The Posture of Preparation

December 13, 2017January 5, 2018 ~ tashajun

On the heels of every Thanksgiving, Christmas season expectations peer at me from around the corner of November like a small army, eager for battle. As if on cue, after the piles of Halloween candy have been consumed and the leaves have begun to change colors, my family begins planning: tree shopping right after Thanksgiving weekend, tubs of Christmas books and decorations travel down from the attic where they’ve been sleeping, and I will find my Sunday readings for Advent and imagine myself calm and contemplative.

At the beginning of November, I am full of hope. I imagine how things will go, mentally commit to doing things better this year, and get excited about the traditions we keep, from cranberry muffins on Christmas morning to taking turns lighting our Advent candles.

Despite the hope and motivation that arrive with the crisp autumn air, I inevitably come up short with all of my plans by the time December is here. I am easily distracted. I forgot to move our Kindness Elves more than once last year. Another time, we didn’t make it to the post office in time to send extended family gifts by Christmas. Should I mention what could go wrong with Christmas cards or how brittle our tree usually becomes in a home full of brown thumbs? And the tree. Since we don’t have a great place for a nice big tree and we still have boxes full of preschool-made ornaments, the result is usually something that resembles a grumpy, mismatched old lady with too much jewelry. It’s never a sight fit for the clean, minimalist squares of Instagram, no matter how well I zoom and crop. And all of that is just a list of things gone wrong on the
outside.

In my distraction and ever-growing list of unmet expectations, I easily lose sight of what God truly wants me to be prepared for. I live as if preparation has to do with my own perfect planning as a mama, when it actually has everything to do with expecting God to show up right where I am – willingly opening myself up to what he wants to birth in and through me.

It isn’t just the holiday season when I am tempted to live this way. Throughout too many family seasons and transitions to count, I’ve grasped hard for control as a remedy for both the outward clutter and chaos in our home, and my own inward anxiety. But here’s what I am slowly learning: My inability to live up to ideal plans is actually paving the way for me to see things differently. It’s my own seeming failure to keep up that leads me to a crossroad of perspectives. I can choose to see things through a lens of despair and head down the path of give up or try harder. Or, I can choose to see and walk on the road that reminds me I am known and loved by a God who began a good work in me and will be faithful to bring it to completion in every season.

God wants me to toss my hindering distractions and worries this season aside so that I can be ready to receive. Listening to his voice is where I will find true gifts of abundance that my family and I need. I don’t have to wrap these gifts or stay up late assembling and fussing over them. I don’t have to tuck my mom guilt into the corners of their packaging.

I think of that first Christmas and the way Mary’s heart was so willing; her disposition so humble. What readied her arms to hold the God of the universe as a crying, unpredictable, dependent baby? Surely she didn’t expect the difficulty and heartache that would inevitably come with the gift that God chose for her as a “favored one.” Yet, when she found out what God was going to birth in and through her, she listened and was ready to surrender to it. Mary responded, “I am the Lord’s servant. May everything you have said about me come true.” (Luke 2:36-38)

I can best prepare for this season and all that unfolds within it by listening for the right voice and being willing to receive and surrender to it.

So, while the aisles of every local store begin to fill with all things commercial for Christmas, I ask myself this one question: What good (and possibly unexpected) gift does God want to birth in and through me this season? I am praying for a heart-posture of servanthood and surrender to receive it, whatever it may be. I am beginning to believe that the most prepared of us aren’t the ones who plan perfectly and get it all done with filtered photos as proof, but instead the ones who listen and receive with open hands, open plans, and a surrendered, courageous heart.

Originally posted on The MOPS Blog

Almond Eyes

September 12, 2017January 1, 2018 ~ tashajun

I just trimmed your bangs last week. Now your eyes are uncovered and I can see midnight within them.

At two years old, your thin, almond shaped eyes have seen two continents, two countries, and three homes. They are already a familiar with loss, but know the hope of a new morning. They wear the squint that laughter brings. And while it’s taken time—and tears—since your adoption seven months ago, they know that love can grow yet again.

My resilient girl, what will your eyes encounter as the days continue to pile? Everyday, I catch a little more confidence in your gaze. For now, the magazines at the checkout aisle are a game: you try to yank them down, giggling, while I put them back and try to pay for our groceries. Those pictures are nothing more to you—just a game. My beautiful girl, you don’t yet know how they want to confuse you, selling you half-truths and subtle lies.
Will you notice someday that none of the women on those magazines have the same
eyes as you?

Read the rest of the post over at Fathom Mag

Slow

July 31, 2017January 1, 2018 ~ tashajun

Good observation is never fast; as a child, I was an excellent observer. I noticed things and I remember feeling as if there was never enough time for all of the things I observed and was curious about. Shortly after my family moved overseas, when I was 6 or 7, I saw teenage students mocking an older homeless man as he lay on a bench on the busy streets of Tokyo. I couldn’t take my eyes off of what was happening. The world had stopped so that I could feel my heart ache. I remember my Dad pulling my hand, reminding me that we had somewhere to go and to be. All I wanted was to stop and help the man we saw, scold the teenagers and talk with my Dad about why this older man was all alone in the state he was in, and why the teenagers were acting the way they were. It
burdened me for weeks, bringing tears to my eyes at each remembrance of it.

In elementary school, a teacher described my reading as slow. I’ve written about this elsewhere before, but it took some time for reading to catch on for me. But before I understood how the letters made words and words, sentences, I remember noticing the curves and lines of every letter and how some stood tall and confident, while others sat round and kind, and how our English letters differed from the characters I saw in everyday life as an expat child living in Japan.

At some point along the way of “growing up,” I realized that the world was asking me to move faster and I surrendered to the felt request. I heard the silent expectation for me to move fast or get out of the way. I believed the unspoken rule that going slow meant missing out on life. Apparently, the good life only happened in the fast lane. It didn’t take long for me to believe that slow was something to avoid and something to be ashamed of.

Over the last few years, I have been realizing just how frantic and frenzied my spirit has become. I’ve realized how wrong I was to believe that slow is bad.

The last 6 months in particular have forced me to slow down in a fresh way. I’ve been homebound and free of commitments outside of home and family in a way that I haven’t been for 5 years. I knew it would be necessary for our family, but I had no idea how much I personally needed to push the pause button.

I’ve come face-to-face with my impatience and the unkindness in me that flows out of it over the last 6 months. It hasn’t been pretty and I’ve spent time apologizing to my family and lamenting over the hurt that my impatience and unkindness has caused more times than I would like to admit.

When we move at a frantic pace, we don’t have time to see
the reality of brokenness in our world.

When we live life in a frenzy, we don’t have space to see
the brokenness and sin in our own hearts.

When our pace of life is only fast, we don’t have room to
lament and grieve or repent and receive.

If we want to truly become more like Jesus and we believe that He is the answer to every broken place in the world and within, there’s no other option but to slow down so we might truly see and respond to what we see.

As a new school year and Fall season peers around the corner at me with plans and new commitments in hand, I am aware of my pace.

This past summer, I’ve been reaching back for that little girl who noticed injustice on the streets of Tokyo, and telling her that it was okay that she stopped to let her heart ache. I’m reaching for her and finding that Jesus was there, pursuing her heart, and giving her a glimpse of His own heartbeat in those slow and broken places.

More than ever, I am embracing slow as a beautiful and necessary description for my own healing and for the healing we all long to see in world.

Five Minute Friday: Collect

July 21, 2017January 1, 2018 ~ tashajun

I was made to collect.

Not stamps or rocks, shells or stickers. I tried collecting each of those things when I was young.

No, I was made to collect facial expressions, moments and overlooked details: that coffee stain I saw on her red dress, the way he sighed and frowned as he bent down to fix his bike handles, the checkered tablecloth in the restaurant where my mom was reunited with her family after over 20 years.

I collect to confirm and tell the world that there’s reason to hope and reason to believe beauty and strength can flourish in the most unlikely places.

Link up here!

Trading Swamps for Bravery and Belief

February 13, 2017January 1, 2018 ~ tashajun

written for SheLoves Magazine

For the last couple months, my oldest has been dealing with a new fear of the dark. He’s the one who’s always been our good sleeper. He started his streak of sleeping through the night early on as a newborn. But now, he’s asked for an extra prayer before he pulls his covers up to his chin. He put a Lego-made cross on his headboard to remind him Jesus is with him. Whenever I ask him how he slept the next day, he says, “Good,” but he felt afraid. With a furrowed brow and half-frown, he’s asked, “Why do I still feel so afraid when I ask God every night to take the fear away?”

As a mom, I want to rush in and fix my children’s problems. Though I reject fears for myself, I offer my kids black and white answers and platitudes. It’s difficult to loosen my grip and let them walk through hard things, including this season of heightened fear for my oldest. Because it’s more than a fear of the dark, after all. I want to know they are going to come out okay on the other end of hard seasons and questions. Watching my son surrender to our “goodnight, sleep-tights” unsatisfied with his portion of felt-courage, reminds me of my own long history of fears. Nightmares and darkness were just the beginning of a long line of oppressors who held me back from rising up to who God made me to be.

Head over to SheLoves to read the rest of the post.