::I give it all to you God, trusting that you'll make something beautiful out of me::

Ive been struggling.

The only thing I've wanted to do was finally have a moment. not a mommy moment. not a wifey moment. not a climb on the top of that list of endless to do's and scream as one incredibly productive does moment. but a me moment.

Me.

Remember that person? She used to love sipping on stout beers and dark brewed coffee and she wore hats and her sock drawer was nothing but multi-colored tights. remember her? I wanted some time where I could embrace her. breathe life into her.

She's looking pretty deflated these days. Also, she's covered in baby food and boogers and her accessories of choice are maternity leggings, because let's just be real those things are stupid comfy, and yesterdays mascara.

"I give it all to you God, trusting that you'll make something beautiful out of me" - Will Reagan

All I have wanted to do 24/7- is to create... to recall that super creative person that channeled L.M. Montgomery and Dolly Parton. Ugh! Is it too much to have just a second to myself, please!

So then what am I doing right now? This is me, having a moment! An actual Nichole-ish moment.  The baby is sleeping and I'm listening to female singer songwriters, sipping on a black cup of decaf Community and I'm tickling those black squares on my keyboard and jotting down stuff.

This feels amazing.

To be honest, earlier I had a moment in the shower. I realized I hadn't been creative in forever. I hadn't written anything, I hadn't created, baked, doodled even. And why?

Because.

LIFE.

The past 60 days of my life have been filled with multiple illness', two trips across the country and minor surgery that followed typical nichole-like fashion and became complicated. I mean it all makes sense, it's completely understandable... but still, I don't want that part of me to die.

Lord, help me. Because man, when 8:00 pm rolls around it's a heck of lot easier to plop down on the couch and zone then it is to grab my journal, to hold my guitar in my arms or to get on my knees...

Lord, these are the things that give me life. These are the pursuits that remind me of you.

"Spring up a well within my soul. Spring up a well and make me whole. Spring up a well in give to me, that life, abundantly. "- Michaela McLaird

I don't want to resign myself to a life of sleepiness. To creative complacency. I don't want to let the multi-colored tight-wearing, blog-writing, late night song-singing part of me die... and heres' the rub... There's no one stopping me.

There's no one standing on a platform of compliance and conformity yelling "You must become robot like all the peoples!"

It's just me and my laziness and my sense of entitlement that never got me anywhere anyway, getting in my way.

Man, getting older is tough. After a long day I want to check out, who says it's just a guy problem? But even I know that soon a day becomes a week and then a month and then I'm dead and my tombstone will read, "Here lies that girl, she was cool we think."

Im gonna keep trying guys. Will you try with me? I know this sounds kind of lame but
 you are being given an open invitation to inspire me.

Send me stories of things you're doing? Tell me stories you're reading. Stories you are writing. Questions you are wrestling with. Take pictures of things you're building, your sewing. Send me songs. Send me ideas. I WANT ALL THE THINGS!

And before you say it, just throw out that lie that says you're bragging. Don't be a stupid head. Don't let your art point to you, let it point beyond you... to that big ole sky that mesmerized you in the first place, to that space in time where you felt like life was large and there was more to it and you had to have more of it.

I want to be right there with you.

To trust enough to rest

This is the fifth time I've tried to write this. Right now my house is a mess of cardboard boxes, baby toys and laundry that's been sitting on the dresser for three days.

I kept waiting for a time where everything would be at peace, the sun would be glistening through my perfectly polished windows, a cup of steaming joe in my hands... What more a restful place to be for me to put together my thoughts on Rest! 

Split in Two

In regards to resting, I've always felt split in two. A part of me loves productivity. I like the rush that comes from accomplishing things, setting my mind to something and doing it. I stay up late baking bread,  I scrub out old air conditioners with toothbrushes and attempt 1940's hairstyles. Some might say I'm ambitious. In the oh so true words of my mother-in-law, " You don't know how to slow down, do ya?" She is right.

The other gal loves to sit outside. She finds in nature, life, and in the sounds and smells and stillness of it she rejoices. You'll discover her soul finds it's rest at the base of an old tree- feet bare and buried in the green grass, where the sun touches her toes and the tip of her nose. She loves rest. 

Naturally these two have always been at odds and usually my more determinate self wins any battles that arise. I can rest later I'll say. I just have to get these things done first.

The problem with this sort of logic and bargaining is that later never comes. One to-do list leads to another, one activity to the next and soon what began as a commitment to keeping an orderly home becomes a preoccupation, an incessant one. It's like a drug to me. Each accomplishment brings me a high but soon leaves me depressed and tired. With every done "to-do," comes with it a realization that something else needs to be done...and on and on...

But what other solution do I have? If I don't do it, it won't ever get done.

Like a Bird

The Lord's commitment to rest and his subsequent commands to it are sobering. 

"Remember the Sabbath day and keep it Holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the Lord your God. On it you shall not do any work... For in the six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea and all that is in them, and rested on the seventh day. Therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and made it Holy." 
Exodus 20:8-11

I am so guilty reading all other nine commandments and taking them quite seriously. Do not steal, do not murder, do not lie, do not commit adultery and on and on but I have always glossed over "Remember the Sabbath day..." I think in my heart, "Yes, I really need to do this more, I'm not so great at it I need to get better at this..."

But the truth is my lack of rest is reflective of a deeper more insidious heart issue. My lack of rest says much about how I view God and how I view myself.

When I say things like, If I don't do this, it won't ever get done. When I feverishly run from one task to the next. When I wear myself down to the point of having hardly anything left. I am saying something. 

 I am saying that I am placing the weight of everything on me.
 I am saying that I am my only hope. 
 I am saying, I don't trust God.

When I was praying over this idea of resting and trust the Lord placed the image in my head of a wounded bird resting in the two large, strong hands of it's caretaker. It is small and is completely vulnerable. Perhaps it should fly away, better safe then sorry... but instead it rests because it knows it is need and because it trusts that the one who holds it will take care of it.

This is how it is with the Lord. To rest is to admit our need and to admit how capable the Lord alone is to fulfill our needs. To recognize that He is good(Psalm 137:1) and that He is able( Ephesians 3:20) and that all the things that we feel need to get done, God is the one who gives us the strength, the wisdom and ability to do so. What will get done today is what He willed to get done. What doesn't, wasn't apart of His plan for us.

To Rest, is to Trust.

"The Lord spoke to Moses on Mount Sinai, Saying, “Speak to the people of Israel and say to them, when you come into the Land that I give you, the Land shall keep a Sabbath to the Lord. For six years you shall sow your field, and for six years you shall prune your vineyard and gather is fruits, but in the seventh year there shall be a sabbath to the Lord, You shall not sow your field or prune your vineyard. You shall not reap what grows of itself in your harvest or gather the grapes of your undressed vine. It shall be a year of Solemn Rest for the Land."

Leviticus 25:1-5

I'm not going to lie. When I read this section of scripture I had a bit of a panic attack. I thought, a whole year of not harvesting!? A whole year to simply watch your fields succumb to disorder and for your crops, the fruit of all your labor, decay?

The Lord takes rest seriously. 

This is an excerpt from commentary on Leviticus 25 by Matthew Henry:

"...God would hereby show them(the Israelites) that he was their landlord...that they were not proprietors, but dependents on their Lord. "

Rest, reminds us to whom our possessions belong; to whom we belong.

To rest means to take our hands off the steering wheel. To look at the dirty dishes in our sinks, the unfolded laundry sprinkled throughout our homes and say, "Lord, all of this is yours and I know that you will grant me the strength to accomplish what you desire for me to accomplish this day. I submit to your will because you are good in all you do and your way is perfect( Psalm 18:30)."

I can trust that all that I have and all that I am is the Lords because He purchased me on the cross(1 Corinthians 16:20). He took all the accomplishments that I am very proud of calls them for what they are dirty rags (Isaiah 64:6); He exchanged for them a life washed white and truly perfect in Christ. He loves me and finds favor in me not because of the things I do but because I am covered with the blood of a completely righteous Savior and that righteousness is now mine in Him( Corinthians 5:21.)

So today I'll take a step back from the to do list. I'll purposefully lay down my trusty pad of paper and pen and despite all logic and reason, sit down, amongst the cries of a fussy baby and surrounded by blinking toys, I'll take a deep breath. I'll still my heart and I'll settle down into the hands of my Savior. There is no safer, there is no better, there is no more a restful place to be.

Why I will never be great

I'm going to be honest. I want to be great.

I do.

From the moment I entered into this world I wanted to be known, I wanted to be noticed, I wanted to be special. 

If you ever have the immeasurable honor of getting to sit through one of the Porrata family home video, masterpiece theatre/fireplace stage-tacular events you would see me jumping in front of whomever was taking center stage at the time. I've even pushed my munchkin sized brothers out of the way with such veracity that they've catapulted into the sofas or onto the floor. Sorry guys!

I have been ambitious and a dreamer and always in avid pursuit of something and something more. There is both a plus side and a negative side to this. The plus being that I graduated Highschool at sixteen, trained and ran a half-marathon on my own( with a generous helping of the Lord's strength,) and raised $20,000+ in donor support doing full-time ministry( also without the Lord I could have done none of that.) The negative side being, it's a struggle to be satisfied.

As a child I had dreams of accomplishing all and everything I set my mind to, loving the rush of starting something new, I still do and the thrill of crossing the finishing line. But I often became disillusioned when that "something more," whatever it was that I was excited about at the time, left me feeling empty and unsatisfied. I remember one day sitting in the car talking to my mother after a day-long grocery shopping expedition. With great passion I began to explain how I just felt like I was meant for "something more," that maybe if I was on the mission field I would be there- wherever there was, I couldn't have told you but it wasn't where I was. 

My mom sweetly looked over to me and deliberately poured a nice bucket of water of wisdom on me."Nichole," she said, " You need to learn to find joy in the routine, you need to learn to find joy in the mundane because 99% of life is made of the stuff. If you don't, you will never be satisfied." 

You know those times when you're really excited about something and then someone comes by, douses you with a shot of ice cold truth and exposes your heart in the worst and best way? And you hate them for it but then you're thankful, because in the end they're right? Yup. That's what happened. 

I knew my mama was right. My heart was far from rooted( Isaiah 61:3;) It was tossed about by every whim and dream and possibility( Ephesians 4:14.)  This preoccupation with "something more," was taking me away from the somethings here. 

Apparently, this lesson is a life-long one.

This afternoon at work, Father M came into the conference room with his arms full of letters and catalogs. He has said in jest that It is his favorite part of the day, going through the mail. I'm sure there is a bit of truth in that. I managed to get a hold of a Lifeway Women's catalog. I was mostly drawn to it because it had really pretty pictures of flowers. Yup, way to go Lifeway Communications Department, you got me.

 I flipped through it and saw numerous advertisements for women's conferences, pictures of women with titles under their names like " Director of Women's Ministry Communication and Collaborative Exploration," and I had no idea what any of that meant but I was excited to see so many women doing what they loved, or at least I hoped they were doing what they loved. I wanted that. I wanted to be on those pages. I wanted to be like these women. 

 I wanted to be known, I wanted to be noticed, I wanted to be special. 

I opened a word document on my computer and titled it Dreams and Desires and started writing down all these aspirations. My ambitious and independent go-getter side of me began to get amped up and I couldn't wait to share my new life goals with my husband. 

The time arrived later that evening when the baby was down and we were doing dishes. I showed Papa Bear the catalog and explained about how I wanted to be on those pages, I wanted to be leading worship at a women's conference, how I wanted to make a difference. He looked at me and said, " That's great!" " I believe in you more than anyone I know, you can do amazing and great things but... do you want you to be known or do you want Jesus to be known?" I initially was confused and as we began to discuss it more I became more agitated and upset. Why couldn't he be happy for me and why did he need to be such a wet blanket? 

He walked out and left me for a minute. I felt the spirit pressing in on my heart. 

"He's right," the spirit whispered, " It shouldn't matter where you are or who sees you, Jesus is what matters."

Do you ever feel like you're never going to receive what you long for because you want it too bad? I felt like I was having a moment right there in the kitchen where I needed to relinquish what I was holding onto so tightly but I was afraid that by letting it go I would never have it again. I knew the idea was just an idea but maybe It was the closest I would ever be and I was fighting for it... 

In the end though, fighting the spirit is never worth it. He wins or makes my life miserable until he does...

I opened up the word and went to Matthew 18.

"At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, “Who, then, is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” 2 He called a little child to him, and placed the child among them. 3 And he said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. 4 Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. 5 And whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me."

I felt such a pit in my stomach. 

" Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven... Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven..."

A child.

But Lord, a child is small and dependent on others and doesn't even really know how to control their appendages. A child? 

"This is why I'll never be great. I don't like to be dependent on others. I'm the oldest. I take care of people Lord. I make things happen. I'm a go- getter. I'm ambitious and I have drive and I'm going to do great things for you..."

"I don't let people see that I'm weak. I don't invite people into my suffering. I don't allow others to minister to me..." 

I will never be great. Nichole will never be great.

 I needed my mom to cover me in wisdom 15 years ago in a mini-van and point me to truth.  I needed my husband to expose my desires for celebrity and fame. I needed the women who ministered to me when I was lost and depressed at 25. Because really, I am a child. I'm small and dependent on others and I don't really know how to control my appendages either.

Humbling myself to the point of being a child is simply admitting to who is looking back at me in the mirror.

I cannot be great as I am. I cannot be great in any other position than in complete dependence, in complete surrender, in complete need. Because that's who I am:

A child.

If I am known it is because He has known me in the inmost parts. Psalm 139:13

If I am noticed it is because those who look to Him are Radiant. Psalm 34:5

If I am special it is because He has called me His. Exodus 6:7

There is nothing in me that can cause me to be great in the way that makes a difference for the kingdom of God. If I don't humble myself, I cannot allow myself to be carried in the arms in my father- lifted up and great not because I'm great, but because I am sitting in his arms and I'm not just A child. I'm HIS child. He has adopted me and covered me and has given me life in him for eternity as an inheritance( Romans 8:15). In Him I have everything I will ever need and that's what makes me great, because I'm His. 

Mommy

An excerpt from my journal dated December 2014. 

Mommy.

A title I have, for as long as I can remember, desired.

She came after fourteen hours of hard labor- tears, bartering, cries of anguish and banished doubts but in the end- triumph. I praised the Lord for her as they lifted her into her papa's arms and waited anxiously as her body was carried around the blue curtain that separated me from the surgical procedure that left me cut open; our eyes met and it was a moment really like no other. A surge of something so powerful that it rendered my heart full to bursting.

Dorothy Jean was perfect and perfectly mine.

It has been five weeks, three days and 18 minutes since Dorothy, aka Dottie, was welcomed into her papa's and I's lives and from the moment she was brought into this world, she has been wrecking me, in even the best ways. Really, if I were to look back, I would say that the wrecking truly began the moment her dad and I knew she existed. It felt so weighty then- we were going to be parents and it WAS weighty and the whole nine months leading up to her birthday were nothing short of a crash course in the sinful nature of our hearts. Enter Dottie- Enter Fear. Fear of not being good enough parents, not being able to provide for her, losing her, losing each other, etc...etc...etc.... But now, now that she is resting in my arms and I feel the rising and falling of her chest on my own, the fear is so much more visceral, so much more real; it grips me daily and unforgivingly.

I know that I said that Dorothy Jean was perfect and perfectly mine, and how I act and the thoughts the rush through my mind every day confirm that I believe that: I rush to her bassinet whenever the slightest sound is made to make sure she is breathing. I feel guilt- the kind of guilt that sits deep in my gut like an anchor- any time, she's not in my arms, and I find myself incessantly looking over at her swing or her activity mat, to make sure she still knows I'm there..."I'm just folding some laundry!" I tell her. " I'm sorry, but I promised to make this dish for the party tonight! It will just be a second."

I am explaining myself to a newborn- justifying myself to a baby who cannot comprehend what I'm saying. Because I fear. I fear in a way that shakes me...and in a way that has brought me to my knees.

The truth is, she is not perfect nor is she perfectly mine.

When I was twelve weeks pregnant with Dorothy, we had a scare. A scare that could have meant losing her. I remember laying in bed, knees propped up to discourage the bleeding, weeping and interceding for my daughters life. As I lay there, the weight and knowledge of my fragility and the fragility of our baby bearing down on my mind like a roaring train, the Lord gave me a picture.

I saw a pair of hands- weathered but strong, and in those hands, lay our baby.

The peace that fell upon me sank me into a still place- a place where I was reminded of the Lord's deep devotion and love for the little one growing inside of me. No matter what occurred, that baby was His and He held her in his hands.

:: For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb.::

  Psalm 139:13

Dorothy has always belonged to the Lord.

I'm writing this because minuets ago I was again gripped with fear. I had just lain Dorothy down in her bassinet and closed the door- she had been fighting her nap all day and had finally given in but as I closed the door to the bedroom I felt compelled to go back in and check on her one more time. I resisted the temptation and attempted to clean up the kitchen, tidy up the living room, fold some diapers- all the while being weighed down with the fear that is so common to me now-irrational and insistent- that something would happen to her and I wouldn't be there...

I needed the Lord.

I sat down and prayed. I got on my knees and confessed and cried and communed with God. I asked Him for help, I told him how I have never felt this way before- like someone had just entrusted me with the most precious gift in the world and if I wasn't careful I would destroy it- that I couldn't do it without Him and I repented. My love for her was tainted with sin- a love that would have me believe that she was mine, all mine... it would promise me joy but would leave me tortured and full of fear. 

She was His and always will be. I had to give her back to the Lord, release her from my fumbling and shaking hands; there is no safer place than in the arms of our Savior.

The peace was immediate but the fear crept back into my heart so quickly, even now I feel it returning.

I take a deep breath and whisper...

There is no safer place than in the arms of my Savior.