Gratitude for Boxes {30 Days of Gratitude, In the Middle, FOR the Middle}

One thing for sure characterizes mid-life:  unresolved issues.  The ability to have presence and poise in the midst of the unresolved problems requires a few sturdy boxes.

I'll explain that.

2 Corinthians 4:8 says, "We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair..."

2 Corinthians 6:10 takes it even further, "...(we are) sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; poor, yet making many rich; having nothing, and yet possessing everything..."

In short, every believer in Christ has to learn to coexist with the unresolved - with patience and grace and even (dare I say) joy.  The alternative means that we will only be truly happy when everything is practically nearly perfect.  Even the so-called simple questions rarely have instant answers.  We will be continually confronted with that which is less-than-ideal in life - and sometimes, the less-than-ideal situation can become very, very serious and complicated.  

The only way to get past mere coexisting with the Unresolved - the only way to truly live and thrive in spite of the Unresolved, is to learn to box it up.  Box it all up - large and small.  Put the big stuff into a big box, and put the little stuff into a little box.

Middle-messes must have boxes to keep them from migrating into all areas of your life.  Boxing up an issue means emotionally isolating and containing it, so that it does not negatively affect other precious parts of life.  For example:  one can experience deep disappointment in a prodigal child, without allowing the grief of it to make them lash out at a friend or leave their church or get a divorce.  

A few good sturdy boxes will insure that when three or thirty things are going wildly wrong, those things will not contaminate the one hundred things that are going right.

It's an art.  Boxing things up is a learned skill that becomes an art form.  It can sometimes be the only thing that creates beauty and order, when all of life seems chaos.

I remember, not that long ago, talking to the Preacher.  The conversation was beyond casual.  We were in his truck, headed to Costco for grandbaby snacks and birdseed.  Nothing profound was being said.  Though I should have been able, by then, to have discussed the subject casually,  the topic had a  painful and sensitive background.  I thought I was past a lot of the pain.  Nevertheless...tears, unexpected and unbidden, began to seep from my eyes.  Looking back, I think it was just one of those days.

My Preacher looked at me, truly compassionately, and said, "You need to get in the presence of God and let Him help you get to the bottom of where all this is coming from."  

My answer to him was just this:  "No.  No, I don't.  I need to put all this back in the box, close it up, and write on the box, "GOD KNOWETH".  I don't need to examine and process this.  I need to give it to God - and give it to Him radically.  Someday, I will be able to get this box off the shelf, open it, and I will find that what is in it no longer hurts."

So yeah.  I would make a horrible therapist.  But I can tell you - this is the only thing I can do that actually does require a true faith-response from me.   For me, a capable and compulsive fixer, a mother, a problem-solver...boxing it all up takes audacious faith.  Therefore, it pleases God.  I know it does.

Boxing up your crap may not work for you.  But it works wonders for me.  I believe God is at work on those boxes of mine, bringing healing and freedom and blessing on levels unconscious to me.  I don't have to tend to those unresolved emotions.  I don't have to dissect them or even understand them.  I can simply box them up and let God have them.  Inner healing can happen in those boxes, while I am making art and grilling chicken and loving on grandchildren.  I believe that.

I am grateful for boxes.  They enable me to live my life as a cohesive whole, when otherwise I would be obsessing over some nagging piece of unresolved dilemma.  I can stop thinking about the unresolved parts, and read a book or take a walk or make love or laugh and be happy.  Sometimes boxing up our crap is the only responsible thing to do - the only thing that gives us emotional availability to our lives, and those we love.

Say it with me:  boxes are good.  Boxes are necessary.  Thank you, God, for boxes.

How to Harvest Your Blessings {30 Days of Gratitude, In the Middle, FOR the Middle}

Everywhere I look these days, I see evidence of a great "gathering in".  Piles of pumpkins, heaps of gourds, fragrant apples everywhere.  Even the squirrels in my back yard are fat with the blessing of the harvest, having gathered the acorns that fall in abundance from my neighbor's oak tree.  Three hydrangea bushes are waiting for me to harvest their scores of dried, billowy blossoms for use in my holiday decorating.

But how do you harvest the heart-crop that flowered, then fruited in the unseen inside of you?  How do you gather in what was grown in the soil of the soul?

You harvest with gratitude.  Gratitude is the threshing machine of all things spiritual - it is the mechanism by which we extract both our blessings, and the seed for our next harvest.

Gratitude plucks the great, round gourds of harvested promise.  Gratitude heaps the blessings into piles and piles of joy.  Gratitude gathers the grasses into great bundles, and looks wonderingly across the fields, mound after mound after mound of all God has given...

...in this way, too, "the harvest is plentiful, the laborers are few."  We each one have been abundantly blessed, but we won't know until we gather the blessings in, through the labor of conscious gratitude.

That Day I Was Brave {30 Days of Gratitude, In the Middle, FOR the Middle}

"It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends."


One thing you must know about me:  I am loyal as an old hound dog.  I have no frame of reference for short term relationships.  All my close friendships have been intact all my adult life, and the new friends I have made...well, something in me refuses to imagine them not being my friends forever.  That is how I am wired.


So that day I stood up to my friends, that day I was brave, was no small thing.  It meant losing their friendship.  Somehow, I instinctively knew that and so did my Preacher.  


Nevertheless, I am filled with gratitude for that day I was brave, because it made me who I am today.  

When my Preacher revisited the doctrines of grace almost 5 years ago, believe it or not, he was very nearly a lone voice, at least in our circles.  No one we knew was preaching it quite like he did.  He boldly contrasted living under the law with living under grace.  He asserted, with the great apostle Paul, that the law has been made obsolete, and was no longer a source of blessing or favor.  He called the New Covenant "the bringing of a better hope"...


...the nerve of him, teaching that Scripture at face value.


Then he exposited Galatians, and it was on like Donkey Kong.  


And I picked up my sword (which is the message that the Old Covenant forever points to Christ in the New Covenant, which is the message of the cross, the Finished Work of Christ, who is the Word - the sword - made flesh) and stepped up to the front lines with him.

I said it.  I was brave.  I wrote it just like he preached it.  And what I had to say offended friends - people who called themselves, and we considered them, some of our closest friends.  But my Preacher and I are the dearest of all close friends to each other.  We have never not been a package deal, my Preacher and I.


Obviously, it was far more than just one day that I was brave.  It was a series of days, weeks, and months.  But it began with one day.  It began with one decision to say what I needed to say - to speak the words that brought the "Amen" to the message of the scandalous grace of God.


My story is nothing compared to the stories of Christians around the world, who are living out being brave every single day, at the cost of more than just a cherished friendship.  They confess Christ at the cost of their freedom, their family, and some give their life to the glory of God.  I know that my bravery is cowardice in comparison.


I know that.


But being brave has to start somewhere.  For me, it started with bringing the "Amen" to the Gospel, in the only way I knew how, using the only tools I had.  My words.


I am so vastly...incredibly...profoundly...abundantly...hugely grateful that I was brave.  Not many get the chance like I did, to put what felt like so, so much  - to put it dead on the line, all for the love of Christ Jesus.


I want to see you be brave...

Gratitude for Changing Seasons {30 Days of Gratitude, In the Middle, FOR the Middle}

"Selah" is that Hebrew word you've read many times in the Psalms of David and in the book of Habakkuk. The word appears in the Bible over 70 times. One old theologian even contends that it is one of the many names of God. One thing we do know, this word appears only in poetry - the poetry of song. Most often, it was an indication to change pitch, in order to emphasize what was to come next in the song.

To do this, to change pitch, meant the harpist had to pause long enough to re-tune his harp to a new octave. Generally, it is accepted that "Selah" means to "Pause, and deeply consider".

You and I need to pause. Rest for a moment.  You and I need a new song for this new season. The Lord invites us to stop and acknowledge change, so that He can tune our heart-strings to the next octave. What is on the horizon, what comes next in the song of our lives, means our pitch cannot be the same as it was in the season just past. A change is needed. When God brings new direction, it becomes necessary to sing a new song. Don't rush into the new song, still plunking your harp on the same old octave. It won't work. Instead....Selah.

Stop.  Change songs.  Savor the change.

As I take stock of the year nearly gone by, and the year just ahead, I compare where I am today to where I was a year ago. In many ways, this brings me to my knees because the Mighty God hath done great things for me. In other ways, this contemplation fills me with a terrible ache, because something or someone is missing from my life that was there just one short year ago.

Still. The response is the same. To my knees I go because His name is to be blessed and praised.

Regardless of whether the silence of the Selah brings us joy or pain, let's embrace the coming changes.  This can only be done when we "pause, and deeply consider." The wisdom of God waits in the wings, silently. The thoughts of God are not easily gathered, they are buried treasure. He longs for us to sing a new song to Him, but first He must give us the words and the tune.

A song is not a song without the pauses. This never means that we have to stop the world and get off.  It doesn't mean going off the grid.  It has nothing to do with self sufficient isolation.  That is the human answer to having a quiet heart.  God's answer to having a quiet heart is learning how to pause, ever so briefly, and change our mind and change our tune.  Peace flows when He is in charge of the times and the seasons.

The poem of your life cannot be read properly without small stops, and changes in cadence. The song of your life cannot be sung properly without pauses and changes in flow.  

A life cannot be well lived without the "Selah"....without pausing long enough to change our mind.

Then Sings My Soul {Gratitude for Storms}

The violin is one of the most beautiful sounding instruments of all.  This is due, in large part, to the kind of wood the violin is made of.

Master craftsmen spend weeks and even months searching for special trees above the usual timberline - far, far up the mountainside.  The battering of high winds and the deep snows of winter cause those trees to produce extra resins, giving fibers a tight grain, and even an exquisite perfume.

The intensity of the storms, unlike the more sheltered foothills and valley areas, combined with the austere terrain and cold temperatures, produce a wood that is the toughest in the world...

...and creates one of the most beautiful instruments in the world - the violin.

Not coincidentally, I believe, the violin is the instrument that most resembles the human voice.

We all sing our most beautiful songs after the storms.  We need those storms to even know why it is we sing in the first place.

Without the battering of high winds, and the sting of cold, the only song we can become, is the human equivalent to pop music.

Gratitude for the Simplest Things {30 Days of Gratitude, In the Middle, FOR the Middle}

(...my preacher, on our anniversary, 11-08-13)

If you, like me, have ever struggled with actually doing the little things each day that bring you joy, if you have ever wondered if you were being selfish...can I speak some love over your life?

Nothing could be further from the truth.

Taking joy...every day...will make you a better wife, mother, boss, employee, entrepreneur, preacher's wife, you-name-it. 

The only thing I will remind you of, in your quest for deep joy and sustainable pleasure, is this: 

"...'tis a gift to be simple, 'tis a gift to be free."

 Keep your joys as simple as a wood fire, as satisfying as a glass of Merlot, as sustainable as making roasted rosemary chicken for you and your love for dinner. Keep your joys free from comparison and competition. Leave comparison and competition to the unimaginative souls who must utilize them to be motivated.

You and I? We are so rich in Christ. All things are ours, indeed. Thus, a bouquet of sunflowers is our gold, and the stars twinkling above on a winter's night-walk are our diamonds. Holding the hand of the man of our dreams, grown deliciously and delightfully mature, is the stuff of fanciful girl-talk.

Daily, our God loads us with benefits. Rarely do they strain our budgets. Souls of artists, down through time, have discovered the tiny treasures tucked into the gift box of each new day....and they have written or sculpted or painted about them.

Take joy. Simple joy.

Grateful For My Middle-Companions {30 Days of Gratitude - In the Middle, FOR the Middle...No, Really!}

We come to know Christ far more accurately in relationship to others, than we can know Him by ourselves.

After all, Christ lives in that other believer.

We can be crazy-grateful for our flawed middle-companions, because they too are becoming.

Beloved, now are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be... (I John 3:2)

What a thrill to see what she may become next!  One day, your best girlfriend might be a wood working artist, and the next day she might, metaphorically speaking, start turning water into raspberry wine...

Seriously - call me if that ever really happens.  I want to come to the party.

And The Winner Is...

True Random Number GeneratorMin: Max: Result:3Powered by RANDOM.ORG



...and the winner of my biggest giveaway yet goes to...

Melissa Medley
"Wissa said...Sheila, Thank you for sharing with us. I have referred several to your blog this month. I have been so refreshed and encouraged. You are a blessing to me and many others just by being who you are."

She is number three in the list of comments, as they came in.  Random number generator, (www.random.org), picked the number 3 out of 38 possible.
Congratulations, Melissa.  I hope and pray this little windfall of blessing makes you feel loved on and so special.
We are in this middle thing together, friends.  Thank you for joining in the giveaway fun... 

Mercy In the Middle {30 Days of Gratitude - In the Middle, FOR the Middle...No, Really!}

"Oh Lord, I have heard your words, and was afraid:  Oh Lord, revive your work in the middle years, in the middle years make known;  in wrath remember mercy..."

That is Habakkuk 3:1, with only very slight poetic license.  Please do look it up yourself.

Here we see the prophet Habakkuk, who some say was a contemporary of Jeremiah.  Habakkuk was confessing his dread at what he saw in the spirit - which was the judgement of the Lord, and what would happen when it finally came to its climax in his nation.  There his people were, in distress and not yet delivered...and they wouldn't be for awhile.  Habakkuk heard the word of the Lord and was afraid - afraid that the people of God would not survive it.  So he boldly interceded for mercy in the middle.

That was a prayer after God's own heart.

As it is with nations, so it is with you and I.  If the thought of reaping some of what you have sown does not make you feel afraid, then you either have no concept of God, or you have managed to be perfect.

Here is the crazy-good news:  there is already mercy in your middle.  Through the Finished Work of the Cross, you do not have to dread what tomorrow holds in store.  When the thought of reaping what you have sown arises in your soul, you should take a split-second to shiver at the very idea...and then rejoice with exceeding joy, because Christ took every bit of your punishment upon Himself.

He is no longer angry with you, and never will be.  Ever.

As for natural consequences...well, mercy applies there, too.

What are you in the middle of?  What pressures are you facing?  What is your son or daughter in the middle of?  What do you, like Habakkuk, sense in your spirit "ain't over yet"?

Whatever process has not run its course, whatever is in the middle stages, whatever consequences aren't over yet, whatever project is not completed, God has sent me here today to tell you that His desire is to "revive His work in your middle years".

It is His desire to make known to you, even while you are still stuck in your middle, even when there is no deliverance on the immediate horizon...

...He would make known to you new horizons and fresh purpose.

In wrath, mercy has already been remembered!  You live post-cross, my beautiful friend!  You get nothing but mercy in your middle from Him!  Why?  Because He understands the middle.  He hung there on a cross, between heaven and earth, in the middle of two thieves, and He died in the middle of the day.  He is deeply touched by your difficulties (and your joys) in the middle.

Feeling any gratitude for this?

What Can I Offer Him? {30 Days of Gratitude, In the Middle, FOR the Middle...No, really!}

Being a "Blogger" is humbling.  Lots of people enjoy their favorite blogs, but most would never write one - and who can blame them?  What kind of person can deal with hitting the "publish" button on all that work and vulnerability, only to hear...

...crickets.

 In all honesty, some folks wonder if there is much value in blogging.

If you are a good writer at all, you are much like the violin virtuoso,  homeless and playing for dollar bills in the subway tunnel instead of Carnagie Hall.

Only - I don't even get dollar bills for what I offer to all who pass by this place.  (Never fear - you won't see a "donate" PayPal button suddenly appear in the sidebar...)  So why do I do it?

Because in offering my encouraging words to you, I am offering them to Christ.  

"The King will reply, 'Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.' "  

~Matthew 25:40

I happen to notice that it does not say that unless the impact is HUGE, my offering doesn't count.  In fact, it seems to be the opposite.  The more "downwardly mobile" we are, when we offer our gifts, the more God notices and takes the offering very personally.

It is the giving away what I've been given, to whoever is there to receive it, that counts.

And no one even has to come back and leave a comment, saying "Thank you."  In fact, studies show most don't.  Ever.

Here is what I know:  If the quality of the artist is measured by the gratitude of the audience, then God Himself is no artist at all.

I am here to today tell you that I am grateful for the chance to use my gift(s) in whatever capacity, and I want you to feel the same way.  The hard truth is this:  forget about "building a platform" or "building a ministry".  Because the smaller your venue in the exercise of your gift, the more like Christ you are.  (Find me someone else who is saying these things...seriously.)

He left his status and the glory of heaven, to enter the womb of a woman. In His whole life, He built a platform of 12, and gave His gifts of healing and deliverance away to all who were oppressed of the devil.  The cross was His thanks.

To Be Mid-Life Modest, or To Gratefully Shine - Your Choice {30 Days of Gratitude, In the Middle, FOR the Middle...No, Really!}

"Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven."

~Matthew 5:16

I want to learn to stay in the middle of not flaunting my gifts, yet not hiding my gifts.  I want to learn to be very, very comfortable with being better than someone else, and I want to be very, very comfortable with the fact that so many are better than I am.  Where did we get the mistaken notion that, as Christians, we shouldn't "be flashy"?

I don't know.  Turning water into wine is pretty amazing.  Healing blind eyes will get you noticed.

We are meant to flash glory-light - we are reflective image bearers of the God of light.

No one crosses the street for shadowy mediocrity.

Let your light shine!  Let it shine in such a way that men can see your accomplishments!  That is the inherent meaning of the Greek word for "good works":  accomplishments.   We get our English word "ergonomics" from this Greek word.  God fits us to certain tasks, so that they become a natural extension of who we really are - and we can work without injury or undue stress.

It would be one thing if the Scripture stopped right there:  ..."Let your light shine before men in such a way as they see your accomplishments..."

But it doesn't end there.  The next phrase puts the whole concept in sharp perspective, "...so they may see your accomplishments, and glorify your heavenly Father."

For heaven's sake (literally), be an accomplished person.

Be grateful for the opportunity to shine in mid-life.  God knows, our younger generation needs to see us taking risks and accomplishing our God-assignments.

Between the "Not Anymore" and the "Not Yet" {30 Days of Gratitude In the Middle, FOR the Middle...No, Really!}

My definition of the "middle":

Being suspended - floating in grace - somewhere between the "not anymore" and the "not yet".

Always, the middle is the present moment.

I began making visual art just over a year and a half ago.  Making it has helped me deeply understand the art of words.  With paint, you just have to gather courage and start.  You have to throw some paint on that canvas.  Then, once you do that, you work (and work...and work...) with what is there.  You trust the process.  You trust that this present moment, this muddley-middle stage, will begin to take shape.  And the outcome is never what you first envisioned.

So it is with words.  A word-artist has to dig deep, and toss her heart onto a page, and work with what is there.  A writer has to trust that all this messy vulnerability will take shape into something beautiful for someone.

See, if I were to hate the transition stage, if I were to become overly uncomfortable with the middle, the finished product will have no soul - because I will compensate for my discomfort by forcing my version of perfection onto the piece.

All art is a product of love, and all artists must learn to embrace the middle, and feel gratitude for what is.  I am learning to thank God for living between the "not anymore" and the "not yet".  Where else can a girl practice her art of contentment?

Every moment is the present moment and must be sanctified by gratitude, else we risk losing the next present moment to that destroyer of the art that is your life - angst.

No More "Making Do" {30 Days of Gratitude ~ In the Middle, FOR the Middle}

Precisely mid-way through life, I believe you and I start to get negative.  Yes, even you.  I know I have the tendency, and that I am more prone to it now than I was in my 30's.  The longer we live, the more jaded we become, and the more we identify with our mistakes.

The longer we live, the more we feel like we have to make do with what we have - play the cards we have been dealt, and all that stuff.

No more delusions, past 40, right?  We see the harvest we've reaped thus far, and not all of it is beautiful and not all of it is good.

I want to challenge you with the idea of an Autumn Planting.

Farmers and gardeners do it all the time.  Cold weather crops are some of the best crops you can partake of.

It is never too late to plant new and radically different seeds.

Because you see, while we sigh and try to "make do" with what we have, we serve a God who "makes" and "does" with what He has!

He can take the seeds you offer, here in this season of your life, and give you a winter crop that will knock your socks off and bless you to the very, very end of your days.

He makes all things new.  He does all things well.

Stop "making do" with a harvest that is less than you hoped for.  Start over with new and different seeds - because your God makes and does.  And that is something to be vastly grateful for.

Nothing is impossible with Him!

The Accountability of the Middle {30 Days of Gratitude ~ In the Middle, FOR the Middle}

"Where the battle rages, there the loyalty of the soldier is proved, and to be steady on all the battlefield besides, is mere flight and disgrace if he flinches at that point."

~Martin Luther

If you could see me, spiritually and metaphorically speaking, I look like that...that right up there.

Sort of Braveheart, sort of middle-age woman who abuses Photoshop.  (I know, it's kind of creepy.)

I am a sword-wielding-warrior-woman who has won many battles.  And I am in good company.

Lots of middle age Christians come to church on Sunday with a long list of past accomplishments in their heads.  At least, I would hope we 40-somethings (and older) would have a lot of stories to tell...

...about that season when we found out He is Jehovah Jireh, our Provider, and He is enough...
...about that miracle we believed God for...
...about those times we shared Christ, and saving faith happened...
...about those times we shared Christ, and it seemed nothing happened...
...about that time we completely laid down an offense, and lavishly forgave someone else...

We have lots of stories from those days.  The temptation is to stop creating the atmosphere in our life that allows new stories to be told.  The temptation is to get bored and slack off in the middle.

Please don't.  If you will allow me, I am crying out to you, Braveheart Style - right here, in your middle - to dig in and do battle.  To stay the course.  Past victories do not present victories guarantee.  You have to fight the good fight in every season.

To fail now, is to possibly fail ultimately.

Because Beloved...we are simply running out of time.

Let's make the middle-to-latter end of this thing more glorious than the first!

The Humbling Middle {30 Days of Gratitude for Middling Things}...because you asked for it...

Much is being said about the "downward mobility of Christ", and it is all true.  Yet, I am being struck broadside these days with the  middling-mobility of Christ.

I am grateful for a God who split time down the middle by coming to middle earth as a human being.  I am encouraged by a God who waited to perform His first miracle until middle age.   I am saved by the God who died in the middle of two criminals, suspended on a cross mid-way between earth and a sky that He made. I am daily blessed by a God who appears to us as the "middle" of the Godhead - between the Father and the Spirit. I am humbled by a God who, though highly exalted, is even as we speak, making intercession for us who are in the middle.

Christ Jesus embraced the humility of the middle.  Because of this, He is given a name which is above every name.

In this grasping, struggling-to-move-up Western world I live in, no one really wants anything mid-size.  I believe part of the feeling of our infirmity is the painful fact that we are all in the middle of something...we are in that place where the freshness of the small beginning is long gone, and the dream of a grand finale is not yet in sight.  We are in the plodding-place.

We feel vulnerable, and sometimes even naked and ashamed.

Friend, God...very God...is in the middle with you and I.  He created the middle of your story and sustains it to the point that you will discover the middle to be the best part of your story - because the tension of the plot only seems unresolved. You can be fully present to the story line, with all its loose ends, knowing that in the final chapter - it is all made beautiful.

We may live in a fallen world, a middling-place where regret is part of being alive - but we, of all people, are confident of an eternity that will carry no regrets whatsoever. All of them, gone. This is forever both the end of your story, and the beginning of "You: The Sequel".

Please take 30 days with me to feel around inside your heart for the gratitude that can sweeten this middle-time of life.

There is so much to be thankful for!

{30 Days of Gratitude ~ In the Middle ~ FOR the Middle}...because you asked for it...

I know it's cliche, but giving thanks really is transformative.

I can think of another cliche, and it's the one about "mixed feelings". Not only is that cliche phraseology, it is a half-truth at best. The real truth is that we feel what we focus on, and we focus on what we feel. What we choose to pay attention to, and how we choose to pay attention to it, is a choice...a choice that will dictate to our hearts how we feel.

The real truth is that we cannot feel truly thankful and unhappy at the same time. If we focus on all the reasons to be grateful, we feel what we focus on. If we focus on the faults of others, or on what we perceive we lack, we feel what we focus on.

You and I can feel our way right out of boredom or discouragement. We can feel our way right out of anger or anxiety. The miracle antidote is the feeling of gratitude. 

So here is our {30 Days of Gratitude ~ In the Middle ~ FOR the Middle}...

...because I want to feel what I focus on, and I need to focus on what I feel. The warmth and joy that ensues from giving thanks brightens my November afternoons, and makes me feel tranquil and privileged. I really am a daughter of privilege. My Father has given me an unfair advantage called Grace. There is nothing "balanced" about that.

The Only Safe Place for Your Middling Heart {The Conclusion of our 31 Days - and a GIVEAWAY}

Here we are.  The very last day of this 31 days of October.  Your messages and emails and comments have meant the world to me.  They have been encouraging.

And heart-breaking.

And incredibly encouraging.

And wrenching.

And wildly funny.

I feel like we've gotten to know each other, and I don't want it to end.  A new reader wrote me a private message a few days ago saying, "So, after 31 days, what next?"

The question has haunted me since.  Not in a creepy-Halloween sort of way, but in a sweet, urgent, compelling way.  Though making art is nice  absolutely incredible, and designing jewelry and bags (and someday my own "In the Middle" clothing line) is truly fun for me...

...it is still all about The Message, for this girl.  No, not the translation of the Bible by Eugene Petersen, but the Gospel message.  A few of you have written to me saying that the Gospel means so much more to you, that it applies to you in ways you didn't realize before.

This is what I was created to do.  Thank you for giving me the chance to do it.  When I sit here and pour my heart out through my fingers and into these containers called "words"...I know I am living my purpose.  No art, no business, no mission, no venture of any kind can be allowed to compete with the priorities of local church life  and the Gospel we so faithfully declare and represent together as one body of believers.

The grace of God made me come alive as a six year old little girl who was the only one to answer an altar call in a tiny Presbyterian church.  Then, grace made me come alive again as a stuck-in-the-middle, middle aged woman.  And it continues to be what makes me come alive, every time I stop to consider how complete I am in Christ, and how completely loved.

I wake up, each day, with my hair on fire.  I am burning to see you do - not what you wish you were gifted to do - I want to see you do what you are actually gifted to do.  I want you to know how it is exactly that you bless your world.  Already.

Whether cooking or dancing or singing or working with kids or being a great networker - your people skills or your computer skills or your organizational/administrative skills - whether fine art or the fine art of loving others - you bless the world in certain, specific ways.

Remember:  not how you wish you could bless others, but the way you actually do bless them already.  All the things you do that you take for granted, because they aren't that hard for you to do.  Capitalize on those things, and immerse yourself in them, and go from good to very good.  In the area you are gifted, I want you every week to do one hard thing that grows your gift, one easy thing to practice your gift, and one thing for someone else, in order to give your gift away.  Every day, plan for these things.  Ask yourself, "Where can I create beauty?" and "Who can I love better today?"

I want you to stare straight at who you really are, and respect what you really see.

You are made in His image.  When you liberate who you are, when you decide to daily declare His greatness through your distinctive gifts, when you let yourself do what makes you come alive, we will see Jesus, because we  finally get to see who He is in you.

Most women forget that in order to die to self, there has to be a "self" to begin with.  As Christians, we are so busy being Martha, so busy dying to ourselves, we never take the time to come alive to ourselves as image-bearers.  Dear one, you are meant to reflect the image of God.

Beloved, He is beautiful.

If, in the words of the apostle Paul, "I die daily", then that means I am also resurrected daily.   I experience new life daily, because in Christ, death never has the final say.  There is always resurrection after death.  So let's stop playing the "die to self" card, and start coming alive in Christ, shall we?  Unnecessary martyrdom is so unattractive.

Becoming fully alive isn't the end, and it isn't even the means to the end.  Being fully alive in our gifts is proof of the Christ-life...it is confirmation of the new creature.  It verifies the accuracy of our claim to the 'yes and amen' found only in Christ.

The most difficult aspect of mid-life, is reconciling the ideal with the real.  In fighting to keep a vision of our ideal life alive, we end up making a whole lot of bad decisions, and spouses and children and best friends and churches end up being casualties in our hot pursuit of what we wish we could be.

Never let your vision of the greater glory of Christ be obscured by the lesser glory of the law, or your desire for financial success, or your desire for a Godly family, or to be self sufficient, or to "eat cleanly"or any other competing glory.

Having your whole mind renewed and lit from within with the glory of grace can get you up in the morning and give you a reason to take joy.

Every other dream and desire will fail you, no matter how worthy or how noble.   And it is never too late to put Christ absolutely, unquestioningly first in your life.  It is never too late to discover grace.

Grace is the only safe place for your middling heart.

“Belatedly I loved thee, O Beauty so ancient and so new, belatedly I loved thee. 
For see, thou wast within and I was without, and I sought thee out there. 
Unlovely, I rushed heedlessly among the lovely things thou hast made. 
Thou wast with me, but I was not with thee. 
These things kept me far from thee; even though they were not at all unless they were in thee. 
Thou didst call and cry aloud, and didst force open my deafness. 
Thou didst gleam and shine, and didst chase away my blindness. 
Thou didst breathe fragrant odors and I drew in my breath; and now I pant for thee. 
I tasted, and now I hunger and thirst. 
Thou didst touch me, and I burned for thy peace.” 

~Augustine


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As a thank you for spending your 31 days with me, I am offering a giveaway, just in time for Christmas!

If you leave a comment you will be entered.  If you Facebook or Pinterest or Tweet this post, please leave another comment and I will enter you again.  If you blog about it, I will enter you yet again.  Just be sure to let me know!  You will receive:

Every print from Sheila Atchley Designs featured in this {31 Days of Celebrating Middle Age}!
Every book featured, in the whole {31 Days} project!
One piece of jewelry, your choice, from my shop!
One free spot in the online class entitled "Let's Play Dress Up" taught by Paige Knudsen!

This giveaway has a value of several hundred dollars...I hope you win!

*Please note:  I am not "sponsored".  No one donates prizes for me to give away.  I am not Pioneer Woman.  (Love her!) My blog is not monetized.  These gifts come from my own pocket.  Why?   Because yes, I am working hard to build an online platform -  I am that consumed with a desire to share Christ through words and art.  Please do share this blog with others, via email or Facebook or Pinterest.  It is my prayer that I honor that trust by being an encouragement to every person you send my direction.

Drawing will be held on Friday, November 8th.  Prizes will be shipped via my studio and Amazon soon thereafter.

Stuck In The Middle With You {My Story}

There was a time when I thought I was above any kind of crisis...much less a "mid-life crisis".

I hadn't yet learned that a mid-life crisis isn't about how old I am.  It has everything to do with how I handle dropping my plates.

A mid-life crisis has far less (almost nothing) to do with age, and far more to do with the fact that so very many, many people are aptly able to keep a whole lot of plates spinning for a whole lot of years...

...but no human being can keep that up indefinitely.  We just so happen to be about 45 or 50 when the breakage begins, because plates have an average life-spin-span of about 20-25 adult years.  Then a plate falls.  And it is a cherished and heirloom plate that ends up crashing, always.  And then the other plates just tend to start falling by themselves when...

...a child fails...
...a child succeeds...then leaves...
...you get "that" diagnosis...
...a parent dies...
...a church splits...
...a dream dies...
...a husband is unfaithful...
...there is an ongoing health issue...
...we discover we no longer love being plate spinners.

The true-truth is that this sort of mess and calamity is no respecter of age or gender or socio-economic status.  I know an eighteen year old who is dealing with crippling regret.  Is this person having a teenage crisis?  I know a seventy-something person who is wildly unhappy.  Are they having a geriatric crisis?

Of course not.  "Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upwards", it says in the book of Job.

And so my plates started hitting the concrete almost the day I turned 40.  Seriously, I turned 40, and the next day I had to buy readers, and the day after that all hell broke loose.

I found myself wanting to fall asleep and never...as in, never-ever...wake up.  I didn't think of ways I could end my life.  I just didn't want to wake up to my life.  I was camped out at what professionals will tell you is the lesser manifestation of suicidal depression.  I didn't feel this way for days...or weeks...or even months.  The months turned into a year, and then it all kept going.  Longer.  Longer still.

Healing began when I heard the Lord say to me, "When you wake up in the morning, I want you to do whatever you want to do.  Do whatever brings you joy."

This was a gut-wrenching challenge, because I was still home educating my youngest.  And he was barely on speaking terms with fractions and percents when he should have been best friends with Algebra II.  I was an epic fail, in my own estimation.  (Nevermind that our youngest had what we now know was bona-fide ADHD with some XYZ thrown in just to make things interesting.  End of story:  he learned Algebra, and graduated with a respectable enough ACT score to get into college, and has done so...three times, by my last count...)

To make a long litany short, I found myself in a place I had never been.  A place where I cried daily and violently.  A place where I didn't want to wake up, which really means I didn't want to live.

I would run a hot bath and crawl into my tub in the wee hours of the morning to weep and pray and hope that my legs would stop wanting to kick and squirm.

I lived every.single.day. with a burning sensation in the pit of my stomach, with no appetite.  I also had inexplicable urges to rock back and forth sometimes (I suppressed them) and developed a weird sensitivity to handling certain fabric - folding my laundry was a misery.

Then...in the middle of all that...two daughters married in the space of one year (such joy...and stress!), but then my sons turned into quasi-prodigals.  I call them "quasi-prodigals" because my sons would never deny the faith, in fact they still defend and share the Gospel, if you can imagine that.  But they weren't - and aren't - living for Christ at all.

Life.  Became.  Very.  Hard.

And you know what?  There is more.  But I will stop right there.  Because it bothers me to this very day to talk about that dark season.  I would be a fool not to hate it like I would hate any other destroyer.  May even the memories rest in peace.

Suffice it to say, I have overcome overwhelming odds to be sitting here right now, this minute - not to mention laughing and mentoring and grandmothering and speaking and writing and making art and running a creative small business.

So who the heck cares if I say a replacement word occasionally, or that I like country music on days, or that I don't recycle like I should, or check my food for GMO's, or that I eat junk food on Tuesdays?  For heaven's sake, I am here and I am blessed and I know I am fully loved!

You have to pick your battles, honey, and let me pick mine.  I might go back to rabid self improvement later in life, but for now, I am a full-on Sola Gracia Girl.

By.  Grace.  Alone.

I'm juuuust happy to be here.

And happy to wake up, every single day.

It was nothing short of a radical message of grace that could crush my bondage.

Me.  Who never thought I would ever know what slavery felt like.

Ta-Dah'ing In the Middle {31 Days of Celebrating Middle Age}

Ps 92:12 The righteous shall flourish like the palm tree: he shall grow like a cedar in Lebanon. Those that be planted in the house of the LORD shall flourish in the courts of our God.

Flour - ish: 1. To grow luxuriantly: THRIVE. 2. To fare well: PROSPER 3. To be in one's prime.4. To make bold, sweeping movements.

I think I might pull back at the idea of a truly flourishing God. Somehow, I grew up with the vague idea that God is a Yankee, who stoically makes do with what He has got in this narrow earth, and grudgingly uses the lives of sinful people to accomplish things He could have done better had He done it Himself, alone.

I cannot contain the image of God as one who plants new universes, and they branch out in all directions, twining their way through outer space like squash plants, or like the morning glory in my garden. They keep growing. There is no "first frost" to stop them.

My sensibilities balk at a God who would not allow His people to thriftily collect and store more manna than they needed for that day. Why not store some for tomorrow? Wouldn't that mean He didn't have to make as much for them all the next morning? And those twelve baskets of leftovers, after He fed the five thousand...where did I get away with the idea that God saran-wrapped it all, and trotted around the desert with it, just in case anyone else in the crowd got hungry again? "Here - have a half-eaten fish head...ah, and here's a bit of bread. This should tide you over until we get to Martha's house."

Sin-limited brains slow at the image of a God who poofs New Universes into existence, "just because", or who demands that we, flour-less and hot and grumpy, eat fresh bread every morning, or a God who saves the best wine for last. A flourishing God, whose people can be a flourishing people, if they'd but abide in His house.

And what of those "bold, sweeping movements"? Mymymy, if we didn't stop short of an abundant, bread-and-wine-making God, we screech to a halt at His waving His arms in any sort of dramatic gesture. Our thoughts of God are more....decent. Down-to-earth. Dignified. A "flourish" sounds too much like a "Ta-DA!"

God may very well wish me prosperity and all, but I am sure He would definitely not have me ta-da'ing about. Would He? Sounds a bit childish.

Ps 92:14 They shall still bring forth fruit in old age; they shall be fat and flourishing...

Something tells me that ta-da'ing my way past middle age, and into old age, has nothing to do with a larger dress size or a red hat. Thank God.

Take Joy in the Middle {31 Days of Celebrating Middle Age}

I want to be a writer of joy. 

I dream of crafting phrases that sit and smile at you, or leap off the page, grab you by the neck, and yank a grin out of you. Forcibly. I see too many blogs that angst. Angst can be exquisite once in awhile, especially when accompanied by the perfect music and evocative photography. Angst is poetic. I plan on angsting here on this blog once in awhile, just because, like a good sneeze, it's then out of my system, and I can go back to laughing. Who wants to live life in a perpetual sneeze?

However poetic it can write, who wants angst, just so she can be an "Ar-teest" ? I contend that, in our sophisticated modern culture, it is joy that has become prosaic. It is easier to write something that makes everyone cry. I've met people who are too torqued up to dance. Too educated to relax and say something silly. Too busy dying to their flesh, to live - seated in heavenly places in Christ.

My husband and I used to tool around the Smokies, some years ago, in Tim's old Geo Tracker - the famous "Barbie Jeep". Oh, how we miss that car!


What? You've never seen a pastor, with a ballcap on his head, a huge grin on his face, driving a red matchbox "jeep", with a teacup poodle in his lap? It was a sight not to be missed. There's no angst in that man - and he has as much to angst over as anyone else.

The car was old, it had a few rust spots, and yeah...if you sat in the back, you got a whiff of exhaust now and then. ::cough:: But we loved that car. You've never seen anything more unpretentious in your life. It was a joyful little car.


If you were to look at that red Tracker, you would not have thought in terms of great hymns of the faith, or heard classical music in your head. But were you to look up! Look out!   If you ever saw, suddenly, the way a breathtaking vista could unfold right before you...

...you would have hummed a few lines of a great old hymn.  Anyone with a poetic soul can be taken to mountaintop experiences, transported by a little prosaic joy. Looking up and out and beyond is the key. So is refusing to pay attention to what angsts you.


One day in the mountains, taking in all that beauty, someone yelled, "I cannot believe you can do this for FREE!"


Yes, there is a God, and He gives us fun things for free. It's just that we have a hard time conceiving of that sort of God. John Piper calls Him the Happy God. I bet you might have missed five fun free things just yesterday - were you too busy poetically angsting? We are too hung up on our own sanctification to cut loose and live like people who are complete in Him. Angst feels more spiritual than a spit-giggle...(you know - when you giggle so effortlessly, you spit all over the guy next to you)


I think laughter is "carbonated holiness".


We are convinced that the cave of Adullam (a low point in the Old Testament King David's life) was more pivotal, more formative in the life of King David than that near-naked dance of his. We feel more spiritual in Gideon's winepress, asking angsting, deeply theological questions, than simply crawling out of the winepress, strapping on our sword, finding our enemy and promptly sticking our tongue out at him. (That always gets the fight going...)


Please overlook me, these days, if you find me wahoo'ing or convulsed in a spit-giggle. I've been through some stuff of my own, hard stuff, and so I just wanna sing victory songs. I want to take joy. I want to write joy. I want to ooze joy. No joy, no strength. Know joy, know strength.


I need to be strong, right now. The middle is hard.  Yet, as a new friend of mine reminded me, the middle is exactly where we hit our stride!  I am ready to hit my stride, here mid-race.  I need to be inspired.  So no sad spiritual songs, no beautifully poetic angst, no hurling myself down, emotionally speaking, just to find out if those angels really will bear me up.


Having done all to stand, I am going to stand...dancing in my spot, armor clinking, helmet bobbing, gospel-shod feet sliding through the gravels in a little moon-walk, sword flourishing ....uh-huh...oh yeah...because I know the end of this thing. I win.


A little prosaic joy = insurance that I will live to fight another day.

Grace in the Middle {31 Days of Celebrating Middle Age}

Your middle is as ordained a season in your life as your beginning was, and as ordained as the day of your end.  God births your beginnings, and He sets the time of your completions.  But He sings over your middle!

"The Lord thy God in your middle is mighty;  He will save, He will rejoice over you with joy;  He will rest in His love, He will joy over you with singing!"  (Zephaniah 3:17)

How can He do that?  How can He sing over our middle?  Has He looked at your middle lately?  Has He noticed mine?  (It's a mess...)

Here's how:  He is confident in His great love for you.  He rests in it.

It reminds me of my teacup poodle Rambo.  Bear with me, I promise this will make sense, maybe.

I've heard some incredible Bible teachers and preachers in my short time on this planet. I've heard them use majestic metaphor and substantive simile. I love the depth that has been illustrated for me, time and again, by solid thinkers in The Faith - some are well-known, some, like my own husband, little-known.

Try as I may, my mind won't work majestically. I sigh and I try, and therein lies the problem.

When I tune into my life as it really is, in all its quotidian acedia (oh, do look the words up - they are delicious to say, but bitter to live) the revelation of grace can come honestly. Like the revelations to be found in puppies and cookies.

It is no secret that I adore my puppy. He is a teacup poodle named Rambo, and he is aptly named.

In fact, my puppy sometimes acts appallingly, and I still smile. I delight in this little dog no matter what.



A few years ago, I examined this anomaly. You see, I was known, back then,  to be ever-working to improve myself, and therefore took unbridled delight in almost nothing. But I took disturbing delight in my poodle...everyone found it disturbing, because his misbehavior had almost no affect on me whatsoever.

I decided this was because I had no fear for this animal's future. God bless all those who believe that puppies have eternal souls: I do not. Therefore, no amount of spoiling on my part will send Rambo's soul to the Lake of Fire. This dog is "eternally secure".

 In a sense, His future is fully known to me: he will live in the lap of luxury and love, and one day die. That will be that (and yes, I will grieve terribly). Nothing in terms of Rambo's ultimate eternal destiny is up in the air. He can't misbehave his way into Canine Judgement. He can't bite hard enough to hurt a toddler.

I am utterly free to delight in my dog.

When I stop to consider these majestic metaphors, I realize: the Lord delights in me! He knows the plans He has for me. He has forever settled my ultimate destiny. (Yes, only because I have trusted Him for my righteousness!)

No amount of "misbehavior" on my part can shake Him from His great love for me, in Christ Jesus. Far from being antinomianism, (and unlike Rambo) this kind of good news actually makes me want to heel - to follow close by my Owner's side forever.

Poodles and antinomianism and eternal security aside (after all, a mind can only take so much splendor) I also sometimes wonder why baking cookies for grown-up kids isn't so much fun anymore.

Used to be, a batch of cookies was a day-maker. Making a couple of sheets of home made chocolate chip cookies had the potential to bring inner healing to four children who, on some days, were fraught with naughtiness and discord.

Ah, but now they are All Grown Up. They are adults, all of them, with jobs and net spendable income. Two of them are married, with babies of their own.  They can buy these treats for themselves, anytime they want. They can work for them.  Cookies from mom don't mean what they used to.  Now, they are just a nice gesture.

As it is with the free Gift of Grace. It is precisely when we think we have matured our way "past" it, that the gift begins to lose its luster. The fun is taken right out of living in it. The truth that used to make our day and heal our hurts, now is something we can earn for ourselves. And we "get blessed" for our efforts.


Well.  Whatever we can earn for ourselves must be pretty common and obtainable. Thus, when God offers grace to us, His grace is reduced (in our minds) to merely The Nice Gesture.

A Nice Gesture is entirely unable to change us.

Hear me - hear me well! Don't rob God (and yourself) of the delight and fragrance that should characterize piping hot, fresh-from-the-heart-of-God, sweet grace. You will never be able to work for it, you cannot obtain it on your own, all ideas of any righteousness of your own are a dangerous illusion.

This is where the metaphor breaks down, as it isn't a dangerous illusion at all for my children to buy their own cookies. See why I sigh? My metaphors aren't majestic enough.

Oh well. It is what it is. Puppies and cookies and grace.

LORD, my heart is not haughty, nor mine eyes lofty: neither do I exercise myself in great matters, or in things too high for me...