“Don’t go wild with the water,” I told them through the kitchen window, “Dinner’s almost ready and we don’t need any more messes to clean up.” Sure enough, they squeaked the faucet on, filled up every bowl and bucket and drenched the decking and themselves.

They rolled up their already soggy pant legs and dipped their feet in a big bowl of cold water, rattling their lips in a shivery laugh. They poured it out onto dirt and grass, dug into the wet ground with garden rake and fingers. Then, they knocked at the back door, held out muddy hands and asked for a bath.

It wasn’t bath night. My husband was about to head out for the evening and I was skittering around between stove and cutting board, hurrying to get the kids (and nursing baby) fed before bed.

The sky hinted dusk and the deadline. I thought back to nightfall a few weeks earlier, how the big yellow moon had peeked up from the branches on Maundy Thursday. The lesser light was the color of clay, a big washing bowl.

“Then wash my hands and head as well, Lord, not just my feet!” Peter’s long-ago words undulated with my child’s muddy hands and feet at my back door.

Two scenes converged, the one of Jesus bent low with the towel and washing bowl, and the one of me adding bath to the tedium of the evening.

He knows my work of muddy water and stained towels.

“Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end,” like a parent washing up his kids before dinner, hands and feet scrubbed clean, wiping away what they couldn’t cleanse in themselves, then preparing a table before them and passing down the bread and wisdom.

“My children, I will be with you only a little longer,” he said. Three years of training for his disciples before he sent them out into the world on their own. Twenty years for mine. At some point they must be ready to practice the things they’ve had practiced on them. And I’ve got to consider what I’m practicing on them.

Am I tackling messes or the ones who’ve made them? Do I consider their neediness an interruption to my work or the heart of my work? Am I stingy with my help or do I lavish it on them in love (an upside down love, a scratch the head kind of love, a Jesus only kind of love)?

Parenthood is servanthood. And Jesus teaches me how it’s done, with love: “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another,” those words spoken with the washing bowl and the bathtub in sight.

I watch Gracia’s chest rise and listen to every breath and sigh. I nurse and watch her melt into baby dreams. As with my first and second, God has once again taken my attention off of what “needs” to be done and put it on what He has done. God has created yet another living, breathing soul from Craig and me.

In this pattern of meeting my baby’s basic needs and pushing all peripherals aside, I get to live out some of the most freeing advice: “Pray every way you know how…so we can be quietly about our business of living simply, in humble contemplation. This is the way our Savior God wants us to live.”

Eating, sleeping, and breathing are tops on my baby girl’s agenda and I find myself stuck with her in my lap not because she demands it, but because the return to the basics of life gives me the freedom to sit still and take it all in. I have several half-written pieces to tell you more about Gracia’s name (pronounced “Graysha”) and her arrival, but if it takes me awhile to get another piece posted, you can guess that I’m sitting in the glider instead of the office chair.

Dear Mother, I know you’re tired. There’s a reason for the cliche– it’s true our tasks are never done. But there’s something else you should think of adding to your to-do list. It’s this thing called play, the real work of the child. Can you believe your luck?!! You are invited into it, into whimsy. No need to RSVP…just show up. And if it makes you feel better, you can check it off the list when you’re done. Where else will you ever get the chance to play and call it work?

I have to admit that I’m preaching to myself here. As a firstborn, I was an old soul and many times (though not always) found myself gravitating to the company of my parents and their friends at a party while my siblings and the other kids played in another part of the house.

In this stage of parenthood, my own firstborn and then my second have freed me up to be more playful and silly. I love that it’s part of my job description…and these days I’m reminding myself to work on it, to give play more priority while the invitation is open.

I’m reflecting more on the work of play at The High Calling today in my article, “When the Symphony Goes Wild.” I’d be thrilled to have you jump over and join me there!

Note: Parts of the above were originally shared on the Mother Letters page.

{Welcome to those visiting from The High Calling. So happy to have you here at Message in a Mason Jar where we’re finding the loveliest things in the most ordinary containers. To get posts delivered to your email box or blog reader, enter your email address on the homepage sidebar or enter http://messageinamasonjar.com/feed/ in your reader.}

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I fanned through the stack of papers, a miniature hoarder and psychologist all in one, counseling myself on what to keep and what to toss. To me, the things worth keeping are words and pictures that show the inner workings and quirks, the seeds of imagination, the sense of self, the bond of loved ones, the zest for life.

Edged between my schoolboy’s pages of beginning math, counting of coins and grid of numbers up to 100, there was this little piece of soul on paper, it too speaking of this number, 100.

“If I were one hundred years old,” the prompt ended and his Kindergarten spelling began, “If I were 100 years old I wrd need a weel cher or a wocing stic.”

The words blurred with mother tears. A wheel chair or walking stick. I thought of him losing speed instead of gaining it, how he’d no longer run so fast that you couldn’t see his legs, him feeling the aches in his bones not from growing pains but from degenerating ones…and without me there to rub them out. I pictured him bent low, body curling back into fetal position, nearing cradle grave.

I waved tears away and handed the page to my husband.

“It breaks my heart…” I tensed my chin adding cry creases near the laugh lines. Craig studied the crayon marks, the stick figure and his walking stick. I looked over his shoulder at the words, “It’s too much thinking of him so old…feeble.”

He mumbled the words. “You know what I see?” he smiled, “One hundred years and doubled-over, he’s going to find a way to keep on moving.”

My mind went back to the October day when my boy was made, life bursting forth on a day of death. I clasped the phone warm in my hands, anniversary plans with my husband canceled on account of my grandfather’s body laying cold in a hospital room. I wailed on the curb outside the restaurant, such grief that I didn’t even have the self-consciousness to cover my face.

I’d always thought he was invincible, that he’d last at least a hundred years.

Two days earlier, Grandpa had rolled up on a surprise visit to my office. I watched him unlatch the driver’s side door of his cargo van and use the door handle to firm up his stance. He pulled some things from his hoarder’s pile in the back then slid his feet over the tiny granules of the parking lot and padded up the concrete steps millimeter by millimeter. No slumped shoulders, no grumbling.

Condensation ran down the sides of the frozen-solid fast food shake he’d pulled from his freezer to pass off to me. Child of the Depression couldn’t throw a thing away. I didn’t have the heart to tell him what I’d be doing with it after our visit. But after the trash, there was treasure unburied from his warehouse, a photo of my mother in cap and gown.

“You have a few minutes?” I rolled a chair over for him and held out my hand for support. He didn’t need it. He sat himself down in stages, arm muscles quivering from the weight.

I showed him the planning chart I’d made for my mother’s 50th birthday party. I ran my fingers over the names of old churches and schools and street addresses, the backdrop for her childhood. Each name took us somewhere, Grandpa giving me a verbal tour of the months and years, the house on Birchwood, the family Pekingese, the church where he first shared the Word without saying a word, fingers and hands alone spelling out the message.

That day in my office, his words garbled behind a slackened throat, leftovers of the stroke three years back. It could’ve killed him, drowned him in mucus, the glottal muscle too weak to shield the lungs. He’d lived, more than lived, but now I could see strength pulling back from his body.

The next week, motionless, speechless, body resting in a box, my grandfather’s words echoed all the same. At the podium, my cousin picked up a piece of poetry, a curled page hammered in typewritten letters, evidence of the man’s inner workings. He read our grandfather’s lines out strong: “I won’t be finished with life until life is finished with me.”

Maybe my grandfather was invincible after all, if not in body, at least in will.

Even as my breath left me for a moment, squeaking out of tightened chest at the sight of all that gusto in the grave, unbeknown to me I was carrying a whole new generation of it. Inside bounced a ball of cells, the rapidly forming substance of my son, a person who’ll keep moving until life is finished with him…even if that means using a walking stick.

One of my favorite times of day comes when the lights go out and I arrange the pillows, when I finally cease my own striving and lay still enough to feel only the movements of what is to come, this baby I asked for, one I waited for like all my babies. She rolls about, elbows me, presses tiny feet out to say “I am here” even though she’s not fully seen.

Like this little life hidden in plain sight, there is something rolling under the surface of the belly of the world, something more than tectonic plates. It’s creation’s anxious longing, waiting for the revealing of God’s children, something the principalities can’t hold back.

In our nightly Bible reading this year, I’ve heard the same conversation three times now, Jesus answering His disciples and giving the low down on hard times to come.

As I labored with my second baby three years back, I had my mom turn on the video of my firstborn’s birth for my doula to see. My own guttural groans echoed over to me.

“Do you want me to turn it down?” my mom asked, “Does the thought of doing this again scare you?”

I knew it did no good to rehearse the pain. I was going to birth a baby that day whether I was afraid or not.

Not too long after, labor pains came so strong that they bolted me to my feet like I was one in Judea fleeing to the mountains.

In the shadow of His own suffering that would bring us new life, Jesus told of the hardships His followers would also endure, these being merely the beginning of birth pangs. False messiahs, wars, rumors of wars, earthquakes, famines, arrests, persecution, all the pain ahead.

Then came His words most out of place in the dismal scene: “do not be afraid….do not worry….” And all throughout these word pictures of suffering, the same refrain, “Do not let your heart be troubled…”

How not to?!! Believe in Him. Rehearse the good to come. Take heart that He is preparing a place…that where He is we may also be.

Soon, I let the contractions roll over one another to make way for my baby. I laid on my side, groaning, sniffing rose oil, believing the words of my doula that the Lord was with me.

And somehow, crazy as it sounds, I found myself thinking in the midst of the strain that I could do this at least once more, carry another little soul, let the pain do its work and lead to release, a new beauty come out from hiding.

It’s a picture of joy to come, the sufferings not worthy to be compared with future glory.

{Which posts in our Take Heart series most resonated with your personal experience? Click here to see the entire line-up.)

Congratulations to Karin of Middle of My Story, the winner of our final Take Heart giveaway! She will receive a copy of Denise Hildreth Jones’ new non-fiction release “Reclaiming Your Heart” and the companion novel, “Secrets over Sweet Tea.” Click the book titles or the photo to the left* to get your own copies!

Thanks for visiting Message in a Mason Jar where we’re finding the loveliest things in the most ordinary containers. To get posts delivered to your email box or blog reader, enter your email address on the homepage sidebar or enter http://messageinamasonjar.com/feed/ in your reader.

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I’m just about speechless as our Take Heart series comes to a close. We’ve heard the honest stories of nine women who experienced one sort of hardship or another and, in the midst of the struggle, heard the whisper of Jesus, “Take heart, daughter…” Aside from our guest writers, we’ve had several meaningful giveaways from some amazing women (a relief worker, a jewelry maker, a painter and an author). We’ve also heard from friends who’ve linked up their stories on their own sites or shared in the comments section. And I’ve been incredibly moved by a couple of lovely women who sent me their stories in secret. Thank you all for reading and writing and sharing and thank you for encouraging one another to take heart, for while we’re sure to have our share of trouble in the world, He has already overcome it.

His Eye Is on the Sparrow, by Civilla D. Martin and Charles H. Gabriel

Why should I feel discouraged?
Why should the shadows come?
Why should my heart be lonely
And long for heaven and home,
When Jesus is my portion?
My constant friend is he:
His eye is on the sparrow,
And I know he watches me.

I sing because I’m happy,
I sing because I’m free,
For his eye is on the sparrow,
And I know he watches me.

Some links to help you take heart in the quest for wholeness:

As we talk about wholeness in body and spirit, it’s important to have a firm grasp on what we can expect as people of faith living in a broken world. As my pastor mentioned in a sermon last week, even the people who experienced miraculous healings at the hand of Jesus, they themselves eventually experienced death. In this article, Tyanne of Lamp on a Stand shares a “healthy” perspective on the dangers of the health/wealth/prosperity gospel (if it can really be called gospel at all!).

With the recent suicide of country star Mindy McCready, one blogger opens up in remembrance of her own sister who died by choice eight years ago. This piece gives dignity to the ones battling mental illness and gives insight on how to respond to those individuals and their families.

You’ll want to keep your ears open for news about Elizabeth Johnson’s upcoming release of Touching the Hem: A Biblical Response to Physical Affliction, but for now you can visit her blog to find a wealth of insight on how to take heart in chronic illness, like this: “As lifeblood flowed back into me, and I grew stronger and more aware of things again, I found myself a changed person…. This is your only time on this earth. You only get to live through it once. Don’t live with your eyes shut, always waiting for something big.”

For this part of our series, I started writing a post about suffering from depression when I was on the mission field over a decade ago, but I just couldn’t churn it all out in time. Instead, I leave you with this post about Tsh Oxenreider’s own battle with severe depression when she and her family worked for a not-for-profit overseas. Her vulnerability models courage for those who need to admit their struggle and ask for help, and her therapist’s wisdom on functioning in a less-than-convenient environment is something for the recovering perfectionist to remember: “…he asked me to look at my lifestyle as full of partial solutions.”

Thanks for visiting Message in a Mason Jar where we’re finding the loveliest things in the most ordinary containers. To get posts delivered to your email box or blog reader, enter your email address on the homepage sidebar or enter http://messageinamasonjar.com/feed/ in your reader.

This week in our Take Heart series we’re talking about the quest for wholeness, whether physical challenges, illness or emotional struggle. I hope you’ll take time to read the amazing array of posts from our guest writers this month and let us know what resonates with you and your experience.

This past week, I sat in the orthodontist’s chair for the last time. The doctor took pliers to the brackets and snapped them off of my teeth one by one.

He had done that to my skepticism, too.

I had come to him a mess after two and a half years in braces at another provider. Teeth that should have curved around instead formed a straight line out across my lip. My bicuspid was so far gone from the arch that its root just about poked through my gums. A periodontist had told me I’d need to try a bone graft and even then may end up having to get it pulled. I’d gone through two unnecessary dental surgeries and rough recoveries with swelling, infection, and dry socket. My mouth was tender and so was my sense of trust.

Then, I kicked myself while I was down. Why did I get the braces at all? My husband had told me he didn’t think I needed them. Why hadn’t I left my bite as it was, dealt with the little bit of crowding and the off-center mid-line, and saved myself all those years of awkward smiles and kisses, saved myself from looking worse than when I started, saved the tooth with the protruding root that would possibly have to be removed?

If there’s one thing the whole fiasco had done, it was to show my perfectionist self the virtue of “good enough.”

My new doctor studied the X-rays and photographs, recorded precise measurements, outlined a plan and handed me tissue after tissue when depression and doubt locked in like the stubborn brackets and wire.

“It’s not going to be perfect…” he told me. I knew there was no way to make my smile completely symmetrical due to the fact that I’m not a teenager anymore, not to mention  the extractions I’d endured before finding my way to his office. He went on, “…but it will be good.”

I’ve long dealt with the “never enough” sickness just like the rest of our culture, so I nodded my head the other day as I came across a quote from Lynne Twist in Brené Brown’s “Daring Greatly”:

“We spend most of the hours and the days of our lives hearing, explaining, complaining, or worrying about what we don’t have enough of….Before we even sit up in bed, before our feet touch the floor, we’re already inadequate, already behind, already losing, already lacking something. And by the time we go to bed at night, our minds are racing with a litany of what we didn’t get, or didn’t get done, that day. We go to sleep burdened by those thoughts and wake up to that reverie of lack….This internal condition of scarcity, this mind-set of scarcity, lives at the very heart of our jealousies, our greed, our prejudice, and our arguments with life….”

In my saga, my own “never enough” surfaced in my insistence that I get braces when they weren’t really necessary. I’ve seen the “never enough” of other people come out in other ways. I remember not too long after we’d moved into our home, someone asked my husband and I if we had a dream house in mind. “We love where we are,” my husband said with a puzzled look on his face.

Sure, maybe we’d like a little more land or an extra upstairs bedroom or a garage on the side of the house instead of the front. But to focus on what this house doesn’t have would be to look past the gorgeous craftsmanship, the quality fixtures, the ample square footage and the fact that it sits right in the middle of our dream life…a walkable town with easy access to our son’s school, the library, restaurants, shops and all kinds of seasonal festivals. This is dream house enough for us. It’s not only good enough– it’s more than enough.

Then there’s the scene of two authors chatting at a party thrown by a billionaire friend. There, Kurt Vonnegut jabbed his friend Joseph Heller and told him that the host of the party “had made more money in a single day than Heller had earned from his wildly popular novel Catch-22 over its whole history.” I’ve never gotten over how Heller responded: “Yes, but I have something he will never have…enough.”

Emotional wholeness eludes until we can say we have enough, we are enough, this is good enough…enough! Ironically, the vulnerability of physical distress or sickness can have a way stripping us down bringing us to that place of enough.

You know what Brené Brown calls the opposite of the “never enough” mentality? She calls it “wholeheartedness.” It has to do with the courage to be imperfect and an openness to life even though it offers no guarantees, like our Take Heart focus these last several weeks, like my orthodontic treatment these last four years.

Right on schedule, visit by visit over the next 18 months, my doctor worked the miracle. He pulled my wayward tooth back into the curve, closed my horrid gap and made my bite line up. My mid-line will always be off and my smile will always sit a bit asymmetrical, but it is good, more than enough.

On de-band day, some brackets held tight, bonded complacent from the four years of drama and trauma. The doctor and my friend, his assistant, rocked them back and forth, chiseled them away, and little by little the chains fell off, braces and perfectionism.

{What experiences have revealed/transformed your own “never enough” attitude?}

Thanks for visiting Message in a Mason Jar where we’re finding the loveliest things in the most ordinary containers. To get posts delivered to your email box or blog reader, enter your email address on the homepage sidebar or enter http://messageinamasonjar.com/feed/ in your reader.

This week in our Take Heart series we’re talking about the quest for wholeness, whether physical challenges illness or emotional struggle. Body and spirit together form our complete nature, designed by God. I hope you’ll take time to read the amazing array of posts from our guest writers this month and let us know what resonates with you and your experience.

Running beneath a rain of birdseed, my husband opened the passenger door for me to climb inside as we started our life together. I grabbed the hem of my hand crocheted wedding dress that was over twenty years old and nestled myself into the seat. Laughter bounced through the air and love was almost touchable. My new groom climbed in beside me and in a moment a question came from the back seat. I looked back into the faces of five kiddos, who in one moment had all landed me in the new role of bonus-mom.

At the age of forty, having never had children of my own, I’d quickly come to discover that I had just entered a world as breathtaking as trying to drink water from a fire-hydrant.

I quickly delved into my new role of wife and bonus-mom. We didn’t have the kids all the time, so I still had time for ministry and writing responsibilities, but the new schedule of five kids all with activities, couponing (One trip to the grocery store gave me that revelation!), car-pooling and top chef, and it wasn’t long before I was weary. Bone weary.

A few years before I had found myself on the other side of a heartbreaking divorce. My heart was painfully shut down. I had shut down my voice. I had shut down my desires. I had shut down my dreams. I had shut down in fear, in anger, in disappointment, in performance. I had handed my heart over to a lie. And in the process, that beautiful, God-designed heart that had been created inside of me was a shut-down shell of the “abundant life” God had offered.

After that divorce I went on a desperate search for my heart. I reclaimed it in its deepest places. And then came my new family. The stress of navigating five hurting hearts. The new schedule. The old pains being pricked with the new intimacy that marriage inevitably brings. And a year and a half into bonus-momdom I had realized that I was on the verge of shutting down again in weariness if I didn’t grab a hold and do something different.

I was believing the lie of the weary heart that says, “God needs me.” God needs me to car pool these children. God needs me to coupon to save money, because to do anything else would be irresponsible. God needs me…and the list goes on.

And in that lie, I realized I was about to shut down all over again. But I heard God remind me, “Take my yoke upon you. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” It was His yoke. He didn’t need me. He desired to use me, but He did not need me. And in that revelation I began to let go of a few things in order to give my kids the best of me. Something that might seem selfish actually ended up being selfless.

We can all shut down our hearts. In fact, some of us haven’t seen our real hearts in so long we wouldn’t even know what they looked like. Remember, “The thief comes to steal, kill and destroy.” But there is more to that Scripture, “But, I have come that you might have life and have it to the full!”

Friends, take heart. Yours. And do a heart check. Are you living life to the full? Or has living shut your heart down? God doesn’t need you. But oh how He desires to use you…

Denise Hildreth Jones is the author of “Reclaiming Your Heart: A Journey Back, to Laughing, Loving and Living” and its companion novel “Secrets Over Sweet Tea”. She is also the Founder and President of Reclaiming Hearts Ministries, where she writes, speaks and leads Bible studies, retreats and outreach events, all to help people live the abundant life God has for them.

And now for this week’s giveaway from Denise Hildreth Jones!

Simply comment below for the chance to win your own two book set: “Reclaiming Your Heart: A Journey Back to Laughing, Loving and Living” and “Secrets Over Sweet Tea,” the companion novel. For extra entries (include a separate comment here for each entry): 1. subscribe to Message in a Mason Jar via email or RSS feed, 2. like both Message in a Mason Jar and Denise Hildreth Jones on Facebook, 3. share this post on Twitter, 4. share on Facebook, 5. and/or share on Pinterest. This giveaway ends at midnight EST on Sunday, March 3.

Thanks for visiting Message in a Mason Jar where we’re finding the loveliest things in the most ordinary containers. To get posts delivered to your email box or blog reader, enter your email address on the homepage sidebar or enter http://messageinamasonjar.com/feed/ in your reader.

This week in our Take Heart series we’re talking about the quest for wholeness, whether physical challenges illness or emotional struggle. We’d love to hear how God has helped you take heart in in any of these areas. Link up with us at the bottom of Tuesday’s post. The link-up is open through Friday night. And don’t forget to comment below for your chance to win our giveaway from Denise at Reclaiming Hearts Ministries today!

This post contains affiliate links.

The words rolled off his tongue with deliberate matter-of-factness, as if he wanted to do it quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid.

The pathology report came back. The tumor was malignant. It is cancer.

It had been almost a week since a 6-inch tumor had been removed from the muscle of my thigh. I had spent the last several days in a recovery fog and trying not to think about the outcome of the pathology report. Now there was no choice. I had to face it: I had cancer.

I broke down and sobbed right there on my hospital bed. My husband held me tightly and let the emotions roll over us both. I remember one of the hospital staff apologetically changing the dressing on my leg while I sobbed and sobbed.

As quickly as the news had come, something “clicked” inside me. I know it was the peace of God, because suddenly, for “no reason,” I knew everything was going to be all right. It might have been a shock for me to find out I had cancer, but it didn’t shock God. If I truly believed God was in control, now was the time to live it.

I looked at up at my husband, wiped away my tears, and said, “OK, we’re going to do this. We’re going to make it.”

The following Sunday, I sat in the back of our church during worship and poured my heart out to God. I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know how we would make it. I didn’t know what the future held for my health or what that meant for my young family.

I stilled my heart before God, having said all the words I knew to say, yet still wanting to pour more out to Him. Once again, I felt God’s peace calm my heart: “We’re going through this. You’ll see the other side.” It’s as if the words were audibly whispered in my ear. They calmed my nerves and brought peace to my soul. I would get through this. It wouldn’t be easy, but God would be with me every step of the way.

Those weren’t the only breakdowns I would have, or the last moments of doubt and questions. There were many in the days and weeks to come as we waited for more information, weighed treatment options, and made arrangements for child care.

I quickly discovered my emotions were unreliable and unpredictable, and I had to cling tightly to what I knew to be true, not how I felt at the moment.

• I know God’s Word is true:”Every word of God is flawless; he is a shield to those who take refuge in him.” ~Proverbs 30:5
• I know God is good, and He does good: “You are good and what you do is good; teach me your decrees.” ~Psalm 119:68
• I know God has a plan for my life: “‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’” ~Jeremiah 29:11
• I know God is bigger than me and bigger than what I face: “I know that you [God] can do all things; no plan of yours can be thwarted.” ~Job 42:2; “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my [God's] ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.” ~Isaiah 55:9
• I know that fear and worry are not from God: “Do not be anxious about anything” ~Philippian 4:6a

So, dear friend, whatever you face today, whatever mountain looms before you threatening to shake your courage and your faith, take heart. Your God goes before you; He’ll be with you every step of the way.

{Have you ever received news this heavy, either about yourself or a loved one? How did the peace of God come to you? Which passages of Scripture became especially dear to you in your time of trial?}

Nancy is a lover of words and all things chocolate. She is married to her best friend, and when she’s not settling sibling squabbles between her Little Miss and Little Man, she is writing about faith, family, and finding grace in the midst of it all. Read more at There is Grace.

Thanks for visiting Message in a Mason Jar where we’re finding the loveliest things in the most ordinary containers. To get posts delivered to your email box or blog reader, enter your email address on the homepage sidebar or enter http://messageinamasonjar.com/feed/ in your reader.

This week in our Take Heart series we’re talking about the quest for wholeness, whether physical challenges illness or emotional struggle. We’d love to hear how God has helped you take heart in in any of these areas. Link up with us at the bottom of yesterday’s post.

I reached for my phone to check my messages. It was a reflex action– one that happens when your technology becomes a part of you. There was an email from a sweet friend. She wanted to know what my schedule was like the next day. She wanted to tell me to get out of the house for a few hours in the morning. She said that it would bless her greatly if she and another friend could come clean my house for me. I began to cry.

At first the tears were of thankfulness for her generosity. But soon that thankfulness faded into fear and self-deprecating statements stabbing my brain. I couldn’t let them come clean; they’d see my filthy shower in all its rust-stained hideousness. They’d cough from the dust that had become a staple on every shelf and hanging item. And they’d likely puke as they scrubbed my sink. I knew that they wanted to help out of their love for me and my family, but I wondered if opening up my home (and subsequently my heart) was going to hurt.

The Lord has a funny way of teaching us lessons like these. I was humbled by my sweet friend’s gesture and felt so blessed to walk home the next afternoon to clean floors, a scrubbed bathtub, and fresh-made cookie dough to bake. The self-sufficiency I’ve built up to guard myself was torn down that day.

Blessings like this have abounded in our life since I got the official diagnosis. What began as severe pain and contractions in my 34th week of pregnancy with our third child now had a name: Crohn’s Disease. Six days before my 29th birthday, I received the gift that keeps on giving: chronic inflammation of my small intestine. Laparoscopic surgery around my swollen uterus and the ever-lovely colonoscopy confirmed it.

We carried on through the rest of the year. There were more days of sickness than there were of wellness…more time spent in the bathroom than I really care to remember. But through the trials of illness, there were so many blessings to count.

I was able to be honest with friends and family about my health and my fears and worries. And, for once, I didn’t feel like a burden to them as I talked and accepted the delicious meals, snacks and desserts during hospitalizations and never-ending days of testing at the hospital. The Lord gave me the privilege of being able to nurse my son for 11 months before more serious pharmaceutical intervention was necessary. Our girls were introduced to the idea of compassion by having a Mommy that didn’t feel well most of the time…and they are sweeter and gentler for it. My husband continued to show his strength as a man of faith by being the glue that held our family together.

I understand that my Crohn’s Disease will likely be something I’ll deal with for the rest of my life. My health may ebb and flow. But for now, I’m feeling really healthy. I have energy and am able to enjoy life.

I’ve been taught a staggering amount of humility and I’ve learned that it is OK to ask for help and to accept the help that’s offered.

Being a Christian and striving to live a life in a constant walk with Jesus doesn’t guarantee us sunshine and roses. We aren’t guaranteed financial stability or good health. In fact, we are told that we will have troubles. But the good news is that Christ has overcome the world and its troubles. He rose victorious even over death. And the even greater news is that because His death covers our sins, we get to share that good news with others. Despite our trials and troubles, we can have a peace in knowing that we are loved and that there is a plan for our future, filled with hope.

{How does Adrienne’s outlook on her illness compare with similar struggles you’ve experienced? Do you tend to resist help when offered? How has illness affected your sense of humility and your understanding of your dependence on others?}

Adrienne is a wife and homeschooling mom to three beautiful babies. She loves good coffee, stewarding what she’s been given and being the hands and feet of Jesus. If you catch her in the kitchen, you’ll probably see her fermenting vegetables or deciding what to do with a massive overload of eggs. Adrienne writes about this and more at A Suburban Menagerie.

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Now it’s time to share YOUR Take Heart story. Enter your information below to link to your own blog post on how you’ve been encouraged to “Take Heart…in the Quest for Wholeness,” whether it be in sickness, disease or emotional struggle. In your post, be sure to link back to our page here (you’re welcome to grab the thumbnail graphic to use in your post) and invite others to join in. Then, visit and comment on the posts that link up before and after yours and encourage each other!