In the midst of the last minute Christmas craziness (shopping, wrapping, cooking, cleaning, laundry, packing, traveling, whew!) may we all keep in our hearts exactly what it is we’re celebrating.

But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the LORD hath laid on him the iniquity of us all. –Isaiah 53:5,6

I wish all of you who will be joining in the festivities this week a very Blessed Christmas!

Then one morning, as I lay in bed with my eyes burning, feeling sorry for myself that I had to get up, I realized something. The main reason I get discouraged is that I expect life to be easy, and I’m disappointed when it isn’t.

But God never promised me an easy life. Actually, life is pretty much guaranteed to be hard.

These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world. –John 16:33

When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee. –Isaiah 43:2

Notice it says, “When.” Hardship is inevitable.

Of course, the “hardship” at the end of a normal, healthy pregnancy is nothing compared to what a lot of people go through. In fact, it’s nothing compared to things I’ve gone through myself, broken bones and nearly dying of pneumonia, family stresses and assorted heartbreak. But somehow, even the smallest amount of interference with my plans for an easy, happy life tempts me to discouragement. I feel like I signed up for a spa retreat and instead found myself in combat, viciously assailed on every side, fighting a losing battle for my own joy and the joy of my family. But how silly of me to suppose that life on this fallen, broken, sin ravaged earth should ever be anything but war! I need to expect the trouble that God plainly tells me will come and greet it valiantly. I need to be a cheery pessimist.

Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened unto you: But rejoice, inasmuch as ye are partakers of Christ’s sufferings; that, when his glory shall be revealed, ye may be glad also with exceeding joy. –1 Peter 4:12,13

The only thing I can be optimistic about is that the Hero of the story (God) will show himself a mighty warrior in my raging battles. Any hardship is really just an opportunity to see His glory. My heavenly spa retreat is coming. Until then, it’s mortal combat every day for the souls of my family and those the Lord brings across my path. It’s mortal combat to glorify Him in my weak flesh, to be cheerful when I’m tired and faithful when I’d rather whine, patient and steadfast when I feel like giving up.

Get back, discouragement over having to do laundry at eight months gestation! Take that, self-pity, and that, grumpy attitude! I wasn’t put on this earth for a pedicure. This is a war zone, and I’m going to fight to the death.

Other bloggers have written posts on this. I’ve even linked to one of my favorites, but perhaps it’s something that each of us needs to say for ourselves from time to time. So, I’m going to say it now: Actually, everyone who lives at my house is human, real, genuine, sin confronting, bad day having, flesh indulging, mistake making, direct descendants of Adam and Eve.

I want to be real on-line and off, honest about my struggles and the battles that rage around me, but I also do not want to gossip. This is crucial at all times, but how much more so on my blog where my words are the only testimony many visitors have of the character of my husband, children, parents, and friends.

James 4:11-12 Speak not evil one of another, brethren. He that speaketh evil of his brother, and judgeth his brother, speaketh evil of the law, and judgeth the law: but if thou judge the law, thou art not a doer of the law, but a judge. There is one lawgiver, who is able to save and to destroy: who art thou that judgest another?

Proverbs 11:13 A talebearer revealeth secrets: but he that is of a faithful spirit concealeth the matter.

Collosians 4:6 Let your speech be alway with grace, seasoned with salt, that ye may know how ye ought to answer every man.

But this devotion to avoiding gossip can have an unintended consequence. In this world where trouble and complaints are often Siamese twins, many people assume that if you’re not complaining you must live in a land of sunshine, untroubled by any storm of sorrow. And that can make them feel like they also deserve to live in such a place, an attitude leading to shock, anger, and bewilderment when the inevitable rain clouds gather on the horizon.

The assumption that non-complaining bloggers are care-free can also weaken our words. I’ve had people tell me that I have no right to sit here on my shady veranda in paradise, sipping my lemonade of blessings, and preach about submitting to husbands and fathers, or being joyful when life hurts, or how none of us really deserves to be angry, because I “don’t know anything about how hard things are for some people.” And that’s true. I actually only know how hard things are for me. But it’s also true that things are pretty hard for everyone. If anyone seems to have an easy life, it’s probably because we don’t know him very well.

Life is war. We are all in harm’s way, all living in a combat zone, fired upon daily with trouble: financial trouble, health trouble, family trouble, psychological trouble, emotional trouble, stress, anxiety, worry, anger, sin, “fiery darts of the wicked” one (Ephesians 6:16). We should never feel alone in our battles, or even be surprised by them. They are indeed common to man. So when we read each other’s blogs and everything seems to be fine, rather than assuming we’re reading the idealistic ramblings of sunshine and lemonade, and thinking that nobody else ever suffers like we have, let’s just be thankful that we’re not being defiled by gossip. And let’s remember that Christ’s promise applies to the ladies in blogland just as surely as it does to us at home.

Joh 16:33 These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.

than an house full of sacrifices with strife.

Proverbs 17:1

It’s 9:30 a.m. and the laundry isn’t started yet. I haven’t done my aerobics DVD. There are still breakfast dishes on the table. I’m walking on bits of gravel from our paleontology project that are systematically being ground into my unvacuumed carpet. And I can’t tackle any of it right now because my baby needs to nurse, and homeschool is supposed to start in half an hour.

Worse than this, far, far worse than all of this, I’m grumping at my children, “NO, we can’t do that right now. I’m very behind on my schedule.”

And then my sensitive two and a half year old looks up at me with tears in his eyes and says, “I wanted you to take care of me.”

Ouch.

Time to declare a Dry Morsel Day.

When things get to the point where I’m putting all my projects, noble and even invaluable as they may be (like laundry), ahead of quietness; when the main source of strife in the home is Mommy, madly rushing about, griping over unmet personal expectations; it’s time to back off. It’s time to put my projects on the shelf, and smile, genuinely smile, at my children, ask their forgiveness, and redirect them to something happy while I make a new plan for the day. A much, much simpler plan.

The things that make me feel like life is good are usually bound up in accomplishment. I want to sew beautiful clothes, clean out cupboards, bake delectable dainties, have a spotless house, lose a couple more pounds, have my children working brilliantly at two grade levels ahead of their age mates, etc. But there are some days when I don’t really accomplish much of anything. Somehow time gets away from me, and then it’s later than it’s supposed to be, and I’m frustrated. Life feels bad.

But what makes my husband and children feel like life is good? One thing. Joy. They want to see a smile on my face. They want me to be bubbling along contentedly. If things don’t go right, they’d like to hear me laugh. They’d like to see that I’m OK, that a little gravel on the carpet cannot steal my joy.

On the days when I forget this, when my schedule and ambitions start screaming so loudly that my home is no longer a quiet and joyful place, I need to throw those screamers out. I need to give myself permission to have a different sort of day, to go back to basics, to do only what absolutely must be done, and only if I can do it calmly, cheerfully, and with my children. I call this a “Dry Morsel Day,” named for the time I was really stressed out and grumpy and my husband reminded me of Proverbs 17:1. Now I have the verse up in my kitchen to remind me that all the “sacrifices” that I so want to fill my house up with are not worth anything if they steal the quietness from my life.

When I die, I do not want my family to remember me as a sour, short-tempered workaholic, a slave to my schedule, and obsessed with projects. I’d like it if they remembered me as talented and industrious, but it is infinitely more important that they remember that I had a meek and quiet spirit, that I was calm, and loving, and delighted just to be with them.

Finally, as the shower date neared, I prayed in desperation, “Lord, please give me a poem for Esther, one that will bless and encourage people.” And that’s when I realized it. My focus was all wrong. Sure life is hard sometimes, but that is not the underlying theme of my “season” here in the trenches. Strip away the daily struggles and what is left is an overwhelming sense of awe at the tremendous honor it is to have the job I have been given. Here is how my poem turned out.

Can it be?

Can it be that you have chosen me, Lord?

Me?

To be the helper for this man

The one who shares his dreams and plans

To be his beauty and his bride

And loved a lifetime at his side?

Can it be that you have chosen me, Lord?

Me?

To hold in my arms eternal souls

And teach them to pray over cereal bowls

To be the one they cry for in the night

The one whose love is their first delight?

Can it be that you have chosen me, Lord?

Me?

To shape the culture in this home

And daily see Your glory shown

To cook, and clean, and shop, and sew

To praise, and teach, and serve, and grow?

Can it be that You have given this to me?

This responsibility

To make a home for my family?

Exhausting privilege! Exuberant love!

Daily gifts of grace enough.

Can it be that you have chosen me, Lord?

Me?