Tasting Victory, Dirty Laundry, and Other Truths

woman with flowers


I have a new name; and the glorious promise that my Namer is doing a new thing…

A couple of weeks ago {shortly after my renaming—read about my new name here}, I experienced a taste of heaven at a Bethel worship night downtown. As my friends and I stood praising in towering stadium seats in an exquisitely restored theatre that hearkened to The Great Gatsby era, Spirit filled song pulsed through our veins. Jolting our dead places awake. Doing refreshing, reviving, restoring work…a celestial joy revolution, there in that earthen venue.

I could virtually feel the tenuous strings of my stronghold loosening; disintegrating as the Spirit moved powerfully through the theatre and my heart’s prepared space. (Worship does that, gloriously, like potent soul elixir; one of many reasons I love it so…)

…And then the crescendo–one of the lyrics, splayed larger than life on the screen upfront: “We are VICTORIOUS!” My already upraised hands shot higher above my head in a triumphant V, as if in agreement with my Deliverer.

Perhaps our hearts are never more tender; more Divinely penetrable than when we are desperately awaiting breakthrough, battle worn and bleeding out, waiting on our Medic…our only Hope.

Yes, Hope met me in the theatre that night:

“You are my hiding place; you will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance.” Psalm 32:7 

 …These blessed evidences of God’s movement in my mucky, stuck place; these Heavenly life buoys–are keeping me breathing. Believing, as I swim upstream through messy fallout, embroiled as I am in a lifelong struggle with the clock’s apathetic hands.

Breakthrough is near…


Now that I’ve served up that helping of hope, I’m going to plunge right back into my current reality and level with you, because for the time being, though VICTORY-tasting, I’m still treading…

See, the crux of the problem is that me and time, we just don’t mesh. The two of us collide like vinegar and baking soda, in some sort of perfect storm.

An exercise in comparison/contrast, if you will:

Me (God love me): Endlessly creative. Spacy. Averse to deadlines and change.

Time: Black and white. Unerring. Won’t budge, slow down or wait. (Read: infuriating.)

Me: Introverted. Emotional.

Time: Loud (imagine incessant, brain-rattling ticking). Determined. Cold–emotion doesn’t compute.

Me: Sensitive people-pleaser. Compassionate. Merciful to a fault.


(See what I’m working with?!?!?)

With that little preface, I give you My Dirty Laundry List…a window into this tumultuous time tussle of mine, for it has far reaching implications, my friends. Today I’m going to invite you into the laundry room of my soul and air the mess right on out. Shed some light on the unsightly subject, because Lord knows I need deliverance in the worst way.

…And I know someone else does, too. I’m not ashamed to air my laundry because I’ve learned in my years that every time I think I’m struggling alone, I’m NOT. That’s the Deceiver talking. As a matter of fact, I know several someones are in time’s trenches with me, muddied by the struggle, based on the response I’ve gotten so far on this series. Seems I’ve touched upon a nerve. Well, good. Let’s work it on out together, shall we?

My Dirty Laundry List–the ways time rapes me of my peace; my joy:

  1. A born high-strung perfectionist, I desire to do everything, and everything well.

Allow me to assure those of you that share in my senseless stubbornness, this is impossible. There just aren’t enough hours in the day. I know this. And yet, I TRY. Every stinking day. I’m not talking about being someone I’m not, trying my hand furiously at giftings I simply don’t possess–I’m good at owning what I’m not good at. I’m talking about cramming an ungodly number of the things I do need to do into my every 24 hours, instead of spacing them out through my week. Leaving myself no margin. Which leads me to number two…

  1. I cannot BREATHE for all the stuff I stuff into my days.

Unhealthy? Dysfunctional? Tragic? Yes, yes and yes. And yet I get up every day and do the same thing all over again, squeezing all manner of margin and joy and life out of my day. It’s habit—and you know how those die…

Exhibit A: The “one more thing mentality”—it’s the over achiever’s M.O. And it’s a killer. The end result of all this madness? Me, a shell of myself. Misery.

  1. The rush wrecks me.

I’ve grown to largely despise week mornings and weeknights–they can be such a joy drain. And I’ve honestly considered homeschooling simply so our family doesn’t have to rush out the door in the mornings, and run the homework marathon at night. (I’m extremely thankful for our private Christian school, but I keep thinking there’s got to be a better way than the mad rush.) When Friday evening and Saturday morning roll around, I exhale–a new person–revived; rested; joy filled once again. See, the introvert in me requires space, and when I don’t get a healthy dose, I wither.

Come Sunday evening, I sometimes die a little, anticipating the rush that will ensue Monday morning. Even worse, anticipating the failure I’ll face as we fly out the door, late again, and dreading the regret I’ll feel, having yelled and harassed my precious kids out the door.

(Of course, there’s recourse for all these maladies…and the Lord’s been ever so slowly, graciously, showing me the way. More on this later in the series…)

  1. My disease is catching.

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree…and nearest the tree, the fallout is worst, isn’t it? It’s with deep sadness that I watch my frenzy’s affects on my nearest and dearest…the very ones I try so desperately to nurture, serve, protect, provide/pray for, unwittingly caught up in my tornadic efforts to do it all, be it all. Like a (self-inflicted) dagger to a mama’s heart…

  1. I resent time for the years it’s taken away.

I’m not a huge fan of the C word—CHANGE. And, ever emotional, I’m embittered by the bittersweetness of this mama’s journey I’m on…the way time passes so quickly, not allowing me the time to adjust—to deal. With the ever changing phases; ages of my precious ones. I yearn for it to slow—to stop, even, so I can better relish the sweetness. Take it all in and capture it in my mind’s eye. And maybe do this mothering thing better.

But. There’s THIS:

The stakes are high, yes, but thankfully my God’s ways are infinitely higher. And it’s in His capable Hands that my dear ones, and I and my whole sordid mess, rest. Covered. Cared for. Completed.

Hope has begun a new thing…Hope met me in that theatre…and Hope has promised VICTORY.

{Stay tuned for more of my struggle, in Making Peace With Time…}

peace with time

{Making Peace With Time is a blog series chronicling my struggle to harness and live peaceably with time, finding the blessing in all of it. Time, it’s a gift from above…may its Creator use this journey to wash my eyes, that at the end, I might behold it as such, victorious over my ticking captor…}

2 thoughts on “Tasting Victory, Dirty Laundry, and Other Truths

  1. Oh sooo good! The rush wrecks me too–the extrovert! Ben hates it..This week some one asked me why I homeschool and my answer was –to avoid having to rush everywhere all the time. And so we can sleep..all of us. Shallow or Brilliant?? I will never know but I am finally grateful! And for my friends, like you, who get it and keep encouraging me on the hardest journey I have ever been on. A teaching position may be on the horizon for me and the night I found out about it, I tossed and turned with anxiety over the idea of what that schedule would be!! Awful compared to what I get to do now.

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