Help!

I woke up Wednesday morning in a bad mood. A "foul mood", actually. My words to God were few:

"GOD,
I am in a foul mood. Because? I have to clean? The house is a DISASTER? And I feel overwhelmed by all I have to do. In life. I need help."

By lunchtime, I'd only managed to eat breakfast and get one of the three loads of laundry in the washing machine. Oh, and I had already cried at least once, if you count crying as productivity.

Poor Casey, coming home to the weepy wife. Again. But God filled him with patience and truth and love for me. "Cristina, your identity is not in housework." And I said, in my head anyway, "Why are you talking about my identity? I'm talking about these dishes! And laundry. And the mail strewn around the living room. And your dirty clothes on the floor. Yeah...your dirty clothes. And your dirty dishes. The problem must be you."

But God was faithful. As I wasted time scouring pinterest for some fix-all solution to my dirty house, and perused facebook to distract myself from the pile of dirty clothes behind me, God sent me to a blog I'd never been on before. I came across a post she'd written about "finding rest in the unfinished". Her blurb about her blog? "Bottom line, I pray that God would stir a big faith, a deep love, and an unwavering hope in us regardless of our circumstance -- regardless of the glaring laundry." Funny, God. But  you know what she had the nerve to say? The same thing Casey told me. She said:

"If I dig down to the root of that pursuit for perfection, I find identity issues. I find concern for what (other fallen) humans might think if they saw the mess. And I find distrust that God is working or actively loving me."

And I fell instantly on my face and confessed to God and my whole attitude changed and I did all the laundry and dishes and proceeded to whip up a completely homemade meal, with dessert to boot...OR...I exited the blog and disregarded it because I didn't believe that was my problem, and continued on in my funk for the rest of the afternoon. Yes, that was it.

Not much further along in my self-loathing and blame-shifting, I went to meet Tammy and Katherine and Blair for our weekly time of accountability/encouragement. I didn't want to answer any questions. I didn't want to be real. I didn't want to be vulnerable. I didn't want to admit that I can't clean my own house or make my own husband dinner. A 27-year-old should know how to do these things. And hadn't God given me enough grace already? I mean it's been almost three years that I have been learning how to be a wife! Isn't that enough already??

After several times of me sheepishly answering "I don't know" to questions posed by my friends about what was going in my life, and what I needed help in, I finally broke down -- tears streaming, of course -- and told them I felt like I was failing at life. I knew it was silly, but dishes and laundry and cooking were overwhelming me. They are just always there, waiting to be done, and I never have felt like I know what I'm doing and pushing through it has just been exhausting, and there you go. Now you know. I don't know how to be a wife. (sound sort of like identity issues, doesn't it?)

So, can you guess their response? I wouldn't have! Of all things, these crazy people said they wanted to come help me clean my house. Which you would think was the answer to my prayers, right? Chores are overwhelming me, and my three friends just offered to take that burden off of me. That should delight me. Then, why was I filled with a sense of dread and guilt instead? Why did I keep saying, "I don't know guys...I really don't know what you'd do...I mean, it's not that a big of a deal...I...er..."

I told Casey about the friends' offer that night. I told him I was nervous. "Why are you nervous?" he asked. "I don't know...I mean, what are they gonna do? What if they get here and think that it's really not something for me to overwhelmed by?"

I woke up the next morning. Friends were coming at 10 am. I tried to decide what things should be tidied before they got there. I mean, I wanted them to help me clean, in a way. But I didn't want them to see how messy I am. Really.

I sat down on the bed and Casey had a video of an interview between an author and some guy (?) pulled up. Honestly, I don't even know what the video was for...I only watched a few minutes of it, but this one piece was like a lightbulb. The author was talking about humility or something -- I don't know?? -- and he said "You know, every morning, before I get out of bed, I pray three things. 1. God, I'm a man in desperate need of help. 2 Lord, please send helpers. 3 Lord, help me be humble to receive their help."

First thing Wednesday morning I had asked God, maybe only half-believing (one quarter believing? One sixteenth?) he'd answer, for help. He'd answered, because even when we're faithless, He remains faithful, for He cannot deny Himself. He'd sent helpers. He'd sent Casey. He'd sent the blog lady. He'd sent these three friends. I ignored the first two. Now three of them were coming to my house and I had to decide what to do. "Okay, God, I'll take it. I'll take their help. I'll let them wash my dishes, and clean my bathrooms and dust my shelves. Even though it is killing my pride...okay, because it is killing my pride. I understand now, God."

And, so they came, Katherine, and Tammy, and Blair. And they brought along two happy little boys, a box of donuts, a bowl full of chicken salad and a box of crossaints, and a banana cake with almonds and chocolate sprinkles. I mean, who does that?? Who comes to clean someone else's mess up? AND brings food, too?  And then leaves it here for ungrateful me to eat it??? (And how could they have known that just hours before, Casey and I had sat down to look at our budget for April and then told God it would be a miracle if we didn't overspend it, and asked Him to take care of it?) God does that. And he lives inside those girls. And He teaches me. And He's so patient. And even those helpers I first ignored, Casey, and my sister blogger --- His Spirit opens my eyes to even see the way He was speaking to me then. He's just so good to me. So good. And I just don't deserve it. But I'm His daughter. And it's just His delight to grow me to be more like His Son. He won't stop, either. He promsied. Not until it's complete. And He keeps His promises.

Every good and perfect gift is from the Father

I love. this. man. He is one of the greatest proofs of God's grace and mercy toward me. 

Sometimes I wonder how he puts up with my seemingly-constant doubts about where I stand with God, worries about today and tomorrow, often-illogical-fears, unceasing-streams-of-tears. The tears start falling for what seems like the millionth time in a week, and I "just know" that this time he's gonna tell me to "stop it!" (see video) already, and I prepare myself for the "blow", and I ready a nasty comeback, and instead he hugs me and he listens and he opens the Bible and he points me to promises of God, and he prays for me. In that moment, I remember James 1:17 "Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change."

I mean, really, how can you not love this guy! He is serious as a heart attack sometimes...about the things that matter, I think. About Jesus. About loving people. About the injustice and brokenness we witness day in and day out. About truth. But he is funny! Just ask our Life Together Group about the famous "apron dance". He loves to play with kiddos, like Peter and Noah and Peyton. He's wearing Peter's awesome cowboy hat here, and apparently sad about something? He lets me make crazy faces in what are supposed to be serious pictures done by the amazing photographer Brett Carver and he sends them out to friends and family for Christmas. And gets an 8x10 for us to hang in the living room. Oh, girl, yes we did, girl. 
  

Sometimes it just hits me all at once what a blessing he is. It hit me last night as we were getting ready for bed. I started crying...again...about my own messed-up-ness. You know -- one of those days when you can almost feel or see that the enemy is battling hard against you. Every little victory is followed by another assault. But God is faithful and the Victor! And I'm just blessed by this man, this partner-in-life, brother in Christ Casey that I get to walk with, who holds my hands up so I can keep fighting. And it just flooded over me how much I don't deserve him. How little I've done that is good, that I should deserve him (ie, NOTHING), and how much I have done that should put me out of the running to "catch him". There's so much stacked against me. So much evidence that God could point to and say "There's no way you should have a godly husband."

He'd be just to refrain from giving me this gift. But He is so merciful! So compassionate! So full of grace toward me, His daughter in Christ! I came to Him with nothing but filth, and He took me, and washed me, and adopted me, and dressed me in Christ's righteousness. And he's given me such a sweet, tender-in-the-most-manly-and-awesome-sense-of-the-word, God-loving husband. 


I know. I know that Casey is just like me. Also undeserving. Also redeemed out of his own mess he'd made. I know. God has redeemed this man. God has redeemed the years stolen away by the locusts. 

I love you Casey Ray.