I didn't expect such an ordinary thing would teach me so much about my relationship with God.
When the girls were just starting out, we took the stairs slow. A step at a time.
Photo Cred: Allyson Cheney at epagaFOTO
My first "I see what you're doing there" moment came when the girls would climb a stair or two, and then stop and look at me. I knew they needed to master the stairs on their own, but I found myself wanting to hurry, wanting to rush them, or to pick them up entirely. But as hurried as I felt, they'd stop and look up, and after ensuring that I was close by, they would grin big cheesy grins, and then sit there and look around. Or they might take the opportunity, there on the stairs, to examine their toes. They weren't really in a hurry to master those stairs. It occurred to me that my spiritual life was very much the same. I pictured God following behind me, walking with me on this journey He is taking me through, teaching me, and then patiently giving me time to really learn. I thought about the similarities, and I wondered if He ever got as impatient with me, as I got with my girls. I wondered if He wanted to pick me up, skip the lesson, and get me to the destination.
My senior year of college I felt like God was asking me to pray for humbleness. So I prayed that God would make me humble. Sure enough, He answered that prayer. That year I found myself wrestling through all the ugly, prideful attitudes of my heart. I've heard it said "Be careful what you pray for, because you just might get it." Admittedly, I wasn't really expecting His lessons to be so... difficult. I think I was expecting God to give me some sort of intellectual or philosophical understanding of "humbleness," that would be an incredible "ah-ha" moment between God and I. Instead I found myself in some pretty uncomfortable, unwanted, and difficult situations. Each time I found myself in a new, embarrassing, frustrating spot, on this "quest for humbleness," I had to stop on the proverbial step and get my bearings. As I stopped there on the step I fought things in my heart. My inner people-pleaser turned into a hot mess, and from the deep places in my heart grew a new, fickle frienemy- a need to be viewed as capable. I wrestled with the urge to get angry at people, and frustrated at unwanted situations. I resisted the desire to believe that I was the victim, or that I was misunderstood, and instead pushed through those ugly feelings, choosing to believe this truth instead: God was using those situations to teach me something. It. Was. Hard. It was really hard, but in that year- and in just about every year since- God gave me the space to take one step at a time, trekking through the muddy waters of my heart to find truth.
The truth was that my affirmation should come for God - who knows every intimate detail of my heart, and who has designed me to be good at some things, and not so good at other things. The truth is that He has all my plans laid out, and no person can sabotage that. The truth is that my lack of experience- or inability to do something well- does not mean I'm a failure at life or that I'll never amount to anything... it just means I have room to grow. If I hadn't accepted this challenge of growth in the area of humbleness- if I hadn't climbed those steps- I would have let bitterness and rejection reign in my heart, and I would have missed all the truth being spoken to me. Truth spread out like a salve on an infected heart.
Each step was unwanted. It would have been an easy decision to not climb the stairs. Each unexpected situation, each blindsided and gut wrenching attack at my character, each time I dropped the ball, each step was awful. But good gravy God stood with me, and beside me, and behind me, and gave me the grace to stop, and sit on the stair, and get my bearings before moving on to the next step. And each time we would stop, He would help me pick up all the broken pieces of my shattered heart and put them back together, and when I was all put back together, we'd move on to the next step.
Can I tell you something? Sometimes, with my girls, I thought they were lingering too long on a step. Sometimes, I knew they were capable of going faster up those stairs. I have a funny feeling God knew I could get up those stairs faster too. He knew I could, and He let me take as long as I needed anyway. Slowly but surely, we were moving.
As each of the tiny children got older, they got more comfortable with the stairs. And just like life, sometimes stairs bring out an uncertainty in our own abilities.
I knew when it was time to let go and give them the freedom to let them try to maneuver the stairs on their own. They went from crawling up and down the steps to walking upright, holding on to the walls and then the railings, and eventually nothing at all.
They did exactly what they were supposed to do- they figured out how to make their way up and down a flight of stairs. They were careful, they were cautious, they knew the rules- mainly, no jumping. Oi. We even had a few tumbles, but nothing they didn't recover quickly from. And then came the day that each child stood at the top of the stairs, in tears, begging me to carry them down.
This really surprised me as a new mama. A child, perfectly capable of trekking up and down the stairs, refusing to come down on her own.
There were tears. There were pleas. There were tantrums. There were lots of "Mommy hold me!", or "I can't do it!", (included in this charade: foot stomps, bottom lip out, scowling eyes, alligator tears, followed immediately by gray hairs popping up all over my head).
And one particular afternoon, as I was halfway down the stairs with a twin in each arm and E screaming at the top, refusing to budge, I had another "I see what you're doing there" moment.
I'm starting to believe that the challenges of parenting are really just the most perfect and eloquent way for God to show me just how much He loves me, and to give me really simple pictures of what it is like for Him, trying to raise me.
When they would do this, this screaming thing, sometimes they were just stubborn, and sometimes they were uncertain.
Sometimes I'm stubborn too.
Sometimes I feel God pressing on my heart, prompting me in a direction, and to be perfectly honest, His promptings are unwelcome and unwanted. Like grudges, for instance. Grudges that start out as pain. The slapped-in-the-face, stabbed-in-the-back kind of pain. Hurt and woundedness that I did not and could not see coming. You might know the kind. Pain that leaves you feeling betrayed. Pain strong enough it can end friendship and rift family ties. Pain that sinks in and leaves you hollowed out and wondering why someone you trust could hurt you so badly. Pain that turns sour as bitterness sets in, and suddenly, you've got yourself a grudge. I found myself in that place a few paces back, and as God began whispering to me about letting go of that grudge, my heart responded with a definitive nooooo. No way. No how. No, no, no. I stood at the top of that stairwell for a long time before I started inching my way down. I think I had convinced myself that letting go of my grudge would be harder and more painful than holding on to my grudge and the pain that it continued to inflict on me.
Sometimes I'm stubborn. Sometimes I'm uncertain. Sometimes my uncertainty freezes me.
My children know how to get up the stairs. They know how to get down the stairs. The go up and down the stairs all day long. And yet, they have moments where they absolutely refuse to move. No amount of logic or coaxing is going to get them to move. And in those moments, when they're just not budging, I can hear God whispering to me, "I've given you everything you need to do what I've asked you to do." And I think, Oh Lord, forgive me. Forgive me for believing that I'm not good enough. Forgive me for listening to my fear instead of listening to your encouragement. Forgive me for thinking my task is too much. Forgive me for forgetting that you created me to conquer those stairs, and that you've been with me every step of the way.
I wish I could say I always know exactly what God wants of me, and I always do it. There are times when I think I hear His voice leading me this way or that. There are times where I doubt that I'm hearing Him correctly, or at all. There are times when I hear Him clearly, directly, but I am uncertain of my ability to follow through. Sometimes, my uncertainty freezes me.
Sometimes, when my girls are standing there screaming, I walk down and wait for them to follow. Talking to them rarely helps, because they are too busy screaming to hear what I have to say. Sometimes I'm too busy screaming to hear what God is trying to say. Sometimes I know I just need to let them learn to dry their tears, muster their will, and walk down- because they are perfectly able to walk down those stairs, despite how they are feeling or what they are believing. They have little legs and little toes, and perfectly formed muscles with strength for the task. They have tiny arms and hands to grasp, and the most amazing little inner ears to help them balance. They have eyes to see where they are going, and a little heart and lungs to keep all those little organs running to give them the energy to take each little step. They have the most magnificent, miraculous little brain to keep all those functions working properly. They have everything they need to walk down those stairs. Everything. Despite what they are feeling, or what they believe. Sometimes, they just need to walk down the stairs.
Children gave me my worst standing-on-the stairs moments. Not the children themselves, just the chaos that comes with the children. You know the moments- where one too many things has gone wrong, and you just loose it? The moments where you say to God, "I can't do this!" Or you find yourself telling Him that it is just too hard.
Ironically, I actually have found myself literally bawling at the top of my stairs. In the dark. Face smashed into the carpet. I can't even remember what had caused the collapse of my sanity in that moment. It was probably a combination of breaking up fights between littles, and it was probably bath night. I mean, there's something about telling the girls not to splash 87 times that utterly unnerves me. "What are the rules, girls?" "No splashing. No screaming. No spitting." Fast forward 15 minutes to a sopping wet momma and a sopping wet floor. Ohmylantaaaaaaaa. That night someone had probably spit her milk out all over the floor, on purpose, and someone probably had a melt down because the pink sippy cup was buried in the sink under 2 days worth of dishes, but no other cup would do. It probably had a little to do with months of bad sleep, and trying to run a house while the hubs is in grad school, and work deadlines, and ministry, and trying to juggle all the balls, and not drop all the balls. And so I found myself on the floor that night, in the dark, using my sleeve as a kleenex, saying "God I can't do this. This is not working. This is too hard." That wasn't the first night I said that, and it wasn't the last.
Sometimes, God knows I just need to walk through whatever it is that I think I can't do. And can I just say, for the record- having persevered through things I never thought I could- darn it, He's right.
Sometimes, when my girls are standing there begging for me to carry them down the stairs, I walk down and wait for them to follow. Sometimes, I pick them up, I kiss their little noses, and I carry them down.
Sometimes, God carries me.
In college I participated in a choir that toured our region, and early one Sunday morning I witnessed a beautiful picture of what it looks like for God to carry me. We were lined up in the back, all in our long black dresses, and an elderly couple snuck in behind us. She, in a wheelchair, he, pushing behind. It was bitter cold that day. He wheeled her in, and locked her chair, and came around and took her hands. I studied them. As she struggled to stand, her hands in his, I realized she was completely unaware of where she was, or what was happening, or that he was there helping her. She grasped onto his hands, body shaking, halfway up out of her chair, unaware. He painstakingly held on to her while trying to take off her coat. It was slow, and it was a struggle, but he got it off and gingerly helped her back down. And she had no idea he was there. And as I watched them, God whispered to me, sometimes you can't see me, but it doesn't mean I'm not here. Even when you're completely unaware of my presence, I'm carrying you through.
It can be hard to recognize, sometimes, when God is carrying me through. Sometimes His involvement in my life is so obvious. Sometimes His voice is so clear. Sometimes, it's really hard to see how He is carrying me.
He is teaching me though, through stairs, that He loves me, and that He has a purpose for my life. He is showing me, in the gentlest of ways, that He's raising me just like I'm raising my girls. Like my children, with their biological and emotional needs, there is spiritual growing that must happen in my heart. Always growing. He is always growing me.
