God's Pursuit of Me,  Story

it’s not a new year’s resolution kind of fix.

I don’t really feel like writing.

I didn’t really feel like celebrating this Christmas or this New Year’s.

There’s an awful lot I don’t really feel like doing.

It’s kind of stacking up around me just as I am inundated with new calendars and fresh resolutions and shared quotes about potential and a clean slate.

My toilet is overflowing with – well, toilet water – and that’s no metaphor although it absolutely could be.

My sink is overflowing with dirty dishes because the dishwasher is broken and that’s alright of course as people have washed dishes for – like, centuries – without the aid of a square water machine.

But all these things are making me feel grouchy and it’s kind of hard to fight my own mental battles some days.

It’s a heavy kind of hard in my own life and the same struggles that weighed me down last year are still sitting on my back this year and I can’t travel fast or far enough to shake them off.

I’m worn a little thin even before I begin and I’ve bought the calendars and made the meal plans and charted a course but it all just feels like marks on a page, sand drawings on the shore, pennies in a wishing well.

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Let’s just be honest friends.

These problems of ours aren’t going to go away with a gym membership or a detailed list or an airtight plan with mounds of accountability.

The right words from a friend will never fix your broken relationship with your mother-in-law.  The perfect body, toned and trimmed and wearing the size jean that you keep aiming for will not heal the hurt you carry from childhood wounds and years of believing lies.  Your husband may never stop drinking.  Your children may never respond as they should, choose as you wish or thank you for your hard work on their behalf.  Your mother may never try to restore your relationship and your sister may keep spouting off those hurt-filled words at every family function.

It seems as if the righteous person struggles with illness and the tender-hearted and generous mother plods along patiently as caretaker in a difficult situation and the poor stay  poor despite their careful money management.  Justice seems ill-served and victory looks like it is handed over to the wicked and sometimes our paths just seem too rocky and too rugged to be the real way God is asking our feet to tread.

Last week (two weeks ago? I don’t know – the dishwasher was already broken but the toilet was flushing just fine – that’s how I measure time, in line with appliances and minor catastrophes) there were words spoken at our church about Mary.

Because it was the season of the spotlight on high beam on the mother of Jesus.

The mother of Jesus, you guys.

A woman who, in the words of the Bible, was called blessed among women.

Blessed.

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And that was a piece of a part of the sermon – or maybe the whole sermon.  For me, it was the whole sermon.  I never really know what anyone else hears at church.  But this is what I heard.

Mary was considered blessed.

And the speaker asked these questions –

When did Mary feel blessed?

Was it when she was struggling along through a scandalous pregnancy?

Was it when she was giving birth in a barn?

Was it when she was racing through the night with her young child and her husband to escape her child’s imminent death?

Was it when King Herod was murdering every other mother’s beloved boy babies in search of her one safe boy baby?

Was it when she watched her son grow up – misunderstood and despised?

Was it at the foot of the cross, watching her son suffer and die on a public stage?

I mean, my goodness.

If that’s blessing, I think we all agree – don’t bless me.  

Because all that blessing just sounds like piles of hurt and fear and broken to me.

Honestly, I have no idea what to do with any of that.

No.  Idea.

It feels like Life in the Broken is where I’ll be pitching my tent and claiming my territory and homesteading for the rest of my life.

I mean, I think we all will be.

It’s less like a New Year’s Resolution Quick Fix and more like a Redefining What Blessing Might Actually Mean.

I think that’s the bits and pieces I am struggling to accept and understand in my incredibly limited perspective.

What people mean for evil, God means to use for good.

He says that.

God says that.

And I believe Him.

Lord, help my unbelief.

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20 Comments

  • Julie

    I needed this today. I’m searching for the blessing along the edges of my life. The camaraderie in the search is a blessing to me.

  • Sara

    Lana, I don’t know you. But know that I pray for you and for your family. We, too, know the heartbreak of children turning their backs on God.
    I love you, for Jesus’ sake.

  • karen

    thank you so much for writing these words of hard truth. i needed to hear it and i’ve also shared it with a friend.

    this line – It feels like Life in the Broken is where I’ll be pitching my tent and claiming my territory and homesteading for the rest of my life. – i think you’re right on. and you know, it’s somewhat comforting to know that’s where we all really are.

  • Sara

    I love this thought. And thanks for the sermon link; it was very thought provoking.

    God’s definition of blessing is obviously so different than my own.

    And so we continue to press towards having the “mind of Christ.”

    The sermon and blog post give me a little nudge towards Him, a little clearer glimpse of His definition of blessing.

  • Becky

    Oh Lacey–these words speak right to my soul today. Thank you for writing them. Thank you for being so bold and brave and speaking to also-aching hearts. Thank you for your example of walking through the hard with your eyes fixed on Jesus.

    • laceykeigley

      Oh goodness – thank YOU for such kind words.

      It’s funny – nothing about me feels bold or brave.

  • Lana

    Lots to think about here. Thanks. Still looking for the blessing in relation to our daughter who was such a God lover and now is running as hard as she can the other way. It has kept me on my face praying an awful lot. Maybe that is the blessing.

  • Rebekah

    This is where life is finding me this morning too. I was reading psalm 1 and wondering what the word prosper meant. Why does prosper feel like simply scratching out a living until your fingers bleed and your soul is weary? Maybe I have a faulty definition of prosper. Thank you for letting me know in not alone in my wondering.

    • laceykeigley

      I imagine we are all wrestling with a lot of faulty definitions as women and moms and Americans.

      You are most certainly not alone in the search.

  • judy kay

    These are the thoughts I’ve been kicking around in my own head lately too. It’s a hard thing to grab on to and really “get”, don’t you think?