Mindful Mondays Archives | Lynn H. Blackburn

Blessed to Call Him Mine

Lynn Blackburn — Mon, 04 Jun 2012 23:57:00 +0000

Sometimes, when a follower of Christ answers the call to come out of the boat and walk a new path, the people they’ve been doing life with are more hindrance than help.

Instead of cheering, they chide.
Instead of rooting, they rebuke.
Instead of praying, they pout.

And far too often, the resistance comes from those closest. The very people who should understand, don’t. Spouses gripe. Parents worry. Friends question.

I know this happens. A lot.

But not to me.

When I started writing a book a few years ago, I had four chapters done when I mustered the courage to print them out and ask for my husband’s opinion.

He’s been my biggest fan ever since.

All that summer, he’d ask me how the book was coming. It was often this question that drove me to sit back down in front of the computer and press on, even when I thought I’d lost my mind to consider writing a book.

When I typed “The End” it was Brian who declared it a success. And Brian who thought it should be published. It was Brian who encouraged me to take a writing class. Brian who said “yes” to me attending my first (and second) writing conference. Brian who never questions me when I say, “I need to write”.

It’s Brian who listens when I ~~complain,~~ ~~whine~~, ok, cry over poor contest scores, blog posts that no one responds to, and rejections from agents and editors. And it’s Brian who reminds me ~~from time to time~~, often, that he’s certain God had a purpose for me writing that book and that God’s plans for my writing are still unfolding.

It’s Brian who encourages me to keep stepping out in faith, even when I’m exhausted from fighting the wind and waves of doubt and fear.

So, if you’ve ever been encouraged by anything I’ve ever written, you should know that there’s a man in my life who cheers, roots, and prays for me. A man who is out of the boat with me.

A man I am blessed to call mine.

Happy 40th Birthday Brian! I love you!

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Are you taking the JoyDare with me? My personal journal has over 700 grace gifts listed since November 2011. I’m a little behind in updating the blog link (what with a writers conference and a 40th birthday party weekend to enjoy!) but I’d love for you to join me.

I’m so thankful…

For my husband of almost 15 years who gets me, even when I don’t get myself.
For family and friends who celebrated with us.
For the way earthly joys awaken that place in our hearts created for eternity and leave us longing for the time when we will all be together…no more death, no more tears, no more loved ones missing from the party.
For mist dancing at dawn on a quiet lake.
For birds, bullfrogs, and bugs letting me listen in on their morning song to our Creator.

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When Callings Collide

Lynn Blackburn — Mon, 21 May 2012 13:30:00 +0000

When this post goes live, I will be at Ridgecrest getting ready for the first full day of classes at the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference.

I’m both excited and terrified.

Excited to hang out with writing friends from all over the country. Terrified because my husband and kids will be doing life without me this week. This is the hardest part for me. Desiring to be the best wife and mother I can be—which is my number one calling—while also following God’s call to write for Him.

My dad, sister, mother-in-law, and several friends, are taking time off from work and rearranging their schedules to help with childcare. It puts a lot of pressure on a girl to have people who love her and believe in her so much that they are willing to seriously inconvenience themselves on her behalf.

I don’t like inconveniencing people.

Which is why I’ve meal planned, done laundry, cleaned out cabinets, and generally made myself a basket case, all in an effort to make this week go as smoothly as possible for the ones I’m leaving behind.

But the resistance has been fierce. Anything I touch turns into a disaster.

I am the anti-Midas.

Try to move some furniture? Scratch the floor.

Try to potty train a child? Clean the floors—a lot.

Try to put up a baby gate to protect our tiny mountain climber? You guessed it, fiasco.

I can’t think clearly, I’m exhausted, overwhelmed, and questioning my own sanity. What on earth made me think leaving my kids for five days was a good idea?

It took a dear friend who pointed out that “Satan is on the prowl this week” to wake me up. My enemy has succeeded in distracting me, keeping me so busy that I’m missing the bigger battle.

Because there is most definitely a bigger battle.

I’m not leaving my family, asking people to jump through hoops to make it possible, and working myself into a frenzy to prepare just so I can chill out for five days.

I truly believe that I’m called to write, and that I’m supposed to be at Blue Ridge from May 20-May 24.

I have no idea why.

I don’t know what God has in store for me this week. I don’t know how He plans to use my writing to further His kingdom. I don’t know if I’ll ever see a book with my name on it, or if His plan for my writing will affect people on a different scale.

I do know that whatever He’s doing, Satan has caught a whiff of trouble in the air.

Seems like the enemy has noticed that I climbed out of the boat.

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I covet your prayers both for me and my family this week. When mommy has a calling, the family does too. In my case, even extended family and friends have taken this calling and made it their own! I’m so thankful for all the support and love they show me. Please pray that we will keep our eyes focused on the One who said “Come” and not on the circumstances and difficulties in our way.

If you want to follow my Blue Ridge experiences, I’ll be posting to Facebook and Twitter (#BRMCWC) during the week.

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When You’re Tired of Cleaning Up the Mess

Lynn Blackburn — Mon, 14 May 2012 13:30:00 +0000

Motherhood has surprised me.

I never imagined how much I would love to feel a tiny hand in mine, or how I would thrill when they want me—and only me.

I never realized how each child would bring a whole array of new experiences—new favorites, new skills, new firsts.

I never knew this level of dependence. How much their tiny selves require of me and how I can’t fathom my own life without them.

Of course, I also never knew how much poop could come out of a seven pound baby or how much pee could be sprayed around a bathroom by a three-year-old boy. I never realized how many times a child can watch the same episode of Mickey Mouse without losing interest or that my culinary skills would get such a regular workout—dicing hot dogs.

And I never anticipated that playing house would be so—repetitive.

I used to love to play house. I was the bossy mommy telling everyone what to do. (I was good at it!) But in real life, playing house gets old.

Didn’t I just wash this shirt?

Didn’t I just fold these towels?

Didn’t I just sweep this floor?

Didn’t I just unload/load this dishwasher?

Didn’t I just. . .

Some days, I don’t want to do it anymore. I want to put my feet up and pretend that someone else will take care of the mess. Because honestly, I’m tired of it. It’s not like it really matters. They’re just going to trash the place again. What’s the point?

My thoughts were running along those lines a few weeks ago as I ran my Swiffer Sweeper Vac (love that thing!) over the kitchen floor—again. But then my thoughts jumped to what I had read earlier that day.

I’ve been hanging out with the prophets lately. Isaiah, Jeremiah, Hosea…and while there are some encouraging nuggets (Lamentations 3 anyone!) there is an awful lot of the same, repetitive story…

My people refuse to obey.

They have chased after idols and made a mess of everything.

I’m about to come up in here and clean house.

Again.

(Lynn’s paraphrase)

All of a sudden, I was overwhelmed with gratitude that God never gets tired of my mess! I run away. I worship idols of my own making as I search for my significance in the approval of others. I expect the people around me to meet my every need and then lose my temper when they don’t.

I blow it.

Again and again and again.

But when I stand before Him, dripping in failure, He never says, “Why should I forgive you when you’re just going to mess it up again. Probably within the hour.”

Instead, nail-scarred hands reach for me and my Savior says, “I’ve got this. I cleaned up this mess a long time ago.”

And I return to my day, dripping in grace.

Again.

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Moms aren’t the only ones who need grace to get through the day. Regardless of what you’re facing, how would your world be different if you splashed around in grace instead of wallowed in defeat? Give it a try. There’s more than enough to go around!

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Motherhood does not make me special

Lynn Blackburn — Mon, 07 May 2012 13:30:00 +0000

For the month of May, I’m going to be focusing on motherhood—the joys and challenges unique to this particular calling.
But before I do, I want to make one thing clear.

Motherhood does not make me special.

I know. Mother’s Day is in six days. (For the men who read my blog—and I really appreciate that you do—you have six days. Get cracking.) I’m all in favor of taking a day to honor mothers.

But there are a lot of women who are not mothers. Some by choice. Some by circumstance. Some okay with it. Some heartbroken.

I live in the kind of place where the norm is for a girl to go to college, get married, work for at least a few years, and have some babies.

And I said the norm not because that’s what every woman does, but because that seems to be the expectation.

Now, I’m not going to talk about how any woman should be content in her singleness. Or how any woman should be patient as she waits for a child she longs to hold. I wouldn’t go there because if I did, any one in those circumstances could point to me and say, “What do you know about it?”

And they would be right. I met my husband at nineteen. Got married at twenty-three. Had our first child at twenty-eight. Then quit my job as engineer to stay home with her and the little brothers who followed.

What I am going to talk about it this…motherhood does not make me any more special than any other child of God. My role as “mom” does not grant me special access to God or endow me with super-sensitive spiritual hearing. I do not believe that motherhood provides some sort of inside track to closeness to God or that God keeps special “behind the scenes” insights that are for parents only.

God uses whatever circumstance we find ourselves in to reveal Himself to us.

For me, He often uses the triumphs and challenges of motherhood to speak to my heart. But for you, it might be the joys and frustrations in your work environment or the difficulties that your neighbors present on a daily basis. If you’re a single woman over the age of 21, it might be the aggravation of dealing with that friend of your mother’s who wants to know when you’re going to “find you a good man to settle down with” or asks “isn’t it about time you had a baby” every time you see her.

(Side rant: So help me, the next time someone says that, I’m going to throw a New Testament at them and ask them if they’ve ever read the part that says it’s better not to marry. I know some singles who are changing the world for the Kingdom and all anyone can do is wonder why they aren’t married. Burns me up. OK. Rant over.)

So…I’m inviting you—single, married, widowed, divorced, lots of kids, no kids, male, or female—to join me this month. My theme may be motherhood, but my desire is not to make you wish you were a mommy, too.

It’s to encourage you to long to know your Savior more.

Join me?

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Are you taking the Joy Dare with me? Since November 1, 2011, I’ve counted over 600 graces…
May 7th – Three gifts about your home…The view from my bedroom window; the soft carpet upstairs; the people I share it with

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Mindful Mondays :: Are you scared?

Lynn Blackburn — Tue, 01 May 2012 05:42:00 +0000

Do you ever find a verse in the Bible that makes you do a double-take?

You read it. Then you read it again. You wonder if it really means that in the Greek or Hebrew or Aramaic or well, any language, because you just don’t see it happening.

I ran across just such a verse last summer as I read through Psalms. It’s bugged me ever since.

I lead a life that, compared to most of the world’s population, is easy. There’s plenty of food to eat, clean water to drink, and safe air to breathe. I spend most of my days in a comfortable home with appliances that wash my clothes and my dishes, cool or heat the air (sometimes both in the same day), and cook my food.

I go to sleep to the sound of a ceiling fan and an ocean waves app that runs through my husband’s iPhone. And I have no reason to believe that gunshots or bombs or roving bands of terrorists will interrupt my slumber.

I live a life that is unimaginable to huge numbers of the human race.

But I still worry.

I have a generally positive outlook on life. But there are the big what ifs that make my blood run cold. What if someone I love gets sick? What if my kids don’t follow the Lord? What if they mess up their lives? What if…what if…what if…and that’s where Psalm 112:7 comes in and messes with me.

“He is not afraid of bad news; his heart is firm, trusting in the Lord.”

I’ve tried to ignore this verse, but the Holy Spirit keeps bringing it up.

I asked if it’s possible that this particular psalmist suffered from a serious case of hyperbole. (Short answer – NO).

I wondered if ‘bad news’ in the Old Testament was like a hangnail or a bee sting. A quick check of Strong’s concordance shot that idea down. Turns out what the ESV renders as “bad” is a word that is more often translated as “evil”. So it’s even worse than I thought.

But I couldn’t leave well enough alone. I checked the rest of the words in the verse. Turns out that word “firm” can imply a sense of readiness.

In other words, “He isn’t afraid of bad news. He’s ready for it.”

Mercy.

I am encouraged by one thing. There’s no glossing over the fact that some news is bad. Being a fully committed follower of God doesn’t mean we pretend all of life is a hot fudge sundae with a few strawberries thrown in for fun.

We don’t have to act like our mom’s cancer diagnosis or our dad’s job loss or our child’s rebellion is no big deal. We don’t have to paste a smile on our face and act like it’s all good.

Some news is bad.

But you do have a choice. You can live in fear of it, either before or after it arrives, or you can get ready for it.

How?

You get to know the only One who already knows what’s headed your way. You hang out with Him. You learn from Him.

And the more you do. The more you’ll trust.

And the more you trust, the less you have to fear.

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What do you plan to do this summer to get to know Jesus better? Have you thought about it? I’m working on my summer blog schedule – is there a topic you’d like me to cover? Let me know in the comments!

Are you taking the JoyDare with me? My list of graces given grows here.
April 30 ~ A gift given, made, sacrificed:: A note of encouragement, lunches for all, time

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Mindful Mondays :: Rejoice Until You’re Glad

Lynn Blackburn — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 18:41:00 +0000

Today’s blog post was supposed to be about something different.

But that was before the day ran off the rails.

I had big plans for this day. Some writing, some housework, some exercise, some laundry.

I even made plans to get my day off on the right foot. I went to bed a little earlier than I wanted to. I set my alarm for earlier than I wanted to. And I knew how I would be tackling the day’s list as soon as my feet hit the floor.

I did not plan for my feet to hit the floor at 3:30 a.m.

Or at 4:30 a.m.

I did not expect the “quiet time” I planned for 5:45 a.m. to include a fussy baby. Or for my early bird toddler to ask to play Starfall at 6:10 a.m.

Today I feel inadequate. So very much not enough. So frustrated by a day that refuses to cooperate.

So I took my aggravation to the only One who really gets it, and what did He have to say?

“This is the day that I have made. Rejoice. And be glad in it.”

Why He made a day this messed up is beyond me. (I asked. I think He chuckled. I’m so glad He loves me even when I’m being a smarty pants).

And honestly, I still feel on the edge of a breakdown. I’m tired. The scale didn’t move as much as I had hoped it would. The bills still have to be paid. The laundry will not fold itself. The baby’s going to wake up soon and he’s still going to be cutting four teeth at once.

But…

My husband thinks I’m doing a great job.
My kids do, too.
My coffee tastes just right.
My sins are forgiven.
My standing before God is not dependent on how much I do today. It isn’t even dependent on my attitude or my behavior. I’m secure because of what Jesus did for me.
And, I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength.

Maybe I can even rejoice until I’m glad.

Has this Monday morning got you down? Take a minute and write down a few things you’re thankful for. A few things that are good and glorious. (You can start with the fact that you are breathing if you’re having a hard time coming up with anything.) And then if you feel like it, share a few things with me in the comments. I’d love to hear about what gives you a reason to rejoice!

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I’ve been updating the Joy Dare page. It’s hard to stay grouchy when you count graces. Gladness stalks me with each line…

I’m looking for three gifts reflecting today…I’ll post them when I find them…I know they are out there!

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Mindful Mondays :: Can You Hear Him?

Lynn Blackburn — Mon, 16 Apr 2012 13:30:00 +0000

On a hot August afternoon, a small miracle occurred at my house.

Both of my boys were asleep. At the same time.

Which is the only reason I was sitting in my recliner at 1:51 p.m.

While I don’t remember what I was doing (other than that I was sitting, which may have been all I was doing), I do remember feeling the strangest sensation.

It felt like the house trembled for several seconds. It went on long enough for me to notice, but not long enough for me to be overly concerned.

The closest thing my mind could come up with at the time was the way my old house felt whenever my washing machine got out of balance. The poor, overloaded appliance had—from time to time—made a valiant effort to jump out of the closet it lived in. And when it did, the whole house rattled until I either shifted the load or did my best to hold the thing still until the spin cycle ended.

But, the washing machine wasn’t running.

So I put it out of my mind until I received a phone call a few minutes later that explained everything.

At 1:51 p.m., a 5.9 earthquake struck Washington, D.C., and the tremors were felt all up and down the East Coast.

That afternoon, Facebook lit up with reports and two things became quite clear.

1. If you’d ever felt an earthquake before that day, then you knew exactly what it was the moment it hit. As mild as the tremors were, they were unmistakable to those who had a history with earthquakes.

2. Even if you had some earthquake experience, if you were busy at all, you missed it. Friends who live less than a mile away didn’t notice.

And, I think there’s something to be learned here.

Because God’s voice often comes as a whisper—a whisper that causes our spirits to tremble in resonance.

The problem is, more often than not, we’re too busy to notice.

This week, let’s slow down.

Let’s make some room to just be.

Let’s tune our hearts to His.

Who knows what miracles are waiting…

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Sometimes I Stink

Lynn Blackburn — Mon, 09 Apr 2012 17:46:00 +0000

Sometimes I stink. (Okay, I stink a lot).

Hmmm…maybe I should explain….

So far this morning, I’ve served hotdogs for breakfast (don’t ask), returned the contents of the silverware drawer to their rightful homes (Emma was, er, displeased, by my removal of her art installation), and reheated my first cup of coffee in the microwave ~~once~~, ~~twice~~, three times.

In case you’re wondering, this is not how I envisioned this morning.

I got up early. (And I am not a morning person)
I had a plan. (And it did not include the melodic voice of my eldest singing to me from the top of the stairs at 6:05 a.m.)
I was prepared to put my plan into action. (I’m still prepared, but…)

God clearly had a different plan.

And it made me wonder about some other women, two thousand years ago…

They got up early. Who knows if they had slept? Eyes swollen in grief. Stomachs churning in fear. Minds swirling in confusion.
They had a plan. A final act of love. To anoint the body.

Have you ever wondered what they must have expected to see? Jesus had been dead for three days. His body had been turned into bloody pulp, and that was before nails held his quivering flesh to a cross.

These women weren’t expecting to find the kind of false perfection we are accustomed to when we pay our last respects. I don’t know, but my guess is they expected stench, rot and decay. Maybe bugs.

So they came prepared. They had their spices and they were ready to do what needed to be done.

I doubt they ever imagined that God had a different plan.

Of course, He always had. It came as no surprise to Him that their day didn’t go the way they had planned. And His plan was so much better.

So why do I fight Him? Why do I get so aggravated when my plans are thwarted?

Why can’t I remember that God is not surprised?

Why do I sulk and fume, instead of accepting His change and running with joy into the day He has prepared for me?

Those women did. I wonder if spices were strewn all over their path as they sprinted away. And I wonder how my day, my children, and my world would be different if instead of spewing toxic fumes of annoyance, I would choose to leave behind a pleasant fragrance as I charge into His will for my life.

If you’re thinking that sometimes you stink too, then let’s fall into grace together, shall we?

(For some reason, I think grace might smell like Spring).

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Are you taking the Joy Dare with me? A thankful heart is a joyful heart!

A gift held ~ hot coffee; sleepy babies
A gift hiding ~ a ripe avocado (hiding in the onions – not sure how it got there!)
A gift heard ~ “I love Baby Drew” (from James)

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Sawdust

Lynn Blackburn — Mon, 02 Apr 2012 13:30:00 +0000

I love the smell of sawdust.

One whiff and I feel like a
young girl standing in the barn, holding the end of a board while my Daddy cuts
it with a Skilsaw. I’m transported to a safe place to talk, to spill my
troubles, to ask questions, to get answers.

With each deep breath, I can
remember the unique smell of my Pa’s flannel shirts – a combination of sawdust,
gasoline and sweat. I’m transported to Friday evenings sitting beside him
watching Knight Rider. Or riding on the back of a tractor down to the mailbox,
giggling all the way.

To me, sawdust smells like hard work and
childhood.

To me, sawdust smells like love.

I was
thinking about this recently as I walked through our new home which, at that
moment, was covered in sawdust. A new home which is clearly a part of God’s plan
for my life, and which, as usual, has not unfolded in the way I
expected.

God’s ways are unsearchable. He plans beyond our grasp. And
sometimes, He feels so far above us, so far beyond us, as to be
unknowable.

But He wants us to know Him.

As I
walked down the stairs, leaving footprints in the sawdust, breathing in the
delicious aroma, He spoke.

“I love the smell of sawdust,
too.”
I froze on the
stairs.

What?

God loves the smell of
sawdust?

Really? And why would He take the time to tell me? What is He
trying to reveal to me about who He is?

I’ve thought about it quite a bit
over the past few weeks. Perhaps it reminds Him of long talks in a barn, holding
the end of a board while Joseph made practiced cuts with a handsaw. Maybe He
recalls childhood laughter with His siblings as they built towers and forts with
the scraps left over from Joseph’s latest project.

Or maybe, there was a
hint of sawdust in the air as He bore the cross, as the nails pierced His flesh,
as He died for me.

Maybe, to Him, sawdust smells like
love.

I John 4:7-10 ~ Beloved, let us love one another, for
love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. Anyone
who does not love does not know God, because God is love. In this the love of
God was made manifest among us, that God sent his only Son into the world, so
that we might live through him. In this is love, not that we have loved God but
that he loved us and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins.
(ESV)

From the archives…originally posted 3/14/11

image courtesy of
photobucket.com

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Mindful Mondays: Waiting to Arrive

Lynn Blackburn — Mon, 26 Mar 2012 13:30:00 +0000

If you haven’t figured this out yet, I have a serious geek streak.

I loved Calculus and I think Chemistry and Physics jokes are hilarious. I have several friends who make the guys on The Big Bang Theory seem normal.

And if that wasn’t enough, I love fantasy and science fiction.

I could watch Star Wars, Firefly, The Matrix, and The Lord of the Rings on a continuous loop.

In the story world of The Matrix, earth has been taken over by machines and they have enslaved the human race. Every now and then, someone is “freed” to live in the real world.

The real world is grimy and messy. They eat gruel and wear rags.

But when they enter the matrix? They are so cool.

Black leather. Trench coats. Sunglasses.

It turns out that when they enter the matrix, their bodies remain in the real world. But their minds project a digital image, and that’s what is seen.

Hang in there, I’m getting to the point.

Because I do the same thing.

I stand in front of my mirror and see all my flaws. I see the body that carried three babies and the shadows under eyes that spend far too little time closed.

But as soon as I get away from the mirror I’m incapable of seeing myself accurately. My “digital projection” is a Size 6 with perfect hair. She also wears cute clothes and I don’t mind telling you that I wish she was real!

I do the same thing when it comes to my heart.

I sit in church and I’m overwhelmed with my own sin and the enormity of God’s grace. I worship and proclaim “You’re all I want—You’re all I need—You are all my heart desires—you’re everything to me.”

But as soon as I get back into the real world . . . I want what I want and I want it now. My sin doesn’t seem all that bad. And I act like God’s grace is something I deserve.

The real world is grimy and messy.

I am grimy and messy.

And if I stay away from the mirror of God’s word, I can carry on, blissfully ignorant of the flaws in the real me.

But when I take a look, I see pettiness, pride, doubt, and anger. It’s not cute and I wish it wasn’t real.

Wishing never changed anything. But repentance—turning away from me and turning to Him—is the way we make progress in the Christian life.

I used to think that someday I would arrive—that I would mess up less often, so I wouldn’t need to repent as much.

But the opposite is true.

The more I grow, the more I see my sin, so the more I repent, so the more I grow, so the more I see my sin, so the more I repent…and on it goes.

Tim Keller says it this way…”The more you see your own flaws and sins, the more precious, electrifying, and amazing God’s grace appears to you. But on the other hand, the more aware you are of God’s grace and acceptance of Christ, the more able you are to drop your denials and self-defenses and admit the true dimensions of your sin.”

It’s been huge for me—to see repentance in this way.

What about you? Are you still waiting to arrive and frustrated by how far your real self is from the one you try to project—from the one you truly want to be?

Could I invite you to remember that you are beloved? You are accepted. There is nothing you can do to make God love you more and nothing you can do to make God love you less.

Whatever it is…repent. Turn away from yourself.

Turn back to Him.

You’ll find joy waiting.

Psalm 51:10, 12 ~ Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me…Restore unto me the Joy of your salvation, and uphold me with a willing spirit. (ESV)

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