Author

Lois Flowers

One Way to Change Your Default Worry Setting

by Lois Flowers February 3, 2015

by Lois Flowers

It’s 9:31 in the morning. I should be gone already, off to the grocery stores for my weekly shopping trip.

But I’m sitting here, tweaking a blog post I finished yesterday, reading some emails, pondering my latest round of festering about an issue that has plagued me off and on practically my whole adult life.

curvy road

It’s stupid, really, my obsession with this thing. And yet, it continues to frustrate me, annoy me and cause me to worry needlessly.

You might laugh if I told you what it is. In the grand scheme of life, it’s pretty trivial. So maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just say that there is a direct line from my fretting about this thing to my need for security, my fear of the unknown, my discomfort with loose ends … my lack of trust.

The funny thing is, as much mental and emotional energy as I’ve wasted on this thing over the years, it’s always worked out. It’s really true, the adage that 90 percent of what we fear never happens.

(For the record, I worry a lot less than I used to. God has mercifully broken those chains that used to bind me, chains that I was powerless to break myself. But every so often, the enemy rears its ugly head, usually in this same form.)

You know what gave me peace about the current manifestation of my problem? The truth. I finally heard the truth about the issue from someone, and even though it wasn’t what I wanted to hear, it released me.

It released me to make a decision, to let go of my angst, to move on.

The truth is like that, isn’t it? When we know it—grab hold of it and believe it from the bottom of our gut—it sets us free.

I got the truth—the actual facts about the situation that had been frustrating me—over the phone. But the underlying problem—my tendency to fret about something when I should be trusting—cannot be corrected with a phone call or email.

For that, I have to find a way to change my default setting—my go-to reaction whenever this thing comes up.

I need to start by reminding myself of the truth. Such as …

“My God will supply all your needs according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 4:19)

And …

“The Lord Himself goes before you and will be with you. He will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” (Deuteronomy 31:8, my favorite verse in the Bible)

Then, the minute this blasted issue (or any other) starts to mess with my mind and emotions, I need to remember to pray. Not just any prayer, but the plea that author Jan Karon (of Mitford fame) calls the “prayer that never fails.”

“Thy will be done.”

She’s right, you know. It works every time.

P.S. I’m linking up today with Holley Gerth’s Coffee for Your Heart. Come join us for more encouragement.

Photo credit:Parvinder Singh via photopin cc

February 3, 2015 10 comments

Song of the Month: “Shoulders”

by Lois Flowers February 1, 2015

by Lois Flowers

In mid 2013, after years of not writing much of anything, I started to feel the urge to write for publication again. About this time, the religion section of my local newspaper was calling for a new batch of reader columnists, so I decided to apply.

I found a few things I had written earlier, added a short bio and emailed it all to the editor. After several weeks, I hadn’t heard anything, so I assumed that door was closed. I was OK with that; it’s taken me a long time, but I’ve learned to hold such opportunities loosely and trust that God will give me what I need when it comes to writing assignments.

Fortunately, the waiting didn’t quell my creative juices. One day, I sat down and wrote this little piece about Psalm 121—something I’d wanted to do for a long time but never had the courage. The rough draft was a little different than what you see here, but the gist of it—the story that exposed my heart like never before—was all there.

I finished up the story one Thursday morning before heading out to the grocery store. As I gathered my purse and shopping list, I knew in my heart that, if I was selected to be a reader columnist for the newspaper, this would be the first piece I would submit.

I just knew.

And can you guess what was playing on the minivan stereo a moment later when I started the engine? The song “Always,” by Kristian Stanfill—at the exact spot, about halfway through, where he starts singing directly from Psalm 121.

“I lift my eyes up … my help comes from the Lord.”

I sat there and cried.

The editor wrote back eventually. While my original submissions showed my journalistic skills, he wasn’t quite sure I had the “depth of thinking” he was looking for.

“So what do you want to do?” he asked. “Shoot me something else or call it a day?”

I sent him my Psalm 121 story, and, well, here we are.

I say all that to say this: I absolutely love songs that draw directly from my favorite psalm. I usually try to choose tunes for Song of the Month that are at least somewhat new or unfamiliar, but when I heard this song on the radio several weeks ago, I knew I would have to make an exception.

Whether you’ve heard it a dozen times or not at all, I hope the message of For King & Country’s “Shoulders” refreshes your soul as much as it does mine.

February 1, 2015 5 comments

What Would You Tell Your 10-Years-Younger Self?

by Lois Flowers January 27, 2015

by Lois Flowers

Awhile back, I read a question I just couldn’t get out of my mind.

Writing on DaySpring’s (in)courage blog, Renee Swope of Proverbs 31 Ministries was talking about getting to know other people by sharing our stories. Her closing list of “story-prompts” included this:

“If you could go back 10 years, and tell your 10-years-younger self something, what wisdom or advice would you share?”

After much thought, I’ve come to the conclusion that, at this point in my life, telling my 10-years-younger self anything would be like giving advice to a caterpillar.

“Honey, things are about to get very dark for you. Very dark, and cramped too. You’ll probably have a hard time breathing from time to time. And this is going to last for what seems like forever. But when it’s over, it will be worth every second. Trust me.”

“Uh, OK, thanks for that,” the caterpillar might say, with absolutely no way to comprehend the metamorphosis that is about to rock her entire world.

I can relate, but it took me awhile to figure out why.

A few years ago, my daughter was struggling with math. Looking back, it wasn’t just math in general. It was the fact that the school had introduced new math curriculum with all kinds of wonky ways to do things, and, really, fourth grade isn’t the best time for that. It was the fact that we had moved recently and she was at a new school, which basically amounts to a whole new life for a nine-year-old girl.

It was the fact that her dad had been working out of town since January, and it was now September, and that was a very long time for her to be without her father at home full-time. It was the fact that her mother was nearing the end of a long journey through perimenopause, only at the time she didn’t know it.

In the midst of all that, math was a challenge. But in fifth grade, my daughter’s teacher told me something profound. Kids sometimes struggle mightily with a particular concept one year, she explained, and then the next year, it suddenly all makes sense to them. That’s because developmentally, they weren’t ready to learn it one year, but the next year, they are.

My daughter wasn’t doomed to an unproductive life because she didn’t comprehend fourth-grade math. She simply wasn’t developmentally able to understand some of the concepts just yet.

It’s like that in adult life, too, which might be why I’m having so much trouble with the 10-years-younger question.

A decade ago, I’d worked for several years as a journalist. I had written two books. I’d experienced infertility and become a mother via international adoption. I thought I pretty much had it all together.

I had no idea.

Was my attitude rooted in ignorance? Arrogance? Naïveté? Perhaps, but maybe it was also something else.

Maybe that’s just how life works.

Maybe something happens—when you turn 40, when you come out of a lengthy season in the wilderness, when your kids hit double digits or some other age that was pivotal in your own life, when most of the people in the obituaries are now younger than your own parents—that triggers some kind of processing reflex in your brain.

You see things differently. You see things that you couldn’t have seen before. It’s all just … different.

In the aftermath of infertility, I was so sure that the things I had learned, I had learned completely. Worry? Done with it. Trusting God? Check. Comparing myself and my situation to other people? Over it.

Turns out, I hadn’t quite completed my education. Not even close.

My beliefs about God haven’t changed, not really. They’ve grown, expanded, been molded by the deserts and valleys I’ve walked through since then. But they’re still basically the same.

I’m different, however. Because of those deserts and valleys, I know some things about myself that I didn’t know before. I didn’t realize how self-centered I was back then. I didn’t realize how little of what was going on around me I actually noticed. I especially didn’t know how much I didn’t know—about God, about life, about how to comfort and care for people.

I’m not wiser than I once thought I was. I know much less than I knew a decade ago, and I’m pretty sure that in 10 years, I will know even less than I do now.

But I am learning to keep my mouth shut.

So what would I tell my 10-years-younger self, or any other 10-years-younger friends? Not much, actually. I have no profound statements or Tweet-worthy proclamations to offer.

Rather, I would do what my older friends often did for me, and still do. I would listen. I would laugh with them. I would tell them they are doing a good job, and to hang in there. I would tell them I am proud of them and cite specific examples. I would tell them I remember what it’s like, and how hard it is.

Things change as we move along life’s path. Circumstances change, bodies change, hearts change. When we look back, we will see certain things differently than we do now. That’s how life works, whether we expect it or not.

But God does not change. No matter what happens—in me or around me—He, alone, is enough.

Now that I think about it, that’s what I’d tell my 10-years-younger self.

Just that.

P.S. I’m linking up today with Holly Barrett’s Testimony Tuesday and Holley Gerth’s Coffee for Your Heart. Come join us for more encouragement.

Photo by Lilly Flowers

January 27, 2015 12 comments

Gentle Truth For The Hard Days

by Lois Flowers January 20, 2015

by Lois Flowers

It’s the evening before school starts. I’m getting supper ready, pulling something from the fridge, when little Molly appears in the kitchen. True to form, she hasn’t said much about going to school yet; she thinks a lot but doesn’t express her feelings as much.

She’s also a homebody who isn’t fond of change. She knows her BFF from last year is not in her class this year, so she has much to ponder.

I look up from the fridge as she comes toward me, face sad, eyes downcast.

“I don’t want to go to school,” she says, and the downpour begins. She cries and cries and cries. She doesn’t cry often, but when she does, it comes from the depths. I wrap my arms around her and hold her close.

“I know. I’m sorry. Mommy knows. It’s gonna be OK.”

All I want to do is take away her pain, make her feel better. But words are not needed right now; comfort is.

We move to the green chair—the place we always retreat when Mama-Molly time is desperately needed. She burrows into my arms and sobs. She looks up, face tearstained and glasses foggy.

What’s a mom to do? I could lecture her about how she had to go to school so she just needs to buck up. But I know how she feels. I’m not a fan of change either. In college, it took me a good three weeks to adjust to my new routine—every semester!

“Some people are like me and you, we take longer to get used to things,” I tell her. “But you know what? You will get used to it. You will. You always do.”

Fifteen minutes and a few prayers later, the tears dry up, the smile comes back and my little Molly bounces off to do something in her room, while I go back to the kitchen to continue supper.

Later, I wonder if this is how God feels when I’m facing something hard (or frustrating or exhausting) and think I can’t take it anymore. I collapse in the green chair and cry, or sit at the kitchen island with my head in my hands, or wander aimlessly around the backyard.

Wherever I am, my heavenly Father is right there with me. He knows how much I hurt, and He hurts with me. How could he not? He created me. He knows what I’m feeling because He gave me the capacity to feel those feelings.

And yet, He knows what I’m facing is necessary. For whatever reason, it’s happening because it’s needed. Maybe for me, maybe for someone else; maybe now, maybe later. I don’t know, and maybe I’ll never know.

But He does. That’s comforting, but so is His presence. His Word. His promise that He will never leave me nor forsake me. Even when I am sad.

• • • • • •

For the last several years, we’ve pretty much followed the routine I just described every time Molly has gone back to school after any kind of extended break. The green chair was eventually replaced by her room and a call for me to “come up here for you-know-what,” but it was basically the same story over and over.

Until this year.

When she went back to school after Christmas break, there were no tears. No sadness. No time in the chair or on her bed, quietly repeating the same reassuring truths we’ve gone over time and again.

It happened so quietly I almost missed it.

Growth.

My little girl is growing up, and while my heart might resist that at times (it is change, after all), it’s also a joy to watch this process unfold in her life.

Plus, the green chair will always be there, just in case we ever need it.

♥ Lois

January 20, 2015 3 comments

“One Word” for 2015 Inspires Daily Prayer

by Lois Flowers January 13, 2015

by Lois Flowers

fruit I woke up the morning of Christmas Eve with one word on my mind.

In a rare moment of clarity during the December rush, I knew exactly what the word meant and why it was there.

Maybe you’re familiar with the practice of choosing one word for the new year—a word that describes who you want to be or how you want to live for the next 365 days. I like this idea—it somehow feels better than making a list of resolutions that always seem to get broken before January is half over.

The thing that has always thrown me about the one-word thing, though, is choosing just one. As one of my favorite bloggers wrote recently, “I like ALL the words.”

So I wasn’t planning to choose a word for 2015.

Then, that morning, a word chose me.

The word? Fruit.

I didn’t wake up with an idea for a new eating plan that emphasizes bananas, grapes and strawberries. Rather, the sweet produce on my mind was of the biblical variety.

You know—love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control (also known as the “fruit of the Spirit,” according to Galatians 5:22-23).

Honestly? It required absolutely no reflection on my part to see that several of these lovely traits had been in somewhat short supply around our house during the busy holiday season (probably longer). And while I can get pretty frustrated about what I perceive as lack of growth in my children, they are not the only ones with room for improvement here.

It has to start with me.

When I sense that one of my daughters has a heart issue she needs to work on, my tendency is to talk. On and on, as if the more I repeat myself, the better chance I have of getting through. But I’m beginning to realize that lecturing like a college professor is not all that effective, especially when my audience is a teenager.

I need to model more and talk less.

It’s not rocket science, I know. But it is hard. When it comes to modeling each element of the fruit of the Spirit, it is very hard. And depending on how long it’s been since I’ve eaten, the amount of sleep I didn’t get the night before or the side effects of the medication I’ve taken that day, it can seem nearly impossible.

I can try, in my own strength, to demonstrate these nine attributes in 2015. But without God’s grace filling my mind (and guarding my mouth), I might as well give up before I start.

So I’m going to pray, every day that I remember, for the fruit to grow in my heart, and in the hearts of the people in my house.

This is not some legalistic chore, mind you. I don’t have a chart or a box to check every day. But the more I do it, the more I want to do it.

As I pray, these nine godly traits are becoming richer and fuller to me. I’m starting to see how they pretty much cover anything that any of us might be dealing with at any given time.

I pray, not just for the people in my house to be loving, but for them to feel loved. Not just for goodness in general, but for all four of us to notice some bit of good in all the people and situations around us, especially those we might find annoying or irritating. Not just for Lilly and Molly to be faithful in their schoolwork, but for me to be faithful with my time. And so on.

So far, I can’t point to vast improvements—in myself or anyone else. I wonder at times if the cliche about not praying for patience unless you want God to give you something to be patient about applies, but quickly replace that notion with the knowledge that this is a right and necessary practice for me today.

A few weeks in, I can say this with certainty: I am definitely more aware of the opportunities I have to model love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. I’m more aware of the better choice I could make, before I react or snap or huff. I don’t always make the better choice, but I am thinking about it more often.

I haven’t stopped talking, by the way. I still point out necessary course corrections. I still remind people of how their words and actions affect others, and what they need to do about it.

But, through prayer, I’m trying—sometimes successfully, sometimes not—to leave conviction up to the Holy Spirit. It’s not my job to make sure everyone feels how I want them to feel or responds how I want them to respond.

It takes the pressure off me, actually. And in this new year—with all its expectations, obligations and uncertainties—less pressure is just what I need.

Less pressure—and more fruit.

My one word for 2015.

♥ Lois

Through prayer, I'm trying to leave conviction up to the Holy Spirit. It’s not my job to make sure everyone feels how I want them to feel or responds how I want them to respond. Share on X

Photo credit: s2photo via photopin cc

January 13, 2015 10 comments

When What I Need to Do isn’t What I Want to Do

by Lois Flowers January 6, 2015

by Lois Flowers

In 2010, Randy and I had just started the process of refinancing our suburban home when he learned his office was closing and he would be laid off for the second time in two years.

Randy works in construction management—a profession hit particularly hard by the Great Recession in our area—so this turn of events wasn’t a complete shock. But since we didn’t know when the next layoff would happen, we decided to ditch the refinancing plans and downsize instead.

Although this was the most expedient course of action, I wasn’t thrilled about it. I loved our house. I loved the bookshelves and the kitchen and the backyard and all the work I was doing on the gardens that summer. I loved that Randy finally had the three-car garage that he’d always wanted. I loved that the school was a few blocks away and the neighborhood pool was even closer. I loved that my younger daughter had learned to talk there and both daughters had learned to ride bikes and climb trees and dance and shovel snow.

I didn’t want to leave. So I continued gardening even though I knew I probably wouldn’t be there to enjoy the fruit of my labor. And as I watered my newly planted perennials and pots full of my favorite red impatiens, I prayed.

I prayed that God would help me loosen my grip on the home that I had wanted to stay in for a long time. I prayed that moving wouldn’t be such a big deal, that God would take away my desire for the house and make me be OK with living somewhere else. I prayed for the house to sell quickly to the right people, and that God would prepare just the right next house for us. I prayed like this for many days, weeks even.

The following spring—on April Fool’s Day, to be exact—we put our house on the market. Seventeen days later, we had a buyer, and on the last day of school we moved into a foreclosed fixer-upper a few miles away.

Sounds great, right? All those prayers definitely paid off, didn’t they? Well, yes, but maybe not how you think. What actually happened—in my mind, heart and body, with Randy’s work, with our houses, even in the lives of dear friends—in the months prior and years following could serve as fodder for at least a dozen more blog posts!

I always read the end of the book first, but there’s a reason why God doesn’t give us a syllabus at the beginning of a new season that tells us everything we’re going to learn that year. Had He done that during my earlier garden prayer times, I would have been tempted to dig a hole and plant myself there permanently.

Instead, I started growing some qualities I seriously lacked before: flexibility and a greater determination to appreciate what I have today, because it could be gone tomorrow.

January 6, 2015 4 comments