babysitter to go on a run or a bike together.
Weekends that were spent entirely outdoors on a snowboard or a bike, looking long into the sunset.. instead of weekends rummaging through massive consignment sales and looking long at piles of laundry.

And yes, Brandon had long hair:

I don’t mean to be too nostalgic.. but let’s face it, I’m a nostalgic type. When we were first married we were fools and moved across the country to Colorado and had the best adventure ever. Just a newly-wed couple on an adventure together. I introduced Brandon to my favorite mountains and got to teach him how to snowboard. We hoped to settle down out there (idiots), but God led us back east not too long later. I’ve often regretted those years, wishing we had been practical, gone and gotten our graduate degrees, saved up for a downpayment for a home (still working on that one).

But, listen. You can’t buy the memories we made. And now that we have three little minis running around?? Let me tell you it will probably be awhile before we get a season like that in our marriage again. It was a blast. It was the gnarliest test of faith for us in SO many ways. We went out there without a clue where we would live or work. We drove a gorgeous dreamy Land Rover across the country and had car problems along the way, toting a heavy trailer with all our (scant) earthly goods behind us. We (read: I) journaled and cried and prayed the whole two (or was it three?) days of traveling. We showed up in Breckenridge, Colorado, my old haunts, and reached out to the body of Christ there and promptly were given a place to stay temporarily till we found a rental.

I cannot tell you all the fun and adventures and heart ache we had in those many months. How God shaped us in so many ways as a couple. It wasn’t all fun at the time, but looking back, it was GREAT fun and I’m so glad we did it.

So.. to you younger girls, maybe to you newly-weds, here’s what I have to say: Go have an adventure with your spouse, if you can. While you’re young. While you have a little time to waste. Don’t be afraid of making impractical decisions, sometimes. Our investment in those early years into having fun together and taking risks together has VASTLY paid off in these years where we are a little more tethered to home and to the mundane. It is a storehouse, a treasure-house of memories and laughter for us. AND it is motivation for us to continue to pursue what we love together and to dream about a future where we can set off on those kinds of adventures again.

Don’t get me wrong. We fasted, prayed, sought counsel. That move was BATHED forward and backward in Scripture and prayer. So don’t get me wrong: Be led of God. PRAY about it. We did, and we were convinced it was what the Lord was calling us to do. At the time, I couldn’t make sense of it. At the time, I thought unless we were heading off overseas for missions, it couldn’t possibly be God’s will. I had no idea that in order for God to prepare us for some of the seasons we are facing now (and, I’m confident, that we will face in the future in the long haul and crazy faith-walk of raising a family together) He needed to take us through some of the faith-tests we experienced there. In a lot of ways we flopped and flailed on that journey of faith, we were hurt and we hurt others.. But even that has not gone to waste. We have learned so much about loving better. If I’m honest, I’m only now starting to make sense of some of what we experienced during that time. I’m only starting to realize God’s infinite wisdom in using what is foolish is man’s sight to accomplish what is mighty in God’s.

It wasn’t practical. Many of our friends went on to grad school and to secure jobs, many of them have homes they own while Brandon and I are still working toward that goal. And I don’t think they made a poor choice and we made a better one. We simply have to trust God’s process with each of us to be unique and different. But I can tell you, in a culture that is wildly practical and tells you to be sure you take all the proper and wise steps (yes, even the Christian culture is guilty of this at times) and only calculated risks, you may not be hearing many voices that are telling you to trust God. To not live in fear of making some missteps along the way. To be wise, to seek counsel, yes, but not to be afraid to take wild risks. To trust God’s leadership when so many are criticizing. To be brave in pursuing God’s voice as the ultimate source of authority in Your life. To not be afraid to be a pioneer.

Maybe for you that means pursuing going overseas when family is telling you it’s too dangerous. Maybe it means looking into that start-up. Maybe it means going back to school. Maybe it means trying for a baby when you don’t have all the finances worked out yet.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not talking about just doing whatever you want and calling it God’s will. I’m talking about that thing you may know deep in your soul that He’s beckoning you to do, but you are pushing down because the practical voices and the fear of stepping out are telling you to resist.

The wildest adventure you can ever go on is the adventure into God’s will. The adventure of trusting Him entirely with your life. Your finances, your education, your location, your future. It is the scariest, most foolhardy, most hilariously terrifying and exhilarating adventure. He is NOT boring, my friend. Walking in obedience to Him has been the wildest ride and craziest joy of my LIFE.

The reality is, all of our journey with Jesus is just one wild adventure after another. Some are more fun than others, some are painful and dang hard. DANG hard. Parenthood is the next big adventure we’re entering into. But now, Brandon and I know each other, we know how we handle the unknown. We learned in that early season of marriage how we each handle adventure and risk and unknown. We fell in love leading adventures together for a backpacking organization, for pete’s sake. God built so much into our hearts and marriage in that season where the adventure was FUN and the risks were relatively small in comparison.

And one day, we will decline and our strength will fail and we will enter the face great adventure, death. And then we will just be carried right into His presence. I mean, come on! What greater joy than to know that all of our earthly experience has great purpose, is leading us onward toward Home, and is going to culminate in seeing HIM.

I adore Him so much because He is so much fun. He loves to give us good gifts. He calls us to seasons of walking through darkness and deep valleys. He beckons us out into spacious places where are souls breathe huge. He leads us in ways we cannot quite fabricate. I promise you, He is so much the better boss of our lives than we could ever hope to be.

Trust Him. Lean in. Listen. Obey.

It’s going to be awesome.

Okay.. enough rambling, I have to wake the kids from their naps. And just in case you were wondering, yes, I’m planning on getting back out on that bike SOON.

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