Something's Rotten in the State of Denmark

 One of the opening lines of the play Hamlet reads, "Something's rotten in the state of Denmark." This line became a phrase used for anything foul that is at play underneath the surface of something. Last week I discovered something foul that was at play in a backpack belonging to one of my kids. A decomposing pear. 

It was another school morning in the Martin house, and people were in full swing getting ready. I was barking orders while simultaneously packing the kids snacks. In a hurry, I grabbed their lunchboxes and began to pile them for emptying and refilling, only something was a little off about one of the lunchboxes. I sniffed the edge, and winced at the acrid sweet smell of fermented fruit. "What is that? Spilled Anti-Bac? Juice?" My mind rushed to a conversation that I had with one of my kids who complained that it smelled like beer in the minivan. "That's impossible, Hun- there isn't any way it's that." I flashed forward to the mystery at hand, and decided to use my extra sensitive nose (thank you, 4 pregnancies for that blessing and curse) to track down the unpleasant odor. I stuck my head inside the backpack that I pulled said lunchbox from, and the smell overpowered me. "Ain't NOBODY got time for this on a school morning!!!" I seethed under my breath (or what was left of it). 

I carried the back pack to the kitchen counter, and inspected the contents of the bag under the bright lights. And I saw it- whatever it was, it was brown, mushy, stunk to high heaven, and was nestled in between a few folders and papers at the bottom of the bag.  Now completely repulsed, I grabbed a wad of paper towels and extracted what promised to be a legitimate (stinky) setback to an already hurried morning. I felt anger rise up in me. I called up the child in question, and held out the putrid produce for him to see. "Oh", he sheepishly responded, "That must have been the pear that I didn't have room for in my lunchbox, so I left it in my bag. I guess I forgot about it." Understatement of the year.

We got busy with the task of righting every rotten wrong inside the bag, and decided what to keep and wash, and what to pitch. I was shocked at how many papers were leaked on to. One little shriveled up pear causing that much damage, and that big of a setback. When it was all said and done, that putrid pear cost me about 25 minutes. 25 minutes that I honestly didn't have. We were late to school. As I drove, my insides were still at a rolling boil. I was angry at the child. Angry at the pear. Angry at the setback. Suddenly, my angry thoughts were interrupted by the bickering of kids. There was a rotten, sour spirit in my van. And it all began with me.

You see, if I had the luxury of rewinding the tape from that morning, I would see the moment that I extracted the pear, and seen a clear cross roads. I could have a) decided to laugh it off, joking around about the irony of having his own personal compost heap in his back pack on Earth Day. I could have eased up on the time factor by putting it into perspective. I could have used grace as a cushy place to have this setback land on. Or I could have b) gotten seething mad about the whole thing, creating tension in my home, tension in the kids, and tension in the van. Sadly I chose the latter.

There was a source to that stench in the bag. It didn't appear out of nowhere. The odor was coming from a mushy, brown, forgotten and forlorn pear. And until I dealt with that pear, and everything it leaked on, I wouldn't have peace for my nose. Much like that scenario, there was a source to that tension in our house, in the kids, in the van. I was the one who perpetuated that sour spirit because of the root of anger in my heart. The root of pride that didn't want to be late. The root of a bad attitude. And just like that pear leaked on everything it touched, so my bad attitude leaked onto everything I touched. The kids, the house, the van. Had I chosen to let it go, they could have had the freedom to let it go too. The good news is that my mothering isn't defined by my rotten attitude in that moment. It's defined by a God who allows me to fall on my face so I can recognize my need for a Savior. Friends, it's in those moments of rottenness of spirit that we can trust that God will show us, if we're willing, the source of that bad attitude. The process will be messy, as He sorts through our baggage with us, and it might be a perceived setback. But in the end, we'll be better for it. Case in point, my child's backpack and lunch box are now clean as a whistle. That's already an improvement! It's a pit stop in the process of keeping his bag clean. I'm sure there will be another pit stop in the future, as we will experience pit stops in our quests to keep clean hearts.

Much like the backpack that held my child's belongings, our hearts are the epicenter of our lives. There's no such thing as one area of rottenness staying contained. There is always cross-contamination. 

Guard your heart above all else, for it determines the course of your life. Proverbs 4:23

The contents of your heart are precious, my friend. So when you have something unpleasant coming to the surface, choose to be brave. View this setback as a setup for success. Lay all the contents of your heart bare before God, and let Him lovingly show you the root of that ornery attitude. Because when it comes to your heart, content determines course. May your course be clean. May your willingness to stay clean be tenacious. And may the aroma coming from your heart be sweet, coating every area of your life.

From Broken to Kintsugi

I came across a beautiful form of Japanese art last week. It's called Kintsugi, or Japanese golden repair. 

 I was fascinated by the back story behind this: the Japanese would take broken pottery, and try to repair it with metal staples. As you can imagine, it added a "Frankenstein-esque" quality to the beautiful pottery, and the Japanese decided to find a way to fix the cracks in a way that was more aesthetically pleasing. They came up with Kintsugi, which is when they add gold, silver or platinum dust to lacquer, and use it to fuse the broken pieces together. As you can imagine, each break increases the value of the piece, since more gold dust has to be added to repair the breaks. The philosophy behind this art form is simple and yet profound: that the cracks in the pottery can be made into an event in the life of the pottery, instead of ending its life, and that the usefulness of the pottery can be extended. 

BROKEN

We're all broken in some way. I remember when I realized my brokenness, whether it was the divorce of my parents at the age of 8, the fatherlessness I experienced, the insecurity of my appearance, or the rejection of my peers, I knew I was broken. There seems to be a space for the enemy's voice to slither into when we experience brokenness: that the best thing we can do is hide. Hide the pain, hide in shame, hide the humiliation. He introduces the lie that when others know about our brokenness, they'll cast us aside. I mean, "Who would want to be your friend if they knew THAT?" Life leaves plenty of room to be broken- whether it's through our own choices, or being at the mercy of someone else's. What I realized is that hiding brokenness only makes it worse. The truth is that we are fragile enough to be broken. The truth is that everyone is broken is some way, shape or form. The truth is that you are broken. What is worse than trying to hide all that by turning the vases of our lives so the unflawed part is the only part that shows?

EMBRACED

The kintsugi artisans do something that some people find irrational: they embrace the brokenness of the pieces they are trying to repair. Why? Because they see potential in those broken places. It's soul stirringly beautiful to imagine a group of people who clutch those precious broken pieces not as items to be thrown away, but as a canvas of redemption. I've broken things, and thought that was the end. Last week, I accidentally dropped a ceramic bowl on my countertop, and watched it shatter. I winced, and let the reality set in- the life of this bowl was over. I'm so glad that God doesn't see our brokenness like I saw that bowl. You see, God winced when He saw sin invade His perfect world- maiming His creation, polluting the relationship with His kids, breaking what was never meant to be broken. However, He didn't let that be the end. He became one of us. The Sovereign God, immortal, clothed Himself with mortality. He allowed Himself to be broken. He took that on, so that when we are broken, He can look at us and say, "I get it. I was broken. I've had the weight of sin shatter my heart too. And I know just how to pray for you." There's a comfort in knowing that God loves us. But there's a deeper comfort in knowing that He too has scars. He too was broken. And with those nail scarred hands, He embraces us with a deeper love and understanding than we know. He never throws away those who are broken. He embraces us.

REPAIRED

Brokenness is not the end. In fact, in the hands of an Almighty God, brokenness is the beginning of being repaired. I never imagined that the brokenness I tried to hide would one day be a gilded seam, pointing to the craftsmanship of an all powerful Creator. I could have never dreamed that my weakest flaws would be repaired so that they would one day be what God's strength would rest on. I only knew how to be and stay broken. But God knows how to weld broken shards together. God can take the cracks that we try to hide, and make them so that they are so beautiful, that we can't help but show off His healing work. And the healing doesn't stop there. When we see the divine craftsmanship in each other's life, we can be encouraged. We can be inspired. We can be empowered. We can feast our eyes on every repaired and strengthened seam, and say with confidence, "If God can do that in your life, I believe He can do that in mine." 

Maybe your brokenness is so deep that the fractures you've sustained have left you unrecognizable. Maybe you think all your usefulness has past, and that you are doomed to a life of irreparable existence. The best thing that you can do is hand over the dustpan containing the last bits of your heart to the artisan of your soul. He is asking you to trust Him. Will you trust Him to use His healing, golden lacquer to put you together again, piece by piece? Will you trust Him to complete the process? Will you trust Him that the end product will be for your good and His glory? Will you trust Him that your brokenness is not the end, and that He will turn your sordid shame into a shining showcase? There are many who practice kintsugi, but only One who mends broken hearts, broken spirits, and broken minds. If the vision of these artists is carried out in a beautiful piece of art, imagine God's vision for your broken self. Let the Artist do His best work. Let Him seal your broken pieces. And let the world see just how beautiful of a masterpiece you are. You can boast in your brokenness when you let God shine through your shards.

Dear Charisa: A Letter to Myself on Fatherlessness and Marriage

Dear Charisa,

You are about to enter one of the most important parts of your life: being married to Steve. I know you've already practiced writing "Mrs. Charisa C. Martin" in your prettiest cursive, and your friends and family have blessed your socks off buying things from your wedding registry. Still though, you need to know that you are in for a surprise about marriage.

Young one, you've spent the last 11 years of your life without a Daddy. You've gotten comfortable having a single Mom, and now that you're getting married, you think that Steve will heal that Daddy wound that fatherlessness has left inside your heart. I want to tell you that you're right, but to be honest, you're wrong. You are placing your hope in the wrong man. It's true that his love will be the perfect place for you to heal from fatherlessness, but it isn't the cure. In fact, there will be times when your husband's loving presence will remind you of just how big the hole is. Steve is your husband, not your father. He will love you in ways you never dreamed- ways that wreck you and make you wonder how anyone could love you that much. But even he knows that he isn't the answer. Much like Sam told Frodo in Lord of the Rings that he couldn't carry the ring weighing Frodo down, but that he could carry him, he will mirror that same faithfulness to you. He can't fix your fatherlessness, but he can carry you to the One who can fix it.

You see, Charisa, it's within the context of marriage that God will heal your broken heart. He won't erase the memories, He'll join you in them. And He will give you Steve to accompany you in this journey. God will show you the silver lining of every cloud you take into this relationship. He'll use Steve to show you that healing takes time, and grace, and love. 

The very first time Steve laid eyes on you, he was drawn to you- but not in the way you think. You see when he saw you, and asked around about you, someone told him that you were from a single Mom's home. That's when the Holy Spirit whispered to his heart, "Pray for her. Earnestly." And he did. His last girlfriend was in the same boat as you- trying to go through life with a gaping hole in her heart. That was no coincidence. His witnessing of her pain helped him better understand yours. He knew just how to pray, because the last one who broke his heart had a broken heart herself. Little did he know that he was praying for his future wife; he was interceding for the one who would one day be his. His prayers are the catalyst that will slowly, steadily begin your healing.

After you get married, there will be times when you'll have conflict. Every couple does. And there will be times where that conflict, much like a spoon, will stir up the liquid feelings that you have, and the dregs of your brokenness will float to the surface. In the swirling confusion, you'll look at Steve's face, and see your Dad's. You'll get angry, and scream at him, "You're JUST like my father!" Your words will sting his heart. And yet deep down inside, you know that it's not true. He's nothing like your Dad. In fact, what your heart will really be crying out is, "This conflict makes my Daddy wound ache!" You'll want to be loved. And God will give Steve the grace to love you; to push down your guard and say in a healing whisper, "I'm not your Dad." He'll hold you, and you'll wonder where his love comes from- and how you'll ever be made whole. The answer to both is simple: God.

Your healing won't be a one time event. Your healing won't be without pain or tears. Your healing won't be easy. In fact, it will resemble childbirth. There will be pain. There will be moments of wondering when the agony will end. You will be tempted to give up. You will be stretched. When the mundane unexpectedly triggers a floodgate of painful memories, don't run. Don't push it back down.  Just know that the healing being birthed in you will be stunningly beautiful. When God crawls into the memories of your pain and shows you He was there with you, you'll see a new side of Him that you never knew existed. And Steve will, like a labor coach, give you support and encouragement. I know you know this, but you have a good man. A good, GOOD man. 

But even a good, GOOD man is no substitute for a God who loves you. Trust Him in those dark valleys. Take as many healing pit stops as you need. Every flare up of pain is God telling you it's time for another layer. His timing is impeccable. His ways higher than yours, and His thoughts above your thoughts. Every girl needs a Daddy. And since you have a void, let God fill and keep filling it like no earthly father, husband, friend, or anything else could. You'll doubt He can, but then again, you've never really let Him. He's never left you, and He's not about to start now. You're about to enter a wild adventure, so buckle up. Get ready to be loved like you never dreamed possible- by Steve, and by God.

And so, although marriage won't fix your fatherlessness, bank on the fact that God is able to make all things new. He can restore, redeem, and revive every broken shard of your heart. Don't be afraid. Take courage. The strength about to be built in you will surpass any amount of pain you feel. I know this because I have a gift that you don't have yet- hindsight, which helps me see more clearly than you can right now. Cling to the hope that you can be restored. Trust the Father in the process. And hang on tight to that hunk of yours. He's a keeper.

Casa Content

The day we moved in to our little 2 bedroom townhouse in 2003, I was amazed by how much space we had. Going from a 500 square foot apartment to 1,052 square feet was a welcome change for us. Steve and I had been married for two and a half years, and our 4 month old Wes was as cute as can be. As each box was unpacked, we realized we had room to spare. Room to grow. Room to live. My family may have moved in to our new home, but my heart moved into Casa Content. Casa Content is a state of mind where a heart is at rest and steady. I was content to be where we were in town, and in life. We had enough, because we had each other. Our needs were met, and we lacked nothing. 

I don't know when it happened exactly, but unwittingly, my mind moved out of Casa Content while my physical body remained at the same address. Maybe the thundering footsteps stampeding down the common hallway that is adjacent to our unit thundered one time too many. Maybe when my family grew again, and again, and again it made the condo seem to close in. Maybe one too many episodes of HGTV's House Hunters was watched. I began clamoring for a bigger home, and loathing the four walls I had once loved. My family remained in the condo in Hudson, but my mind had moved into Casa Complain.

Casa Complain was smaller- much smaller than Casa Content. Casa Complain was also a state of mind; except this state of mind made living in this condo unbearable. In this new state of mind, nothing was right with our condo. Not the wall color, not the number of bedrooms, not the floor plan. I found myself resenting the home we live in, scorning the lack of room, and dreading inviting others in. Through the years, I celebrated with friends or family that moved to bigger and better homes, but inside, I wondered when it would be my turn. I developed a jaundiced eye toward my house. No longer was it easy to come up with things to be thankful for; I had to stretch to be grateful. Finding a list of cons, however, was effortless. Casa Complain did nothing good for my spirit, and I found myself packing the boxes in my heart once more. Before I knew it, I was closing on a new property: Dwelling Despair.

Dwelling Despair was even smaller than Casa Complain. Dwelling Despair seemed more like a jail cell. Complaining evolved into a despondency over our living situation. I took the dreams I had for a bigger house, stripped them off like old wallpaper, and threw them in the dumpster. Dwelling Despair was deceptive in that although the complaining was gone, the hoping and dreaming was also gone. I resigned myself to the fact that we were always going to live here. Indefinitely. Until the end of time. And I might as well get used to it.

How about you? Have you ever lived at Casa Complain or Dwelling Despair? Have you ever looked around at your house and had your stomach sour? Has discontentment over the season you're in stolen your joy? There has to be a better way than pressure washing your home with bitterness, or throwing your hopes and dreams into a bonfire. The path that leads to life is moving back into Casa Content. In 1 Timothy 6:6, Paul tells us that "Godliness with contentment is great gain." And Philippians 4:13, one of the most popular verses in the Bible, happens to be tucked into the context of contentment:

"..for I have learned how to be content with whatever I have.  I know how to live on almost nothing or with everything. I have learned the secret of living in every situation, whether it is with a full stomach or empty, with plenty or little. For I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength."

I can move back into Casa Content through Christ who gives me strength. Strength to sort through my motives of wanting a new house and realign my desires with His. Strength to pack those desires into boxes of thanksgiving. Strength to load those boxes into the truck of obedience. And strength to unpack those boxes, once and for all, and more than that if necessary.  Strength to begin to dream again, except this time, to dream while not adding the pollution of discontentment. Strength to celebrate with friends and family when God blesses them with beautiful new homes, because that same God can bless me with the gift of contentment right here where I am. God can give me the strength to personalize those verses to be my new heart's cry:

"For I have learned how to be content with whatever I have. I know how to live in a 500 square foot studio apartment, or a 2500 square foot ranch. I have learned the secret of living in every situation, whether it is in our dream house with a white picket fence and generous back yard, or this condo that lends itself beautifully to cozying up with my family. For I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength."

And so, my friend, I welcome you to live in Casa Content. It's turn-key, and just what you need. The windows of grace let plenty of light in, while the floor plan is open for God to give, take, and rearrange. It's no palace, or even a mansion. But I promise that no matter what the season is on the outside, you will be steady on the inside. And if you ever feel tempted to move back into Casa Complain or Dwelling Despair, may you recite the address of contentment: Philippians 4:13, knowing that He will give you the strength to stay there.