The Floor

     Tonight is just one of those moments where I have to write. Maybe it’s the over-saturation of the Holy Spirit, and it feels like my spirit is jumping out of my skin. Maybe it’s that I’m running on two and a half hours of sleep after a late-night rush to the ER and I’m feeling delusional. Maybe it’s the sweet sounds of my freshly wounded sister celebrating the first moments of her 16th year of life in just the other room, and it feels like fresh joy. Maybe it’s because my other sister and roommate isn't home yet, and things feel incomplete. Maybe it’s because there are discombobulated potential outfits scattered across my bedroom carpet and it feels messy. Maybe deep down, there’s something inside of me that relates to that bedroom carpet. The place where mismatched socks find new homes until rediscovered under the bed a month later. The place where beautiful instruments sit untouched until life allows time for music to be made. The place to which empty water bottles are tossed aside after the thirst has been quenched. The place where bare toes tread. The place that catches the collapse of an overwhelmed body. It’s messy. It’s where life happens. It’s hitting me tonight that the most essential places are often and consequentially the messiest. A floor is a necessity. As long as God’s great law of gravity continues demanding balance as we know it, a floor will be necessary. Gravity requires that there be something under my feet to hold me, to hold the weight of my body, to carry me from one step to the next. And when I drop my backpack, heavy from books and Bibles and journals and wallets and gum and the green stopper from my Starbucks drink yesterday and chap-stick and random receipts from who-knows-when, gravity requires that it fall until it finds a place strong enough for it to rest upon. A place strong enough to cause it to stop. To cease movement. To just be. To lay there doing absolutely nothing. I feel like there’s a new revelation of Grace coming to me asI put my fingers to this keyboard and hammer it out. This strange thought that a floor could be such a simple metaphor for the foundation of my treasure, my beloved salvation. It’s Jesus, isn’t it? He is the floor, isn’t He? He is the resting place, isn’t He? He is the “strong enough,” isn’t He?

     Growing up, I loved softball. I played on the same team for my entire softball career (and I obviously use the word “career” incredibly loosely). We were the Marlins. We sported that teal jersey with the swordfish on the front like it was nobody’s business; that is, until we upgraded to fancier blue and white jerseys when we went club. My dad was one of the assistant coaches. Along with a few of the other dad’s, they cheered us on with tough love and cold water bottles. The mom’s would sit on the sidelines, my mom playing the role of shepherd with my 5 other siblings, and cheer us on with less-tough love and Capri Suns whether we won or lost. In all of my years playing, we lost quite a few games. Some we deserved to lose, some we fought to win with all we had. But I can’t pull out even a single memory of leaving with a disappointed dad. Sure, there was correction if he saw a way I could improve. He would even call me out if I hadn’t given it my all. He always taught me to “leave it all on the field.” To fight so hard that I could look back, no matter the outcome, with no regrets. But in all the calling out and the correcting, it was never because he was disappointed in me. He was always proud of me. Not because I won or I lost. But because of who I am. Because I’m his daughter. I’m his. I’m Mark Munden’s daughter. Sure, my name is Bethany. But I am the love-product of Mark and Laurie Munden. And somehow, it has created a forever-bond and given me a spot of favor in my daddy’s heart. To him, it’s as real and strong as the law of gravity.

     It is Jesus. He is the floor. He is the resting place. He is the “strong enough.” He is the proud Daddy that says “Just come sit in my lap and suck your thumb, little one.” He is the carpet that softens the friction of rushed feet. He accepts the accidentally dropped, the purposefully thrown, the wearily collapsed, the deliberately standing, the desperately kneeling, the hopefully rising, the joyfully dancing. To Him, it’s never too messy to accept. It’s come-as-you-are. It’s overwhelming grace. To Him, it is as natural and as demandingly necessary as gravity. We fall, and He catches. He is the floor. It’s scandalous. Scandalous to preach a message of “come as you are” and “don’t wear a mask” and “all you have to do is rest in those Heavenly muscles.” What if it’s abused? What if we mess up? What if it doesn’t look pretty with a bow wrapped around it just right? What if it’s too chaotic to fit into a Sunday service? What if we don’t tip-toe on the glass shards of religious protocol? What if it gets messy? What if we let go of the railings of the law and we fall?

     After a long, and very scientific study, I have come to the conclusion that no matter how many times I drop something on the floor, the floor never leaves; and no matter what I drop, the floor accepts it. The floor has never once gotten up in a huff and said, “forget this!” It has never seen my heavy backpack coming and rejected it. It lays there. Silent. Accepting. Strangely inviting. It’s an open resting place, no matter what the object. Jesus lays there for us. He laid His life down on the cross for us. He laid for 3 days in silent death, separated from His Father so that He could be my bedroom-carpet-revelation. His grace lays there and accepts all that I have done. No matter how many times I drop or I fail or I fall or I stumble as if I have baby deer legs. It’s inviting, His grace. It beckons. There’s a pull to it that I simply cannot deny. It seems to say, “Come lay here with Me. Come rest. Come snuggle for a while. Just lay here. Just be.” It’s like gravity. It’s necessary. It gets messy sometimes. But it’s never going anywhere. After all, isn’t it silly for us to think that we could ever walk without the floor in the first place?

Bethany Munden
4/6/13

     I work at a home daycare where I help raise 9 precious children. Simultaneously exhausting and refreshing, it is such a blessing in my life. Watching children grow is one of the purest, simplest forms of beauty these eyes have seen. To see an infant's smile, a child's first steps, first words, a giving heart, a hug to their friend in need, trying lemons for the first time, finally peeing in the toilet instead of their pants; it's all beautiful. God knew what He was doing when He formed these beauties in their mommy's wombs. I don't know if y'all know this, but God is hilarious. If you don't believe me, just come spend a day at our daycare. You wouldn't believe the kinds of things I have to say in an average day:

     "Don't wipe your nose on my hair again."

     "Get your hand out of your friend's mouth."
     "Please don't chew on my phone anymore."
     "Is that water or urine?”

     The amount of joy that comes with loving and being loved by a child is almost overwhelming. Now, don’t get me wrong; kids are quite the handful. A disobedient spirit has proved to be like a contagious virus. When one child has it, everyone seems to catch it. I guess it’s a part of the constant testing of their boundaries. They like to know who’s in charge and they find a strange sense of security in knowing. Their obedience, many times, is dependent on their understanding that we want the absolute best for them.

     The Lord has used my job on so many occasions to turn seemingly insignificant happenings into deep, meaningful parallels and life-lessons. I was recently reflecting on obedience and was struck with such a fresh view of how it should operate within us. Many times, when a new child is enrolled in our daycare, they have not yet been taught about not running away from the adult in charge when we are out in public. They quickly learn. We teach them how dangerous it could be if we are in a parking lot, a crowded place, or by a street. They begin to understand that it is for their safety that they should obey. They eventually get to a place where they don’t even ask “why?” when told to stay by our side. They know. It’s the same with the rules about hitting, speaking in an ugly tone, or throwing things in the house. Every rule has a purpose, and once they understand the purpose for the rule, they no longer question. They also understand that the beloved time-out chair awaits them if they choose to have a disobedient heart.

     I think God’s rules for us are for the exact same reasons. Each one is protecting us from something, protecting others from something, or is a means of helping us to wait for greater things that He has for us that we would have otherwise forfeited. God is Love. His heart for us is good. He is by no means a dictator trying to hold His power over us and withhold things from us. His discipline is to help us grow in obedience and to learn from our mistakes, not to condemn us. If I let one of my kids (yeah, yeah, they aren’t really mine but I love them as if they were!) continue to hit her friends, I would be both a bad protector of her friends and I would be doing her the disfavor of allowing her to grow up imprisoned to habitual anger manifesting itself in violence. God’s goal is to free us from all the destructive patterns of sin, thus opening us up to be able to participate in all of His life-giving plans.

     To be perfectly candid, sometimes, I genuinely don’t feel like changing a poopy diaper for the 10^th time that day. Sometimes, I genuinely don’t feel like walking nine kids to the park in the scorching hot Texas summer. Sometimes, I genuinely don’t feel like cleaning up the spit up, setting out the nap mats again, only to put them up a few hours later, helping to clean up the ocean of toys covering the entire playroom floor, getting up early to go take care of them, telling them the same thing for the millionth time. So what drives me to do it? Plain and simple. I love them. My love for them drives me to do all those things without anyone telling me to. Many times, there is no benefit for me, but the simple fact that I love them and that I know it will benefit them drives me to willingly do it. Once we enter a place where our love for God drives our obedience, it won’t seem so difficult, inconvenient or intrusive anymore. Knowing that it pleases Him will be reason enough to do it and reason enough to push past the fact that we genuinely don’t “feel” like doing it. If we are only following a list of rules with complete detachment relationally from God, we are robbing ourselves of the opportunity to fall in love with Him.

     As I increase the time I spend with Christ, my understanding of Him grows. As my understanding grows, my love for Him grows. And as my love for Him grows, my desire to obey grows. And as my desire to obey grows, the amount of time I spend with Him grows, and I have entered the wonderfully, excitingly, perfectly incredible cycle of walking with Christ.

You'll Carry Me

"When the furnace is burning, I know rescue is coming.
Your promise never fails.

In the darkness Your light shines, breaking over the horizon.

And I lift my eyes to see that heaven's fighting for me.

Carry me on Your back through this storm, Lord."

"You get glory in the midst of this, so You're walking with me.

And You say that I am blessed because of this, so I'll choose to believe

That as I carry this cross You'll carry me.
Help me believe it."

"All praise to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort. He comforts us in our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us. For the more we suffer for Christ, the more God will shower us with His comfort through Christ...We were crushed and overwhelmed beyond our ability to endure, and we thought we would never live through it. In fact, we expected to die. But as a result, we stopped relying on ourselves and learned to rely on God, who raises the dead. And He did rescue us from mortal danger, and He will rescue us again. We have placed our confidence in Him, and He will continue to rescue us."

-2 Corinthians 1:3-5,8b-10

I am blessed to endure suffering.

I can confidently wait for rescue.

I can fully expect comfort.

I am not alone.

He will carry me.

He will receive glory. 

 I am not God. My life is not my own. My Father loves me.

Father, You are God. My life is Yours. You love me.

I trust You.

I Need You, Jesus

"I need You, Jesus, to come to my rescue.
Where else can I go?
There's no other name by which I am saved.

Capture me with grace, I will follow You.
This world has nothing for me.
I will follow You."

Those words taste so sweet as they roll off my tongue. "I need You, Jesus." My cry of desperation to the Lord is not met with fireworks in the background; it's not met with a victorious soundtrack; it's not met with balloons and streamers; it's not met with a "pass go and collect $200." Indeed, none of this is the response that meets my soul's declaration of dependence on the Lord. Instead, I am met with a still, small voice in my soul that proclaims peace upon my weary and troubled heart. In a season of pain, waiting, anticipating, healing, restoration, I am greeted by the God of the Universe. I am led by the Lord of Lords. I am comforted by the Creator. I am healed by the Holy Father. I am loved by the Lover. These burdens that I have been carrying, He says, “Give them to Me, child.” He cries, “I died so you wouldn’t have to carry that.” He comes to me, “Here, let me hold you.” The tears flow from my eyes as I see the reality of His jealousy for me. He doesn’t want me to hold on to the things this world has offered me. Why do I carry these loads that will only destroy me? Why do I devote myself to the things that will turn their back on me? Why do I so often turn my back on the One who offers life, peace, joy, satisfaction even in the midst of tribulation? The Lord is patient with me as He sifts through my soul and begins to pull out all the weeds in my character. Sometimes it hurts. I need You, Jesus. Sometimes I don't want Him to continue. I need You, Jesus. Sometimes I am afraid. I need You, Jesus. Sometimes I am ready. I need You, Jesus. He is always here.

The balancing act.

                “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning. Great is Your faithfulness.”
                                -Lamentations 3:22-23

                Today, as I wondered what I wanted to write about, my heart felt so full, and my mind so empty. This semester has been so incredibly crazy and difficult to deal with. Balancing everything has been a huge challenge for me; one that I presumed I was prepared for, but one that has proved me to be very wrong. In all aspects of life, I feel so weak; mentally, physically, spiritually, relationally. It all seems so out of balance. I’ve never been good at balance, really. I swing to the far sides of the pendulum, always being a more extremist of a person than a fence-rider. I have always been deeply opinionated and I take a strong stand on issues and things that I care about. Lately, though, I feel as if I have been riding along the middle line. It’s as though I have become so complacent and busy that I don’t give any real effort to anything. My time is so spread out between 14 hours of classes, 3 jobs, church, College Group, Bible Study, 5 siblings, 2 parents, 6 roommates and trying to still have a social life somewhere in there that it’s as if I have forfeited the ability to give real time and effort to any of the aforementioned things. How sad is that? It’s not how I want to live my life—so busy that I never truly invest in anything. It’s not how God intended it.

                I don’t want to be a “fence-rider”. It’s so sad to me that the society and culture we are thrown into as Americans has almost forced us to be so busy that we can’t breathe. (This is a bold statement to make, I am aware, because any mention of the country we are blessed and cursed to live in is, by nature, controversial. However, I do want to make it clear that I am so very thankful to live in America and to have everything that I need and more. My point is not to degrade the fountain of progress and privilege that we are given as citizens here; on the contrary, it is simply to state that I have, by influence and by my own accord, given in to the frantic and non-stop lifestyle exemplified by the faulty definition of “success” that is exalted by our culture.) It is almost inescapable—the need to be constantly busy is hard to escape when there are papers to be written, exams to be studied for, rent and tuition money that is due, etcetera, etcetera. This realization has driven me to one question: where is my peace and rest? If I am doomed to the inevitable pattern of business, where am I going to find any moment of relief? The answer is so simple: Christ. With Christ as the solid, unchanging, unwavering, unmoving, unconditional foundation for my life and everything I do, His peace will evade all fear. I cannot just stop catering to the daily responsibilities I have, but I can cast all of my cares upon the Lord. He will be my strength, shield and fortress in times of chaos and unrest. How sweet it is to have the extravagantly rescuing love of a Savior. I would dare to say it’s time for us to find balance in our lives, and cut out things that waste our time so that we can be good stewards of the time given to us.

Beautiful Beginnings

Life is a wonderfully complex thing. I can't help but laugh when I think of all the dimensions God gave to me. Not even I, the owner and operator of my brain, can understand it. It's a part of His humor, I guess, to watch me constantly trying to figure myself out. I think it's going to take my whole life and then some to come to any sort of worthy conclusion concerning the intricate weavings of my mind and emotions. Thankfully, I am quite certain that everything happens for a reason.

So why is this all worthy of mention? I am challenged by the thought that my Creator gave me each of my characteristics for a reason; He even allowed each of my flaws for a reason. It would be contradictory of everything that I stand for to not search for answers to the hard questions- such as why the Lord has permitted struggle and strife. I was once a small, scared little girl wondering why God allowed certain things to happen to me. I faced many things that, at the time, I would have given anything to change. When I look back upon these first almost 20 years of my life, I am able to confidently say, beyond the shadow of any doubt, that each hardship I have faced has been only to reveal in new and more intimate ways the deep and unrelenting love that my Savior has for me. I am drawn into deeper thankfulness each time I am given a fresh perspective on the events in my past. It is the most beautiful thing I could ever ask for.

I say none of this in hopes of pity or judgment. Instead, I hope to draw attention to the fact that the Lord is only allowing in your life what will bring the intensification of your process of sanctification. Sometimes, we need to be flat on our faces with nowhere else to go for Him to grab hold of our attention. My prayer for this blog is that I could be a source of encouragement or wisdom to any ear willing to listen. I don’t claim to be wise or have anything of real significance to say, but I claim to know Jesus Christ, and I will proclaim Him until the day that I die. These complicated thoughts and emotions that I experience, I trust, are all for a reason. So, here’s to putting them to what I pray to be good use.