Do The Work

Wherever you set foot, you will be on land that I have given you...Be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid or discouraged. For the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.--Joshua 1:3, 9

Then David continued, " Be strong and courageous, and do the work. Don't be afraid or discouraged, for the Lord God, my God, is with you. He will not fail you or forsake you. He will to it that all the work related to the Temple of the Lord is finished correctly."--1 Chronicles 28:20

But Christ, as the Son, is in charge of God's entire house. And we are God's house, if we keep our courage and remain confident in Christ.--Hebrews 3:6

Don't you realize that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, who lives in you and was given to you by God?--1 Corinthians 6:19

How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord Almighty!--Psalm 84:1

In the last couple of months my dream has shifted from inspiring youths to choose the straight and narrow, to ministering to women. While I have a list a mile long of things I want teenagers to know, things I wish I had known or understood better or understood at all, I have no such list for women. Fact is, it terrifies me. I'm young, I'm a bit awkward and nervous when it comes to teaching, and I feel that I have no authority to tell anyone anything. My dog barely listens to me and my son rarely does...although I blame that on the fact that neither of them as a real great grasp on English yet.

But I was fortunate enough to hear a sermon several years ago about Joshua--the man and the book. Using the first chapter of Joshua as his text this preacher explained that if the man had only trusted God, every single step he took would've been blessed. It says so right there in black and white. And then the famous, be strong and courageous, be strong and courageous, haven't I commanded you? BE STRONG AND COURAGEOUS! I think God wanted Joshua to be strong and courageous.

But if Joshua was anything like me, his next question would've been: how? How can I be strong, courageous, not terrified, not discouraged? Because quite frankly, taking the promised land, chasing down a dream, is daunting, especially when you feel unqualified.

So I've done a little word study using my brand spanking new Bible and it's wonderful concordance. I've never had a Bible with such a good concordance and I've made good use of it! I've read every verse with the words strong, strength, strengthen, courage, and courageous. I've written down all of them that made any sense out of context and I've tried to draw some conclusions.

I'm not quite there yet, so I won't waste your time with my fragmented throughts. But I did notice something. Something I'm still mulling over but felt ready to share. Re-read those verses I put at the very beginning of this post. Do you see how they connect?

Be strong and courageous. Don't be afraid or discouraged. Do the work. God is with you. (David is telling Solomon the same things that Joshua was told way back in Joshua 1). Why? How? Because God won't fail you. HE will see to it that all the work is finished. The work on the temple. And not just Solomon's temple, but THE temple. The church, the body and bride of Christ. And more intimately, me. I am a living temple, the dwelling place of the Spirit. And I am lovely, or being made lovely, complete, perfect.

Do the work...even when you're tired and it feels like a big floppity failure. Do the work...even when you can't think a straight thought. Do the work...even when you feel unqualified and nervous and scared. Because God is with you and God will see that the work is finished. The work in me, the work being done through me.

The Spirit of the Lord of Heaven's Armies dwells in me--whom shall I fear? What shall I fear? Failure, exhaustion, inadequacy. Ridiculous.

Here's the thing...right now, the work ahead of me is not just women's ministry, that's just the dream. To write like Beth Moore, to teach like Kay Arthur, to instruct like Lysa TerKeurst, to encourage like Angela Thomas. One part of the work for right now is to lead a women's Bible study and to teach the youth Sunday school, however bumbling. But the other part, the greater part, of the work in my life, the one I really feel unqualified for is that of wife & mother. Somehow, I didn't feel like such a hapless wife until I started feeling like such a helpless mother. Funny how insecurities can unravel you like pulling the wrong thread in a sweater. This, however, is my calling, my true ministry, my most important work. And I must do the work of mothering and help-meeting, and nurturing the men I love--my husband and my son. Even when I feel like a big floppity failure. Because it's GOD who is seeing that work will be finished on HIS dwelling place--me, my house, and my family. And no matter how I feel about myself in any given moment on any given day, He already dwells in me and therefore, I am already lovely.

And this is my verse, the one I'm clinging to in order to do the work and see it through each day...

The eyes of the Lord search the whole earth in order to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to Him--2 Chronicles 16:9

If I am wholly committed, all in, not holding anything back...then He gives me His strength to do the work, to forge on, to see it through. For His glory and for my good, and for the good of the lives I touch. And that's a promise worth clinging to. Standing on even. Standing on the promises of God, my Savior!

And I promise...once I round out some more of my thoughts on this whole strong & courageous thing, I'll share. Because there's some really great stuff there, some wonderful patterns and promises. But in the meantime...do the work...

Dawn of New Life, Twilight of a Life Well Lived

My grandmother, so I hear from many miles away across a cell phone signal, agreed willingly to the move to the nursing home. She moved in this evening. My grandfather is resistant. 

Elsewhere, in another part of the country, my two (and a half!) year old precious niece is enjoying her still-new room. She soaked it in with eyes wide and in uncharacteristic quiet. A hush fell over the room as she saw what her Daddy had done just for her. "It's so nice," she breathed. The breathless awe of something just for you. Something grown up and special and wonderful. 

In a yet another part of the country, my son enjoyed an evening with one of his favorite people on Earth...a bright, beautiful young lady preparing for her first year of college at my alma mater. The first time Mama and Dada entrusted him to someone not a parent themselves. And he not only survived without me for the evening, he loved it. He waved when she left. My son doesn't wave 'bye-bye', he waves when he sees something he wants. He waves harder when he senses he's not getting it. He waved very hard when we came inside. He loves her. 

My grandfather agreed to go tomorrow. What reasoning finally worked? I don't know. But I don't think it was human eloquence. I think it was a divine intervention. I think this because I asked for it specifically, me and an untold number of friends and fellow believers. And I asked God to remind my grandfather, who has nearly circled around the sun on this planet 100 times, that He is in control, no matter where he lives. That God is to  be trusted, no matter who is calling the shots. That the next stop is Paradise, good and faithful friend, hold on, keep trusting me to the very, very end. God sustained my grandfather across two world wars, the nation's stock market crash, the Great Depression, his youngest daughter's illness which could've killed her, his oldest daughter's car crash that should've killed her, his only son's mugging that could've left him dead, personal injury that kept him from working and the paychecks from coming, the birth of their only grandson, five years later, their only granddaughter, and even their great-granddaughter and great-grandson. In the century that my grandfather has spent here on this side of Eternity God has proved faithful, trustworthy, and sovereign. What on Earth does he have to fear? This is what I asked God to remind him. 

Did he? I have no way of knowing for sure. But the little text that came about an hour later that informed me he had changed his mind told me that, one way or another, God had heard me and my prayers had been answered. 

The juxtaposition of it all just astounds me. My niece with her brand new big girl room...so thrilled with the change, so excited to be a BIG girl, full wonder and awe at this big, exciting world laying at her feet. My son growing confident, learning to be okay without me, having first adventures without me, growing so big and strong. The dawn of new life, the twilight of a life well lived. Something about it inspires me...to trust God a little faster, a little stronger, to hold onto Him a little tighter. He prepares new big girl changes for me with as much love as tenderness as my brother does for her beloved daughter. He takes me on new adventures with people I come to love and trust, just as my son is learning to do in his toddlerhood. And He will sustain me across an untold amount of years and an untold amount of struggles and victories, blessings and trials. No matter where I live or who is calling the shots, GOD is faithful, trustworthy, and sovereign. 

Hallelujah. Amen. 

Master Artist, Gourmet Chef, and Me

I don't know very much about art. Truth be told, I still put the sun in the corner of my paper with sunglasses and a smiley face. My art education roommate in college told me that's what kindergartners do. So that's the extent of my art expertise.

But I can recognize a good painting when I see one. At least, what I consider good. And as cliche as his art may have become Thomas Kinkade is known as the 'Painter of Light' for a reason. His paintings seem to glow with something ethereal and divine. The cottages aren't just cozy or his country churches merely quaint, there's something in them that we want to experience.

I am not a great cook either. I have a whole shelf of cookbooks that I've never used. Sticking to the same tried and true recipes, meals aren't very exciting around here. There's a reason my husband gets excited when were invited over for dinner. It's not that I'm a bad cook, just not a very confident cook.

But I can recognize a good meal when I have one. On our honeymoon we splurged on an expensive dinner at one of Bobby Flay's restaurants. Curtis had the steak, I had the lamb chops. His steak was the most perfectly seasoned, perfectly prepared cut of meat either of us had ever tasted. I practically licked my plate clean my lamb chops were so delicious. It was a meal that left us wanting more and we often talk about returning to NYC and eating there again.

Outside of Bar Americain

In the last few days, weeks, I've experienced the true Painter of Light doing work in my life. The Master Artist has been at work, layering in fresh colors, highlighting new details, tenderly adding depth, purposefully giving dimension to His created work--my life, my heart.  The Gourmet Chef has awakened a hunger and thirst for Him.

I've grown up in the church so I have a good amount of base knowledge of the things of God. As I've grown up and matured, through questioning, life experience, and lots of reading I've added to that base knowledge. But I'm afraid to admit that I've been subsisting on boiled down tidbits in certain areas. It's not necessarily my fault or the fault of my teachers but it's been subsistence all the same. And God has decided it's high time I feast on the Word and put some spiritual fat on my base knowledge bones.

This time, instead of teaching me through an emotional experience, or perhaps because I've given my attention willingly instead of forcing His hand to strip me of my distractions, I'm learning differently. I'm seeing  a beautiful methodology being used by the Artist, a rich feast prepared by the Gourmet Chef.

He showed me a lack of discipline in my life and asked me to focus my striving on simply being disciplined to meet with Him intentionally and consistently. The discipline led to a few reminders on obedience, because the two go hand in hand. He asked me to eliminate some of the noise, like Facebook, so that I could hear Him more clearly whenever He called. The Master Artist was adding some depth to my stark canvas outline.

And once that work was begun (this is a lifestyle for a lifetime, not an acquiesce for a moment) He taught me many things about prayer that I had never even considered before, let alone been practicing. The true power and purpose of prayer, the longevity and legacy of prayer, the sacrifice and intercessory abilities of prayer. Too many things to clumsily recount here. Perhaps most importantly, I've come to finally understand the real power of praying His Word, of claiming it for myself and standing on its Truth. It seems absurd that a good little Sunday School girl like me has taken twenty-eight and a half years to really digest that wonderful morsel but I've always been a picky eater.

Every lesson I've ever heard on prayer has boiled it down to some simple formula (A.C.T.S. or each finger on your hand stands for something to include in prayer or just pray the 'Our Father'--it was good enough for Jesus). But that's not it at all. It's not a formula, it's not a boiled down tidbit, something easily contained and explained in one half-hour Sunday school lesson. Prayer is one of the vast wells of Spiritual water, of God's goodness, even of divine mystery. The more you know about prayer, the more there seems to know about prayer, much like God Himself. I believe that's by (His) design. Just as the more you read the Word, the more you keep returning to the Word because it's always the same but forever revealing new depths of truth. Much like God Himself. A masterpiece invites the viewer to gaze a little longer, to come back and see the painting in different light, to consider the beauty from all angles. God does all this and more.

God has taught me about time and numbering my days, about seeing my service to Him as simply organizing and He's doing the doing, about giving worth and precedence to my priorities the way He does. And in all of this, He has taught me about Himself. To learn about the things of God--prayer, Scriptures, service, time, priorities--is to learn about God. And instead of just another fact-finding mission to satiate my intellect, this has been a gourmet feast on God Himself to satisfy my soul. Not satisfaction for all time, but like any nourishment, one meal at a time, one day at a time. Like manna falling from Heaven, more must be gathered and digested each day to keep my soul satisfied.

It's not for the painting to decide when it's finished but the painter. I am clearly an unfinished work but I hope to be one of His masterpieces. I want to be a canvas on which He can leave His unmistakable and indelible signature. I want to be a painting that reveals something inside people want to experience for themselves.

And just as I've been fed on the Word of the Lord, and the meals prepared by others in His name, I want to feed those hungry souls the good things of God. I want to nourish as I've been nourished.

I've been given new light and dimension. I've been strengthened and nourished. And the Master Artist, the Gourmet Chef is just getting started.


*If you're searching for some extra nourishment for your prayer life, these are the books I've been reading:
Handle With Prayer by Charles Stanley
The Prayer of Hannah by Kenn Gividen
Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World by Joanna Weaver
A Busy Woman's Guide to Prayer by Cherri Fuller
On my list to read soon:
Prayer: Does It Make Any Difference? by Philip Yancey
The Circle Maker: Drawing Circles Around Your Biggest Dreams and Greatest Fears by Mark Batterson.
Please feel free to leave any titles on prayer that have strengthened and nourished you, or added new light and dimension to your prayer life!

When the Body of Christ Works Together...

 Just as a body, though one, has many parts, 

but all its many parts form one body, so it is with Christ.

 For we were all baptized by one Spirit 

so as to form one body

— whether Jews or Gentiles, slave or free—

and we were all given the one Spirit to drink.

 Even so the body is not made up of one part but of many.

I Corinthians 12:12-14

Several months ago, while perusing Pinterest, I had a crazy idea. It's pure lunacy, really. So much room for error and/or failure. But, and this is unlike me, I decided to do it anyway.

I felt led to do a service project with the youth but something that would really require work of them. I know that 30 Hour Famines are popular, and the old raking the leaves thing is good, and canned food drives are always useful but in my personal experience, not much is really required of the kids. They don't do that much. And in a society where we're doing less and less, I wanted something that required work, effort, thought, and maybe even getting coaxed out of a comfort zone.

So I came up with a Santa Shop idea where we would make the gifts and sell them. Then, in a flash of divine intervention I changed it to Three Kings Gift Shop. After all, Santa's great but he wasn't at the manger (well, neither were the wisemen really but that's a whole other issue...). I suppose we could've gone St. Nicholas but I'm just now realizing that so oh, well! Anyway, I digress...

I spent hours combing Pinterest, reading directions, and carefully selecting gift ideas that fit a couple important criteria.
1) It had to be something people would actually want.
2) It had to be something we could make at minimal cost so I could keep our prices low.
3) It had to be something simple enough for even non-crafty people to make.

I found ten things which met those criteria. I put together a little catalogue and order forms. I ordered some literature from Samaritan's Purse and talked to the teens about raising money to purchase items that would go to people in third world countries. Items like goats, donkeys, honeybees, and fishing boats. Items that would profoundly change their lives, not just their day or week. Their lives. 

Then, I prayed. I prayed for moderate success because I was afraid of failure. Oh, ye of little faith. What if Peter or Paul had prayed for moderate success just in case they couldn't really lead all those people? What if Moses had only wanted moderate success? What if Abraham? Joshua? Gideon? Deborah?

And I think the teens only expected moderate success. They set a low goal for themselves of only $200. And for a minute there, it looked like that was going to be it. But then....

God didn't answer my prayer. He had His own agenda He was pushing and my potential for failure was not a deciding factor for Him. It never is.

The project exploded. We had over-whelming success. We raised $870, more than quadrupling our goal. I was humbled, the teens surprised, and the church family energized. God is good.

Then, I had to figure out how to make over 350 items. Egads. But this wasn't really my job. God had a plan. He'd had it worked out from the very beginning. All the way back to when He first planted this crazy idea in my brain and in my heart.

He planned on using this project to bring our church family together. You see, we've been hurting. It's a long story and quite ugly and this post is about celebration so I won't elaborate. It suffices to say, we've been hurting. We've been in need of something to make all of us feel connected and alive again. But I never imagined it would be this and that I would be part of it.

Last night 28 people, 14 adults and 14 kids (an all time high for youth attendance, actually) came together at house to make crafts. And it was busier than Santa's workshop. After several runs to houses for extra olive oil, after re-making several items because my measurements were off, after figuring out the best way to roll a square piece of paper into a cone, after deciding the perfect way to make a scarf for a snowman and turn a book into a tree...we had completed 5 projects and made well over 250 items. In just three hours. With no complaining and with lots of laughter.

And I noticed something. Everyone naturally found their place. Leaders took charge. Crafters used their experience and artistry to help others in this new area. People tried new things. Everyone pitched in. This is the Body of Christ in motion. Working as one. Glorifying God with our actions. So this is what Paul meant, this is what James wrote about. Faith in action, the Body together.

One boy collected a fistful of money to buy pizzas and breadsticks. A teenage girl prayed, one of my teens that always steps up to pray when everyone else feels tongue tied. She prayed for us, for our gifts, for the people we've loved and missed being able to come back and join us. She forgot to pray for the food, but ti didn't matter. God was there, He knew our thankfulness for His blessings. And this was the true breaking of bread...true communion, even if it was pizza and not a holy wafer.

I had set out to find a project that would bless other people, show the kids that they can make a difference, and help teach our youth how to work together with joyful spirits. But God had other plans. These things still happened but His plan was greater than mine, loftier than mine. He will bless the money we raised and the people whose lives it will help. But He blessed my life through this project and He blessed our humble, faithful church. He is truly the God who sees us, and He's been watching over us the whole time. And last night, He reached out and healed us. He was with us in the mess of olive oil on the counters, hot cocoa on the floor, and hot glue stuck on fingers. And that's what happens when the Body of Christ works together.

As the body without the spirit is dead, 

so faith without deeds is dead.

James 2:26

Chasing Joy

Psalm 100

A psalm. For giving grateful praise.

Shout for joy to the Lord, all the earth.

Worship the Lord with gladness;

    come before him with joyful songs.

Know that the Lord is God.

    It is he who made us, and we are his;

    we are his people, the sheep of his pasture.

Enter his gates with thanksgiving

    and his courts with praise;

    give thanks to him and praise his name.

For the Lord is good and his love endures forever;

    his faithfulness continues through all generations.

My son thinks our dog is hilarious. Dayton's first true giggle was at Bode jumping around the yard and barking. And this Indian summer when we would walk around and around the pond, just to escape the claustrophobia of our house, we would watch Bode chase butterflies. I'd never actually seen a dog chase butterflies before but leave it to our dog to do it. And then Dayton wasn't the only one giggling. It was hilarious. Our enthusiastic border collie would bound and leap after the butterflies leading him on an erratic chase around the pond. But eventually Bode would lose sight of the butterfly...or interest. Something else interesting would catch his attention or it just wasn't that much fun anymore to chase something so elusive as a butterfly.

I chase joy in the same way. Around and around in circles, bounding and leaping with no methodology to straighten my course, no plan to ensure success. And always, inevitably, I lose interest. Something more interesting and easier to catch steals my attention. Or I just give up all together. It's too hard, this joy thing. It's a nice idea but it's just not me. I wasn't made that way. Some people just can't be joyous...or joyful...whichever.

But that just isn't so. It can't be so. 

First, because the Bible says otherwise. And second, because if that's true then I'm doomed. I'm stuck in my Eeyore to Tigger to Eeyore cycle of my own nature. 

A drama queen since birth, I see the world through a dramatic lens. Gloom! Doom! Stress! Worry! Anxiety!!

EVERYBODY PANIC!!!

But I'm the only one squawking. My mother once said my brother is a duck, the rain waters just roll off his feathers, it doesn't rattle him. I, however, am a trumpeter swan...graceful and peaceful when the weather's just right, but when the rain starts to fall it's time to panic. A swan having a cow. A lovely sight.

And while Christmas is supposed to be all peace on Earth, good will to men, and joy to the world...I'm over here wringing my hands and biting my fingernails. I'm a Scrooge in Nephew Fred's clothing. I seem to embrace Christmas but underneath I'm really fretting and fussing and bah-humbugging about plans and people and people who get in the way of my plans. My plans, my plans, my precious plans. Like Scrooge and his gold, no one better interfere with my plans. Or else the squawking begins. This is not joy. This is not Christmas.

I could list you a thousand reasons excuses for this irritating behavior. I could get all Dr.Phil on you and explain from a psychological point of view why Christmas is now wrapped up with anxiety, why my tinsel is perpetually in a tangle. But there's no real point in it. Talking about what's wrong, doesn't do one blessed thing to move toward what is right. Or perhaps more importantly...righteous. 

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, 

by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, 

present your requests to God.

Philippians 4:6

So recently convicted of this ridiculous, self-centered behavior I've started chasing joy again.. But not in an erratic chase of circles where I'll eventually just get bored or tired or both and give up. This time I have a plan. And I have some tools.

1) I'm reading Ann Voskamp's book One Thousand Gifts. It's a book I've been avoiding for almost two years because I knew it would blast me from my comfort zone. And while I hate my comfort zone because it's stinks...I'm comfortable there. But I'm embracing the uncomfortable to move toward God and His joy.

2) I'm starting my own list of one thousand gifts. One thousand blessings from God, one thousand things I'm thankful for, one thousand things to celebrate. And the thing is...now that I've started counting, I see them everywhere. I would like to share this list on here because it may inspire somebody else, but I just can't commit to that. I don't have time to log into this blog as often as I'd like and I'm afraid that I will use that ask an excuse. Can't write in the blog, not worth writing down at all! (I know, because I did that before two years ago...)

3) Instead of asking God for things, even the right/rightoues things, I am choosing to only thank Him instead for the next two weeks. A friend of mine did this and she said it changed her life. I believe her. Because it's been a mere 24 hours and I already feel a change. I think this must be what detoxing feels like.

4) In a similar vein, when my instinct is to complain, grumble, nag, or otherwise squawk, I'm choosing to thank God for that very circumstance instead. This is hard but it is the very re-training and re-shaping that I need. It is taking every thought captive and making it submit. It is choosing to be thankful in all situations. Because the fact of the matter is, I am one of those people who will cry (ah-hem, flip my lid) over spilled milk. And that doesn't honor God, draw me nearer to God, or bringing me any closer to catching that butterfly.

5) Last, I have community and this means some accountability. I've always shied away from accountability because I like to hide. But I won't succeed and I'll never change unless I bare my soul and all my ugly and ask for some help. We are communal creatures, especially women, especially me. So here I am, ready to accept some love and help and prayers from my own community. And my community is pieced together through Facebook and emails and blogs and text and face-to-face friendships. This is community for a postmodern mom chasing joy.

And this time I'm not just chasing joy, but choosing joy. It goes hand in hand. When we choose joy, we catch it and then we give it away. I must choose to be thankful, to celebrate, to wear joy on my lips and harbor it in my heart. And then I will have caught it. It will be mine, no longer an elusive butterfly.

This blog started out being my journey towards a merry heart. And if you've followed me from the beginning, despite my long periods of silence, you know that I've wrestled with this. One minute I'm chasing the butterfly and the next I've seemingly given up and moved on with life. And I have no delusions of conquering this once and for all, I will always struggle. But this feels more like a real change. The real re-wiring of my heart that I have craved for so, so long. And what better time than Christmas?

I imagine that the shepherds, feeling a bit foolish, were chasing joy when they went from stable to stable in search of a babe in swaddling clothes. The wise men were chasing joy as they followed that mysterious star toward the child savior. Mary and Joseph must've been chasing joy as her belly grew swollen with the life of the King inside her. They couldn't have been the type to fuss and fret and squawk so they must've been chasing joy. Anna and Simeon caught their joy at the temple when Jesus came to be dedicated to God. Elizabeth and Zechaeriah caught their joy with the birth of their son, the prelude of the Messiah. These people didn't only chase joy but they chose it in their obedience. Joy is everywhere in the Christmas story, from the lips of Mary in her magnificat, to the returning of Zechariah's voice, to the alleulia of angels. Joy abounds at Christmas time.

And this Christmas, I am choosing joy.

And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, 

and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: 

and they were sore afraid.

And the angel said unto them, 

Fear not: for, behold, I bring you 

good tidings of great joy, 

which shall be to all people.

For unto you is born this day 

in the city of David a Saviour, 

which is Christ the Lord.

And this shall be a sign unto you; 

Ye shall find the babe 

wrapped in swaddling clothes, 

lying in a manger.

And suddenly there was with the angel 

a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,

Glory to God in the highest, 

and on earth peace, good will toward men.

Luke 2:9-13

Where It's Safe

So Curtis and I have bad luck with cats, it seems. We can't seem to keep them at our house or alive for longer than about six months. Currently, we have two black cats we're trying to keep around and alive but they're not making it easy. Otis picks on Simon, even though Simon was there first. Simon's a timid cat so he runs away to avoid confrontation with Otis. Whenever he does come back he looks worse than the time before. This last time he came home we kicked Otis out for a few days so Simon could heal and rest. But Simon took off again after a few days and then Otis left, too. We were completely cat-less for about two-and-a-half weeks.

But then Otis appeared on our porch swing the other morning looking about three steps from death's doorstep. And his meow was the saddest, softest, raspiest sound I'd ever heard. So I put him in the garage for a couple of days with food and water, hoping he'd rest and get better. It started to work, his meow started to get strong again. But he left on Thursday morning when I took the car out of the garage. I found him later that afternoon across the ditch at the neighbor's house completely tangled in burrs and brush. He was lethargic and listless, other than meowing frantically at the site of me. So here I am, 7 months pregnant, climbing through the brush to loosen my darn cat. I went to get my neighbor to carry Otis back to our house (I had visions of me toppling forward into the ditch if I tried to pick him up, given the angle he was laying at and my rather large belly), but when I came back...Otis had disappeared again.

Bode and I looked for him last night and this morning. I worried all through the thunderstorms last night. Fact of the matter is, I don't know if he's strong enough to survive the kind of wind and heavy rains we had. My vet  said she'd take him as a good Samaritan case because we don't have extra money right now--but I have to have him first. I have to get him to come home before I can take him to her office.

I don't know if he'll be back. I don't know if he's still alive. And I really have no idea where Simon is or if he's alive. I tried to help them both. I put them where they were safe and had their needs met. But they both left, despite knowing that I equal safety. I know that they know that because when they see me, they come to me, they perk up, they meow. They know that if I see them, I'll help them, and that if they are where I am that they'll be okay. And yet...they left.

I was lamenting my frustrations the other night and realized...God does this with people all the time. We leave the place of safety, where all our needs are met. Sometimes we leave because we can't get along with the other people there (like Simon avoiding Otis). Sometimes we leave because it looks more interesting or exciting elsewhere (which is how we lost Felix, Luckey, and Milo). Sometimes we leave because we're just wild and refuse to be tamed (which was the case with Fiyero). And sometimes we come back, beat up, mangy, and dirty. When Simon came home last he stunk to high heaven because some other male had sprayed him. His ear was mangled. Otis has patches of fur missing and he lost about half of his body weight. We come back to God this way--a stinky, ugly mess and often too spiritually sick and starved to make it another day.

He puts us where we're safe. He cleans us up and gives us food and water. And if we'd just stay put, we'd be okay. In the Gospel of Luke we're led to believe that the prodigal son does just that. When he comes home, he stays put. He learned his lesson. But this is a parable and not a true story. And the true story often is that we stray again. We leave, for whatever reason. Sometimes we just think we're going out to enjoy the sunshine but we get caught in the brambles. Or side-swiped by life. We can't seem to just stay where it's safe.

Sometimes people leave God's safety and they never find their way back. They think they find something better or they think they've gone too far and can't come back. I think we've all known people that fall into this category. They give up on God because they believe He's given up on them. They keep leaving safety and there's nothing we can do to help them. Nothing but pray. But prayer is powerful, so it can be enough.

One comforting thing for us but perhaps even more heartbreaking for God is that He always knows where we are. Right now I have no idea where Otis is. I'm hoping he's next door somewhere and my neighbor finds him alive. But God always knows right where we are. He knows what we're up to and just how much danger or trouble we're in. I think this is more heart-wrenching for Him to watch us get beat up by life and make damaging choices. He doesn't force us to come back. He never will. That wouldn't be love. Jesus longs to shelter Jerusalem as a mother hen does her chicks, but the people refuse to be saved. The people refuse to be helped, loved, cared for. It breaks His heart. You can hear the lament in His voice. They just won't stay where it's safe.

So I'm not sure what's going to happen with my cats. I'm really hoping that Otis turns up again in the next couple days and I can take him to the vet. And maybe he'll learn to stay where it's safe, to stop straying so far or staying away for so long. And if you have a Simon or Otis in your life, a person like that, then I pray that they come back, too, and let God heal them.

Plan-less

I wrote a couple weeks ago about my addiction to control and how I'm learning to let go of my compulsive need for plans. It's a painstaking process. I realized this morning, while processing with the Almighty, that what He's really up to is dealing with the real problem and not just the symptoms. It's not about getting me to stop planning all together or, conversely, to only give up one plan at a time. I think it has to do with acknowledging that my plans need to be in line with His plans. It's about slowing down to consider what He's done and what He is doing in my life. It's about seeking after Him more than seeking the next thing I want.

To be quite honest, I struggle with articulating the real lesson I'm getting in all of this. Partially because I don't fully understand it yet. I get it cognitively although I've yet to embrace it emotionally. I can't help but look at life sometimes and wonder if He's lost His mind. And I spout off a lot about what it is I'm fed up with and what I want changed and that I wanted it changed like yesterday. This isn't really appropriate behavior on my part. The Lamb of God already spilled His blood and defeated death for me. Do I really have the right to ask for more? Maybe not the right...but I do have the freedom, the permission, to ask. I'm even encouraged to ask because God wants to give me good things. But I'm not sure this temper tantrum asking is really what He's looking for. I'm pretty sure that's not right.

And that's just it. In the midst of my tantrums, I'm confronted with the fact that as a Christian I am meant to have a peace that passes understanding and a noticeable inexplicable joy. If Paul and Silas could sing in prison, can't I manage at least a smile in my far less dire circumstances? I catch myself focusing on what I don't have that I believe I need instead of dwelling on all that I already have. I'm carrying a miracle. All babies are miracles but my son is one of those should've-never-happened babies, the opposite of an 'oops baby'. I was broken...my body wasn't doing what it was designed to do. And yet here I am, my belly getting more huge every day (just ask my achin' back!). I have so much to be grateful for. I get thunderstruck just thinking about it sometimes.

And that's just it...this baby, this timing, this wasn't my plan. My plan was to get pregnant 3 years ago. My plan was to have a big enough house and car for a kid (or two) and $5,000 in savings before having a kid. My plan included Shiloh but not Bode. My plan didn't foresee Curtis getting laid off or my having to work full-time. And my plan most definitely didn't include whatever it is that lies ahead for us...because I have no idea what that is. My plan was a good plan. A methodical plan. A responsible plan. But it relied completely on me. And a little on Curtis. And just a smidge on God.

So when things changed...when I didn't get pregnant for two and a half years...when Curtis did get laid off...when we adopted Bode (and even I thought we were nuts and it was my idea)...when Shiloh died...my plan didn't account for those things. I guess that's why the 'it's all up to me' mentality doesn't really work for me. I might behave that way but the bottom line is...I don't really believe in it. I can't. Maybe it's because I don't want the responsibility when it all falls apart. But what I've really come to think is that if it's up to me, then I have no hope. I don't have any answers right now. And there is absolutely nothing I can do to change the things that worry me and keep me up at night. I am powerless. And this isn't about me being self-deprecating or buying into some outdated dogma. It's a fact. There is nothing I can do to force the situations in our lives to change. We've thrown every dart at the board and nothing has stuck.

But I can rest knowing that God has a plan, it's a good plan, and it's always been His plan. Because His plan took into account a struggle with infertility, the frustrations of job loss, and even Bode and Shiloh coming in and out of our lives. I might not be able to follow the story arc but that doesn't mean that there isn't one. And just because my plans haven't worked out doesn't mean that His plans aren't being worked out. He has power when I have none. He has wisdom when I'm all out of brain power. He has patience when I'm at my wits end. He doesn't get jumpy and abandon ship for the next good idea. He stays the course and brings me along with Him, even if I'm whining the whole time. (Believe me, I would've made a great Israelite...). And at the end of the day...sometimes literally...that's my best hope. There's still a plan.

Hmm. I've been looking at my life as being plan-less simply because I'm unable to work one out. And then I sit here and yap about God having a plan. There's a disconnect, don't you think? Okay, so it's not that my life is plan-less. It's just that it's void of my agenda at the moment. This may not be profound to anyone else but I just had a huge moment. And maybe that's why I bother writing any of this down...to sort out all my convoluted and contradictory thoughts. And I share it because maybe one of you is just like me...and if you are, I feel your pain!

Roaring Like a Lion

My favorite part in 'The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe' movie is midway through the battle. Peter and Edmund are entrenched in a hopeless battle against Jadis, the White Witch. She has more soldiers on her side, she has the power to turn their soldiers into stone, and she's fearless. But they (and their "men") refuse to surrender. Peter knows that he could lose, that he probably should lose in terms of what seems most likely to happen, but he's going to continue to fight 'for Narnia and for Aslan!'. And then...just as the scales really tip in Jadis' favor, the music changes, and the point of view sweeps up the mountain to the top of the ridge. There stands Lucy, Susan, Mr.Tumnus, and of course, Aslan who announces his arrival with a mighty roar. (This is the part when I get chills and tears come to my eyes). Hope comes flooding down the mountain infusing Peter with new strength, and Jadis is drained of hers as she whispers "impossible", for she herself had killed him the night before. It is impossible, for everyone except the Son of the Emperor Across the Sea. For Him, nothing is impossible.

With God all things are possible.

--Matthew 19:26

The Newsboys have recently released a song entitled 'God's Not Dead (Like a Lion)'. For obvious reasons this song and this scene in that movie are related to me. Aslan was dead but defeated death and is now roaring to the rescue of the ones he loves and died for. Lewis didn't come up with this lion metaphor on his own; the Bible calls Jesus the Lion of Judah,  Judah being one the names for the Israelite people. In his life Jesus hardly came across as a lion. He was meek and mild when people wanted him to overthrow the Roman government. He took and endured abuse and slander with staggering humility. Those who believed in Him knew that He could put an end to it and was choosing not to; those who did not believe in Him mocked and challenged Him to come off the cross or call down angels. This does not seem lionish--any of it. But within Him he had the strength of the Lion, the strength of God, in fact. And that's what turned back death, defeating the deep magic, as Lewis puts it in his timeless stories.

"Oh, you're real, you're real! Oh, Aslan!" 

cried Lucy and both girls flung themselves upon him and covered him with kisses.

"But what does it all mean?" asked Susan 

when they were somewhat calmer.

"It means," said Aslan, "that though the Witch knew the Deep Magic, there is a magic deeper still which she did not know. Her knowledge goes back only to the dawn of Time. But if she could have looked a little further back, into the stillness and the darkness before Time dawned, she would have read there a different incantation. She would have known that when a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor's stead, the Table would crack and Death itself would start working backwards."

Unlike in the Narnia stories, Jesus didn't come roaring back into the middle of a battle. He came quietly into a garden where a young woman had come to tend for His broken, lifeless body. But inwardly, I imagine, there was a battle inside Mary. A battle of unsettling doubt and confusion, of heart-breaking loss and emptiness. Like the Pevencey children, Jesus had saved Mary, had loved her and cared for her as He did all his dear friends. And without Him, the pain must have been unbearable, very much like a hopeless uphill battle. Within the tenderness of his speech, maybe there was a roar...a roar against the darkness surrounding Mary and the other disciples. A roar against all doubt, fear, worry, and regret. A roar that allowed doubting Thomas to believe, that reinstated Peter, and that finally turned John from a 'son of thunder' to an apostle of Love. A roar that allowed me, in the 21st century, to make a turning point and conquer my own demons. Now that's a mighty roar. 

My God's not deadHe's surely aliveHe's living on the insideRoaring like a lion

--God's Not Dead (Like a Lion), The Newsboys

My Addiction to Control

Trust in the LORD with all your heart 
   and lean not on your own understanding; 
in all your ways submit to him, 
   and he will make your paths straight

--Proverbs 3:5-6

Yesterday our pastor asked the Sunday school class what spiritual goals we have for 2012. One dear friend of mine talked about learning to surrender her sense of control to the Lord and this resonated with me. God and I have been going in circles with my control issues. I have an addiction to control, and like any other addiction, I can't grow until its dealt with. So God has been painstakingly, patiently, and lovingly helping me deal with it. I can't believe how far He's brought me during the course of this pregnancy. I was forced to truly realize and admit that I can't decide how many days my son will spend in my womb, how many days he will spend on this Earth, how much happiness he will have. I had to let go of my ideas and plans for his nursery, our finances, our jobs, our future. I nearly had a panic attack as God asked me to let go of what I believed I could hold on to. Yes, I understand control issues.

And that's when I realized my goal for 2012 and at the same time my prayer word for this year, sort of. I can't come up with just one word. Surrender is part of it, but its surrendering with the idea of being emptied out. My goal for 2012 is to not have goals, plans, or expectations. That does not mean to stumble about haphazardly like a feather being blown by the wind. This is foolishness. Proverbs 3 instructs the wise to have sound plans and use good judgment. But the danger in planning for control freaks like me is that we plan too much and set our hearts upon our plans. I trust on my own wisdom, I put too much stock in my plans coming to fruition, I can't be flexible, I get tunnel vision. It's my way or no way. 

The fact is that entering into motherhood is going to require me to think, feel, and behave in ways I never have before. I will pray in ways I never have before. I will dream and plan and hope in ways I never have before. All of this is beautiful...if I submit it all to the Lord. If I take my every dream, plan, hope, and idea to Him for approval. If I don't jump days, weeks, months ahead in my life. If I take each day as He gives it to me. Which is after all how Jesus tells us to live. 

So don’t worry about tomorrow, 
for tomorrow will bring its own worries. 

Today’s trouble is enough for today.--Matthew 6:34

I already have people asking me, telling me, what my next ministry goals should be, what projects I should undertake. I find myself plotting and planning, but the Spirit isn't guiding me. I feel no divine encouragement, no heavenly spark of inspiration. This is not because I am far from God; this is because God has not yet revealed to me the ministry He wants me to undertake. I'm a people pleaser so I can be talked into most anything...but this is how you get so busy you miss your true calling. 

I realized that I can have a 'ministry' even while stepping back from other commitments. My grandmother has a ministry and she's a shut-in. She prays with devotion, she calls people to encourage them, she sends out greeting cards to let people know she cares. This is a ministry even if its not something you can sign up to join or read about in the bulletin. This is a ministry that Jesus sees and loves, because its the kind of work He did. I can do this kind of ministry anytime...pregnant, with a newborn, and beyond. If God intends for me to start or join a 'joinable' ministry, He'll let me know. He'll make it so clear that I won't have a choice. It won't be this crickety silence from above that I'm getting right now. 

But the even more important part of this surrendering/emptying out goal of 2012 is accepting that I can't make plans for my family/life. I can't make plans for my son because I don't have any idea what he'll be like. I can't say what I'll do this spring or summer because I have no way of knowing how labor and delivery will go (smoothly, I hope). I can't promise to visit relatives or go on little getaways or anything else. I can make no promises to anyone except to God. I can promise Him that I will rest when He says rest, move when He says move, and in all ways, submit my plans to Him.

You can make many plans,

But the Lord's purpose will prevail.

--Proverbs 19:21

This will be hard for me. Harder than my word for last year (commit). I don't like to give up my ways and the idea of being emptied out can be scary. I like to believe I'm in charge, sometimes I think I need to believe it. But I will never truly trust God if I'm secretly telling myself that I'm in control. I will never really feel secure if I'm relying on my own wisdom and plans. I have to let go, be emptied out, and surrender to really know God the way He wants me to and to live the life He has planned for me. 

People won't understand. It will look like spiritual laziness at times. That's okay. It's not about them. This is about listening for God and God alone to direct my plans. This is about waiting for God and God alone to provide when things look desperate. This is about acknowledging that God and God alone is truly in control of my life, my husband's life, our child's life, and the lives of everyone we love. It's not about me or anyone else. God and God alone. 

Commit (surrender, submit, abandon, let go, and empty out)

 everything you do to the LORD. 

Trust him, and he will help you.

--Psalm 37:5

Incidentally, God has brought to mind several songs which will encourage me through this journey. He knows how much music encourages me, He designed me that way. FFH's 'Come Undone', Sanctus Real's 'Whatever You're Doing' (which I've written about before) and the hymn 'I Surrender All' speak to the very nature of this journey. The difficulty in letting go, in coming undone, in trying to accept what you can't understand or see, in giving everything over to God. I know God will bring more songs to encourage me as 2012 unfolds because He is good and faithful and loving. That one thing I can hold onto as He empties me out of all my preconceived notions, expectations, and plans. 

The LORD will work out his plans for my life— 
      for your faithful love, O LORD, endures forever. 
      Don’t abandon me, for you made me.

--Psalm 138:8

Snips & Snails & Puppy Dog Tails

We found out what we're having, despite many people who I am sure were well-intentioned telling us not to. I wanted to know. There was part of me that needed to know. And I think Curtis is the same way. We want to be able to prepare for our child. I realize that practically speaking you can prepare without knowing--a crib is a crib, a changing table is a changing table, diapers are diapers. But we want to do more than that.

So yesterday at my 20 week ultrasound we found out that we're having a boy. A son. I've written before about the song 'All of Me' by Matt Hammitt. The ultrasound technician always plays K-LOVE, which I find comforting. There were many times during the infertility when I'd be so nervous to look at the screen and see only tiny eggs, ones that would never release, and the comforting words of God would be surrounding me in music. Yesterday when I laid back on the table and she started the ultrasound 'All of Me' came on. It was playing as she told us we are right--we were in fact having a boy. And the profundity of the moment was so over-whelming. A boy, this long hoped for child is a son to carry on my husband's name and his legacy. And it was the perfect song to be playing as the soundtrack for this moment. This child does have all of me, I promised him that months ago. I promised him that I wouldn't hold back my heart, even in moments of fear when I am tempted to. And this little boy, still growing and getting strong, already has me in his grips. His daddy, too. He's such a miracle.

Our doctor's office has the 4D technology which gave us a real life view of what he's up to in there. With the new imagery we could see our son not only in flat black & white but in 3D moving around and waving his arms. He already has his father's nose and as he stubbornly refused to turn his head for a profile shot we know he has the Berry stubborness (his father's words, not mine, I promise you...although Halseys have been known to be stubborn, too.).  He has sturdy limbs and big feet, again like his daddy. His heartbeats perfectly. It's too early to tell if he will have HCM like his dad, but right now his heart is brand new and perfect. And if it turns out he does have HCM, I think that stubborness will become tenacity to deal with it like his dad. I don't know yet what he has from me...maybe my eyes. Curtis wants our children to have green eyes like me and not brown like him. I hope that he will love music and books like me.

But more than anything, I want him to be himself. I know we'll be able to pick out the bits and pieces from each of us. But a child isn't just a composite of his parents. A child is his own being, created by God to be his own self. I pray I give him the space to find out who that is, even with all the dreams I have for him already forming in my heart. I hope that we teach him to be kind, honorable, and generous. I hope that we teach him to be ambitious and competitive, but in healthy measures. A boy will be a boy, and I hope I'm prepared to deal with that. I know what to do with sugar and spice and everything nice but snips and snails and puppy dog tails are a mystery to me. I want to help instruct my little boy in becoming a man of God--a man the way God designed him to be, not a man the way the world wants him to be.

But for now he's still growing inside of me, getting bigger and stronger and ready for life outside. I think he's amazing. He takes my breath away before he's had his first breath. How can people see such miracles and not believe in a divine creator? I don't understand. All I can see when I look at my son, when I feel my belly expanding to give him room to grow, is God's fingerprints all over us. All over me, all over Curtis, and all over this son we share. He's a miracle and I love him so much already.

Those Two Little Pink Lines

September 2nd...it was a Friday morning...I was just about a week overdue, if you know what I mean. And I'd thought about taking one of those dastardly pregnancy tests but frankly I'd seen too many negative results to really stomach another one. I had considered asking God for a sign, like a dream, but then I decided that every time in my life I'd tried to rely on signs that it never worked. I'm far too good at tricking signs into appearing where God never intended them to be.

But I had a dream. It was exactly what I'd almost asked for. God has a sense of humor.

So a couple days later I decided to just take the stupid test and get all the disappointment over with for the month. The sooner I had an answer the sooner I could move on. I dipped the stick and set the timer for 3 minutes and walked away. When I came back, holding my breath...I couldn't believe my eyes. Two lines.

So I asked Curtis, who was busy making me breakfast, how many lines he thought their were. He told me two, and we just looked at each other stunned.

Now...don't get me wrong...I was excited. I was thankful, I was praising God in my heart somewhere. But mostly I suddenly and thoroughly felt gripped with fear. I don't think I've ever experienced fear quite like that before in my life. As we told our closest friends and family members and they all celebrated, I felt a little numb. Grateful but numb.

This lasted several days until I finally gave way to my emotions. In the shower (I seem to do a lot of emoting in the shower, actually) I broke down and I sobbed. It's been years since I cried like that. And I told God, don't get me wrong, I'm amazed at what you've done here, and I so want to glorify you but there's this huge BUT in my way. BUT what if you take the baby back? BUT what if something happens? BUT what if this breaks my heart and I'm worse off than before?

I've had two fears all my life. 1) That I wouldn't be able to have children and 2) That even if I could get pregnant that I wouldn't be able to stay pregnant. There's plenty of familial evidence to support both fears; these are not ungrounded. Clearly fear number one was well-founded, but once that was shoved out of the way it was time for fear number two to take over.

God heard the cries of my heart and instead of taking them as a sign of disbelief in His power, He took them as an opportunity to love on me so much and restore my trust in His goodness. I can only imagine the tenderness in His eyes as He looked on His daughter so afraid and uncertain. God is so good.

The following Sunday was September 11th which proved to be highly emotional for a lot of people. There was a big altar call and I felt the tug to come forward. I knew what it was that I had to lay there on the altar of the Lord.  I knelt at our altar, face to face with the Almighty, and I knew that the only way to conquer the fear of losing my baby was to give my baby to God willingly. So I did. I figuratively but very truly placed this little life that I've wanted for so long on the altar, much like Abraham putting his beloved son Isaac on the altar all those thousands of years ago. I told God, and meant it, that no matter what He chose to do with that little life that I would praise Him anyway. That I would still insist in His goodness, even in my pain. I didn't promise that I wouldn't be angry or devastated, but that I would still see His goodness and mercy.

We came home from church, planning on a lazy afternoon with the dogs before youth group started. But we found Shiloh, sick, actually dying we would later find out. As Shiloh's situation went from bad to worse to hopeless in just a few short hours I remember thinking, crying out, that I'd just given God my baby, why was He taking my dog, my best friend, my ruff? I don't know. Maybe Shiloh was that sacrificial lamb that God provided Abraham with so he wouldn't have to give up Isaac. Maybe I had to give up something. Or maybe it was just Shiloh's time to leave us. I'll never know for sure.

A few days later I was driving from my office where I work in the morning to the library to grab a few books before heading out to the school where I work in the afternoon. I'd wanted to hear Gungor's song 'Beautiful Things' ever since I saw those two pink lines (more on that in this post ). But I hadn't. Until that day. And as I drove to the library the song came on KLOVE and I praised God, both in song and for the song. But God never does a little when He could do a lot. I came out of the library, started driving toward the school and Matt Hammit's new song 'All of Me' came on the radio.

He's the lead singer of Sanctus Real and we'd seen them in concert about a month before. Matt performed this song that he'd written about his baby boy Bowen who was born with only half a heart. The song is about the moment when Matt realized that giving his baby only half his heart, half his love, in an attempt to save himself from loss and pain wouldn't help anything. The only choice was to recklessly love him, no matter the ultimate pain or cost.

So here I am, driving down the road with tears just streaming down my cheeks. Confronted face to face with myself in music. Which is truly more important--guarding myself from potential pain or falling completely in love with this little miracle? Which would God have me do? One meant living in that horrible grip of fear, going back and forth from the altar, giving up my baby and then snatching 'him' back. The other meant living in a joyful celebration, not ignorant of the danger, but not crippled by its threat. That song has become my anthem, my chorus, my motto. I want to embrace every moment of this journey because I can't have it back or do it over. And if it all comes crashing down on me...God is still good. He will still give me air to breathe and command my lungs to suck it in, even if that's all I can do.

It's been about a month now since all this has taken place. We've had our first appointment and ultrasound. We got to see 'his' little hands and feet, complete with ten toes! We think we're having a boy, that's the general consensus among family and friends, too. There's just something about those pictures that says 'boy'. But we'll be thrilled and overjoyed no matter what. We are already thrilled. The morning sickness (which is really all-day sickness...what a ridiculous misnomer) and fatigue have been a struggle. I'm already in maternity pants...I don't quite have a belly but I'm getting bigger all the time. But I refuse to complain about weight gain or outgrowing my clothes. Or any of it really. I've wanted this for far too long to spend nine months whining about how awful it is. I can't do much for my baby yet, take vitamins, rest and eat, but I can endure the symptoms with a joyful heart..perhaps a merry heart...and in that way already love, nurture, and cherish my little one.

God is good. He is the God of impossibilities. He takes what cannot be done and makes it do-able. He took my broken body and barren womb and filled it with life. He took my fearful, fretful heart and filled it with love and joy. Only God can do these things.

If you haven't heard 'All of Me' I've provided a music video here on this post. It is such a beautiful song for any parent. I'm learning more every day how being a parent will change everything...require me to love far more than I ever have and give more than I ever knew I could. And its worth it all. Just like the song so beautifully says.

A Secret Message Decoded

Whatever you're doing inside of me,

 it feels like chaos but somehow there's peace.

You're up to something bigger than me,

Larger than life, something heavenly. (Chorus)

This is a Sanctus Real song, and for me, its the one that really put them on the map in my life. At the time I first heard this song things were going well, but I made a mental note of it. I knew it would be one of those songs I would cling to in the middle of the night someday. And it has been. It's the anthem of reassurance. Pain is a necessary part of life, especially life as a Christian. Pain can signify when somethings not right, and it can allow growth. Nobody likes it, but there can be a peace that passes understanding when we understand that whatever 'it' is, it's bigger than us.

Whatever you're doing inside of me,

it feels like chaos but I believe,

You're up to something bigger than me,

Larger than life, something heavenly (Chorus 2)

They played this song at the inaugural concert at the Stroh Center at BGSU. I've heard it dozens of times, even recently, but I found a new message tucked inside of it, like a secret note just for me. In the same way that 'Beautiful Things' by the band Gungor symbolizes more to me than being remade--its about making new life, making beautiful things out of dust, out of us. Tonight the words 'inside of me' grabbed my attention and gripped my heart. Perhaps it's my training as an English major that makes me find meaning where there isn't intentionally one, but I couldn't help but feel that I was supposed to pick up on that tonight. The song is supposed to be about emotional turmoil during difficult times and I get that, big time. But for me the meaning is more literal. I have no idea what God is doing inside of me in terms of allowing me to become a mother. And it feels like chaos sometimes. All the tests and data collecting and stress and baby drama definitely can create internal emotional chaos. And sometimes it feels like physical chaos when my body reacts to the medications. But when I remember that God does have a plan for me (Jeremiah 29:11) and that plan is bigger than only me there is a peace that can override the chaos. I believe that God has a plan and all of this is intentional and purposeful, and I believe that with all my heart.

Whatever you're doing inside of me,

it feels like chaos but now I can see,

This is something bigger than me,

Larger than life, something heavenly (Chorus 3)

I consider this last variation of the chorus to be a promise. I've been able to get to the top of a mountain after trudging through a valley and see how the struggle was part of a larger plan. And those past experiences reassure me that nothing is without purpose, and someday I will see. Even if that day comes on the other side of Eternity, someday I will see how this struggle and journey has been bigger than me. And at any rate, what God is doing inside of me is larger than life. It's about so much more than creating life. It's strengthening me, drawing me to Him, requiring me to share my heart, and expanding my faith. That is most certainly something heavenly.

But I'm still a dreamer, a believerOh, I've lost my faith in so many things, but I still believe in You
'Cause You can make anything new

 This is the chorus to a different Sanctus Real song but it seems like the best way to end this post. Sometimes I do lose my faith in the process. I stop believing that all this struggling and hoping and praying and dreaming will work. But even when I've lost faith in everything, even myself, I still have my faith in God. And God is still faithful to me. He can make anything new, even a body that doesn't work properly. My favorite word in the entire English language is 'believe'. That word is in every room of our house, one way or another. I'm not always good at showing my belief, but I believe deeply and I dream even deeper. And it's okay for me to dream and believe even while facing difficult realities, because God is a redeemer. No matter what I may lose or never gain, I have Him. What else is there really?

The Future Hopes of a Silk Ribbon Quilt

I love my new background. I chose it on the Fourth of July, when I wrote my last post, because it looked fresh, summery, and inviting. There's just something about old, careworn quilts that I love, especially quilts with stories. My family doesn't seem to be too big into quilting, but someday I will inherit a very old quilt made from silk ribbons. I hope I have this story right...(Mom, let me know if it's not!)

My great-grandmother lived next to a cemetery and in those days the ribbons were made from real silk, instead of the plastic stuff they're made of now. After a time the cemetery caretaker would take down the wreaths, and offer the ribbons to her. Mamie would take them and hand-stitch them into beautiful, soft silky blankets. One particular quilt she pinned a note to explaining that it was for her first great-grandchild. She died when my mother was just a child so this blanket was made with hopes for the future in the belief that the family tree would keep on going. My great-grandmother probably figured it would be a child of my aunt's, being the oldest, but it was my brother Adam in 1980 that was the fulfillment of her future hope.

It seems that families and quilts go hand-in-hand. Patches of clothes and bits of fabric, silk ribbons saved from the cemetery, stories in every piece, love in every stitch, plans and intentions for warmth and love to continue on.

And I think of my family as a patchwork quilt, sometimes a crazy quilt. I have a hard time defining my family. If you asked me about them I'd have to ask you 'which one?' With Mom and Dad being divorced I've got step-parents, step-siblings, even step-nephews in the mix now. Of course I have my brother, his wonderful wife, and his precious baby girl to count. I've got family on my mom's side, and family on my dad's side. I consider my in-laws to be my family giving me two more brothers, another sister-in-law, a niece, and a nephew, as well as many aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents. And of course, there's my very own nuclear family: Curtis, Shiloh, Bode, and even Simon the Cat. We're a small family, and very furry, but we're a family all the same.

If I could turn my family into a quilt it would be colorful, vibrant, with many patterns and styles. My mom would be represented by soft pastel flowers, her sister by bright bold colors, my baby niece with little pink teddy bears, my 4 year old nephew with John Deere, my PapPap with corduroy sturdy and warm, my Grandpa with something red, white, and blue for his time in the Navy.

The pieces of a quilt don't all have to match or go together. By arranging them just right a mish-mash of fabrics can turn into a beautiful piece of art and love. The pieces of my family quilt don't all match or go together, but they're arranged just right, by God, in my life. When I finally abandoned the idea that a family is defined by only one certain set of criteria and simply let God shape and mold my family, or families, I was given a beautiful gift. A crazy quilt hand-stitched by the Ultimate Creator. He choose each person with care and placed them just right in my life, and I was placed just right in theirs.  Some of the edges are frayed and the pieces might not be quite square, but it's a masterpiece all the same.

Some people think that divorce means broken homes and broken families. And sometimes it does. I see a lot of that with students at my school. But in my case...God took all of us torn fragments, added some fresh new pieces (the next generation of my nieces and nephews) and made something whole out of it. My family might not look like the ones on TV, or like the people in the next pew at church. But my family is mine, patches and all. And like a warm cozy quilt stitched up with love, I appreciate it and value it very much.

Someday I will be able to pass on one of Mamie's silk ribbon quilts to the next generation, and my intention and my prayer is that something far greater goes along with it. I want the fibers of a family to be sewn up into my future little ones and my nieces and nephews--faith, love, acceptance, forgiveness, graciousness. These core values, the fibers of a family, is what brought all the pieces of my 'family quilt' together and what keeps us together. And its that family quilt, the one that isn't tangible, that is the real legacy.

In The Fullness of Time

He hath made everything beautiful in His time....Ecclesiastes 3:11

My mom cross-stitched this verse for me when I was very small. Maybe a baby, I'm really not sure. All I know is that I've had it for as long as I can remember. It's become a life verse for me, as it has has meant different things to me at different times, and probably always will. These days it's the last word that has me thinking. Time.

Not just any time, or anybody's time, but His time. I'll spare you the cliches on God's calendar not matching ours and all that rigmarole. They're very true but we all know them. Let me try to be original.

I've been wrestling with time and His time for awhile now. I feel frustrated and disappointed about my life right now. It seems that nothing is going according to plan. Things are taking longer to get accomplished or to change. I'm getting burned out and tired from the struggle to get through each day. I'm spending more and more time shaking my fist at Heaven.

And then I get clobbered with some Truth. I use a capital 'T' because it seems to me that truth from Heaven is worthy of some capitalization. God's truth should be a proper noun. And the Truth of the matter is that God's time takes far more into consideration than just me, or just the people around me. God's time takes all of eternity into account. This seems obvious, something we all know, but it's something we can all take for granted if we're not paying attention.

The specific situation in my life has been this struggle to have children. I look at every month that goes by as a big fat 'no', a big fat failure, a big fat disappointment. This morning, I discovered, that God sees it as another month closer to the fullness of His time. Another month closer to the goal.

The fact of the matter is that while Curtis and I want to be parents, it's just not God's time. And it's not that we're not ready, good enough, or deserving. It may be that God needs this baby to be born or to come into our care at a later date. God already has plans for this child and the first part of that plan is his/her conception. It all must fit.

If God had given Isaac to Abraham & Sarah fifty years earlier, Rebekah wouldn't have been there for Isaac to marry. And without her there'd be no Jacob & Esau, no Uncle Laban for Jacob to run to, no Rachel and Leah for him to marry. The whole Old Testament unravels.

If God had let Rachel get pregnant right away, would Joseph have been the treasured son? And if Joseph wasn't favored, his brothers wouldn't have sold him into slavery. And without Joseph's ultimate success in Egypt, the tribes of Israel would've perished in the famine.

If God had given Hannah her precious son, Samuel, the first time she'd asked for a child, she wouldn't have dedicated him to the Lord. And if Samuel hadn't been given back to the Lord and lived with Eli in the temple, he wouldn't have become a priest. And if Samuel hadn't become a priest, who would've anointed both Saul and David? Who would've spoken Truth to Israels' first king?

If God had given Elizabeth and Zechariah their son, John, earlier in life he could not have really prepared the way for Jesus. Their ministries had to overlap. If John had been born sooner, who would've baptized Jesus?

God had a specific plan for Isaac, Joseph, Samuel, and John. Their parents had to wait, suffer even, before finally getting the child they so wanted. Sarah, Hannah, and Elizabeth all praised God, fully acknowledging that their sons had been born in the fullness of God's time in accordance with His will and His plan. Rachel did not, and died trying to have another child. It seems to me that is significant.

Waiting for God's timing isn't easy. Ever. But I have to change my perspective. I have to remember it's not just my life I'm praying about, it's the life of my future child. And God has a plan for that child,  more significant and eternal than any dream of mine. I need to be grateful for God's timing, and look forward to the moment when His plan and mine finally converge. In the fullness of time, everything will be beautiful.