Motherhood and Grieving

Shortly after I gave birth to Z, I joined a group on facebook made up of roughly 2,000 mothers. In between posts about car seats and smash cakes and sleep regressions were unforgettable sober pleas from mothers who had lost their children. Please learn to properly buckle a car seat. Please learn the signs of daycare abuse. Please don't put blankets in the crib. Accidents. Suffocation. Abuse. Death.

 

I'm no stranger to death. I've been to the burial plot many times. Years ago, I acquired an acute sense of my own mortality and I doubt it will ever go away.

 

But now I carry something more weighty. I don't bear it as easily or as naturally as my own: an acute sense of my son's mortality. Even as I type, I realize that to struggle with this is, in itself, a privilege. How many of my dear friends, coworkers, family, have lost their child before even bearing them?

 

I often read notes and memes challenging me to cherish every moment. I don't need this reminder. Almost every night for the past 15 months, as I nuzzle his face, swaying him in my arms, I've drank in the smell, the feel, the weight of his body, insisting the sensations imprint on my soul like concrete. I'm overwhelmed with gratitude and love for him. My heart soars with the joy of all that he is to me.

 

And then come the prayers: begging, pleading prayers to let him live. To let me see him graduate high school and get married and even if I'm not here to see it, to let him live it. I never have a good reason why God should do so. I'm not worried about reasoning. Who knows how God orders the world? So I just beg. And often cry. I'm not afraid. I'm aware. Aware that every moment with him could be my last. I grieve that possibility.

Am I grieving a truth or a lie? Am I grieving unnecessarily?

Truth that death is the ultimate and constant culmination of our inherently fallen world...
Lie that there is no rest or peace for a good future or a God loves us and gives...

I think about a woman who lost her son at 7:45am this morning and how every April 1st, she'll say to herself, "he would be this old today" and how, 20, 50 years from now she'll still be thinking of him and longing to hold him and her arms will ache. And that ache will be imprinted with concrete so heavy that her soul will buckle for the rest of her life. And I grieve.

I've been grieving since the moment I first held him in my arms. Since the moment I joined the ranks of women whose body has brought forth life no matter how temporary. Since the moment I first understood. There is no choice here.

To be a mother is to grieve.

Caring Too Much

Cast your burden on the Lord, and he will sustain you. Psalm 55:22

Care, even when addressed to legitimate matters, if it is carried to excess, has in it the nature of sin. Again and again Jesus exhorted His followers to avoid anxious care. The apostles reiterated the call; and it is one that cannot be neglected without involving transgression: For the very essence of anxious care is imagining that we are wiser than God and putting ourselves in His place as if we could do for Him what He has undertaken to do for us. We attempt to think of things that we imagine Him forgetting; we work to take upon ourselves a heavy burden, as if He were unable or unwilling to take it for us.

Now this disobedience to His plain precept, this unbelief in His Word, this presumption that intrudes upon His province, is all sinful. But more than this, anxious care often leads to acts of sin. If we cannot calmly leave our affairs in God's hand but attempt to carry our own burden, we will be tempted to use wrong means to help ourselves. This sin leads to a forsaking of God as our counselor and resorting instead to human wisdom. This is going to the broken well instead of to the fountain, a sin of which Israel was guilty in the past.

Anxiety makes us doubt God's loving-kindness, and so our love to Him grows cold; we feel mistrust, and in this we grieve the Spirit of God, so that our prayers are hindered, our consistent example spoiled, and our life one of self-seeking. Such lack of confidence in God leads us to wander far from Him; but if through simple faith in His promise we cast each burden as it comes upon Him and are "not . . . anxious about anything"¹ because He undertakes to care for us, it will keep us close to Him and strengthen us against temptation. "You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you."²

^{1) Philippians 4:6    2) Isaiah 26:1}

Devotional material is taken from “Morning and Evening,” written by C.H. Spurgeon, revised and updated by Alistair Begg. Copyright © 2003, Good News Publishers and used by Truth For Life with written permission.

Chosen

Sometimes the Lord uses scriptures to speak to you, but not in the way you expect. In the early mornings at 6:30 when I drag myself out of bed to feed Z and get the day started, the world is quiet and lamp light soft. I read my bible while he sleepily eats and slowly wakes. 

I Thessalonians 1:4 says this "knowing, brethren, beloved by God, His choice of you;"

There's a whole context to this verse, an intended meaning, but sometimes God makes a phrase jump out and then whispers His own message in your ear. Monday morning, as I faced my first day back at work, the message was this "God's choice."

My days aren't hard, but they are constant. From the moment I roll out of bed, there is a string of things to do until my head hits the pillow. Wake, feed, grab breakfast, get dressed and log-on to work by 7:30am, work, feed, pack and load the lunch, the diaper bag, the computer bag, the pump, his bottle, etc. leave by 10 (fingers crossed that there's no construction or traffic or accidents), drop him off, swaddle him for his morning nap and drive to work, work, pump, inhale some lunch, work, leave at 3:30pm - drive to pick up the little guy, home, work, put supper on in between data-sets, feed, eat, wash dishes, drop into bed. If anything goes wrong, then everything gets rushed, which is a different level of stress. Most mornings my oatmeal is cold by the time I get around to eating it.

That was a lot of detail. My point is that working 40 hours, being a mom, doing the cooking, laundry, and cleaning means about 10 minutes of breathing time if I'm lucky. It would be easy to embrace bitterness or exhaustion or resentment. But He chose me.

I was chosen to be Zeb's mom, I was chosen to be Matt's wife, I was chosen to work at this job, I was chosen to live in this city, I was chosen to go to the church I attend and have the friends I have. I was chosen to live in this house that needs dusting every 10 seconds. God chose me for all these roles. For this time and place, for however long and for whatever reason. Clinging to that means trusting Him to strengthen me for all these things. Knowing that enables me to have a good attitude, to try and do well the things for which He's picked me. It means I can simply and calmly go from one constant point to the next constant point in my day - being thankful for the little graces along the way. Only the intimacy of Providence makes that possible.

Birth story part 1

It would be easy to think of Zebadiah's entry into the world via cesarean section as a trial. Indeed, it was scary and painful. But the entire journey was marked by obvious attention to us by God and I felt loved and known. Far better is this than to have perfect circumstances and distance from Him. In so many little moments I knew my Father was with me, and because of that, Zeb's birth story to me is a blessing and a gift.

On Wednesday, January 21, I hit the mark for 42 weeks and went to the birthing center for a sonogram. We had hoped, planned, and expected to give birth at the birthing center, a peaceful environment where my sister had successfully given birth to all three of her children. The decision wasn't necessarily about being natural - although that played a role. I have multiple negative experiences which left me with a pervasive dislike and even fear of hospitals. I most definitely did not want to give birth in one! Our midwife and midwife intern had provided care to me from the start and since I'm equally un-fond of doctors, this was a preferable set-up for me.

At this point, I was rather certain I had been having contractions for about a week. But they kept stalling. The sonogram showed us why. Zeb was breech. Up until that day, he had been head-down in perfect position. But because he was breech, the contractions weren't dilating me - they didn't have the added help of his head pressure bearing down. I wasn't making any progress in labor. I don't know why, after 42 weeks of perfect positioning, Zeb was suddenly all twisted up. The moment we found out, we talked to our midwives about getting him turned. I mostly assumed he would turn. I couldn't conceive of a reality in which he remained breech. That afternoon, still at the birthing center, a midwife performed an external version on me. This is where they press and massage your stomach incredibly hard in an effort to actually move the baby through your skin. I can honestly say it was one of the most painful parts of Zeb's entire birth story. He was wedged in there pretty tight and after two tries, my ligaments were stretched to the max, my stomach was bruised, and I was painfully sore. He was still breech.

We went to the chiropractor that evening (our midwives went with us because they are awesome!) and she did some technique called the Webster, designed to help flip baby. Then we went home to rest, contemplate the possibility of a c-section, and do some different positions and exercises to get him turned. Thursday morning, back at the birth center, he was still breech and I consented to another attempt at an external version. This was a courageous decision for me because it was sooo painful and I didn't want to do it again. But Matt wanted to give it one more go and in the end, if it was worth avoiding the hospital, so did I. He was still breech.

At this point, our midwives confirmed their recommendation that we transfer to a hospital and get a c-section. I cried, not from failure, but from fear. 

Mistakes in Motherhood

Zebadiah was one week old yesterday at 7:35 p.m. Already, I was struck by the need for forgiveness for my actions toward him. With my husband, that need is pretty crystal clear. I was startled by it with my son. There is so much love and joy, it's easy to think sin couldn't exist next to all that, but it does. If I'm not careful to check it, to acknowledge and correct, it may turn very ugly. Actually, it will turn ugly - the Bible is clear - sin gives birth to death. With all the sweetness and love, it would be understandable to glance past the nugget of danger. But I want to be vigilant. At peace, free, redeemed, but vigilant.

So the selfishness of some choices I made in responding to Zeb's needs for sleep and food and attention, etc., out of motives which benefited me more than him, make me realize once again that I'm still capable of choosing wrongly. Even with so much love present. It doesn't pain me per se (perhaps it should? But I am familiar with my own humanity), my feelings and response are more matter-of-fact: to simply ask forgiveness and continue on. I am no longer in bondage to sin so my response isn't one of bondage. It matters not that little Z can't forgive me, I'm reminded of David's recognition in the Psalms that "Against You and you only have I sinned." Ultimately, every wrong choice is a turn away from the Spirit and every repentance is a turn back to the Spirit (on my part - the Lord never turns from me - 'there is no shadow of turning with thee' - as the old hymn says). So God is asked and God forgives.

I Corinthians 1:9 "God is faithful, through whom you were called into fellowship with His Son, Jesus Christ our Lord." Fellowship with Jesus is through the calling and faithfulness of God. He is the purveyor of the fellowship - interesting since Christ is the High Priest through which we have access to God the Father. So my fellowship with Christ continues despite my sin, for it is not facilitated by me but by God and though I may be unfaithful, He is not. Indeed, more than 'facilitate' this fellowship is 'through whom' and 'into' - pretty strong, hands on, intimate.

I don't have to fear mistakes in motherhood any more than I have to fear mistakes in following Christ. The love I have for Zeb is not perfect but I have the perfect love of Christ and THAT love casts out all fear. The fellowship is secure in Him. It is not broken.

*p.s. Soon I'll post Zeb's birth story - I promise it won't be too gruesome and there are many amazing moments in it - so please come back to read it!*

Reading and ruminating

One of the perks of being sick and at home, too pregnant to do much, and on friendly terms with other book lovers, is the chance to read. I was a little proud I'd already read both books behind two of the most talked about recent film debuts (Unbroken and American Sniper). The first book is vastly superior to the second (film superiority is the reverse). I just started The American Plague by Molly Caldwell Crosby. The writing/narrative style and structure remind me of Eric Larsen's Issac's Storm. Since both books tell the story against the backdrop of the turn of the century, it's hard not to feel that Molly is, at times, stealing Eric's approach. Even some of the sentences read similar. But they both must talk about the hubris of the day for their story to make sense so it's perhaps inevitable that she sounds like an echo.

By far the best book I've recently read is Amazing Grace by Eric Metaxas. So much in this book is encouraging, inspiring and surprisingly relevant. First, Wilberforce faced a world with many evils. Slavery wasn't the only social injustice occurring around him, there were public hangings and dissections and burning and lots of cruelty in the lower classes. Yet, instead of being discouraged by the overwhelming work needed in the world, he focused on two specific objectives and poured his energy into them. I'm often overwhelmed and paralyzed by the needs in the world around me. To focus on two objectives to the exclusion of other needs feels like failure. But Wilberforce knew to what He was called. What I lack is that conviction of purpose.

The second point of encouragement is best described by a quote directly from the book (page. 68).

"Thus December 1785 - when both Newton and Pitt advised Wilberforce to stay where he was, in politics, and to put his newfound perspective to use in that sphere - was a historic moment. Before this time, a serious Christian would have felt theological pressure to leave "the world" and enter a life of Christian service. Wilberforce's decision to remain in politics made the transfer of Christian ideas into the previously "secular" realm of society possible for generations of Christians to follow."

How we so often separate our theology from our world instead of letting it inform and direct our actions? How much more do we keep the two at arms length, fearing either the world's response or caving to the pressure of being 'separate' in a way that other Christians think appropriate?

Building upon this point, the third astounding and inspiring part of this story emerges. The rich and powerful felt no inclination or responsibility to care for those beneath them, indeed, the prevailing worldview was that the poor were put in their place by God and should remain there. And whatever coarse brutality they both perpetuated and suffered was only natural given the brutishness of their nature. To mess with it was to rock the Sovereign boat. Wilberforce introduced a third perspective that would neither judge the poor and suffering nor ignore them, but rather reach out to them and help them up, so to speak. In a day where leaders had no problems embracing their own vice, he set in motion proclamations and clubs to make 'goodness fashionable' and used his influence and connections with the highest members of society to draw them into the idea. He also expresses, in a letter to a friend, something remarkably similar to the famous "broken window" approach to crime. That if law enforcement does not prosecute smaller crimes, this encourages an atmosphere of lawlessness which leads to greater crimes. The crown was not in the habit of prosecuting at all, one person had to bring suit against another if anyone wanted a crime to be pursued. But he understood that prosecuting and preventing the smaller crimes removed the temptation for larger ones and brought about a general atmosphere which discouraged (instead of encouraged) lawlessness. Another quote (pg. 79), "It's not too much to say that this single observation was the lever by which little Wilberforce replaced an entire world of brutality and misery with another of civility and hope, one that we now refer to as the Victorian era."

He basically changed the entire mindset of a country and an era, where leaders now felt they had a responsibility to be moral and upright, instead of blatant bribery or self-interest, to care for those in lower situations, instead of ignoring or judging them for their misfortunes or iniquity. He gave the world the notion of a social conscious. Such large repercussions from simple faithful perseverance. I don't think I believe faithfulness is truly that powerful.

Of course, the most inspiring part is his unending efforts to abolish the slave trade and earn emancipation for all slaves. Every year for twenty years, he brought forward a bill to parliament. He wrote thousands of letters, enlisted many people, traveled to foreign countries, spent most of his private fortune and blasted the political leaders for the hypocrisy of their self-seeking interest in maintaining the slave trade while calling themselves Christian. When the book goes into detail about the horrors of the slave trade, it is almost unreadable. I think if I were African American, I would not be able to read it. At least, not without rage and bitterness taking over. I just don't know how you could digest such truth about your ancestors without it ripping you apart. I don't think I could bear it. You can't remove yourself from the human implications if you have a beating heart. But it's less personal to me as a white woman. I can't imagine it being so personal. I don't think I would respond very well.

If you only read one book this year, I recommend it be this book. I confess I couldn't get through the massive detail of his Bonhoeffer book (though it's one of Matt's favorites). This book is much more readable in it's focus and length.

The end.

The Ruckus in My Head

I'm a spurt-er. I don't know if this is a real word, but I'm going to use it. A spurt of gardening, a spurt of cooking, a spurt of hobbies, a spurt of events, a cleaning spurt, a spurt of political activism, a spurt of silence, a spurt of social media wham-bam! I live in spurts. 

I don't really like this about myself. I've been wrestling with God for most of my adult life about why He didn't form me with a personality of consistency, faithfulness, and reliable ness. My husband is a plodder - a complete antonym to my spurting - and I envy it sometimes.

If you're reading this, chances are you are my fb friend and you've seen the recent posting spurt I've been going through. I'd like to explain, just beyond my propensity towards general spurting, why this came about.

1. I'm reading the Simplicity chapter from John Foster's Spiritual Discipline book. In it, he challenges us to realize everything we have is a gift from God and as such should be held loosely and be subject to being given away, used by others, or taken away by the One who gave it. Often, the obsession of owning things keeps us from our great calling of seeking FIRST the Kingdom of God and working on behalf of those who have less. Contrary to popular Christian sentiment, Jesus speaks about riches and the poor all the freak'en time and calls us to put riches in right perspective. It is not the social gospel to stop giving weight to materialistic possession, to give what we have to others even to the point of feeling our own need, which God will meet, it IS actually the teachings of Christ Himself. (Matt 6:19, Luke 6:24, Luke 18:22, I Tim. 6:7-8, Philippians 4:11-12).

2. Our last Sunday school lesson delved into the message of justice. We started in Micah 6:8, God has shown us what is good - to do justice. And what is justice? Helping those without a voice (the marginalized) be treated rightly. You know, people like the poor and foreigners (Jer. 22:3-5, Is. 10:1-3, Prov. 14:31 & 19:17, Lev. 19:15, Ex. 22:21 & 23:7, Lam. 3:34-36, Amos 5:11, James 5:1-6).

3. I saw the movie "Kill the Messenger" which is based on a true and sad story of truth being squelched by both media and government and simultaneously ignored by a mass of public who just didn't care about people who weren't like them. People who were marginalized. People who were "them" and not "us".

4. The brief snippets of news I've consumed (and I'm not very newsy, I don't own a television, have internet at home, or get the paper) about the upcoming elections hit some sort of internal overflow valve. Suddenly, I was complete sick and tired of having to choose between two evils in the political spectrum. For instance, in our current Dallas District Attorney race, I can choose between a man who has freed many wrongly imprisoned people, but who also used his position in an unethical way for personal gain, or a woman who thinks the number of people you throw into prison is a measure of success (apparently, it doesn't matter if they were innocent or not). Or all the messages telling me I'm not being represented if someone with a different skin color is in office (because, of course, someone with different skin couldn't possible have the same ideals or value system as I do. WHAT?!) Or, of course, I should vote because I'm more concerned about whether someone voted for Obama than what their current policy is are regarding immigration. Where is the freak'en logic??

5. Some voices in my life reached a crescendo I could no longer ignore. Voices that testify to wrongs and injustices and absurdities now taken for granted by the world around me. Voices like the nurse going to Africa to help in the largely ignored Ebola crisis over there (as opposed to the infatuation of the Ebola non-crisis over here). Voices like the friend trying to get food banks to stop requiring photo-id. Or voices like Nabila Rehman. Or my friend who has experienced racial profiling and misuse of authority because of her skin color and somehow manages not to curl up in a fetal position from hearing about people every.single.day still experiencing this. Or my own voice, from the times I've personally witnessed injustice against those in a lower socio-economic status.

Sometimes, all the little actions I take everyday and the right attitudes I strive to have don't seem to be enough. So I went on a blitz. A spurting blitz. Not just my own posting, but I followed the ebola hashtag and posted on the ridiculous status updates from about 10 republican congressmen. But chances are, next week I'll get caught up in the baby's impending arrival or the myriad of home improvement projects facing us and I'll peter out. I know myself. It kind of makes me sad. But then, on some level, whether it is simply to assuage my own conscience or a real boost of courage to do more, I'll know that at least I did something. I realize this is hypocrisy: I blasted Jen Hatmaker in her new book for doing just enough to assuage her white-rich-person guilt complex and not enough to really make a difference. And yet, here I am doing the same thing. My apologies to you, Jen. :(

A line from a Delirious song rings in my head, "I tried to save the world and it fell upon my shoulders."

Even while I type this, my sister is in the ER with her husband, to see if they will put him in the ICU and give him a 5th treatment of anti-venom since his blood still isn't clotting after two weeks of being released from the hospital from his rattlesnake bite. And his brother's wife is just getting out of a three hour spinal cord surgery to remove a mass, and we're waiting to hear about the length and difficulty of her rehab (both my sister and her sister-in-law have multiple small children). So there's a part of me that says, REALLY, SJ? And you think it matters who gets elected District Attorney??

But it matters to the innocent person languishing in jail. Or the person getting frisked without probable cause (wait, you don't think that's a big deal, hold still, let me get some guy to run his hands over your body). Travel restrictions matter to the person in Liberia whose been waiting months to see his family in the U.S. Drone strikes matter to the little Syrian girl who watched her grandmother die. And the requirement for a social security card matters to the homeless person trying to go to a food bank and being turned away for not providing an astounding number of documents, documents which would be very difficult to keep safe on the streets. It matters to the hospital losing money because two nurses brave enough to treat a disease we've never dealt with before got sick. Um, wait, let me repeat. Two. Like, two dollars, two m&m's, two cars, two fingers, two cups of water. Wait. Two isn't a really big number is it? No, not.at.all. It matters to the thirteen year old girl traveling hundreds of miles on foot because drug gangs killed her brother in Guatemala and, oh, she just didn't feel like becoming their prostitute. It matters to the baby who wants to live but whose own mother plans to kill it.

The truth is LOTS of things matter. And no Christ-follower can just ignore that. To make a difference, you first have to know where God wants you to move. In some areas, He call you to leave it alone, for others, and in some cases to jump in and struggle. Drawing near to Him is the only hope of having a true heading. I'm trying not to drown in the wrong sea. And I desperately hope that I'm not just sunbathing on the shoreline.

An Ode to the Children of my Church

Those who know me now would hardly believe I used to be child shy. In high school, I did the requisite babysitting and occasional Sunday School teaching but those environments were highly controlled and dreaded. I did not know (and these environments did not teach me) how to enjoy children. So during college and my ensuing adult life, I rarely interacted with them. I was fearful of them. I hardened. I said 'no' to every chance to be directly involved. They represented to me a life phase for which I had no healthy blueprint - only dysfunctional memories. 

I began to crack when my friend Anita brought her children on a camping trip shortly after I relocated to the metroplex. And then, I joined a church where roughly 30% of the population were children and small children at that. I was, literally, inundated with interactions. The small crack was blown open.

Lucas as he rolls his eyes while simultaneously grinning at me.
Andres’ sweet giggles when I kiss his cheek.
Judah’s half smile, shy with a promise of more if you persevere.
Liese’s boundless energy and Jami’s thoughts profound for people twice her age.
Hanna’s inquisitiveness which works to make sense of everything.
Lydia’s pure joy and Joel’s mischievous glint, Asa’s “worship face” and Blaise’s insistent clapping.
Alice’s transition from shy to full blown best friend and Emerson’s bold poking of my husband.
Josiah’s other worldly manners and Annabel’s pert but sweet confidence. Seth’s air of grown-up sincerity while taking the offering or reading scripture. Hayden and Indie’s obvious corroboration to fill every moment they can get their hands on.
And little Zac Gay whose smile explodes over his entire face, flinging itself across the pew into my heart, waking me from a state of half-worship right before he falls off said pew! 

I did something last year which was huge for me - I taught Sunday School for two months in a row. I taught it during one of the biggest crisis of my life. When my thoughts were often swirling with confusion, pain, and darkness, I would go and read a story and sing a song and glue some sticks and come away with all the joy which children freely give. All the hope which they unassumingly represent. All the wonder at the miracles of God and the faith when they pray their little prayers and the excitement about Biblical characters and unfettered acceptance of grace. NO WONDER God says in Matthew 18 "Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven".

Those children showed me the kingdom when I most needed to find the way. And they continue to show it to me every single Sunday.

Thoughtful Thursday

Tomorrow is Good Friday. The immediate implication for my life is that I do not have to go to work. This is supposed to be a time to contemplate the Crucifixion of Christ. But I'm doing it in a round-about way. 

I'm contemplating prayer.

God has answered a lot of my prayers. Many of them intimate, some of them silly, some in secret and some very obviously. In 2010, I prayed for snow at our Tuesday night Bible Study, proclaiming that God wanted to teach us He really answers prayers. That very Friday Dallas received record snowfall  - I still haven't heard the end of that one! :p

I pray for a lost boy to come home and the boy comes that evening. I pray for the health of a baby and all is well. Of course, He doesn't always answer yes. I prayed hard for Elizabeth to live and she died. I can't tell you why He says yes or why He says no. But I'm not offended that He asks a measure of trust from me in our relationship. All relationships require that. 

When God answers prayer, He condescends to order the universe according to our requests. That is huge. And every time He does it, I'm blown away. In a way, my reaction reveals an unbelief. 

God condescended to mankind so much that He sent His Son to earth as a man. And I'm surprised when He condescends to order a little something here or there in the universe? Condescension is His norm. He is involved. History testifies powerfully to this and I am prone to ignore or disbelieve.

He could go ahead and order the universe a certain way without my requests. And frequently He does. So why do I have to ask? If you've ever asked someone for something, you will inherently understand the humility involved. Asking acknowledges that God is involved. It acknowledges that He is Lord and I am subject; that He is Father and I am child. It acknowledges the history of His condescension. In response I labor: seeing my world, thinking about ways it can be changed to honor Him, and actively requesting the Spirit to move.

He is risen!

Now let's get to work in prayer.

Why

My neighbor, a young lady with a serious boyfriend, recently asked me some relationship advice. She said she admired my marriage to Matt. In thinking on it for a heartbeat, I told her I couldn't really take credit for my marriage; that it was good but not because of anything I did. She looked confused. I told her it was all Matt.

But we know that a good marriage can't happen if it's all one-sided, right? So, in the sing-song words of Maria to Captain Von Trapp, I must have done something good. I grow more and more convinced that isn't true. I didn't find the magic formula or become the perfect person. Yet, my marriage is rather amazing.

This is what I AM convinced of: that my marriage is a gift I receive and not something I create with my own hands. Not that I'm avoiding responsibility. But God does everything good in my marriage, whether it's through me or despite me.

I'm prone to asking 'why' in life. Why do I have this gift when others do not?

The truth is God gives each of us our fair share of gifts and heartaches. I don't know why some have the gift of a great marriage and others have the heartache of a bad one. I don't know why some have the gift of good parents and others have the heartache of messed up parents. I don't know why some have the gift of health and others have the heartache of illness. I don't know why some have the gift of financial security and some have the heartache of constant struggle. I don't know why some have the gift of faith and some have the heartache of continual doubt. I don't know why some have the gift of acceptance and others the heartache of rejection. I don't know why some have the gift of children and others the heartache of barrenness. 

I'm not holier or smarter or better because I have a great marriage.  And you're not more sinful because your heartbreak was in marriage. Many who long for my gift have a gift of their own that I long for with equal fervor. My neighbor lives with her parents: sweet, emotionally stable and engaging, functional, responsible people with boundaries. But instead of paining me to see, I simply understand my gifts and heartaches are divided out differently. We are not the same and yet we feel the same things as all humans do. God is drawing both of us closer to Him accordingly. And this is the answer why.

Bouquets of victory

A sweet view at the Dallas Arboretum

Deut. 11:22-23 For if you are careful to keep all this commandment which I am commanding you to do, to love the Lord your God, to walk in all His ways and hold fast to Him, then the Lord will drive out all these nations from before you, and you will dispossess nations greater and mightier than you.

I don't know where I get this crazy idea that if I obey God I'm in for a bunch of trials. I know trials are inevitable but as the constant theme of my life? Where is the conviction that obeying God brings victory?

God has been giving me sweet little things over the last few months. Like a spiritual bouquet of flowers to remind me that I'm not forgotten. Desires of my heart, though unspoken, are still known by Him and often met preemptively.

Let me be specific. After the heyday of the summer months, I was so relieved to settle down that I never consciously asked 'why'. Why didn't we get the farm? Why are we still in Dallas? I became aware of the question deep inside because of God's attention to it.

Across a table of cappuchino and breakfast tacos, under a bright saturday morning sky, I chatted it up with a friend at one of the coolest restaurants in Oak Cliff. Her family is crazy. No really. And I felt that I understood her thoughts and emotions in a way someone with a normal family could never comprehend. Little things like applying for college. I think my brother helped me do it. Her help was a sister. We stumbled out into the world completely clueless, having been reared in an unstable sequester then dumped into adulthood with serious questions about our worth and identity. How did we not end up in a drug rehab center? And where the heck were our parents during these times? Our coming of age was hazy and miraculous. Our friendship a strange joy.

Under perfect lighting, with soft piano music drifting from the baby grand, I ate a bacon wrapped hor devour and studied a painting of human shapes: instead of being obscured by shadow they were brightened to outlines. The back of a head and shoulder were in the foreground, the right shoulder brushed with a bold stroke of red. The point was that we see dimly now - but not always - and the picture is ever coming into sharper focus. My former co-worker helped curate this art show - building an impressive bridge between the world of art and the world of theology. This was the opening night of the exhibit and I was so proud of her that my eyes teared up. Seriously - you can't imagine how hard it is to get legit art from Christians. I hadn't really seen her all summer. Our reconnection was a gift.

A good friend, former roommate, and the first person in my life to ever meet my husband (the same day I met him) just moved back into town. Seeing her was like eating chocolate perfectly sweetened. I couldn't get enough. And then someone at church tells me how glad she is that I didn't move away. When my brother comes into town, its still logistically possible for my whole family to spend the day together. My husband can still ride the bike trails with his best friend on Sunday afternoons.

And finally, there is the job I love. I asked for it and God answered my request. I have a friend here who asks me questions about deities and morality as we take long walks after work into the setting sun.

It matters little whether the answer is 'you're here so you could be there for others' or 'you're here so others could be there for you'. Entwined as to be barely distinguishable, the result is the same: God is stacking up little victories for me. Maybe trails were the theme this summer - I'm hard pressed to deny that  - but there's a change in the air and I'm so ready for it.

Enough

We are moved (but not unpacked) into our new house and have no internet - this explains the infrequent updating. Here's what I've been learning/struggling with lately. It turns out 'learning' and 'struggle' are actually synonyms :]

What does God want me to do? Is it enough that I work to encourage the saints? My sphere is full only of Christians. Is it enough that I am simply obedient - that God equips and makes me able only to do small things like hug and smile and listen? Only God can give me joy and patience - so I must be capable of these things only by His Spirit. Without Him, I could not do even the small things.

Matthew 10:24-25 A disciple is not above his teacher, nor a slave above his master. It is enough for the disciple that he become like his teacher and the slave like his master.

It is good to stop and be sure - to check - that my energies are not misspent making myself at ease in this world. But am I capable of judging whether my efforts have eternal weight? I look over small things - but if God gives them glory I should be content. I question whether my life is worthy of the calling of the gospel I've received. Then I read the context of that verse (Eph. 4) and see the calling described in small everyday humble expressions like gentleness and realize my definition of worthiness is askew.

 Ephesians 4:1-3 Therefore I, the prisoner of the Lord, implore you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling with which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, showing tolerance for one another in love, being diligent to preserve the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.

Why is unity so important? Two reasons: 1) there is one God and 2) there are different gifts.

Ephesians 4:5-7,11 One Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all who is over all and through all and in all, But to each one of us grace was given according to the measure of Christ's gift. v.11 And He gave some as apostles and some as prophets, and some as evangelists, and some as pastors and teachers.

God wants us to be full of differences but work together to reflect His oneness and the unity which defines the Godhead. When we don't treat differences with humility, gentleness, and patience, we scorn the design of God.

It is enough to promote unity through love. This IS worthy action of our calling: v.12 "for the equipping of the saints for the work of service, to the building up of the body of Christ." The end goal is of weight eternally - it is making us into heavenly creatures; slaves becoming like our master, disciples like our teacher. Eph. 4:13 " Until we all attain to the unity of the faith, and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to a mature man, to the measure of the stature which belongs to the fullness of Christ."

This unity in different gifts, making us into heavenly creatures becoming like Christ, is a mark of a 'growing-up'.

 Ephesians 4:14-16 As a result, we are no longer to be children, tossed here and there by waves and carried about by every wind of doctrine, by the trickery of men, by craftiness in deceitful scheming; but speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in all aspects into Him who is the head, even Christ, from whom the whole body, being fitted and held together by what ever joint supplies, according to the proper working of each individual part, causes the growth of the body for the building up of itself in LOVE.

It's time to be a grown-up.

Date night

It was a Sunday. My husband took me to the Ft. Worth Botanical Gardens for classical music and a picnic. That morning, I played a piano piece in church. Playing is a nerve-wracking experience and I force myself to do it because I feel responsible for the gifts God gave me. I have to use them even if they aren't perfect. In fact, it is humbling to be transparent with my faulty gifts - but I'm called to be a city on a hill not a lamp under a bush. God is in charge of the light, I'm simply supposed to stand instead of crouch. Earlier in the week, the heartbreak had come. And so it was providence that the song I practised all week in preparation was Be Still My Soul. God knew I would need to hear it over and over that week for its truth to settle me. So I played it that week and I played it that morning. 

As Matt and I sat under the fading light and listened to various excerpts from Beethoven and Vivaldi's four season, the conductor threw in Jean Sibelius' Finlandia.  I invite you to pop open a side window and listen to it (if you're impatient, forward to minute 4.5). The beginning drums of dark anticipation, then moves into the sound of heartbreak. Halfway through it surprises you with a brightness; an inspirational charge to move forward resolved and confident and daringly joyful. But what shocked me most came just as the song tips past mid-point. The melody for Be Still My Soul. Apparently, it was taken from Finlandia. So imagine me sitting there, as the light faded, hearing the same notes I played that morning in worship to God, hearing the same notes He had soothed me with all week. It was as if, in the middle of this gorgeous piece of music, God had put a hidden message to me. The notes are repeated again in stunning epic fanfare at the end of the song. And then we see this: light in the darkness.  

Heartbreak

Two weeks ago, I stood during sharing time at church and choked out some words. A warm motley crew filled the small wooden structure - a people so honest that my brokenness was not out of place. As Foster expresses in his book Celebrations, we learn and live "the necessity of bringing spiritual realities into the press of raw humanity."

I told them my father is going to prison. And I am heart-broken.

Afterwards, a friend approached me about lunch. I talk regularly with her but always within the pew. In my desperation, I was bolder than normal. We agreed to meet for lunch during the week.

Sitting in a wooden booth between slices of sandwich, we traced our lives discovering arcs so similar as to leave us in astonishment. Two hours of conversation about pain and numbness, lost childhoods, anger and fear, running (always running) and questions about the reality of Jesus.

Our words curved through time, to past and present and past again, and somehow truth about who God is and the way things are on earth came flowing. Truth heals and it startled me to realize if I was silent, she may not have heard about a God that always runs after us; a God who always ran after me, one whose life is so parallel to her own.

People struggle with sin and it breaks them just as it breaks us. But praise be to Christ that our brokenness can be someone else's healing. 

Revelation 1:5 "To Him who loves us and released us from our sins by His blood." And the sins of our fathers.

Weekend on 6th street

I sit here and try to write about something for which I have no words.

I could show you a picture of 6th street but chances are you've already seen one. I could describe rubble upon rubble but chances are you wouldn't understand any more than I do. I expected it to be like mississippi in 2005. But debris piles alone are impersonal. On 6th street, I saw faces in the rubble: people whose belongings I sifted through, vacant stares of those waving away help, and tearful pleas to stave off the bulldozers (as if I could). I didn't anticipate so many conversations with faces in the midst of ruined lives.

I confess I was all business as I recorded data on my clipboard, directed volunteers, marked my map with discovered street names, listed tools (chainsaws needed, check). A coping mechanism, I suppose, as frail as those I saw: faces clinging to half-twisted things as if they were a precious jewel or a lost limb. Do we humans define ourselves so readily, so errantly? The longer I looked, the less I could deny. Though secretly, I resolved to make a life impervious to such destruction, my constructs are just as these: vulnerable to the broken world of which I am made.

But are we not immortal beings? Am I not reborn of materials such as spirit and soul, no longer made only of brokenness and dirt? The longer I looked, the less I was confident. I give myself to the world's seduction more completely than I ought. I need some salvation still.

The end of all things will be rubble except for our souls.

Living trust

Deuteronomy 6:5 "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might."

Deuteronomy 6:18-19 "You shall do what is right and good in the sight of the Lord, that it may be well with you and that you may go in and possess the good land which the Lord swore to give your fathers, by driving out all your enemies from before you, as the Lord has spoken."

Deuteronomy 6:24 "So the Lord commanded us to observe all these statutes, to fear the Lord our God for our good always and for our survival as it is today."

If you read the whole chapter of 6 and 7, a clear priority is set forth and a cause and effect given. The people were to focus on doing what was good and right (following God's laws) and NOT focus on providing for themselves or procuring the good land or bringing about the promise. God would do that for them. Much more than a simple priority of righteousness over self-provision, God tells them provision will come as a result of righteousness.

So if you're seeking the 'land', stop. Seek God instead. If you seek God with all your might, there won't be any might left over to get yourself the 'land'. God will have to provide it. This is a living way of trust and submission.

The Bride and the Groom

It seems the popular thing to do these days is to accept Christ but reject the church. On Christian blogs (with large followings), her weaknesses are touted, her name dragged through the mud and rarely is there an encouraging word for her or an exhortation for us to help her.

Do we honestly think Christ is the kind of groom who doesn't mind His bride getting bashed?

Yes, she has many faults. But Christ says he has taken it upon Himself the responsibility of presenting her perfect one day to His Father. Perhaps, then, we ought to do more to build her up, especially knowing her glorious end.

bearings

Back in January I posted a set of New Years resolutions. I was especially committed to having a lot of fun this year. I’m now focused simply on surviving. Two mouth surgeries, a huge job shift, and the implosion of family leaves me so far from fun that I cringe in shame at the shallowness of that resolution.

A book title I ran across several years ago, frames my view of trials. “A Severe Mercy” is the most accurate phrase I’ve heard describing what God often does through hardship. He grants mercy. Mercy isn’t just the journey, it is the end goal. With a storm, he blows us from the shallow end, where we drown, into the deep end where we live. It is a severe act.

Why didn’t I resolve this year to receive and give more love? Why didn’t I ask for a year full of grace and forgiveness? Why wasn’t seaking peace at the top of my list?

My mouth is healing but my soul is longing for rest. My house is a mess, my thoughts equally scattered and my compass is twisted from the storm. But a compass without a true bearing will lead you in the wrong direction. So I guess my bearing is being reset. And I’m ultimately thankful.

The theology of God as Creator is an important one. The implications are far-reaching and I keep bumping into them. Ancient scrolls of Hebrew historians trace lineage all the way back to the first man or, at least, the earliest man recorded in history (recorded as opposed to theorized on the basis of fossils). In these ancient documents, the first man is a created person not an evolved thing.

Think of any created thing. The creator has a purpose for it, a usage determined, a way to organize, store, clean, display, assemble, and a method to destroy. These boundaries for its existence can be followed or ignored. While a human is much more than a thing, our own awareness can sabotage us from the reality that our existence and the boundaries for it are set by someone other than ourselves.

What am I feeling? What am I doing in life? How am I to treat myself and others? How am I to live before I die? When Someone else has made you, submission is natural. You are not your own. When Someone else has made you, questions of who you are and what your purpose is have a definitive answer. They don’t get lost in the cosmos. They are personal questions asked by one person of the Ultimate Person.

If Creator God made everything, this sheds light on the utter arrogance it is to deny His existence. Did any of us form ourselves or decide when and where and to whom we would be born? No. Fallen humanity is rift with terrifying amounts of pride.

Political implications are here also. If one subscribes to God as Creator, than God’s descriptions of how His creation will act (self-govern) are guideposts for our expectations of how they will interact with laws, etc., (other-governed).

What can we expect out of life, out of ourselves? What can we control, what should we control, how should we attempt to control/not control? God as Creator has significant impact on all of these struggles. This framework has steered me clear of so many subtle influences about who I am or who I should be or how I should operate in the world. And not just who I am here and now but who I am for eternity as I exist forever. I’m still learning from it.

I don’t have a good end, some snazzy way to wrap it all up. The more the theology of God as Creator is applied to what I face in my life or in the world around me, the more I get why the Bible starts with Creation as it’s opening statement. It’s slowly becoming the opening statement for my life as well.

forgive

Sometimes, you come to a point when you realize your struggle is not with circumstance, need, or relationship but with sin. And when you come to know this, the battle is no longer a matter of the head but of the heart. When you know and you still struggle with the feeling or the act or the want, you don’t need someone to tell you it’s wrong. You don’t need correction, you need forgiveness. You need the grace and the kindness of God (Romans 2) to be shown to you by someone stronger than yourself.

I had a time of confession last night, first to other believers and then to God. Today, He demonstrated kindness toward me in a very tangible, mind-blowing way. And it’s not a reward for admitting to Him my sin. No, it’s His answer to my cry for help.

Praise be to God.