House of Faith, House of Grace...

So, little ones, we've spent a year here. A year in this little corner of the world that we call home.

The place with the mammoth oak tree at the top of the hill that we wave to from our balcony. With the 19 stairs that we climb daily to our front door. With the kitchen that has seen countless peanut butter sandwiches, cookies made with chocolate, handfuls of sprinkles--some caught on the icing of the cake--most falling to the floor. With the creaky chair that rocks each night in the corner of your room where lullabies are sung, gentle kisses given, and prayers whispered.
With the long, wooden table your father made by hand, with grooves deep and legs sturdy, that has seen many meals, piles of folded laundry, color filled crayon creations, and finger-painted masterpieces. With the big bed in our room that your daddy and I share, but some nights fits us four, safe and warm.

All of these things make our house--our little apartment.

We've grown by another two feet here, we've cried, we've laughed, we've learned, we've sung, we've danced, we've deepened and we've been pressed here.

And I've been thinking now...what do I want most for you to look back and remember about this bit of earth, my darlings? What memories do I hope fill your thoughts when you think of the times we've spent here in our little apartment?

What anointing do I pray for over our home?

As I've prayed and pondered this, I am awed by God's divine providence and His all-knowing nature as He weaves the threads in our life tapestry, years ahead of what I could see. I look at the two of you and I see that the two words--the two blessings-- I hope most for this place, are reflected in your names--names that were chosen long before this place came to be or this thought planted seed in my mind.

My Ellie Faith, your middle name exudes who you are and it is everything that I want this home to be. You have a strength and a zeal for life, that I can't begin to grasp myself and only pray that one day I might have more of. You have an assurance and a confidence that is unwavering no matter the situation.
That time we waited behind the man at the store...the one who reeked of alcohol, dumping out his few coins, desperate for a single bottle to get him through his day? I tried to pull you back, holding you closer to shield you, yet you boldly and proudly walked up to him, speaking your "How are you?" and "What's your name?" Singing and chattering to him all the while.
In the elevator of the hospital, when you gave that stranger a huge hug and gushed over her beautiful pink, painted nails while dancing and curtsying to her.
Or when we walked past that homeless couple on the way into the store and you stopped, despite my efforts to pull you along, and crouched down in front of them and said "Hi! I love you!".
Oh, my girl, you reach for the most unlovely of creatures without hesitation and you don't see any difference. You are bold and unashamed. You don't cower in fear.
And that faith that you have? That trust that you show? That is what I want for our home. A faith that is resolute and never wavering. That doesn't back down or hide, but proudly reflects the face of the Father. That shouts His joy with confidence. A faith that shines bright in the darkness and sings even when the world tries to hush it.

And I look at you, my Milly Grace. My sweet, gentle girl. I want this house to be a place of grace. A place that is always forgiving and always welcoming, always gentle towards others.
You are so tender, little one--even from the moment you were born, you have had a gentleness of spirit. No matter what is done to you--an overly zealous hug from sister that knocks you over, or a toy swiped from your hands, or the times you are set down when you'd rather be held---you are forgiving.  You are slow to anger and rarely ever upset. No matter how you've been wronged or how unhappy a situation might make you, there is always a quick smile that returns almost immediately. I pray that your tenderness will abound in this home--that we will be quick to forgive and welcoming to all who enter. That we will be tender towards others and their needs and have a willingness to break of ourselves and pour out for others. That love will abound here.

I have only to look at the two of you to be reminded of the anthem that should ring in our home. To be reminded of the faith that is strong and unwavering, resolute in what we believe--never bending to the ways of the world. But that will always show grace and love no matter who we come across or what we will face.

May there be a strength and a gentleness within the walls of this house--for the two cling hand in hand and there cannot be one without the other...

For you are saved by grace, through faith... (Eph. 2:8)

And that, my girls, is the glory of our God---that He would give you two to me and in doing so would give me daily reminders of what our home...what our lives... should be like.

I pray that as you grow and leave this place, as our family changes and moves on, that you will look back at our home-- wherever our home may be-- and that you will remember it as a house of Faith and a house of Grace.

So this is love...

I watch as he moves around readying himself for work. Quick-every move efficient and steady even before drinking his coffee. So unlike me-- useless and sluggish before my morning cup.

4:12 am.

He pours his coffee into that travel mug---maybe he'll get to finish it today? Unlikely. I know full well  whatever bit of the scalding coffee he can scarf down on the drive to the hospital will be all he'll get.

I hear the beep of the pager as he turns it on.

His day begins.

And that little, black, electronic interrupter won't stop for the next 30?...34?...hours. The little beep that will constantly pull him in the middle of one task, add to that never-ending list of things to do, and won't blessed stop until he can shut it off and sit and eat and sleep a day or more later.

He rarely complains about that though...how can you complain about the calls for the help of the sick and the dying?

He hugs me goodbye and I catch a faint whiff of that Stetson aftershave and miss him already.

I run to the bedroom window and watch as he gets in the car and drives away. The rest of the world is dark and still.

The two little warm bodies that found the middle of our bed in the night sleep peacefully, arms flung above their heads and breathing sweet and slow, oblivious to the stirrings in our little apartment.

I tuck covers closer, breathe kisses on their warm cheeks and vow to do better today. Be more patient. Be present in the moment. Choose joy. Hush the hurried heart. Speak love. Give more hugs.

And I watch those tiny faces and ache that I haven't done that more often. I've yelled and shattered a little heart. I've been rigid and exasperated at little things. I've wished for bedtime just so I can escape the never-ending refrain of "Mama!"

I've butted heads with that little one with curly hair so much like my own. I've cried in the laundry room at the thought of dealing with that strong will one more minute. I've complained about the constant noise and whining.

I've torn down when I should have lifted up. I've expected perfection when I should have gently guided. I have failed them time and time again. Failed those I love most.

I've been irritable and seen the way my words have cut my little tribe. The hopeful questioning of "Cookies?" after dinner last night and my huff and eye roll at the husband and doesn't he know how hard it is to bake his favorite treat with two kids clinging to your feet??

His soft reply of "You seem upset... Is something wrong?"

 Exasperation wells. I'm tired- I stay up with the baby all night and deal with a crazy two year old, cook and clean, and I haven't gone to the bathroom alone in two years.  My words are hot and stinging.

And the man who stays awake for days on end dealing with life and death situations, and doesn't get a chance to use the restroom in 24 hours time, said nothing but gently hugged me. The one who knows my failures better than anyone, showed his love by looking past the grumbling, and simply held me.

And isn't that the crux of love? REAL love? To die to self and put others first? To not just feel love but to show that love even when one is unlovely. Even when the whining grates, and the milk spills, and the child defies.

I'm good at feeling. I feel a lot and the love I feel for my family runs deep into the core of me and flows hard in my soul. But saying "I love you" doesn't always sink into the heart like the gentle hug after a scrapped knee. Or like ignoring the spilled food on the floor for the moment and instead praising (because who doesn't need a little pat on the back for getting most of the spaghetti into the mouth?) Or the warm cookies waiting after a long, hard day. Or the grace given when bones ache, heart is weary, and exhaustion floods.

This is love.

The sun begins to peek through the windows and those sleeping babes begin to stir and my hands find their soft cheeks. Hope rises like the sun within me and I know that love shines brightest when hands lift to serve and words are gentle in the heated moment.

I see my failures so clearly and hope beyond hope that today I will do better...today I will show love.

And my day begins.

Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue, but with actions and in truth. 

This is how we know we belong to the truth, 

and how we set our hearts at rest in his presence whenever our hearts condemn us.

1 John 3:18

Grace upon grace...

So little one,  

Life will be changing in big ways for us in the coming days.

We will be leaving the only home you've known your entire, little life and moving to a new home in a new city.

And it will be grand. It will be bigger and better. 

You will have a large room with a beautiful view. There will be a pool and a sweet little park just around the corner. There will be a big kitchen where lots of cookies will be made and laughter will be shared. A lovely balcony where we can grow pretty flowers in sturdy boxes.

And there will be lots of family just a few minutes away and you will grow and make so many new friends and have so many adventures.

And you will have a new little sister there and the two of you will be playmates and best friends as the years go on.

It's an exciting adventure, little one. 

And I'll whisper a secret to you, because I know you understand:  I'm excited...and terrified.

Change is hard, little darling. So very very hard. 

Daddy will be very busy in the coming years and we will have to be brave and strong while he's gone. You and me? We're going to be doing a lot of hard things together and we will have to put on our big girl pants and make things work, okay? 

We will need so much grace, little one. All of us.

Grace to understand that our "normal" may look a little different than other families.

Grace to remember that there is nothing, except the calling that Christ has placed on him, that would keep Daddy away from his precious girls for so many hours and days.

Grace to see that this new baby will require a lot of time and attention, and that she will not divide our love for you, but that we have just made room in our hearts for more love.

Grace for the days when Mommy will be exhausted and emotional and stressed. I'm sorry in advance, my sweet girl. Bear with me...it will get better!

Grace for the times when we will need to make hard decisions and face challenges alone--but we will remember together that we are never truly alone. "He's got you and me, Ellie, in His hands..." I think we'll be singing that constantly...

Grace for the days when the house will be a mess, and dinner will be mac and cheese again, and bath time may get skipped, and bed time might be late. We will get through them, love. One day at a time.

Grace upon grace, my girl. That's our theme for the next few years. And we'll remind each other of that, yes? 

We must remember, Ellie-girl, that we're a team. We're more than a team, actually.

You, Me, Daddy, and Baby--we're a family.

Family stands strong together in the good and the hard times.

We support each other and encourage each other in everything. We give grace and we receive grace. We love hard and long no matter what.

And through it all, we will remember all the great things God has done for us.

He has provided for us every step of the way.  And we will remember that though the next few years may be hard--He is so good to us. We could have been spending these seven years far across the country, but God in His never ending grace, brought us so close to both sides of our families. We will have so much support from our loved ones in our very own town! 

Remember how God lead the Israelites day by day--every step of the way into the Promised Land--a place that they had never been before? We know that the God of Angel Armies will lead us into our new life too.

So, sweet girl--our little family? We will walk together, hands holding tightly to each other and step into the Great Unknown with His praise on our lips--for in His grace, He has lead us here.

In Your unfailing love You will lead the people you have redeemed.

 In Your strength You will guide them to Your holy dwelling.

Exodus 15:13

the ministry of mothering...

I don't have any trouble falling asleep. Never have. When I was little, my mama would count and I'd be fast asleep by the time she reached three.

But for some reason I couldn't fall asleep that night. I was restless and frustrated.

I rolled out of bed, flipped on my phone light, and opened my Bible.

I usually read through a book in the Old Testament and a book in the New Testament, and was working my way through Jeremiah and had just finished Ephesians that morning. I decided to start with Philippians that night.

I read the first chapter, but kept going back and rereading verse nine and ten:

 

And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless

until the day of Christ.

I spent the next hour meditating on that verse and what it meant to have love that abounds in knowledge and depth of insight.

Still couldn't fall asleep.

The next few hours I spent praying. Praying over my husband, my child, my family and church. Praying to be a better wife, a better mother, a better friend.

Though I couldn't fall asleep, I began to thank God for this special time to solely focus on Him in the stillness of the night. I began to think that maybe this, this worshipping in the dark, was maybe the reason I couldn't fall asleep. The Father knew that I needed this.

I had just climbed back in bed around 1 AM, when I heard the baby crying over the monitor.

We had been working for months to get her to sleep in her own room. And yes, she is over a year old.(gasp!)

Don't judge, mmkay?  She's got a double dose of stubbornness so every night has been a battle.

If you've never had a child who is a terrible sleeper, you just won't understand. (No need to share tips, tricks, or methods--I think we've tried every possible suggestion, read every book and article, and have smiled through more well-intentioned lectures on sleep training than I care to count.)

And side note, since the night of this particular story, she has been sleeping through the night in her own room for weeks now, so no need to clutch your pearls in horror anymore ;)

I went in her room to check on that stubborn, crying baby, hoping against all odds that she would just sooth herself back to sleep.

Nope. Standing in the crib, crying like her life depended on it, was my wide awake little girl.

For the next hour and a half, I tried every trick in the book to get her back to sleep. She would have no part of it.

I could feel my exhaustion get the better of me. I began to feel frustrated. That peace I had felt hours earlier during that time of communion with the Father, was slipping away fast.

The next several hours were a blur. I tried my hardest to keep the baby quiet in our tiny apartment, so my husband, who would be leaving for the hospital at five in the morning, could sleep.

The crying was grating on my nerves, the constant flailing of little arms, legs, and feet were driving me crazy.

Somewhere between three and four, I cracked.

I didn't think I could do it anymore. I hadn't slept through the night in over a year and I sure hadn't gotten a wink of sleep this night. Day after day and night after night of holding it together and spending myself for my family had caught up with me.  Physically and emotionally, I was frayed.

I sat on the couch sobbing, while holding a jabbering, completely wide awake baby.  I lashed out at my husband who came to check on us and ask why I wasn't in bed. I was exhausted and done with this whole difficult night.

I wished I hadn't prayed to be a more patient mother. Apparently, God decided it was as good a night as any to stretch me and teach me a lesson in exactly that.

(So you know, don't pray for something you're not willing to be tested in. Lesson learned.)

Finally, sometime after the sun had risen and my husband had left for work, both baby and I fell asleep for a few blessed hours.

When I woke, I was ready to begin again.

This mothering thing? It is the most difficult, yet most rewarding job I've had.

But, until that night I had only thought of it as my job. Not as a ministry.

Some are called to minister in the church, in their jobs, in their community. And often, I've thought I must be missing something. Must be missing out on some ministry opportunity.

But the morning after that crazy, tear-filled, exhausting night, I realized that this is the ministry God has given me for the time being.

Maybe that abounding love that I had pondered on, was what this was all about. That knowledge and deep insight to discern what is best? Maybe this was best. His best for my life.

For years, of course, I have heard preached that a parent's first mission is to their kids. To raise them to love Jesus more than anything and to put Him first above all else.

And yes, I knew that, but after being questioned time and time again, why I choose to stay home with my child or if I'm ever going back to work in the ministry; and after particularly difficult times when I've felt like I'm failing as a mother, I wondered if  maybe I heard God wrong. Maybe I am missing out on some important mission He has called me to.

But today, I stand fully confident that though He might have a different calling for others,  my calling and ministry is this: to nurture and grow my little one to love the Lord. To daily give her to Jesus and lean on Him to impart the wisdom that I need to mother her heart. To, despite the difficult and exhausting times, despite what others may think, discern what is best for our family as I try to raise my sweet babe to know the Father.
Because, raising up a new generation for His kingdom, is indeed a ministry.

Children are not a distraction from more important work, they are the most important work.

-C.S. Lewis

The place I love best...

That old, rickety swing there? That quiet place under the trees, where the branches bow to touch the ground?

That place is dear.

The wooden seat is worn and the ropes are slightly frayed. The thick, old branch from which it hangs has started to creak over the years. And yet, it is the place I love best.

It has been the place that I've returned to time and time again over the past nine years and oh, the stories it could tell. It has seen joy and tears. Heard songs and rantings. It has been the place of daydreams and of whispered longings. Of romantic glances and courting blushes. Of baby giggles and squeals. It has been a sanctuary and a hiding place.

Some of my favorite moments have been on this swing.

I wrote several songs there. Had serious talks with those I love while clinging tightly to the ropes. Laughed while swinging high to hit branches with our feet during our courtship. Twirled ecstatically around and around after saying yes to marrying the man of my dreams. I even cradled my little one while gently swinging during her first Kentucky summer.

It is the most peaceful, hushed, and loveliest of places and by far my most favorite bit of earth.

I talk to God on that swing and He has made Himself known there.

Not long ago, I took the last turn on the old swing before the cold sets in and I whispered to that old friend to please make it through just one more harsh winter.

And as I sat there, gently rocking back and forth, that old swing taught me a bit of life.

Each time I sit to swing, I have to chose which way I'm going to sit.

See, one way faces the south with the sweeping view of the glorious rolling hills of the pastures. During spring and summer the hills and valleys are lush and green and sweet calves dots the countryside. During the fall, the leaves change and fall, and the view is bathed in autumnal light. The landscape is truly inspiring. Except, for those pesky branches from the low hanging sycamore tree that always smack you in head when swinging at any height. It's not the easiest way to sit but the view is otherworldly.

Then the other way faces north. It is a completely uninspired view of the road and neighboring homes. But the way is wide and clear and you can swing as high as your legs will pump you, without getting a faceful of branches.  It's the easy, ugly, fun way to swing.

And I began to realize that the choice of which way to sit resembles the choices in my own life.

It's all a matter of perspective, really.

The way with the most beauty and reward isn't the easiest, smoothest way. There might be more obstacles (or a face full of branches) along that path. The way that brings the soul closer to the Father might just be the hardest and most difficult journey. When our feet slip along the rocky paths and we feel beaten down by the hardships, that is when our faith is strengthened and our hearts resolve to cling fast to Him. The harder way brings the lasting reward.

And likewise, the easier way, the wide and clear path, doesn't bring the greatest joy or highest reward. When we chose the easy way out, we aren't tested and tried, and our faith lacks depth. If our lives were simple, fun, and easy there would be no need for faith, for trust. There might be immediate satisfaction but no everlasting reward.

Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, 

and many enter through it. 

But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only few find it.

Matthew 7:13-14

The past few months have been difficult and wearing, but I have been reminded by that dear, old swing, that the view is worth it. Sure we could be taking an easier, fun-filled path, one that requires less sacrifices and tears, but temporal joys cannot compare to the eternal rewards.

We may come out bruised and battered, but we will continue swinging with our eyes fixed upon the Glorious.

Two roads diverged in a wood and I - I took the one less traveled by, 

and that has made all the difference.

-Robert Frost

The Adventure Begins...

 

 

Well, yes. I have been avoiding this little piece of virtual earth for awhile now-- a month...two, maybe?

And really, it's all because of this little word, trust. I haven't much of it.

And I've struggled with it. Wrestled back and forth with this simple concept of "trust in the Lord with all of your heart."

Because, I'll be honest, I haven't struggled with it much before. And it's not for lack of trials in life either...but simply, because I am so far out of my depth and comfort zone that I just can't even deal.
Yes, I've experienced deep, wounding hurt--the death of my father, loneliness that makes the soul ache, the betrayal of a dearest friend....but even in those times, I have been able to see the hand of God weaving His threads of grace into the life tapestry. I've seen His peace on the dying face of my father and felt the assurance that I will see him again the World to come. I've felt the never failing love of my family and friends when I've been lonely or betrayed. I've seen His hand opening doors wide and clearing the path on which I'm to trod.

But. This, though maybe not as wounding as past trials, has stretched my soul hard. Because of the call to blind trust.

I am a planner. I like order. I like certainty.

I have the soul of an adventurer and a heart yearning with wonderlust--but I prefer the adventures of books and the wonder of daydreams.

I'll be real, I'd love to see the views from the top of Mt. Kilimanjaro, but would likely never make the trek to the top. I'd love to see what lies beneath the waves of the deepest ocean, but would rather watch it on a documentary.
I am the person who stops to ponder and breathe in the beauty of the Smokies on a drive through the hills of Appalachia, but would be held back from wandering those hills alone by a crippling fear of snakes.

I don't do spontaneity. I just might take said hike, provided I had a few days to plan, acquire the right shoes, make sure I had my trusty snake wrangler (aka husband), and ready myself for adventure. I need to be mentally, emotionally, and attire-ly ready for everything.
I'm a homebody. I'm a small town girl. I like routine and like that the biggest news in my cozy, Kentucky town is that the water tower is being repainted in an American Flag mural.

So that's me. I don't do uncertainty and am more than happy to spend my adventure in front of the fire, with coffee and a good book.

But, God stretches us, doesn't He? He pulls and gently prods and asks us to trust in His plan, not ours.
And even though this plan of His hasn't turned out at all like the one I had in mind...the past few months and the looming year ahead has been a harder pill to swallow than usual.

See, I had it all planned. I would grow up and probably marry a farmer--not because I particularly liked farmers but it seemed like that's what he'd be. We'd renovate our little farm house, fill it with children, and sit in rocking chairs on the front porch and talk each night.

But then I went to college and met a dark, handsome,brilliant and brooding pre-med student, and knew (even though I swore never to marry a doctor) that, Golly Moses! God's plan was so much better!
So, my plans adjusted. We'd marry, wait until after med school to start our family, and live happily ever after.

And God laughed. After an engagement, break-up, second engagement, rainy wedding day, four moves, and year and a half after getting married,  we were surprisingly blessed with our little girl.

So I'm no stranger to plan changes and have learned to grin and bear it because "Expectations ruin relationships."

But, this one. Oh, this one has been hard.

Because when I said, "I do" to that medical student with the calling from God, I didn't realize how much that calling would cost. And now that the calling is being fulfilled, I've struggled with being bitter at the One who gave that call.
That calling didn't just require lots of studying to pass those medical board exams, but required MONTHS of being alone while he spent every waking moment studying to excel at those exams.
That calling was not just to become a doctor but to be a neurosurgeon, one of the most competitive and demanding, and least family friendly specialties.

Wanna hear a not-so-funny, all too real joke?
"How do you hide a dollar from a neurosurgeon? Tape it to his kid's forehead."

So, this is life. The days, literally, days, spent without seeing the husband. Months spent in different states while he's on his away rotations. The endless hours of solo-parenting. The completely empty bank account that funded his travel expenses to interview at different residency programs across the country, in hopes that he'll be one of the 400 applicants that will actually get one of the 193 spots open this year. The crying during baby's first birthday as we walked the aisles of the toy store to only "look and hug" toys that we couldn't afford to buy since the bank account was overdrawn.
The uncertainty of not having much of a choice in where he will match. Of knowing that it's a gamble and we really will end up wherever the residency logarithm matches us, be it near or far. That wherever we end up will be unfamiliar and quite possibly be thousands of miles from family, and I will mostly be doing life alone for the next seven years since residents are called that because they  reside and spend pretty much every waking moment at the hospital.

So I've spent the last few months burying deep the mourning for the life I planned and the resentment of the sacrifices required of this one, because my sweet, tired husband doesn't need another stress added upon his weary shoulders.

And I've railed at God--- albeit unconsciously, by pulling further and further away from resting in Him. I've resented His perfect plan because frankly, it's hard. And I don't like it. And why would He give a calling to my husband that requires such familial sacrifice?
Is it fair, God, that he's missed almost every big milestone in our daughter's first year?

And so, as you can see, I'm learning. Learning that He never said His way would be easy. Never guaranteed that I would like this path or that it would match my dreams.

I'm also learning to try to let go of my plans, to release the tightly clenched fist of dreams that I want so desperately and see the blessings of letting the Father have control. Trying to look at the past and see His faithfulness in exceeding the dreams I once had and trusting that He will do the same for my future. Trying to release the thousands of fears that plague my heart about the great unknown and keeping the trust verse on repeat in my mind.

When I am afraid, I will trust in You. In God whose word I praise--in God I trust and am not afraid Psalm 56:3-4

And it's hard. I'm not completely there yet...but I'm taking it day by day and reminding my quietly adventurous heart that it's time to prove it's mettle and live life boldly and courageously, because I have been promised that the best is yet to come. And so, the adventure begins...
 

There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.

C.S. Lewis

 

When God has a British accent...

I watched a documentary about a man who serves as butler of a grand castle in England. 

Everyday for twenty years, he has set out the breakfast china for the Earl and his family, carefully measuring out the distance between every dish, glass, and utensil.

The camera panned in for a close up of him carefully polishing a spoon before setting it on the fine linen covered table and then reaching to straighten the center floral arrangement.

His voice was calm and refined as he said, "It's very important to maintain standards because once they disappear, they will never come back"

Sometimes God speaks in a still, small voice and other times I hear Him speak through His Word, but today, God used an English butler to convict me.

What the ear hears and the eyes see are seldom forgotten. And in today's society, we are bombarded with the noise and clatter of the world.

A world where innocence and standards are vilified as stuffy, unnecessary, and confining.

Where those who chose to keep their minds guarded and hearts pure are regarded as old fashioned and delusional.

It seems that even within the church, we no longer measure our standards by the word of God, but have bent and bowed to the world's example, so far so that I fear we might break altogether.

And by repeating the world's mantras, we Christians have made excuses for the low standards within our own lives. 

Boys will be boys. It's just the current fashion. Everyone goes through a "wild" time. Young people will experiment. The Bible doesn't say I can't. It doesn't affect my walk with the Lord. But I love him/her.

I have been guilty of it, too.

And I wonder if God doesn't ache when He sees His children compromising so much of their integrity and lowering the bar and their expectations.

And I see it in my own life. I've been one who has made excuses and claimed that what I watch, read, and hear won't really affect me. That saying this, laughing at that, going there, having a relationship with them doesn't change anything, really.

But it does. And like that wise, old butler, I am realizing that once my bar of standards has lowered, it is very hard to raise them again.

I can still hear her voice in my head whenever I step out my front door, just as I audibly did every time I'd leave the house when I was growing up.

 "Remember who you are. Remember Whose you are."

My mother knew that sometimes a young kid needed reminding-- reminding that my life was a living testimony for the world, yes, but more importantly, my heart was His home, my body His temple. And when I would allow myself to compromise my standards, it was harder to keep my soul in a place of peace and to keep my heart fertile ground for spiritual growth. 

Keeping our standards high is not how the world will know that we are Christ followers--no, they will know us by our love. Too often we confuse that--thinking that by living the right way, dressing the right way, doing the right thing is how we show that we are Christians. 

I have realized that these standards, morals, boundaries--they are not for the world's benefit but our own.

Out of our love for the Father, we desire to come before Him with clean hands and a pure heart. We desire to draw near to the purest place where He is, and that is much easier to do when our hearts are not swayed by anything that could draw us away from Him.

Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.

Romans 12:2

It appears that God, sometimes, has a British accent.